The Wide Game

by Michael West

  “You requested this, didn’t you?”

  A hint of her old smile, the one he’d once compared to that of an angel. “It’s a little too maudlin, I know, but all the other ones I thought of requesting were even worse.”

  Paul didn’t know what was on his face, he felt totally numb, but whatever it was caused her smile to falter and she lowered her head to avoid his gaze.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said to his shoes.

  “No.”

  “You don’t even know what it is.”

  “I have an idea, and I’m not gonna go down that road with you tonight.” His voice was colder than he wanted it to be, but so be it. Part of him thought she deserved the cold shoulder. “You made your choice.”

  “Guess I deserve that.” Her voice was soft, concentrated. She lifted her eyes to him again; they glistened in reflected light from the mirrored ball above. “But, right or wrong, I need to tell you this, and if I don’t tell it to you now I’ll never have the balls to even try again.”

  “Fine. Say what you need to say.”

  “I love you, Paul,” she told him. “I never stopped ... really, I never stopped. All I ever wanted from God was someone who loved me, really loved me ... and He sent me you. God, how you loved me. You never lied to me, you kept all your promises ... anything I wanted, you gave it to me without argument, without question. But I thought it was too perfect ... I thought you were too perfect.”

  “Nobody’s perfect, Deidra.”

  “You were too perfect for me. I wasn’t ... I wasn’t worthy of your devotion.” She sighed and looked at the ceiling, at the dancing circles of light that spun there. The muscles in her throat flexed and tightened; when her eyes found his again, they brimmed with tears. “At least, that’s what I thought back then. So, what do I do? I do to you the same thing guys had done to me: I just walked away. I ... I hurt you. I’ve tried to tell myself that ... that those things split us up, that if we’d never played the game, if my mother hadn’t been killed, we’d still be together. Married. But, you’re right; it was my choice to leave. I screwed everything up. I know that, okay? I just want ...” She tugged at the chain around her throat, pulled its full length from beneath the neckline of her blouse. A half circle of gold hung from its clasp, the same charm he’d given her before the Wide Game. It caught the lights of the dance floor and flirted with him. “I want to turn back the clock. I want everything to be like it was ... before the game. I want it with all my heart, Paul.” Her voice faltered. She let the charm fall to her breasts and looked back down at her feet. “The question is what do you want?”

  Paul shook his head. “My wife is here.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “What am I supposed to say, Deidra?”

  “That you never stopped loving me, that there’s a hole in your heart your wife can’t fill.”

  Paul reached up, touched the broken gold disk, his thumb skating across the missing half of the Bible quote etched into its surface. He felt his own fragment of the charm burn a hole in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to bring it out. He wasn’t going to show her he’d kept it. That would be admitting she was right. But there was truth to what Deidra said, even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it openly. There was a dark pit in his heart – in his soul – not even Mary could light. For three years, he’d waited for Deidra to come to him, to say the exact same words in the exact same way, but she hadn’t and now it was too late. He wanted to say this to her, to be honest about it, but the only words he could find were, “I’m sorry.”

  He let the charm fall back against Deidra’s chest and backed away.

  “Listen to me, Paul. Please! Would it kill you to listen?”

  She grabbed his wrist, tried to halt his retreat, but this time he shook free of her and hurried from the dance floor. His forehead and neck throbbed in time with his heart and he loosened the tourniquet of his tie, tried to breathe. He needed to get out of this humid gym, to get away.

  The men’s restroom hadn’t moved in the ten years he’d been gone. Paul threw the door open and rushed inside. It stank of old cigarette smoke and urine, just as he remembered. Several solitary men stood at the urinals, but they knew the “eyes forward” drill and did not turn to look at him. He moved past them to one of the stalls, pushed the swinging door closed behind him and saw that some aspiring artist had scrawled PORK SUCKS THE BIG ONE above the portrait of a huge penis on the back of it.

  Ahhh, Paul thought in spite of the whirlwind in his skull, the classics never die.

  He sat down on the toilet, let his head rest against the tiled wall behind him; the cool ceramic reverberated against his skull, muffled music from the gym. He covered his eyes with his hands and massaged his temples.

  So what’s the plan? Paul asked himself. We just gonna sit here avoiding her and hope she goes home?

  Put like that, it suddenly didn’t sound like much of a plan at all.

  Someone opened the restroom door, allowed the dance music in, and Paul heard a sharp click-clack against the tiled floor, like someone walking in stiletto heels. One of the guys at the urinals hurriedly zipped up, another cried, “Hey!” Paul knew what was happening, but when Deidra threw the stall door open, his body jerked in surprise just the same. She stood there, her face as red as her hair, burning with frustration, anger, and – he supposed – love.

  “I just poured my heart out to you and you run and hide in a fuckin’ bathroom like I gave you cooties at recess?”

  One of the guys from the urinals hurried past her, eyed the deep-cut V of Deidra’s naked back with a blend of amusement and annoyance, then glanced up Paul.

  “This is a men’s room!” Paul told Deidra as if it were news, his face warm with embarrassment.

  “Then what are you doing in here acting like a little boy?”

