It Happened on Maple Street

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “You’re going to tell me what happened.”

  “If I can.” He’d be disgusted. Hate me for what I’d allowed to happen when I hadn’t let him . . . He wouldn’t want me. What man would? James had been right about that. But then, I didn’t want him to want me. I couldn’t give him what he’d need if he wanted me.

  “You can.”

  I wasn’t innocent. Or sweet. Even after all these years, I was still defiled. I knew what bad stuff felt like. What James had done to me was a part of me.

  It was something I would never, ever forget.

  Or get over.

  Even if Tim could get by the incident, he wouldn’t want a Tara who couldn’t make love with him.

  “I’ll do my best, Tim, but, please, just leave it for now?” I just wanted to love him long-distance for a while. Because I did love him. With all of my heart. But I knew that once anything more was asked of me, I was going to freeze up.

  I hadn’t had a sexual reaction since the night James had taken me for a drive on a country road.

  Tim and I talked for a while longer, about all kinds of things, and by the time we hung up it was clear to both of us that we were something to each other. Something big. But with severe limitations.

  I was his. I’d always been his. And he had no idea that I was turned off by even the thought of a penis.

  Tim was so jazzed up he couldn’t sit. Couldn’t watch television or get to work painting the living room—or do anything that took any real focus. He’d had no idea that coming back to life after a twenty-seven-year hibernation would be so painful.

  Or so fantastic, either.

  But he had to play it cool. This was all or nothing for him. And Tara was struggling. He couldn’t risk scaring her off.

  For either of their sakes.

  When he gave up trying to get any real sleep and got up and ready for work, he wrote the e-mail quickly, without overthinking it.

  Tara,

  Good morning, I didn’t sleep a wink all night. Hope you got some rest. I wanted to take a few and say hi and tell you I really enjoyed our conversation last night. Let’s keep it real, no games, okay . . . Time will tell what will happen. Now get to work!!!!!!!!! You have deadlines, and I don’t want to be the cause of you missing them. Have a great day.

  Tim

  I woke up on top of the world. I was still me. Incredibly conflicted. But a long-ago wave of happiness was filtering through me, too. Something was completely right with my world.

  Lying in bed, I read Tim’s e-mail on my phone. I answered him from my phone, too.

  Tim,

  No games. Thanks for the “good morning.”

  I’d love a recent picture where I can actually see your eyes. And your smile.

  Tara

  And when he called midmorning, I answered on the first ring. But I was deep into the book. Into darkness. A darkness that I had taken on as my own. Or maybe the story was coming from my own.

  I wasn’t sure anymore.

  I felt exposed. Afraid Tim would tell someone something I’d told him. My business was my own. It had always been my own. There was safety in that.

  I was short with Tim. And then texted him to apologize. I was a nervous wreck. The host of a battle that was raging inside of myself. Just like I’d been in 1977. I couldn’t do this again.

  I wasn’t going to get any closer to Tim.

  I’d made up my mind. Was resolute. Calm.

  Right up until Tim’s e-mail came in late that afternoon.

  Good evening, Sunshine:

  Let’s get some things straight. First of all, I told you that I’m your safe place and that means whatever you send or tell me is completely between us.

  So, calm yourself down and take a deep breath, concentrate on your work at hand, and rest assured that I will be near. Okay?

  P.S. Also, my favorite snack is chocolate milk and peanut butter and I’m enjoying that right now.

  Tim

  The last line made me smile.

  And that was my Tim—making me feel good even when I felt horrible.

  On Saturday, I had us all figured out. Tim and I were going to be long-distance best friends. There for each other, but with our own separate lives. Something about the idea bothered me. But it fit. My mother was in Arizona and the Southwest was my home. I suffered from seasonal depression and couldn’t tolerate the cold. I communed with mountains and blue skies and sunshine. Tim’s career, the home he owned, was in Ohio.

  And even if we were in the same state, I couldn’t give him the physical relationship he was bound to want.

  Feeling like I’d reached a truce between the two sides battling inside me, I opened my e-mail program to get the message I was sure Tim would have waiting for me. He’d attached another song.

  Tara,

  The song that I wanted you to wake up to. Enjoy it, Sunshine.

  Tim

  It was Neil Diamond’s “Hello, Again.”

  Tim called me while I had the tune playing for the fourth time. I’d told him I was going to be in my office working all weekend.

  I muted the computer as I grabbed my phone.

  “Hi!” I grabbed the chain around my neck, playing with it, wishing he could see the jeans and short-sleeve shirt I was wearing. I wanted him to know I was still cute. Still worth his time.

  And then I stopped myself. I had no right wanting Tim to be physically attracted to me. I was completely frigid.

  “What’s up?”

  “Just getting ready to start work.”

  “Did you work out this morning?”

