Section I, Next Section
Author's note: This story is rated PG-13
Posted on Friday, 11 July 2003
Baby, I don't understand, why we can't just hold on to each other's hands
This time might be the last, I fear, unless I make it all too clear
I need you soTake these broken wings, and learn to fly again, learn to live so free
When we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us in
Take these broken wingsBaby, I think tonight, we can take what was wrong and make it right
Baby, it's all I know, that you're half of the flesh and blood that makes me whole
I need you soSo take these broken wings, and learn to fly again, learn to live so free
When we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us in
Take these broken wings, you've got to learn to fly, learn to live life so free
And when we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us inBaby, it's all I know, that you're half of the flesh and blood that makes me whole
So take these broken wings, and learn to fly again, learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us inTake these broken wings, you've got to learn to fly, learn to live your life so free
When we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up for us and let us inMr. Mister, "Broken Wings," Welcome to the Real World
I was wearing ear protection, of course, because the machinery is loud; and I was so involved in watching the paper feed through the press that I didn't even notice Chad standing beside me until he nudged me and motioned toward the door. With one last look toward the blur of gray, I followed him from the cavernous room, pulling the orange foam plugs out of my ears as soon as the door closed behind us.
We walked halfway down the hall before Chad turned to face me. "So I hear congratulations are in order!" I had no idea what he was talking about, and thankfully he didn't leave me in suspense long. "How long has Joy been walking?" he asked with a grin so proud he looked more like father than uncle.
"Uh...I don't know. A couple of days?"
"Is she still faltering, or is she confident?"
I heard his question, but it registered only in the back of my brain; I was trying to think if I'd seen Joy take any steps. No, the last time I saw her, she was crawling. How many days has it been since I've seen her anywhere but asleep in bed? "Joy's walking?" I said aloud.
"Yeah. Jane told me that she was toddling all around the kitchen today while they were talking about the Thanksgiving craft fair. Boy, what a job that's going to be. I don't know how Lizzy even fits those sorts of things in on top of everything else she does--Jane's never as much help as she wishes she could be. Hey, Joy's just past eleven months; isn't she your earliest walker yet?"
Craft fair? Eleven months? "Uh, let's see--Megumi was walking three days before she turned one, and Wes was walking more like a week before his first birthday. Joy was born...let's see..."
"December 1st, Will."
"That's right! Smack in the middle of that huge printing job for Josephs."
Chad's eyes widened, and I swear that he was trying to conceal a look of disgust, and almost succeeding. "Darcy, you need to spend more time at home." He turned and took steps down the hall, steps that somehow cried anger and aversion.
"Wait, Chad." He stopped mid-stride, but didn't turn to face me. "You haven't called me Darcy in probably 13 years. What's up?"
He slowly rounded, and his blue eyes were blazing with resentment that was no longer hidden. "You're my friend, but Lizzy is my sister-in-law. You know what she means to Jane, and how much I love her. It just irks me..." His hands balled into fists, and his shoulders tensed. "...to see you keeping track of Joy's birth in terms of what we were printing then. You didn't even know she was walking until I told you. " His eyes narrowed. "What were your kids for Halloween, Will?"
"Uh..." Let's see. I think Megumi's costume was mostly black. Wes was...Wes was...did he have a bandana tied around his head? "A cat, and a pirate, and..."
"Megumi was a princess, Will. Wes was an army guy. You know he has that fascination with rifles right now, and Elizabeth was trying to..." He squinted at me again. "You didn't know Wes had a thing for rifles right now, did you?" I hesitantly shook my head. "And when I talk about the Thanksgiving craft fair...you don't have a clue, do you?" Again my answer was no. "You don't even know your own family. Go home, Will, before you don't have a home to go to."
His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. Being on the receiving end of a stern lecture from someone as mild-mannered as Chad is enough to inspire some reflection; I avoided the freeway and drove home along the back roads to give myself time to think.
Elizabeth and I have been married nine years, and I love her today as much as I did the day we got married. But I'd be lying if I said that our relationship is the same as it was then. Sometimes I sit in the same room with her for more than an hour, and can't think of a single thing to say to her that isn't related to the children. I can't immediately remember the last time we were out--just the two of us--together. When I look at her, she still takes my breath away; I'd do anything she asked me to. But she never asks. And I never offer.
A gust of wind blew fallen leaves across the street in front of my truck. Even porch lights and streetlights seemed to glow differently in the cold nights of late autumn than they did in the heat of summer. But our home glowed welcomingly as I pulled down the long driveway and into the garage. Warmth seemed to leak from every window.
I walked through the front door and straight into the living room, flipping on the TV to catch the last few minutes of the ten o' clock news.
"Home so early?" Elizabeth was passing through the next room, and paused in the doorway to smirk. "I think Megumi is even still awake, if you want to go give her a kiss or something."
"I'll wait until the commercial."
I turned my focus back to the TV, but I could still see Elizabeth stiffen and her joking grin evaporate. Suddenly my mind wasn't on the news, but on what Chad had said. You don't even know your own family. Go home, Will, before you don't have a home to go to. Slowly, I raised my eyes to Elizabeth's. Her expression was an odd mixture of pain and strength.
"Do you need dinner?"
When I spoke, my voice was so quiet I could hardly hear it. "No. I got a sandwich while I was waiting for the press to start up."
"Ate at work. What a surprise."
She looked in my eyes for two seconds longer, then turned and walked toward the kitchen. There goes the best @ss in the west, I thought. A perfect @ss, on an angry woman.
I'm not a curser. Even when the most important business deal goes awry, the worst you'll get from me is a "drat" or a "darn" or a "blast." In truth, I'm famous for it in the industry--everyone thinks I'm unflappable because I don't swear. Really--I don't swear. Chad could vouch for me.
But for some reason, Elizabeth's backside is the exception, and has been since the beginning of our acquaintance.
It all began with Chad. By chance we were assigned as roommates our first year in college, and by luck we meshed and formed a steady friendship. Not that our characters are the same; Chad is open, easy tempered, and ductile, while I am, by nature, reserved, quiet, and headstrong. Despite those differences--opposite sides of the coin, really--we got along perfectly. I appreciated the way he found the fun and mirth in every situation, and he seemed to value my common sense and analytical observations.
When I graduated and went to work for my father I persuaded Chad to come, too. After I finished my graduate degree I suggested he should go get an MBA, and he was only too happy to oblige. The thing that surprised me, though, was his choice of school. I figured he'd go to The University of Utah in Salt Lake City, allowing him to still be involved in the company and retain his position as much as his classes would allow.
Oddly, he chose Brigham Young University, 50 miles away in Provo. Provo. At first he commuted from Salt Lake, but before the end of the semester he moved to Provo. It made work at the press difficult, but at least I thought it was a sign of dedication to his studies. I thought.
It turned out instead to be a sign of attraction to a fellow student named Jane Bennet.
I found this out a week before Christmas when I finally was able to reach Chad at home; I'd been trying for at least 10 days to locate him and invite him to my family's annual Christmas dinner on December 23rd, but I always got voice messaging instead, and he never returned my calls. Finally on December 15th he was home. "Gee, Chad, you been busy with something? You're almost impossible to reach lately. Hey, what are your plans for Christmas week?"
There was a longer pause than I expected on the other end of the line; when Chad finally spoke, I thought I heard hesitation in his voice. "I'm going to stay here in Provo for the holidays, Will."
"Provo? What the heck is in Provo, Chad?" I was well aware every living Bingley relative was within 15 miles of Salt Lake City, and that he didn't know a soul in Provo when he chose BYU.
It sounded like he was blushing--even his voice was blushing as he said, "Jane Bennet."
"Jane Bennet? Who's Jane Bennet?"
"She's a student, finishing up her undergrad in business management. She'll graduate in April, and we..." I had often seen Chad in deep like before. He stepped into infatuation more often than most men stepped into the shower. It was like he was born without any defense against a sweet smile or a tinkling laugh. Thank heavens he was likewise born with an insurmountable fear of commitment. Each sweet smile was an infatuation and nothing more.
