A Short Story
My hand shook and scalding tea sloshed over the rim of the earthenware mug onto my fingers. I bit back a cry of pain as I dabbed at the liquid with the corner of my robe. I continued watching Craig methodically pack freshly laundered shirts into his leather carry-all. He stuffed two suits and the grey tweed sports jacket I’d bought him for his birthday in the wardrobe hanging over the closet door, selected ties, then zipped both bags closed.
“It’s the last of these business trips for a while, he’d said last night. “When I get back we’ll have a chance to talk.”
“But–,” I blurted, placing a hand on his sleeve, “what about our anniversary?”
“We’ll celebrate when I get back.” He disentangled himself from my grasp and hoisted his bags over one shoulder.
“Will we, though?” I asked. But he’d already strode to the stair landing.
I followed him out the front door. When he closed the trunk lid, he trudged back up the steps and gave me a hasty peck on the cheek. “Stay inside–you’ll only catch cold. See you on Friday.”
“You’ll call?”
A frown furrowed his brow. “Probably not. I’ll be pretty busy.” He avoided my gaze, instead shrugged his watch from beneath his shirt sleeve. “Sarah, I have to go.” I wanted to reach out and say “I love you–it’s going to be all right.” But I didn’t. There was too much unsaid between us. I watched the car until it turned out of sight. I poured another cup of tea. Of course his indifference was the result of stress. Unless...unless something between us had gone very wrong. I hadn’t wanted to think about it. Hadn’t dared. But now....
Days would pass without a phone call, and too many nights he sat in his study poring over papers from work. Long after I’d gone to bed, he’d tiptoe in, undress, and slip quietly between the sheets. I pretended I was asleep.
No, something was wrong.
They say that the first seven years are the hardest. We’d be married ten the day after tomorrow. My parents had begged us to wait until Craig finished school. He’d been twenty-one then; I was nineteen. But we’d insisted. So I set aside my own college plans and worked in an insurance office to put Craig through graduate school. And after he graduated and went to work, I stayed at my job so we could scrape up the money for a down payment.
We had grand goals then. A house in the country and two children. But we settled for a tract house in the suburbs, and the children never came.
I loved him then and now. He’s tall with wavy brown hair and hazel eyes capable of seducing me with a single glance. I don’t want to lose him, but what can I do? I’m not pretty, or particularly clever–not like my friend, Kathy.
Kathy is a travel agent–has her own business. And she’s spectacular, with a mane of shockingly mahogany-colored hair, enormous Delft blue eyes and the flawless complexion most redheads only dream about. Years ago, Kathy and Jeff and Craig and I spent most of our weekends in each other’s backyards, swimming and barbecuing. Sometimes we’d go to a concert in the City.
Then last year Kathy and Jeff divorced. Kathy spent two or three evenings a week at our house moping. Craig unstopped her sink when the laundry water overflowed, cleaned out her gutters before the autumn rains, trimmed the backyard hedge. Lately, though, Kathy came over less and less.
The telephone ring jolted me.
“Sarah? How are you?”
“Kathy? Fine. Craig’s gone.”
“I know.” Several seconds passed. “Could we meet for lunch? I need to talk to you.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. Was my imagination getting the better of me? I suspected something...yet I couldn’t be certain....
“So, can you make it?”
“Sorry. Yes, I guess so. Where?”
“That new seafood place–Mondo’s.”
I hesitated. “Why not come here?” At least I’d be on my own turf.
“N–no. Mondo’s. At twelve. Gotta run.” She hung up.
Twelve o’clock. It was only a quarter to nine.
The three hours stretched ominously in front of me. I could water the roses, mend the tear in Craig’s denim shirt...answer the letter from my brother. But I didn’t.
I dragged myself up the stairs and plopped onto the daybed in my studio, and held myself. I rocked to and fro, and thought–just thought. And remembered.
Why hadn’t I seen this coming?
We’d nursed Kathy through her divorce when she came crying into my arms–and probably into Craig’s.
I suppose I’d pushed them together, always making such a fuss over Kathy, insisting that Craig lend a hand. He’d been reluctant–no, indifferent–at first, but gradually that gave way to concern. Little by little Kathy’s name began cropping up in conversation. And then he became quieter. Moody.
Kathy, on the other hand, went from listless to positively radiant. I suspected a new boyfriend, but she vehemently denied it. Then, two weeks ago, I found one of her gold hoop earrings in Craig’s car. I asked him if he’d seem Kathy, but he flipped on the TV and pretended not to hear me.
I still have her earring tucked in my coin purse. Perhaps I’ll return it today.
