Going Overboard

by Sarah Smiley

  “Sarah, something’s happened,” Jody said. She was staring straight at me and not blinking.

  “Oh, dear, did Ford spill something? Whatever it is I can clean it up or replace—”

  Jody put up a hand and shook her head. “It’s not that. Have you been watching the news?”

  “Well, no, I’ve been at the hospital, of course. Why? What’s going on?”

  “The war, Sarah. It’s started. And the ship is headed that way.”

  I scratched at my head. “What? But, I mean—I thought . . . well, I guess we all knew this was coming. . . .”

  I couldn’t figure out why Jody seemed so serious. We knew the war was coming, and we knew our husbands would be involved. Yes, it was a bit shocking to hear it in a formal way, to know that it was real, but Jody’s face looked like all the blood had drained out of it.

  And then she said, “There’s more, Sarah.”

  “More?”

  “Steve called while you were at your appointment. He’s being sent home early—”

  “Coming home early? What do you mean?”

  “He’s not finishing out the deployment,” she said. “There’s been a big shake-up at the squadron. Steve said it’s total chaos out there right now and a lot of changes are happening since the news of the war.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why are they sending him home?”

  “I don’t know, Sarah. I mean, we knew we’d be leaving after the deployment was over. . . . I never guessed it would be so soon . . . but then who could have guessed any of this would happen. . . ?”

  Jody paused to take a deep breath, and then she said, “They’re sending Steve home in a few weeks. His orders have been officially changed.”

  I thought it over a minute. So what was Jody so upset about? Her husband was coming home!

  I sat up and clapped my hands. “Well, that’s excellent news, Jody! You must be so excited! And now Courtney and I will have a resident handyman around!”

  Jody frowned. “And we’re moving to California . . . by the end of next month.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said, smiling. “Real funny, Jody. Is this reverse psychology or something?”

  “No, I wish it was,” she said flatly. “I have to go to the base tomorrow and set up the move.”

  I blinked and huffed before stuttering, “But why, Jody? Why is this happening? What changed?”

  “I don’t know all the reasons,” she said, looking down at the ground.

  “By the end of next month?” I repeated it again and again and Jody kept nodding.

  “Steve couldn’t give me all the details over the phone. It’s just so—so unexpected.”

  I put my hands on either side of my head to steady myself. I knew I was going to cry, but I couldn’t in front of Jody, because this wasn’t supposed to be about me . . . was it?

  The phone rang and I waited awkwardly for Jody to answer it. It rang and rang. Then finally, on the fifth or sixth ring—just when I was thinking an answering machine would be nice—Jody got up and went to the kitchen.

  “Hello?” I heard her say in a quiet voice. I looked over my shoulder at her. She turned her back and leaned over a counter-top. Then she put her forehead in her hand and started to cry. I had never seen Jody cry before.

  I pressed my back into the cushions of the couch and tried to be invisible. I felt awkward and clumsy, and I didn’t know how to sit or where to place my hands. The round wood clock above the television ticked noisily, and the sound of crashing LEGOs and the kids’ laughter floated down the hall from Michael’s room. Owen was asleep in a portable crib in Jody’s bedroom, where she always put him for a nap at her house—the same place she had put Ford to sleep when he was a baby.

  I looked around the living room—at the picture of the moose on the wall, at Mr. Squirrel, at the plastic bin of toys shoved in a corner—and began to wonder how many times I had sat on Jody’s couch. I sometimes felt like her living room was a best girlfriend’s dorm room across the hall in college. I usually invited myself in without knocking, and I felt as comfortable sitting on her couch in my pj’s and ponytail as I did on my own.

  “I know, Mom,” Jody whispered into the phone. “I will . . . yes, I know. . . .”

  I still had my back to her and was unsure about what I should do. Did she want me to comfort her? Did she want me to pretend I couldn’t hear her crying?