So to hear that he was going to spend Christmas with her family set off alarms. I'm going to have to find a way to meet and evaluate this Jane Bennet, I thought. Two weeks later when Chad invited me to Provo to have dinner with Jane and her sister, I jumped at it. "You bet," I said. "When?"
"Friday. We'll meet at my apartment at...5:45?" He seemed ready to adapt to my wishes.
"It's your date, Chad. I'll accommodate your schedule."
This was the first time I'd been to Chad's Provo abode; I was introduced to the lovely Miss Jane Bennet, and I was obliged to climb into the back seat of his Toyota 4Runner. I don't even remember the last time I was in a back seat; on the rare occasions I'm not driving I'm in the front passenger seat. But not when I'm a third wheel on Chad's date. It took us a while to navigate the streets of Provo toward Jane's sister's home, but I have to say, in twenty minutes of conversation I couldn't find anything to dislike about Jane. She spoke softly, but intelligently. She made more effort to include me in the conversation than Chad did. And while she had a sweet smile and a tinkling laugh, not to mention a beautiful face and attractive body, I had to admit that she was substantial. Not just fluff. No wonder he's beyond infatuation this time, I thought.
We drove right past anything remotely metropolitan in Provo and straight through toward the mountains. We passed gas stations and convenience stores less frequently. Houses started to thin, and I could see open fields behind what houses there were. We pulled into the driveway of a good-sized, "normal" suburban house; I expected Chad and Jane to go to the front door, but instead they walked toward the garage, and then climbed some steps built alongside. These stairs led to a tiny apartment built above the garage--I couldn't imagine there would be room for more than one person inside, two if all furniture were removed. We knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Jane pulled out her keys and let us in.
We sat in the very small living room--there wasn't even room for a coffee table, only a loveseat and an overstuffed chair--and waited. Thankfully, we didn't wait long. We heard a pounding outside on the steps, the door flew open, and a ball of energy barreled inside. Suddenly, the room seemed claustrophobic, like there wasn't enough space for all of her liveliness. She had brown hair piled, twisted, and clipped haphazardly to her head, and her face was smeared with dirt. She was wearing baggy sweatpants, a loose shirt, and a cavernous fleece jacket; she looked like she must weigh at least as much as I do, despite being a foot shorter. Jane smiled and said, "Hi, Lizzy!"
Chad walked over and pulled her into a bear hug, laughing. He whispered to her. In a room that size, I couldn't help but overhear: "Lizzy, did you remember I was bringing a friend?"
She slapped him on the backside and responded in a stage whisper of her own: "I guess I'm not making a good first impression, huh?" She walked the three paces to the chair where I sat and held out a grimy hand. Now that I was closer, I could see she had a film of perspiration on her face. "I'm Jane's sister, Elizabeth," she said. She had nice lips and white teeth. Her eyes were even sort of striking. (Okay, really striking.) But where I come from (which is an hour north of Provo) we call girls like Elizabeth sweet spirits. They're the kind of girls whose exteriors are so unappealing, you hope what's inside can compensate; meaning that they might have a good personality--or fine eyes--but no other redeeming qualities. The sort of girl you go out with only if you're roped into a blind date.
"Will Darcy," I said, grasping her palm with my fingertips and shaking it like I'd shake dust off a rag. "A pleasure."
She flashed me a grin and said, "Clearly."
Jane's eyebrows were knit and she looked worried as she watched our meeting. She said, "Lizzy, we don't have very long tonight, since we have Mr. Darcy with us..."
"Please, Jane, call me Will."
She cleared her throat. "Will...iam..." She stumbled through the familiarity--we had, after all, just met ourselves. "...probably wants to get home at a decent hour."
Elizabeth curtseyed, pulling her sweatpants wide. "I'll hurry, milady. Do you guys want to show Will the greenhouse while I shower?"
"Sure!" Chad enthused.
It was a very nice greenhouse, as greenhouses go. It was about two miles from Elizabeth's over-garage dwelling, and the sign outside said "Bennet's Greenhouse." Succinct. Boring. Inside were row upon row of flowers and greenery: springtime and summer in the first week of January. Each table introduced new floral scents to mix with the fragrance of moisture and soil and trimmings. Jane led us to a door, through another, smaller greenhouse filled entirely with seedlings and planting trays, and into an expansive greenhouse filled with vegetables. Tomatoes ripening on the vine, grow boxes filled with carrots and cabbages and spinach, whisky barrels filled--Jane informed me--with potatoes; all this with two feet of snow on the ground outside the transparent green windows. In addition to selling plants to the public, Elizabeth and her father evidently had a very lucrative business providing fresh produce to local restaurants in the winter.
We arrived back at the garage a little more than a half hour after we had departed and Chad tapped on the horn. Jane jumped out of the car, but before she made it up to the door, her sister emerged. At least I assume that's what happened--Jane was blocking my view. They stood talking in the cold for a few moments, then came to the car.
I couldn't have been more surprised. In clothes that fit, Elizabeth was less than half the woman she had appeared to be. She was wearing khaki pants and a brown coat unbuttoned and revealing a thin v-neck sweater the color of emeralds. Her damp hair hung in waves well below her shoulders.
They opened the doors, Jane sitting in front and Elizabeth sliding in next to me. Now I could see her hair was halfway down her back and had auburn highlights. I could even smell the clean scent of her shampoo. She turned and smiled at me; without dirt on her face she was not bad looking. Until she smiled--then she was almost pretty. "Sorry for the delay, Will. My distributor was late for pick-up. I ran home as fast as I could after the truck was loaded."
"Ran?"
"Jogged. Whatever," she shrugged. "It's just two miles. I only drive when the weather is really awful."
We went to an Italian restaurant. All four of us ordered the salad and pasta bar dinner, but Chad and I finished filling our salad plates first. "What do you think?" Chad asked excitedly, in a hushed whisper.
I spoke in my usual volume. "Jane is nice. Pretty too, although she smiles too much. Does she have a good head for business?"
"The best. Her grades are good, her people skills are amazing...she's going to be an asset to some lucky company in April when she graduates," he said in his hoarse whisper. "And...?"
As much as I wanted to feign ignorance, I couldn't. I abhor lying and games. "And Jane's sister is a sweet spirit." Chad's eyes went wide; then he looked determinedly at his salad plate and started eating, neglecting the etiquette that bid us to wait for the ladies to return.
"You know, Will, coming from you that just might be a compliment," Elizabeth said amiably, sitting down in the chair on my left. She looked up from her plate, flashed me a smile, and started talking to Chad. In fact, she conversed effortlessly with Chad and Jane all through the meal, but never said another word to me. Miraculously--somehow--she managed to snub me thoroughly without being offensive. She answered questions intended for me; she turned the conversation toward people I didn't know and places I'd never seen so I couldn't participate; she expounded at length concerning whether our waitress was a sweet spirit or a sweet dish, all while smiling innocently. Chad and Jane had to redouble their efforts not to laugh at me outright.
When we dropped Elizabeth back at her apartment, she said, "I'd invite you all in, but I wouldn't want to keep Will past his bedtime. I've already inconvenienced him enough." Never mind that it was still before 8:00 pm. She opened her door so the interior lights came on, turned, and looked unblinkingly at me with her dark eyes. "Thanks for a great evening, Will Darcy. It isn't often a sweet spirit like me gets to have dinner with a buck like you." She winked saucily. "G'night, Chad. G'night, Jane," she said. And then she was gone. I had half a mind to see her safely up the stairs, but she was inside the door before I could even get out of the truck.
Chad and Jane made every effort to include me in their conversation as we returned to Chad's apartment, but I was too distracted to follow their train of subjects. By the time I pulled onto the freeway, I realized that Elizabeth was pretty when she wasn't smiling, and darn near beautiful when she was. After ten minutes I was silently laughing at some of her jokes and admiring her wit. Twenty minutes later yet, I realized I had been reviewing everything she'd said in depth, and I was impressed with her vocabulary and the way she strung words together. By the time I was back home and had brushed my teeth she was so vividly implanted in my mind I could even imagine her in a nightgown. Enough of that, Will, I said, banging my head on the wall--both to clear her out of it, and to knock some sense into it. I had behaved terribly, and I knew it.
