by Harry Kraus
“You sound like a doctor.”
“I am a doctor, Mom.”
“Doctors don’t know everything. You have no absolute knowledge of the future.”
Claire held up her hands. “You’re right. All I have are best guesses, based on science.”
“Don’t throw love away just because you know you carry the HD gene. God brought you and John together for a reason.”
“He won’t want me.”
Della pointed and raised her voice. “You don’t know that!”
She shrugged and stood up. “It’s moot. I’m going to be sure he moves on with his life.”
Claire started down the hall to her room, with Della calling out behind her. “Don’t do this, Claire. Don’t make yourself a martyr. Huntington’s is threat enough on its own. Why heap more misery on your life by turning away love?”
Claire whirled around to scream her response, then softened when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. She lowered her voice in midsentence. “Loving John means I’ll protect him from pain.”
Della followed Claire into the hall, then pushed past her toward the opening to her room. “Within the contrast of pain, love finds its tender-est expression.”
Claire let the words hang without response. From the context of the life Della had lived, there was little Claire could add. Instead, she nodded and entered the solitude of her little room.
That afternoon, Claire found John Cerelli absorbed in a thriller, seated in the screened-in gazebo behind his parents’ home. His left leg was out on the bench beside him, propped on two pillows. He held a quart-sized plastic container with a bendable straw exiting the cap. Overhead, a ceiling fan stirred the languid summer air.
Claire studied his image for a moment before revealing her arrival. John appeared the picture of contentment. She took a deep breath. D day plus two. The shelling begins anew. “Knock, knock,” she called.
His face brightened. Even the perils of the protagonist couldn’t compete with Claire for John’s attention. “Hey, babe.”
She slipped in and sat across from him, avoiding their usual kiss. Her heart ached. “Hi.”
He squinted and laid the book aside. “What’s up, Claire?”
She hadn’t yet decided upon an opening line. She wanted to avoid tears, but already she felt a waterfall of Niagara force threatening to break. Her eyes began to mist. She sniffed and turned away. She reached for his cane and bounced the rubber stopper up and down on the wooden floor. “How’s rehab?”
He leaned forward. He wasn’t going to fall for a small-talk entry.
“Claire, what’s on your mind? You didn’t want me at your uncle’s funeral service. You call to say you want to get together, but you refuse to come to Sunday dinner with my family, and you don’t want to go to the mall so I can get some walking in.” His eyes were intense.
When she looked his way, his gaze was unflinching. She took another deep breath. “I just wanted to talk to you alone. We need some time together.” She hesitated. “I didn’t want to be in a crowd. Not even with your folks.”
He leaned back. “So let’s talk.” He set down his drink and folded his arms across his chest.
She bounced the cane a few more times and wished he’d keep talking. He didn’t.
“Look, John. I’ve been thinking about us. Our future.”
He kept his eyes on her face, forcing her to be the one to break away.
“I think your decision to move back here is the right one. I’ve loved having you around Stoney Creek, but my medical practice is so demanding, I . . .” She halted.
“What? You don’t have time for me? For us?”
“John, I’m not good for you. We’ve had great times together. I’m so thankful for all of that.”
John shook his head and looked down, his shoulders sagging.
“But—”
“But,” he muttered.
She raised her voice, determined to get through her speech. “But I can’t be the wife you need. My calling, my vocation now and for the foreseeable future, is medicine. You need to find someone else.”
“I need someone else?”
She nodded.
“Do you love me?”
She shut her eyes, pinching her lids tight as if to hold out the question she didn’t want him to ask. When she opened them again, John was staring at her, just as she feared. “That doesn’t matter, John. I may have strong feelings for you, but that doesn’t change my ability to be a good wife.”
“I made the decision to come back to Brighton because we needed to sort things out. I gave you space because you were having trouble trusting me. The day I finalized my decision was when we took our last hike.” He paused, wagging his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “You thought I could be the rapist.”
The accusation stung because of its accuracy. Claire knew he was right. She had begun to doubt his character. She didn’t know how to explain. “I’m sorry. I was stupid.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes. “I was so stupid, John.”
He stayed quiet.
She continued. “Maybe it will make this easier. It forced you to leave.
The distance will make moving on without me even easier.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Their eyes met again, his pleading, hers tearful. “Do you love me?”
He was making this difficult. Her silence answered his question.
“What changed, Claire? In the weeks following my move to Stoney Creek, you didn’t hesitate to say it.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Claire, look at me. I love you. What will it take for you to believe in me?”
“You don’t know me. I can’t be the wife you need.”
He straightened. “What’s going on? Before, you seemed to doubt me. Now, you doubt yourself?”
“Your accident changed me. I stopped wondering if you could love me if I ended up dancing like Daddy.” She halted as a sob escaped her lips. “I started to wonder if I could take care of you.”
“And you doubt? Claire, you barely left my side while I was in the hospital. Every day your presence, your love was all I looked forward to.” His voice was pleading. “Don’t deny me now.” He exhaled sharply as he dropped his head in his hands. “What’s changed?”
