“Oh, Lydia, I had no idea he was that funny. Or that kind.”
“Yes, La’treen is one of the funniest and finest people I’ve ever met. He came into my life at just the moment I needed a friend the most. I will love him forever for his caring.”
“Do you keep in touch with him?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. We exchange Christmas cards and life updates. However, he has lots more to tell me that I have to tell him. He’s a professional football player while I’m still a college student.”
Then Ted asked very sheepishly, “Does he ever invite you to a Miami Dolphins game?”
I laughed out loud. “Why, yes, he does. Each year he writes, ‘Your bed is made and your ticket is waiting if you can ever make it down this way.’ Play your cards right, Dr. Chambers, and I just might be able to score you some Miami Dolphins tickets.”
Ted looked embarrassed and relieved when our waiter brought our steaming ramekins of lasagna and hot, crusty Italian bread with real butter. Ted had not lied. Amedeo’s lasagna was—and is to this day—the most delectable treat I’ve ever eaten. And I was so glad I hadn’t ordered a Coke. Only red wine would have suited.
Between bites Ted and I became acquainted—the way I had dreamed for two years of our becoming acquainted. Of course, he knew a great deal about my family and me, since I had written so much about the Albemarles. But I knew nothing about him, other than what I’d seen on the surface. He had not generated even an ounce of campus gossip that I could cling to.
He told me, “I was an only child. I always wanted siblings, but I was all Mom was able to manage. We lived a very simple life in Pennsylvania, where my dad worked in the steel mill and my mom taught first grade. We didn’t have much, but my parents were wonderful, loving people who adored me. They, too, were only children, so I had no aunts or uncles or cousins. I envied kids with large families, so my parents always welcomed my friends into our home so that I wouldn’t feel lonely.
“Where are your folks now?”
“Gone. They were driving down from Pennsylvania for my college graduation when a drunk driver struck and killed them.”
The tears sprang to my eyes as he told me his story. My heart broke for a lonely child who had lost the only people he loved.
“I had a tough time, but my advisors encouraged me to go on to grad school. It was there at Penn State that I met Gail.”
“Gail?”
“My wife.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes, we married while we were students. We had been together only six months when she discovered a lump in her breast. It was aggressive. She lived only a year.”
“Oh, Ted.” I reached to touch his arm. He didn’t pull away.
“I was heartbroken. I didn’t think I could get through it. But I had my studies. I threw myself into school and then into my teaching. I didn’t seem to need anything else. It satisfied me, filled me up. Until now.”
“Now?”
“Well, until you.”
My breath caught in my chest, and I felt the heat rise in my face. My head got light, and I thought I would faint. Ted pulled me back.
“From the moment you blushed that first day of class, I’ve had it bad.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth and willed myself not to cry—or cry out.
“I’d never been interested in a student, and the way I felt about you scared me. But I knew that as long as you were in my class, we could never be more than student and professor. I kept waiting for the semester to end so that I could ask you out. But you kept taking my classes! The semesters just never ended!”
We both burst out laughing at his admission.
“And I kept taking your classes just so I could see you.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, I also wanted to study under the most brilliant professor on campus.”
“Now, that’s more like it.”
The waiter came to take our plates.
“Dessert?”
“Oh, no, thank you, I couldn’t eat another bite.”
To the waiter Ted said, “One slice of Mama’s apple strudel pie and two forks. And coffee, please.”
And to me, “You’ll thank me for this.”
And I did. It was almost as delicious as our lasagna and far more intimate. As we both reached for a bite, our forks touched and sent a chill up my spine. And I could tell by the way Ted looked at me, that he was feeling chills, too. We continued to talk and laugh and drink coffee as we lost track of time. He reached for my hand, and I curled my fingers around his. It felt right; it felt comfortable; it felt like the place my hand was supposed to be. We were still sitting hand-in-hand, nose-to-nose, talking non-stop when Anthony approached our table.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
We both exclaimed at once, “It was delicious!”
