Closed Doors

by Nancy Radke

  Wanting more, she murmured his name in pleasure, her voice softer than the moan of the mast that groaned each time the sail moved. Her back arched as she sought to press herself closer to him, and she threaded her fingers through the soft silk of his hair.

  Kneeling before her, Jared swept her hair to one side, his fingers stroking lightly along the sensitive nape of her neck, his lips following, charting a course to her heart. His weight pushed against her, his energy flowing into hers, suffusing her with warmth.

  Ellen gasped as the force of his emotions flowed over her, trying to weather the storm they had created... not knowing whether to run before the wind or fight it; finding it hard to navigate the uncharted waters. She felt herself sinking below the surface, into the depths of his arms, set adrift on a sea of sensation.

  The tiller loose, the Sea Sprite pitched and tossed, rolling into the shallow trough of each wave, then up over the crest. It seemed to nod approval.

  Drawn into the heady undercurrent, Ellen struggled against the power of her newly awakened response. Her body responded with pleasure to his; her bones becoming formless, molding into the shape that best fitted against him, while the flutter of the sails matched the rapid beat of her heart. She welcomed his plundering kiss, exulting in the sheer raw emotion of the moment.

  She was losing her head as well as her heart, and answered him, kiss for kiss, wanting this moment never to end.

  He was tugging her shirt up when a motor boat suddenly roared past, the occupants yelling catcalls, blowing their horn, and rocking the Sea Sprite violently in their wake. Startled, embarrassed, Ellen pulled back and pushed Jared away. What had she been thinking? Or not thinking? They were going to be alone in his house for hours on end.

  "Jerks,” he scoffed, trying to pull her back into his arms. “Don't mind them."

  She shifted away from him. "Oh, but I do." Ellen shivered, feeling the loss of his embrace and the slight chill in the air at the same time. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. All she knew was that she had to stay in control. "It's a little... uh... cold.... Uh... do you have any coffee along?"

  "Just tea." His voice sounded flat, unemotional. Had he not felt anything when he kissed her? Anything at all?

  "That's fine." The silence stretched out between them, awkward, uncomfortable, and Ellen longed to reach out to him. Instead she restrained herself, hugging herself with her arms, her eyes questioning his, not knowing what to say. Frustration built as her emotions fought the restriction she placed on them.

  He lifted the lid on his bench seat and yanked out a blanket, flipped it open, and laid it across her legs. It was a small wrap, but loosely knitted, so it provided almost instant warmth. Still silent, he pulled out a thermos, poured her a cup and handed it to her. She took a sip... it was peppermint tea, hot and soothing. Best of all, it gave her something to talk about.

  "Thanks. You come prepared."

  "The temperature usually drops around this time. I didn't want you feeling cold."

  His voice remained flat, as if she had disappointed him in some way. What had he expected of her? The boat was small, open, no privacy at all...

  Nervous, she said the first thing she could think of. "Thank you. But I feel a little guilty at not contributing my share. I should have brought something. I didn't think—-"

  "No need. This is my bet, remember?"

  "Yes. But I always take something when I go to someone's house, or if I come somewhere like this. I don't know why I didn't think of bringing along a snack. It's not like me."

  "Do you need one?"

  "A snack? No, but you—"

  "I don't either."

  "But I still should've brought something."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know,” she said, her nervousness vanishing, being replaced by an irrational sense of irritation when he didn't agree with her. Should she explain that it left her feeling incomplete, as if she had omitted a step needed to make the occasion perfect? Uncomfortable with herself, she fidgeted with the blanket, frowning.

  "Stop worrying about it," Jared snapped. "I didn't expect you to furnish anything. The treat's all mine."

  A stubborn fire, born from her frustration, flared within Ellen, making her snap back. "That's fine for you to say. I expect to do my share. No one has to carry me."

  "Just because I can't read does not mean I'm not capable of taking care of you. Evidently you don't see me that way."

  "No...no. I didn't mean that," she protested, her voice rising in alarm. How had he jumped to that conclusion?

  "Forget it."

  "But—"

  "I said, forget it," he shouted. "Don't try to cover up with a bunch of explanations. They won't wash with me." With a scowl, Jared reached for the tiller and shoved it hard left, making the boat heel sharply to the right. She gasped, grabbed the side of the boat and hung on until it leveled out again.

  What had she done? Ellen put her hands tightly against her face, ashamed of her behavior. She had never lost her temper with a student before. Never.

  All those lectures in college about maintaining a professional distance suddenly hit home. She had worked so hard building their teacher-student relationship that he had begun to follow her unquestionably, doing the things she recommended. One sentence, spoken under fire, may have demolished all that.

  He wouldn't tell anyone else he couldn't read, so he was stuck with her... as a teacher. But would he ever again view her as a woman and not just a means to an end? Would he use her help, then discard her once she had served her purpose?

  She shrugged her head deeper into the collar of her jacket. She should never have allowed herself to become emotionally involved with him. Look what it had done to her. To him. Yet it seemed as inevitable as the wind in the sails.

