Of course, I ached in silence and never breathed a word of this to anyone. The secret journals I scratched in, hidden below the spare tire in my car trunk, secure from Evan’s prying eyes… safe, unless I blew a tire. So, no one knew about my secret desire to run away, least of all Terry, who was also married. Although rare, we sometimes commiserated at a safe distance.
“It’s a beautiful dream,” he continued. “We feel comfortable around each other. Sometimes we ride horses together.”
“I like the idea of that.”
We had not ridden horses together. I last rode a horse before my graduation and the old nag bounced me right out of the saddle and into the dirt. But, Terry truly admired horses and used to own one. He and the magnificent beast galloped off into the wilderness and camped there for days. I think it planted the seeds of longing in his heart then.
Because of that conversation, I imagined the seed growing, its tendrils pressing out of his heart, into his mind, where he thinks these thoughts; I suspect the tendrils have grown into his arms and hands, legs and feet, and that he constantly fights the urge to travel every day. I suspect it might also be the reason why the dreams keep occurring.
“That sounds like a nice fantasy,” I teased.
“Sometimes I wake up and it’s so real, at times I’ve wondered when I opened my eyes, if I’d be in a tent.”
“Really? You can’t tell you’re at home?”
“Home,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t call what I have home. I’m just going through the motions of someone else’s life.”
His words shot like bullets to my heart. Was I not doing the same thing? I worked a job I never envisioned, in a city in which I never wanted to live, married to a hapless man who despised me, making food neither of us ate and getting a weekly paycheck that barely paid expenses. Nothing was left at the end of the month, not financially, physically or emotionally.
He’s lucky, that Gypsies came for him in his dreams, at least. I hadn’t enjoyed one escape dream.
“I’m jealous,” I said.
“Of my life?”
“Of your dreams.”
“Honestly?”
“Shouldn’t I be? It’s a wonderful escape.”
“They’re usually fading when I first wake up. But lately, I hear them even after I’ve been awake for a while.”
A chill ran through me then. I realized that whatever Terry heard might not be just a dream, but something much more.
“What do you think it means?”
“Honestly? I think I’m dying.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just talk to me. It helps, somehow.”
“How often do you hear the bells?”
“Almost every day now.”
Not long after that, Terry became dreadfully ill. As a result, he dropped out of the book group, stopped returning calls. I suspected that Rebby no longer passed my messages along to him. She repeatedly told me the dozens of ways he was unavailable.
I didn’t sit around waiting for his calls; I found myself in the middle of another firestorm caused by Evan. We separated. I went one way and he went off the deep end. My roommates tirelessly blocked him and his calls. I continued with my counselor who advised me, “Do not engage him.”
I counted my friends. After months, I realize Terry hasn’t called. I wonder about the Gypsy bells and if he’s really dying. I wonder if Rebby would call me, or how I will know if Terry is alright? Then, I realize tears are dripping from my chin, and how much Terry means to me. It’s then that my cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Dacey?”
“Terry?”
“Yes, hello. We haven’t talked in ages and I wanted to catch up.”
Before I know it, we laugh about the book group, trade a few book titles and, since he dropped out of the group, I want to bridge the gap and cover old ground.
“I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’ve been worried about me, too.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better than I did.”
“I have to ask you, do you still hear Gypsy bells?”
“For a while, they were louder than ever.”
“What about Rebby? Did she hear them too?”
He remains quiet a long time. Maybe I’ve overstepped a line. I nearly decide he’s not going to answer and open my mouth about to speak, when he does.
“We split up,” Terry says.
“Oh… gosh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, it’s better this way. She found someone else. I’ve known about it for a long time. After what I’ve been through, I’ve decided that life is too short to just go through the motions. I don’t want to stay in a marriage with someone whom I do not trust.”
I feel a pang when he says trust. There were so many dark moments with Evan. Terrible events that I could barely choke out in counseling. Like, how verbally brutal he could be. He had a real knack for it. Then, one insightful day, the counselor asked me a question that changed everything.
“It seems like you’re putting a lot of effort into saving this marriage.”
“Well, of course I am. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“Dacey, I can see how he benefits. But… what do you get out of this marriage?”
The truth of my answer annihilated any illusions I had about staying with Evan. Lawyers filed paperwork, and over the course of many months, the divorce became final.
I don’t miss his selfish tirades, or the hundreds of ways he discounted and invalidated me. Nor do I miss the cold loneliness of being ignored for days.
Have I ever mentioned the gun? How, after he’d had a bad day, he used to drink rye and target practice in the back yard? Oh, how his eyes blazed with fury as he loaded the clip and slammed it into the gun. Then he’d go outside and set his empty liquor bottles on the wooden fence rail and shoot at them, until one by one, they exploded in a mini shower of glass shrapnel.
