‘But then where would I see Sally?’ I said, knowing that Dan would not want me around the house after I moved out to live with another man.
‘You’re right. You’ll still need a place of your own in Damariscotta until she goes to college. My hope is that I can find a buyer in the next year for my insurance company, sell up, and try to write full-time. I also know of a guy who teaches business at Babson College here in Boston, and who told me they’re always on the lookout for adjunct professors. I might throw my résumé his way. Maybe they’ll need someone to teach actuarial science. It could bring in a little extra income, though I think I can get a good price for my company. And if I give Muriel the house outright I think she’ll have a hard time demanding a share of the company.’
‘How will she take you leaving her?’ I asked, knowing that I was venturing into complex territory.
‘I think she’ll be shocked, furious. But she knows that the marriage has been moribund for years, that we have been living very separate lives. Still, that’s been the status quo. I am about to change all that. And she will not be happy. But I’ll be happy.’
I reached for his hand.
‘And I’ll be happy,’ I said. ‘Beyond happy.’
‘And your husband will be . . .?’
‘Shocked, furious, etc. But we too have been adrift for years. He’ll probably tell me that he’ll change. But it’s too late for all that now. My life is, from this point on, with you.’
His fingers tightened around mine.
‘Life can be amazing,’ he said.
‘If you meet the right person at the right moment. Timing is everything. I was only asked to go to this conference ten days ago. Had I not said yes . . .’
‘And I was due to see some clients in New Hampshire on Friday afternoon. The fact that they cancelled, the fact that I got to the hotel precisely when you did . . .’
‘The fact that you started up a conversation with me while we were in line . . .’
‘The fact that we both ended up at that movie house in Cambridge . . .’
‘And I only decided to see that film when I saw an ad in the Boston Phoenix, and happened to be around the corner from the movie house at the time . . .’
‘The fact that I didn’t show up until a few minutes later, when the lights were already dark . . .’
‘Life is so predicated on the convergence of so many small details that land us in a certain place at a certain time. But happenstance doesn’t transform into anything unless choices are made, decisions rendered. Such as the fact that my initial private reaction to your offer of a drink after the movie was: No way. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I simply had never, in all my married years, gone out with a man I’d just met for a drink.’
‘And until last night I’ve always, like you, been faithful.’
‘That’s admirable.’
‘On a certain level, perhaps. But fidelity only works if there’s love. Muriel and I haven’t been in love for . . . well, knowing what I felt all those years ago with Sarah and, most tellingly, knowing what I feel now with you, I must ask myself if Muriel and I were ever really in love?’
‘It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself since yesterday about me and Dan. The thing is, we’re hardly unique. You scratch most marriages, you discover that people chose their spouse for all sorts of highly compromised reasons, and that they projected onto that other person what they believed they needed – or, worse yet, deserved – at a given moment.’
‘Which is what makes this, us, so singular, so extraordinary. I still find myself asking myself if this really happened. Can I really have met the woman of my life?’
My fingers tightened around his again.
‘The man of my life.’
‘It’s astonishing,’ he said.
‘And just a little crazy.’
‘Nothing wrong with some long-overdue romantic madness.’
‘And so say all of us. But I know that, back in Damariscotta, people will talk. Especially when word gets around, people will accuse me of being irresponsible, immature, having a whopper-sized midlife crisis. And Sally’s classmates – having heard my news from their parents – will, no doubt, say the usual hateful things that teenage girls sling at each other. I will have to talk to Sally about all this – and what she might expect to encounter in school after my news is public.’
‘And what will you tell her?’
‘That life never operates according to plan. That love is the most longed for, yet most mysterious, of emotions. That I met you and, within twenty-four hours, knew that I loved you profoundly. That she knows her father and I have been rudderless for years. That I have a chance here – a real chance at happiness. And I am taking it. But that she will not, in the process, lose me. That I will still always be there for her.’
‘How do you think she’ll react to all that?’
‘Horribly. Especially since her first concern will be that overriding adolescent girl worry – I’m going to be made to look stupid. I am going to be the subject of public ridicule thanks to my love-gooey Mom. I can hear her already telling me how I have ruined her life. Not because I am leaving her father – but because she’s going to be taunted and tormented by her fellow cheerleaders. But Sally will survive this. Dan will survive this.’
‘And Ben?’
‘My wonderfully quirky and original son will probably say something ironic and knowing like, “Way to go, Mom.” I think he’ll like you as well.’
‘Even if I am not the bohemian he aspires to be.’
‘You write. You’ve changed your life. You love his mother and make her supremely happy. Trust me, he’ll be cool with all that.’
‘You’re so lucky having a son like that – talented, clearly sensitive and emotionally smart.’
I put my hand on his arm and squeezed it, saying:
‘I know you’re thinking about Billy right now.’
‘I’m always thinking about Billy. The fact is, there is nothing I can do about Billy anymore. His future is in the hands of the state. He is now so thoroughly institutionalized – and so personally lost – that I can’t see him rejoining his family, let alone society, for the foreseeable future. And yes, that tears away at me all the time. But I’ve also learned to accept that there are certain situations that cannot be put back together again, that are beyond redemption, let alone a happy ending. Like my marriage. And alas, like Billy.’