  To be an effective teacher, she had to resist him, but she couldn't see how she could possibly keep her distance when she was already drawn in so deeply. She needed to treat her feelings the way he treated the wind; as a powerful force always to be reckoned with—never ignored—or they might get out of control again.

  As he began the series of tacks necessary to take the Sea Sprite back home, Jared struggled against the disappointment, anger, and hurt which churned inside him. Ellen had proven his theory: non-readers were viewed as dunces, incapable of doing anything right, needing to be ‘mothered’. It had been the reason he had kept his secret so many years.

  Why had he expected her to be different? She sat huddled next to him, the blanket snug around her legs, yet she could have been aboard the motorboat that passed them by, so great was the wall he sensed between them.

  It was a good thing he had learned how she felt, before he got involved with her any deeper. He had been riding at anchor for so many years, he had been ready to sail in whatever direction she took. Yet, if she couldn't accept him as he was, handicapped by a problem that sucked the enjoyment out of every day, then he must not pursue things any further.

  Jared stared across the water at the triangle formed by three small blue lights mounted as guides on the end of his dock, activated by a photoelectric cell. He gripped the tiller tightly as the boat swung onto another tack, the hard wood offering emotional support.

  This had been merely a trial, a maiden voyage. He realized that bringing Ellen out on this particular boat had been a way of letting her get close to him. He had never taken another woman sailing in the Sea Sprite; never bared his life the way he had to Ellen. Now he was paying for having judged her worthy of entering such a special part of his life.

  They had not gotten serious and perhaps that was how she wanted it. He would trim their relationship, take things slowly. Maybe someday she would no longer give him that look of doubt. Perhaps, once he learned to read, she would view him as a man, and not just a student, struggling to open the door into a happier life.

  Or would she leave, once her job was done, unable to see the man behind the door?

  Determined to remain in her role as a teacher, Ellen arrived at
Jared's house on Monday armed with an attitude and worksheets which she had enlarged so the print was bigger. Jared’s greeting was nonchalant, but he quickly became irritated at her; so they both avoided idle chat and settled to work immediately.

  As Jared agonized over every word, Ellen found herself straining along with him. The muscles of his forearms bunched like rolls of cables, reminding Ellen of a painting by Michelangelo; the hand extended, the fingers forcing the paper against the surface of the desk. His hands clenched into fists compressed so hard the knuckles protruded and the ligaments showed through as white, hard cords... involved in a life and death struggle with his own personal monster.

  Despite his efforts, he still mixed up the words, omitting some, reading others out of order. The longer he read, the worse he got. As he faltered helplessly, he stopped reading and looked around the room, as if seeking an answer from the surrounding books.

  "I'm not learning anything," he exclaimed. "It's been almost a week. Nothing's improved."

  Glancing at her own hands, Ellen was not surprised to see them interlocked tightly in sympathetic imitation. "Try using your finger to keep your place," she suggested, clamping down on her feelings of inadequacy. She had asked herself the same question, many times. If the larger print didn't work, then she had run out of solutions... except one, and she didn't know if he would do it.

  Determined, he attacked the page again. Droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead as he concentrated.

  Ellen remained silent, finding it nearly impossible to let him struggle, her emotional involvement demanding she do something. It was almost as difficult for her to keep from helping him as it was for him to read. The quickest way would be to read it for him; but the quick way wouldn't teach him anything.

  When she saw his patience disintegrate, she snatched the sheet away before he crumpled it into a tight wad.

  "Easy," she said as he glared at her, the edges of his mouth sucked tightly in. In the shadowy light his facial planes appeared hewn even more bluntly, the high cheekbones and square-cut forehead making him strikingly handsome. In spite of the stress he was under, his complex personality appealed strongly to Ellen. He wasn't a quitter. She admired his tight-lipped determination, his drive to achieve.

  "It just gets worse the more I try!"

  "You’re doing great.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You are. You’re trying too hard. You might need to rest more often. Palm your eyes, like this." She showed him how to cup his hands loosely over his eyes, palms against his cheekbones, the fingers resting lightly on his forehead, slightly crossed above the nose to shut out the light. "Keep your eyes open while you do it."

  "What's that supposed to do?" he snapped. He had been irritable at her from the moment she had joined him for this session, and things were not getting any better.

  "It relaxes the eye muscles."

  "They're tired, but that's no reason to stop... they're always tired." He threw his hands down and reached for the sheet she had taken. "We aren't getting anywhere. I can't read any better now than when we started."

  Ellen ached for him. His emotions were so fragile; so vulnerable. Her mind raced to find ways to encourage him.

  She had to control herself. When she didn’t, she destroyed her effectiveness... if she hadn't destroyed it already. Would he accept her final solution... or would he have nothing more to do with her?

  "You know hundreds of new words," she reminded him.

  "So?" He didn't seem impressed.

  "You read single words without any trouble. Your difficulty comes in putting them together."

  "I know that." He slapped both hands against the table and leaped to his feet. "It's always been that way." He paced away from her.

  He wasn't going to like what she said, but there was no way around it. Might as well make the break final. She sighed, wanting to cry in frustration, but resisting.

