Traveling Light

by Thalasinos, Andrea

  “Shit.” She looked around the park for paper towels or something else to wipe the thing off. She bent and tried wiping it on the grass. Damn.

  “Eh, fuck it.” She chucked the damn thing in the trash and walked back to the bench. Crossing her legs, she leaned with her chin into her palm. Funny how there were so many benches in New York, but she rarely sat down to look around. Fotis was amusing to watch, like a bear sniffing and lumbering about. She thought of the view from her office window around the corner in Washington Square Park and how last year she’d spotted an older, well-dressed woman sitting down on a bench. The woman was tearing up a loaf of bread and scattering it for pigeons and crows. Not far away sat a homeless man with a dog, watching. The woman ignored him. Paula had begun to feel agitated and then angry. But as the woman left, Paula noticed two paper bags on the bench. One appeared to have a loaf of French bread. Days later she noticed the same two people as she sat reading e-mail, the same little ritual of each not acknowledging the other. The woman fed the birds before leaving two grocery bags. The man would wait until she was far enough away before making a move. Sandwiches and tubs of deli food and always something for the dog, too.

  Paula had done the same with Sophie, a homeless woman who lived in the alley adjacent to Roger’s brownstone. Sophie used the alley as a latrine and changing room. Paula would leave tubes of toothpaste, rolls of toilet paper and old clothes in a plastic bag. She’d left food in the beginning, but Sophie never touched it. For ten years they’d never spoken—except once when the woman issued a grunt that gave up her name. Paula had done the same and reached out to shake hands, but Sophie ignored it. That was all the help Sophie wanted.

  Fotis sniffed around the entire perimeter of the fence, taking particular care in some spots. After a while he came back and sat on Paula’s foot; craning his head all the way back, he looked at her upside down. She laughed. “You’re so funny,” she said in Greek. Her heart rushed open like a child’s embrace.

  “Ella, micro mou,” she said endearingly; “come here, my little one,” surprising herself by kissing his muzzle. His tail thumped the dirt and he licked her face.

  “Ready to go back?” she asked, so tired she could barely move her legs. It was after nine by the time they got back to the hotel; her cell phone rang as she opened the door.

  It was Celeste.

  “Hey,” Paula said. “I think I’ve left you a hundred messages.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been swamped.”

  “I figured. Did Eleni locate Theo’s nephew?”

  “I’ll have you know Eleni stepped right up to the plate, pit bull that she is. Peter Fanourakis came forward and claimed the body and all is arranged.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Tell me how you made out with the dog?” Celeste asked.

  “I’m sitting here looking at him.”

  “You took him home?” Heavenly hooted.

  Paula moved the phone away.

  “No. You know Roger with his allergies. I’m staying at the Soho.”

  “You’re staying at the Soho Grand with a dog from the pound?” Heavenly shouted.

  “Why’s that so funny?” Paula asked.

  “It just is; you’re such a goof,” Celeste said, and Paula heard her shouting the information across their apartment to Tony.

  “Heav, he got a bath at Pets du Jour.”

  “It’s still hilarious. So why didn’t you just take him home, ply Roger with a couple of Benadryl? Maybe it would help him find some new Law of Relativity.”

  Celeste had no clue. No one did.

  “I fed him Greek food. You know that stand by my office—souvlaki, spanakopita. He wouldn’t eat dog food—”

  “Would you? Why do you think the Hump turned into such a fat wad?”

  They both laughed.

  “Seriously, what are you gonna do?”

  “I—.” Paula looked at Fotis. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’d take him, but with the cats and the Hump we don’t have room. Hey—I’ve already begged.” It sounded like she was cupping the phone with her hand. “Tony gave me the death stare.”

  “That’s okay. I’m thinking of keeping him.”

  “You’re gonna keep him?”

  Paula moved the phone away from her ear.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “With Mr. Roger’s allergies?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll stay here a few days, think about things. Maybe I need a break.”

  “A break.”

  “Yeah.” The idea just came to her as she said it. “A break.”

  “From Roger?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Does Roger need a break?”

  “I don’t know what Roger needs.”

  Silence.

  “Which means…”

  “Which means I don’t know.” She thought of Roger’s car sitting in the garage on Lexington. Too bad she didn’t have the keys, or maybe it was better that she didn’t. “Tomorrow night he’s off to France, Cern, the Collider. Another eight-week project. So—call it a natural break.”

  “Okay…,” Celeste said slowly. “So why not just take your break at home?”

  “I won’t stay in that house,” Paula cut her off. Just being able to see the corners of the hotel room was relaxing.

  Neither said a word.

  “I need to go on a drive, Heav.” The idea took form the instant Paula said it. “Out of the City, maybe even out of state. Go visit some friends in California from grad school.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t.”

  They were both quiet with their thoughts.

  “What’ll you do with the dog?”

  She looked at Fotis. “Take him.”

  She was still in contract with friends from Berkeley, including Bernard Kalgan, her major professor, and had driven back and forth to California so many times she’d come to know the I-80 exits by heart. She’d heard Bernie was getting ready to retire. Talking to him was soothing, not to mention helpful; he had a way of asking the right questions.