I hoped that Chad would invite me again to Provo. I didn't detest the town so much now, knowing that she lived there. No place could be entirely bad if she liked it. But nearly two weeks passed, and Chad didn't even mention her name. On Thursday afternoon I waited, knowing he was in the building for a meeting, watching for him to pass my office door. When he finally did, I called, "Chad!" trying to sound more casual than desperate.
He walked backward until he was framed in the doorway. "Yeah?"
I cleared my throat. I had not prepared a satisfactory speech, so I was going to have to wing it. "How...uh...is the greenhouse?"
He smiled. It was almost imperceptible, but I could see the corners of his mouth quirk upward. "The greenhouse is fine," he said, making like he was going to walk away.
"And how's...umm...Elizabeth?"
"Well." This time he waited outside my door, his eyebrows raised.
"Great. That's...uh...just great." I think I heard him gag back a chuckle. "When did you...uh...see her...last?"
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes."
"The day before yesterday. She and Jane came up and had lunch with and me, and spent an hour here watching me catch up on office work. She's fascinated by people who shower before work and spend all day in a cubicle or an office."
All I could think was She was here Tuesday. In this building. For an hour. "What are you guys doing in Provo tomorrow night?"
Chad was smiling openly now. "Jane and I don't have specific plans yet."
"Because I'm not doing anything. I could come along and..."
"Was it that fun intruding on our date last time?"
"Well, if I came then Elizabeth wouldn't feel so awkward."
Chad laughed out loud. "Awkward? Hardly! She is one of my favorite people, and Jane is her sister. It's almost like the three of us belong together."
"She's one of your favorite people? Chad, you're not..."
"Not what?"
"Not...dating...Elizabeth...are you?"
With a knowing smile, he said, "No. I'm dating her sister. Seriously, I might add."
I released the breath I didn't even know I was holding, oblivious to the carrot he was dangling about his relationship with Jane. "So what do you think about tomorrow?"
"You are welcome to come with us wherever we go," he said, smiling. "But Lizzy already has a date, so she won't be joining us." Darn. Beautiful girl like her--of course she has a date. She probably has a boyfriend. Maybe even a fiancé. I focused on Chad, who was stifling laugher as he watched me. "However, Saturday we'll all be in Salt Lake for the afternoon. We'll probably go to lunch and a movie. They have some shopping or something they want to do in the city." I held my breath again, waiting. "You can come if you want."
Saturday was only slightly more successful than the Friday two weeks previous. I managed not to insult Elizabeth again. And she said very few words to me--even though we were next to each other for nearly six hours straight--but she softened the rejection with the genuine smiles she gave me, and the comforting pats on the arm when I said something totally idiotic (which happened every half hour or so). Chad watched us with undisguised curiosity; most of the time, when asked a question, he revealed that he wasn't even following the conversation. Words passed in one ear and out the other, and he never stopped watching us.
In the early evening when the ladies were getting ready to drive back to Provo, Chad pulled me aside. Jane and Elizabeth stood a few feet away with their backs to us, quietly talking; Chad whispered, "I just have to ask you what's going on. I thought you and Elizabeth would hit it off--that's why I lined you up two weeks ago. But when you insulted her, I figured it wasn't going to work out. Then..." His mouth contorted and I could see effort and thought on his face. His voice lowered even further. "...And then...today. Will, you're...you're..."
I invited myself along this afternoon. I'm obviously attracted to her. I'm following her around like a puppy dog, hanging on her every word.
"What do you think of her?" he finally managed.
I responded at my normal volume. "I think she's got a great @ss."
Elizabeth stood statue still, but a slow, almost involuntary smile spread across her lips. She slowly turned her eyes to meet mine, and quirked one eyebrow upward. For the first time I met her gaze straight on and smiled at her. Smiled for her. When she grinned in return--when her striking eyes sparkled and her look of amusement was focused on me--my stomach turned inside out and my heart started to pound. I have to see her again. And find a way to make her smile at me again.
And now, almost ten years later, when she smiles at me my stomach still turns to jelly. But mostly she walks away. I like to see her @ss, but I like her smile even more. When did I stop making her smile?
Posted on Friday, 18 July 2003
Author's note: This chapter is rated PG-13.
After the news I ambivalently slid into watching The Late Show with David Letterman. His second guest was walking on when I realized how late it was, how tired I was; out of habit more than anything I went in search of Elizabeth, but realized the entire house was already dark. She was lying in our bed, close to the edge on her side, breathing rhythmically. She had locked the doors, turned off lights, and retired for the night without saying a word to me.
Mechanically I readied for bed, then climbed in on my side, rolling to face the wall, my back toward the gulf between us. Her deep breathing continued, and I thought back to the early days of our marriage--the nights when there were no sides, when there was no gulf, when we slept entwined in the middle of the bed, far from either edge. I remembered the feeling of her hair tickling my nose, the way my own pillow smelled like her shampoo, sleeping deeply when she was in my arms and waking when she wasn't. Where had that gone?
I rolled to face her across the king-size bed. I could hear her over there, breathing, sleeping. Gently I moved across the expanse until I began to sense her warmth. I didn't want to disturb her, so I merely lay nearby, smelling her hair, hypnotized by the rhythm of her inhales and exhales. Without even thinking, I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder where I could feel the gentle rise and fall caused by respiration. Her skin was warm beneath the thin cotton of her sleeve. My fingertips trailed along her arm to her hand, and gradually to her hip and side. Before long I had moved so that my chest was touching her back, my legs curled under hers; I was lightly caressing her stomach, remembering the first time it expanded, remembering how I slept every night for eight months with my hand on her belly, thinking of the child we'd created.
Her smile. I thought of her smile--the one that I used to see regularly. I knew she was happy--I knew she loved me, just from looking in her face. My fingertips moved to trace her lips--to feel for the now elusive grin. I skimmed the curve of her nose, which I knew so well even in the dark, even with her back to me. I smoothed the hair away from her forehead, and moved to the curve of her cheeks. I thought I felt moisture there, but after a few passes with my fingers her skin was dry, so I wasn't sure. I fell asleep with my wife in my arms.
I woke in a big, empty bed.
I grabbed breakfast on the way to work, as usual; I worked a long day, eating both lunch and dinner in the office, checking often on an important job that had been delayed because errors were found in the press check and new plates had to be burned. And all day long, I couldn't get Chad's words out of my head. You need to spend more time at home. You didn't even know Joy was walking until I told you. You didn't know Wes had a thing for rifles. You don't have a clue. You don't even know your own family. Go home, Will, before you don't have a home to go to.
So I left the shop earlier than had been my habit, at 7:30 pm. I made it home in time to hear the children's prayers before bed and to help Elizabeth tuck them in. She carried Joy down the stairs and walked toward her recliner. I walked behind her, placing my arm around her waist and pulling her close to me. "Why isn't Joy in her crib?" I whispered in her ear.
"I have to feed her before bed, William." She removed my hand from her waist and moved to sit in the chair and breastfeed our youngest.
I leaned against the armoire. "How long will that take?"
"I don't know, twenty five minutes or so."
"And then..."
"And then I have to do dinner dishes and tidy the kitchen," she said. The look in her eyes wasn't affection.
More than an hour after Joy was finally in her crib, Elizabeth was still sweeping the kitchen floor. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked, trying to hint that I was home early, for once, and we could be using the time very differently.
"No, I'm almost through. I just have to toss a load of laundry in the washer, and then I'm done."
Done didn't mean bed-bound, though; she settled onto the sofa with a book. "You know Elizabeth, I almost get the feeling you're avoiding me."
She looked at me, her eyes wide in what could have been either genuine or feigned surprise. "Avoiding you?"
"Yes. You've been puttering around for nearly two hours. Why don't we go to bed?"
"William, I have no time to myself during the day. Even when I'm in the bathroom I usually have at least one person in there with me. This is what I do at the end of the day to unwind, to remember who I am. This is where I reconnect with me."
"There's more than one way to unwind, Elizabeth."