  "I've run out of things to try, Jared. I can't teach you to read."

  *9*

  Ellen could tell it was the last thing Jared expected to hear. He stared at her in disbelief, his features frozen. She set aside the reading material and stood up, turning out the small desk lamp on the library table, discouraged that it had come to this.

  "I can’t teach you. Not without help. There must be some physical cause that’s preventing you from reading a page of print."

  He glared at her, "What do you mean?"

  "You read single words without trouble now. And small groups of words. But not when they’re with others on a page.”

  “So?”

  “So we can't put it off any longer. You have to get an eye exam."

  "Never!"

  Her heart sank. His refusal carried with it an absolute finality. It could be the deathblow to their friendship. She struggled against tears. Defeat. Failure. How could he refuse so simple a request? Why couldn’t he—just once—lay aside his pride?

  "What if we make an appointment with an out-of-town doctor?" she asked, unwilling to give up.

  "That wouldn't matter."

  "One just starting practice? He wouldn't be buying any boats." She could see this thought was favorable to Jared and pressed her argument with a quickening of hope. "You have to take the chance. Almost all severe reading problems have a physical cause. There's a barrier of some kind you aren't getting past."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive enough to say you won't read until we find out what it is and how to correct it."

  "Humm." He shook his head, his mouth tightening in that stubborn reluctance she ran into every time she mentioned an optometrist to him.

  "You could go in under an assumed name. Pay in cash."

  "I could just go in for an exam, period. Not mention reading."

  "Fine. Do that. But if the doctor gets finished, and he hasn't found anything, you have to mention reading so that he will look further. He has to know what to test for. He might miss it otherwise.”

  “How could—“

  “Please, Jared." She could see him tightening up in denial of her words.

  "It's the only way?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll think on— No, I can't." He frowned, looking both agitated and distressed.

  She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. She could not understand his continued reluctance. She knew non-reading adults had an intense fear of humiliation, but the possibility of a breakthrough should be enough to change Jared's mind.

  She shrugged her shoulders, noting the tightness in her neck muscles. "Please consider carefully. There's nothing more I can do."

  His frown deepened. "I'll think about it."

  "Please." It was better than nothing. "I'll leave now. I'll see you tomorrow. You can tell me what you've decided, then. If you don't see a doctor, I'll have to resign."

  She preceded him outdoors. It was around nine, much earlier than they usually quit, the sun still up. Despite wanting to give in and agree with him, Ellen clung to her ultimatum as she walked up the steps.

  If he refused to go, it would be the end of everything. She could stop trying to teach him and try to get to know him on a social level, but she would always feel she had failed. Could they build a relationship on that?

  A bush full of gorgeous yellow roses grew at the top of the drive and she sniffed deeply of the nearest open bloom. All she could smell was the freshly cut grass around the bush. Disappointed, she smelled another blossom. No fragrance there either. Just like the man. All perfection... but with the one blank space in his life.

  "There's no smell," he said as he joined her.

  "I noticed. How disappointing. I like my flowers to have more than just beauty."

  Jared nodded, thinking to himself how like a lovely flower Ellen was. "Same here. My mother never cared; looks were enough. This was one of her plants. My gardener keeps it nice."

  He held the car door for Ellen as she got in, then shut it carefully behind her. He wished he knew how to get back on the easy footing they h
ad had last week. She seemed far away from him today, growing further by the moment. "Goodbye. Drive safely."

  She put the car into reverse. "I'll come tomorrow. Same time."

  As her car disappeared around a turn, Jared plucked one of the yellow roses and held it in his hand, admiring the delicate perfection. Then he sniffed it. Nothing.

  She claimed there was something physically wrong with him. Could it be, or was Ellen just offering an excuse because she had failed?

  He had seen an optometrist when he was seven. It was one of those childhood memories that played over and over in his mind. The doctor had finished with Jared, then sent him into the next room while he talked with his parents—but by standing against the door, Jared could hear bits and pieces: "I found no stigmatism. Have you ever considered the possibility your son is just lazy? Or retarded?"

  At the time, Jared had worried that he was both, for his parents had seemed to treat him with less regard after that. The humiliation haunted him for years. What would Ellen do when this doctor said that?

  He'd probably lose her whatever he did.

  She was his lifeline, his entrance into the world of readers. If Ellen quit, he didn't know what he would do. He had to learn to read, but he couldn't go through the agony of hiring another teacher. It was Ellen... or no one.

  She had said her family kept her too busy last Sunday to come to the TV studio, but maybe that was just an excuse to further distance herself from him. The doctor's verdict would give her a perfect reason to leave for good.

  Ellen’s demands added to his burdens. Time was running out for him at work. His office manager, Donna, kept pressuring him to hire a replacement. A new worker would expect him to help train her—and would quickly discover his secret.

  Once the word was out, he would lose his TV job. What an uproar that would be. The women who pestered him for dates would look with horror in their eyes. His brother would return, take his place, and maybe suffer another attack.

  And Ellen would find other people to tutor.