“Jonathan, it’s only a little past five o'clock in Bellingham. I woke you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. I could see him so well, the way his eyes would close, just before he winced in embarrassment for me. Or the way he ducked his head when something made him laugh.
“How could I not have remembered the time change?”
“It’s okay, Mom. I was going to call you today, but you beat me to it. I've been wondering how you're doing.”
As sweet as his concern was, hearing the anxiety in his voice bothered me. Jonathan had a very demanding job as an architect for a national construction company.
“Put your worry beads a away. I'm doing just fine.”
There was a long pause. “I'm so pleased to hear you sounding upbeat.”
“I'm upbeat, and looking forward to Christmas,” I said, hoping I'd put his mind at ease. Oh, how I missed Jonathan. What I wouldn’t give to reach through the phone and hug him. “You'll see how well I’m doing when you and Linda and Megan come here. I’m already working on plans for the holidays.”
“That’s great. We’re excited about Christmas, too.”
Was there a poor phone connection or did Jonathan’s voice lack enthusiasm?
“Mom, I'm in Boston on business next Friday, and I’m going to drive up and see you-—and the latest addition to the family. Don’t tell Amy. It'll be our surprise."
I was thrilled at the expectation of seeing my oldest son. It wasn’t until he said he was coming to visit that I realized how desperately I missed his easy manner and quiet thoughtfulness. He was so much like his father. “You read my mind, didn’t you?”
He laughed. “Not really. Megan and Linda are spending the weekend in Seattle shopping and visiting one of her classmates from her pharmacy program.”
Talking to Jonathan, anticipating his visit this weekend, made my throat hurt with longing for those faraway days when Jonathan would surprise us by arriving home from university on a Friday night to stay for the weekend. Oh, how much Graham and I enjoyed those visits. “I’ll be ready for you whenever you get here. I'll get in a supply of popcorn and we'll watch an old movie.”
“You bet. I'm Graham’s godfather, did you know?”
“Yeah, Amy told me last night when I was over there. By the way, I made a chocolate cake for Graham’s homecoming.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a piece of your chocolate cake, Mom.”
“Another chocolate cake coming right up.” My oldest would be home to see me...and my chocolate cake.
“Mom, I need to talk to you.” Jonathan's voice dropped to barely a whisper.
He’d mentioned starting his own architectural firm. Maybe he wanted to run his ideas past me, the way he often had with his father. “Sure, we'll have a a nice long chat when you get here.”
I waited to hear more, but he said nothing, which told me something was seriously wrong in his life. I wanted to jump in with a dozen nosy questions, but Jonathan wouldn’t appreciate such an intrusion into his personal life. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I know, Mom, and I appreciate that?”
“The anxiety now evident in his voice made my heart pound. “Then it’s settled. We have a date. I’ll dust off my roaster and cook a chicken. To go with the chocolate cake.”
“You do that. See you Friday. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too.”
How I wish Graham was here. He'd be so happy to find out Jonathan was coming for a visit. Graham loved to have the children home on the weekends; or anytime for that matter.
He and Jonathan enjoyed going fishing together. I can still see the two of them unloading the old Jeep we had years ago, their sunburned faces wreathed in smiles as they dragged their gear out of the back.
Thinking of Graham made me wonder how he’d react to my tea date with Sam. And the fence. I could almost hear Graham’s throaty chuckle when I explained how determined Sam was to install one.
Would this desire to talk to Graham, to tell him how I feel, what was going on in my life, eventually ease? Would I ever be spared the urge to compare my past with the reality of my present?
Chapter Five
The next morning, sitting in the breakfast nook with a nearly cold half cup of coffee, I stared out at the flower bed of forsythia and my coveted petunias.
My recurring dream of Graham calling out to me awakened me earlier than usual this morning. Maybe it was because of last night when I wished I could talk to him. Amy had called to ask if she could bring Graham over while she went to the breast-feeding clinic today. I immediately agreed. Seeing little Graham would make a great beginning to my day.
She wasn’t going to get here for another couple of hours, which meant I had time to read another of Graham’s letters. Last night as I started to fall asleep, it came to me that reading his words gave me a sense of being connected to him in a way I couldn’t have imagined possible. And this morning I woke feeling hopeful I would find a new life, whatever that turned out to be.
I couldn’t explain the reason I believed this, and a part of me didn’t really care why. The important thing was that I hadn’t been able to move in this direction until I'd begun reading Graham’s letters.
Maybe this feeling of hopefulness wouldn’t last, but then again, maybe it would...
Carrying my coffee cup, I settled into Graham’s office chair and pulled out the next letter. As I tore open the envelope, I noted that it seemed thicker than the others.
* * *
Dearest Susan
What a way to spend the month of February! I despise the experimental treatments I started today, not just because no one expects it to change the course of the disease, but because it makes me feel ill.
I can't begin to tell you how hard it was to go through the treatment with you sitting beside me, wishing me healthy with that defenseless look in your eyes. A look I'd seldom seen on your face before, as you never failed to put up a fight, no matter what the issue.
