by Robyn Carr
“I'm going to need love if I start spending my free time here. That nurse I've been dating isn't going to love it.”
“Now, John, don't spend all your spare time here. You need a social life, too, and we understand that.”
“Would it be a waste of time, Bev?”
“No. They need you.”
“Doesn't the preacher play with them?”
“Terry! I should have known. Yes, he's terrific with them, but he'll be moving to his own church in the fall and then bon voyage. They need someone who's not going to leave them. I love you.”
“I love them and you, too, honey. I've just been too busy to notice.”
Things were looking up for Beverly after all, it seemed. Beverly had Joe, nice, platonic Joe, and John and Terry. Beverly was happy. She laughed. She didn't suffer from self-pity as much. Beverly, the lovely, busy, motherly, sexy, independent woman. Well, she could still have used a little romp in the sheets, but she couldn't have everything.
The Christmas pageant was a smash. The scenery was a godsend. The kids didn't louse up, the minister was a hit, the congregation was enchanted, Beverly was exhausted, and Joe Clark was falling in love.
Help me, Father, I'm so weak. What can I do to make her see, Lord? She won't come to me, Father. She won't let me through. I really love her. God, I love her all over. Oh, Father, I want her. She's afraid and alone. She thinks I want her soul. I want way more than that. Give me strength, Father. Give me a sign. Tell me when. Amen.
Christmas Eve was baked ham and relatives. Holidays were easier when there was family. And there was family. Was there ever. Great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and others. Joe was one of the others. Bev felt a little sorry for him. He wouldn't have all that family jazz for Christmas and he was just the type to go for it. So, Bev asked Delores if Joe would be welcome for Christmas Eve and Delores wanted to bake a wedding cake. She didn't say so, but Bev knew she was delighted.
Joe was Bev's tagalong for Christmas Eve. Mark and Chuck were more than thrilled to have him come. He told a Bible story to the children, and then the adults all went to the candlelight service at the church. Joe gave the sermon. The usual run-of-the-mill Christmas story.
But when Joe told the congregation about the birth of Christ, Bev really listened. Carefully. She tried to ignore the goose bumps it gave her and the excitement in her stomach. It was a very touching story whether you believed it or not, right? All this God business was a lot of nonsense. Go ahead, admit it, God. You're not really up there, are You? If You're really up there, say something. Say it loud. I'm a little hard of hearing.
A small voice in the back of her heart, or soul, or mind, said: I gave you life. I gave you family. I gave you Joe, your salvation. Don't get sore because I took Bob. I had my reasons.
She ignored it. Nonsense.
Beverly was glad she had decided to stay home on Christmas morning. She enjoyed watching the boys open their presents. She didn't want to yank them out of bed and drag them off to Grandma's house. It was like taking a tranquilizer because you thought you might be nervous later. Christmas morning should be spent in pajamas. It was. They tore into everything joyously. They loved all the presents. She was a terrific Santa Claus.
The boys hauled their booty off to their bedroom. They had reached an age when the bedroom held new importance. They were beginning to retreat to that sanctuary for private play. They played with new intensity now. It used to be the louder the better, and now it was the more real the better. They could pretend with flair and act out the parts dramatically, with Mark the producer and Chuck the stunt man.
So Beverly left them alone and started picking up the wrapping paper. That's when it hit her again. Daddy wouldn't see them. Daddy wouldn't be back. Did they miss Daddy as much as she did? Of course not. She wasn't even sure they remembered him; they'd been three and four when Bob died. Daddy was only a memory now, the perfect, superhuman man who used to be. But Bev remembered. All too well.
A tear traveled down the “merry widow's” face. It wasn't an angry or bitter tear. It wasn't a sore, or hurt, or pathetic tear. It was longing. Plain simple longing for the finest man, the finest love, the finest feeling she had ever had. There would never be another. She would never find it again. He was the best, the most wonderful, the grandest... God, how could any mortal be so perfect?