  Damn the military! I was sick of living this way, of growing close to people and falling in love with a city and a way of life, only to move and start over again a couple of years later.

  But then again, would I have ever met Jody if it weren’t for the military?

  “OK, I’ll let you know,” she said. “I’ll call you then. . . . OK . . . I will. . . . Gotta go.” She hung up the phone.

  I almost didn’t hear her walk back into the living room, she was so quiet. When she sat down on the couch beside me, she looked just as awkward and uncomfortable.

  What would Jody want? I asked myself. What does Jody need?

  Finally I put my arm around her shoulder and said, not totally sure of myself, “How about a girl’s night?”

  She looked at me and smiled. Her cheeks were wet and splotched with red. “Absolutely!”

  Courtney brought the wine, we ordered takeout (plain cheese pizza for Jody and me, Kung Pao chicken for Courtney), and for the rest of the night, the three of us got drunk and reminisced.

  “Sarah, remember the time you hung upside down on my couch,” Jody said, “and did that Mr. Chin thing with marker on your face?”

  “I think I have a video of that somewhere,” Courtney said.

  I put a hand on my hip. “Oh, yeah, well, I have this vivid memory of a certain someone going to the Albertsons up the street and—”

  “Shut up,” Jody laughed and threw a chocolate kiss at me.

  “What about the time Dustin tried to teach us canasta?” Courtney said. “ ‘This is a great card game,’ he said and—”

  “And pulled out the five-hundred-page instruction book,” Jody finished.

  “It’s really a great game,” I said, and when I caught myself defending Dustin, I had a familiar twinge in my stomach. I laughed. “Oh, he is terrible explaining the rules to games, isn’t he?”

  Courtney sighed and looked dreamily at nothing in particular. “Those guys! I wonder what they’re up to right now?”

  The conversation went on and on like that until the kids had long since fallen asleep and the wine had worn off. I carried both of the boys home at one o’clock in the morning.

  The sky was perfectly clear as I walked between our houses, and the stars twinkled above me like tiny pinholes in black paper. I remembered something Dustin once told me about the stars: “Even when I’m far away or across the world, we’re still under the same sky. Isn’t that amazing?”

  But wait a minute, I thought. It was daylight wherever he was. He wasn’t seeing the same stars or the same banana-shaped moon. How could he have gotten that mixed up? He’s usually so good at science.

  When was the last time we were in the same time zone? What time was it where he was, anyway? What was he doing?

  The house was completely dark when I came in. I didn’t know I’d be out late, and I hadn’t left on any lights. I carried the boys to their beds, and went into the kitchen to make myself some warm milk. Mom always gave me warm milk when I couldn’t sleep.

  I noticed the red light on the answering machine was blinking, so I pressed PLAY and went about heating a mug of milk in the microwave.

  The first message was from my mother-in-law:

  “Hi, Sarah. We just got the best surprise ever! Dustin called and it was so great to hear his voice. He said things are really busy, but he’s doing well and hanging in there. Just thought I’d call and let you know. Take care.”

  I sat down at the round kitchen table with my milk and groaned. If Dustin’s mom got a phone call tonight, I thought, this next message had better be from Dustin.

  “Mes
sage number two,” the machine’s automated voice said.

  “Hey, Sarah, it’s Dr. Ashley. . . .”

  My heart skipped and I put down the mug with a thud. Dots of hot milk splashed out and landed on the back of my hand.

  You left today without making Owen’s next appointment. My schedule is filling up, so I want to make sure I see him on time. Just give me a call at the number I gave you before and we’ll pick a date and time. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

  I walked toward the machine hanging on the wall and stared at it as if it might burst into flames. Then I played the message again, paying attention this time to the time and date stamp.

  “Call received at ten eighteen p.m.,” the machine’s voice said.

  He called at ten o’clock at night? I pulled at my fingers, slipping my rings on and off mindlessly. Then I went to my room and lay on the bed in the dark to think it over. Do doctors usually call their patients at ten o’clock at night?