  “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “I just told you I still love you. You could show some fucking interest.”

  “You want me to go, ‘Awwww ... poor Deidra’?”

  “No, I thought you’d want to tell me how you feel for once.”

  “For once –?”

  “Ten years of letters and not even a fucking word. I bet if your Mom had Caller I.D. on her phone you wouldn’t have answered my call either.”

  “Look, Deidra, it was no secret how I felt about you. I told you I loved you, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life loving you. You didn’t want to hear it then and I’m sure as hell not going to give you the satisfaction of hearing it now.”

  “Because you feel guilty about your wife?”

  “Because it’s over.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I didn’t think we were ever going keep secrets from one another.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She stepped into the stall with him. Paul thought she might close the door and climb onto his lap, press her body against his as she had their first time together. She wore a skirt after all. It would take no effort to slide her panties to one side. He could be inside her in a matter of seconds, moving in her warmth, the warmth a piece of him was cold without. As he thought all of this, he felt himself stir and he balled his hand into a fist, dug the nails into his palm to make the dirty sensations stop before there was no way for him to ever be clean again.

  But Deidra didn’t close the door. She tapped his chest with her finger, her face as stern as a teacher giving discipline. “Nothing will ever be over between us, not as long as you keep running from it.”

  “You’re one to talk about running away, bitch,” Paul shouted, his voice harsh, cruel, his hands still fisted and shaking. At that moment, he wanted so much to hate her. He wanted his hate to rise up and strike down any surviving love, any remaining lust. He wanted his anger to burn it all away. “I can’t believe I even bothered to save your life.”

  “Fine.” Her eyes, close to tears, became thin slivers. “Good-bye, Paul.”

  She turned aw
ay, started to sob, and, in that moment, the feelings he’d tried so desperately to kill called out to her, “Deidra?”

  Her heels made loud clicks against the tile as she hurried across the room.

  Paul stood up and moved after her in spite of himself. “I’m sorry, Deidra.”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t look back.

  “I said I’m sorry.” He reached out for her shoulder as she opened the men’s room door, turning her back to him. “Wait a second.”

  “You really think the game is over?” Deidra said, her voice splintering, then she repeated, “Nothing’s over as long as you run from it.”

  She shook off his hand and rushed through the doorway. Paul followed her out, watched her nearly stumble and fall between the tables, regain her balance, then almost run right into a couple and spill their drinks. She excused herself and moved quickly into the dimness of the gymnasium, melted into the crowd until she faded from his sight.

  Paul stood in front of the men’s room, his hands still clenched, throbbing from the pain of his fingernails digging in. You really think the game is over? Her words had left him feeling afraid, sweating. Nothing’s over as long as you run from it.

  A hand slapped his shoulder and he nearly jumped clear of his skin.

  It was Robby. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “What are you doing?” Paul asked with irritated uneasiness.

  “Relax, I’m not spyin’ on you or anything. I can’t believe how cool Mary is with you and Deidra dancin’ together. If it were my wife –”

  “You don’t have a wife.”

  “But if I did, I can imagine she’d cut off my Johnson before she’d let me get close to one of my old fucks.”

  Same old Robby, Paul thought abruptly. Charming as ever.

  Robby pointed to the men’s room door with his thumb. “Anyway, I’m just here to take a piss.” He looked around curiously. “Where is Deidra, anyway?”

  “She left.”

  “You call her a cunt and tell her to stay outta your life?”

  “Something like that,” Paul said, troubled.

  “Good for you.” Robby flashed a supportive – and maybe even a little surprised – smile, patted Paul on the back, then gave a quick look over his shoulder to the restroom and backed away. “Gotta go. See you back at the table?”

  Paul nodded. “Sure. Yeah.”

  He walked back over to Mary. She sat alone, looking off into space in serene contemplation. Paul wondered what she thought about. Probably wondering if you’re going to come back to her or run off to Mexico for a quick divorce. Now why would he think that? Mary had not shown even a twinkle of jealousy or worry. It was as if she knew him better than he knew himself, as if she were absolutely confident in his love for her.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he said as he took his seat. “What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing all alone in this dive?”

  She blinked and turned her eyes to him, blushing. “Watching my husband having a good time at his reunion.” Her expression turned doubtful. “At least that’s what I hope I was doing. Where’s your girlfriend?”

  Paul’s mouth popped open and he found himself mute. He suddenly remembered his thoughts in the bathroom stall, when he believed Deidra might try and have him right then and there. Were they written on his face now for Mary to read?

  “Hello?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered. Then took a deep breath. “I don’t even know if she’s a friend.”

  Mary reached over to brush a few sweat-soaked strands of hair from his forehead. “What happened?”

  “I said some things to her, hurtful things. They just popped right out of my stupid mouth.”

  “She still loves you,” Mary said thoughtfully. Paul was surprised that it wasn’t in the form of a question. “Your mother told me about the letters Deidra writes to you, the ones you have her throw away.”

  Paul went pale and held his head in his hands.

  “She’s never going to be able to get on with her life if she doesn’t get to talk to you about this, if you don’t listen.”