Her lips pressed together tightly, and she gave me an incendiary look.
"You're not avoiding me?"
"No more than you're avoiding me all day at work," she said in the politest voice, with a spark of impertinence in her eyes.
I flopped down on the other sofa and watched her read, still pondering Chad's words, and also thinking of the night before. How long has it been since we really held each other? I wondered. How long since she kissed me and meant it? I felt discomfort gnaw at my stomach. I couldn't remember the last time Elizabeth was affectionate. When was the last time she touched me? When was the last time she snuggled into me in bed? When was the last time she even needed me?
I stared at my wife--so engrossed in reading her novel--and realized that I didn't even know if she still loved me. She never said it, except perfunctorily, in front of the children. Perhaps she not only didn't care that I was home early--perhaps she wished I wasn't.
The discomfort in my stomach became emptiness in my chest. Elizabeth loves me--I had always taken it for granted. No matter what else went wrong, I knew she would be at home--constant, faithful, accepting, loving. Loving. But what if she wasn't? What if she didn't care? What if she was only here out of duty instead of desire? The weight on my chest was crushing. Is it possible my wife doesn't love me? Doesn't even care about me? The thought was too painful to bear. She has to love me. I depend on it. My life would be meaningless without it.
I desperately thought backward from that moment, trying to find some proof that Elizabeth still loved me--that she had ever loved me. I tried to think of a look in her eye, a brush of her hand, a word from her lips to give me hope.
Of course, she didn't start out loving me. In fact, she disliked me. She delighted in antagonizing me. My reaction to her during our first meeting cemented in her mind an impression of me that was...hard to overcome. To say the very least.
A few weeks after I met her, I invited myself to Chad's on a Friday evening. He told me that he and Jane had asked Elizabeth over for dinner and to play a game or something. Perfect. I showed up at 6:50, earlier than even Jane, with a bag of fried chicken from the nearby grocery store. I reasoned it was better than anything I could cook. Jane arrived a few minutes later with a big green salad, and Elizabeth came several minutes after that carrying a large pot. I couldn't take my eyes off her from the moment the door opened. Her hair was damp again, as it had been the first time we went to dinner together, and she was dressed in faded, fitted jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, wearing a gorgeous smile.
When her eyes locked with mine, her brows knit and her smile faded. She accepted a hug from Jane and kissed Chad's cheek while greeting them happily. She walked past me with a confused, "Hi, Will. What are you...I didn't know you were coming tonight."
"I called Chad this afternoon and invited myself."
"Don't you have a girlfriend or something in Salt Lake to keep you busy?" she asked, looking more perturbed than interested in the answer.
"Nope. Until last September I had a best friend, but he moved to Provo."
Her face was half grin, half confusion. "Well, I can see why you'd miss Chad." She turned away from me, toward Chad. "Shall I get out dishes? We might as well eat while it's hot."
I ate plenty of fried chicken and some of Chad's garlic bread. Elizabeth's pot was filled with a creamy broccoli soup. The broth part was delicious and I ate several bowls, leaving the broccoli. Since she was sitting beside me, she had an excellent view of the contents of my dishes.
"So, Will, I'm guessing you don't like broccoli."
"Not at all," I said emphatically. "Not raw, not cooked. The, uh, soup part tastes wonderful, though." She looked at me unblinkingly, a serious expression on her face, no hint of accepting my compliment. "I'm not a huge fan of vegetables in general. "
"Which would explain the conspicuous lack of salad on your plate," she said.
I glanced at Jane. "No offense, of course. It's a very...nice salad. Lots of variety and all that. I just don't..."
"I'm not offended, Will," Jane said with a hint of amusement.
Elizabeth put down her fork and turned all her attention to my dishes. "What do you eat then? Bread and meat?"
"Well, yes..."
"Do you eat fruit?"
"I love apple pie."
"I'm talking about fresh fruit, Will. Something recently alive, to give you vitamins and minerals and fiber."
"I eat fruit."
"White bread?"
"Yeah. That wheat stuff tastes like cardboard."
"The white stuff compresses to 1/3 its original size! It's all air! How do you expect to nourish your body with air?" she exclaimed. I should have been offended. She was openly criticizing me. But she spoke with such passion, her eyes were blazing with indignation, and her mouth sometimes almost turned up into a smile. She was irresistible.
I grinned at her. "You haven't eaten any of my fried chicken."
Her eyes opened wide with disbelief. "Are you honestly equating avoiding dark-meat drumsticks, fried in heaven knows what, with not eating salad, broccoli, or whole grain bread?"
"Well, I could sort of be insulted because you're not eating what I brought..." I joked.
She grabbed a drumstick off my plate and took a big bite before tossing it back down. Chewing, with her mouth full, she said, "There. Are you happy? I ate your chicken."
Was that flirting? I wondered. I couldn't suppress a grin. "Yes. Very happy."
She wiped the grease from around her mouth with a napkin. "Now eat some of Jane's salad," she commanded. I wondered if she had a clue that I was feeling anything but adversarial. Even her demands were attractive. She stared at me and I stared at her; it was a contest to see who was going to back down first.
Chad stood and carried the salad over to the refrigerator. Jane started gathering dishes. "Are you done with this, William?" she asked politely before taking my plate away. The competition ended just as it was getting interesting.
The next Thursday Chad called me, extending an invitation for Saturday night. He was careful to say that Elizabeth had invited me to join them all for dinner in her garage apartment. I wondered where she would find room for all of us, but I enthusiastically agreed. Suffice it to say that every item on the menu was whole wheat and/or filled with vegetables. She served a generous portion of salad to me with a warning that I'd better eat every single leaf and chunk--broccoli, carrots, spinach, bell peppers. In the main dish, she had cut each vegetable into pieces so tiny that I couldn't separate them out from the other food even if I wanted to. She had a most attractive smirk on her face as she handed me my plate, and watched me with interest during the meal.
I ate every bite. When she took my dishes, she said, "I hope you enjoyed it," with more than a little irony in her voice.
"It was delicious," I said. She looked at me disbelievingly. "No really, it was great. I'd eat vegetables more if they always tasted like that."
"You mean if someone blended them up so you couldn't separate them from the other food."
I walked over to her until I was standing close, staring into her eyes. "No. It was fantastic, Elizabeth. Every single thing."
Her impertinent expression melted into a scowl. "Well, I uh...have to do the dishes...uh..." I felt an inordinate sense of accomplishment that I had discombobulated her. I dared to hope that I affected her as much as she affected me.
Not so. She didn't care for me at all. She had only invited me to dinner to annoy me. When I proved I could eat vegetables and whole wheat bread, she lost all impetus to improve me--to even pay attention to me. She ignored me almost completely. But I didn't give up; Monday morning I walked to Chad's desk and asked if he could get us all together again the next weekend. Thus began our weekly dance: for the next several weekends I tagged along with Chad and Jane, who, by some stroke of luck, convinced Elizabeth to join us as well. We made some little headway: Elizabeth would speak right to me, would allow conversations about which I could cogently converse, and mocked me occasionally rather than constantly. I could tell by the sparkle in her eyes when she was going to tease me, and I was flattered that she had learned enough about me to know how to jab me in the ribs. I was falling hard for Elizabeth Bennet.
But she wasn't falling for me. Most of the time she didn't even remember to say goodbye to me at the end of the evening. She never sought my company--she only spoke to me if I was nearby, and if it would be rude not to. No, she didn't start out loving me.
But she did come to love me--the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was true. I remembered when we used to sit side by side on the sofa while we watched a movie--that she would curl up next to me, and usually be asleep before it was even halfway done. I used to say, "You never even see the movies, Elizabeth. I don't know why we bother to put them in."
"Because I'd rather sleep in your arms on the couch than alone in the bed," she replied. But that was before Joy was even conceived.
I remembered when she would keep meals warm for me when I had to work late, and sit with me at the table, talking about her day, listening and caring about how what I had done. But she had stopped keeping meals warm for me. Why? And when did we stop talking about each other's lives?