“I got my genetics test back.” She hesitated. “I’m positive for the HD gene.”
He looked up, his eyes moist. He nodded slowly as if he understood.
John slowly lifted his left leg from the pillows and planted his feet together on the wooden floor so he faced Claire. He then pushed the pillows from the bench so that they bridged the space between them. John winced as he slipped forward to kneel on the pillows. He reached for her hand.
Claire thought he must be about to pray. Instead, he took her hand in his and began to cry. “Claire,” he said through his tears. “I know you love me. You may not say it in words, but you’ve done nothing but show me love for weeks since my accident.” He paused. “I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
She felt her jaw slacken. He hadn’t understood. “John, a positive test isn’t a good result. A positive test means I’m carrying the Huntington’s disease gene.”
He nodded his head. “I understand.” He repeated his question. “Will you marry me?”
She began to sob. This was not going like she’d planned. She wanted to let John go, to give him the freedom she thought he wanted. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? I love you. I want you to be my wife.”
“But I just told you—”
“You told me you are carrying the HD gene. I know all about it. And it doesn’t change my desire one bit. I love you now. I’ve loved you for years. Knowing your genetic makeup doesn’t change the love that God has placed in my heart for you.”
“But—” She stopped and wiped her eyes with her free hand. “But why didn’t you ask me before? Why now, after getting the results?
”
“Because if we married and then later found out you were carrying the HD gene, it would have left open a crack for doubt in your mind. You would always wonder if I would have followed through and married you if I would have known.”
“But, I—”
“Don’t you see, Claire? I’ve been waiting for this moment, so I could ask for your hand. Now you will always know that my love for you has nothing to do with whether you will end up dancing like Wally.”
Tears trickled across her cheeks, falling onto their hands, now tightly clasped in a knot of four. “But what if my test had been negative? Then, if you asked for my hand, I would not have believed that you could have wanted me if . . .” She sniffed. “If I was HD positive.”
“I thought about that. But I’ve written my intentions on a card that I’ve dated and sealed, long before we went to get your test results. That way, I thought I could convince you if you doubted.”
Everything in her wanted to swim in the love he was offering. But a second emotion pulled opposite to her desire. An agony rose from within her and caused her to lift her head and pull her hands from his gentle grasp. “I do love you. It is a torment for me to do what I know I must. I came here to say good-bye. Love will not allow me to take you down the path my mother has suffered.”
John shook his head and drew her hands to his mouth, kissing them gently. “Don’t say this. ” His eyes were brimming with tears as he pleaded. “I knew you would react this way, and that’s why I love you.” He hesitated before continuing, his voice just above a whisper. “I’ve rehearsed this moment a thousand times, knowing you would set me free.”
Claire nodded. Go on!
“From the moment we met, the only suffering my soul has known is that of being without you. If you deny me this, my anguish will be so great, that no other pain could cast a shadow upon it. Caring for you, loving you, even through the suffering of HD, is a calling I will embrace with all my heart, if only you give me the chance.”
Claire could not speak. Weeping, first for sorrow, and then for joy, seemed all she could do.
“You are young, Claire. You may have twenty years before you dance.” He halted, watching for her response.
She quietly wept, making no attempts to stem the flow of her tears.
“But I would endure hell if it meant I could have your love for a day.”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her palms, before whispering his name. “John.” She hesitated, searching his face. “That was quite a speech.”
He smiled and confessed, “I must have practiced it a thousand times.”
She lowered her face to his. She paused to let her lips slide across his moistened cheek, tasting the salt of his tears before pressing her mouth to his.
He broke their embrace and whispered into her open mouth. She could feel the warmth of his breath. “Is this ‘yes’?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, letting her breath mingle with his. She stayed that way a few moments longer, breathing in as he exhaled, exhaling as he took a breath. With only millimeters separating them, they shared an intimate exchange. She inhaled his aroma again, then kissed him softly as he gasped.
“I’m going to die if I stay in this position any longer.”
She giggled. “You are hopeless, Cerelli. You’re spoiling my romantic moment.”
“I have a broken femur.” He held up his hand. “Help me up.”
She stood and grabbed his arm. Before she pulled, she stopped. “I’ll help you if you agree to answer some of my questions.”
“Anything,” he grunted. “I haven’t tried kneeling since before my accident. I think I’m stuck.”
She assisted him back onto the gazebo bench, laughing at his predicament and wiping fresh tears from her cheeks. She carefully replaced and fluffed his pillows to allow him to prop up his leg. “There,” she said, squaring her body to his and sitting next to him.
John took a sip of his drink. “Ahh.”
“Now tell me a few things, John Cerelli,” she began, pointing a slender finger at his chest. “If this is a true marriage proposal, where’s my ring?”
John’s face twisted as if he tasted sour candy. “Uhh. It’s not like I was expecting to propose just now. I don’t exactly carry it around with me.”
Claire knew where her ring was. What she didn’t know, but what she desperately wanted to know, was why. She thought for a moment while biting her lower lip. “Why don’t we just go inside and get it? Then we can tell your parents the good news.”
