Unravelled

by Robyn Harding

“Jim?”

  “Maybe.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake! “What did he say, Kendra?” I demanded.

  Her eyes left the TV for a moment and looked at me in surprise. She was unused to such a forceful tone coming from her unassuming roommate. “He said to call him back on his cell.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Grabbing the phone, I hurried to my bedroom.

  Jim’s voice sounded exhausted when he answered. “Hey, babe,” he said.

  “How are you?” I asked. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “I’m hanging in there.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  He sighed heavily. “Not good, I’m afraid. The doctors need to run some more tests, but it’s looking pretty serious.”

  “Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Look, if there’s anything I can do . . .”

  “Thanks. My sister’s here and she’s a great help. We’ve got a lot of decisions to make. My mom might need long-term care, or she might...” His voice trailed off. “She . . . might not come home again.”

  “I wish I could be with you,” I said, fervently. “Can I come to the hospital?”

  “No . . . it’s really not necessary. I’ve got to go home and take care of a few things, but I’ll be back in Seattle tomorrow. I’ll call you over the weekend.”

  “Okay . . . Jim?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I . . . uh . . . I want you to know that... I really care about you.”

  “Me too.”

  I had been on the verge of telling him I loved him, but something stopped me. While my feelings for him were undeniably strong, it was still too soon to be saying the “L” word. Besides, it wasn’t right to say it for the first time over the phone with his mother clinging to life a few feet away. But that moment made me realize how much I cared about Jim and our future together. Although we’d only been together a couple of months, I had to admit, if only to myself, that I was in love with him.

  On Saturday I worked feverishly on my article for Northwest Life, and then took Mel and Toby with me to do another coffee shop review. The rest of the time, I tried not to obsess about Jim and his mom: He would call when he was able to. But I couldn’t help but feel there was so much more I could do, if only he’d let me. I could make coffee runs, so Jim and his sister never had to leave their mother’s side. I could pick up sandwiches and bring them to the hospital. I could even act as his secretary and reschedule meetings for him. But for whatever reason, Jim seemed to want to do this alone.

  Maybe he wasn’t ready to introduce me to his family? Or maybe he felt the timing wasn’t right? God, I hoped he wasn’t ashamed of me, or something? No, I had yet to introduce Jim to any of my friends and family and I certainly wasn’t ashamed of him. Of course, I wished I hadn’t blabbed to my friends that he couldn’t get it up, but that didn’t mean I was ashamed. In fact, I was proud to be dating a man of his calibre.

  As promised, Jim phoned on Sunday evening. “There’s been no improvement,” he reported. “We’re going to have to move her into a long-term care facility.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, it’s really tough. We’ve got to take care of her apartment and all of her belongings . . .” he sighed. “And I’ve got a couple of projects on the go that need my attention.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I offered eagerly. “Bring you and your sister coffee? Sandwiches? Reschedule your meetings?”

  “You’re so sweet,” he said. “But we’ve got it under control. I want to see you though.”

  “Sure. When?”

  “I’m going to be really swamped for the next couple of weeks. Could we go for lunch tomorrow?”

  If I worked late tonight and got up early in the morning, I should be able to finish the article for Martin’s magazine and still have time for lunch with Jim. “Of course. I can’t wait to see you.”

  Angie’s words about being at Jim’s beck and call flitted through my mind when I dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 A.M. the next morning to finish up my piece. But of course I had to be flexible with my time, given the circumstances. Jim’s poor mom had had a stroke. It sounded like she was practically a vegetable! As her son, he had duties and responsibilities. I couldn’t very well demand he stick to my schedule at a time like this now, could I?

  I met him at the front door of my building just after noon. He looked good, considering what he was going through—maybe a little bit tired. I walked directly into his arms, and we held each other for a long while. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured into his cologne-scented neck.

  “Thanks.” He squeezed me tighter, kissing the side of my head. “God, it feels so good to hold you again.”

  “I’m here for you, Jim,” I said, pulling away to look at him earnestly. “If there’s anything I can do . . . Anything you need . . .”

  “Just seeing you,” he said, pulling me back in to him, “is enough.”

  Eventually, we got into his car and drove a couple of blocks to a neighbourhood deli. “I’ve only got time for a quick sandwich,” Jim said. “I hope you understand.”

  “Of course I do.” I squeezed his hand.

  When we were seated, facing each other over a chipped red Formica table, Jim said, “I wanted to thank you for being so understanding.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, through a mouthful of chicken salad. “Your mom’s had a stroke.”

  “I know, but it’s not just that. Since we started seeing each other, I’ve been travelling so much.” He gave a regretful chuckle and picked up half of his roast beef and Swiss. “Sometimes I think I work harder now that I’m supposedly retired.”

  “It’s just your Capricorn way,” I almost said, but managed to refrain. Something told me that a serious professional like Jim might find my belief in astrology a little flaky.

  “And now with my mom going into a nursing home, I’m going to be busier than ever.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, hiding the sadness that his admission evoked in me.

  He put his sandwich down and reached for my hand. “I want you to know that it’s not always going to be like this. If you can just bear with me for the next couple of weeks, I promise things will settle down.”

