Chapter 7
A few days before his ex-wife was due to arrive in Orlando, she sent him an email confirming her hotel contact information and inviting him to meet her for lunch at the Gaylord Palms Resort on Thursday. He considered canceling the meeting, but he really did want to see her, and something made him reply with the simple message: I'll see you then.
On the appointed day, he got held up in traffic and arrived at the hotel a few minutes late. Deborah was already seated in the restaurant. The first thing he noticed as he approached the table was that she was extremely thin. She had always been slim and athletic. Now she looked positively gaunt. He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the frightening thoughts that fired off one after another in the back of his mind.
They chatted for a while. She had advanced to the main news anchor position at the top-rated TV station in Denver. That was actually quite a wonderful accomplishment, but, given what he knew to be her network aspirations, he felt sure she saw it as a career failure. He made some would-be consoling remark about how the networks would be calling soon. She made a face.
They ordered lunch. He noticed that she merely pushed her food around on her plate. He did not see her take even a bite. Among the bad thoughts kept bubbling up in his mind, first on the list was an eating disorder. She was older than the typical anorexic, but her personality fit the profile almost perfectly. He didn't say anything, but he watched her fork as it moved her food around the plate and never once ventured in the direction of her mouth, and his worries boiled over.
She asked him a lot of questions about his life and career in recent years. He answered truthfully, without too much elaboration. He asked her questions. She answered briefly and with a remarkable degree of disinterest in her own life and career.
When he had finished eating his lunch, she paid the bill, over his protests. They walked out of the restaurant side-by-side. He noted that he had not received the promised apology. He didn't say anything about that, however, because he felt that they were not finished. She stopped next to the elevator, and said, “I need to talk to you, but I would like to have this part of our conversation in private. We booked a suite with a sitting room. Would you feel terribly uncomfortable if I invited you to my room?”
For some reason that made him want to cry. Actually, he felt that he would give almost anything for her to invite him to her room ... for real. He was astonished (not to mention appalled with himself) to realize that was true. The emotional impact of that rendered him speechless, so he merely shook his head and followed her to the elevator.
As he walked into her suite, Ray got the next big jolt of the afternoon. Her husband walked out of the bedroom and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She introduced Ray to Carl Bashears. Carl shook his hand, and looked quickly from Ray to Deborah. She evidently gave him some kind of signal, and he said, “Well, you two have some catching up to do. I think I'll run downstairs to the pool bar for lunch. I'll be back in a little while.”
Deborah sat down on the love seat and motioned Ray to a club chair facing her. He sat, feeling a little like a school kid facing a very tough lesson. She looked at him with sad eyes for a long time, “As I told you, I feel that I owe you an apology. For a long time, I didn't see it that way. For many years, I was very, very angry with you. It seemed to me that at the most important moment of my life, you shut me out and turned your back on me. I was hurt and angry for a long time. Only after I married Carl and learned about the give and take of communications in a good marriage did I realize the terrible thing I did to you when I simply assumed that you would turn your back on a long and very successful career and follow me, without ever discussing it.
“It only gradually dawned on me that we were both wrong. I should have talked to you about my ambition so we could have decided together the best way to reconcile our divergent career paths. I think we could have worked something out if we had talked about it. But we didn't. I assumed you would follow me. You assumed I would leave you, and you made the decision to let me go without a fight. Today as I sit here, despite the happiness I have found with Carl, I believe with all my heart there had to have been some kind of middle way for us if we had made the effort to find it.
“The sad fact is that we didn't talk about it at all. I was ready to go charging off to Denver at the first invitation. You could never live that far inland. We each made assumptions without talking it through. We wronged each other terribly. I am able to say today that I am sorry for making the assumptions I did. I am sorry I simply assumed you would ditch a career, into which you already had invested a couple of decades, to follow me across the country to a place where you would have shriveled up and died. I loved you with my heart, soul and body, but my mind couldn't get past its own ambition. I couldn't look at my big career opportunity from your perspective. I am sorry. I really am.”
They were both quiet for a while. Ray was battling tears. Deborah seemed far, far away.
She continued with difficulty, “As much as it was difficult and as much as I think we could have done it differently, maybe it was just as well. You've had a wonderful career. Who would have imagined a print reporter from such a small market would end up with two Pulitzer prizes?! My God, Ray, you have no idea how big a deal that would be to almost every reporter in the world except you!
“I've had a fair career, but I've had an even better personal life. I love Denver! I got involved in the community from the first day I arrived and have sunk my roots more deeply with each passing year. I met Carl about ten years ago. We married five years ago, and have adored each other every minute of every day since. He has two grown children who have produced four grandchildren since we've been married. I highly recommend grandparent-hood! I skipped the responsibilities and pains of parenthood, and went straight for the enjoyment of being a grandma. It's been wonderful.