I remembered when we could spend an entire day talking and not run out of things to say--that I would sometimes take a day off work just to be with her--talk, and do nothing else. I remembered when a quick trip to the grocery store was an excuse to be together and hold hands. I remembered when she shared her favorite books with me, reading aloud while we drove somewhere, or in front of a blazing fire after Megumi was in bed. I remembered when she used to hold me and kiss me at the end of a work day like she had really missed me--like she was glad I was home. I remembered when she wasn't already asleep when I climbed into bed.
She used to tell me she loved me. She used to laugh at my jokes. She used to care about my schedule and when I'd be home. She used to lie close to me at night.
Elizabeth is the only one I've ever been with. Some of my friends were incredulous that I made it all the way to age 26, but it's true. In fact, it is by design. I never believed that sex was something to be had on a whim, something that could mean everything or nothing, or anything in between. For me it is sacred, a union of bodies and souls, lives and goals, making two halves whole. No matter how any of my friends or the rest of the world viewed it, it is something sublime and glorious and I saved it all for one person.
I wouldn't change anything, even if I had it to do over again. I'm her only one as well. I'm the only one who has ever felt the velvety softness of her skin next to mine. I'm the only one who has ever seen that look in her eye, the look that clearly says she wants me. She has never wanted anyone else in the same way. I've heard men say they were glad they got their practicing done on other women, so they would be experienced for their wives; I can honestly say that neither of us were damaged at all, either by our practice, or the resulting proficiency. (Often, I'd even call it perfection.) That we started the adventure together has been nothing but an asset to us.
Elizabeth was sitting across the room from me, still reading her book, while I had been thinking about all of these things--staring at her, watching her, admiring her, loving her. She glanced up at me and then quickly down at her book, but a slow smile crept onto her face. She looked at me again, then back at the page, up at the ceiling, at the page, and finally her gaze returned to me. "What are you doing?" she asked with a grin.
I held my breath and basked in the light of her smile. "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"
The smile faded into seriousness. "Not lately enough."
I moved to the sofa, next to her. I put my arm around her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "You are beautiful, Elizabeth. I love you."
Ten minutes later found us lying on the sofa making out like teenagers. My shirt was totally un-tucked and half unbuttoned, and my hair in disarray from the constant attention of her fingers. Elizabeth's hair clip had long since been removed, her waves tumbling across the pillow I'd managed to slip under her head. Her cardigan was wadded up on the floor, her shirt was very rumpled, and half of her stomach exposed so her skin touched mine. Her hands roamed my back, my shoulders, and my hair. Then they strayed lower and did something very married. I stood and gathered my wife in my arms, and carried her into the bedroom. She looked at me with that look. "I love you, William." Even in the haze of passion, I could feel the weight lifting off my chest. She loves me. She loves me.
That night was like an oasis to me. In the middle of my vast desert of doubt--Does she even care about me any more?--that night was my rain shower of Yes, she does.
Posted on Tuesday, 5 August 2003
This time, when I woke, I wasn't alone. Elizabeth was still asleep, her back nestled against my side, her hair piled on the small bit of pillow between us. I could see the smooth skin of her shoulder in the pale light of early morning. I rolled onto my side and pulled her closer to me, feeling her warm back against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. My Elizabeth. How deeply I love her.
She began to stir in my embrace--she stretched one leg and ankle, then the other; she pressed closer to me, then arched and moved away. "What time is it?" she said, her voice thick with sleep.
"Just past 6:00."
She groaned. "Time to get up."
"When will the kids be up?" I asked.
"I have to get Meg up at seven; I let the others sleep until breakfast is ready."
"We have a while yet before 7:00, you know..." I kissed her earlobe and neck.
Elizabeth grew still and very stiff. She may have even been holding her breath. "I have to hit the ground running, Will, or I never catch up." She unceremoniously pulled my arms off of her and wiggled away from me, climbing out of bed. "I have to shower and get dressed and get a handle on my day..." Without even a backward glance she walked into the bathroom. (But I did have a fine view until she was through the door.)
I lay in bed until I heard the shower turn off. I hadn't meant to linger, but my mind was full of Elizabeth--of the night before--her hands, her eyes, and her mouth. How could I have ever doubted she loved me?
I walked into the bathroom just as she was wrapping herself in a towel. I pulled her into my arms, feeling her moist, warm skin under my fingers, dropping my lips toward hers. "Good morning, my sweet."
She gave me a short, little peck, then turned her head. "Are you getting in?" she asked.
"I guess so..."
"What time do you have to be at work today? Are you leaving soon?"
"I'll leave after breakfast," I replied. Her surprise was evident. "I'm sure I'll get there in plenty of time."
"Breakfast is...just oatmeal." She looked adorably perplexed.
"I haven't had oatmeal in ages."
"Because you don't really like it."
"It'll be perfect."
"Okay," she said, her eyebrows still wrinkled in confusion, "have a good shower."
When I walked into the kitchen Elizabeth was fully dressed--in fact, she looked incredible. The oatmeal was on the stove, and she was straightening Megumi's shirt. "This is almost getting too small, Meg. Didn't we just buy this?"
"Before school started."
"Wow. I can't believe how you're growing! I'll go to a few stores and see if I can find another shirt this color in a bigger size. It looks so good with these pants."
"'Kay, Mom," Megumi said. She turned around to grab her shoes and socks, and saw me standing behind her. "Daddy!" She ran and jumped into my arms.
"Hi, sweetie."
"What are you doing here? Don't you have to work today? Mom, can I stay home from school if Dad's gonna be here? I never see him..."
"Hold up there, young lady. I'm going in to work as soon as breakfast is done," I said.
Megumi's little face wrinkled up in confusion just the same way Elizabeth's always did. "Why...? But...but you're always gone before I wake up on work days. And you usually don't come home until after I'm in bed. Why are you still here?"
"Because, sweetie," I said, grabbing her and tickling her sides while she kicked and squirmed and squealed, "I heard your mom was making oatmeal for breakfast, and I knew I couldn't miss it."
She stilled and looked at me in utter disbelief. "Dad, we always have oatmeal. You miss it all the time."
"Well," I stammered, "maybe I shouldn't miss it any more."
She shrugged and squeezed my waist. "Whatever."
"Meg, get your shoes on, please," Elizabeth admonished. "We're running a little late, and I don't want you to miss the bus."
"What can I do to help?" I asked.
"Well, you can go upstairs and wake up Wes and Joy." She turned to the stove to stir the oatmeal.
"And get them dressed," Megumi offered helpfully. "Mom always helps them pick out clothes and changes Joy's diaper before she brings them down for breakfast."
"But Dad can just bring them down. I'll dress them later," Elizabeth said without even glancing over her shoulder.
"I know how to dress kids," I said. "I've been a father for seven years now."
I went into Wesley's room first and tried to wake him. Tried. I gently shook his shoulder, I rubbed his arm, I pulled his blankets off, I spoke to him...nothing roused him. I walked into the girls' room and lifted Joy out of her crib, figuring I could hold her while I woke Wes. She began to howl and call, "Mama!" But even her screams didn't wake her brother.
Ten minutes later when I had them both awake and only moderately unhappy, I figured I could get them dressed. I chose an outfit for Joy, but couldn't find a clean diaper anywhere. Meanwhile, every shirt and pants combination I presented to Wes for his approval was summarily dismissed; he demanded his blue pants and red shirt. I found two different red shirts and at least three pairs of blue pants in his drawers, but none were the right ones.
In defeat, I marched down the stairs with two pajama-clad, scowling children, just in time to see Megumi off for the bus. "Have a great day, Meg," I said, kissing her forehead as she ran past.
"Thanks, Dad! Hope I see you later!"
In the kitchen, with no little exasperation, I said, "Liz, can you tell me how the red shirt and blue pants Wes is asking for differ from the other red shirts and blue pants in his drawers?"
She took the squirming, near-frantic Joy from my arms and said, "Wes has a favorite outfit. He wears it at least two days out of three, but I washed it last night. Come here, Wes." She took his little hand in her free one. "Let's find your clothes." They walked to the dryer and Wes pulled it open and sorted through until he found a gray shirt with red stripes and a pair of denim overalls, which he began to pull on right on the laundry room floor.
