Rules Get Broken

by John Herbert

  I was traveling with Larry Thomas, our district sales manager for Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana and Pennsylvania, and we were on our way to Toledo for two days of sales calls. Larry had met my flight from New York, and our conversation had been lively for the first thirty minutes of our drive. But as the snow continued to fall and our speed continued to drop, Larry fell silent—undoubtedly in part because he was driving and sensed the need for extra diligence, but also probably because, like me, he was beginning to realize this was going to be a long night.

  The white flakes racing into our headlight beams were giving me a headache, so I turned away from the windshield to look out the passenger side window. Every few minutes I was able to make out the lights of a farmhouse or a barn or a car on a distant country road, but otherwise the snow obscured what little there was to be seen. The view through the window was one of snowflakes hurtling past me and featureless blackness. Mile after mile, Larry and I sat in silence except for the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers and the muffled roar of the defroster. The silence inside the car coupled with the impenetrable blackness outside made me feel uneasy.

  Wonder what Nancy’s doing tonight, I thought as I watched a rivulet of melting snow run down the window. Probably waiting for me to call her. Which isn’t going to happen. Not tonight anyway.

  Miss her? the voice asked suddenly.

  I was surprised at the voice’s appearance. I hadn’t heard the voice in almost two months, and I’d assumed it was gone and wouldn’t return. But here it was, clear and strong as ever.

  “Yeah, I do,” I replied. “I always do.”

  Why? the voice asked, probing, prying, same as before.

  I sighed, knowing the answer but not wanting to acknowledge it. “Because when I’m not with her, I’m scared.”

  Scared? What are you scared of?

  “Lots of things.”

  Like what? the voice pressed, persistent in its quest for answers.

  “I’m scared of living alone for the rest of my life. I’m scared of everything that means.”

  I turned away from the window and stared through the windshield, squinting at the brightness of the snow in our headlights.

  “I’m scared for my kids. Scared about the kind of childhood they’ll have without a mother. Scared about how they’ll turn out. I’m scared something might happen to me. What happens to Jennie and John then? Hell, I could die tonight in this goddamned snowstorm.

  “I’m scared there’s something wrong with me. Because I haven’t grieved for Peg the way I was supposed to. The way I should have. I found Nancy, and I ran away from everything to her.”

  You’re not scared when you’re with Nancy? the voice asked.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Why?

  “Because when I’m with her, I don’t worry about the rest of my life; I just think about today and how good today is. And…because I love her.”

  You what?

  “I love her,” I repeated.

  How can you say that? the voice asked, its tone harsher now, more critical.

  “Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s true.”

  I thought I heard a familiar sigh. John, John, John, the voice began condescendingly. We’ve been over this before. How many times do we need to have the same conversation before you get it into your head? You lost Peg only four and a half months ago. You started going out with Nancy two weeks after Peg died. And you’ve been going out with her ever since—two, three times a week. You’re a hurtin’ puppy, my friend, and although you don’t know it, you’re not capable of loving Nancy. Not really loving her. Needing her? Sure. Loving her? No way. Sorry, pal, but you’re making a huge mistake if you think you love this kid. You’re confusing need with love, and there’s a big difference between the two. Big difference. So please…don’t tell me you love Nancy, because you don’t. You can’t. And for God’s sake, don’t make matters worse by telling Nancy you love her. Don’t do that, whatever you do.

  “You want to listen to something on the radio?” Larry asked.

  “Sure, if you want to,” I replied distractedly, startled at the sudden intrusion into my most personal thoughts.

  A disc jockey announced a song by Hank Williams. I looked out at the snow swirling all around us.

  “You’re wrong,” I said to the voice. “I do love her. I know I do.”

  Seventy-Eight

  I caught a three-forty flight out of Cleveland on Friday afternoon, January 9th. By seven-twenty I was at Nancy’s apartment. We both felt like having Chinese food, so I suggested Long’s in Hicksville—a thirty-minute drive, but worth the effort.

  We arrived at Long’s a few minutes after eight and were shown to a table immediately, a pleasant surprise for a Friday night at that hour. We ordered drinks and had just started to look at our menus when our waiter returned barely a minute later.

  “So except for the weather, I gather your trip this week was good,” Nancy said, taking a sip of her Tom Collins.

  “Yeah, it was. I think Larry and I made some real progress on a couple of big potential orders.”

  I gave the lemon skin in my vodka an extra twist and savored a long swallow, grateful that my four days on the road were behind me.

  “How was your week?” I asked.

  “All right,” Nancy replied. “Really quiet at the office, though. Post holiday doldrums in the advertising world, I guess.”

  “Did I tell you I tried to call you Tuesday night?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well, I did. I didn’t get into my room until after midnight because of the snow, but I figured I’d give you a quick call anyway just to say hello. When you didn’t answer, I thought maybe you’d decided not to, given the hour.”