  “Yeah. I don’t usually on Saturdays but I missed a couple of days earlier this week and I needed the stress relief.” I’d told him about the full gym up at the clubhouse in the private community where I lived. I’d lose membership there as soon as the divorce was final.

  “Tim, I need to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What went wrong with you and Denise?”

  “I loved Denise, but with a love that could never fully come out. Partly due to the fact the she was so emotionally tuned in to herself and herself only. She never really seemed to get that even though I was a guy, I had feelings, too. I could tell her what I wanted, emotionally, and she would give me what she wanted me to have. Which I think led to a lot of resentment on both parts. At the same time, I wasn’t giving her the one thing I guess she needed more than anything else.”

  “Marriage?”

  “Right. To me, the love, the relationship, the closeness was what mattered. Apparently not to her.”

  “But you just said your love never fully came out, so even if the closeness was what mattered to her, she didn’t really have it.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, when I was away from her I’d miss her, but when I got home, there was no sharing of mutual feeling between us. She always seemed to be more of a spectator than a participant, no matter what we were doing. Like she was biding her time, waiting for something before we started to really live life. So I guess that’s how love turns to hate. Hate for the fact that the person you’re trying so hard to love won’t, or can’t, acknowledge your feelings.”

  “I’m guessing you could be describing her, too, huh? Since what she needed was for you to love her enough to commit to a lifetime with her.” I felt sorry for this woman I’d never met.

  “Yeah. Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” That’s what we were about, right? Tim and I could tell each other anything.

  “If Chris were to ask you to come back to him, would you?”

  “No.” I tried not to notice the clock, the knots in my stomach over the pages waiting to be written. I could not let my life mess up my career. It was the one thing I’d done completely right. TTQ was my success story.

  She was also my sole means of support.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I could have said I could because Chris had had a call g
irl in our home. Or that he’d walked me up to a wall and I was afraid that next time he might break more than a china angel. I told him the reason that far surpassed either of those.

  “Because of you.”

  If I’d learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years of adult living, I’d learned this. I was in love with Tim Barney. Period. He’d been my one and only.

  I wasn’t going to be with Tim. I knew that. I wasn’t ever going to be more than a long-distance and, I hoped, close friend.

  And yet, in some strange way, I belonged to him. And knowing that, how could I possibly belong to anyone else?

  Someone from Tim’s work beeped in and he had to go—he was on call that weekend. The timing was unfortunate.

  And I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. I managed to distract myself with work until evening, but when I got to my friend’s house, I found her and her kids out for the evening. I was still working from my laptop, but I couldn’t seem to stop my head from playing with me.

  I’d been too forward. Said too much. I had too many issues. Was too uptight. And standoffish. I wasn’t eighteen anymore. I’d made horrible choices in my life that had led to horrible things.

  I texted him. Several times.

  You don’t have to do this.

  And a little while later.

  It’s not too late to stop.

  On my next break I sent another message.

  I told you I’m intense.

  Later that night my mood had changed yet again.

  Where are you?

  And when I finished work for the day, I just needed facts.

  If you’re backtracking, please let me know.

  He didn’t answer. And when it was past the time he should be home and in bed, I called him. He didn’t answer then, either.

  By the time Elaine got home, I’d had a couple of glasses of wine and had convinced myself it was all for the best.

  My life and Tim’s were too dichotomous. I was big city. He was small town. I was warmth and sunshine. He was cold and snow.

  I was frigid. He was on fire.

  As soon as I got this book done I was going to start planning my move to Phoenix. I had to arrange for a moving company. Find a place to rent.

  I had to tell my Mom that Chris and I were through.

  Before I went to bed I sent Tim one last text, apologizing for all of the text messages.

  Tim didn’t get Tara’s text messages until late. Too late. He’d been at a friend’s house most of the night playing cards. A time-out.

  Tara had been back in his life less than a week and already she was his everything. The thought of her there, not quite divorced, with the man she’d spent twenty-some years with close by had freaked him out.

  Or so he told himself.

  What really got to him was her. Since she’d broken his heart at eighteen he’d been his own man. In his deepest heart, at least. A part of him had remained emotionally detached. Free.

  That small, undetached part of him was his safety valve. He understood that now.

  With Tara, there was no safety valve.

  But he’d told her he was her safe place. That he’d always be there. And, instead, he’d been out playing cards.

  He owed her the bone-deep truth.

  Sitting down at his computer in a still dark house, he put his fingers on the keyboard and began to type:

  Tara

  Good morning. Please note the time (6:00 AM, another sleepless night). I have something to explain.

  First, thanks for the text messages. I’d turned off my phone, which is something I never do, but I did. Anyway, please don’t stop texting. I look forward to your messages. They show me that you are thinking about me and you do care about me.

