Read One Week In December Online
Authors: Holly Chamberlin
One Week In December (22 page)
39
Sunday, December 24
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James hadn't slept much the night before, and when he had fallen asleep, it had been fitfully. But the outcome of this restless night was positive. He'd woken with the firm conviction that he had to take a stand, a conviction that he had to do something before the marriageâand its two unhappy membersâfell entirely into dust.
It was now late morning. James had eaten breakfast and been for a walk in the bracing winter air. Olivia had opted for a quick cup of coffee and a return to their room, where she planned on working.
Now it was time. James knocked softly and, without waiting for an answer, came into the room. Olivia was sitting on the edge of the bed, sorting through a pile of old family photographs. She didn't look up.
James took a deep, steadying breath. He had steeled himself for this moment. He knew that people mistook his mild manner for weakness, but they were wrong. Yes, he was a patient man, more patient than most, but he was not a weak one.
“Where's my letter, Liv?” he said now, his manner calm and, he hoped, nonconfrontational.
Now Olivia looked up at him. She opened her mouth to answer, and closed it again. She suddenly realized she had no idea what she had done with the letter.
“It's . . . it's in the night table,” she lied, “by my side of the bed.”
James shook his head. “No, it isn't. You left it on the dresser. Unopened. Unread. I took it back.”
“I'm sorry,” Olivia said quickly. She felt a tiny bit afraid, as if something were different about her husband in this moment. She sensed that she was not in control of whatever it was that was happening. “I meant to read it. I guess I just . . . I just forgot.”
“Yes.”
Olivia's hands fluttered in the air as if to illustrate her words. “You know how things slip my mind these days.”
“Things like your husband.”
Olivia laughed, and to James, it sounded nervous. “What are you saying, James?”
James took a step closer to his wife and spoke softly. The last thing he wanted was to be overheard.
“I'm saying that lately, I feel as if I don't exist to you. I don't know, Liv, it's almost as if you're trying to substitute your lifeâour lifeâwith the lives of other people, people from the past, all these ancestors you're obsessed about. What's missing in the here and now, Liv? Are you still longing for a child of your own, a child of our own?”
Olivia didn't reply, and honestly, James hadn't expected her to. “All right, then,” he went on, “let's work on that. Let's revisit the idea of adoption. And if you really can't go through with an adoption, fine, then we have to find a way for you to be happyâeven contentâin the present. Content with what you have, not miserable about what you don't have. And one of the things you have, Liv, is me. But if you can't see that, can't appreciate it, if you can't love me . . .”
“But I do love you, James!” she burst out.
“It's been very hard to believe that, Liv. Ever since we decided against adoption once and for all last year, things have beenâdifferentâbetween us. You hardly ever look me in the eye anymore. I feel like we've become strangers. Maybe that's partly my fault, and if it is, I'm sorry. I want to fix that.” James paused for courage. And then he said: “But I'm not sure I can do that while living under the same roof as you. I think that a separation might be a good idea.”
Again, Olivia opened her mouth and then closed it. She wasn't at all sure what she had just heard. She wondered if she had experienced an auditory hallucination. Or was this what it felt like to be in shock? Finally, she said: “What?”
“I'm suggesting a separation, Liv,” James replied steadily.
Several emotions warred in Olivia's breastâfear, sorrow, and anger. Anger, the most effective weapon of emotional self-defense, won the battle.
Olivia jumped to her feet, scattering the pile of photographs she had been sorting. “I can't believe you have the nerve to tell me you want a separation while we're at my family's home!” she hissed. “How dare you!”
James sighed. “I'm sorry, Liv,” he said honestly. “I wanted to wait until we were back home. I had no intention of spoiling this holiday for us. ButâLiv, it's already spoiled. I just had to speak now.”
Olivia turned her back to him. “I could just kill you,” she muttered. And then, she whirled around to face this man who suddenly was a stranger. “What about tonight?” she demanded. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Of course you'll sleep in our bed. And if you want me to, so will I. If not, I'll be fine on the floor.”
James walked over to the dresser and picked up his car keys. When he was at the door, Olivia asked: “Where are you going?” Her voice was high and verging on frantic.
James turned and looked at his wife. He wondered if she could see the pain he knew was written all over his face. Once she would have seen it. But now, he doubted she saw anything that really mattered.
“I really don't know,” he said.
And then he was gone.
40
It seemed to be a universal truth. The kitchen was where people wanted to be. It was where they congregated during parties and where they journeyed in the middle of the night when they couldn't sleep. The kitchen was the scene of the hearth, the symbolic center of the home and of the family. So it was that Lily and Nora found themselves once again at the kitchen table, drinking tea, and talking.
Nora needed the caffeine that the strong English Breakfast blend provided. She'd slept badly the night before, her rest interrupted by thoughts of the family's current concerns. But she had gotten up at her usual early hour, loathe to waste the day. Now she was suffering for her decision.
“Grandma,” Lily said, “did you ever consider marrying again after Grandpa died?”