Obviously I could never go back to him. Not even at gunpoint. What is there to go back to? What kind of bird knowingly returns to a cage? I feel sure his appearing in the office has more to do with his inability to admit he’s lost me. If I return to him, I can’t even imagine the ways I will pay for it for the rest of my life. And, if I was miserable before, how much worse will it be?
I value my new freedom. I’m free from walking on egg shells, free from wondering what tiny and seemingly insignificant event might set him off, free from second guessing my every word. I no longer wonder what the next bad event will be. What scares me recently is his escalating interest in renewing our legally dead relationship.
“Has everything been finalized?” I ask.
“Actually, yes. She didn’t argue a single point.”
“Who moved out?”
“I did. I already have a nice little place on the West side of Agea.”
“That’s my end of town. How long have you been there?”
“A few weeks. I could use some help setting up the kitchen. I remember how much you like to cook.”
“And I remember how much you liked my cooking. Maybe some time when you’re not busy, I can stop by for a visit.”
“I’d like that.”
“A cooking visit.”
“I like that even better,” he said brightly.
“Me too.”
“How about tonight?”
Chapter 6
The clock read six forty five. At any moment, the doorbell might sound. Terry paced the floor, slightly nervous, and savoring every step. An amazing few months ago, he couldn’t even heft himself from his bed or stand; and now he anxiously paced the floor, feeling the knobby Berber carpet beneath his bare toes. If she remained true to form, she would arrive exactly ten minutes early.
His heart fluttered again when he thought about her not only coming here, but making a meal just the two of them. He didn’t kn
ow what she planned to cook tonight, only that she intended to surprise him. She insisted on buying all the groceries.
“But I invited you, I should pay for the food. At the very least I should pay half,” he’d said.
“No way. I’m so glad you’re well again that I want to do something special for you.”
“I know how to cook, ya know, I can help.”
“I may take you up on that,” she’d said and, even though she couldn’t see it, he smiled.
He’d looked forward to asking her over for weeks. He’d rehearsed the perfect words over and over until the delivery was just right. This night would be special, not only because of the meal, they’d shared meals before. He’d looked forward to spending time with her and really getting to know her and… if he put his hand on his heart and was honest, he loved her. He wanted her in his life. He waited for the right time to bring this up, knowing that she, too, was still smarting from another failed marriage. Her third.
He wanted to tell her how inspirational she’d been, sending that card so long ago… had it been four months already? Focusing on Dacey had motivated him to strength, given him a reason to get out of bed every morning. He felt invincible when she encouraged him in anything, not that he needed it. But no one had ever been as sweet or as kind to him as she had been. She hadn’t been looking for paybacks. They hadn’t spent much time alone together outside of the group and this would be a very special night.
He practically skipped to the satellite radio and picked a station that was calming, peaceful music. It’s what she had always played for the book reading group. He adjusted the volume and then the doorbell sounded. Ten ‘til.
Her smile shone like a sun resting on her shoulders. It warmed him, comforted him and illuminated his soul. In her presence, it felt like summer. He imagined taking trips to the beach with her, sailing lakes, hiking. And in the warm twilights of midyear, he imagined them by candle light, sipping goblets of full bodied burgundies, nibbling crackers and pub cheese. And after… well.. After, he imagined making sweet love to her.
“Wow, you look really great!” she said, arms loaded with two grocery sacks.
“Come in. Let me take those,” he reached out for them and let her walk into his apartment while he nudged the door shut with his bare foot.
“What a great place you have!” she said, her eyes cast about. Her lips formed a broad smile. “I really like it.”
“It’s not very big…” he looked apologetic. He walked into the kitchen, set the groceries down and went back to her. “It’s good to see you.” They hugged and he held her a few seconds longer than usual.
“It’s perfectly cozy. It feels like a Gypsy wagon. You have a gift for decorating.”
“You’ve never seen my personal belongings before, have you?”
“Actually, no. When I visited you and Rebby some years ago, it looked mostly like new stuff. This looks like vintage… Really old world and still, hip. I could live in a place like this.”
She liked his things. Terry smiled at this, to him a good omen.
“Glass of wine?”
“Perfect. I planned a Mediterranean meal. I didn’t really know what you liked, so I figured meatless would be a safe bet.”
“Are you vegetarian?”
“Vegan usually. It was one of the points of contention between me and a former husband.” She chatted happily and carefully lifted fresh red peppers and olive oil from one paper sack, each item seemingly more exotic than the last: Eggplant, fresh basil, a wedge of Parmesan cheese. Terry poured two glasses of burgundy and offered her one. She drank enthusiastically.
“Mmmm! It’s delicious. Let’s drink to…”
“The hereafter. We are here after all.”
They laughed, clinked their glasses and took big sips. She pulled out a giant old skillet and set it on the stove.