  Now for the hard part. In my life I have lived with a lot of walls. In the past six months I realized that my walls had shut everyone out. So I set out to change that. I wanted to see the outside world again. Good news is that I have been moderately successful. I can see and feel more clearly than I ever have. That’s why I had the courage to get in contact with you.

  But as usually happens, it’s not all that easy or clear. You were my first love, and first loves always own a piece of your heart. But more than that, it’s like you have a free pass anytime, anywhere, to walk right into my heart and do as you please. That’s a bit tough for a guy like me to take.

  That’s one reason why I’ve been trying to get to your deepest feelings. Turns out you’re even more guarded than I am. I know I want us to move forward.

  In one of your text messages last night you said it was my choice. But I made my choice last Sunday when I got in touch with you, and I’m sticking to it.

  Whether we move forward is your choice.

  Tim

  Tim,

  I’m going to try my best to get this out here. Where I am with you. I can’t explain why I care about someone I’ve not heard from in thirty years. Last night I was awake, completely and totally consumed with fear. I’m afraid, because my feelings for you override reason.

  I crave our conversations right now. I want to be there for you. It’s something I feel, this desire to be there for you. Beyond that, I have no idea.

  I hope this all sits well with you.

  Tara

  Okay, sunshine. Since we’re putting it all out there . . .

  I know there is something eating away at you. It’s standing between us just like I told you it would. There’s a secret between us.

  Tara, whatever happened to you, to change you, please tell me. This will help you let your demons go once and forever. I know what happens when the sun goes down and the house is quiet. That’s when they come out.

  When I send you e-mails, you respond to certain aspects of my conversation only, and just kind of flow past other things. You don’t tell your life history or inner thoughts to just anyone. I get that. But you can with me. I want you to. I don’t want Tara Taylor Quinn. I want Tara.

  Hope this helps, and as always, any time day or night, you can call me, for anything.

  Tim

  Tim,

  You’re right in that there are many things I don’t say. I’m blocked. I didn’t do it consciously, and I can’t seem to consciously unblock me, either. Something happened. I know what. I just can’t talk about it. Or even think about it.

  And yes, at the moment, I’m all TTQish again. For one thing, I have a couple of business calls to make this morning. And for another, TTQ is very secure, safe, accomplished, and I feel strong when I’m her. People don’t walk on her—they respect her. (Except those who hate her, and I’m okay with that.) I want to be her someday.

  Oh wait, I am her. The only problem is, she’s just the surface me.

  Tara

  And with that I took myself back. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I sank down into the book Monday morning. I was hiding. I knew it. Tim probably knew it, too. I just couldn’t stop myself.

  I also hadn’t considered, for one second, the idea that I’d ever have to visit the James part of my life again. Tim had wanted me to swim in the deep end, but what he didn’t understand was that I was in way over my head.

  And didn’t know how to swim.

  Twenty-Two

  THAT NEXT WEEK TIM AND I TALKED EVERY DAY, SOME-times several times in a day. And between phone calls we sent text messages, emailed each other, and got on instant messaging on the computer whenever we could, too.

  We told each other everything about our daily lives. He knew how many pages I wrote each day. What I had for dinner. And what time I went to bed at night. He knew if Elaine’s kids were home or with their father. And whether or not she and I had found any time to talk. He knew when I heard from my writer friends.

  He knew I was dreading the phone call to my mother to tell her about Chris. Mom didn’t even know that Chris and I had maintained separate rooms.

  I heard all about the ball games he went to and the buddy he occasionally had drinks with. I heard about the fence he
was fixing, the tools he was designing, and the living room he was getting ready to paint. I heard when he washed his truck or needed to clean his bathroom. And I always knew what he was making for dinner. I even knew when his clothes were clean.

  And I knew that he wanted to have sex with me. Innuendo was seeping into our conversations. Covertly at first, and then more boldly.

  I played along as best I could. What could it hurt? It was only conversation. We were a continent apart. But I felt like a time bomb that was going to explode. I just didn’t know when.

  What we didn’t do was speak of love. Any kind of love.

  The following Saturday, one week after we’d had our talk about our exes, I went to the office early, needing to work on The Baby Gamble, the romance that was due to Harlequin by the fifteenth of the month.

  As I’d come to expect, there was an e-mail from Tim waiting. What I didn’t expect was for it to turn me inside out all over again.

  Tara: Have u ever heard this song? This is exactly how I feel about u.

  I have been listening to it a lot lately and now want share it with u.

  Please listen carefully to the words.

  Tim

  I listened. And started to cry—the first tears I’d shed all week. The song was about heaven—how he’d found heaven with me in the past, and now again in the present. About holding me in his arms. About how there was nothing that could ever come between us again. I loved this man so much. But I wasn’t the girl he’d known. I wasn’t capable of the things we’d shared back then.