Carl and Time

short fiction

Fully awake I have no idea I am so empty and that emptiness is because of him.

It was one of those dreams. They come infrequently now — once every few years. A dream where he is there and I am fulfilled. It is being with — it’s proximity. Being with him. Because I was in love with him and in the dream I still am in love with him.

It’s meaning is transparent. I am lying beside him and I can smell his scent and I think — oh yes. I remember that.

It’s you.

I’m enveloped, I’m satiated being there with him. In the apartment or on the beach. Wherever the dream takes place. And he can talk to me with his eyes. I don’t ask myself how I could remember this after all these years. I know he loves me. I can feel his love. It radiates, it bathes. I want to kiss him or touch him. Really I want to make love to him. I yearn for him and he’s practical.

Why is he practical I think?

And that’s when I start to realize I’m dreaming-because in this dream of him there’s no place for practicality, only in my awake consciousness.

The two of us there, in love — a last chance. Consciousness collides; it doesn’t shatter. The dream doesn’t end. It retreats like the ocean, in subtlety. Leaving more and more shore between us when he goes, before I’m fully awake.

Half dreaming, I touch him any way. I press myself against him. I inhale. I recognize him after all this time, I think.

There it is again I think. All this time.

That is my awake self. In real life I know how much time has passed but the dream is ignorant. No conception that the two of us, middle age now.

Fully awake I have no idea I am so empty and that emptiness is because of him.

Still, I wake but pretend I don’t. I let it linger. Knowing it was decades ago. Knowing where I am and that I’m glad to be there. Still, I pretend to be sleeping because I want him a little longer. Because I know it will be a very long time before I’ll dream of him again, feel him next to me again. I’ll forget him all over again but one night, or more likely one morning just before dawn he’ll visit me again.

Fully awake I have no idea I am so empty and that emptiness is because of him.

***

I opened the screen door and yelled out towards the lake “Sarah! Josh!” I listened for a moment. I heard splashing and I let out a deep breath and shook my head. The whole way down to the edge of the lake I was simultaneously shaking my head and talking myself out of frustration. “Try to relax.” I tell myself. “It’s the family vacation.”

But in the thirty-seconds it takes me to get to the shore I’d forgotten any zen intentions. The kids were in the water with the Nolan twins, two boys — handsome. They’d become quite good looking over the years and they’re 15, the same age as Sarah. I stood watching. Josh was still a boy. Only 11. He wanted the Nolan twins’ attention because he thought they were cool. I knew that. Sarah, I could see now wanted their attention too. I should have known, the way she skipped out of the cottage and down to the water. The very fact that they were all out there swimming together. She hadn’t played like that in the water for at least two years.

“Sarah!” I yell to her.

She somehow heard me or sensed me. She came up from underneath the water. In a violent, unexpected attack she dunked her brother suddenly then smiled and waved “Yeah?”

“Why did you do that to Josh?”

“What do you want?”

“Really? Why did you?”

“He’s fine.” She pulled her hair back with one hand and was already waist deep walking towards me. The Nolan twins were both sitting in the center of a tire inner tubes and Josh was swimming towards the shore.

She looked beautiful. God awful stunning. Youth is beauty, I think. But then I think, no she is genuinely striking. And she’s sweet too. Why do I push her so? She holds out hers arms gesturing a hug as she walks towards me. She’s laughing because she’s threatening to get my clothes all wet. She’s just teasing me.

“Don’t you dare.” I said.

“What?”

“I’m going back to town. Dad’s coming tonight.”

“I know.”
“I wanted you to come up and have lunch before I left. I wanted to know if you wanted dad to bring anything. I have a little time and can get something and he can bring it back for you..”

“Nope.”

Josh joined us. I smiled at him. He warms my heart when I see him. This is how it is, I’ve always thought that it was all right to love your children differently. Of course it is.

“Do you want anything sweet heart? I tussled his hair.

“No — oh see if dad will get one of those trampolines.”

I shook my head and turn back to the cottage. The pretty little shingled place surrounded by pines. I started walking but I responded to Josh the way I always do when it comes to expensive requests. “You know dad is not going to get you one of those trampolines. For a lot of reasons.”

Josh ran up to me and took my hand. We swung our hands as we walked the short distance back to the house. His hand was cold and felt like a fish.

“Stupid reasons.”

“He’s not going to pay $3,000 for a water toy. It’s not up to me. I’ve already told you I won’t.”