Then he said, “Do you two lovebirds have any idea what time it is?”
Ted looked at his watch and bellowed, “Good god, it’s 1:30 in the morning!”
Anthony said, “I’m sorry I have to run you out, but we closed an hour ago. I sent the wait staff home; now I need to get to bed.”
We all laughed, and Ted and I tripped over ourselves, apologizing. We left the restaurant to find the streets deserted and our cars the only ones remaining in the parking lot. Ted walked me to my car, still holding my hand. I took baby steps, not wanting the evening to end. When we finally reached my car, he lifted my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. I closed my eyes as I tingled all over.
“When may I see you again?”
“When would you like?”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
I told him that tomorrow would be just soon enough.
“May I come get you or do we still need to meet.”
I smiled and said, “I don’t think I’ll need my car.”
He opened my door and helped me in. Before he closed it, he said, “Thank you, Lydia, for not taking my class this semester.”
We were both laughing as I pulled away.
I looked at the spot on my hand where Ted had kissed me and pressed it to my cheek. I started to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but the memory of Ted’s lips on my hand was all I needed to know that this was no dream.
Fifty-eight
When a phone wakes us out of a sound sleep, even at our groggiest we have the sense to imagine the worst. Someone has been in an accident; someone is ill; someone has died.
“Hello?”
“Hi, there! I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I could tell by Ted’s tone that no one had been in an accident; no one was ill; no one had died.
I stretched, smiled into the darkness, and said, “You did, but I’m glad you did. What time is it?”
“Way too early to call, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Certain I was reading it wrong, I squinted at the green dial.
“Five-thirty! Have you lost your mind?”
“No, Lydia, not my mind. Just my heart. I haven’t slept a wink. It was all I could do to wait till five-thirty to call. Last night was one of the most wonderful of my life, the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I can’t remember ever laughing so hard. I loved being with you. I just couldn’t wait to tell you. And I couldn’t wait another minute to hear your voice.”
All I could do was giggle. And you know how I hate giggly girls. But Ted sounded so giddy that giggling was the only appropriate response.
Then he blurted, “Picnic! How about a picnic? I know the perfect spot. It’s chilly, but it’s supposed to be sunny today. I’ll bring blankets and lots of hot coffee, and we’ll eat pimento cheese sandwiches.”
I started to tell him that I loved pimento cheese, but, then, I love to eat anything that I don’t have to fix for myself.
“Pimento cheese and blankets sound wonderful. What time?”
“I’ll be at your place at ten. Bye!”
And before I cou
ld say another word, he was gone—to fix coffee and pimento cheese sandwiches, I assumed.
Since I had four and a half hours until picnic time, I decided to go back to sleep. But Ted’s call and his enthusiasm had made sleep impossible. I tossed and stared into the darkness for about an hour, finally giving up and dragging myself to the shower. As I stepped under the warm stream, I closed my eyes, better to remember the night before. Once I had soaped my body, I ran my hand up my back, remembering Ted’s touch. I sighed at the memory and shivered at the thought of more touches to come.
With only three hours to kill, I stepped from the shower, toweled dry, and wrapped myself in my warm, over-sized bathrobe. Percy calls it my big, red bag. I headed down the stairs to the kitchen, stopping by the front porch to search for the newspaper. Every morning was a scavenger hunt. No matter how generous I was at Christmas, my paper deliverer refused to deposit my paper in the same spot each day. Had he put it in the bush every morning, that would have suited me fine. But I might find it by the door or in the flower bed or on the porch swing. I never knew from day to day and had come to accept the hunt. That morning I had to trudge halfway down the driveway to retrieve it, but I had plenty of time for a hike.