Well, there was no use pretending. He was. He loved her completely. Maybe not perfectly, always, but completely. He was thrilled with her when she bore their sons, no matter how rotten the pregnancy and night feedings were. He wanted to give her happiness and pleasure, ranging from multiple orgasms to a dishwasher if it made life better. He was clean and good. He was proud and committed. He must have been committed; he had stayed with her through the worst. They spoke already consummated vows in church and baptized their sons because they wanted to do everything right. He encouraged her in many things, and pulled her out of more than one depression. He had vitality. He worked hard, played hard, and loved hard. He had a lust for life... and now he was dead. Smashed and crushed in a horrible accident, and dead. Why had they not yet named a saint after him? Everyone liked Bob. Not least of all Bev.
That was the crux of it, of course. Bob had become her good friend. Her best friend actually since she was seventeen years old. Well, you have tiffs with best friends, right? Eventually, they could talk about everything from his feelings of inadequacy to hers. They had settled into a solid, satisfying marriage. It had become comfortable and unthreatening. And gone. Very horribly gone.
So here comes the anger again. Why? Why? Why? Not fair. Not fair at all. I needed you, you lousy bastard, and you ran out on me. I was good to you.
You said I wasn't bad as far as wives go. I cooked, the house was clean most of the time, and I did everything in bed you wanted to do. And I loved it. That's right, I loved it. No one has done that for me but you. I had your babies, ironed your shirts, and loved you... so much. What am I supposed to do now? What now? I still love you, damn you, and I'll never, never love that much again. How could I? Why should I? Oh, Bob, help me. I'm drowning again. Oh, God, help me. Are You there? Are You even there? I need something. Anything. Help. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
The goddamn doorbell. On Christmas morning while I'm crying. The nerve. Probably the paperboy here for his present. Some people have some goddamn poor manners.
“Merry Christmas,” Joe said.
“Merry Christmas yourself,” she said with a sniff.
“What's the matter, honey? Lonesome Christmas?”
“It's nothing.”
“Where are the boys?”
“Playing. I'll get them.”
“No. Let them play.” He had come in and was taking off his coat. He had presents. He was playing Santa. Beverly wasn't even dressed yet, but she had on those expensive lounging pajamas. She was beautiful even when she'd been crying over her dead husband. So kiss the tears away, stupid. What are you waiting for?
“Come here, baby.”
Beverly the dependable. Well, what the hell, she needed a kiss. She needed a damn sight more than that, but not from a preacher on Christmas morning, thank you.
Joe held on. Her mouth tasted just as good in the morning as it did at night. She hadn't had a cigarette yet, which was a pleasant change of pace. She was beautiful in the morning. Visions of how she would look just waking up, naked between the sheets, a flush from their lovemaking still glowing on her cheeks...
“Reverend, please.”
“Please what? I'll do anything you want.”
“Remember your calling. Remember the commandments.”
“Neither of us is married, Bev.”
“There's something someplace about—”
Well, he certainly knew how to shut her up. He was on her mouth again, searching and begging. He was wonderful and strong. He was making her forget. He wanted her. Damn if he didn't really want her. It wasn't booze, sympathy, or anything false. She let the good preacher press her again
st the wall and she could feel the length of his handsome, strong body against hers. He was thirty and had never been married and she was thirty-four and had been married for twelve years and, when Bob had a reaction like that, she would follow into the bedroom and—
“Sorry, Bev. Got to have some coffee.”
“Sorry?”
“Sorry I don't have any more control than that. Coffee. Please.”
“There are times, Joe, when I think you're almost human.”
“Don't remind me. God, don't remind me any more today.”
“Are you praying, Joe, or taking the Lord's name—”
“I'm praying, for God's sake. Praying!”
Beverly hadn't seen a look of anguish quite that intense in a long time. Okay, you win. You're human. You have desires, too. Even ministers must have a limit. “Mark! Chuck! Joe is here!”
“Joe!”
