The Wide Game

by Michael West

  Her thoughts turned next to the frozen darkness of the fog, turned to Cindi. She wondered if Cindi would be in Heaven as well, wondered if she would understand, wondered if she could forgive.

  Of course she will, Nancy thought dizzily. Heaven’s all about the forgiveness.

  She grew numb. More dark trees bloomed in that red window; more icy hands felt her breasts, and, as she lost consciousness, the chorus of whispers sang to her.

  “Thank you,” they repeated again and again. “Thank you.”

  And then it was just like the movie. She floated up, spun away from her body, watched as the open mouths in her forearms drooled all over her clean bedspread. She didn’t look happy, however, and there was no bright light. In fact, everything seemed to dim, to grow darker and darker still. Where was Danny? He was supposed to meet her now, to reach out and hold her hand as Jane Seymour had done for Chris Reeve. There were hands here nevertheless, a whole congress of hands, they pulled her into the dark, into nothingness. Her earthly body drifted away, a reflection in a falling mirror; she looked so alone, so cold.

  By the time she heard the laughter, however, Nancy felt quite warm.

  Twenty-Four

  A red and white striped tassel hung from Deidra’s finger, a gold 88 attached to the clasp that bound it together. She stroked it with her fingers as if it were a ponytail, then batted it with her hand, watched as it swung to and fro. The tassel was their only souvenir of graduation. Their caps and gowns had been rented and returned. The diploma they’d been handed on stage was a rolled up piece of blank parchment, a stage prop. The real diploma would be sent to them later through the mail. Pictures would be developed in time. The only immediate proof there was ever a ceremony at all was the tassel.

  Paul kissed her forehead, held her to him beneath the crazy-quilted blanket. They lay naked in the back of his Mustang, parked off a deserted stretch of back road, the seats folded down into a bed. The hatchback hung open, granting them a panoramic view of the cosmos; a stuffed Roger Rabbit hung from the glass, suspended by suction cups in its hands and feet; its huge, painted eyes stared down at them with manic interest. Paul left the radio on, and Terence Trent D’arby’s soulful “Sign Your Name” drifted from the speakers. “What are you thinking about?”

  Deidra grabbed the tassel to halt its sway. “After Nancy killed herself, I dreamed she was graduating with us. That I was somehow able to stop her.”

  “You had no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling. You had enough to deal with.”

  “And you see how well I’m dealing with that.” She brought her hands to her face; the strings of the tassel soaked up forming tears.

  Paul felt close to tears himself.

  Tomorrow Deidra would be gone.

  Anxious to leave the bad memories of Harmony behind him, Mr. Perkins had taken a full time position at his company’s California facility. Deidra would join him, would attend school there in the fall. Paul, who could only afford a state school, enrolled at nearby Stanley University. Officially, they were still going to get married one day, still going to be together, but Nancy’s suicide – coming right on the heels of the game and her mother’s death – had hit Deidra especially hard. Paul felt her slipping away from him, withdrawing deeper and deeper into herself, and he knew this time apart wasn’t going to help them at all.

  “I still don’t see why you have to go,” he whispered.

  “Because I want you so badly that it actually hurts me inside. Because I can’t get through the day unless I know it’s gonna end in your arms.” She turned her face to him, reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, his hair that had been streaked gray overnight. “I was lost for so long, out of control. Weak. Then I took charge of my life and I ... I found myself. Now, it feels like I’ve lost myself again. Sooner or later, I’ve got to get it back. I need to get away from this armpit of the universe and get out of this funk.”

  “And what if you can’t? At least together we can talk about what we’re feeling. We can help each other deal with it.” He swallowed. “I’m just worried you’ll get out there and get so depressed you’ll think about –”

  “Killing myself?”

  Paul nodded.

  “What makes you think I don’t think about it now?”

  He looked at her, shocked and worried.

  She continued, “You think that because you love me, you know everything that’s going on inside my head? You don’t. And I’m sure I don’t know everything going on inside of you.”

  “I haven’t been thinking about killing myself.” He looked at the class ring on his finger. She’d given it back to him tonight, afraid she would lose it in the move. It felt alien on his finger and the skin beneath it had begun to itch. “I’d just screw it up and end up a vegetable or something.”

  “Then you have at least thought about it.”

  “Everyone’s thought about it,” he said through thinning lips. He didn’t want to fight with her. Not tonight. He reached beneath the blankets, ran his hand over the curls of her pubic hair. “But I’m afraid you’ll actually do it. Like Mick. Like Nancy. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Deidra was quiet for a moment and he wondered what went on behind her eyes.

  “I don’t want to lose you either,” she said at last, her voice soft and deliberate. “I’ll write you, just like I did every day at school. We have the telephone. Nothing’s really going to change between us. It might actually make us stronger. I hope it will. And I will come back.”

  “Do you ...” He tilted his head onto her shoulder, watched the golden charm he’d given her rise and fall on her breast. At least she hadn’t given that back to him. The saying would mean even more now. Now they would truly be “apart, one from another.” “You still love me?”

