Then she couldn’t help it. She turned and faced the window, trying to keep her sobs private. She put her hand over her face and for a long time she couldn’t breathe. She heard Blake say something, but her friend’s voice had no weight or substance. Sadness came in like a bright, scalding log falling slowly out of the fireplace. Such sadness felt dangerous and she let it build and burn for a moment before she decided she needed to put it back among the other logs. But it didn’t go back easily, and she felt her need for breath building and searching her lungs, and then the sob she had anticipated broke through and forced out of her a sharp, anguished cry.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. It’s okay, though,” Blake said. “It’s okay, it’s just big feelings. It’s just your heart thawing in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time.”
Margaret nodded, her hand still over her face. She felt horrible crying on the phone to Blake when Blake had her own problems to deal with. Her own huge problems. It was selfish, horrible behavior, but she couldn’t help it right now. She held still for a second, then let out something that was closer to a laugh than a sob.
“Oh, boy, I’ve got it bad,” she said. “And I’m being so self-involved I’m not even asking about you and Donny.”
“Donny and I can wait. Nothing is changing there. Right now we have to help you leave things the way you want them to go. It’s so new to you, that’s all,” Blake said. “You’re having positive thoughts, Margaret. There’s nothing wrong. You met a terrific guy, that’s all. That’s a good thing, right? Just take everything in time.”
“I know, I know, I know you’re right,” Margaret said. Then she whispered into the phone, “I have such feelings for him.”
“Good,” Blake said. “Good for you. If you couldn’t feel, you might as well be dead. Or married to Donny!”
Margaret laughed, her face feeling wet and stretched and unsettled. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. What a strange, mixed-up day it felt to be.
“No word from the Donn-a-nator today?” she asked Blake, trying to lighten things.
“Nope, not a word. It almost feels like a relief.”
“I’m sorry, Blake.”
“Listen, right now just collect yourself and see where things go. You don’t have to make any definitive plans this moment. This doesn’t have to be the whole shebang one way or the other. Just take it easy.”
“Thanks, Blake,” she said. “I called just to touch base and tell you we were at the airport. . . . I don’t know where that all came from. I should hop off. Charlie will be here in a minute.”
“I’ve got your itinerary, so don’t worry. I’ll be there to meet you.”
“You haven’t told anyone else about this weekend, have you, Blake?”
“No. I thought about it, to be honest. I saw Maryanne in the Shop ’n Save and she asked about you, and I started to say something, and then the good angels told me it was none of my business to be telling, and it sure as heck wasn’t any of Maryanne’s business to know.”
“Maybe down the road I can talk about it, but not right now. Not with anyone but you.”
“Okay, we’ll do it just that way. Now, I should go back and make sure Phillip eats some mac and peas. I’ll be right on time, don’t worry. Can I bring you anything?”
“If you’re stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts, how about a coffee?”
“Done.”
“Thank you, Blake. Thanks for listening.”
“I wish I had some poetic thing to say to you that would make it all right, but I don’t, honey. It’s all good. You’re entitled to a little happiness.”
Margaret closed her phone. She looked out the window and realized it had begun to rain. She watched water streak down the window and she felt Charlie’s presence return more than saw it. His hand touched her shoulder and she reached up and covered his fingers with her own. He smelled of the outdoors and soap, and when he kissed the side of her neck she leaned away from his mouth and held his head close to her, and she opened herself, gave access to her neck as she would to a vampire, to a lover, to a husband.
* * *
It felt like a movie. Margaret couldn’t escape the sensation. She saw the security station in front of them, and she understood—in a way she had never considered before—why filmmakers relied on departure scenes. It was the big show, only it didn’t feel like a big show. It felt quiet and sad and lonely. She did not want to leave; she did not want to say good-bye. But it was time to go, and momentum carried her forward. She knew, without question, that she could lose herself in the busy details of air travel, but that would be a cheat. She needed to concentrate, to record these last moments. They had time, not much, but some.
“Do you think we just let everything get out of hand?” she asked Charlie quickly, her voice choked. “Was this real, Charlie?”
“Yes, it was real. It still is.”
“I’m afraid when I get home it won’t feel real.”
“We had good days together. It was exactly what you think it was, Margaret.”
“But the rest of it . . .”
“Trust it,” Charlie said simply. “Whatever you were feeling, so was I. It was true.”
“And now it’s over and we’re going to go back to our separate lives.”
“Nothing’s over, Margaret.”
“You’ll be leaving soon.”
“Who knows what will happen?”
“I do,” she said. “I know what will happen. You’ll be this wonderful memory that I will visit each spring. When the lilacs come out, and when the apple blossoms bloom. I’ll never smell a lilac again without calling you to mind.”
“Come here,” he said and he turned her body toward his.
He held her in his arms. She wanted to crawl into his pocket and stay there. She put her forehead against his chest and nodded. She felt her eyes begin to grow glassy. She rubbed her fingers against them and nodded again.
