He dresses and leaves quickly. After he goes, the apartment seems very empty, as though someone has drained it of some vital element.
Later that night, her bed seems endlessly wide, very large and very lonely. She wonders if she’s suddenly gone crazy.
Ellen feels comfortable sitting with Tim the next day, sharing their afternoon cup of tea. Her gay neighbour has become a true friend. She feels at ease with him and can talk to him about anything. They laugh a lot, about the same sorts of things.
“You’re in a strange mood today,” he says.
“Hmmm. I did a long ride yesterday.”
“Ah, but you’ve done that before. And it doesn’t seem like tiredness. More like you’re at odds with yourself, or with someone else. I hope it isn’t me?”
Ellen smiles and reaches for his hand. It’s a nice hand. It accepts hers and offers just the right response to her squeeze.
“Can’t hide things from you, can I, Tim? Are you psychic, or what?”
“People say the Irish are. Put it down to that if you want.”
They sit for a moment, he expectantly, she trying to order her thoughts.
“You’re right, Tim. There is something on my mind.”
His eyebrows quirk into a question.
“I spent the day with my husband — my ex-husband. We went riding and I asked him up for dinner after.”
“I see,” he says, quietly. “Is this a reconciliation? Are you getting together again?”
“No. Nothing like that. At least, it didn’t start out like that. I’m not even sure myself how it happened. Anyway, to make a long story short, he made a pass and I guess I was ready to go along with it. Then I asked him to use a condom.”
Tim splutters into his teacup. “You what?”
Ellen grins. “Yeah, imagine. Me, who still blushes if anyone refers to them in public. I can’t even believe I’m telling you this. It isn’t the sort of thing I usually discuss, especially with a man.”
“Well, you did with one man — yesterday.”
“I did, didn’t I? I still can’t believe it.”
“I’ll bet he didn’t believe it either.”
She flushes. “He was a little upset.”
“So what happened? Did you ask him if he had one?
“No, I couldn’t have done that.”
She pauses, remembering.
“There was a big promotion at the mall last week. A guy dressed like a doctor was wandering around the mall giving out samples. He handed me a few and wouldn’t take them back. Said they were trying to teach kids about safe sex and would I please not send out a negative message by acting like they shouldn’t be part of everyday life.
“I didn’t want to be a bad sport, so I shoved them in my pocket and thought I’d get rid of them later. I put them on my dresser when I got home and forgot about them —until the moment came yesterday. That’s when I remembered they were there, and handed him one.”
Tim crows with laughter. “Oh, that’s delightful! That’s wonderful! I can just imagine the look on his face.”
“Needless to say, it deflated the moment. Instantly.”
“Did he stomp out?”
“No. He wasn’t mad. It was more like, I don’t know, like he was disillusioned or something. But it wasn’t anger. I don’t know what I expected.”
The silence hangs for a moment, broken by the sound of Tim’s spoon, moving slowly as a glob of honey dissolves in his cup.
“You must have surprised him,” he says, finally.
“I’m sure I did.”
“Look at it another way. He makes a pass and you seem receptive — and then you hand him a condom. There’s a certain amount of premeditation to that. He must surely have wondered how you happened to have condoms lying so conveniently on top of your dresser. And whether you had occasion to use them frequently.”
A rush of colour floods her cheeks. “Oh, no! I never thought of that!”
“Exactly. So he has to wonder if maybe you have a lover. Or more than one.”
“But he can’t think that. I don’t! That’s crazy.”
“I know it is, and you know it is — but think how it looks to him. If I were in his shoes, that’s how I’d be thinking. And to a man, that can take the edge of things. It takes a pretty experienced lady to be cool enough to start handing out condoms at, shall we refer to it as, a delicate moment?”
“Oh, Tim. Now I am embarrassed. Is that what he thinks?”