  “Always.” She rubbed her hand down his back. “In my entire life, I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

  They made love again that night, not knowing it would be for the last time. Afterward, Paul drove her home, gave her a passionate, desperate kiss on her doorstep. Don’t leave me here, the kiss said. Don’t leave me here alone. When their lips parted, she gave him a quick peck on the forehead and turned away without a word.

  She’d been in California a week when her first letter arrived.

  Paul opened it with anxious hands, wanting to know she was all right, hoping against all hope that it said she was coming back to him. Her handwriting was sloppy as ever, but he didn’t care. He read every word, then read it again. He looked at it daily, wished for the sound of her voice and did his best to imitate it in his mind ...

  ♥Hi, Love!

  We’re on the freeway so this may get messy

  (I know, my handwriting is always messy)!

  I miss you so much! I started missing you the second you drove away. That’s one reason I didn’t turn and watch you go. Things are pretty boring out here. The air sure smells different, and there’s mountains (I’ll have to send you some pictures)! The colors are ugly, though. No green. Only yellow and brown.

  I guess I should be happy not to see any green fields, huh? On the plane I kept thinking of you and that song by Peter, Paul, and Mary kept running through my mind –”Leavin’ On a Jet Plane.” I keep asking myself if I’ve made the right decision. I think I have. I hope I have. I gotta go. I’m not used to the time difference yet. Ugh!

  I really do love you!

  Deidra

  Write back ...

  And he did write back, often putting multiple notes in the same envelope. She wrote him as well, although less often than he would have liked. Her letters repeatedly began with an apology ...

  Sorry it’s been so long! I’ve written you so many letters that I haven’t sent – it’s ridiculous. I’m sorry. I love you so much. I’m realizing it more and more each day. I love your letters – they keep me alive. Today I got a letter from you and a card! I love the card. Yes! If you can mail yourself to me – DO IT! You know how most girls sit by the phone? I’m sitting by
the mailbox ...

  In September of 1988, about the time they officially became college freshman in their respective states, the tone of her correspondence changed and she wrote him a depressing little note ...

  Paul, I don’t know what to do. I said once before that we should never have any secrets from one another, so let me get one thing straight – I love you. I really do. Now another – I want to go out with someone (just as friends).

  I think of you all the time – I still constantly dream about you. I just don’t know what to do about us ... I’m so lonely out here, but I’m scared to death of hurting you. Jesus! I don’t deserve you (don’t argue, DAMMIT! I don’t). What are we going to do about us? I can’t live with this. I can’t live with myself thinking that I’m hurting you, but I’m so lonely. What am I supposed to do? God, please tell me ...

  When he wrote her a response, at first he was brutally honest about what he felt she should do. He wrote that she had said she would marry him, that it was her choice to go out there, and her own fault if she was lonely. Sure there were attractive girls on campus he could ask out if he wanted to, but he didn’t, lonely as he was, because of the fact that they were in a relationship. If they were married, and he was off shooting a film in Thailand, he wouldn’t be unfaithful and he would expect the same from her. Why should this be any different? She’d said she would marry him. Why should it be any different? He read the letter over and promptly crumpled it up. If he put a two-thousand-mile leash on her, what did that say about him? He trusted her, trusted their love. What harm would there be in two friends going to the movies? And so he said it would be good for them to see other people socially, to make certain that their love was really forever. He gave her permission to date.

  She did.

  Paul didn’t.

  He’d expected her to come back to him over Christmas break, but she didn’t have enough money for the ticket. Paul had said he would try and send her some. That fell through, however, when Paul’s mother wouldn’t allow her to stay in their house.

  Paul barely said a word to his mother that entire Christmas season.

  They continued to write back and forth, to call each other on the phone, but Paul could feel her grow more distant. Her letters grew less frequent; her phone calls grew shorter. In April, he found a blue envelope in his mailbox, one with only “D.P.” written where the return address should have been ...

  Paul,

  I don’t know how to say this. This letter is so hard for me to write, and I’m so afraid you’re going to hate me no matter what I say. Everything’s so different out here. I wrote you that once before. It’s more true now. I’m different. I know you can forgive me. I know you shouldn’t. But I need you to know that in my own twisted, tortured way, my love for you is real and strong and true. We’ve always said we should be honest, well here goes ... I’m not coming back to Indiana. God, this isn’t fair. I wish we’d had more time together, before that ... you know. But to come back there, to see you and Harmony ... I can’t do it. I’m weak. I’m sorry. I’m gonna try to have a life and for me Harmony is always going to be death. I hope you can have a good life too, and I hope you can forgive me. It’s better this way Paul. You won’t think that now, but I hope, one day, you will.

  Love always,

  Deidra

  Three months later, Paul received an invitation to Deidra’s wedding and Robby pulled him from the burning wreck of his Mustang.

  Twenty-Five

  Paul didn’t see much social life during his years at Stanley University. He worked hard on writing, directing, and editing short films. For his senior project, he created a science fiction video about a man who went back in time, tried to make right the mistake that robbed him of his true love. The faculty ate it up. Not only did he make the prestigious Dean’s List, but Paul also had his film screened in the campus’ largest auditorium.