  “Roger always hated driving anyway,” she said.

  “Interesting use of the past tense,” Celeste remarked. “Kind of a crazy day to make decisions, don’t you think?”

  They were quiet for a few moments.

  “It’s not a rash decision.”

  “Keeping a dog’s a big decision, on top of everything else.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And what about the conference?”

  The conference.

  “Paula, are you okay?”

  She couldn’t answer. Everything rushed in on her at once. Her throat became a spasm of grief.

  “I don’t know,” she eked out.

  They were quiet.

  “Breathe,” Heavenly said. “Take a couple breaths. Want me to come over?”

  Paula shook her head. She’d call Guillermo; he could handle the conference. He was practically acting director anyway. Then she’d call Christoff. Tell him she needed time off.

  “I can’t do it anymore.”

  Celeste waited for Paula.

  “I just can’t.”

  “Who are these old friends from grad school?” Celeste asked.

  “Bernie Kalgan. You and Tony met him. Eleni met him, too, when he walked me down to get my Ph.D.”

  “Oh yeah,” Heavenly remembered. “We all had dinner at that twenty-four-hour Chinese place that served free refills on margaritas.”

  “That be the place,” Paula said. “The others are old friends. We peer-review each other’s articles.”

  “How long since you’ve seen them?”

  “Saw Bernie this past March.”

  Her opening statement at the March conference had been awkward. As she began to present her findings on why English-language acquisition was more rapid among Arabic-speaking populations than Spanish, her heart clattered against her ribs. It felt like the audience could see everything, every moment of her life with Roger, on the surface of her
skin, documenting her own humiliation. She fought to swim against the undertow of layered emotions, her eyes focusing on her PowerPoint slide, reaching for it like a life preserver.

  “We exchange Christmas cards.”

  “You’re gonna show up on someone’s doorstep from Christmas cards?”

  “I’m not showing up on anyone’s doorstep, Heav,” she said. “I’ll call—tell them I’m in town.” She hated the desperation in her voice. “Things aren’t right, Heav.” The partial confession eased her. “Someday I’ll tell you.”

  “Anytime.” She could hear Celeste waiting.

  “I just need to take a vacation. Get away, to think. For some reason this dog is important.”

  “So you’re taking a road trip,” Celeste announced.

  “Yeah,” Paula said in surprise. “A road trip.”

  “Shit, I wish I had more time off.”

  Paula could almost hear Celeste calculating. But while traveling with her would be fun, Paula needed time alone.

  The more the idea sank in, the more excited she felt.

  “What about a car?”

  Paula shrugged. “I don’t know—rent one, buy one.”

  “You’re taking the dog?”

  She looked at Fotis, who’d been circling the room, sniffing. He instantly looked back at her.

  “I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but it does,” Celeste said. “Will you at least call?”

  “Of course.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Don’t know.” She wanted to leave that instant. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I talk with Guillermo, call the Dean.”

  “And call Roger…,” Heavenly said.

  “Of course.”

  The joy of the last few moments tarnished quickly. Call Roger. He was probably fuming at her for pulling a “stunt” like this. Her chest burned with resentment like an acidy burp. Shit, what would she even say?

  Just as she’d ended the call with Celeste, Roger called. Even the ringtone sounded pissed.

  “Okay—you win. Where are you?” he demanded.

  She looked at Fotis.

  “I’m staying with a friend.”

  “Celeste?”

  Let him think what he wanted.

  “Okay, so what’s happening, Paula? Why now, the night before I leave?”

  “I need a break.”

  “So come to France with me,” he said, sounding relieved. “Take a break there. You can stay as long as you want.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Look,” he said in his low, advisory tone. “I know things have been tense.”

  Were they?

  “And I know you’ve been unhappy for a very long time.”

  He did? Her heart softened.

  “So come to France,” he urged. “Give me a chance to make it up to you. I love you, Paula. You’re the most beautiful thing on earth.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He never said things like this. Declarations of love. Why say it now? She looked at Fotis. Why this day, when so many things were happening?

  “Please, Paula, I’m your husband. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  But she felt sorry—for what she wasn’t sure.

  “I know you’re my husband.” She wanted to say she loved him but couldn’t.

  They were quiet for a few moments.

  “I just need a break from our life,” she said. “From the house, the mess. Normal people don’t live like this.”

  “Oh, come on, Paula.” He laughed. “You’re a social scientist; ‘normal’ is a relative measure.”

  His laughter changed in a way that let her know although she’d pushed too far she was on the right track.

  “Well now, don’t forget that some of that mess is yours, too,” Roger said with a scolding reminder.

  Her chin dropped. Disappointment was eclipsed by confirmation. It took too much effort to hold up her head.

  “Right, Roger.” She was too exhausted to start.

  “Think about France.”

  “Thanks, but I’m staying here.”

  “Think about it anyway.”

  Right.

  “So what will you do on your break?” He sounded nervous.

  “Maybe take a drive.”

  “With my car? Who with?”

  She didn’t want to say much.