I love that quality in you, that warrior-woman thing you do so well, your never-give-up attitude. Over the days and weeks we've been learning to cope with my illness, I’ve seen you struggle to remain hopeful, to deny the reality bearing down on us. And I’m terrified. If you lose hope, I'll die sooner. I have this idea in my mind that your hope is keeping me alive. So you can imagine my fear and sense of defeat when I watched you this morning.
I feel your need for hope like a physical force, and there’s nothing I can do to keep your hope alive but take part in this clinical trial...for your sake more than mine.
When I saw that taking these treatments allowed you to believe in the future, it gave me a reason to go through with it. If I can do anything to ease your anxiety or delay the inevitable loss of hope, I will.
Now, sitting here in my office, gazing out at the rain as it washes over the window, I'm reminded of those early years of our marriage. Being a young lawyer in the sixties and seventies was a heady experience. When I joined Cooper and Edison, I had a criminal trial that garnered me the accolades and attention of the law community in Portland. Other lawyers sought my advice. I was in demand, and I loved it. I was successful even by my father’s standards, My professional life was on a roll and I wanted to use my new success to help not only those who could afford my legal services, but those who couldn't. Those pro bono cases made areal difference in people’s lives, and I gained so much satisfaction from doing it.
When we bought this house, I could see our future spread out before us. A future of opportunity and privilege. I was so wrapped up in achieving the dream, I never stopped to consider that the life I'd bought and paid for came with another price. In the early years, I could never have imagined letting go of my passion for defending those less fortunate. But I did. At first I blamed it on the workload generated by my paying clients, but that wasn’t the truth. I let the lifestyle I'd become accustomed to dictate my professional life...with serious repercussions in our personal life, as well. Bu
t I don’t want to remember all that went wrong in my life; nor do want to dwell on that clinical trial. All I need right now is you.
I want to open a bottle of Merlot and pour us each a glass. I won’t be able to drink much of it, but I need the pleasant routine of having a glass of wine while I watch you at work in the kitchen. Seeing you making dinner and chatting about the day has held me together mentally and emotionally more often than I care to admit. My heart warms in anticipation of the pleasant hours ahead for us this evening.”
* * *
I remembered that night. When he came out of his office, I checked him over carefully, looking for signs that the treatment was making him ill. I didn’t see any, which says how good my husband was at hiding the effects of his illness from me.
Of course the wine might have affected my ability to notice any change. The first glass went straight to my head—and moved down from there. We made love on the living room sofa...without closing the blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Thankfully, there were no lights on in the house, or the whole neighborhood would’ve had front row seats at a peep show.
Afterward, we ended up falling off the sofa onto the floor, where we sat laughing like a pair of fools. My body warmed at the memory of the fun we had...
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Sam? What's he doing here? I jammed Graham’s letter into its envelope and hurried out to the kitchen.
“Oh, there you are,” he said, holding a potted coneflower in his hands. “I’ve come bearing gifts, and before you say no, I should warn you that if you don’t take this humble offering, I will bore you to death by reading Shakespeare in your gazebo."
I chuckled at the image of him holding a book and reading to me, his hair askew as he belted out the words.
I'd insisted on having a gazebo built after we moved in. I wanted a lovely, private space in which to read between nursing the twins. “No one’s ever offered to read Shakespeare to me,” I said, surprised yet again by Sam’s behavior. He hadn’t dropped over like this since the day Graham was too sick to sit on the porch and he’d only stayed long enough to ask if there was anything he could do.
Don’t dwell on the past. Enjoy the moment...and the man who made you smile so early in the day.
“Want to come in?”
“Why not?” he said, putting the plant on the floor and making a beeline for the breakfast nook. He folded his long frame into the narrow space and looked at me expectantly.
“Can I get you something?”
“A cup of tea would be perfect.”
I put the kettle on to boil. “Amy's coming over with Graham in a few minutes, and I’m going to babysit.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. If you don’t mind, I'd like to stay and meet your grandson.”
“You won’t have to wait long. She just pulled into the driveway,” I responded, instantly aware of how Amy would interpret Sam’s presence in the kitchen. In Amy’s mind, I was not to include Sam as part of my plan for a new life. She’d said as much yesterday at the hospital. I suspected that Amy’s idea of my new life was one without a man in it, despite her protests to the contrary.
Before I got the door open, she was out of the car, baby carrier in her hands and diaper bag on her shoulder. A moment later, she entered the kitchen.
“Hi, Mom. I’m running late. Hope you don’t mind if I just drop Graham and run. He’s been fed and changed, and he should sleep—" Her startled gaze moved from me to Sam. “Hi, Sam.”
“Hello, Amy, and congratulations I see you have a beautiful baby boy.”
“Thank you.” She shifted her eyes to me.
“Well, I'd better go,” Sam said, edging out of his seat.
“No, please don't leave on my account. I can’t stay, but I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished at the clinic. See you.” She waved and was out the door and into her car before Sam or I could respond.
“That was quick,” Sam said, watching her rush out.