  There were occasional letters from a Deidra Shusett, but he threw them away unopened as soon as he saw the name. Paul wondered why she continued to write when he had yet to send her even a sentence in reply. There were times when he pictured her alone at a table in a dark house, wasting her time writing words his eyes would never see. Horrible as it might have been, the thought always brought a smile to his lips.

  In April of 1992, Paul attended a pre-graduation party at Hannigan’s Tavern. He’d been exhausted from his all-night editing sessions in the video production lab, but he’d made an appearance anyway, even had a few shots of some tropical concoction one of the guys sat in front of him, but he was still far from drunk. As in high school, he found it much more fun to watch the drunks than to join them.

  There’d been one other sober soul in the pub that night.

  Her name was Mary. She had curly blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and a lovely, innocent smile. She wore a thin pink sweater that hugged the curves of her breasts and a black skirt with matching stockings. He’d never seen legs more perfect in his entire life.

  They spent the next five hours talking and laughing about everything. Mary was a nice Catholic girl, set to graduate the following month with a degree in Psychology. While she couldn’t open an office and analyze rich housewives’ sexual dreams, she could be a counselor at a school or halfway house. In fact, she had just such a position lined up at a facility in Indianapolis. Special needs children. Emotional handicaps, mostly. Kids who needed a shoulder to cry on and someone to listen.

  They continued talking as Paul walked her home. Mary had a soft voice and an understanding ear. He could tell she’d be the best damn counselor the world had ever known. She also had an apartment on campus, and it just so happened her roommates had been gone for the weekend.

  “May I kiss you?” Paul asked her at her door.

  Mary had nodded, had closed her eyes as he touched his lips to hers. They somehow found their way inside to her couch where they made love as if it were their last night on earth.

  Two weeks later, they were engaged.

  On August twenty-second, 1992, they were married at St. Anthony’s Catholic Church. Paul hadn’t wanted to be married there, but Mary’s family church had been built like an amphitheater, and all her life she’d dreamed of a long aisle, lined in candles and flowers, huge stained-glass windows on either side. That description fit St. Anthony’s. So on that sunny Saturday afternoon, his bride-to-be walked down the aisle, walked right beneath the huge, golden-framed picture of Schongauer’s “The Temptation of St. Anthony,” and they said their vows under the watchful eyes of demons.

  Paul started as an editor for an Indianapolis video production company and quickly moved up the ranks. Soon he was writing and directing commercial spots and corporate training tapes. And, two years later, he’d started his own company.

  Mary continued to work at the children’s home. There were days she thought it was the greatest job in the world and there were nights she came home in tears. That was one of the reasons Paul had fallen in love with her. She cared about people. She cared deeply. It was on one of the crying nights, when he’d kissed away her tears, that they conceived their first child – a boy they named Christopher.

  In 1995, Paul and Mary were doubly blessed with a new home and a new baby. They built their house in the suburbs, as far away from cornfields as was possible in Indiana, and the baby had been the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given him. Part of him, the part that still played the Wide Game the way some veterans still fought the Vietnam War, didn’t feel he deserved such a wonderful child.

  Paul’s business continued to prosper and gain recognition. Mary continued to work at the group home, but on a part-time basis. Chris continued to grow and took up a lot of her time.

  In 1997, Mary discovered she was pregnant again. It wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Megan was born in June of 1998 to happy parents and an even happier grandmother. It was in fact the happiest time of Paul’s life ...

  ... until the phone call.

  Twenty-Six

  Paul had fallen out of the
habit of picking up the phone at his mother’s house years ago, probably about the same time he started calling it his mother’s house and not his own. But on this warm June day, when they’d come to show Lynn Rice her new granddaughter, Paul happened to be standing next to the phone in the living room when it rang, and he instinctively answered it.

  “Rice residence.”

  “Paul?” a woman’s voice asked through the line.

  “Yeah.” With the phone still at his ear, he turned to look at Megan. She was on her back on her Looney Tunes blanket, waving her arms wildly while Paul’s mother hovered over her with a camera. Mary sat on the couch with Chris in her lap, smiling down at Megan with loving eyes. Anyone who doubted the existence of love at first sight obviously wasn’t a parent.

  “Paul Rice?” asked the woman on the other end of the line.

  “Yeah. Who’s this, please?”

  “You don’t recognize the voice?”

  It did sound familiar to his ears, but he couldn’t place it. He was about to say as much when the caller answered her own question.

  “It’s Deidra.”

  The smile that had been blooming on Paul’s face wilted to a dumfounded frown. A starter’s pistol went off in his brain, sent his blood racing. He backed out of the room, drug the cord around the corner and into the hall.

  “You still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  He nodded, realized she couldn’t see it, then spoke. “Yeah. A long time.”

  “I hear you got married.” She spoke softly, arranged her words with care.

  “Yeah ... yeah, I did.” His eyes strayed to the wedding picture that hung on the wall, studying Mary’s smiling face. His eyes slammed shut. “So how’s your husband doing?”