“There’s one on ebay — “

“He’s not going to pay any money for one. And he would never buy all that plastic.”

“It’s rubber. And I would be ok with the $1500 one.”

I stopped and looked at him. “Do you know how much money $1500 is?”

I started to walk but he pulled on my hand, “It’s way cheaper than if we all took a trip to Mexico.”

“Who said we were going to Mexico?”

“If we were still a family we might.”

“I doubt it.” I said not falling for his manipulation, using the divorce to try and guilt trip me.

Sarah pushed in between us. “You’re being argumentative and mean mom. You know how much he wants it. Really, $1500 isn’t that much.”

“Oh really? — Give me a break guys.” I was nearly out of breath when we got up to the cottage. That was unusual. I think it was the heat and the bottled up frustration, but I didn’t know what I was frustrated about. This was our month long time at the lake. It was all supposed to be leisure and escape. That was our plan. John and I bought it with a small inheritance and it was going to be our month to disconnect. I’m not the type to relax. I didn’t know that. It’s not relaxing to me. Even when the children were little, it was stressful. The days dragged on and I worried. I worried about the children but I also worried that I was missing something. That I was living an inauthentic life.

I’ve had therapists tell me it’s impostor syndrome. Successful women feel like impostors.

“Actually, are you going by Borders?” Sarah interjected. “I want a book and I don’t want your judgment.”

“I don’t like the way you said that. As if it’s a thing I do.”

We were all standing on the sandy path near the driveway. The pine trees towered over us and the scent of sap was strong. I could hear the splashing start up again.

I worried about the children but I also worried that I was missing something. That I was living an inauthentic life.

“If you go swimming while I’m gone don’t do anything stupid. Even when dad’s here I want you to be extra careful. I can’t sleep knowing you guys are out here if I think you’re being reckless.”

“Mom. We’re safe.” Josh leaned into me. His suit was a little damp and I felt it on my skirt but I didn’t mind.’

I turned to Sarah. She’d pulled her hair back in a messy bun. She was wearing aviator sunglasses. Where had she kept those?

“you look pretty,” I said. “you’re striking.”

She blushed. “You’ll just buy the book.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Twilight. It’s very stupid.”

“That’s a good reason to read a book.”

“Funny mom. Don’t you know what twilight is?”

I shook my head.

“It’s not a small thing.”

“What isn’t?”

“Twilight. You should have heard about it somewhere.”

“I said I’d get you the book. Who wrote it?”
She removed her sunglasses so I could see her roll her eyes. “Trust me everyone will know which book. It will be everywhere.”

“All right. I’ll stop at Borders and pick it up if I can find it.” I bent over and kissed Josh’s forehead. I touched his cheek. “I love you. Call me if you need me.”

I walked to Sarah and kissed. “I love you sweetheart.”

“love you.”

The two were back in the cottage by the time I started my car. I backed the little Peugeot out of the driveway. I loved my car. Selfish privileged thing to say , I know. But I loved the dashboard and the way the leather interior felt smooth. I loved the smell. I’d never been a car person until I divorced and bought the Peugeot.

I drove the forty minutes from the lake back to my apartment in Dupont Circle. It is a whole second floor. Spacious and renovated. Three bedrooms and a large kitchen. Its not the same as the place we lived when I was married to their father — indeed, John kept the place in Alexandria. The big house with the media room and pool. Honestly I was the one who insisted on moving. I wanted out of that life not just that marriage. We’d both thought the kids would be devastated. We’d have to secure good therapists and do random combinations of family therapies to get everyone back on track. That wasn’t the case at all. The kids were fine with it — at least on the surface. They adjusted well. Maybe they knew I was a fish out of water. Being their mother wasn’t the problem, that was natural but being their father’s wife and their mother in that context. I felt judged constantly — whether I was or not. I felt he was either too interested in how much the family meant to me. The kids and him. Or he was accusing me of being detached. My investment in the family was his neurotic preoccupation and there were many, many occasions before the divorce when I’d used these very words “You’re gas lighting me.”

The night I decided to tell him I wanted a divorce he had said, “you say that all the time. I don’t even know what the fuck gas lighting is.”

Why was that the last straw for me? Because it demonstrated how little he validated me. Here I was using a very common term in psychology to say that he was acting like I was crazy and he didn’t even bother to ask for it’s meaning.

