Once More with Feeling

by Cynthia Baxter

  She was wondering whether the unrest rumbling inside her showed when Cam leaned over and planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  “I can’t imagine a more idyllic moment,” she replied diplomatically.

  “Good. You look happy.” He snuggled up even closer. “You know, I could get used to this.”

  “Lying on the floor stark naked?”

  He laughed gently. “That, too. But what I meant was, I could get used to having you around.”

  Laura’s muscles tensed.

  “I want you to move in with me, Laura, for you and Evan to be part of my life. Emily’s and Zach’s and Simon’s, too. I want to know that no matter how bad a day I have, I can always look forward to curling up with you in bed at night. I want to wake up in the morning and see you with your hair all messed up and your eyes half-closed. I even want to argue with you over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher and who’s stealing the covers.”

  “Cam, I—”

  “Look, I know you were terribly hurt by your marriage. I know what it did to you. But that’s all in the past. It’s time for you to get on with your life, Laura. And I want you to do it with me.”

  “You know I—”

  “No, Laura. I don’t want an answer right now. I know you’ve been grappling with this. That you’ve given us— and our future—a lot of thought. But so have I. And I want you. I want Evan, too.” He took a deep breath. “I want us to be a family.”

  She was silent for a long time. She couldn’t imagine a man more perfect than Cam. Nor could she envision a relationship more joyful, more rewarding ... more comfortable. It was the romance she’d daydreamed about—maybe not Julie’s storybook version but one about which she had no uncertainty, even in her most private moments.

  It was making the commitment to trying again with another man that gave her pause. Not only taking a risk for herself, but for her son as well. The stakes were so high. One marriage had already failed. Recovering had been an excruciating process. The emotional cost was higher than she’d ever anticipated.

  “I need more time. Cam,” she said.

  He said nothing. Instead, he simply wrapped his arms around her more tightly.

  ****

  She tries to run, but her feet are leaden. It—the terrible nameless faceless it—is getting closer and closer. She knows she has to get away, that her very survival depends upon being able to escape . . . but her feet are so heavy, so very, very heavy....

  Laura’s eyes opened to a room so dark she was unable to make out anything familiar. Her heart pounded. Rushes of adrenaline shot through her. The fear engulfing her was so strong she could hardly breathe.

  A dream, she told herself. It was only a dream.

  She knew she was awake. The demons of the night had vanished. Yet while she struggled to orient herself, too much champagne and not enough sleep clouded her brain. Blinking hard, she made out the outline of a window. The light of the moon was too dim for her to recognize any of the silhouettes around.

  And then she realized she wasn’t alone. She could feel the heat from someone else’s body, hear the rhythmic breathing of someone who slept. Abruptly she turned her head.

  A man was lying with his back to her. His broad shoulders, covered in a thick blanket, jutted upward.

  Roger, she thought.

  The panic of the dream followed her into consciousness.

  I have to get away. I don’t belong here.

  The terrible feeling of being trapped washed over her. Suddenly all that mattered was escaping. Her panic rising, Laura threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. She had to get away....

  “Laura?”

  The sound of Cam’s voice, so thick with sleep it was barely discernible, pulled her into the present. She was with Cam, not Roger. She was at his house, in his bed. She was safe.

  Yet instead of feeling comforted by the reality of the situation, the panic deepened.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. He leaned over and snapped on the light. Squinting, he reached for her. “Do you need anything?”

  “No. Yes, I—” Laura took a few deep breaths, waiting for the panic to subside.

  It’s Cam, not Roger, she kept telling herself. It’s all right.

  But it wasn’t.

  “Come back to bed,” he said, turning off the light.

  “I can’t sleep. I’m going downstairs.”

  Lying on the living room couch, curled up under two coats she’d pulled out of the front closet, Laura waited for the panic to subside. She was calmer new. The acuteness of the moment had passed. But fear still gnawed at her.

  What am I doing? she thought. I’ve barely gotten out of a marriage. Why am I rushing into another relationship? Why am I daring to trust?

  How could I possibly believe it could work out better this time? The hurt look on Julie’s face as she’d told Laura the tragic ending of her love story still haunted her. With years of anger and sorrow and disappointment to look back on, the idea of ever taking a risk like that again was terrifying.

  Hours earlier Cam had invited her to live with him. He’d asked her to share his life. It was what he wanted ... what he deserved. Yet the fear that gnawed away inside her kept her from being able to give it to him.

  We’re at different points in our lives, Laura thought miserably. He’s prepared to dive back in again, while I’m still trembling at the edge of the pool.

  She was still awake when the room began to lighten, the early morning sun gradually revealing that the ominous shapes surrounding her were a chair, a plant, a wooden trunk. The fear had stayed with her. But instead of inhibiting her, it enabled her to think clearly—more clearly, she decided, than she had in a very long time.

  When she heard Cam coming down the stairs, the fear gave way to dread. She sat up in time to see him come into the room. The expression on his face was grave.