As Elizabeth passed by on the way back to the kitchen, she conspiratorially said, "It makes potty time terrible. I have to hook and unhook those straps. I can't wait until he grows out of it."
I followed her, awed at how effortlessly she knew the kids' preferences, how she took care of their needs. I impotently said, "I couldn't find a diaper upstairs for Joy."
"Oh, they're in the bottom left drawer, with the wipes." I handed her the outfit I'd chosen. "And this will probably be a little too cool for autumn weather. I suppose I should have put it away in a box, but it was warm for so long this year...anyway, I'll run up and get her something else."
It had taken me 25 minutes to accomplish nothing; in barely five minutes with Elizabeth in charge, they were dressed, shod, and sitting at the table eating oatmeal. While she tidied their hair and bustled around the kitchen I ruminated. I knew nothing about my kids' schedules, their favorite foods, their preferred outfits, or the games and activities that kept them occupied. I didn't even know how to find a diaper upstairs. I hadn't even really realized that Wes was potty trained, although, as a boy of four, he probably had been for quite some time. I didn't know which cupboards in the kitchen housed which dishes, where the oatmeal was in the pantry, or how much to make to feed our family.
And Elizabeth was not only keeping the house and the children running, she was doing extra things--like making Halloween costumes and putting together a Thanksgiving craft fair. I felt so ineffective. Helpless, even. What total idiot would be clueless about everything going on around him? I'm sure Chad knows how to find stuff in his kitchen, I berated myself. And he not only knows his own children's likes and dislikes, he knows my children's. How can I be oblivious to something so important?
Perhaps, where Elizabeth is concerned, I specialize in oblivious. In those early days I misinterpreted her every mood and signal. I believed she liked me because I wanted to believe it.
Despite an absolute lack of encouragement from Elizabeth, I continued to drive to Provo on weekends under the guise of spending time with Chad. The fact is I was in love with her before she even liked me. I had never felt so strongly before. I had never been compelled to spend time with someone who didn't care about me in the least. I was self-obligated to do everything in my power to make her think well of me. I wanted her to like me--I needed her to like me. I spent time during the week wondering what I could say, how I could act; I read books she mentioned, listened to CDs she had referred to in passing; I wanted to be a friend, and so much more.
Gradually our relationship progressed past annoying one another to a level of constant, good-natured sarcasm. She joked about my faults, about my job, about my clothes--about everything, really, and I tried to joke about her, too. I was conveniently able to hide my genuine admiration inside sarcastic remarks, saying exactly what I thought but making it sound like I was teasing. Anyway, we were comfortable together, and when Chad and Jane left us alone for short periods we could actually maintain a conversation without argument. (Of course, she had no idea that I went home after these evenings with my heart pounding and my mind racing, thinking of how close she had been to me, or how she smiled at me when she spoke.)
My courage rose: one Friday evening when we went to a movie, I grabbed her hand as we walked into the crowded theater. It was so small inside mine, and the skin was so soft. "I wasn't going to wander off, you know," she said with a grin.
"You were talking about that other movie. I just wanted to make sure you make it into the right theater."
"Oh yeah? Maybe if you keep holding on to my hand, I'll drag you off with me to see that action flick instead of this mushy love story." She had sparks in her eyes, daring me to dare her.
Elizabeth, I would follow you anywhere, I thought, gripping her hand even tighter. The best part was that I knew we looked like a couple. I knew that the people around us saw us holding hands--smiling, talking, and laughing--and thought we liked each other. Loved each other. They were half right, and I held on determinedly, hoping that everyone else thinking it might make it real. I managed to keep possession through the movie, too.
I hadn't realized that my constant invasions every weekend were actually impeding Chad. He was still dating Jane after multiple months, I reasoned; what could be going wrong? They had all the weeknights to be alone, anyway.
Chad was growing uncharacteristically serious about this relationship, and all the weeknights weren't enough. He wanted to have a significant discussion about their future together, and I was getting in his way.
Knowing he was in the building, I walked to his desk Thursday morning. Without even looking up from his stack of papers, he said, "No way, Will."
"No way what? Nice to see you, too, Chad."
His voice was strong and steady. "Not this weekend I want to be alone with Jane. If you want to see Lizzy, you call her and ask her out yourself."
"I don't have her number," I said, hoping he'd do it my way.
He scribbled out a number on the blank corner of an invoice, ripped it off, and handed it to me. "Now you do."
"But, Chad..."
"Goodbye, Will."
I had no idea what to do if Chad wasn't going to help me. I couldn't go two weeks without seeing her. I puzzled for half a day before I came up with an alternate plan. I called Jane. "Hi, it's Will Darcy." I tried to sound casual, like I always phoned her at her apartment, pretending like I hadn't called directory assistance to get the number.
"Hi, Will," she stuttered. No matter how natural my voice sounded, she knew I'd never called before.
"What's up this weekend?" I asked, trying to make it sound like I was logically a part of whatever was going on.
"Chad and I are going to Sundance for dinner. Why?"
I cleared my throat. "Does Elizabeth have any plans?"
I thought I could hear a grin in her voice when she replied, "I honestly don't know."
"Would you mind if she and I joined you?"
"Not at all," Jane said sweetly.
"Will...you...call her?"
There was a protracted silence on the other end of the phone, during which I began to panic. But Jane put me out of my misery. "Sure, Will."
Since Sundance is located between Salt Lake City and Provo, it made sense for me to meet them all there. I arrived first: I was anxious for things to go well, so I started getting ready 45 minutes earlier than I needed to. I had plenty of time to myself at the resort before they were due to arrive.
Chad had been angry that I had found a way to intrude on his date; he called me up and, in his fury, let more information slip than he intended to. He told me he wanted to marry Jane, that he needed to talk to her seriously and privately, that I could leave them alone for one weekend, for heaven's sakes. But by the time they arrived at Sundance, he'd forgiven me. (More accurately, since Jane was looking particularly lovely that evening, by the time they arrived at Sundance he had forgotten me.)
Elizabeth wasn't in Chad's car, and I worried that she wasn't coming. "Jane, is Elizabeth still...?"
"She should be here any moment, Will. She's driving her own car up here."
I decided to wait for her by the doors, leaving Chad and Jane to get settled at our table with candlelight and a menu; my decision had nothing to do with giving them time to talk seriously and privately.
I wandered into a shop, always keeping my eye on the main entrance. I watched her sweep through the door: she pulled off her coat, revealing a light pink sweater engineered to mirror her curves exactly without being too tight. The color emphasized the blush of her cheeks and the soft pink of her lips. She took my breath away.
My feet were rooted to the floor. I couldn't make myself move. I would have just let her walk away if she hadn't looked into the shop that very moment and locked eyes with me. She smiled with her eyes as much as with her lips, looking for all the world like she was happy to see me. I was tempted to pull her into my arms right then, but settled for holding her hand and escorting her to the table.
Dinner was lively, as it always is with this group. Elizabeth was clearly in a good mood, which was all I needed to be happy. After dinner we set off across the wooden bridge and stone walkways to explore the buildings and grounds of Sundance in the cool spring evening.
After a minute, Elizabeth placed her hand on the crook of my arm, exerting gentle pressure backward. Toward her. I was eager to follow her lead. We slowed our pace, and in two more minutes Chad and Jane were completely out of sight. "There," she said triumphantly. "Let's stay here."
I realized that she had put her hand on my arm to benefit Jane; that knowledge did nothing to temper the electricity I felt at her touch. We wandered back to the bridge and stood side by side, looking at the patches of remaining snow and watching the water flow over smooth, rounded rocks. I couldn't think of anything to say to her, however much I wished to converse, but our silence was a comfortable one.
"It's cold out here tonight," she said, puffing condensation clouds into the air.
"Is it?"
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "Are you one of those men who never gets cold?"
"No, I get cold. I'm just not noticing it tonight."
Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red. "Not noticing it?!"
"Not right now."
"Well I promise you, there's no better time to notice it. For springtime, it's freezing! I'm tempted to wait inside. In fact, maybe I'll head home. I can warm up in the car..." She turned, but before she could walk away, or even move, I reached out and grabbed her hand. She looked at her hand in mine, then at my face. "What?"