  “Sure,” I said. Of course I could wait for him. I had plenty to keep me occupied: articles to write, a birthday scarf to finish, a poem to read at my friend’s wedding...

  “I . . . I really want to make you a priority, Beth,” he said, staring at me intently. “As soon as all this craziness is over—two, three weeks tops—I want us to go on a trip somewhere.”

  “That would be lovely. I had a great time in Whistler.”

  “I’m talking about going away for a week, maybe even two. We could go to Tuscany or London . . . or would you rather go somewhere hot? The Caribbean? Wherever you want.”

  “Oh, wow!” I cried, with girlish delight. “I just don’t know!”

  “Take your time. Think about it over the next couple of weeks. And when we get back from our holiday,” he said, giving my hand a meaningful squeeze, “I’ve been thinking I should get a place here in Seattle.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I want to be closer to you”

  “Reeeeeeeeeally?”

  Jim laughed. “Of course I do. I’m crazy about you. Don’t you know that?”

  I smiled shyly. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

  We discussed holiday destinations as we finished our lunch, and for a moment, the dark cloud of his mother’s stroke seemed to lift. It wasn’t until we pulled up in front of my building that the enormity of what Jim was going through descended on me. As we sat in the car, staring at each other and trying to postpone the goodbye, I was almost overcome by the sadness in his eyes.

  “Jim...” I began, a little hesitantly. “I know it might be awkward for me to meet your family under these . . . circumstances, but I’d really like to be there for you. This is such a difficult time and you shouldn’
t have to go through it alone.”

  He reached out to stroke my cheek with the backs of his fingers as he looked at me tenderly. “You’re so sweet... and kind.”

  “Well . . . thanks.”

  “I just wish . . . I wish I had met you a long time ago.” I looked at him quizzically. It seemed an odd comment, especially given the fact that a long time ago, he would have been about twenty-five, and I would have been ten.

  “We’re together now,” I said, “and we have lots of years ahead of us.” It was a rather forward statement, alluding to a future together like that, but in that moment, the words felt so right. Hadn’t we just admitted we were crazy about each other? Hadn’t he just expressed his wish to spend more years with me?

  But Jim dropped his hand from my cheek, and for a split second, my heart leapt into my throat. Oh shit! I should never have said that. It was too presumptuous... too needy... too clingy. But Jim smiled slowly and said, “Of course we do.”

  Relief and gratitude flooded through me and I leaned over the console to kiss him. “Please . . .” I murmured, as I wrapped my arms around him. “Let me be there for you.”

  “You’re a doll but... this is something I need to deal with on my own.”

  I buried my head in the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I understand, but I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll try to call when I can,” he said. “And I’ll definitely email you.”

  “That would be great.”

  “It won’t be too long... a few weeks at the most.”

  “I know.”

  “And when my mom’s stabilized—or . . . whatever . . . Then we’ll have an amazing vacation together—just the two of us.”

  “I can’t wait.” I opened the door and prepared to exit. “So . . .” I suddenly felt at a loss for words. “Take care, Jim.”

  “You too,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I shut the car door and began to move toward my building. As I walked, tears began to pool in my eyes. It wouldn’t be too long, I consoled myself. Jim would deal with his work issues and his emotional ones, and then we’d have a wonderful, long holiday together. When I reached the glass doors of my building, I instinctively turned around to wave a final goodbye. But as I did, I heard the BMW’s engine rev and Jim sped off down the street.

  Twenty-six

  ON TUESDAY, WE met at Angie’s for another poetry rehearsal. I’d been so focused on my work deadlines and Jim’s family dramas that I hadn’t even had time to stress out about my impending presentation. But as I rang Angie’s buzzer, I could feel the familiar queasiness that always preceded my public speaking occasions. Tonight wasn’t really a public speaking occasion, of course, but Angie would obviously know that I hadn’t been reciting my verse four times per night in front of the mirror. In fact, I hadn’t even had a chance to read it! She was not going to be pleased.

  And she was right. Preparedness was the key to overcoming stage fright—I remembered reading it in that Conquering Your Fear book. Yes, preparedness was the key—and some booze couldn’t hurt either. As I walked through her lobby and pressed the elevator button, I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket. When I was safely enclosed, alone, in the metal box, I began to read out loud:

  With touches soft as a baby’s breath,

  Your bodies ache and yearn to become one.

  With trust and faith, you’ve fought your desires,

  Now the waiting is finally done.

  Oh my god! Oh my god! I couldn’t believe it. The verse was all about Nicola and Neil finally having sex! It was too much! I simply couldn’t do it! There was no way I could stand up in front of three hundred people and read a verse about how Neil couldn’t wait to bone Nicola! I should never have traded. What was I going to do?

  I would trade back with Martin, that’s what. He had duped me! Although, if I hadn’t been so fixated on my own breath and heartbeat, I would have actually heard the verse before I accepted it. And then, of course, I would have understood why Martin felt uncomfortable reciting these words. And why Sophie had rejected the swap, as well. God, it was my own stupid fault. We had traded fair and square.