“You brought your own pan?”
“Yes. It’s predictable.”
“Please make yourself at home. If you need something, ask me. I can probably find it.”
“Do you have a steam basket?”
“No…”
She spied the toaster oven on the counter.
“Foil?”
“Yes, but may I ask what you’ll use it for? I am fascinated by this whole process.”
“To cook this.” She pulled out a slightly yellow football-sized something. Too big to be summer squash.
“What in the world is that?”
“Spaghetti squash.”
“Spaghetti squash?”
“I can tell you’ve never had it. It’s gluten free, low carb and just fantastically healthy. You’re in for a real treat.”
“It sounds interesting. I’m up for it.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Together, they toasted hazelnuts in the skillet, roasted red bell peppers in the toaster oven and prepared a beautiful romesco sauce while the squash baked in the oven. Terry chopped radishes and tomatoes to mix with a salad of baby greens, green onions and purple olives. They finished the first glass of wine and he poured them two more.
“I really feel comfortable here,” she said, stirring the bubbling sauce.
“I’m glad you came over. This is fun.”
“I worried about you. For more than one reason. I missed you being at the book group and talking with you. We all did.”
“Well, I missed you,” he said, opening another bottle of wine to breathe. “Share another with me?”
“Of course. We’re celebrating.”
Terry set the table at the kitchen bar so he could sit next to her. He prayed over their food, using it as a reason to hold her hands. He thanked the Almighty for her company and friendship, and the sensational meal before them.
She waited for him to taste it.
“Oh my! This really is fantastic. I’ve always admired your cooking.”
“Really? That makes my heart happy. You even like the squash?”
“A delightful surprise.”
They ate in relative quiet for a few moments, both hungrier than they first realized, until she took a sip of wine and set her glass on the counter.
“I want to tell you I’m so sorry your marriage ended.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Sick and divorcing? At the same time?”
“The divorce came after I got a little better.”
“I feel like I dropped the ball when you were going through a really tough time.”
“No, you didn’t. No one knew. And as for missing something, that whole time we were in the book group, it’s not like we went there to talk about our lives or anything.”
She nodded in agreement taking a mouthful of salad.
“You still going to the group?” he asked.
“Not since you got sick. It’s not the same without you.”
Terry heard the remark, one which pleased him. But he didn’t want to address that yet.
“If anyone should be feeling bad, it should be me. I mean, I heard he stalked you? I would have done something about that if I had known.”
“You would have?”
“Of course. So what happened with him?”
“After the divorce, he kept calling my phone at work, my family. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I changed my number. It got really scary.” She took a swig of wine and looked at Terry. “The very last time I saw him, he came into the office with a gun.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He wanted to get back together.”
“You are a great catch.”
“Well, the husbands of the past didn’t seem to think so. Anyway, I don’t think he wanted me, so much as someone to control.”
“Well, I and the book club had been worried about you for a while. And it isn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say.”
Dacey let that slide and took another bite of squash. Then, wine glass in hand, she turned to Terry. Her other hand touched his arm.
“Did I tell y
ou what my mother said after the divorce?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I’m glad you got out. I always worried he would kill you.”
“Your own mother?” Terry took a sip from his glass. “Well, how many times did he tell you that you’d have to quit the book group? He tried to separate you from all your friends and family.”
“Did you think he would kill me, too?”
“Well, when people are not themselves, anything can happen. Thankfully, it didn’t.”
Terry poured the last of the second bottle of wine into their glasses.
“Let’s have another toast,” he said.
“To the hereafter!”
“Because we’re still hereafter all that!” They chinked their glasses, smiling and tipped their heads back at the same time, each taking a long sip. She set her glass down, but Terry held his, watching her. He silently enjoyed this moment, savoring the food and her company; drinking in the sight of this novel woman, in his apartment. There had to be a harmonic convergence somewhere in heaven. He couldn’t believe he managed to pull off time alone with Dacey Theroux.
“What?” she glanced at him, then looked away to stab a tomato with her fork.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He didn’t move. The fork neared her lips, when she turned her eyes back to his, she caught the look on his face. She paused like that, with a forkful of salad and a tomato chunk on the end of it. She smiled.
“I’ve always loved you,” Terry said.
“Really?” she set her fork down. Three full glasses of wine and a profession of love. This night was turning out to be far more eventful than she could have guessed. “Since when?”
“How long have we known each other? Eleven, twelve years?”
“Yeah, give or take.”
“Haven’t we always got along?”
“Yes, but…” she realized she had no defense. It was true. Of all the people in the group, she had favored him most. Of all the people she knew, she favored him most. At shared meals with friends, she always gave him extra, always made sure he had a drink. She always hoped to find him in attendance at the book club meeting. And when he wasn’t, she felt blue for days.