I put my hands on her shoulders and gently turned her toward me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I traced a finger along the curve of her cheek and across her jaw line. I had the unmistakable feeling that I had loved her forever--it didn't matter that I'd only known her four months. I ached to hold her. A cold breeze was blowing her hair over her shoulder. I touched one of the waves as it wisped toward me.
Her eyebrows knit, and her beautiful dark eyes looked at me questioningly. Slowly, slowly I leaned forward and dropped my lips to hers, kissing her lightly while my soul stirred deeply. She looked at me with a mischievous glint in her eye and said, "Why did you do that?"
"What?"
"Why did you kiss me? I mean, you don't even like me..."
I interrupted. "Yes, I do."
"You do?"
"Yes."
She thought for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I thought you only tolerated me because I'm always around when you hang out with Chad and Jane."
"I only hang out with Chad and Jane if I'm sure you'll be around."
She raised her eyebrows and the look on her face was doubt mingled with surprise. "I find that hard to believe! I have never caught any hint of you..."
If she wanted one, I was going to provide her with an obvious hint. Interrupting her sentence, I kissed her again. I put my arm around her and pulled her gently toward me, caressing the back of her neck before twining my fingers in her hair. The very air I breathed changed somehow--it became sweeter. Warmer. All sensation of cold disappeared as her petite body nestled close to mine. We were bathed in warmth and light. New life flowed through my veins--new purpose, new joy. New love. Everything else seemed to fade away, as though Elizabeth and I were alone, the only two people that mattered. The river ran past, carrying with it any neutrality I might ever have felt toward her. All I wanted was to give my heart and my life to her. I pulled back only a little and whispered, "Now you know."
I walked her to her car that evening with my hands in my pockets. She watched me carefully; I don't know if she wanted or expected more, but she did seem almost disappointed when I turned away to cross the parking lot. I asked Jane for Elizabeth's cell phone number and, as soon as I was out of the canyon, I dialed. It had been less than twenty minutes since I stood next to her, but I was glad to hear her voice when she said, "Hello?"
"Hello, Elizabeth. This is William."
She was silent for a few seconds. "Hello, Will."
"May I call you?"
I heard a snicker. "I believe you just did."
"No, I mean when I return to Salt Lake, and you get back home. May I call you there?"
Again a silence of several seconds. "Sure. Do you have my number?"
Memorized. "I think so. Is it 801-555-8085?"
"That's it."
"I'll talk to you later, then."
"Later."
I called her the moment I got home, and I talked to her about everything I could think of. I had her undivided attention, and I wanted to keep it. What's more, I wanted to prove that I liked her. If she had honestly never seen any sign, I had to show her. I wanted to convince her. I couldn't leave room for her to doubt.
I called her every evening that week, and as far as I could tell, things were going well. Really well. She seemed to be warming up to me. There was far less sarcasm in our conversations, and more seriousness. I actually learned things about her, and told her things about me. I felt so comfortable with her that I finally asked her to be my date--at a company picnic potluck dinner, Friday late afternoon.
I asked her to meet me at the press. I wanted to share that little part of myself with her, to have her see my work and meet my friends. More importantly, I wanted my coworkers to see her. They spent hours teasing me for not having a girlfriend, and I was approached more often about blind dates than raises. I wanted them to see Elizabeth.
She was late--a fortuitous circumstance. Earlier in the day we'd fired a night-shift press worker. He had been sexually harassing coworkers, and there was a particularly ugly episode that morning. He had physically forced himself on someone's assistant when she went for a ream of paper in the supply room, though she was rescued before anything dire happened. I assigned two men to watch him while he cleaned out his locker and left the building, and I was still dealing with final paychecks and HR reports and employee complaints when it was time for Elizabeth to arrive to meet me.
A half hour later the receptionist rang me in my office, informing me that Elizabeth was waiting in the lobby. I walked out to meet her, emotionally worn out but looking forward to the evening. If I had paid better attention, I would have noticed that she was likewise somber. Neither of us spoke much during the picnic, and the games and frivolities held no interest for us. I cursed circumstances for making our first real date so glum, but I felt all the weight of leadership which my position gave me, and hoped I was behaving properly under the circumstances.
I was poised to apologize when we finally arrived back at her parked car. "The parking lot is still full," she said, looking at all the vehicles around the building.
"Presses run 24 hours a day. The evening shift is here now, and the night shift will come at midnight." The words night shift reminded me, again, of everything that had happened that day. I heaved a tired sigh. "Listen, Elizabeth...I want to apologize for the way this evening has turned out. I had something to deal with today that sapped all my emotional energy. I'd like to make it up to you, though." I reached out for her hand but she took a step backward, away from me.
"There's nothing to make up," she said.
"Well, I wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs tonight..."
"No problem." She turned and began walking toward her car. "I don't mind. Thanks for dinner."
"Wait." I reached her side just as she pushed the key into the lock. "Wait. You don't have to leave so quickly." I looked at my watch. "It isn't late yet, we could go somewhere else or something..."
"Oh, that's okay. I'm tired, and you're out of emotional energy." I was used to her jokes, but this sounded...serious. Almost insulting.
"I'm not quite ready to let you go, though," I said.
"You never had me to let me go," she said. I swear I could hear anger in her voice.
"What?"
"Let's call it a night, Will." She unlocked and opened the driver's door.
"Well, I'll call you tomorrow, then," I offered.
"Don't bother," she said under her breath, climbing into her car.
I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly, but I felt panicked. "Pardon?"
She sighed and looked at me angrily. "I learned a lot of things about you this afternoon Will--about the way you treat your employees. Geez, Gage had two bodyguards following him around the building just because he'd taken stuff from the supply room! I mean, I don't advocate stealing, but..."
"Gage?" I asked.
"Gage Wixom!"
I was totally and utterly confused. "Did you meet Wixom somewhere, Elizabeth?"
"I parked my car next to his. His trunk wouldn't stay open, so I held it for him while he loaded his boxes. He told me he was fired today because he'd lifted a few small things from the supply room. No warning, no second chance. And he told me that the wages here are low, the benefits terrible, and it's a stressful, unrewarding place to work. He said the supervisors are all stuck-up slave drivers. He doesn't like you much, Will, and it sounded like he has good reason not to."
"You were out here talking to Wixom?"
"Yeah."
"Alone?"
"Yes, alone! The poor guy had just lost his job and had been unceremoniously kicked out of the building. He needed a hand, and I was here at the right time to give it to him! Sheesh, Will...are you too selfish to even consider things from his perspective? Try, for once, to imagine how he felt--how humiliating it must have been to be fired, and then be followed around--in front of his coworkers--like he was in prison rather than cleaning out a locker! To be left outside the doors, alone, when he needed help! Are you even capable of thinking about others, Will?"
This, coming from the one person I'd been thinking about non-stop for months. I should have been angry. I should have been indignant. Incredibly, all I felt was sadness--loneliness, despair. "You believed him," I said in a quiet voice.
"Well...of course I did. Why wouldn't I believe him? He told me everything..."
I looked right in her eyes, and I'm sure I didn't hide the pain I felt. "You believed him. You knew him for minutes and me for months, and you still believed him."
"Well, I..."
"You honestly thought me capable of every bad thing he said."
She bit her bottom lip but stayed silent.
I struggled to get a grip on my raging emotions before I spoke. I couldn't look in her beautiful eyes as I said, "Drive home safely, Elizabeth. Don't worry, I won't...bother you...again."
I turned to walk to my truck. I didn't look back. I climbed in and pulled out of the parking lot right behind her. When she turned right at the next intersection, I turned left, just to get away.
That night I lay in my bed, numb. I didn't know what to feel. Was my heart breaking? Broken? How much did I really like her? Love her? How much did her opinion of me matter? I hardly slept, and I didn't leave my home the next day. I didn't even get dressed--I stayed in a holey T-shirt and sweat shorts, sitting on the sofa flipping channels with the sound muted, not watching anything. I got up once or twice for food, but stayed on the couch watching the flickering lights and trying to sort out my feelings.