Nora wasn't really in the mood to talk about anything more important than the evening's menu. But she knew she owed her granddaughter the courtesy of a considered answer. After all, it was Nora who had introduced the subject of her marriage.
“Not immediately,” she answered. “But after about a year, maybe a little more, an old friend of mine from high school, a man named Tim Coombs, got in touch. I hadn't heard from himâor about himâin years. He and his wife had moved away ages before. Anyway, he was back in the Boston area after his wife's death a few months earlierâhis children lived in Framingham, not far from where Olivia and James live nowâand he suggested we get together.”
“And you did?” Lily prompted.
“Yes,” Nora said. “We met for lunch a few times and he was the same as ever, such a nice man, funny and smart. And after a few months he suggested we get married.”
Lily's eyes widened. “Wasn't that kind of fast?”
“Maybe,” Nora conceded. “But when you're an adult you do know yourself pretty wellâat least, you shouldâand you don't tend to waste time. You hope you finally know what you really want and need to live a satisfying, productive life.”
“I guess,” Lily said doubtfully. “A proposal after only a few months still seems pretty fast to me. A whirlwind courtship. Isn't that what it used to be called?”
“Yes,” Nora said, “though at our age it was more like a gentle-breeze courtship. In any case, Tim's proposal made a lot of sense for us both. We had much in common and the companionship such a union would have afforded each of us was a strong appeal. I did give the matter some serious consideration. But in the end I just couldn't accept his proposal.”
“Was he upset?” Lily asked.
Nora smiled. “He wasn't exactly pleased with my decision, but it didn't break his heart, either. He married another old friend of ours the following year. Actually, I heard that he died about a year ago. . . . It was cancer, I think.”
“So, why did you say no to him?” Lily said. “Were you afraid of being hurt? Frankly, Grandma, I don't know how you could even have considered getting married again after going through all that emotional trauma with Grandpa.”
Nora took a sip of her cooling tea before speaking. “Oh, no,” she said then, “I wasn't afraid. If there was one thing my marriage taught me, it was that I could take care of myself if I had to. No, it wasn't fear.”
“Did you love him?” Lily asked. “Your old friend. Because if you loved him, then I don't understand why you didn't marry him.”
Nora smiled. “Oh, no,” she said. “Love didn't have anything to do with our relationship. Respect, yes. And friendship. But not love. At least, not in the sense I'd known love with your grandfather. Or, for that matter, in the sense that Tim had known love with his first wife. They had met when they were very young, too. No, with Tim and me things were different.”
“Now I'm even more confused,” Lily admitted. “If he didn't love you, then why did he propose? How can you ask someone to marry you when you're not really in love with the person? Unless it's one of those awful political marriages where you know it's just a deal between ruling families or business empires. And that just sounds like prostitution to me.”
My, Nora thought. Her granddaughter did espouse a strict moral code! “I'll try to explain,” she said. “For a lot of people, Lily, marriageâor any longtime unionâbecomes in and of itself a desirable state. It becomes a habit that's hard to give up, so that sometimes, in a marriage that comes late in life, it's not so much about the individual as it is about the union, the companionship, the need for another human being in the bed, the need for another person at the breakfast table.” Nora smiled. “For that matter, it's about the need for someone with whom to share household chores.”
Poor Lily. She looked horrified. “That's all?” she said. “Someone to share chores with? Like, you dust and I'll vacuum? You take out the garbage and I'll change the sheets on the bed? I'll cook and you wash the dishes?”
Nora laughed. “That's a lot, Lily. Don't underestimate the appeal of domestic habit. I know it must sound pretty boring to a young person butâ”
“But I'll think differently when I'm older?” Lily sounded doubtful. “Maybe. But from where I am right now I just can't imagine marrying someone I'm not madly in love with.”
“And you shouldn't. Not when you're so young and have so much of your life ahead of you. I approve highly of marrying for love, Lily. I married a man I loved dearly.”
“And yet, he betrayed you. So love isn't a guarantee of anything.” Lily reached across the table and gently squeezed Nora's hand. “I'm sorry, Grandma, I'm trying to come to terms with it, but it's really hard. I just feel so bad for you.”
Nora squeezed back, with more force. “No, no, Lily, don't feel bad for me,” she said. “The last thing I needâor wantâis pity. I don't deserve it. Bad things, painful things happen to everyone. There's nothing any of us can do about that.”
“Maybe. But I still want to punch Grandpa in the nose!”
Nora laughed. “Oh, and so did I! Only I was rather vain about my hands back then, before they were all gnarled and speckled, and the last thing I wanted was to break one.”
“Oh, Grandma, your hands are still beautiful!” Lily said, and in her eyes, they were. “So, you still haven't told me why you said no to your old friend?”
Nora hesitated before speaking. “I don't know if I can properly explain it without sounding like a crazy old lady. Or worse, a romantic fool.”
“Try.” Lily smiled. “And you could never be a crazy old lady, Grandma, or a romantic fool.”