  He sat down on the edge of the couch, far enough away so they weren’t touching. He looked at her expectantly, his eyes clouded, his expression troubled.

  He knows.

  “I was up most of the night, thinking,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “You must have been wrestling with something very difficult.”

  Laura nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “I was thinking about ... us. About me, really,” she added quickly. “Cam, I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I thought I was, but it’s just too complicated.”

  “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he insisted.

  “I don’t mean logistically. I mean emotionally. I don’t know what I want. I’m still too confused, sorting through too many feelings. . . .” She took a deep breath. “I guess the bottom line is that I’m simply too afraid.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been moving too fast. I’m not looking for a commitment—at least, not yet. But I’m also not looking for something casual. I need to feel you and I are moving toward something.”

  “I know. And you deserve that.” Laura lowered her eyes. “But I can’t give it to you.”

  She expected him to protest. She braced herself against a barrage of recriminations. Instead, he nodded sadly.

  “I understand.”

  It was only then she was able to look at him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking.

  It was Cam’s turn to look away. “I am, too.”

  * * * *

  Laura sat in front of the computer, pretending to be working. She was too numb, however, to concentrate on anything that required more brainpower than choosing what color socks to wear.

  Ever since the weekend before, she’d been acting like a zombie in a bad voodoo movie. That wasn’t entirely coincidental, since she felt like the walking dead. Her emotions were turned off like a light switch.

  Still, she welcomed her inability to feel. Not far below the surface, she knew, was a terrible pain. Once it got her in its grip, it could very well strangle her.

 
It’s for the best, she told herself for what had to be the millionth time. It’s simply the way it’s got to be.

  With a deep sigh, Laura forced herself to concentrate. The words Gertrude said stared back at her from her screen. Her hands were poised above the keyboard. The problem was that she had no idea what Gertrude said. Nor did she care. The world of imaginary jungle animals, meeting with ups and downs but invariably heading toward a happy ending, was suddenly alien.

  When the telephone rang, she barely glanced at it, and let the answering machine pick up. Lately, lifting the receiver had required too much exertion. Still, she couldn’t help hearing Gil’s voice, chirpier than she’d ever heard him.

  “... And I was wondering if you were free for lunch today—oh, hi, Laura. You’re there.”

  “Hello, Gil. Yes, I’m here. I’ve been screening my calls.”

  “Up for lunch?”

  Her first impulse was to say no. But there was something appealing about the idea of a shoulder to cry on. “Lunch sounds like precisely what I need.”

  She felt considerably more energetic an hour later as she pulled into the parking lot of the Starlight Diner, “their” restaurant. Getting out was probably a good idea. She especially appreciated the predictability of the situation: meeting Gil at the same time, at the same place ... probably sitting at the same booth, ordering the same lunch.

  He was waiting for her, menu in hand, cup of coffee at his side. As she slid into the booth and exchanged the usual pleasantries, Laura felt grateful he’d called. Wading around in the details of someone else’s doings had to be better than sitting around her apartment, drowning in ruminations about her own. She was already feeling better.

  “I guess I should congratulate you,” she told Gil after flagging down a coffeepot-bearing waiter and requesting her own jolt of caffeine.

  Gil was beaming. “Claire told you, huh?”

  Laura chuckled. “I’m surprised she hasn’t taken out a full-page ad in The New York Times. Seriously, I haven’t seen her this happy in years. She’s really crazy about you, Gil.”

  “I’m crazy about her. You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m in the wedding party!” Laura wondered if Gil had some pull as far as that business was concerned. Ever since Claire had broken the news to her that her duties as best friend included dressing up in an obscene amount of ribbons, lace, and ruffles, in some impossible-to-wear color like salmon pink or burgundy, she’d been desperate to find a way out.

  Then she remembered it was Claire she was dealing with. And this wasn’t even the strong, levelheaded version. This was Claire under a powerful spell, one that had her obsessing over things like the latest innovations in veils and the number of second cousins one was obliged to invite.

  “I know Claire’s really into planning this wedding.” Gil actually sounded proud. “And if I know her, it’s really going to be something. Hey, will I finally get to meet this Prince Charming of yours?”

  Laura looked down, suddenly feigning great interest in the ring of coffee that had spilled onto her saucer. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Too bad. He can’t make it?”

  She shook her head. “I sent the prince back to the castle.”

  “Gee, Laura, I’m sorry to hear that. For a while it sounded as if you two were really hitting it off.”

  “We were.”

  “I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes.” Gil shook his head sympathetically. “You think things are great, you think you really know the other person . . . and then something happens, totally out of the blue. He reveals something about himself or does something that exposes a different side—”

  “It wasn’t like that at all.” Laura hesitated. “It was me.”

  Glancing up she saw Gil was looking at her expectantly. “I just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship.”

  “That’s too bad. From what you said, he sounded like a great guy.” Laura could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “But hey, if the timing’s not right, what can you do? When you’re ready, you’ll find somebody.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. She wasn’t about to admit that she doubted she’d ever feel ready.