Then, a few steps later, it was time to check in. The first security guard asked to see her boarding pass and Margaret showed it to her. The guard read it and handed it back.
“Go ahead,” the guard said. “Have your ID out.”
“We just want to say good-bye.”
The guard nodded and took boarding passes from a couple behind Margaret.
“Good-bye, Margaret,” Charlie said.
“Good-bye, Charlie.”
“I’m not going to try to say anything clever or memorable, if that’s okay.”
“Me neither. Meaningful good-bye, meaningful good-bye, meaningful good-bye.”
“My brother was smarter than I realized.”
“Thank you for everything.”
He kissed her. At first it started as a calm, rational kiss, but then it grew. She felt herself falling into him, losing herself, and she thought it was impossible that she would never kiss him, never do this, again. She shook when the kiss reached its climax.
When they broke apart, she stepped immediately into the security line. She did not look back and she did not try to cover her tears.
* * *
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Terry said over the phone. “Are you all right, Charlie?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“Coming back from the airport.”
“Will you swing by?” Terry asked. “We’re just eating leftovers, but there’s a plate for you if you want it.”
“I think I’m going to go home, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’d be good company right now.”
“And lick your wounds?”
“And lick my wounds.”
“Do you think she’ll relent?”
“I don’t think so. She’s loyal to her husband.”
“T
hat’s commendable.”
“But . . . ?”
“But he isn’t conscious, is he?”
“Apparently not.”
“It’s a tough decision. From outside it seems like an easy thing, but not when you’re inside it. It’s a house of mirrors when you’re inside it.”
“I can’t push. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“She wouldn’t want me to. I’d just make things harder for her. It wouldn’t be fair to put that kind of pressure on her.”
“Fortune favors the brave.”
“I’m not sure it does in this case.”
“Okay, are you sure you won’t come back over? Henry says he’ll beat you at Scrabble.”
“I’m going to go home, Terry, but thanks. Thanks for everything. She had a good couple days, I hope. You made her feel welcome, so thanks for that. She liked you a great deal.”
“Well, the feeling was mutual.”
“I may bring Fritz out Saturday if that’s okay. The birds are incredibly active right now.”
“No problem. He’s always welcome. And so are you.”
Charlie hung up. It felt strange being in the Jeep alone. Twice, as he drove home, he pushed his hand over toward Margaret’s knee, but she was not there.
* * *
“So, talk,” Blake said when they had navigated the airport traffic and made it safely onto the interchange. “When you’re ready, go ahead and talk. I’m all ears.”
“First tell me about Donny. Has he been in touch?”
“He’s with Phillip now. He came back home around the time I was set to leave. I guess he remembered he promised to watch him.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Donny? He hasn’t yet acquired language.”
“Seriously.”
Blake shook her head and then insisted she wanted to hear about Charlie.
Margaret didn’t know where to begin. She held the coffee Blake had given her against her belly. She liked the warmth of the coffee, but she wasn’t sure she could drink it after all. She felt jittery and out of sorts; travel always did that to her in any case, but it felt more unsettling in this instance.
“What was Grandpa Ben like when you went to the house?” Margaret asked, thinking if she could listen to Blake for a while she could follow her friend’s voice.
“Oh, he was fine. He was asleep in the chair watching the Red Sox when I went over. He had a big bowl of strawberry ice cream beside him . . . empty, I mean. He’s fine. And I guess the cows are doing something good. . . . I forget what he said, but he seemed pleased.”
“Thanks for looking in on him.”
“My pleasure. So tell me about the ball at least. I want to hear about it. Was it what you thought it would be like?”
“It was beautiful, Blake.”
“I’m so stinking jealous. And the gown?”
“It was fine. I looked passable.”
“Passable? I bet you were stunning.”
“I looked okay, Blake. We made a nice-looking couple.”
“You have pictures somewhere, right?”
“A few. Not many.”
“And Charlie . . . he’s how tall?”
“Six-two or so, I think. He’s a perfect size. I wouldn’t wish him any other way.”
“And you danced?”
“We did. And we kissed on the veranda. It smelled of lilacs. Everything about this weekend, this time away, had lilacs or apple blossoms underscoring it. It was a little weird that way.”
“So freaking dreamy.”
“It actually was. You know, I was thinking about it. It was one of the few times in my life where the reality matched the anticipation. Childbirth was one occasion like that. I can’t think of many others.”
Blake drank her coffee and took an exit off to the right. Margaret heard spring peepers calling from marshland as they merged onto Highway 157. She rolled down the window a little to get more of the sound. Then she realized it might be cold on Blake, so she wound it up again.
“And so he was terrific?” Blake asked.
“He’s a good man. A truly good man. His friend, Terry, she adores him. Did I tell you Charlie is an Eagle Scout? And the thing is, he is an Eagle Scout. I guess a lot of the women in that circle of friends in Washington have shown interest, but he’s not the sort to tip a bunch of women into bed. He’s not a conquest sort of guy.”