I dragged myself into the shower, toweled dry, and rummaged through my wardrobe. What do you wear to a luncheon where your best friend is going to tell you she’s in love with your husband?
I selected an understated moss green jersey. Nothing too fancy. Craig had chosen it; he said it matched my eyes. In truth, it bolstered my ego and made me feel slightly less vulnerable.
I arrived just before twelve. Kathy was already seated at an out-of-the-way table shielded by a large potted fern. Cozy and private. She studied a menu and sipped a drink. Odd, I never knew her to like hard liquor. But then there was a lot about this Kathy that was alien to me.
She flashed me a nervous smile as I threaded my way between tables. I took a seat across from her.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” She said it automatically, our usual greeting, and then flushed. Today was not the day for flippancy.
I looked at her. I wanted to ask–demand–answers, but I didn’t. I wanted to hate her. This was Kathy. Kathy and I had shared everything–nervous giggles after junior high dances, high school double dates. Secrets. She was still the same girl I knew, only now there was something we couldn’t share.
“May I take your order?”
Kathy waived the waiter away. “Give us a few minutes more.”
“A glass of chardonnay,” I blurted, then turned back to Kathy. “Shouldn’t you be with clients or something?”
Kathy shook her head. “I took the day off,” she murmured, meeting my gaze for the first time. She looked drawn, tired.
I couldn’t read her expression.
I reached for the wine glass and took a sip, looked down at the crisp white tablecloth. I wanted to hide how desperate I felt.
“Sarah, there’s–”
“Don’t say it.” I trembled, not wanting to hear. If she didn’t say it, it wasn’t true.
“Sarah, it’s important. There’s something I have to tell you.”
I raised my head. “I already know.”
“Sarah–wait. You don’t know Please–” She laid her fingers over mine. “Please let me finish.”
Under her touch, my pulse quieted.
“You’ve always done so much for me, Sarah. Especially after Jeff left and I was feeling so down. You helped me get my life back together. You and Craig.” Her mouth lifted in a tremulous smile.
I waited, frozen.
“It’s hard to think straight when you’re lonely.” Kathy bolted the last of her drink. “I met someone. A man I could fall in love with, and he with me. And...I’ve decided to go away.”
Oh, God! My breath whooshed out. “Go with this man?”
“No. Not with him. He’s married. And it’s–it would be wrong.”
“You decided to leave to avoid temptation?”
“No. To be alone.” She stared at me. “It’s over, or rather, it never was. I grabbed at what I saw as a chance for happiness, but I was wrong. I’m going away so I can get on with my life. I’m leaving next week.”
“And this man?”
Kathy’s gaze dropped. She said nothing.
“I know who it is, Kathy.”
“But–”
I opened my bag and laid the earring on the tablecloth. “I found it in his car.”
“Oh, God, Sarah. I never meant to start this.” She looked up, tears softening her eyes. “Nothing happened, Sarah, I swear it. I wouldn’t, you know–”
I sighed. “I know. But it doesn’t matter.”
“And Craig wouldn’t either. Ever. You must believe me.”
I shook my head. “I know what happened and what didn’t. The truth is, Craig doesn’t want me any more.”
“He does, Sarah. You must understand.” Twin creases formed in the middle of Kathy’s forehead. “Craig didn’t want me. It’s you he needs. But–,” she hesitated, “–you have to show him you need him, too.”
I stood up then. “I’m glad you told me. But if Craig wants his freedom, then it’s his.”
“He doesn’t need it for me, Sarah.”
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I know that, too...now. Good luck, Kathy. Take care.”
She didn’t speak, and I saw she was crying.
Craig’s car sat in the drive when I pulled up twenty minutes later. Why wasn’t he at the airport?
He stood in the study, his fingers curled around a mug of coffee. “Craig? Is anything wrong? Your flight--”
“Sarah.” He set the mug down on the coffee table. “No.” Then he shook his head. “Yes. You were right. To hell with the trip. We have to talk.”
I knew what he was going to say. “Not now,” I offered. “Let’s go upstairs. I need you.”
He stepped over and stood before me. “I–things have been...hazy for a while. Sarah, let me tell you about it.”
I felt my eyes fill. “Not now,” I whispered again. “Hold me tight. That’s all I need.”
His arms encircled me, hesitantly. “I love you, Sarah.”
I saw a glimmer of moisture in his eyes, felt him tremble, felt his pain. We had things to work out, but I wasn’t going to lose him. Not without a fight. Maybe that’s what Kathy meant. In time, the rift between us would heal. Perhaps Kathy really is the best friend I ever had.
The End
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