Life Is A Foreign Language

by Rayne E. Golay

  At the hotel she was apathetic, fear of the future her constant companion.

  Missing Michael was like an open wound. She wanted his arms around her. She longed to hear his voice, but lacked the courage to phone him, from fear he would reject her. There were moments when Nina almost panicked that she would spend the rest of her life without him.

  During these days filled with long, lonely hours, Nina gradually found some clarity about her place in Michael’s life. In one of those moments of deep insight, she now saw that Michael was not the real problem. The root cause was Nina’s low self esteem. All her life she’d felt guilty for having been born. Her father had repeatedly told her how much he resented her for existing. This kind of emotional indoctrination had left indelible marks on her emotions. Andre’s negligent attitude had further undermined her sense of self.

  She couldn’t change Michael, nor did she want to. But she intended to change her own attitude or she would surely be deprived of happiness with him.

  Some time ago he’d said she was welcome to join his family. A strict upbringing and her stiff sense of propriety kept her from taking him at his word. To join them, she thought, would be intrusive; it would also be too early in their relationship. When he spent time with Cindy or his family, Nina felt excluded and abandoned. Separation from her own family made her sense of isolation grow to the point that she lost sense of proportion.

  In this moment of serious soul searching, Nina resolved to control her emotions, not to let them have power over her. It was time to grow up. She wanted to be an equal to Michael, his partner, not this emotionally needy child-woman.

  On Friday afternoon, Walter drove her to the airport. “You did a great job. If you get bored or want to do some temp work let me know, I’ll find something for you.”

  Nina was satisfied that she had performed well. A split of champagne helped her relaxed during the flight. The plane approached the airport, and by the time she deplaned and located her car, she was shaky from worrying about what awaited her.

  She hardly dared hope there would be a message on her answering machine from Michael.

  Chapter 29

  Driving home, Nina encountered the Friday rush hour traffic; vehicles were bumper to bumper on Route 41. Her parched mouth screamed for a drink, and she kept blinking her eyes, gritty from the dry air on the plane. When she thought the traffic would never let up, she came upon a side street blissfully empty. She drove along the quiet residential streets the rest of the way home.

  Arriving at her house, she rushed immediately to check the answering machine for messages. Before pressing the “answer” button, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the machine—what if there was nothing from Michael?

  From the fridge she grabbed a can of Diet Coke, and drained half of it to quench her thirst. The drink close at hand, she found the courage to listen. The canned voice announced: “You have five new messages.” She wanted to scan through them quickly to find the one from him, if there was one, but she made herself listened to each in turn.

  The first message was a hang up. The second was from Danny, recorded that morning—she’d listen to this one later. She rubbed her hands against her jeans to dry them and punched the button for the next message.

  “Nina, call me, please.” There was no greeting, no introduction. Michael’s voice didn’t reveal anything, the message was too brief, but at least he had phoned. Nameless fear lumped in her throat.

  Instead of calling him immediately, Nina went to collect the mail from the box, aware her behavior was immature—everything about this trip and the reason for it was immature.

  On the lanai Nina lit a candle and sank into one of the chairs facing the pool. Picking up the cordless phone, she punched in his number.

  “Hello.”

  “Michael.”

  “Nina?”

  “Yes, I’m back. Just got in.”

  “I tried your cell phone but kept getting voice mail. You didn’t give the name of your hotel. I didn’t even know when you’d be back.”

  “Oops, I thought I told you I’d be back today. By mistake I left my cell phone at home. And I learned the name of the hotel only when I arrived in New York.”

  “Yesterday I went by your house. All the blinds were drawn. The house looked so lonely and forlorn.” His voice was husky.

  “Well, I’m back now.”

  “I thought maybe you’d gone for good.”

  “You did? Without telling you? Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps you were overwhelmed.”

  “I was overwhelmed, and I needed to get some perspective. On us, our situation.”

  “Were you scared? Is that why you left?”

  “Yes, I was scared and insecure. My hallmark, insecurity.” Her laugh turned to a muffled sob. “Should I decide to leave for good, I’ll tell you first. I would never just sneak away.”

  Over the line she heard him breathe. “But that’s exactly what you did, sneak away. I didn’t know what to think. These past days have been rough.”

  The ice cold fist of fear clutched at her insides. He sounded so stern, so aloof. “I’m sorry, Michael. I was so mixed up. I’m afraid I acted without thinking.”

  “We need to talk, Nina.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  “How about if I come over? I could be there in about half an hour.”

  “Yes,” was all she said, hand trembling as it placed the receiver on the table.

  To pass the time before Michael arrived, Nina went from room to room turning on lights until the entire house, inside and out, was bright. She stood by the open front door listening for the sound of his car, hearing only the sprinklers whoosh and hiss against shrubs and trees, the scent of wet grass and blossoms perfuming the air.

  Michael pulled into her driveway and took a few long strides to close the distance between them. He touched her hand, a grasp so brief it was over before she could react.

  “Nina.”

  She stared at his face, closed and stern, almost unfamiliar. His eyes were dull, the smile gone from them. Opening the door wide, he preceded her into the den.