‘You know you can count on me when it comes to helping you through anything. And you must always tell me everything when it comes to Billy or anything else in your life.’
‘Just as you know, when it comes to Ben and Sally, I am always with you. And I certainly hope Ben manages to continue to lift himself out of that bad place he found himself in.’
‘Curiously, I am coming to believe that his breakdown might mark the beginning of the makings of a much stronger, more independent young man. I think, like all of us, he had the illusion that someone else can fill in all the psychic gaps and holes within you. But what I sense is that, in the wake of his collapse, he’s started to realize perhaps the toughest and most important lesson you have to learn as an adult is that no one but yourself is responsible for your happiness. Just as you are not ultimately responsible for anyone else’s happiness.’
‘And the other great truth behind what you’ve just said is that you have to want to be happy in order to be happy,’ Richard said. ‘I think, for years, I simply accepted my domestic unhappiness as my due – part of the infernal compromise I made. And now . . .’
‘Now we can do this all differently. Now we can rewrite the rules of our respective lives.’
It did somewhat bemuse me, hearing myself say such things out loud. Just as I was so conscious of the hugely direct way Richard and I were expressing our love for each other. ‘I have never made love like that before.’ Take it out of context and you think it’s this side of treacly. But isn’t that one of the great wonders of falling in love; the way y
ou start articulating emotional truths in such an unabashed, un-self-censored way? My father once admitted to me after my mother died that he had always had great difficulties telling her, ‘I love you’; that even though theirs was a good marriage, he rarely could bring himself to make that sweeping, crucial declaration on even an irregular basis. Dan was cut from the same reticent material. (Did I subconsciously choose him because he so mirrored my father’s emotional distance?) That, in turn, made the impassioned articulation of feeling between myself and Richard so revelatory. Here was a man who wanted to tell me how much he loved me at every opportunity.
‘“Life can change on a dime,” as my grandfather used to say. Far too much, I should add. But still . . . how to explain all this?’
‘Love . . . in all its manifest indisputability.’
‘Now you are showing off,’ I said, laughing. ‘But I still like the sentiment. Especially as it is so true.’
Richard glanced at his watch.
‘Just coming up to ten a.m.,’ he said. ‘I’m going to call the realtor and make the offer on our apartment.’
‘You are amazing, Mr Copeland.’
‘Not as amazing as you.’
He went into the bedroom to collect his cellphone. I used this opportunity to do something I was dreading: turning on my own phone and discovering what messages were awaiting me. I found my bag, dug out the phone, hit the power-on button, and listened while, in the next room, Richard was already speaking with the realtor. The price he would pay was two-forty-five. No negotiation. This offer was on the table for forty-eight hours, no more. His tone was perfectly pleasant throughout – but he was also making it very clear that he wanted to close this thing fast and with as little encumbrance as possible. What struck me so forcibly was the confidence in his voice, the sense of being reasonable, yet authoritative. Which also struck me as immensely attractive and reassuring.
There was another thought behind all this: The man I love is buying an apartment for us. Yesterday he talked about moving to Boston in ‘the next life’. Today the next life has actually begun.
An apartment for us.
Us. What a lovely pronoun.
Bing. The telltale tone informing me I had text messages.
Actually just two messages. Both from Dan. The first time-marked 6:08 last night:
Sally’s headed off with her friends to Portland. Thinking about tackling the railings on the front porch tomorrow. You’re right, they really could use a paint job. Hope you’re having an OK evening. D xxx
Did I feel a stab of guilt when I read this? Yes and no. Yes because, yes, I had stepped outside my marriage and had slept with another man. No because Dan’s text was just another attempt to put a band-aid on what had been a slow, but steady, bleeding dry of any emotional connection between us. And it made me think: A man I just met two days ago can’t stop telling me that he loves me, and my husband of over twenty years can’t ever bring himself to make that declaration. Because he truly doesn’t feel that.
The next text from Dan was marked 10:09 last night.
Hoped to hear from you before getting to bed early. Still trying to get my body clock adjusted for the four a.m. wake-up call on Monday. Why didn’t you call/text tonight? Everything OK? D xxx
Is everything OK? Actually, falling in love has made everything beyond OK. It has changed the landscape of my existence. But if I indicated now that ‘we need to have a serious talk’ – a hint that things between us had, as far as I was concerned, reached the endgame phase – I knew that he might start bombarding me with calls or texts today. And I wanted this day with my love to be free of such interference. There would be seriously trying days ahead with Dan; a rite of painful passage I’d have to negotiate, and help him through as well (though I already sensed that his initial shock would be usurped by rage when he knew that I was in love with another man). But for now . . .
Hi there. Girls’ night out yesterday evening with three radiologists. A little too much wine ingested. Am suffering bad head this morning. Remember my friend Sandy Nelson? Working at Mass General in Radiology. She’s asked me over for dinner to her home in Somerville tonight.