  Then, before I could second-guess myself, and perhaps because I still had more wine in me than I thought, I picked up the phone and dialed his number. My hands were shaking and cold. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought, but then the ringing stopped.

  “Hello?” Dr. Ashley said in a hushed voice.

  “On call again tonight?” I asked nervously, but trying hard to sound breezy and offhanded.

  He laughed. “And how about you? Any burglar alarms going off over there this evening?”

  “No, I just got back from a friend’s house.”

  We were both uncomfortably silent for a moment. And, for me, the only thing worse than small talk is the sound of nothing over the telephone.

  “Dr. Ashley,” I said suddenly, and he interrupted: “Please, call me David.”

  Gulp!

  “Um . . . ah . . . OK, well, David, I’m um . . .”

  I had no plans for what to say. I hadn’t even thought about it. Like a nervous jumper going off a diving board, I had just held my breath and dialed without thinking. And now I was talking to him, and I had no idea what to do. So I did what I always do when I’m nervous and uncomfortable: I rambled and said more than I should have.

  “Um, let’s see—how should I say this?”

  “Say what, Sarah?”

  “Well, I’m . . . ah . . . let’s see . . . I think I’m having some feelings—”

  “Feelings?”

  “Some feelings about you.”

  He was quiet again, so I rambled some more. “I mean, I don’t understand it all. I’m very confused right now, but I feel like I have feelings for you. And I don’t know if it’s just postpartum stuff or something more, but I . . . well, actually, no, I know myself better than that, and I know what I’m feeling is real. There, I’ve said it. I have feelings for you. And I don’t know if it’s romantic or friendly or what, but it’s there and I think . . . Oh, I don’t know what I think. I mean, there is chemistry between us, right? Am I crazy?”

  Dr. Ashley exhaled noisily. “This can happen sometimes,” he said. “What you’re feeling is normal, and it’s OK. I’m glad you told me.”

  Normal?

  “So what am I supposed to do?” I said. “What do I do with all this stuff I’m feeling? What am I—”

  “Stop,” he said. “You don’t need to explain. I know what you mean.” His voice was tender, almost a whisper.

  “Should I change doctors? Should I not see you anymore?” I was beginning to feel frantic. Dr. Ashley seemed calm, almost as if he expected this. His even-keeled reaction confused me. Shouldn’t he scold me? Shouldn’t he tell me how inappropriate my feelings are? Shouldn’t he wash his hands of me immediately and send me to someone else?

  Or was he enjoying this? Did he feel the same thing?

  “I can’t tell you whether or not to change doctors,” he said. “That’s entirely up to you.”

  He paused as if he was waiting for my answer, but I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say. My heart was beating against my back and my ears felt hot.

  I shouldn’t have called.

  But then Dr. Ashley said, “I tell you what. I’m going to schedule Owen’s next checkup for eight weeks from today. Take some time to think it over. Figure out what you’re feeling, and when you come to Owen’s appointment, we’ll take it from there. Does that sound good?”

  “Sure, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. I’m so confused right now, and I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry this has happened.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m glad you told me. And I understand, so don’t be embarrassed.”

  Embarrassed?

  “I’ll see you soon, Sarah,” he said and hung up.

  I listened to the dial tone for several seconds, unable to move.

  Holy cow! Did I really just do that?

  I wanted to call Courtney, but she had had enough of abetting the enemy, as she called it. And Jody was overwhelmed with her own problems. So I went to the living room and tried to calm down by watching television. A correspondent on CNN was interviewing the wife of an Army soldier stationed in Iraq. I listened and watched but felt numb, as if everything was a dream.

  Was all this really happening?

  I felt guilty for not giving the war more thought. It was almost as if I were watching a movie or reading a book but not really experiencing anything. Each time I looked at the television and tried to focus on the news, my mind went fuzzy and I couldn’t concentrate.

  And then the telephone rang. I leaped from my seat and ran to the kitchen.