The doorbell rang. I looked at my watch: 7:05 pm. I'd wasted the entire day. I didn't make any move to answer it, though, until the bell rang a second time. I had no interest in whoever was on the other side of that door. I pulled it open without flipping on the outside light.
It was Elizabeth, looking sad but beautiful. I was so surprised I didn't speak--didn't even say hello. "Hi, Will," she said, not quite looking in my eyes. "I just came to say...to say...I'm sorry. I talked to Chad today, and he told me the whole story. I...I can't believe what Gage did, and how easily he lied about it. And I can't believe..." Shyly she raised her eyes to mine, and the color rose in her cheeks. "I'm sorry I believed him. You didn't deserve that. You've earned more trust and friendship from me than...than...that."
She breathed deeply, bit her lip, and peered uncomfortably at everything but me. Her gaze settled near her shoes. "So I asked Chad how to find you, and I just came to apologize for saying such terrible things, and for being so rude after...after everything. Everything you've done."
Slowly she raised her eyes to mine again, and looked at me for a full minute while every scenario passed through my head--angry retorts, self-justifying speeches, forgiving hugs, long conversations, short pardons. But it all stayed in my head. She bit her bottom lip again and said, "Goodbye, Will. I really am sorry. Maybe... Bye."
She turned and walked away. I saw her get in her car--I watched her drive away. I watched until the taillights were out of sight, and still I stood there with my door open, looking at where she had stood. By the time I closed the door I was shivering with cold--cold without, and cold within.
I spent the greater part of the next two weeks deep in thought, wondering why she had believed him. The anger had faded, soothed by her apology, but I still wanted to figure out where I had originally gone wrong. Everything Wixom said seemed to corroborate her already poor opinion of me. I accepted my share of blame for everything negative in our past, and I wanted to make it right--at least, to make myself right. I realized, with some gentle prodding from my closest friends, that I came off as arrogant and aloof, while Wixom was friendly and engaging. A little too friendly and engaging in some cases, and it got him into trouble.
But arrogant and aloof served me no better. Elizabeth thought me to be stuck-up, rude, controlling, and ignorant of others' feelings, even after knowing me for four months. Whatever Wixom said just diminished her already poor opinion of me.
As long as we were cataloging my faults, Chad hastened to add selfishness to the list. He presented as proof the entire Sundance episode--calling Jane, having her call Elizabeth, not leaving them alone when he specifically asked me to. It did sound terrible when he said it that way. I remembered that Elizabeth had called me selfish, too. So I tried to notice when I was focusing on myself and taking advantage of others. I made every effort to be friendly, kind, and accessible--to express my thanks for a job well done, to reward hard work. Managers reported that workers seemed very content, but mainly I hoped that I was becoming the person I always should have been.
The Saturday evening two weeks after the picnic, Chad unexpectedly knocked on my door. He was in Salt Lake with Jane and--surprise--Elizabeth. He said he stopped by to discuss something about one of his accounts in the upcoming week, but I suspected it was a fabrication. It could have waited until Monday, or been handled on the phone. I hardly paid attention to what he was saying--I was too absorbed in looking at Elizabeth. She seemed uncomfortable. She hardly looked at me and was atypically quiet. But she was so beautiful. Without doubt I was in love with her, and even if she could never love me in return, I wanted her to feel comfortable in my home. "Would anyone like some water, or juice? Or, um, let's see, I just bought some grapes. It isn't much, but..."
"No, thank you, I'm fine," Jane said softly.
"Nothing for me!" Chad said.
But Elizabeth remained silent.
"May I get you anything, Elizabeth?"
"Some cold water would be...nice." She finally looked into my eyes.
I stood, and on impulse I extended my hand to help her stand. "Would you like to come with me to the kitchen while I get it?" Wordlessly she put her hand in mine. She only nodded or said yes when I asked about the size of glass and whether she wanted ice and if she wanted it filtered or just from the tap. As soon as she raised the glass to her lips, I took my opportunity.
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry about that day when you came to my door. I was...well, I was feeling sorry for myself, and I'd been thinking about you all day and I couldn't believe you were really here, standing in front of me, and I didn't know what you wanted me to say. Or what I wanted to say to you. My brain and my tongue just wouldn't cooperate, and I..."
I felt her hand on my arm, and realized that I'd been speaking without pause, and without looking at her. She smiled at me tentatively, with a hint of sadness still in her eyes, and said, "You have nothing to apologize for."
"Well, I was rude."
"No, Will, that wasn't rude. Not considering what I'd done the day before."
"Forgiven. Forgotten."
"That's pretty generous."
Of all the possible emotions, laughter won. I couldn't help chuckling as I replied, "I must have made a terrible impression on you. It is my fault for behaving so badly."
"It is not your fault." I could see unshed tears in her eyes.
"Elizabeth, I am sorry for all the negative things in our past. I would really like a chance to change them--to make them right."
With the tears still glistening in her eyes, she nodded her head faintly, and opened her mouth as if to speak. Just then Chad burst into the kitchen, yanking Jane along behind him. "Come to think of it, I will have some water!" he said, a little too enthusiastically. I suspected he was "saving" Elizabeth--although I have no idea what he thought I was doing to her.
They stayed for maybe five more minutes, but before they left Elizabeth smiled at me three times. Perhaps she was only expressing relief that the Wixom episode was behind us, but I almost thought I saw something more there. The next evening I called her. (Actually, I dialed once, then hung up before it began ringing, then paced around the room, dialed and hung up again and paced more, and finally dialed again.) Our conversation was a little awkward at first, but we both relaxed after a couple of minutes. I discovered a side of Elizabeth I'd never seen before--accepting, encouraging.
I took things very slowly. I decided to act as though our months-long history hadn't happened; after all, she really hadn't known me, she only knew the version of me she wanted to see. I never used Chad and Jane as an excuse to see her again; when I thought we were ready, I made plans with her myself. I drove to Provo and spent an evening with Elizabeth in her little garage apartment, surrounded by her art and books, sitting on her furniture, cozily embraced by the tight quarters, eating broccoli. Yes, broccoli. She was determined to make me like the stuff. I was determined to spend time with her and convince her to fall in love with me, even if I had to eat broccoli to do it.
I was still sitting with my empty bowl after Wes and Joy had finished and Elizabeth had tidied up the kitchen. She came and sat next to me at the table. "Are you going to be late?"
"Who cares? I'm the CEO. I can show up whenever I want."
She laughed. "How many times have I told you that? Now say that bit about leaving."
"I can leave the office at 5:00 like the rest of the day shift."
Her jaw dropped in feigned surprise. "Why, Mr. Darcy, you do listen to me, after all."
I took her hand in mine. "More than I let on."
"What's that big sigh all about?"
"You are like wonder woman or something--keeping yourself, this house, and three kids running without a hitch. Wes showed me his Halloween costume upstairs. You made that?" She nodded. "And Meg's princess dress? And how do you have time for a craft fair?"
"Yeah...well, they needed someone to be in charge of booking the hall and organizing clean-up and renting out individual booths..."
"That's what I mean, precisely. You do all these things and I'm just a total loser who doesn't even know where the diapers are upstairs." She grinned. A genuinely happy grin. It would have warmed my heart, if it didn't seem the totally wrong reaction. "Why are you smiling at my ineptitude?" I asked. "Are you glad to see I'm still as incompetent as I was when we were dating?"
"Will, honey, you're comparing your weaknesses to my strengths."
"Huh?"
"It would be the same as me saying, 'Look at me, I can't even change this oil filter. And Will runs that whole company by himself!"
I couldn't help chuckling. "Those aren't even the same thing."
"But don't you see, Will? That's just what you're doing. Why should you be able to run this house? That's my job. I can't do yours, either. If you could do everything around here, what would you need me for?"
A moment of pure understanding. I took her face in my hands, and said, "I do need you, Elizabeth. You make me whole. I need you so much."
She pressed her lips together tightly and blinked hard, like she was trying not to cry. "Are you going to go run the company today, or do you want me to try?"
I kissed my wife long and hard before I left for work.