They really loved Joe. Not just because of Bev, but because he had become their Joe. He was good for them. He was like a father at times. They respected and admired him. He brought them just what they wanted for Christmas. Mark had never mentioned a field hockey game to Bev, but he acted like it was a dream come true when it came from Joe. And Chuckie, naughty little Chuckie, loved the safe darts. And, of course, there was a children's Bible for each. Joe was hopeless.
There was a present under the tree for Joe too. They had decided together not to give it to him before Christmas because they didn't want him to feel obligated to reciprocate. It was a present from the boys to their good friend Joe, just because they liked him so much.
“I wonder what it is.” He laughed as he tossed the basketball wrapped in bright foil paper up in the air.
“There's another one you can't guess,” Mark announced.
He couldn't guess. It was in a box. He opened it like a kid on Christmas. He was happy, really happy. He pulled out the catcher's mitt and ball and his eyes lit up.
“Is this a hint?”
“Well, maybe when the snow melts,” Mark said.
“We'll play catch, huh, Joe?” Chuck asked.
“Sure we will. Sure we will. Thanks, guys. Thanks a ton.”
Beverly cried.
“Beverly, every time I see you you're either laughing or crying. When are you going to get your act together?”
“I'm sorry, Joe, it's just that... I don't know.”
“I know, Bev. It turned out to be a decent Christmas anyway, huh?”
“I'm glad you stopped by.”
Beverly hadn't made any big plans for Christmas. Just a quiet day for her and the boys. They wouldn't be impressed with a fancy meal, and in any case, she couldn't see slaving over a hot stove. She had been thinking in terms of tacos.
“Well, can I stay for Christmas dinner?”
It was a little embarrassing. She could pull a roast out of the freezer and stick it in the oven. It wouldn't be a complete disappointment.
“Of course, Joe. We weren't going to eat until much later though. Can you stay the whole day?”
He could. And cancel the roast. Joe had a turkey in the car. An already stuffed, premeditated turkey. And some refrigerated cranberry sauce and a bottle of red wine, which didn't go with poultry, but Joe didn't know anything about booze. It was the thought that counted.
“You're a turkey,” was all that she could think of to say.
So Joe played with the boys and set the table and helped with the dishes and tucked in the cherubs, even though they were still going strong. Then he went back to where Bev was slumped. “I'm shot,” she said, and moaned. “Worn out from basting that dumb turkey all day long. Why didn't you just ask if you could come over on Christmas Day?”
“Because you might have said no.”
“Then that would have meant I didn't want any company.”
“You would have thought that and you would have been wrong.”
“You're a know-it-all.”
“Thanks for the presents, Bev. It really means a lot.”
“It was their idea, but you're welcome.”
“That means even more.”
“Come on, tell the truth. It's not me you want, it's them.”
“It's all of you.”
“Liar.”
“It's not nice to call a minister a liar. It might even be a mortal sin or something. You're going to have to watch that sort of thing.”
“I don't believe in mortal sins or ministers, remember?”
“Shucks, I forgot. Well, why don't you thank God for a good celebration anyway, just in case I'm right and you're wrong.”
“Maybe later. Want some more wine, Joe?”
“Coffee.”
“What's in coffee that makes you so dependent? Saltpeter?”
“Beverly, for God's sake, don't shame me. I have weaknesses like everyone else.”
“I was thinking it was one of your strengths.” She shrugged. She went to get him more coffee. She had coffee, too, instead of wine. Ministers had this way of turning people into puritans just by hanging around.
“If you can come here and sit beside me and behave yourself, I have something for you.”
“Behave myself? Why, Reverend, have I been out of line?”
“Be serious. Come here.” More kissing and hugging she suspected, which was as far as it went with good old platonic Joe. But it was something special, wrapped, and in a box. A present. A gold chain. Real gold. Real expensive too.
“You shouldn't have done this, Joe. I can't accept it. I'm sorry, I just can't.”
“What do you mean, you can't. You can and you will.”