“Anyway, I've had a more or less fantastic life in Denver. That doesn't make me any less regretful for the way I hurt you. I needed to say that.
“I needed to see you and to have this conversation now because I am very sick. Correction: I am dying.
“A few months ago I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. There is very little the doctors can do for my kind of cancer. We've tried radiation and chemo, with no improvement. There is nothing else to be done. I've switched to what they call palliative care. That means I only take pain medication, no therapy. I'm simply living my life as fully as I can until the time comes for me to die.
“I have good days and bad days. The bad days are increasing in frequency and in intensity. The doctors say I don't have much longer to be able to be out and about. We have made arrangements for hospice care when that time comes. I think that time may be coming sooner than I ever imagined.
“That's why I wanted to see you now. I wanted to apologize, and I wanted to say good-bye.”
Ray had listened to her and had, somehow, managed to maintain eye contact without dissolving into tears. When she was finished, he contemplated throwing himself on the floor and screaming. Instead, he moved over next to her on the love seat, and put his arms around her. She was nothing but skin and bones. He held her very gently to avoid hurting her. She didn't cry. He knew enough people who had died from cancer to understand that she had probably cried herself out already.
She had reached the point where she was slowly withdrawing from life. She seemed very detached from the whole conversation. He tried to control his reaction, but without success. His tears soaked the shoulder of her shirt before he could bring himself under control.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and took her hand, “Thank you. Thank you for telling me this in person. I can't imagine how upset I'd have been if I had read about it in the obits.” He paused to compose himself, “I truly wish we had taken the time and effort to have talked about our future. I agree with you that if we had done that, we could have worked something out.
“I didn't want to stand in the way of your success. I was so very proud of you and I wanted you to go as fa
r and as fast as your unbridled ambition would take you. Unfortunately, I didn't want to go with you. I've never stopped loving you or missing you. I couldn't go with you, but I didn't want to hold you back. I can see how you might have interpreted my response as turning my back on you. You're right: We should have talked about it. I guess talking to each other was not our strong suit.” They were both quiet for a while.
After a few minutes, he said, “You must be tired. I should be going.”
She didn't argue with him. Before he got up from the couch, he let his lips brush her cheek. Then he stood to go. She started to get up as well, but seemed to think better of it and sank back down on the couch. He said, “Would you like to lie down?”
She clearly wanted to say no, but she hesitated. He helped her up and she leaned on him as he half led her, half carried her to the bedroom. He flipped back the bed spread and helped her stretch out. He covered her with the blanket, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “Good-bye, sweetheart.”
She touched his cheek and fell asleep, exhausted.
He walked out into the sitting room and collapsed into tears. Soon he composed himself enough to leave.
As he stepped off the elevator, Carl was waiting to go back to the room. He paused and asked Ray, “How is she?”
Ray said, “She's asleep. I tucked her in for a nap.”
“Did she eat anything at lunch?”
Ray shook his head. “She pushed her food around and tried to make it look as though she ate something.”
Carl looked at him, dry-eyed but with a look that was full of raw grief and nodded.
Ray said, “Thank you for giving us a few minutes.”
Carl said, “It was very important for her to see you. I hope the conversation went well.”
“It did.” Ray reached in his pocket and handed Carl his card, “If you need anything, call me. In any case, call me when....” His voice broke.
Carl tucked the card into his pocket and said, “I will. You should know that she doesn't want a public funeral. There will be a private interment only. I'll let you know after it's over.”
Ray had to clear his throat several times before he could say, “Thank you. I would appreciate that. She told me she loves you very much and she's been very happy in these last few years.”
It was Carl's turn to clear his throat before speaking, “Thank you for telling me. I guess I know that to be true, but it's somehow comforting to know she feels it strongly enough to tell other people, especially you.”
They shook hands awkwardly, and Ray headed for the parking lot. He sat for a while staring off into space trying to compose himself before trying to drive home through the nightmare of Orlando traffic. Whatever he may have expected of the day, Deborah's actual announcement was far, far worse. He felt as though she had left him all over again. The old wound that had never completely healed had been ripped open. He focused on his breathing to avoid hyperventilating. Eventually, he regained some control and pulled out of the parking lot, heading home, alone.
He arrived on Siesta Key just before sunset. He stopped at a mini-market and bought a six pack of what had once been Deborah's favorite beer. He drove to the beach and, taking two bottles of beer with him, sat cross-legged in the beach, sipping a beer and watching the sun go down. How many times had he and Deb sat in this very spot, drinking the same beer and watching the sun sink into the Gulf in all its molten glory? As empty and bereft as he felt at that moment, he also experienced his usual primal sensation of awe and dread when the sun sank into the water. He took a sip from the second beer, and then poured the rest out onto the sand, a libation to the gods in gratitude for the love that had been lost, almost found and soon to be lost again, this time irretrievably and forever.
Baiting & Fishing Page 7
