‘I’m good, really. I’m just across the lot, at the cancer center. Do you have time for a coffee or tea?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Hang on, let me double check. OK, yes, I can. Meet you downstairs in the café in ten?’
‘Great, see you then.’
Clair felt buffeted, lifted and lighter. It would be good to talk with Jet, get her perspective on things. Pulling her coat close to her, she walked, head high, and feet planted across the tarmac, large raindrops beginning to fall. She lifted her face up to the sky, catching one on her tongue.
‘So, what’s new?’ Jet asked Clair as she slipped into the chair at a table by the large, plate glass window overlooking a rose garden. Only a few fragments of blossoms remained, and those were surrendering to the late fall rains, their tender petals drifting like confetti to the browning grass below. Normally, such a sight would have filled Clair with melancholy, dread for the coming winter. But today, she found a comfort in the cycle of fall, winter, spring, and the knowledge that if she could just keep showing up for her treatments, she might live through this. And then what? Don’t wonder, she told herself. Just stay here, with this now.
‘First support group, with Naomi. Do you know her?’ Clair asked.
‘Naomi, yes, she’s great. A bit cheerful but maybe that’s what her job calls for. What did you think?’
‘It was OK. I sort of enjoyed it. There was a young girl and a man. I was surprised.’
‘Yeah, cancer doesn’t discriminate. Like mental illness, Clair, it can happen to anyone. So, how’s it going at home, with Adam? Are you two talking?’
Clair got a look on her face, eyes crinkling at the corners, mouth turned up in an almost smile.
‘What is that look?’ Jet asked.
‘Um, yeah, we are talking and a bit more than that,’ Clair said, smiling fully now.
‘Oh my God, Clair, is that OK?’
‘It is, I think, I mean, it just happened, but we were, we both, well, it happened. You can’t fake that, right?’
Jet laughed. ‘No, at least the man can’t. Clair, I’m touched. I was worried and now, I feel so much better about you two being there, so far away from town, from me, alone.’
‘You mean from the psych unit, don’t you?’ Clair asked, but with a smile. ‘Jet, I’m not insane anymore, remember. I’ve been released from commitment. I’m normal.’
‘Ha, we could argue that for days, months, and many have – the differences between legal insanity and just pure crazy. But, no, that’s not what I meant, Clair. I mean, being there, without Devon. Going back through all of that. How’s that going?’
Clair picked up her cup of tea, holding it with both hands. Took a small sip. Looked back out the window, at the wind, now stronger, blowing cat paws across the puddles in the parking lot to the side of the rose garden.
‘I’m not, dealing with it, not yet. I know I need to go in his room, clean it out. Open that space. But I can’t.’
She took a long breath, set her cup down, looked at Jet.
‘After I first went home, you know, that very first time. After Devon disappeared, I would go into his room, lay on his bed. Smell him. Just wrap myself in his blanket, hold his pillow to my face. Breathe him in. The sunlight was fierce that summer. Each day, shining right into his room, onto his rows of toy cars, arranged in a perfect circle, each one exactly equidistant from the next. Before, when I would go in to clean and accidently dislodge one of the cars, he would quietly, without anger or emotion, place it carefully back in place. So, even after, I would walk so carefully around those cars. That was what did it for me, that last day when I lost it. Adam had moved all the cars, packed them up in a box, set them in a corner of his room. I knew the bed, the pillow, blanket would be next. I couldn’t let that happen. I emptied the box, rearranging the cars in Devon’s order, the way he always did it. I found his little red truck. It was his favorite. I picked it up, tucked it safely in my pocket. I carry it with me always now.’
Clair patted a large black tote bag hanging off the back of her chair.
Jet reached across the table, patting Clair’s hand. Clair’s gaze wandered around the coffee shop, noticing people moving about, not wanting to look at Jet, sensing a conversation was coming she didn’t want to have. She looked at Jet. They easily slipped back into patient, therapist mode. Clair didn’t mind. It comforted her.
‘Clair,’ Jet said, holding her gaze, ‘there is a concept in psychology and grief work called ambiguous grief. It is that grief that has no end, no closure. It abides in us. Clair, this is what you are facing. T.S. Eliot said that what we do not know about a missing loved one becomes all that we know. You are facing this new threat, immediate and real. It might help to bring some ending to the past, not closure. We know that doesn’t exist in real life, but it can be a next step. So, you can focus on your treatment now. This is going to take all you’ve got, energy, willpower, hope.’
Clair took a breath. Smiled at Jet, her eyes looking back over the parking lot.
‘Oh, there’s Adam,’ she said, standing up quickly, jostling the tea and coffee cups on the table. ‘I have to go now, Jet. I appreciate the lesson, or session, whatever this was. But, I’m OK, really.’
‘Clair,’ Jet said, standing up to meet her gaze. ‘Call me, anytime. Don’t do that on your own, OK? Let me help you pack the rest of his things.’
Clair didn’t answer, just waved backwards, as she hurried out the double glass doors. Adam’s car was driving into the lot across the street.
Out of breath when she opened the door, wet from the rain, driven hard by the wind, Clair fell into the front seat.