  “Can I get you anything? A beer, coffee?”

  “Nothing right now. Come, sit.” He patted the seat of the couch. “We need to talk.”

  He already said that on the phone. Fear was a stranglehold on her throat, breath wheezing. Her hands were like icicles, and she had trouble focusing her eyes.

  Sitting in the love seat at a distance from her, Michael leaned elbows on knees, face pale in the bright light, smudgy half-moons under his eyes. “You’ve put me through the wringer.” Spoken without inflection, unemotional

  From the few words Nina couldn’t tell if he accused her or made a statement. She shuddered, wishing she could move time back, cancel the trip to New York, remove her insecurities, grow up this very instant. Most of all she wanted to throw herself into his arms, ask him to please forgive her. Not knowing what his reaction would be if she did, she sat, waiting for his move, his next words.

  “What happened? Why did you leave?”

  For a brief instant she closed her eyes, forcing herself to ignore the fear, to be coherent. “Let me try to explain what I felt, what caused me to leave. We’d spent the most glorious day and night together. I don’t believe I’ve been quite that happy before. All I wanted was to be with you. I thought you wanted the same. When you told me you were going to spend the evening away from me I was so disappointed. It was like crashing to the ground, hard, after a great high. I was greedy, wanted more of you. I refused to see that you have obligations.”

  Blinking, she stopped to think. Better be honest. “I was hurt, felt rejected and abandoned, like so often in the past.” She hushed to catch her breathe. “Earlier, I had contacted an old colleague for a possible lecture assi
gnment. I called him; the rest you know.”

  “Oh, so you’d been planning to leave for some time?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I called Walter because I wanted an option. When I couldn’t deal with you leaving me alone that night, I took the option.” Again she closed her eyes the better to think. “It’s immaterial that you had plans for the evening; it’s what I let it do to me that matters. I felt abandoned and insecure about you.”

  He shook his head. “Nina, I can’t believe that you question my feelings. I’ve said it already: I have a family—there are times I need to make time for them.”

  “I know.”

  This discussion, its cause, Michael, his family, her distress, all of it exhausted her. She wanted to make up, hold him, love him. Nina wished she knew how to put a stop to this conversation, too reminiscent of numerous pointless arguments with André about his infidelities.

  “I’m truly sorry, darling.” She reached to caress his hand, stunned when he moved it out of her reach. “Please forgive me. I can’t promise that I won’t overreact again if I feel insecure, but I promise you I won’t take off without talking to you beforehand.”

  His shook his head. “I have nothing to forgive.” He passed both hands over his face. “I love you, Nina. I had hopes of building a future with you.”

  The past tense wasn’t lost on her. She blinked to keep back the threatening tears.

  When he resumed speaking, his voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. “While you were gone, I saw I’d been reckless; things between us went too fast, too soon. I should have held back considering your traumatic experiences.” His sigh was loud. “I think we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”

  Her heart was beating so furiously her chest burned. “Do you mean to say …?”

  “Let me finish. I need time to think if I can handle your insecurities and fears. You’re going through a rough time, and I understand it isn’t easy. Right now I’m not sure I can live up to your expectations of me to be constantly at hand.”

  “I don’t want to justify my behavior. By leaving France and my family I made some tough decisions. There are times when living with the consequences is hard, and I feel so lonely I can hardly bear it.” She took a deep breath, massaging her temples against the onset of a headache. “I’m still adjusting to my new life; every so often I don’t know where I belong.”

  Michael was silent for moment, gazing at her. “I understand, and I thought I could help you, but I never expected I would have to contend with you disappearing, leaving me to wonder and worry.”

  With trembling fingers Nina wiped at the wetness on her cheeks. “Are you telling me it’s over between us?” It’s hardly started.

  “I didn’t say that. I need some time to think is all.” Leaning closer, he brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.” Before she could react she heard the front door open and close.

  After Michael left the scent of his aftershave was the only sign that he’d been there. Nina sank onto the couch. Shocked, she sat staring into the distance. Not a coherent thought attached itself to her mind. The pain was so intense, her molars hurt from keeping her teeth clamped not to scream. Like an automaton she went through the motions of locking up the house, turning off lights and preparing for bed. Then she lay sleepless, numb.

  The first light of dawn was a narrow streak on the far horizon when Nina was jolted out of a light slumber. The Rose Festival! I won’t be Godmother to Michael’s rose.

  First thing the next morning Nina obtained Reverend Oren Jones’s number through information. Then she waited till nine before she dialed, listening to the ring tone, pacing the length of the lanai. Michael had promised to set up a meeting between them, but hadn’t made the arrangements, which annoyed her. He was so quick to promise “I’ll do this,” “I’ll take you there.” Although his intentions were good, he didn’t always follow through with action; often something else came up that needed his attention.

  “Center of Light. Oren speaking.”

  Nina liked the deep voice and his understated introduction. She gave her name, and before she could add a word he broke in.

  “Oh yes, Nina. Michael talked about you. What can I do for you?” Hearty and spontaneous.