“Cushla, I’ve no idea what he thinks. But I know what I’d think. And I don’t imagine he’s all that different. The big question now is, what do you want to do about it? Do you want to go back to him? Have a fling with him? Or what?”
“Tim, I’ve only seen him half a dozen times since Lissy … since we lost Lissy. Just to sort things out. Yesterday was the first time we did anything special together. The first time we weren’t just looking after unfinished business.”
“Did you enjoy being with him?”
She thinks carefully before answering. “Yes, I did. But one day doesn’t make reconciliation. It was just a casual, friendly day.”
“Possibly, but you know what friendship can lead to.”
“Not all friendships lead to that.”
“No, you’re right there,” Tim says, rising to his feet. He continues talking as he clears their tea things off the table. “You must have given him some sort of encouragement … or at least it must have seemed like encouragement to him. You have to admit there’s a big step between feeding him dinner and passing him a condom. Something must have happened that made him feel his attentions might be accepted.”
Ellen picks up the milk jug and places it in the fridge, her face carefully averted. “No, I can’t honestly figure out how we ended up in that situation. He was putting his clothes back on …”
“Putting them on or taking them off?”
“No, putting them on. They got all wet when he took a shower, so I put them in the washer and dryer while we had dinner.”
“You’re not telling me he was sitting there buck naked?”
“No. He had a towel wrapped around him. And one of my old sweatshirts. But it was all perfectly innocent.”
“Think back a few years. What would you have said if your daughter came home from a date with a story like that?”
Ellen laughs. “I guess I’d have grounded her and told her she was pretty dumb to put herself in a position like that.”
“I imagine that’s what most parents would do. So now you’ve got to figure out what you want to do about him. Do you want to ground yourself? Do you want to see him again? I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is ask questions.”
“Tim, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. And one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I can’t even imagine talking like this with anyone else.”
Impulsively, she gives him a hug.
“Easy now. How do you know I won’t get the wrong idea too?”
She answers with another hug. “Because you don’t have any wrong ideas.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I do have wrong ideas. Only at the time, they usually seem like right ideas.”
“But not about me.”
“You’re a woman, aren’t you? And I’m a man.”
“You’re not serious,” Ellen says, withdrawing her arm. He seems not to notice as, smoothly, and easily, he cradles her to himself.
“Ah, but I am serious. And there’s many a wrong idea I’ve had about you over the past months. Only they seemed like very right ideas. And very nice ideas. But I wasn’t sure how you felt about it. Whether I was only someone to have a cup of tea and a gossip with — or whether we could enjoy something more.”
Somehow, his arms are around her, his hands moving over her back, pressing him against his hips, folding the small of her back toward him. His voice is low, but she hears every word clearly.
“Now it’s your turn. You’ve to tell me whether or not you’ve ever had thoughts about m
e.”
— 13 —
TIM’S WORDS ECHO IN her ears. She doesn’t know what to say. She’s confused, upset, floundering. Stammering, she tries to ease out of his arms.
“I … I don’t know what to say, Tim. I haven’t thought about us … like that.”
Mercifully, he turns her loose, reaching out to pluck a Kleenex from its box.
“Here, Cushla. Wipe your face. Blow your nose. It’s all right. It’s not the end of the world. ’Tis the end of nothin’ at all. Sure it might even be the beginning. We’re still friends.”
Ellen giggles in spite of herself. His Irish accent comes and goes, depending on his mood. When he’s teasing it comes to the fore. When he’s serious, it disappears.
“I thought that was a famous last line — let’s still be friends.” She hiccups.
“Indeed.” The word comes out in-dayd. “But just because it’s famous, and just because it’s in the movies, doesn’t mean it can’t be true. Sometimes it means just what it says. When you like someone well enough to enjoy their company on whatever terms they choose to give it.”
During the long and sleepless hours of the night that follows, Ellen reviews what happened. Has she led him on? Has she somehow let him think she was looking for a partner? He’s offered himself. Ellen hasn’t exactly turned him down, but she wasn’t very encouraging, either. How deeply has she hurt his feelings?
