by Sally John
Huh? She felt her head bob. He listened to her prattle? And liked it?
“I like your teasing and flirting and making people feel good. I guess…”He shrugged. “Well, I’ve thought about what you said earlier, how I don’t tell you things. You know, I talk all day at the office. I guess I get talked out.”
So his patients and staff were more important to him than she was? She squeezed her hands together on her lap, determined to let him talk.
“And at home or when we’re out, you always speak for both of us, and that’s okay by me. You’re much better at it. I’ve told you that.”
The compliment sounded vaguely familiar. He had told her… “Twenty years ago,” she quipped and bit her tongue so hard an “Ow!” slipped out before she could stop it.
“What?”
“I bit my tongue. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.”
“Well, twenty years is a long time. I’ll give you that.” His puppy brown eyes shimmered as if full of tears.
And she wilted.
He said, “It’s mostly you I talk about all day long. You and the kids. Patients always ask. I tell them all about your volunteer work, how you run the school and the women’s clubs. I tell them about what you cook. About your trip here with old friends. About your latest—what is it? Kickboxing?”
Close enough. She nodded. “I had no idea.”
“I assumed you would know.” He paused. “You don’t love him?”
“Todd?” A flirtation, a crush, a coping mechanism. But love? “No. I love you.”
“Yet he can give you what I don’t?”
“To a certain extent. He gave me attention, Cam, the kind women want.”
“But I take care of you. I work and pay the bills. Isn’t that more important? Isn’t that attention enough?”
“You just described what my father did for me. I don’t need another father. So, no, it’s not enough.” She thought of chateaubriand and knights in shining armor. How could she make him understand?
“It’s not enough,” he repeated her words, his forehead creased. “Okay. Where do I start? I can’t undo the past. I can’t conceive the future. What do you want from me right now this very moment?”
That was an easy one. When she whispered to God in her heart that morning, walls of pride crumbled and His forgiveness poured in. A few bricks remained, though. She saw that clearly now because she hesitated to reply. But honestly! In the deluge of her “I’m sorrys,” he hadn’t once extended forgiveness. Why should she be the first one to ask for it? After all, if he’d been a better husband, they wouldn’t be in this mess.
And then she saw the tenderness in his raised brows, in the downturned set of his mouth. He longed to understand.
Well, somebody had to go first. “What I want, what I need, is your forgiveness.”
“You have that.” Not even a heartbeat separated his words from hers. “That goes without saying.”
Relief flowed through her. Quick on its heels, though, came frustration. Nothing could go without saying! That was the problem! Why couldn’t he—She gulped in a lungful of air and held it. Her husband had forgiven her.
She released the breath. “Oh, Cam. Thank you. I don’t deserve it, but I don’t know how I would go on if you didn’t forgive me.”
“I hear the dumbest stories from patients. Either about themselves or others, about how they’d rather be bitter and self-righteous than to forgive a spouse.” He shook his head. “Divorces right and left.”
She simply stared at him. All right, she did believe aliens could inhabit humans.
“Char, you don’t want a divorce, do you?”
“Oh my word!” Her voice rose several octaves. “No! Do you?”
“Of course not. What would I do without you? You keep me going.”
“I do?”
He gazed at her, and she suddenly realized he had maintained eye contact since closing the menu. “You didn’t know that?”
“Not a clue, sugar.”
“I should have said something?”
She nodded.
“Will you forgive me? For not saying things I should have? For not noticing you?”
There was only one answer to that question.
“Yes, of course I forgive you.”
For the first time in ever so long, he smiled directly at her, his entire face engaged.
Like a thirsty desert nomad coming at last upon an oasis, she tasted the water cautiously, taking tiny sips, giving the dry pockets of herself time to absorb it.
And hoping with all her might that it flowed from a perpetual source.
An unobtrusive waiter served the many dishes Cam had chosen. As usual he inhaled his miso soup, sushi, and an entire platter of tempura. But he also managed to talk nonstop.
Char, dumbstruck at moments, nibbled and wondered what had uncorked him. First his ears—so obvious in the way he heard her—and now it seemed his vocal cords were set free as well. At times she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
Halfway through his yakisoba, he said, “Char, he’s our neighbor. I can’t pretend that nothing happened.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“He should apologize.”
“Yes, but I doubt that’ll happen. He left a voice mail, cursing me up one side and down the other. I think he will avoid us at all costs.”
“He swore at you?”
“Yes.”
“He’s always seemed like a nice, regular sort of guy. Friendly. Returns my tools in good shape.”
“Cam, he’s a womanizer. And I fell for it.”
Chopsticks in midair, he gazed at her. “You were that desperate for attention?”
“Yes.”
He set down the sticks, the bite uneaten. “Char, I am sorry. I just didn’t know.”
She shrugged.
“Thank you for calling last night. I know you’re giving me another chance. I don’t want to blow it this time. Tell me what I should do. Tell me how to be. I want to guarantee that you won’t need a Todd anymore.”