  Nancy took another sip of her drink and looked across the table at me. “I wasn’t home Tuesday night.”

  “At that hour? Where were you?”

  “At my parents’.”

  “Ah. You spent the night there?”

  “No. I came home. After you called, I guess.”

  “Must have been quite a visit,” I joked.

  Nancy didn’t smile. “Actually, it was quite a visit,” she said. “My dad was out of town on business, so I had dinner with my mother…and then I called a guy I knew before I met you…and invited him over for a drink.”

  “You’re kidding. You invited this guy over for a drink with you and your mother?”

  “My mother went to bed a few minutes after he got there.”

  I waited for Nancy to tell me more, but she didn’t.

  “So…who was this guy?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  “Our nextdoor neighbor’s son. I had a monumental crush on him for years.”

  “So what did you two do all evening?”

  “We talked.”

  “About what?”

  “About how we were once and how we are now…how we’ve each changed.”

  “Sounds heavy. Did he behave?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, did he try to kiss you or anything like that?”

  “Yes. Yes he did.”

  “Did you let him?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked across the table at Nancy, but our eyes met for only a second before she looked away.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Nan,” I said, suddenly afraid of where we were going. “Did he do more than kiss you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. Well…what did he do, if you don’t mind my asking? You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What? How is that possible? Is this some kind of joke, Nan? How could you sleep with him? You were in your parents’ house, for God’s sake.”

  “If it really matters to you, we made love in the family room. On the floor. Satisfied?”

  Tears filled my eyes. Two waiters a few tables away watched us warily—wondering, I could tell, if our exchange would intensify and if they were going to have to
intervene.

  “Jesus, Nan. Why? What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? Why would you ever do that with someone other than me? Why, Nan?”

  “Didn’t you tell me New Year’s Day you wouldn’t mind if I went out with someone else? That you wouldn’t be upset? Didn’t you say that?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “And you’ve gone out with other women since you met me, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, a few, but…”

  “So I figured…if you didn’t care enough about me not to go out with other people…and if you didn’t care if I went out with someone else…then why would you care if I slept with someone else? And for the record, he’s not just anyone. I’ve wanted to go to bed with him since I was eighteen, nineteen years old, but I never did because…well, you know why.”

  “I can’t believe you had sex with him,” I stammered, still trying to come to grips with what I was hearing.

  “You didn’t sleep with any of those women you took out?” Nancy asked accusingly.

  “No, Nan. I didn’t,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice low so the two waiters couldn’t hear what I was saying. “Had the chance to. Make no mistake about that. But I didn’t. Because of you.”

  Nancy sat perfectly still and started to bite her lower lip. Then she started to cry.

  “I don’t believe this,” I said, shaking my head in despair. “I just don’t believe this.”

  “I didn’t think you’d care.”

  “Well…I do.”

  We sat in silence for close to five minutes, me staring into my vodka, Nancy slowly stirring her Tom Collins with her straw, both of us crying.

  “Tell you what,” I said finally. “I’ll make you a deal. There’s no way I can handle you seeing anyone else. I just can’t do that. I can’t! So…I will promise you tonight I will never see anyone else as long as we’re together if you’ll make the same promise to me. Does that sound like a good deal?”

  Nancy started to speak, but her words were cut off by a sob. “Yes,” she replied when she caught her breath. “That sounds like a good deal. Sounds like a wonderful deal, as a matter of fact.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it hard.

  Seventy-Nine

  The five-ten train out of Penn Station had been late. Again. The night sky was pitch black without its moon, and the temperature was falling rapidly as Nancy trudged home from the Roslyn train station the evening of Monday, January 26th. A brisk breeze out of the northwest rattled the few leaves still clinging to the trees. Nancy was cold. She was lonely. She was depressed.

  Snow that had turned to slush in the afternoon sun was now frozen and crunched under her leather boots as she struggled to find footing on an unshoveled section of sidewalk. “I’m going to break my neck if I’m not careful,” she muttered to herself, recovering from a sideways slip into a frozen footprint. She reached the end of the unshoveled property after a few more careful steps and found herself once again on bare concrete.

  She hated this walk, especially in the winter. She hated it because in the dark and in the cold, the windows of the houses she passed glowed yellow and warm, and the air carried the smell of wood smoke. As she walked the three blocks to her apartment, she imagined husbands and wives and children behind those warm yellow windows. She imagined couples sitting in front of crackling fireplaces, glasses of wine in hand, and families at the kitchen table ready to share a meal and exchange stories about one another’s day. In her mind each house was filled with warmth, laughter and love.

  Then she thought of her apartment, now only a block away, empty and dark, with dinner, which she would eat alone, only a thought in her mind. And that led her to think about John and how alive the apartment became whenever he was there. Which led her to think about how she felt about him.

  “I love you, John,” she said out loud as she walked down her street, head down, shoulders hunched against the cold.