“And he’s in the diplomatic corps?”
“He’s going to Africa. He’s excited about it.”
“So you could travel the world with him?”
“I could travel the world with him, yes. If we decided we wanted to stay together. And if I didn’t have a husband in Bangor. And if a thousand other things fell into place.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t think so, Blake.”
“Are you serious? Give me his number and I’ll call him.”
It was meant as a joke but it didn’t quite work. Blake sipped her coffee. Then she reached over and touched Margaret’s hand.
“Sorry. I meant it to be funny, but it wasn’t really, was it?”
“I guess it’s all too fresh to be funny.”
“But you don’t think you’ll see him again?”
“I don’t know. I’m tired of thinking about it. It gets complicated pretty quickly. I saw that happening. Then there’s Thomas to think of, and a whole bunch of practical concerns. But mostly it’s Thomas. I don’t want to put us all into a big blender if there’s no resolution to it. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do, honey.”
“If I was the only one in the equation? I wouldn’t let him go.”
Margaret smiled. She reached across and touched Blake’s hand, wanting her to know everything was okay.
“If anyone deserves a little fun in her life, it’s you,” Blake said.
“That’s the thing. A little fun would be one thing, but this felt like more than that. You know all those clichés about true love and a soul mate . . . I never put much stock in any of it, but now I don’t know. It’s crazy, and I’m hoping a little distance will give me perspective, but we matched. We just did. In every way.”
“And . . . ?”
Margaret saw Blake’s face. Blake sipped her coffee, but Margaret saw her lip curl in a little smile.
“And, yes,” Margaret said, “the bed part was good, too. Really good. You’re such a little voyeur, Blake.”
“I’m glad, honey.”
“Actually, if it had been lousy it might have helped the situation.”
Blake smiled hard at that.
“Could you keep it casual?” Blake asked. “Just a thing you could visit now and then down in Washington? At least until he leaves.”
The car passed another acre or two of marshland. Margaret heard the peepers pushing their voices out into the chilly spring air even harder than before. She sipped her coffee, which was lukewarm now and tasted of cream.
“I guess I could propose it, but I like him too much for that. And maybe he likes me too much. He’s a decent man. And if I feel this way after one little getaway, I can’t imagine what it would be like if I had a steady diet of him.”
“Can you put it on a shelf and not decide right away? I mean, why does it have to be all one thing or another?”
“Time will eventually settle it. Maybe he’ll meet someone. We didn’t talk about it, but he wants to have a family, I’m sure. He was so good with Gordon, Blake, in just the little time he had with him. And he was good with other kids. He played with them.”
Blake nodded.
“The world’s a funny place, isn’t it?” Blake said.
Margaret let out a long sigh.
“Anyway, we met the president. President Obama was very personable and sweet. Now tell me about the Donny situation. We’ve just glossed over it. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Margaret let herself relax back into the seat and took a sip of coffee. She listened to Blake, hearing the old domestic litany: Donny working too much, not attending the soccer games, being distant, plopping down in front of the television. In time, Margaret’s mind wandered, pushed by the intermittent sounds of the peepers, by the steady drone of the car tires on the asphalt. Safe inside her friend’s voice, she imagined what it would be like if Charlie were waiting at home for her. She imagined him pushing open the door and stepping onto the porch, his arms opening, his smile wide and welcoming. Oh, Charlie, she thought, and then made her attention return to her friend, and she nodded, and made the appropriate sounds of bewilderment, of incomprehension at Donny’s actions, but in her heart she called to Charlie.
* * *
In the first light of morning, Margaret wept into her pillow. At last she could let it come: she heaved deep, heavy sobs into her pillow and felt her body clench and release, clench and release. Mercy, she thought. She should have been a turtle, a lumbering, gentle creature buried in the pond mud, waiting for the turn of the calendar to wake her. To have a shell, she thought. She wept for Thomas and she wept for Charlie, and she wept for herself. She wept for the oak tree, the tree she loved, as it sifted the first light of dawn through its many fingers. She wondered how deep the tree’s roots went, how far they had traveled in the darkness of soil, only to retrieve this spark of beauty for one hundred and more years. She felt, in her deepest crying, that if she saw the phoebe on the walk to the barn she might dissolve like vapor, like mist, and the bird would carry her away on its wings.
Eventually she rolled over and studied the light piercing the window, the familiar shadow of the oak as it warmed in the sun. A few minutes later she heard Grandpa Ben make his way downstairs, his heavy tread met finally by the sprong of the screen door as it opened and swung quietly shut. And what about tears for Benjamin, father to her husband, a plain, simple man who loved the cattle and brought white milk into the world with his two hands and his careful husbandry? When did his day come? When did his son return to him, his brave boy, and promise that his father’s youth and energy had not been wasted?
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