‘Where were you?’ Adam asked. ‘I thought you were in here,’ he said, pointing to the lobby of the cancer center.
‘I was, but we finished up early. I had a tea with Jet, over in the main building.’
Adam was silent for several moments. The car was running, the heater blasting warm air. Soft jazz playing on the radio, tuned to National Public Radio.
‘Is that wise, Clair?’ he asked, his voice tense.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she answered. ‘Wise? Jet’s a friend now, Adam, not my therapist. I can see her anytime I want.’
‘But she is still a therapist, Clair. She can’t not be a therapist. And she has the ability to get into your head, and mine, and well, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to spend time with her, now you’re out.’
‘What are you afraid of Adam? That I’ll share too much? That I might actually become whole again? Would you want that? Or do you want to keep me sick, at your mercy?’
It surprised her, how quickly this virgin peace could be shattered, returning them to their former state of adversaries. Her anger came quick and hard.
‘That’s not fair, I only want you to get better. I want us to get better. I want you, Clair, however you come, cancer, crazy, healthy, whole. It doesn’t matter to me. As long as we can be together. We’ll find a way, work this out.’
‘Then don’t worry, Adam,’ Clair reached over, placed her hand on his forearm, resting on the gear shift, feeling herself soften. ‘I’m going to be OK. I can feel it in my bones. And we’re going to be OK too.’
He put the car in drive, glancing over at Clair.
She smiled, her eyes shining with anticipation. Of what, she wasn’t sure. But she felt ready. Maybe it was a fool’s paradise, her new-found optimism, she feared, but she’d take it. Anything was better than the darkness looming inside every open space in her mind, every single moment without intentional thought. Points of light broke through, like the sunlight scattering rainbows across the oil slicks in the parking lot, as the black Mercedes eased forward, toward Highway 101 and home.
Chapter 16
Adam
Clair had been sleeping when Adam looked in. She looked pale and thi
n, insubstantial. Her bare shoulder had shown above the comforter. He gently pulled the duvet up to cover her. He had been sleeping in the guest room, not wanting to disturb her rest. He smiled, remembering their lovemaking that first day home. It had been sweet, gentle. He was afraid he would hurt her, or dislodge the drains again. But she had kept saying to him, ‘It’s OK, Adam, I’m OK.’ It was the first time they had made love in months, maybe even years, since Devon’s birth. Really connected, in this way. Not just sexual release. No wonder she thought he was fooling around. And he had allowed her to wonder. That had been wrong, he knew. Time for a fresh start, all around. He was feeling better this morning than he had in a long time. Their almost argument yesterday on the drive back from her support group meeting was an early alert for him, showing just how fragile their new-found peace still was. He would nurture it, fan it, amplify it until this new way of being together became the only way. Now, he was eager to get back to work, to see his students, right his world.
He slipped around the room, quietly opening drawers, his closet door, extracting clothes for the day. He could hear the rain pattering on the roof, not a downpour but steady enough to need a raincoat and boots.
‘Are you off then?’ Clair’s voice called from the bed.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said, walking over to the bed, sitting on the side. She was turned on her side facing him, all but her neck and face covered by the down comforter. He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. Cupping her face in his hands, he gently kissed her mouth.
‘Oh, God no, not now, I have morning breath I know,’ she chided, pulling back, but smiling.
‘I don’t mind,’ he replied. ‘Do you want some coffee, tea?’
‘Hmmm, yes, black coffee please, really strong. I can’t seem to get enough of real coffee. They made us drink decaf on the unit.’
‘Cruel and unusual, right?’ he answered, getting up. ‘I’ll just get it going. Then Clair, I have to go in to work today. Will you be OK, here at home?’
‘Do you mean will I walk into the river, or slash my wrists?’ she answered.
He sighed. Will they ever get past this, he wondered?
‘No, I just want to be sure you’re OK, you know.’
‘Oh, right. Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll just eat, rest, read, and relax. I have a treatment soon so I want to enjoy my last days of freedom from nausea.’
He turned and walked out, carrying his clothes with him. For some reason, he felt shy dressing in front of her. He decided he would think about that later. Now, he needed to get to work. He took the cup of coffee to her, made certain she had her phone charged, within reach on the bedside table. He felt a deep sense of relief as he settled into his car, looking forward to the day. Enjoying the rain cascading down the windshield, and the hum of the motor as he set off down the drive, he turned onto the river road towards town, and college. He changed the radio to Bluetooth and Spotify, not wanting to hear the latest rounds of political bickering.
The rain was coming down hard now, mixing with the drone of Yo-Yo Ma’s cello. He felt vitalized, as though his purpose as a man and husband, even father was finally going to be realized. He could mourn his son properly now. Tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the piece, he let his mind imagine what their future might be like. The doctor had said she was really sick, and that this cancer could very well kill her, but looking at her this morning, he refused to believe it. Clair was alive, he was alive, and they had their whole future ahead of them. That was that.