  When the elevator stopped on the third floor, I stepped out into the silent hall. Okay, I told myself, there was only one solution to this mess. I would read the verse at Nicola’s wedding, but I would completely ignore the meaning of the words. I would think of them more as sounds. It would be as if I was phonetically speaking Hungarian or something. And I certainly wouldn’t allow myself to visualize Neil and Nicola, touching each other with soft baby’s breath caresses and aching to finally have sex. Yuck! I already knew that Angie would scold me for my lack of emotion, but I would do what I had to do to get through it. Besides, she would undoubtedly read with enough emotion for all four of us.

  “Hi!” Angie greeted me at the door with a kiss on the cheek. She looked stunning, as always, in a sexy off-white V-neck and four-hundred-dollar jeans. You look a bit like Sandra Bullock, I reminded myself as I followed my petite and perfect friend into the living room. “Okay, we’re all here,” she said, gleefully. “We’d better get down to business. I can’t believe it’s just over a week until we do our reading at the rehearsal dinner!”

  “Wow,” Martin said, attempting to muster some enthusiasm.

  At the thought, I felt a constricting in my chest, usually the first sign of hyperventilation. “How about a drink first?” I asked, in a high-pitched voice. Angie gave me a distinctly Kendraish look, but went to the kitchen to open the bottle of wine I’d brought. “So...” I asked, trying to postpone the inevitable, “how was the stitch ’n bitch club last week?”

  “It was quite dramatic, actually,” Sophie said. “Nicola’s mom called about halfway through with some disturbing news.”

  “Oh god! What?”

  Martin picked up the story. “Their wedding photographer was in a car accident. He broke his wrist!”

  “Oh no!”

  “I know!” Sophie said. “There’s no way he can hold a camera. Nicola was completely devastated.”

  “I’ve never seen her like that,” Martin added.

  Angie, who’d returned to the room with the open bottle and four glasses, said, “She completely fell apart. The whole wedding thing has been so stressful, and now this.”

  “Surely, they can get a replacement photographer?” I asked, apparently somewhat naively.

  “Not of François Leblanc’s calibre!” Angie cried. “They’d booked him eight months ago.”

  Sophie shook her head, sadly. “It’s such a shame. Your photos are your memories.”

  “Well...” Angie said, handing me a glass of wine, “apparently Nic’s dad is pretty connected and might be able to pull some strings. But...it’s all the more reason we should really blow her away with our poetry reading.”

  “Right.” I took several frantic gulps of wine.

  Angie began with an extremely robust rendition of the first verse. She seemed to think that if she read with enough zeal, Nicola might not even care if she had any photos of her wedding. Sophie went next, shooting sideways glances at Martin as she recited her verse about “a love worth waiting for.” Martin read the “roots of a tree” bit and then it was my turn.

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes for just a moment. I envisioned myself standing in the Spanish Ballroom before Nicola and three hundred wedding guests—another trick picked up from Conquering Your Fear. Over the sound of my rushing blood and pounding heart, I spoke soothing words to myself. What was the worst that could happen? So I fainted or had an attack of diarrhea? Embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to die. I didn’t even know any of those people. I was there for one person only, and that was Nicola. I would do it for her, my dear sweet friend Nicola.

  I began reciting the sounds—not words about Neil and Nicola aching and yearning to finally get it on. Pretend you’re reading phonetic Hungarian, I instructed myself. You can do it...

  ... With trust and
faith, you’ve fought your desires,

  Now the waiting is finally done.

  Before Angie could read the last verse, I blurted out, “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “What?” Angie squawked. “You have to!”

  “We traded!” Martin shrieked, his voice tinged with fear.

  “But it’s all about how they’re going to have sex!” I cried back. “I understand that they’re proud of themselves for waiting, but do they need to, like, advertise it at their wedding?”

  Sophie said, “Do you think Neil’s a virgin, too?”

  Martin answered, “Probably not.”

  Sophie continued, “I agree it’s a little unusual to announce that you haven’t had sex...” Her eyes moved to Martin’s face. “Even though you’re really dying to.” Martin cleared his throat nervously.

  Angie addressed me. “You’ll have lots of champagne to drink! It’s one little verse! You said you could do it.”

  “No one will be listening to the words, anyway. They’ll all be drunk by then,” Martin said, desperately.

  God! If only I could go back in time to that last rehearsal, I would never have traded! “Look,” I explained, “I’m a nervous public speaker to begin with, and this . . . sexual verse doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Think of how much this will mean to Nicola!” Angie cried desperately.

  “Maybe we could switch?” I suggested to her.

  “That would mean I’d be reading two verses in a row and I’ve already memorized the first and last one!”

  Sophie tried to placate me. “You’ll be fine. Just think of Jim supporting you in the audience.”

  Was she crazy? Reading these words in front of Jim would have made it even worse! “He’s not going to be there, thank god.”

  “Why not?” Martin asked.

  “He’s going through a lot, right now. His mom had a stroke on Thursday night.”

  “Oh no!” Sophie cried. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “It’s touch and go at the moment.”

  “That’s too bad.” Martin gave my arm a sympathetic squeeze.