  Was it him? Oh, please be him!

  I picked up the receiver, and heard static, and then Dustin said, “Did I wake you up?”

  “No, I’m awake,” I said, almost in a whisper. I wasn’t sure how to respond yet. The last time we talked I was angry and combative, but now Dustin’s tone was loving. Had he forgiven me? Or had he simply forgotten?

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” he said. “Feels like it’s been a while.”

  “It’s good to hear yours, too. I’m sorry about the last time.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, too. I realize this has been hard on you, and I’ve done a lot of thinking about it. You’re gaining some independence, Sarah, and I’m glad for that. Really, I am. I just wish you didn’t have to push me away to do it.”

  “I’m not pushing you away, Dustin.”

  “No, you are,” he said. “You’re shutting me out. And I don’t understand why you need to toss me aside so you can grow up.”

  Grow up? Did he just say “grow up”?

  “What? That is such—” My voice was starting to rise, and I could feel myself getting angry again. Why can’t we ever understand each other?

  “Oh, let’s not start that again,” he said. “Let’s not fight. It’s not what I called for.”

  “No, Dustin,” I snapped. “You’ve been pushing me away since the day we got married! You shut me out of everything!”

  “What are you talking about, Sarah? I go out of my way to make you happy. And you don’t even realize that.”

  Now his voice was angry, too. And how long had we been on the phone? Ten seconds, maybe.

  All of a sudden I thought about a time when Dustin and I were working out together at the base gym. He was on the elliptical machine and I was running on the treadmill, and there was a handful of other people exercising between us. I tried several times to catch his eye in the mirrored wall because I wanted to smile at him or mouth, “How are you doing?” But he just stared straight ahead and never looked at me. Not once. And then he finished working out and left the small cardio room without waving or smiling in my direction. I remember thinking, No one else in this room would even guess Dustin and I know each other! And then, a man in a blue tank top approached the skinny woman in front of me on a stationary bike. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head and said, “See you when you’re done, honey.” I jumped off the treadmill, stormed out of the gym, and sat sulking in the car until Dustin was finished lifting weights.
I didn’t speak the whole way home, and Dustin could never figure out why.

  Thinking of that time now filled me with anger, and before I could get ahold of myself, I blurted out, “I have feelings for someone else.”

  “Excuse me? Did you just say—”

  “I said I have feelings for someone else.” My tone was matter-of-fact, and I could feel my confidence growing as I spoke. For once I had the upper hand.

  “OK, who do you have feelings for?” Dustin asked.

  “I have feelings for Dr. Ashley and I told him so tonight.”

  “You did what?”

  “I called Dr. Ashley and told him that I have feelings for him.”

  Dustin was quiet for several seconds and I thought he had hung up. But then he cleared his throat and said, “And what was his response?”

  “He said he wants to see me in eight weeks.”

  “What? You’re going out with him?”

  “No! For Owen’s appointment, and to talk about whether or not he should still be my doctor in light of, well, in light of recent developments.”

  “And if he stops being your doctor,” Dustin said, “then what?”

  He was hanging on my every word—practically begging me to open up to him—and I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

  “Then I don’t know what,” I said.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, Dustin, I don’t. I’m not the same person you left at the terminal that day. It’s like I’ve had an epiphany or something, like I’ve suddenly become alive.”

  “You’ve become alive?”

  “Yes, when I see Dr. Ashley, he makes me feel beautiful and funny and . . . alive. I care about what I wear and how I do my hair for the first time in months.”

  “Oh, so this is about vanity,” he said.

  I paused and wished Dustin could have seen my angry face. Then I said, “Dr. Ashley makes me feel special. And he looks at me in a way I wish you could. I don’t know how to explain it. . . .”

  I was starting to cry and my words were breaking apart.

  Dustin took a deep breath and exhaled. “So I guess my letter meant nothing to you then,” he said. “I’m sorry I called.”