“But I have nothing for you. I know you don't have a lot of money, Joe. Oh, it's beautiful. I'm sorry, I couldn't. Lovely, but I just wouldn't feel right. So pretty, but I can't.” But it was going around her neck and she loved it.
“You really do like it, don't you, Beverly?” He was smiling that smile again. That sexy, glorious, divine smile. It was enough to give a woman cramps.
“You shouldn't have. Why?”
“Because I love you.”
“You're crazy.”
“Crazy in love.”
“That's not a good idea, Joe. It wouldn't be wise to love me. Not healthy. Take back the chain, Joe. Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want tokens of love from you. Not until I can return them.”
“It's a Christmas present, Beverly. Now, stop being juvenile.”
Beverly was pretty easy, especially when it came to lovely little gifts. She would take the chain because it really seemed to give him pleasure and she would be polite, but she would not say “I love you too” because she wouldn't mean it.
But she would try out this love thing for a while. She wouldn't make Joe stop loving her, because it made her feel good. And she knew Joe wasn't a liar. If he said it, he meant it.
As if being pushed by some outside force, Joe was kissing her again. Well, after you tell someone you love them, it's only natural to kiss them. So he kissed her. And kissed her. And it happened again, for the second time that day. And it was getting to be embarrassing.
Beverly didn't mind. It was becoming more real to her. Joe was becoming more real. It had been only a month since they had met and she hadn't been able to dodge him yet. He was always there when she needed him. He comforted, coddled, pulled her through, and was starting to reach down inside of her and pull her out of herself. In fact, every time she uttered that tired old prayer out of sheer desperation, the doorbell rang. Coincidence, that's all.
Beverly was wickedly human. She encouraged him. She let him push her down onto the sofa with his body and led him. He was losing the battle. He was hungry and wanting, even more than she. She wanted him to lose this battle, admit defeat, succumb to the flesh. Hers. The sooner the better.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.”
“No, Joe. It's Beverly. Beverly!”
No it's God I need now. Hurry! Faster, Lord, faster. Do something quick. Lightning. Hit me with Your best bolt. Oh, God, I coul
d come alive in her. I know what's there. I've got a breast in my hand, an urge in my groin, and I'm slipping... fast. Please? Oh, please, just this once? I'm begging now, really begging.”
“Let's go to the bedroom, Joe.”
She couldn't really be saying that. She wouldn't just say that. I imagined it, right? I better check to be sure she didn't just say that.
“Bev, I want you, baby. I really want you.”
“I want you too, Joe. But I can't.”
“You can't?”
“I want to, but I can't.”
“Well, why the hell not?”
“Because Mark and Chuck are giggling. We're caught.”
“Shit.”
“Joseph Clark!”
Joe jumped off the widow and the couch and headed out the door. Out into the cold dark night. Well, did she invite you to her bed or not? You were so damn busy praying, you couldn't even hear her. She was telling you to back off.
“What are you doing out there?”
“I'm stuffing snow in my pants. Get lost.”
“Are you coming back inside?”
“Later. Put on some coffee.”
Chapter Seven
Beverly was obliged to spend New Year's Eve alone. Joe was having a church party for all the young people who wanted to bring in the New Year with a prayer. She wasn't that far gone. She would stay home and nurse a scotch on the rocks.
Mark and Chuck were determined this year to make it to midnight or bust. They busted at about 10:30. Big tough guys. Bev was just getting around to fixing her scotch. Joe called.
He just wanted to say hello and wish her a happy New Year's Eve. He wished she would have come with him; she couldn't possibly be having any fun at home alone. She insisted she was having a fine time. He promised to call later to wish her a Happy New Year. That was fine, she told him, but she might go to bed.
At 11:00 she was wishing she had gone with Joe. She was bored. Scotch was not nearly as much fun as Joe. At 11:30 she was starting to drift off and decided to give up and go to bed. She wasn't having any fun. She had seen that stupid ball go down the pole at least a dozen times over the years. But before she went to bed she would have to answer the phone.