Adam parked his car as close to the theater department building as possible. He pulled his anorak hood over his head, tucking his leather messenger bag up under his arm. Walking across campus, he was greeted by students and faculty, welcome backs and well wishes. It felt good. He felt good. Settling into his office, turning on the coffee maker, adjusting the thermostat, which didn’t work but everyone did it anyway, he heard a soft knock on the door frame. Turning, he saw Claudia standing there, backlit by the hall lights. His office was still shadowed by the dull rain-drenched morning light. Her hair, a golden sheen, created a halo effect. She was dressed in one of her modern designs, all geometric angles and sharp edges. Thin as a wafer, she reminded him of a spirograph, reds and yellows vying for dominance on a black background.
‘Welcome back,’ she said. ‘May I come in?’
‘Claudia, yes, of course. You’re the boss, right?’
He cursed himself for his edginess. Feeling his former sense of energy draining away, he mentally reframed his attitude to one of ‘get through this and then get her out of his office’. She walked in, shutting the door behind her. She stood there, leaning her back against the closed door. He rearranged items on his desk, moving a paperweight from one corner to the next.
‘So, what now?’ she asked, continuing to lean against the door.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Claudia.’
‘Come on, Adam. We both know you have just been waiting for Clair to be released from the hospital so you could leave her without looking like a total jerk. Well, now, that’s done, right? She’s back home and so, we can now be together again, finally.’ She had walked over to him, leaning over his desk.
He drew back, sitting down in his desk chair, holding his head in his hands. He ran his hands through his hair, looking up at her.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ he said.
‘Christ, Adam. I’ve been waiting all this time. Putting up with your crazy wife, waiting for you to be free of her and her bullshit. Now you are. And, like we’ve talked about, we can be together. How can you not remember?’
She reached a hand out to touch his face. He pulled away.
‘Claudia, I don’t know how you can think that. I’ve never given that a thought and I don’t understand how you can even begin to imagine this. Since I’ve been with Clair, we’ve never ever had any sort of sexual relationship. I haven’t with any woman.’
‘Well, maybe not literally, Adam, but you led me to believe you were just waiting. All those glances during rehearsals. Those brushes when we stood next to each other… even once, I know you meant to, you touched my breast with your forearm when reaching across me. I didn’t imagine those, I didn’t.’
Claudia was pacing around the small room, her colors flying in the dim light. Bookshelves, stacked tight, vibrated with her movement.
‘I’m sorry, Claudia, I never meant to let you believe that. I was angry, in turmoil, you were so available. I thought you understood; it was a game. A flirtation. We all did it, didn’t we?’
‘But I thought you were different, Adam. We were different. I have waited for you now, for five years. Since before your son was born. Waited through the pregnancy, his sickness, her obsessions, your sadness and regrets. I held you up, so you could do your work, win your prizes for best directing, best stage play, best professor. I saved your life. I was your wife in everything but the bedroom, and now, it’s my turn.’
She had stopped pacing and sat in the chair opposite his desk. She crumpled over, holding her head in her hands, resting on her upper thighs. He could see her back shaking but was curiously unmoved by the sight. She’s acting. She’s dangerous, he thought.
‘Claudia, I have to get to work now. I have a lot to do to get caught up. Can we talk about this later? Maybe over a drink?’
He knew she would put the department first; of that he was sure. So, he could appeal to her sense of professionalism, for now at least. And a drink, that was not a good idea, but he could find a way to put her off. Until he came up with a better idea. He didn’t want her going to Clair. And if needed, he could always pull the sexual harassment card, she was in fact his superior. She’d had trouble in the past with that, with a male student. For now, he just wanted her out of his office.
She looked up, eyes reddened by rubbing, but not wet.
‘OK, but we’re not finished here. A drink, after work today?’
‘Not today. I’ll need to get home.’
He wasn’t ready to talk about Clair’s cancer. And certainly not with Claudia.
She looked at him. He held her gaze.
Finally, she stood, and walked to the door. Sensing her need for a final word, commitment to a date, he hurried to open the door for her. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he gently guided her through.
‘I’m sorry, Claudia. It’s the best I can do.’
‘That’s always been your final escape, Adam. But you know, it isn’t about doing your best, it’s about doing what’s right.’
‘Maybe so, and if that is true, then what’s right is that I stay with Clair.’
He felt anger at her insinuation that she was right for him.
He heard her stacked heels clicking down the linoleum hall. Closing the door to his office, he felt his bowels tighten. An all too familiar feeling that he remembered happening for the first time when he was fifteen. The first time he realized he had power over women, and that sometimes, it went too far.
Chapter 17
Adam
Adam stood still, the vibration of the slammed door vibrating through his cells. Old feelings of confusion and remorse surged through him. Had he brought this on? Did he send out signals that made Claudia think he cared in that way? That he wanted her as a lover? Before Clair, yes, probably, he thought, but not since, surely.
He slumped back into his chair, staring at the door, his breath coming in short, staccato sips. For the hundredth time he wished he still smoked. He opened a drawer beside his desk, pulling out a bottle of Scotch he kept there for special needs, good or bad. Never a man of action, he found relief from others’ expectations in presenting an aura of mystery, as though he was too deep to be understood. An escape artist, he rode the rip tides of passion and desire until he found an eddy where he could ease out, leaving no wake behind him. Or so he thought.
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