It comes out wrong when I say it. It was two years ago and we’re entirely amicable. It turns out that when we finally separated and our real selves were allowed to reclaim shape, we didn’t like each other all that much. We had never fallen crazy and madly in love. He knew that I’d already done that. Check. First love and broken heart. Check. Next on my list was great companion and lover. I’d decided those two would be perfect qualities to sustain a marriage. If you like someone and you like sleeping with them, that pretty much covers it.

It turns out that when we finally separated and our real selves were allowed to reclaim shape.

I’m saying I became practical. Because my first love broke my heart.

Carl.

I should stop saying that Carl broke my heart. Yes. My heart was broken but it was my faulty emotional psychology. I couldn’t handle feeling so strongly — that and also he was a cheat. Jealousy is a terrible thing when you are madly in love with someone. It was terrible and cruel. So there it is: my first love was terrible and cruel.

Let me correct myself. He wasn’t cheating exactly. He was already in a relationship. We were the cheaters together and he was trying to leave her. We were 24 and 27 years old, respectively — young. I know now that was the reason my jealousy was so disproportionate to the situation. I went crazy. I’ll admit it. Even now 25 years later I’ll admit I had a sort of psychological breakdown. Almost stalker-ish. He left me. It had seemed utterly impossible. Not the way we felt. Not the things he had said to me. I was too crazy. He had to stay with his sane girlfriend. I knew I couldn’t promise sanity. I’d already gone too far. Written him a letter a day for six months. Each one likely saying the same thing. All 183 letters. Stupid pictures and lofty literary critiques of books I’d thought he’d someday write.

And he never wrote back.

All those months.

I was like Sylvia Plath.

I realize this is all spilling out and maybe it’s too much. Maybe you’re wondering how I went from there to a middle class political strategist with two prep school children swimming at our lake house. Maybe you wondered as my stream of consciousness started its rapid course to Sylvia Plath. Maybe you wondered what the hell is going on.

It was him.

He had that effect on me.

I was like Sylvia Plath.

Sylvia Plath. Not the suicide part — although I considered it. Not that. The yearning the way the world now depicts Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. That was me and Carl.

Finally, I let him go. Not really but I stopped the letters. My roommate at the time (I was only 24 and interning for a senator’s office (a good stepping stone job) told me she thought it was weird and she’d wondered if I was just writing them to myself and not Carl at all. I had to stop my obsession so I penned him one final letter saying it was my last letter (I’d already said that many times before) but I said it honestly. “I want to keep writing you. I want my mind to think only thoughts of you but my roommate is about to commit me.” It is the worst to add humor to a letter like this as if I still shared that intimacy with him. I didn’t care. It was to be my last. I licked the envelope held it to my cheek and dropped it in the mailbox on my way to work. The ride on the metro was solemn. I was quiet and sad.

I stopped writing the letters. The first week was emancipating. It was a long-over due grieving. The relationship had died six months before. I mourned; but then the colors grew brighter from my new hopeful attitude.

But then he called.

“Hi.”

I knew his voice. “Hi.”

“no more letters?”

I shrugged as if he could see me. To him I didn’t answer.

“Can I see you one more time. If it’s really over?”

“yes.” I had said. I hung up and called a cab. I threw on my nice underwear and a black dress. I pulled on a leather jacket (it was the late 1980s). I got in a cab. When I entered his apartment, we tore off our clothes and made love. His scent was intoxicating before and after the love making. He ran his fingers over my stomach and kissed my cheek. “I worship you.” He said. I looked at him sideways and smiled. He rolled over and took out a cigarette from a pack in the drawer of his bedside table. He lit it and inhaled. “what? I do worship you.” Still holding the cigarette he pointed to the shelf. The room was almost dark, illuminated only by the streetlamp outside the window.

“what is it?” I asked him.

“go look. On the shelf.”

I stood, still naked. I knew my body picked up some of the light in the room. I knew I was a feminine entity defined by my curves and the way the shadows marked me. I walked over to the shelf. One whole shelf was cleared and there sat all my letters. All 183 of them.

“One hundred and eighty three.” He said and blew out a drag.

“How many did I have to write for you to want me back?” I turned to him still holding one of the letters.

“One hundred and eighty three.”

He was a writer. That was a good line. He never called me after that last night together. I somehow withstood the insane desire, my addiction for him. I withdrew and that was when I met John. Not three months later. I was utterly distracted by this new person in my life. I didn’t know he was to become the father of my children. I didn’t know anything except that we spent many nights in tents camping out in the middle of nowhere, making love and laughing. We have the same exact sense of humor.

He was my companion.