I went to the kitchen and started the coffee. As it dripped, my mind returned to Amedeo’s. I lifted my hand, the one Ted had kissed, to see if it looked different. I compared it to my other and was surprised to find them the same. The ding on the coffee maker caught my attention and yanked me from my daydream. I filled my mug, sat at the kitchen table, and spread the paper before me. I tried to read, but the words couldn’t get past my eyes. My brain was too full of Ted to let anything else in. I was still floating in my thoughts when I glanced toward the clock over the frig. Nine-forty! How could that be? I had just twenty minutes! I flew up the stairs, threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, brushed my teeth, ran a comb through my hair, and swiped some lipstick across my mouth. I didn’t even have time to make the bed before I heard the doorbell chime.
“Holy, god! This place really is a hotel!”
I had written a paper about my house/hotel for one of Ted’s classes. Apparently, he thought I’d embellished.
He wandered through the rooms, touching things: “This must be the Prayer Book Percy gave you at your lingerie shower.” Pointing to a photograph, he said, “Ma’am is as pretty as I had imagined.” He picked up a picture of Percy and me and stared longingly at it. “You’re so lucky to have a brother. You look so happy together.” He walked into my living room and exclaimed, “The ratty old quilt! This has to be the quilt you write about. It’s wonderful! Can we take it on our picnic? I want to wrap up in it the way you and Percy do.”
All the while, without saying a word, I watched Ted get to know me—the real me. His enthusiasm tugged at my heart and brought a lump to my throat. How could I have doubted he’d be any less wonderful than I had dreamed? I loved him so much, had loved him for so long. I was going to follow Percy’s advice and let him love me, too. It had been so long since I had felt loved.
Ted drove an adorable red MG. He helped me into my seat, handed me my quilt, and said, “Bundle up; you’re going to need this.”
Then he ran around to his side, jumped in, and lowered the top. I wrapped myself in my quilt as we sped through the cold air to the river. My hair whipped around my face, my teeth chattered, and Ted and I laughed all the way. I will never forget that wonderful, wild, frigid ride.
As we pulled up to his secluded spot down by the river, I screamed, “I don’t believe it!”
Ted looked at me quizzically and said, “Don’t believe what?”
“Ted, this is my spot! This is the swimming hole where Suzanne, Mary Sue, and I discovered skinny dipping.”
Ted arched one brow and said, “Are you up for a skinny dip today?”
I cut my eyes at him and gave him the most seductive look I could manage without laughing and said, “Let’s wait till the ice melts, and I just might take you up on your invitation.”
My brazenness made me blush, but after so many years, I was ready to cut loose a little.
Ted handed me the picnic basket while he spread a huge blanket on the grass. Then he handed me a smaller blanket, saying, “Trade you.” He wanted my quilt. I gladly handed over my warmth, my security, my cocoon, one of the few constants in my life. I wanted to share it—and everything else of me—with Ted.
He and I watched the sun go down on Our Spot that day. We drank coffee for warmth and ate delicious pimento cheese sandwiches. I learned that Ted had actually made the pimento cheese himself. I didn’t know people made pimento cheese; I thought it was just born in those little plastic containers in the grocery store. In addition to being everything I had dreamed he was, Ted knew where his kitchen was and knew how to use it.
We had to run back to my house once to replenish the picnic basket with chicken salad and slaw (both born in plastic containers in the grocery store) and French bread from my favorite bakery. Once we had finished our second meal, we pushed the basket aside. Ted scooted toward me, and we sat cross-legged, wrapped in our covers, talking and laughing. As we chatted, Ted reached for my hand, just as he had done the night before. And, once again, I curled my fingers around his and felt the warmth spread from my hand throughout my body.
As the sun began to set, Ted spread his arms wide, opening my quilt, and said, “Can we cocoon?”
I let the blanket fall from my shoulders as Ted pulled me into his embrace and wrapped us in my ratty old quilt. My heart raced as he pressed me to his chest.
Then Ted tilted my chin and asked, “May I kiss you?”
Without responding, I leaned into him. And another of my dreams came true. His kiss was tender and sweet and full of longing.
When we parted, Ted rested his forehead on mine and whispered through tears, “I’ve wanted to feel your lips since that first blush.”