She values Tim more than she’d realized. But she’s so confused. All these months, she was so sure he was gay. That made him safe, and comfortable. But what made her think that?
The memory of last night embarrasses her. First, because she’s never had sex offered so casually; second, because she doesn’t know what to do about it. Her mind runs like a caged squirrel, going around and around and getting nowhere.
What happened to dating, and courtship, and all those things she took for granted when she was younger? Or has Tim been courting her all along and she just didn’t realize it? And yet, and yet. Watch any television show. Read any book. Sex is common currency today. People do go to bed on the first date. By modern standards, Tim has been remarkably patient. But she’s not modern. The more she thinks of it, the more confused she becomes.
She remembers when she first met Tim. The first time they had a genuine conversation. He assured her he wasn’t looking for a relationship, didn’t he? Ellen tries to remember his exact words, but she can’t. Somehow, she got the idea that he wasn’t interested in sex. At least not in her sex. But tonight he’d said something else.
“I’m not a monk.”
Ellen lets her mind play with the notion of Tim as a lover. He’s kind. He’s gentle. She likes being with him. It would probably be wonderful. But is that what she wants? Just a casual relationship?
Part of her pulls back, like the Victorian maiden threatened with a “fate worse than death.” Another part of her edges forward, thinking how enjoyable it might be. It’s something she’s missed since the divorce.
Does she have enough gumption to call Tim and say, “Let’s make a date.”
If she did say yes to Tim, would that be so wrong? People don’t have to be married to have sex. But still.
She’s terribly confused and doesn’t know what to do. She has no one to talk to. Certainly not Jennifer, Robby, or Geoff, although all three of them have likely had romantic encounters, or relationships, or whatever they call them these days. Joanne is married. That puts her in a different category, but even so, Ellen doesn’t want to know what went on before Joanne’s marriage. Nor does she want to discuss this with Joanne. Daughter or no daughter, married or not, this isn’t fodder for a mother-daughter conversation. At least, not this mother-daughter combination.
Not for the first time, Ellen fervently wishes for a close friend. Someone she can talk to.
She does have a friend.
Tim.
The night finally ends and Ellen drags herself through the getting up process: shower, dress, breakfast. She opts for the one thing that always helps — her bike. It’s cloudy, but not yet cold. Hopefully the showers in the forecast will hold off for a while. She hurries her preparations, more concerned with getting out of the building before Tim is up and about than she is by the prospect of getting caught in the rain.
The Fates are kind. He’s nowhere to be seen, and there’s nothing ahead of her but the road. Miles of blessed road. Tension seeps from her neck and shoulders. She imagines it strung out behind her like some grey, ephemeral mist, clinging to odd bits of shrubbery. Once again the road sings to her, humming beneath her tires. The wind whistles an obbligato through her spokes.
The sky becomes a darker grey, and in the distance, rain hangs in sheets below the clouds, not yet reaching the ground but stretching long fingers toward it. The storm is moving rapidly. She turns and heads for home. The ride is exciting now. It’s a race, with the rumble of thunder spurring her on. Cars drive by, windows tightly closed, passengers lolling comfortably against their seats. People on the bus concentrate on newspapers, or look out the window with non-seeing eyes. The wind picks up, driving in little gusts and spurts, swirling leaves and dust along the surface of the road. Ellen squints, trying to keep out the grit and road dust, and pedals even harder. It’s an exhilarating feeling. Primordial. Fleeing from an oncoming storm, knowing that somewhere a sheltered cave offers refuge.
The first spatter of raindrops hits the ground as she turns into the driveway. For no reason at all, she begins to laugh. She’s won.
Entering the building is no longer the chore it once was. There were secrets after all, and she’s mastered them.