He was a good lover.

So that was it. I married him. We had two children together and wove a happy life. We stayed happy until we weren’t. That coincided with our children getting older, moving into their own sphere. Our therapist pondered, “perhaps you were in love with family not each other.”

Perhaps.

— -

I didn’t go to Borders. I went downtown to Kramer books. I felt like going to an indie bookstore, getting a cappuccino. I wouldn’t have to meet John for a few hours. I felt like browsing.

It must have been the dream that morning or more likely it had entered my consciousness without my knowing.

Did I mention Carl became a successful novelist? Literary crime novels? Sexy and riveting embedded in gorgeous prose — some critic said that. I never read any of his books. I couldn’t.

Did I mention Carl became a successful novelist?

It wasn’t conscious but I must have known Carl was going to be reading from his new novel at Kramers that evening. I didn’t know he’d be there in the afternoon, meeting with the manager. I didn’t know until I walked in and started browsing. I could see what Sarah had meant when she said Twilight would be very easy to come by. There was a large display and I picked up a copy for her. I read the back and could see why she was embarrassed to tell me. My eyes scanned the room. At first I must have recognized his stature because he looked different. Of course he did. It had been 25 years. It was unbelievable that in all that time both of us living within a ten mile radius of each other we’d never bumped into each other before. It had been as though I psychically warded him off. That isn’t the way I usually think but the further I got away from him the more I realized that I’d been very unstable when it came to my relationship with him. It was something so large and incomprehensible that I honestly couldn’t manage it. I even went to a palm reader once and she saw him there in my lifeline. She saw Carl. She’d kept her eyes fixed for quite a while on my palm. Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes wet and wrinkled around the edges. Her hair in a short bob salt and pepper. Her skin pale. I had noted she wore faint pink lipstick and faint blue eye shadow but no blush. Her cheeks were ivory.

“What is it?” I’d asked.

She patted my hand and held for a moment. “It wouldn’t have worked out.”

I had no idea what she was referred to but it felt heavy and real and I started to cry. “what wouldn’t?”

“He thinks about you too. It wouldn’t have worked out. So” she shrugged and let my hand go. “So now you know. He thinks about you.”

Carl didn’t recognize me. Age is my disguise. I watched him as he spoke with the manager, middle aged too. Both of them there in casual pants, oxford cloth shirts, Carl’s white the manager’s dark blue. Both wearing loafers. I noticed Carl brush his hair back with one hand. Then I noticed the book. It had a very dark cover and I couldn’t make out the letters. I reflexively looked around for it in the store. There it was, too close to him for me to pick one up, to read the inside flap. To turn to the back flap and see his bio.

There was a poster for the book so at least I could read the title. Ingenious Surrender. I whispered it to myself. I wanted to buy the book but I knew I wouldn’t. I had known for a long time that he was a published author, successful even. but I never so much as looked at one of them. I’d forbidden myself from knowing anything about him. There were even a few times I had to deliberately turn away from book reviews in the New York times, once in the New Yorker.

I was lost in thought when he passed me. He didn’t recognize me. It caused my heart a jolt and after he left the store I bought Twilight and I left too. I went to a café next door and I let out a breath; the chance encounter moments before washed into the place of dreams where he exists for me, where I can be with him without any expectation. I let out a breath and sipped my cappuccino. I thought of him, the younger man. Twenty five. A yellow Volkswagen bug, a cigarette. Emulating Jack Kerouac.

There were so many things that had made me uncomfortable. Things I wanted anyway. Intimacies that embarrassed or frightened me. Up on the roof of that apartment I shared with three roommates. Him wanting us to lean back to back and look up at the stars together. I felt foolish; it seemed staged. I was afraid. Lights of DC below the beautiful plazas. Or smoking a joint in my bedroom. Naked, both of us always naked when we were alone, in private. Fabric was too much between us. Smoking a joint I told him a boring aspiration “I’d like to get an entry level job at the department of education.”

What must that have sounded like to a brilliant writer? His worst nightmare?

He laughed “you’d better get off the weed. Starting now.”

I sat in the café and watched people come and go. I felt guilty for having just dreamed of him that morning. But that wasn’t my fault.

— -

Another one. This dream comes the night after the bookstore. Reality and the past collide but not painfully or awkwardly. This time I’m on the freeway, taking the wrong exit. There is only fifteen minutes to see him and I realize as the metro stops and I am in a dark tunnel. I’ll won’t get there in time. I can’t escape the drowning. That same helplessness. All over again, that longing.