I couldn’t hold back another moment. I buried my face in Ted’s chest and wept while he held me and stroked me and kissed my hair. Once I had released two and a half years of emotion, I straightened and reached into my jacket pocket for tissues to mop my eyes and blow my nose.
Ted cupped my face and kissed me lightly on each eyelid as he said, “That was beautiful. I’ve dreamed of that kiss. And I’ve dreamed of more. I want you, Lydia. I want to touch you and caress you and hold you close to me. I want so to make love to you.”
Before I could say a word, he put his finger to my lips and said, “But I won’t rush you; I’ll give you all the time you need. I want this to last forever. We have all the time in the world.”
All I could say was, “Thank you, Ted,” before he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me again. It had been so long since I had felt a man’s touch. I was so grateful that Ted wasn’t rushing me.
But as he kissed me again, I thought, “He isn’t going to have too wait long.”
And he didn’t.
*******
My family adored Ted from the start—all except Colonel Tom, of course. He was still smarting over the dissolution of my union with Dr. Wonderful. Ma’am called Ted a perfectly divine southern gentlemen, even though he had been raised in Pennsylvania. Lydia was smitten with him, and he was completely besotted with her. She was interested in writing and loved creating short stories for Ted’s gentle and loving critique. And even though Percy and Ted were so different, they had bonded over their love of Percy’s favorite book, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Ted and I were married in the church that Percy and I had been attending since we moved to Waynesville. Percy was my bridesmaid. Since I had been Percy’s best man, he owed me. To be honest, I think he loved calling himself a bridesmaid. He wasn’t my acolyte because that had become Lydia’s job.
When Ted and I became pregnant on our honeymoon, I couldn’t wait to tell Percy. He whooped with delight about being an uncle and said he couldn’t wait to teach my baby how to play Cuss Scrabble.
I put off telling Ma’am and The Colonel for as lo
ng as I could. I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy for a while before my parents threw a wet blanket over it. Ma’am reacted just as I was certain she would: she grasped my wrists, held my arms out from my sides, and gazed at my ever-so-slight baby bump.
“Nice, Dear,” was all she said before lowering my arms.
The Colonel’s response was a surprise, though. My father never reacted in ordinary fashion. Whether he approved or disapproved, he did so with gusto and bravado. You always knew where he stood on matters.
But when I said, “Colonel Tom, Ted and I are expecting a baby,” he just looked at me as if he were looking through me, bobbed his head up and down several times, and said, “Nice. Nice for you two. Yes. Nice. Congratulations.”
Then he turned and slowly walked out of the room.
Something just wasn’t quite right.
Fifty-nine
When Colonel Tom was diagnosed with cancer, he was enraged, indignant, incredulous. The Colonel would show Cancer who was boss. He’d fight the good fight, and then we’d just see who the hell went down with a whimper. He did fight—like I’d never seen Colonel Tom fight. And that’s saying one hell of a lot!
At sixty-five Colonel Tom had a head full of thick, snow white, wavy hair. In defiance, he shaved off all of that beautiful, healthy hair before Cancer had a chance to claim it.
He went under the knife and was up, walking around, entertaining other cancer patients within days of his surgery. He underwent chemotherapy but never experienced the first sign of nausea—at least, not that we could see. The doctors prescribed rest; Colonel Tom prescribed increased exercise. Colonel Tom filled his own prescription. He put himself on a strict diet and banished junk food from the house.
Ma’am missed her Lady Fingers, but Colonel Tom told her, “Suck it up, soldier! You’ll be a stronger man for it!”
Just what Ma’am wanted to be: a stronger man.
The doctors had given Colonel Tom just three months. Those three months turned into six, and six turned into nine. But at the nine-month mark, Cancer seemed to get its second wind and leap into the lead. The Colonel refused to say uncle; but, bit by bit, his step slowed, his shoulders slouched, and his head bowed.
Getting the Important Things Right Page 24