  “Well, you’re a good example,” she said. “Finding Claire, deciding you were ready to jump in, feet first ... Although I must admit, I was a little surprised when she told me the two of you were getting married.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Laura hesitated. “Because you had such a hard time getting over Melanie.”

  “Ah,” said Gil, shaking his finger at her, “but I finally did. And it’s all because I finally got my revenge.”

  Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “What did you do?” Images of pizzas being delivered to the house every hour on the hour were already running through her brain.

  “Simple. You’ve heard that expression ‘Living well is the best revenge*? Well, falling in love with Claire has turned out to be the best possible way of getting back at my ex-wife. That combined with the fact that from what I can tell, Melanie’s absolutely miserable with Roger.”

  “It does seem as if my old residence has become the Clover Hollow Horror.” Remembering Evan’s angry tirade, Laura shivered. “I suppose you’re right about Melanie not being any happier living with Roger than I was.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s taken to calling me on the phone, complaining about him. If I know my ex-wife, her new hobby is banging her head against the wall, moaning, ‘What have I done?’ ” The look on Gil’s face was one of absolute triumph. “There really is such a thing as justice.”

  After lunch, Laura sat in the car for a long time, thinking. For Gil, feeling that the score had finally been evened up had enabled him to let go of the past. “Living well”— especially when Melanie’s experience was turning out to be exactly the opposite—turned out to be just what the therapist ordered.

  Then why isn’t it enough for me? Laura wondered, frustrated.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Laura lay across a wrought-iron chaise lounge, sipping her breakfast coffee. She delighted in the fact that it was once again possible to be outdoors for more than five minutes without developing cold symptoms.

  Only weeks earlier the ornate lawn furniture, tucked into one corner of her landlady’s backyard, had been heavily shrouded in snow, looking like props in Dr. Zhivago. But spring, that insistent little devil, was once again fighting off Old Man Winter and pushing its way in. All but a few clumps of soot-dusted snow had melted. Even the monumental deposits left behind by the snow-plows, white fortresses that had lingered like insensitive guests, were now little more than molehills.

  Relief sweetened the air. The feeling reminded Laura of dozing off with a terrible headache, then waking up to discover that, miraculously, the throbbing pain was gone. There was also a bittersweet element to the balminess. A year earlier, when the world had felt this fresh and new, she and Julie had descended upon Claire’s apartment to pore over the World Watch literature and design the next chapter of Laura’s life.

  Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. It had been a month since she’d broken up with Cam. Twenty-six days, to be precise. She’d counted them carefully, like a prisoner making chalk marks on the wall. In an effort to lessen the pain, she’d packed away most of the things that reminded her of him. The photograph of the two of them standing at the edge of Wolf Lake, taken by Sandy the day before Laura left Alaska. His Christmas present to her, a gold charm shaped like a tree to commemorate their day at Rockefeller Center. The T-shirt printed with BOAS ARE BEAUTIFUL.

  Even so, the sadness lingered. It’s for the best, she told herself a hundred times a day.

  Besides, she couldn’t complain. She and her son had settled into an easy routine. On mornings like this, when Evan was at school, she was nearly overwhelmed by the exhilaration of total freedom. She was still close enough to her marriage to appreciate having escaped. By comparison, her present life was as fresh and new as the spring air. />
  Taking another sip of coffee, Laura thought about Gil and his obsession with getting revenge. She’d been skeptical at first, but lately she’d turned his idea into a sort of game. Lying in bed at night, she let her imagination run wild, concocting various schemes designed to even the score with Roger. Usually they came out like something Johnny Jaguar would’ve dreamed up. After indulging in a good chuckle, she’d finally drift off to sleep. By morning, her schemes were forgotten.

  Still, indulging in vengeful fantasies didn’t hurt anyone. Perhaps, she reasoned, they would even prove helpful in putting the past behind.

  Laura was about to go back into the house when Roger’s car turned up the driveway. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

  Through the windshield, she could see how earnest the expression on his face was. She automatically tensed.

  “Hi,” he called, climbing out of the car.

  As he walked toward her Laura was struck by how haggard he looked. His shoulders were slumped, his gait tired. His face, which she’d found handsome even during their worst arguments, looked drawn.

  In a flash of understanding, Laura knew what Daisy, the senior-most member of the Wednesday-night support group, had meant when she’d complained that her husband was getting old. Roger, too, had gotten old. He looked defeated, as if something inside him had simply given up.

  “Top o’ the morning,” she quipped. “I’d offer you some coffee, but this is the last of it.”

  “That’s okay. I just had some.”

  He stood in front of her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. An awkward silence hung over them.

  “Is this purely a social call?” she finally asked, her tone pleasant.

  He cast her a wary glance.

  “Maybe you’d better have a seat,” Laura suggested.

  Roger lowered himself into me wrought-iron chair next to her. She was struck by the contrast between the tension in the air and me picnic-like setting of their tête-à-tête.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for some time, Laura.”