A week passes and I mostly forget about him again.

— -

Suddenly it’s August. Time to close the cottage up. It goes quickly, ten years now of routine. Packing perishables, stowing life jackets. This year we have to deflate and fold up the $20000 trampoline John broke down and bought for Josh. He would never have done it except for the divorce. The divorce makes him generous with the children, particularly Josh.

We drive together to Boston. Sarah’s first year of college.

Boston. 439.4 miles. 9 hours. Nine hours in the car with Sarah listening to French on her headphones. She swears she’ll have rudimentary acquisition of the language before she gets to Boston College. I don’t know where this self-imposed challenge came from or why.

So it’s John and me. It feels like old times but not the good old times. We talk small talk.

“I mean it’s weird right?” He doesn’t look at me, keeps his eyes on the road.

“What?”

“they call it your caravan of life. The people you travel through life with. Twenty years. Two kids. We’re in each other’s caravan.”

Sounds sweet I know but watch where it goes.

“Ok. Ya we’re in each other’s caravan of life.” I take a piece of spearmint gum out of the pack and hand him one.

He waits to pop it in his mouth. “The thing is,” now he looks at me, “you’d think we could have figure things out.”

I don’t get how it’s connected to the caravan. I wash over it because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for him to tell me I’m one of the special people in his life in one breath and then blame me for the failure of our marriage in the other.

“It’s crazy making.” I said, “that’s why. That’s the reason.”

Once we carry the things into her dorm room, Sarah stares at us. It feels — I know it’s not but it feels — like this has been the stab in the heart I’ve feared all along. The final slice through the tether. Mother. Daughter. She kisses us both. I hug her and I don’t want to let go.

“You have to let me go mom.” She teases.

“Can’t I move in? I won’t get in your way.”

“I love you.” She says. “I’ll call you ok?”

“Dad and I will be here for the parent information meeting. We could take you to dinner.”

She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “I want to meet my new roommate.”

Parents are milling about before the parent information meeting. There are little plates of surprisingly delicious appetizers. Chicken satay, cheese boards, fruit. There’s wine — the wine is bad, but I drink two glasses anyway. I can hold my liquor. I don’t know why but when I look at John saving a seat for me I think of Sylvia Plath biting Ted Hughes’s cheek the first night they met. For them it was an act of passion, I don’t know why I think of it when I look at John.

don’t know why but when I look at John saving a seat for me I think of Sylvia Plath biting Ted Hughes’s cheek the first night they met.

A voice behind me says, “don’t I know you?” It’s a teasing cadence.

I turn. It’s Carl. Of course it’s Carl. There’s no reason he should be there at that moment but he was. It seemed natural.

I don’t know why I would put on an act but I do. I could feel it. There it is. His voice. The same as in my dreams. It catches up because of the dreams, because of the bookstore. My mouth is dry and I swallow hard. My voice falters.

“oh yes. Of course.” Then I find that talent that middle aged people have. Impression Management.” Of course I remember you. Carl!” I lean into him, I even embrace him for a moment. I pull away.

There is an announcement. I can’t hear it. I’m overwhelmed. They must be starting.

“Want to get a drink later?” he takes a sip of wine.

I nod and I feel the undertow. I’m pulled under. All over again. The idea of having him one moment but a separation imminent.

A drink later. A branch to grab so the current of fear doesn’t pull me away.

The school rep starts talking about orientation matters and I’m already constructing rejections.

I’m sorry I didn’t know what I was thinking. Yet still I am looking for his glances — they don’t find me. He’s only two rows ahead of me and he never looks back. To me that means he never loved me. That he doesn’t love me now. It crosses my mind that he has me confused with someone else.

I feel John squeeze my hand. “You ok?” he whispers.

I nod.

“It’s hard to let her go, isn’t it?”

I let out a breath. “Do you remember the guy I dated before you?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment.

“yeah.”

“He’s here.”

“Which one?”

I point to Carl who appears to be alone.

“Does he have a kid here?”

It hadn’t dawned on me but of course, that’s the only reason he’d be at the orientation. It hadn’t even occurred to me.

“I guess.” I whispered.

John smiled. “that’s weird.”

I find my footing and listen in to the speaker. I take notes on the logistics and jot down questions I have.

I’ll cut straight to it, we had drinks up in his room at the embassy. Two upholstered chairs and a bed. The bed is this thing — it is quite literally the elephant in the room. We sit on the chairs and both of us drink a martini. Really it’s just gin we shook cold in plastic hotel cups with ice.