  The sound of her voice surprised her, but not as much as her words. She realized what she had just said was a declaration to herself, an acknowledgement of feelings she’d been resisting for months now.

  She frequently talked to herself when she was alone in her apartment, but never outside in public like tonight. However, a glance ahead and a glance behind confirmed no one was in sight, and the sound of her own voice comforted her and made her feel less alone.

  “But who am I kidding?” she continued. “You love Peg, not me. You’re running away from what happened, and you’re running away to me. I’m getting you on the rebound, that’s all. I know you care for me, but I don’t know how much, and I don’t know how you’ll feel about me when the pain of losing Peg starts to disappear. That’s what makes this so risky. I could be making a complete fool out of myself and could wind up getting hurt really badly. And that scares me. A lot. If we’d met two years from now, everything might be different. But we didn’t.”

  She shivered convulsively as a gust of wind cut through her coat. She tried to pull her collar tighter around her neck, to no avail.

  “So what do I do? I can’t leave you. I love you too much. And I can’t tell you how I feel because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll scare you away. Or worse, you’ll stay because you feel sorry for me.”

  She turned onto the walkway that led to the side door of her apartment.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” she said as she unlocked the door. “You know my most intimate secrets, but I can’t share this with you. I can’t tell you I love you.”

  Eighty

  I saw Nancy every Friday and Saturday night and every Wednesday night that I was in town. Fortunately, child care wasn’t an issue because Loretta watched the children on Wednesday and Friday nights, and either my folks or Peg’s mother took care of the children on alternate Saturday nights when Loretta was off.

  In addition to seeing Nancy three times a week, I called her every night we weren’t together. I always called around nine o’clock because by then she had settled in for the evening, and I had been able to play with the kids for a while before putting them to bed. So my call on Monday night, January 26th, should have been more or less routine.

  “Hello?” Nancy answered.

  I smiled at the sound of her voice, soft and low and warm. I loved the sound of it. “Hi. It’s me.”

  “I knew it was you,” she said.

  “How was your day?”

  “Okay,” she answered. “Train was late. As usual. And the walk home from the station was colder than hell. But other than that, okay. How about yours?”

  “Okay too, I guess. A lot of crazy stuff going on at the office, but what else is new.”

  “Kids in bed?”

  “Yeah. Just put out Jennie’s light and just finished getting the bobby pins out of my hair.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Jen’s newest way to delay going to bed. She knows I love getting my hair combed, so she makes me sit on the floor with my back against her bed, and she stands next to me combing away. Then when she’s all done, she holds her handiwork in place with bobby pins and giggles at how silly I look. But she enjoys it.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I do. The bobby pins, though, I could do without. Oh, before I forget,” I continued, “Dave called a little while ago and asked if we had any plans for Saturday night. I told him we didn’t, and he asked if we’d like to get together with them. Maybe go out for dinner someplace. Would you like that?”

  Nancy didn’t respond for several seconds. “No, I wouldn’t,” she answered finally. “In all honesty, I can’t think of anything I’d rather not do.”

  “You don’t want to go out for dinner, or you don’t want to get together with them at all?”

  “I don’t want to go out with them at all. Not after New Year’s Eve. I don’t think I could handle another evening like that.”

  “It was that bad?”

  “Oh God, John. How can you ask that?”

  “Well, I know the evening had some rough spots,
but…”

  I heard Nancy exhale sharply in frustration and pictured her shaking her head. “Do you remember what happened during dinner, John? Do you remember Beth breaking down in tears? Do you remember what she said?”

  “I remember her starting to cry at the table, yes. And I remember the gist of what she said—not word for word, but generally.”

  “Well, I remember every word. She said, and I quote, ‘I’m sorry for behaving like this, but I just can’t get used to the fact that we’re sitting here together on New Year’s Eve making like nothing has happened. But something has happened. Something terrible. Peg is dead, and she’s not here. Instead, John, you’re here with Nancy. Which I’m having trouble with. I’m sorry, but you can’t plug Nancy into your life and expect everyone to behave like everything’s okay. Because it isn’t, and it never will be. Maybe Dave can do it, but I can’t. I won’t.’ “

  Nancy stopped for a moment to let her words sink in. “Do you remember her saying that?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how upset I was on the way home that night? How I cried for hours after we got back to the apartment? Do you remember how bad I felt?”

  “Yes, I remember that too.”

  “Then how can you ask me to spend another evening with Beth and Dave knowing that’s how she feels?”

  “I guess I chose to think she didn’t mean what she said, that she was just being emotional because it was New Year’s Eve. They’re my best friends, Nancy. You know that. I only wanted to give Beth the benefit of the doubt.”

  “But that’s not fair to me, is it?” Nancy asked.

  “No, it isn’t, and I’m being selfish to expect you to pretend nothing happened. I’m sorry. Forget about Saturday night. I’ll make up some sort of excuse.”

  Neither of us spoke for probably half a minute.