Whew! He got it! Molly must have been praying up a storm. Cam actually got it! And he was giving her carte blanche!
She blinked back tears of gratitude. “Cam, that’s like handing me a blank check.”
“Well, fill in the blanks and I’ll see what I can do.”
Batting her eyelashes like crazy did not help.
Fill in the blanks?
Punch Todd Brooks in the nose for real.
At the least, call him a few dirty names to his face.
Turn off the television.
Lose fifty pounds.
Give me surprise gifts. Flowers will do.
Just pay attention.
Tell me what you’re thinking. Communicate.
Remember my birthday.
No. None of those were it, not exactly.
“There’s really only one thing.” Her voice was unsteady.
“Okay.”
The floodgates threatened to split open again. She locked her jaw into place.
He leaned forward. “And that is…what?”
Fighting for control, she whispered quickly, “Call me honey-buns.”
“Call you—huh? I do call you that. I’ve always—”
She raised her brows.
“I do! I distinctly see myself coming home after work and saying—”
She cut him off with a tilt of her head. “When was that?”
“When?” A sheepish expression spread over his face. “When we lived in the apartment.”
She nodded.
“Maybe our first house too.”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Thank You, God.
Looking lost in thought, he picked up his chopsticks, set them back down, and then leaned toward her again. “Why is this little thing such a big deal to you?”
She sighed inwardly. They weren’t at square one. They were in a subterranean basement with no exit posted. Evidently the closure of one ba
ttle only cleared the way for another. She was not going to give up now, though. If she had to explain until she was blue in the face, she would do so. She swallowed the weepy feeling.
“Cam, sugar, ‘honey-buns’ is a big deal because it speaks volumes to me. It says you give a hoot. It says you notice me. It says you won’t leave me.”
“Leave? You thought I would leave you?”
“I didn’t consciously think it.” Her heart felt squeezed as if in a vice.
And then, right there, with a plate piled high with sukiyaki in front of her and Asian music twanging from a speaker overhead, she put two and two together. The feeling was old, familiar. It was one of great loss.
She looked at him. “Mama left. Daddy left, in a sense. He was so incapable of expressing emotion, and then he married what’s-her-face. One by one Jo, Molly, and Andie left.”
“And I left. Physically with long hours at the office. Emotionally.”
She whispered, “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” He held his hand out to her.
She untwisted the napkin from her fingers and laid a hand in his, unable to speak.
“I think I have the funds to cover that check.” He smiled. “Honey-buns.”
They went to the beach and sat side by side on the seawall, facing the dark ocean.
Char slipped her hand into Cam’s. “Sugar, I am so glad you came.”
“So am I.” He squeezed her fingers. “Honey-buns.”
She smiled. He had called her that at least a dozen times in the past half hour.
He said, “I didn’t know what I was going to do once I got here. I didn’t know what you would do. I only knew I had to get here.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t reply immediately. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Pretend like it’s not.”
“Well, because I love you!”
“Thank you. I like hearing that. And I love you.”
He touched her face. “I’m sorry for being so slow.”
“But you came after me, halfway across the country.”
“You shook me up, honey-buns.” He lowered his hand and gazed toward the water. “You made me feel anger and fear.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I haven’t felt anything good or bad for a long time.”
“What?”
“The truth is, Char, I’m bored silly with life.”
“Huh?”
“I hate dentistry.”
“Cam! You’ve always enjoyed it.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Never have. It was the thing to do, what with Dad retiring and the business all in place. I’d grown up under his tutelage. It was the easiest thing to step into. And it took care of the money issue. I wouldn’t have to think about that.” He held out his hands, inspecting them. “Look at these. They should be doing something else, like playing football.”
“Football?” Char couldn’t think straight. He’d played in high school. “You want to play football?”
“No. It’s just that these are not dentist hands. My mind is not a dentist’s. There’s got to be something more to life!”
Chateaubriand. He had an inkling that matched hers! He too was tired of duck soup! He wanted complexity!
“Honey-buns, you woke me up. I can say it out loud now. I don’t want to be a dentist. Whew! That felt so good I’ll say it again. I don’t want to be a dentist! Think about it. We live in Chicago, one of the most exciting cities in the world, but day in and day out, five and a half days a week, year in and year out, I’m staring into people’s mouths. I might as well be in the middle of Nebraska! Do you know what I want to do?”
“What?”
He grinned. “Own a restaurant.”
“A restaurant?” Someone could have knocked her over with a feather. “A restaurant?”
“Yes. I have always wanted to do that.”
“You have?” News to her.
“Yes. I never told you that?”
From somewhere deep in her throat a laugh started. “Camden Wilcox! You never tell me a darn thing!”
He laughed with her. “That makes us even.”
“Okay. Even steven. Now you know what I want, and I know what you want.”
“So what do you think?”
“You’re serious? A restaurant? Well, uh, color me flabbergasted.” She scrambled to find encouraging words for the most bizarre thing he had ever uttered. “It, uh, sounds…interesting. You…you like food. You know food. Are you thinking maybe you could buy a place already going? Sort of have it on the side, like a hobby?”