It’s fun.

I smiled at him. “I thought you’d have one of your books for me.” I said. “I don’t know why I thought you would.”

“I considered it.” He seemed more easy going now. Less writer intense. He seems self assured. “I honestly did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to be an arrogant asshole.” He smiled and waitsed He’s given me a cue. He waited for my sarcasm.

I shrugged, feign seriousness. “I’m not taking it.”

“What?”

“The bait.”

“All right.”

“you look good.” He said. “You have that recently divorced look.”

I really like the older version of the man I once fell in love with.

We finished our martini and he stood to walk over to the mini fridge where we’d stored the ice. He started mixing another. He called over to me, “wouldn’t it be something if our kids met and fell in love?”

“It sounds disturbing.”

“Being in laws?” He walked back and handed me another.

“No. the thought of your son and my daughter.”

“ok. Forget it. I won’t allow it. Then we’ll have a capulet / montague situation on our hands.”

I laughed. I wanted to say I missed you. I realized in that moment I had missed him. All those years. “what are your books like?” I ask him.

“you didn’t know I was a writer?”
“I did. I never read any.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I looked down at my hand. At my left ring finger where my wedding band used to be.

“Why’d you get divorced?” he asked.

“It felt like a prison.” I took a long sip and closed my eyes as I swallowed it down. “He’s a nice guy though.”

Carl laughed.

“Why did you?”

“it felt like a prison.”

“But she was a nice girl?”

He shook his head.

“that’s the same girl you were with when we met?”

He nodded “it is.”

I let out a breath. I felt foolish. I was a grown woman with two children, one entering college. I felt bad. I looked down into my glass.

“Why didn’t I choose you?” he asked.

I looked up at him.

“Is that what you’re thinking?”

I nodded.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah. Honestly.”

“I want to be honest but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s ok.” I smiled, almost laughed. He’s the same even with all the time that passed.

“I’m 45 years old. It would take a lot to hurt me.”

“Are you really? 45?”

“you know how old I am and how long ago it was.”

“I did choose you. I did love you. You know that. I was crazy about you and you were crazy about me.”

I nodded.

“But you were also crazy crazy. I’m sorry.”

I did choose you. I did love you.

I let the statement drop, stay there in the room. Sitting there like a bitter family member. Smoldering, snarling.

“Come on. You were basically stalking me.”

I looked away, shook him off “Oh really don’t flatter yourself.” I looked back at him.

He kept his eyes on mine.

“You couldn’t handle it Annie.”

I knew it was true. For 183 nights, every night I wrote him a letter begging him to stay with me. And every morning I walked to the post office, not a mailbox but a post office to make sure it was delivered the next day.

I nodded. “I’m sorry. I know I went crazy. I ‘ve wanted to apologize for my behavior. But…that’s why I didn’t read your books…I felt like any contact would make you think I was this crazy person back in your life. Plus I owed it to you to leave you alone. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything so I did. “I have to catch a plane tomorrow.” I started to stand.

“See?” he said.

I sat back down. “See what?”

“This is how you were. That’s why you were impossible. You’re closing the door. It’s too close to your feelings. You’re closing it now but back then you slammed it.”

I wanted to slam it in that moment, it was true. I wanted to scream at him — there on the cusp of wanting. There on the edge of being hurt. I looked down at my hands and back at him.

“So what should I do?”

“let me have you.”

“like I did the last night we were together? After all those letters, all that longing and pain?” I felt anger rise. It wasn’t just me. It was a game. It was his game and how he toyed with me.

“I read the letters. I kept them. I still have them.”

“But you called me back when I stopped writing and you spent the night with me and you never called me again. And then you married Annie.”

He kept his eyes on me.

“It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t the only one making it impossible.”

He let out a long breath. He didn’t say anything but kept his eyes on me.

“What?” I asked. I’d grown self conscious. It was like waking from one of my dreams. The loveliness dissipates. The innocent, honest love fades.

“I want to walk over to you and put my arms around you.”

I wanted to protest but I held back. I let out a breath. “OK.”

“OK?” he smiled. There he was just like in my dreams. The same beautiful blue eyes and square jaw. Not too much taller than me but strong.

And so he did. He walked over to me and put his arms around me. “you should read my books.” He whispered to me.

I kissed his cheek.

“you should read my books,” he whispered again, “they’re all about you.”