“Well, thank you, dear. I'll try to explain. I suppose I felt that after all Thomas and I had been through, after all we'd survived . . . our success seemed like a sort of monument or shrine to me . . . I didn't want toâto betray us by marrying another man.” Nora raised her hand, as if to forestall an argument from her granddaughter. “Yes, yes,” she said, “I know, Thomas had betrayed us and there I was not wanting to betray what was only a memory. But the fact was that the marriage still felt alive. Do you understand?”
Lily considered for a moment before answering. “Yes,” she said, “I think so.”
Nora nodded. “Good. Anyway, I made the right decision in saying no to Tim. I have no regrets about not marrying again.”
“Well, that's good. Regrets areâI don't even know what to say about them. Except maybe that they're horrible.”
“What do you regret?” Nora asked, and as she did she wondered how early it was in a person's life that she could identify the feeling of regret in herself. Surely, a little child didn't experience regret. A person had to be old enough to realize that she was responsible for actions both taken and not taken. Consciousness had to be developed to a certain point, as did conscience.
“I regret not seeing the truth about Cliff early on,” Lily said promptly.
“And do you regret falling for him in the first place?”
Lily thought hard about that. “No,” she said after a few moments, “I guess I don't. I mean, we did have some good times. And in the end . . . Well, I certainly learned a lesson, even if it was the hard way!”
“Yes. And more often than not, the hard way is the best way to learn a lesson.”
Lily thought about that. It was too bad that people had to learn lessons “the hard way.” And she supposed that meant that in general people were reluctant to change old habits, reluctant to listen to the experience of those who'd come before. She supposed it meant that in general people thought they knew best the way to be happy. She supposed it meant that people were simply too stubborn and self-deluded not to bring about their own suffering.
“It seems to me, Grandma,” she said after a time, “that this family has been defined by deception.”
“No, Lily,” Nora corrected. “This family has been defined by love.”
“Maybe. But how did love and deception get all mixed up with each other? I know that's a rhetorical question.”
“Good.” Nora got up from the table. “Because I'm far too tired to attempt a coherent answer.”
Lily looked more closely at her grandmother. Was she a bit pale, a bit drawn? “Are you okay, Grandma?” she asked.
“Oh, I'm fine. I think I'll just take a little rest.”
“All right,” Lily said, hoping that her grandmother wasn't lying. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Nora patted Lily's shoulder and went off to her room for a nap.
Lily made herself another cup of tea and sat back at the kitchen table. Ever since that first conversation with her grandmother, the one in which Nora had told Lily of Thomas's affair, Lily had been wondering about something. Nora had said that she'd had to face the possibility that she had been in some way responsible for her husband having strayed. The notion of her grandmother accepting some of the blame for her husband's affair had made Lily angry. But it had also made her think about the dynamics of her own situation.
Had she been at all responsible for Cliff's affair? She felt sure she had not done anything to drive him away. But what ifâjust what ifâshe'd unknowingly contributed to Cliff's unhappiness or boredom with the relationship? What then?
Lily shook her head though there was no one present to witness her conviction. No. Lily was one hundred percent certain that the entire responsibility for the affair lay with Cliff Jones. True, maybe she and Cliff were simply not meant to be a couple. Or maybe Cliff was just a jerk. Maybe the whole answer to what had gone wrong in the relationship was as simple as this: Cliff Jones was a bum. It had to be true that in some breakups, only one person was responsible. Didn't it?
Lily's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden and slightly unsteady arrival of Olivia. Lily watched as her oldest sister fumbled for a cup on the drainboard, and then, as she stood staring at an unopened cupboard, as if lost or confused.
Lily got up from her seat and walked over to her sister. “Liv,” she said gently, “are you okay?”
Olivia continued to stare at the cupboard. Her expression was unreadable; Lily wondered if she was in some sort of shock.
“Let me make you a cup of tea,” she said. When Olivia nodded, slightly, Lily did just that. When the tea was ready, Lily carefully handed the cup to her sister.
“Liv, where's James?” she asked. “Do you want me to get him?”
Olivia lowered her eyes and left the kitchen without a word.
Lily stared after her sister. She was concerned. She wondered if she should tell her mother that Olivia seemed upset, and then remembered that her mother had gone to pay a visit to a distant neighbor who was recovering from surgery. Besides, would setting her mother to look after Olivia be interfering? Lily wasn't entirely sure, but she strongly suspected her oldest sister wasn't the type to welcome unasked-for assistance.
Lily sighed. Maybe she was being overly concerned. Olivia was tough; she'd proved that time and again. Probably she was just angry about the loss or misplacement of another moth-eaten coat or cracked china pitcher. Or maybe she'd taken a muscle relaxer because she'd hurt her back hauling around boxes and wardrobes up in the attic. Lily supposed that might account for her shaking hands.
Lily put thoughts of her oldest sister aside and went off to find the mystery novel she'd brought with her to read this holiday week, the latest Elizabeth Peters title. That was one of the best things about holidaysâthe opportunity to read a book that had absolutely nothing to do with curriculum requirements.
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