Moments later the bike is back in its regular spot and she’s wiping away any trace of road dirt and grime. It sits on its own square of carpet, bought at the flea market especially for this purpose. It’s the only carpet in the apartment.
Once the bike is clean, it’s Ellen’s turn, and she lunges into the shower, scrubbing vigorously with a loofah, then revelling in her vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner. She’s warm, clean, dressed in fresh clothing and ready to attack breakfast when the phone rings.
“Mom, it’s me.”
Joanne. Her heart tightens at the sound of her daughter’s voice. There’s a leaden quality to it. They go through their ritual greetings before Joanne reveals the reason for her call. She and Stan have separated.
“We need a little time apart,” she says. “I don’t know if it’s going to be permanent or not, but I’ve got to get away for a while. Can I come and stay with you?”
“Of course,” Ellen agrees. “When will you be here?”
“On Friday.”
“What time does your flight arrive?”
“I’m not flying. I thought we could drive. It’ll give me time to think.” She pauses. “Here. Jana wants to talk to you.”
Jana is her usual sweet self, full of enthusiasm about coming to visit Grandma. They chat for a few minutes before Joanne takes the phone again.
“Thanks, Mom. You’re a sweetheart.”
They make their goodbyes and Ellen flies around the apartment, trying to assess what needs to be done. Joanne and Jana can share her bed and she’ll get a cot for herself. She looks at the table, huddled against the wall. Another chair, too. What else? Nothing. At least, not right away. It depends on how long Joanne stays. And how things go.
She wheels her bike off of its rug and takes it to the underground storage unit.
“Sorry,” she says, feeling as though she is abandoning a child.
She makes a quick trip to a nearby department store for a folding cot (she promises herself it will come in handy for future visitors), an extra chair, and a booster seat. It takes a few minutes to find a cab, but she’s soon home again, tidying up the apartment and putting things away. It feels like her mother is coming to visit. She knows Joanne won’t inspect the apartment or judge her housekeeping, but there’s still a compulsion to make everything perfect. She’s reminded of all the little projects she’s put off, all the decoratin
g she hasn’t gotten around to.
Before long her stomach reminds her she hasn’t yet had breakfast and it’s well past lunchtime. She gives the fridge a hasty going over.
“Oh, Lord.”
There’s not much in there. Not much for two adults and even less for Jana.
She throws together a sandwich and eats with one hand while scribbling a shopping list with the other: Eggs. Cereal.
What kind does Jana like?
She doesn’t know. Maybe better to wait until they get here and she can take Jana to the store to get something special.
Bread, milk, something for dinner Friday night. Spaghetti. It’s easy. A loaf of French bread. Better get some salad stuff. Dessert — ice cream for Jana? What’s her favourite flavour? Put it on a separate list with the cereal and let her choose her own. Better add some fruit. Oranges? Apples? Maybe she prefers bananas? Ellen adds fruit to the Jana list.
The days rush by ruthlessly and she’s caught in currents she can’t cope with. The rain pelts down and she wishes she could stay indoors where it’s warm and dry.
As the week flies by she becomes more and more frantic. The lists pile up and the chores are never-ending. It’s almost bedtime and she hasn’t eaten dinner. She scrambles two eggs and sits on the couch, spooning them into her mouth while she watches TV, but she can’t concentrate. The sound of a fork scraping against a bare plate tells her she’s finished her eggs and toast, but she doesn’t remember eating them. There was jam on the toast, but she didn’t taste it. The faces on the TV screen mouth words, but she doesn’t hear them. She snaps the set off and gets ready for bed.
Ellen wakes early the next morning, her head still full of the list of things she wants to accomplish. Too suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. As she opens it, Jana launches herself into the room and leaps into Ellen’s arms.
“Gramma!”
Joanne stands behind Jana, wearing a backpack, carrying a suitcase and holding Jana’s favourite teddy bear in front of her.
“Hi, Mom. I’d hug you too but it would have to be a bear hug.”
On the Rim Page 18