In the recent past I would have read through even the most benign text to Dan several times over before dispatching it – because I had become so super-conscious of my husband’s ability to find grievance in even the most seemingly straightforward of words. But this morning I just hit the ‘send’ button on my phone, while hearing Richard next door tell the realtor:
‘So if you can get a yes from the seller today I can come in and see you at your Mass Ave office tomorrow at nine a.m. to sign the paperwork, and arrange my bank to transfer the deposit – a deposit that will be refundable if my surveyor finds something very wrong with the place. But that’s not going to happen, right? OK, I’ll keep my phone on this morning and afternoon. But tell the guy, the offer is non-negotiable. And as you know, I’m a cash buyer.’
Bing. A new text on my phone. As expected, from Dan:
Envy you the night out. And dinner with Sandy sounds like fun. Hope hospital will cover extra night at hotel.
Leave it to Dan to think about the extra cost. But I decided to put his mind to rest:
Sandy asked me to stay the night – so no cost involved. Hope you’ll get a good sleep tonight – and that new job turns out better than you imagine. It’s a good re-start, and will hopefully lead to better things. L xxx
As I dispatched this, a thought crossed my mind: might Dan somehow try to contact Sandy during the course of the evening? Then again, he hadn’t seen Sandy in years – we’d first met when we were both doing the radiographic technicians course at Southern Maine Community College – and she dropped in to see us with her then new husband (whom she subsequently divorced) once thereafter in 2002. We’d kept in touch since then by email – and I knew she was now living with a new man in Somerville. But if Dan couldn’t get through to me on my cellphone – that is, if he even tried to get through – would he call Information for Somerville and try to find Sandy’s number? Maybe I should give her a call and ask her to cover for me just in case. But I’d then have to explain everything to a woman I consider more an acquaintance than a friend. Maybe I am being wildly over-cautious here. Maybe this is the reason why I am so glad that Richard and I have cut straight to the chase, and are starting a life immediately together. No months of sneaking around. No cavalcade of lies, or the need to invent scenarios to cover our tracks. Just the blunt truth: I’ve fallen in love. Our marriage is over. I’m moving out.
But in the meantime, there were certain essential immediate things to take care of. Such as . . .
A fast text to my colleague Gertie: could she cover my morning shift tomorrow?
Bing. Gertie texted me right back:
Let me cover your whole day tomorrow – if you are willing to do my all-day Saturday shift this weekend. Would love to get out of it.
Great news. This meant I wouldn’t have to rush back early tomorrow morning. More time with Richard. I texted straight back:
You’ve got a deal. Can you please inform hospital admin today that we’re trading shifts. You’re a star. L xxx
And then there was a very important text I needed to send to Lucy:
Can’t talk right now. But something rather momentous has arrived in my life – and I was wondering if I might be able to drop by tomorrow sometime? Is that apartment of yours over the garage still available?
Well, that was being all but direct. But Lucy was my best friend. And I needed a best friend to talk to before I dropped the bombshell on Dan.
Bing. My luck was holding when it came to instant responses.
Well now you have me more than curious! Am just working morning tomorrow at library, so drop by whenever after 1 p.m. Yes, the apartment is still empty. If you need it, it’s there. And if you can talk, I’m around all day today. So want to know the story behind all this intrigue. Love – Lucy
Intrigue. How I wanted to text back: It’s not intrigue
. It’s the love story of the century! Prudence stopped me from such rashness. Anyway, Lucy would know the entire saga tomorrow. So I just wrote:
All will be revealed when we meet. You’re a great friend.
Bing.
Oh God, Dan again.
Seems like you’re doing your best to stay away from home as long as you can . . . and who can blame you, right? I mean, who would want to come home to me? But thanks for wishing me well in the new job. Really appreciated.
Now I did feel aggrieved. This was Dan’s ongoing repertoire, his schtick. Having made reconciliatory gestures here he was again, being bad-tempered and small – and knowing so well that such behavior always disquieted me.
As I read this a coldness – one that I had always fought off in the past – took hold of me, letting me know: This is truly finished.
‘Some bad news?’ Richard asked. I looked up from my phone, trying to wipe the tension off my face, then telling myself: Why don’t you, from the outset of this new love, make a commitment towards communicating what is actually on your mind . . . rather than self-censoring and shoving all that you are thinking, feeling, under the proverbial carpet. So:
‘My husband is making me feel bad about spending an extra day to see an old friend in Boston. And he’s also letting me know he already hates the job he’ll be starting tomorrow.’
‘He never really saw how wonderful you are, did he?’
I shut my eyes and felt tears.
‘You lovely, lovely man,’ I said.
He came over and put his arms around me.
‘You are extraordinary,’ he said.
‘As are you. And I bet that’s something she’s never told you.’
He just shrugged. And said:
‘Does that even matter anymore?’
I kissed him. Then said:
‘You’re right. All that matters is—’
‘Us.’
We began to kiss again. Deeply this time, our hands slipping into each other’s bathrobes.
Bing. It was Richard’s cellphone. He ignored it, especially as we were both so quickly aroused. Bing. The tone again. And when it went ignored again, the actual phone then started to ring.
Five Days Page 25