“I can’t.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He inhaled to start several times, but halted as if the words couldn’t escape his lips. “I—” He shook his head. “I—”
Claire interrupted by cutting to the core of the mystery. “How did Lena Chisholm end up with my ring?”
The plastic container slid from his hand, landing with a thud on the wooden floor. “Lena has the ring?” He shook his head. “Man, oh, man.”
Claire studied him. His surprise was evident. She repeated her question. “How’d she get it?”
He took a deep breath and winced. “I was hoping I’d never have to tell you this story. It’s embarrassing.”
“Start confessing, story-boy. That ring has our initials in it. I know you took it along to the genetics clinic that day.” She let a smile escape. “I’ll confess, too. I found the ring in your car. I thought you took it along to give it to me at the clinic. I thought you were going to propose right before I got my test results. I had a romantic notion that you were going to drop to your knees just as I unfolded the paper.”
John’s head began to bob. “I was going to give you the ring in the clinic . . . after you got the results.”
Understanding began to dawn. “Oh.” She shook her head. “So how did Lena get the ring?”
“Ugh,” he said. “I guess I have to tell you, huh?”
She nodded.
“How do you know Lena has it?”
“I saw it on her finger, John. She was wearing it when I visited her in the hospital.”
“She must have found it.”
“She said her dog brought it to her.”
“The monster dog,” he mumbled.
She stared at him for a moment while he contemplated what he was going to say. “Well?”
“Remember D day?”
She nodded.
“I was pretty bummed when I left your office.”
“You were bummed? I thought I was going to get a ring. I was the one who was bummed.”
“Okay, so we were both bummed.” He laughed. “I dropped you off and went to drown my sorrows in a malt at Fisher’s Cafe. That evening when I stopped to pick you up, I brought you roses.”
She smiled at the memory. “You did, didn’t you?”
“We talked about getting the HD test. I wanted you to get the test, so I could ask for your hand . . .”
She finished his sentence, “. . . and I wanted you to ask for my hand so I could get the test results knowing it didn’t matter to you.”
“You were upset. You had a ton of paperwork to do. Do you remember what you told me?”
She shook her head.
“You told me you didn’t want to be rescued. You just wanted me to understand, not fix anything.” He paused. “Anyway, you said if I wanted to rescue someone, that I should rescue Lena from her drunken husband.” He shrugged. “So that night, I went driving to clear my head. I had my music, the wind in my hair. I just drove and thought. Sometimes I sang along.”
“Sometimes? Cerelli, get to the point.”
“At one point, I saw Briary Branch Road. So I followed it to Lena’s place. I didn’t have anything else to do. So I thought I’d actually gather a little information for you.”
“What, did the ring fall out of your pocket when you walked across her yard?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
The surgeon in Claire wanted the facts without the fluff. Just the vital
signs, not the social history. “John, you’re killing me. How’d she get the ring?”
“I’m getting to that. I don’t exactly know how the ring ended up in her hands.”
She took a deep breath and waited.
“I crept up to her house, but after seeing the size of Billy Ray’s truck, and hearing a big dog, I suddenly felt very stupid. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I had no plan, only a vague idea that I was there to keep Lena safe if her husband got out of hand. In the dark, my imagination ran wild. I imagined Billy Ray as some sort of gorilla, his barking dog as some monster.” He smiled sheepishly. “So I tore back and jumped into my car, and landed squarely on the little felt ring box. I sat there for a moment listening to the music, feeling angry, a little sorry for myself, I guess. I had built the night up in my mind to the point that I’d imagined it to be a night of celebration. Instead, all I had was a smashed ring box and my dashed expectations.”
“John, the ring. What happened to the ring?”
“That’s when the music took over.”
Claire dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this after all. Now she winced. “The music took over?”
John began to sing. “L’amore é svanito. Il mio cuore non canterá mai piú. Non tenere stretto l’amore. Se lo lasci libero, tornerá da te. L’amata mia é andata via. Lascia libero l’amore. Cosí prenderá le ali e tornerá. Lascialo in libertá. Dagli il volo.”
She listened to the clear baritone as it hung and disappeared in the moist summer air. John had missed his calling. He shouldn’t be representing medical office software. He should be singing. Claire found her own throat tightening as he carried each note with remarkable poise. “It’s beautiful, John. It really is.” She paused. “But what’s it mean?”
“The song became a picture of what was happening to me. As I listened, then sang along, my mind melded with the music. I sang as I closed my fingers around the mangled little ring box.”
“John,” she said, almost pleading, “tell me what the words mean.”
John sang each line, pausing to repeat the phrases in English. “L’amore é svanito. Love is gone. Il mio cuore non canterá mai piú. My heart will never sing again. Non tenere stretto l’amore. Don’t hold tight to love. Se lo lasci libero, tornerá da te. It will return if you only set it free. L’amata mia é andata via. My lover is gone. Lascia libero l’amore. Let love go. Cosí pren-derá le ali e tornerá. Give it wings so it will return. Lascialo in libertá. Give it freedom. Dagli il volo. Give it flight.”