  “Could you give me an appointment?” Is “appointment” the right word?

  He suggested a day and time early next week, eons hence.

  “Can’t you see me earlier? This is an emergency, I think.”

  When he said he had an opening that same afternoon she waver, fearful that it was too soon. “Today? But it’s Saturday.”

  His chuckle was throaty. “That’s unimportant. It’s just another day.”

  Quickly, she made up her mind. “Thank you, I’ll be there.” She scribbled the directions he gave her, relieved to have arranged the meeting.

  Chapter 30

  The day before she had left for New York, when she quarreled with Michael, Nina had been rude to Sophie. Her behavior nagged. Sophie had offered help when Nina was troubled and unhappy, but she had turned Sophie away. Resentful and upset with Michael, she’d taken it out on Sophie, because she happened to be there. Nina sighed at her own behavior—immature and self-centered. It was important to apologize to Sophie. In her new and foreign existence Nina didn’t have so many friends that she could turn away from a faithful ally like Sophie.

  After her conversation with Reverend Jones, a tumbler of ice tea within reach, she dialed Sophie’s office number, but voicemail directed her to the pager. When at long last Sophie came on the line Nina’s throat was tight from holding back her concern that Sophie would be angry.

  “Hi. Glad I finally located you.”

  After a short pause Sophie responded. “Ah, Nina. It’s a madhouse. I’m so busy, week-ends included, I no longer know what day it is.”

  “It’s Saturday. I won’t keep you. Can we get together any time soon?”

  The line went quiet.

  “Please, Sophie—I owe you an apology for the other day. I’ve missed you.” Nina longed for her company, hoping they could return to a comfortable friendship again once they talked things over.

  “Okay, I’ll come over to your place tonight when I’m through here. But let me warn you, it could be quite late.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll wait for you, no matter how late it is.”

  After the phone call Nina went into her office, pulled up the novel and stared through the window at the dancing palm fronds.

  A future with Michael had seemed within reach, but was now remote. She loved him with all the fervor of which she was capable. If only she had known how to control her insecurities, rather than pushing him away by taking off for New York.

  Fragile and hurting, she had compared Michael to André, although she knew there were no similarities. She had never communicated with André. Each went their separate ways, exchanging trivialities. Michael was so different. In many ways he had shown her that she could risk opening up, to share her innermost feelings. He had received her confidences with compassion and tact: her unhappy marriage; the abuse she had suffered from her father; a barren, loveless existence.

  Despite all that, when it came to the crunch, she hadn’t been able to overcome past hurts, and had possibly ruined the best thing ever to come her way.

  Nina was early for her afternoon meeting with Reverend Jones. She sat in the car at the strip mall that housed the Center of Light. The day was gloomy with menacing clouds and a gusting wind. Closing her eyes, she tried to sort out her thoughts so she’d be coherent and not waste time on immaterial embroidering, but deliver only pertinent facts. Then she blinked alert. This, exactly, was one of her problems; she felt she had to make sense and be accurate. She was here to talk about her feelings. If she didn’t use the exact terms, all the better. No more censoring and filtering, she would let him s
ee her the way she was, vulnerable with human shortcomings.

  As she rang the doorbell, her heart beat a little faster. She heard a buzz, then a click, and the door swung open. Stepping into a narrow entrance, she crossed a hall and stopped on the threshold of a large room filled with bright light. In the middle, straight-backed chairs formed a large circle. Directly opposite the hall against the back wall was a raised podium covered in midnight blue velvet. On the wall, embroidered on a cloth, a pair of hands at the end of graceful forearms held aloft an illuminated globe. Muted sitar music floated on the air. Everywhere she looked candles flickered. The air was redolent with the smell of incense. A cram-full bookcase covered an entire wall.

  The décor was vaguely familiar from retreats Nina had occasionally attended in Annecy. At the same time, this was a little intimidating because she perceived a foreign flavor, an unknown ingredient.

  Nina heard squeaky footsteps on the linoleum floor. Turning in the direction of the sound, she faced a big man. He was at least a head taller than she. That was her first impression of Oren Jones.

  “Hello,” he said in a deep baritone. His ruddy face was elongated with rather heavy jowls and fleshy lips. When he smiled, like now, his pearly grey eyes peered through slits of drooping lids and baggy folds. His forehead was domed, his hair sparse and tousled, the color of mud.

  Nina felt no embarrassment that she studied him. Prepared to entrust him with her innermost feelings and secrets, she needed to have an impression of who he was. Lowering her eyes she studied his hands, large with long tapering fingers, sturdy wrists, and when one of those competent looking hands folded itself around hers, she was glad she’d come.

  She returned his smile. “Hello.”

  “Nina Brochard. What a pleasure to meet you. I liked your voice on the phone. I like your aura. It’s vibrant, very bright.” He was still holding her hand. “Come, let’s go into my office.” Leading the way across the vast room, he went through a short corridor into a cluttered office dominated by a large desk. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Could I get you a tisane?” He chuckled. “Isn’t that French for herb tea?”