  Spoken like a true counselor, Paul thought, but he didn’t say it.

  “And, if you don’t talk to her, you may not be able to get past it either.”

  Paul bit his lip. “What should I do, Doc?”

  She reached out and took his hand into hers. “I think you know where she’s going.”

  Paul nodded. After what she’d said, he was terrified he knew exactly where to find her.

  “Then go after her,” Mary whispered. “Find her and talk this thing out.”

  Paul shook his head. He finally knew what Mary wanted from him. For years, she’d known that ghosts she could not see nor even hope to understand haunted him. And as long as he was caught up in the past, in Deidra, in the fucking game, he was only half a husband to her. Mary deserved so much more than that. Paul knew that, and, even if she would never openly say it to him, she knew it too. “God, I love you.”

  “I know you do,” she said finally. “That’s why it’s okay for you to go.”

  “Hey, kids,” Robby said as he walked up to the table. Paul rose. “Robby, do you think you could take Mary back to my Mom’s house?”

  “Oh-kay.” His eyebrows gave a quizzical leap. “What gives?”

  Paul did not reply. He bent down, gave Mary a soft kiss, told her again how much he loved her, then made his way to the door. In his heart, it was not love or even lust for Deidra that stirred and stretched.

  It was fear.

  Twenty-Eight

  A full moon watched over the northern fields like a glowing cyclopean eye. The rows of corn stretched outward – on, and on, and on. Endless. Green and ready for the harvest. Just being near the stalks at night brought on a dull, phobic feeling that lanced Paul’s brain and made his throat pulse.

  What am I doing out here? This is utterly ...

  The word he searched for was ‘crazy,’ but his mind suddenly experienced a kind of aphasia and he was unable to even think it.

  What’s a flock of crows called?

  He gave his head a shake and slid his sweaty hands into his pockets. His right hand found the broken half-charm resting on a coil of chain and the fangs of its jagged edge bit into his palm.

  Jesus, get me through this night.

  He stood next to the driver’s side door of the Jeep for what seemed like a long time. The white clouds of gravel dust the Cherokee kicked off the road had settled and he could no longer hear the steady drip ... drip ... drip as condensation from the air conditioner struck engine parts on its way to the ground. He took a deep breath, then crossed the grassy slope that separated him from Deidra.

  She was there, just as he knew she would be, standing at the edge of the field, the wind roaming through her blazing hair. Her fingers played with the chain around her neck, the charm blinking in the moonglow. A lightning bug buzzed by, illuminating her glistening cheek with its hazard beacon.

  “Go away.” She wiped at her face, glared at him, sorrow and rage dancing in the darkness of her eyes. “Just ... just go.”

  He stopped his approach. In his pockets, his hands were shaking. He watched waves billow across the sea of corn, then lowered his head. His eyes burned and he fought to keep the scalding tears from boiling over.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t know what I was even saying until I’d said it. It’s just that ... this whole reunion has me thinking about the Goddamn game again. I can’t ever seem to really stop thinking about it. I think I do, but I know it’s always there in my brain.” He hesitated to go on, looking over at Deidra to see if she was even hearing him. He couldn’t tell. She looked out at the corn, watched the stalks bow gently to the wind. “We came so close to losing –”

  “We did lose,” Deidra blurted out. “We lost everything that matters.”

  “We survived.”

  “And what a great joy surviving has been.”

  Paul looked up at the moon. It was so full
and bright, so ... familiar. He sighed. “You gave me Misery.”

  “Excuse me?” She flashed him a look close to betrayal.

  “February 14th, 1988. You gave me a hardcover copy of Stephen King’s Misery.”

  She nodded, her face showed a hint of a smile. “I remember.”

  “Do you remember what you wrote inside?”

  Deidra shook her head, but in her face he saw vague familiarity.

  “‘For Paul, my only friend, my only love, the one who’s always there to listen to my fears and hold me until they go away. I’ll love you forever.’”

  She looked out at the corn. “Sounds like me.”

  “After you wrote me ...”

  “A Dear John letter.” There was regret in Deidra’s voice.

  Paul nodded. “I took that book off the shelf and thought, ‘She gave me Misery, how appropriate is that?’”

  “Paul –”

  “Let me finish.” She nodded slowly and he went on, “The truth is ... I kept telling myself that to help me try to get over you. But it didn’t help. You hurt me so much, and I desperately needed to hate you. But I couldn’t. Hard as I try, I can’t hate you, Deidra. The time we spent together ... it wasn’t misery. Whenever I look back on my life, it’s you I think about. Even with all the ... with everything that happened, your love is a wonderful memory.”

  A long stretch of silence followed, broken only by the short symphonies of crickets, and then Deidra angrily swept her cheek with her fingers. “It was so stupid to think you’d drop everything for me.”

  He looked at her, his chest and throat aching as he spoke. “There’s this part of me that wants to, this part where you still live, this part that will always love you.” He swallowed. “But, like I said, that’s all just a memory now.”

  Deidra looked at him. “I miss you. Every moment of every day for ten years.” And then she returned her gaze to the swaying stalks. “You know what I keep thinking about?”