It was almost time to go, but she wasn’t ready. Still so much she didn’t know.
She had thought there’d be plenty of time to untie this final knot, to smooth out the one huge wrinkle that lay like an ugly welt blemishing an otherwise satisfying life. She had run the rat race and miraculously come out ahead, but as so many came to realize, the material joys of the world did a poor job of filling up those holes that life tended to punch deep into the soul.
She lay and stared up at the flat tiles of the ceiling, barred moonlight leaking through the closed blinds. In her mind’s eye she saw the letter that she saw in her dreams, sometimes, as clearly as though she had seen it in the last five minutes rather than over two years ago. A plain white letter in a thin envelope that had no return address, addressed to Charles.
No. Not just addressed to Charles. Unable to resist, she had held the letter up to a bright window and seen the first line of the letter through the envelope. The letter was addressed to “Dad”.
They had no children. At least, she and Charles didn’t.
That moment of surprise had melted into horror, then anger, and over the next few weeks, a strange mix of uncertainty and despair. It all fit, sat with her knowledge of mysterious documents she had sometimes seen him write that he never mailed from home. She hadn’t thought anything of them. They were grownups who felt no need to supervise one another’s quirky habits. Everyone was allowed their secrets.
But that letter had changed everything. Then all she could think of when she saw him was that day, that night, that moment when he had betrayed her. Had Charles long forgotten that day? Or did he think of it every time they embraced? Did he wish he hadn’t met her, did he regret asking her out? Did he think of that son or daughter he had out there?
She had left him once before. Now she was leaving him again. This time for good. When she went, would he go back to that other person? Would he then dare to see that child of his, to go after that part of his life that she had no part in? Would he be glad when she was gone?
“Charles?” she said. He started awake.
“How’re you feeling?” he said.
“I…” A headache was forming. The heart monitor was a time bomb and time was suddenly rushing by too quickly. “Charles. Could you tell me…” She paused. “Why did you agree to the divorce?”
He ran a hand down his face and blinked sunken eyes. “What?”
She didn’t repeat the question.
“You moved out…I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Didn’t you care?”
He leaned forward, hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Linda,” he said. “I cared a lot. I still care a lot. But it seemed like what you wanted.”
She willed herself to keep control, to keep from screaming, “No, I wanted you to come after me, to show me you were sorry, that our years together meant more to you than one night with some fresh young thing who only knew about your deep wallet and nothing else.”
She had to be optimistic. She had read somewhere that optimism helped some cancer patients survive longer. Though she had also read that for every dead pessimist, there’s a dead optimist.
And what was there to be optimistic about, anyway?
“Why’re you here?” she said. “Why do you want to watch me die?”
Charles sighed, and he sounded more tired than she felt. “What do you mean? Where else would I be?” He paused, as though something had just occurred to him. “Do you not want me to be here?”
“No, no.” She reached out with a hand and he took it with the care of a man afraid to crush something delicate and frail, cradling her thin fingers in his. “That’s not what I meant. At all. I just thought…”
“Linda,” he said, hesitating. “I…I’m not a perfect person. You know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here, does it?”
And something in that knot loosened.
“You’re here,” she repeated.
“I wish…” he said, and his expression looked like he was steeling himself for something.
Maybe a confession.
“Don’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t say anything.”
There was a long pause. The monitors beeped.
“What’re you thinking?” he finally asked.
Her eyes were closed and her answer barely a whisper. He had to lean in even closer, close enough to kiss her.
“You’re here,” she said. “I’m leaving…but you came to see me go.”
Maybe that’s enough.
She had thought there’d be plenty of time to untie this final knot, to smooth out the one huge wrinkle that lay like an ugly welt blemishing an otherwise satisfying life. She had run the rat race and miraculously come out ahead, but as so many came to realize, the material joys of the world did a poor job of filling up those holes that life tended to punch deep into the soul.
She lay and stared up at the flat tiles of the ceiling, barred moonlight leaking through the closed blinds. In her mind’s eye she saw the letter that she saw in her dreams, sometimes, as clearly as though she had seen it in the last five minutes rather than over two years ago. A plain white letter in a thin envelope that had no return address, addressed to Charles.
No. Not just addressed to Charles. Unable to resist, she had held the letter up to a bright window and seen the first line of the letter through the envelope. The letter was addressed to “Dad”.
They had no children. At least, she and Charles didn’t.
That moment of surprise had melted into horror, then anger, and over the next few weeks, a strange mix of uncertainty and despair. It all fit, sat with her knowledge of mysterious documents she had sometimes seen him write that he never mailed from home. She hadn’t thought anything of them. They were grownups who felt no need to supervise one another’s quirky habits. Everyone was allowed their secrets.
But that letter had changed everything. Then all she could think of when she saw him was that day, that night, that moment when he had betrayed her. Had Charles long forgotten that day? Or did he think of it every time they embraced? Did he wish he hadn’t met her, did he regret asking her out? Did he think of that son or daughter he had out there?
She had left him once before. Now she was leaving him again. This time for good. When she went, would he go back to that other person? Would he then dare to see that child of his, to go after that part of his life that she had no part in? Would he be glad when she was gone?
***
She opened her eyes. Even the wild whirlwind of her thoughts was unable to keep sleep from claiming her these days. As he had done for the past two weeks, Charles had arrived sometime in the early morning and was dozing, slackjawed, in a chair beside her cot. A fresh vase of flowers sat on the table by her head.“Charles?” she said. He started awake.
“How’re you feeling?” he said.
“I…” A headache was forming. The heart monitor was a time bomb and time was suddenly rushing by too quickly. “Charles. Could you tell me…” She paused. “Why did you agree to the divorce?”
He ran a hand down his face and blinked sunken eyes. “What?”
She didn’t repeat the question.
“You moved out…I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Didn’t you care?”
He leaned forward, hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Linda,” he said. “I cared a lot. I still care a lot. But it seemed like what you wanted.”
She willed herself to keep control, to keep from screaming, “No, I wanted you to come after me, to show me you were sorry, that our years together meant more to you than one night with some fresh young thing who only knew about your deep wallet and nothing else.”
She had to be optimistic. She had read somewhere that optimism helped some cancer patients survive longer. Though she had also read that for every dead pessimist, there’s a dead optimist.
And what was there to be optimistic about, anyway?
“Why’re you here?” she said. “Why do you want to watch me die?”
Charles sighed, and he sounded more tired than she felt. “What do you mean? Where else would I be?” He paused, as though something had just occurred to him. “Do you not want me to be here?”
“No, no.” She reached out with a hand and he took it with the care of a man afraid to crush something delicate and frail, cradling her thin fingers in his. “That’s not what I meant. At all. I just thought…”
“Linda,” he said, hesitating. “I…I’m not a perfect person. You know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here, does it?”
And something in that knot loosened.
“You’re here,” she repeated.
“I wish…” he said, and his expression looked like he was steeling himself for something.
Maybe a confession.
“Don’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t say anything.”
There was a long pause. The monitors beeped.
“What’re you thinking?” he finally asked.
Her eyes were closed and her answer barely a whisper. He had to lean in even closer, close enough to kiss her.
“You’re here,” she said. “I’m leaving…but you came to see me go.”
Maybe that’s enough.
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