“No, Char.” His smile stretched. “I want to open my very own. I want to run it myself. Day-to-day operations.”
She felt her eyes bulge.
“Not the cooking part, of course. I’d have to find a really good chef. That’s the secret. And location. Like in that strip mall they’re renovating on Fifth. Imagine starting from scratch. Creating menus. Hiring staff. Advertising. Outfitting the place. Maybe make it a California theme. This beach environment here is stimulating, isn’t it? Imagine replicating it in the Midwest.” He stopped, and his smile faded. “We’d lose money. Prestige. We’d all have to pitch in. The kids too.” He heaved a sigh. “That’s why I never pursued it. Shoot, I never even thought much about it, let alone pursued it. Ah, forget I said anything.”
She blinked, still digesting his wild ideas. He actually had a dream! He was talking! And now he was giving up?
“No, Cam, I don’t think I will forget you said anything. As I live and breathe, this is the first heartfelt thing you’ve communicated to me in eons. I will not ignore such an event.” She paused for effect. “I do, however, have one question.”
Shadows hid his eyes, but he faced her. The streetlamp cast light on his mouth, now settled back into its habitual straight line. Oh! How she had already—in a short couple of hours—grown accustomed to its upturn! To its free movement releasing words upon words!
Come on, Cam. Don’t leave me now.
Molly would pray. Well, she could too.
Dear God, help. Please?
She said, “Do you want to hear the question?”
He shrugged.
She elbowed him. “You can do better than that.”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Ask it.”
“Can we serve chateaubriand?”
“Chateaubriand?”
“You know. Double-thick beef tenderloin.”
“Center cut. With sauce?”
“And fixings. Potatoes, other vegetables. As complex as we can make it.”
A slow grin made its way across his broad face. “Sure. Whatever you want, honey-buns.”
“Okay, Cam. Then you should think about it. Dream big.”
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
They smiled at each other.
And then he kissed her. And she kissed him back. And she knew she wouldn’t be returning Jo’s car to the beach house until sometime tomorrow.
Fifty-Four
Andie awoke with a start in the middle of the night. Where was she? Where was the clock? Odd shadows filled the room. The steady whoosh of the ocean was loud, very near.
And then she remembered. Spend the night alone in a motel. She had added a postscript to the final test: with the window open.
When she had gone to bed, she imagined Molly’s baby in a similar environment, one of uttermost safety. The rhythmic sounds and the sensation of floating had lulled her to sleep.
Snuggling deeper under the covers, she smiled. She felt no fear.
Then why was she awake? So wide awake?
She moved around until she saw the digital clock. It read two forty-seven. Not exactly time to get up.
But that was what she wanted to do. She felt a sudden urgent desire to not sleep through her all-night adventure. Something might be missed!
She rolled from the bed and wrapp
ed herself in a blanket. Although she hadn’t packed a robe, she had brought along herbal tea bags and now brewed a cup. Like that first night after Molly had dragged her outside to the seawall, she felt drawn to the mystery of ocean and stars. She carried her mug out onto the tiny deck area and leaned against the railing.
The evening’s cloud cover had dissipated and the stars shone.
“Lord, You are awesome! To think You made all this and bother to notice me. We made it through that list of fears with flying colors, didn’t we?”
What a day it had been! She thought of Julian, Zeke, Jelly, the roller coaster attendant, the woman beside her in the Japanese restaurant. “You surrounded me with angels, didn’t You?”
She had never felt so contented, so at peace, so loved, so spilling over with love, love to give away. Did all this have to end? Three days remained to spend with her friends, and then it would be time to go back home and pick up life where it had left off what felt like an eternity ago. Then what? Would it all end?
Spunky Andie was not going to fit into that mold.
“Point-blank, Lord. I am tired of kowtowing to a man who tells me with every glance I am worthless and who has a girlfriend and probably has had others in the past. I know You died for him, Jesus. You took these sins against me into Yourself. So with Your help, I can forgive him.” Her shoulders dropped, as if the struggle left her. “Yes, I do forgive him. But I refuse to accept the status quo.”
She winced slightly and waited.
No fire rained from the heavens. No voice boomed condemnation. No fear rattled in her chest or choked her throat.
“Okay.” She calmly sipped her tea. “Now what do we do?”
At four AM Andie curled up with her cell on the chair next to the cottage window and listened to another phone ringing. Not wanting to disturb the boys by calling the house, she had dialed Paul’s cell number. The thing was like another appendage for him.
Her heart pounded away, doing its thunder rendition, resonating in her chest, throat, and ears.
Lord.
The ringing stopped. “Hi there!” Paul’s exuberant voice came through above another one that sounded like a newscaster’s. “Hold on. Let me turn this down.” The noise dimmed. “Miss me already, darlin’?”
Andie’s heart went into double-time and felt as if it would bound from her chest. He hadn’t checked the caller ID. He was driving.