  “With the dog.”

  “You met someone online, didn’t you?” he said. “I’ve been afraid of this.”

  She sat up. What a strange thing for him to say, much less be afraid of. Like anyone would want her.

  “Roger—”

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  “Oh please.” She wouldn’t indulge such craziness. Yeah, I met him on the downstairs couch a couple of years ago. “Call me when you land so I know you’re okay.”

  “I love you,” he offered. She’d usually say it first.

  “Me too.” She ended the call and turned off her phone for the night.

  She looked at Fotis. “Are you sleepy?” She unrolled the dog bed, setting it on the floor next to the king-sized bed. Fotis watched.

  “Here’s your bed,” she said in Greek. Kneeling down, she patted the surface. “Look how soft it is.”

  He looked at her like she was crazy.

  “Very soft. Ummm.” She lay down on the soft bed, trying to lure him beside her.

  After a few moments she stood up.

  “Okay, under the window instead?” She dragged the bed to the glass and smoothed the surface. “You like this better?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she asked.

  He stared at her.

  “Look, I’m sorry about Theo,” she said, yawning. “But I’m beat.” She walked to the hotel bed, kicked off her sandals and lay back.

  She flinched as the dog vaulted up, on top of her. Her skin prickled in fear as she cried out. “Ahh!” She cringed and shielded her face.

  Fotis tromped in circles before plopping down beside her, groaning contentedly. He sighed as if he too was weary from the day.

  The pressure from his spine felt good. It surprised and pleased her.

  As she relaxed she thought of the Center. If Guillermo agreed to manage the conference, who would take care of the birds? They’d think she’d abandoned them. But maybe it would be okay. Maybe when she returned she could lure them back.

  She’d started thinking of Roger. The room had grown cold from the air-conditioning; she’d wanted to slip under the covers but didn’t want to break contact with Fotis. She flipped up the edge of the bedspread to at least cover her feet.

  Pressure from the sleeping dog’s back made her eyes fill with tears. Such a trusting gesture to give a stranger who, just hours before, had thought of a million ways to pawn him off on someone else.

  As tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Paula thought back to her wedding night. Roger had tossed and turned before finally switching on the light. Raising himself onto one elbow, he tapped her shoulder.

  “What, what, what?” Her eyes stung like bees from unwashed mascara and eyeliner. “What’s wrong?”

  She’d pushed her legs between his, cuddling up. The tiny diamond and sapphire pendant she always wore tickled her neck as it fell to one side.

  “It’s your breathing, sweetie,” he’d said, and rubbed his face. It released the scent of his aftershave, making her twitch again with desire.

  “My breathing,” she said. With her finger, she’d traced the valley in his chest where the breastbones came together.

  “Yes. It’s keeping me awake.” The skin around his eyes looked deeply lined, ashen.

  “Well—uhh—am I snoring?” She’d burrowed her face into his chest, not wanting to entertain the image of her drooling mouth.

  “No. Breathing,” he said as if that were somehow surprising.

  “Oh. Would you like for me to stop?” She was such a plucky young thing back then, but the seriousness of his expressio
n made her stop.

  “Am I moving around too much?” she asked in a conciliatory way, to show him she took his comfort seriously.

  “No—it’s your breathing.” Roger leveraged himself up to a sitting position. He put on his glasses and turned to face her. She chuckled at his white silvery translucent skin, like a fish wearing Coke-bottle glasses. She loved what a nerd he was.

  “When I get knocked off my sleep schedule I can’t work.” He shot her a look, both eyes magnified through the lenses like cerulean planets.

  “Oh.” She was at a loss for words. “Is my breathing that loud?”

  “It’s keeping me awake.”

  Paula rolled the platinum chain between her fingers. No one had ever complained about her breathing, not that she’d wanted to point that out on her wedding night.

  He must have slept with other people. At fifty-two, Roger had never lived with anyone, always joking about how he’d “skillfully avoided it.” He’d called her his dream girl, those first few months. Over the previous year their relationship had been much confined to her apartment, which she didn’t find odd. He was off so frequently at particle physics conferences or working on grants or as a consultant overseas that they’d not slept together often. She’d thought nothing of it at the time—assuming that once they were married it would all even out. Cuddling with your man is one of those assumptions that brides don’t think about.

  “Maybe my nose is stuffy,” she’d sniffed, wrinkling it as she tested the airways. “I bet there’s plenty of dust in here,” she’d said innocently, looking around in his bedroom at heaps of objects and cardboard boxes in the dim light. “Maybe once we move all this out and clean up—” She’d halted mid-sentence, feeling a sneeze coming on.

  “I’ve already cleared things out.” He’d looked hurt. ‘Plenty of things,” he said with finality.

  Her eyes shifted to stacks of boxes, then back at him. He wasn’t joking.

  This marked a pivotal moment in their life. A messy bachelor, Roger was never home anyway and had promised he’d clear out the brownstone before the wedding. The only doubt she could remember was a feeling only days before the ceremony, as she signed the lease termination form on her apartment. There’d been something about watching her wet blue signature bleeding into the paper.