That was impolite. I thought, but didn’t say anything. Instead, I picked up Graham in his carrier and put him on the table between us as we sipped our tea in contented silence.
“Does this bring back memories—having a baby in the house, I mean?” Sam asked, putting his teacup down.
“Yeah. There’s nothing like it. I love the smell of babies. I remember when Jonathan was born. Talk about nervous!” I smiled. “And the day Graham made his first attempt at diapering Jonathan.”
“You mean those bulky cloth diapers with the big pins that looked more like spears?” Sam asked, his lips curving up in a smile. “I could never figure out why those pins were needed. Tying knots would've been better.”
“You're right.” I chuckled at the picture of Sam trying to make the old safety pins work. “And the time Graham tried to hold Jonathan in his arms with no diaper on.”
“Hey, that happened to me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that wet.”
We laughed together, the sound reminding me how long it had been since I’d felt like this. Sam’s hand brushed mine. A fleeting moment of connection, yet I opened my hand in response. Shaken by the sudden need flushing through me, I fixed my attention on the baby.
“Graham would’ve been so proud of this little guy,” Sam said.
“Yeah, he was so excited when Megan arrived, and if he’d known that Amy would be having a baby—" I swallowed hard, focusing intently on baby Graham.
The silence between us dragged on until I felt compelled to glance over at Sam. The vulnerability in his eyes, the way he seemed to be searching my mind, was unnerving. Did he see how emotionally exposed I felt right now? And was it remembering Graham, or having Sam sitting there looking at me in a certain way that was leaving me feeling raw?
“Would you like a piece of banana bread?” I asked, struggling to come up with a safe topic, escaping the intimate look in his eyes.
“No. I'd better be going,” he said, shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. “Would you like me to plant the coneflower in your butterfly garden?”
“I'll do it after Graham goes home”
Sam moved his attention to Graham. “Enjoy him. He’ll be grown before you know it.”
As I watched Sam leave, all sorts of feelings surged through me—feelings of yearning...excitement...awareness.
Attraction?
* * *
In my urgent need to put my jumbled feelings aside, I took Graham out with me while I dug a much deeper hole than was needed, and plunked the coneflower into it. Thankfully Graham slept peacefully in the screened-in gazebo next to the flower bed where I worked.
Sweaty and still restless, I sat down on the teakwood bench in the gazebo to cool off and wait for Amy. I loved this outdoor room with its Boston ivy trailing along the walls, its greenery creating a beautiful backdrop for the huge potted geraniums perched on wooden stands, showing off their bright red blossoms. I was quietly soaking in the peacefulness of it all when I heard Graham whimper.
“You’re awake,” I whispered, taking him from his carrier and easing him into my arms. I settled against the lattice of the gazebo, breathing in his baby scent as raised him to my shoulder and began to rub his tiny back. I closed my eyes, letting the feeling of connection flow through me. He snuggled his face into my neck, and I was overcome with the wonder of holding this baby. My daughter’s son. My grandson.
So often my mother used to talk about the glory of each and every moment of contact with a baby. How a new baby was living proof that life came full-circle. What I wouldn’t give to have my mother here with me now. She would’ve been delighted to hold her great-grandson.
Graham squirmed and whimpered again. I held him away from me and looked into his face. He opened his eyes and squinted at me. “Hello, sweetie,” I murmured as he continued to squint at me and work his tiny fingers into his mouth.
The sound of a car announced Amy’s arrival. Feeling the need to hold my grandson for just another moment, I tucked him close to my body and watched him peer around.
“We’re over here,” I called softly.
“This is lovely. You’re out in the fresh air with my young man,” Amy said.
Graham turned his head toward his mother’s voice.
Amy’s expression widened into a smile as she strode across the grass and opened the gazebo’s screen door “How did you and Graham make out?”
“Just great. He has barely moved since you left. How was your appointment?”
“It went really well,” she said, sitting next to the lounge chair where I'd placed Graham’s carrier. As she reached to take him in her arms, an expression of complete contentment suffused her face.
“Would you like to stay for lunch?” I asked, curious as to whether she might mention Sam’s being at the house when she dropped Graham off. Maybe she’d been too preoccupied with her own life to realize that Sam and I had been alone together, although that wasn’t Amy’s style.
“Thanks, Mom, but I should get home before he starts fussing. I need to feed him and have a nap myself.” She yawned.
“Call me later?”
“Of course.”
After they left, filled with wonderment at life and all it held, I went inside to finish reading Graham’s letter.
This evening will be like so many with you. You'll prove your ability to take the simplest meal and turn it into something special, which you'll do with even greater care and attention because you’re worried. And how much I need for you to make my life as normal as possible right now And I can trust that you will...the way you’ve done all our married life. You've always put what needed and what the children needed ahead of you. You have always provided us with the kind of home life that allowed each of us to discover our own potential.
I never said this, but I want you to know how much it meant to me that you were willing to stay home with the children. I was well aware of how much pressure there was on women to go out and get a job, to be part of the feminist movement.
Remembering You Page 5