In the Distance There Is Light

by Harper Bliss

  “No, just let me have it. Let me know what you really think. After all, we share a bed. I’m entitled to your true opinion of me.”

  I can tell my unwillingness to back down is riling her up. “You can’t just sit by idly and wait for life to become okay again. It doesn’t work like that. You need to do something. You need to take some sort of responsibility. And for God’s sake, Sophie, call your mother back once in a while.”

  I take a step back. “My mother? What does my mother have to do with any of this?”

  “She’s a perfect example of how you avoid any confrontation. She’s your mother. She loves you. You’re both alive. Make some effort.”

  “My mother is the biggest narcissist I have ever met. I told you that. You made me believe you understood. You made me believe so many things. Was it just to get me into your bed, huh, Dolores? Was that all that this was about?”

  “You know very well that’s not how it is. I’ve loved our time together, despite how it came about.” There’s a lot of hurt in Dolores’ voice.

  “Past tense. Okay.” My own anger, however, will not make way for anything else. I can’t get past the comment Dolores made about my mother. If she’s out to hurt me, I can give as good as I get. “I will pack my things then as I take it you’re breaking up with me.” At least I have an ounce of wherewithal left, just enough to make me swallow a vile comment about Dolores not being Ian’s real mother. I respect her too much for that.

  Everything coils itself into knots in my stomach that I believe will never be unfurled. I’ve lost Dolores now as well. But I can’t just up and leave, not like this. “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  “I want you to learn to stand on your own two feet again. I think I might be in the way of you doing that.”

  “Do you want me to go?” My voice, at least, has reached a normal volume again, unlike the way my heart is pounding in my chest.

  “God no. I don’t ever want you to go. But I don’t know what will happen if you stay. I want you to have a life. Your own life.”

  I nod, tears dangling from my eyelids. “I’ll go.” It’s not so much that I’ve overstayed my welcome, I do understand that, but after what has just been said, I can’t stay. It has become impossible.

  “Don’t go now. Be reasonable,” Dolores says, but she still doesn’t touch me, which is telling enough in its own right.

  “I have no choice.” I cast one more glance at Dolores. She looks so good again today, so absolutely scrumptious in her light gray skirt suit with a red silk top underneath. Her blue eyes are moist. She has taken off her glasses and they dangle from her fingers.

  It’s over, and we both know it.

  I head up the stairs and pack whatever I can through a haze of tears. While I fill my bag and disconnect my computer screen, a new void opens in my heart. Or maybe it has been there all along, but Dolores did a good job of filling it with all her warmth and understanding and embraces.

  Half an hour later, I’m in my car, on my way to Jeremy’s.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It’s only when I arrive at Jeremy’s, and have unloaded my meager belongings from the car, that it really hits me. For the very first time in almost four months, I’ll be sleeping alone tonight. Since Dolores and I took our sleeping arrangement to the next level, we haven’t had sex every night, of course, but there was always extensive snuggling, kissing and falling asleep in each other’s arms. There was always comfort in the presence of the other. I can hardly ask Jeremy if I can share his bed.

  After I’ve told Jeremy everything in a long, teary rant, he sits me down, and says, “First, you need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we will come up with our battle plan for your new life.” He has taken my hand in his. His skin is sweaty and nowhere near as soft as Dolores’. “You should also text her to let her know you’re here with me. So she doesn’t worry too much.”

  Stubbornly, I push my phone away from me. “You text her.”

  “Would you mind if I called her? Just to have a quick chat.”

  “You feel sorry for her.”

  “A little.” Jeremy says it as though he’s being pinched painfully at the same time.

  “I’ve had some time to calm down, and I do feel for Dolores, because she’s alone now, too. But I think some sort of rift was the only way for us to end this. And it had to end.” My voice peters out at the end of the sentence, as though even my vocal chords are unsure of this conclusion. “It had to,” I repeat, more to myself than to Jeremy.

  “I’ll make you some tea in a second. Then we’ll talk.” Jeremy grabs his own phone from the table and goes into the kitchen to call Dolores.

  I strain to hear what he says, but I just make out snippets like “she’s safe” and “you take care”. I never asked her flat out so I don’t know if Dolores has someone to talk to about this, about us. I was too absorbed by what we were doing—too self-absorbed really. Maybe she’ll call June and tell her all about our sordid little affair. Because that’s what it feels like to me now. It’s just a bitter aftertaste, like when I have a hangover. It was fun at the time, but the consequences are far less glorious.

  A few minutes later Jeremy comes back into the living room with two cups of tea. I never drank tea at Dolores’. Her professional-style coffee machine was too good.

  “Okay, Sophie, my sweet, sweet friend. Please don’t be offended, but I have seen this coming for a while, so I have prepared for this moment.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Since when?”

  “Since the day you told me, of course. I’m the king of unrealistic couplings. Remember Steve the law student? And Jared the Senate hopeful?” He purses his lips together. “Sometimes you really like someone you really shouldn’t, and the very fact that you shouldn’t makes you like them even more. Been there, done that. What you need now is a massive distraction and…” He taps his fingers onto the table. He’s actually excited about this. “Well, I took the liberty of having a conversation with Jackie O. about your future. If you don’t want to do investigative anymore, we can work something out. She can use someone extra for the weekend cultural pages, and since you’ve been, er, into the art world lately, that could be something for you. You can have one of the desks at The Post’s main office and you’d have annoying colleagues and daily boring editorial meetings, the works.”

  “Wow. I love how you’re selling that.”

  “You know what I mean, Soph. As for lodgings, just move in here. Come live with me. I can’t promise the same perks as living with Dolores has, but I truly don’t mind. I like having you around. I am a social butterfly, however, so I am out of the house quite often, because I have my own life to live…”

  “Speaking of, what about your love life? What if you want to bring a guy over?”

  “Then I will.” He shrugs. “There’s a bathroom between our bedrooms. And I’m not that loud, anyway,” Jeremy says matter-of-factly. “Besides, I no longer sleep with people who don’t have their own, very comfortable digs. No more college students or married men for me. I’m so past that.”

  I give him a small but genuine laugh. “You really do have this all figured out.”

  “It may be a long time before your life feels normal again, Soph, but I think it would be a good strategy to fake it until you make it.” He peers at me over the rim of his tea cup. “What do you say? Will you come to the office with me tomorrow? We can have lunch with Jackie.”

  “You and Jackie seem very chummy.”

  “It’s always a good idea to keep the boss close.” He cocks his head. “Is that a yes?”

  “Okay.” Maybe both Jeremy and Dolores are right. Either way, it’s highly unlikely that two people who have my best interests at heart would both be wrong.

  “Excellent. Now, guess who I’m interviewing for my podcast tonight.” His eyes sparkle.

  “I honestly have no idea.”

  “Vasily Cooke, the gorgeous artist whose work is on display in the Dolores Flemming Gallery at this very mo
ment.”

  “And I thought you came to the opening to give me moral support.”

  “I’m self-employed, Sophie, darling. I must always have an eye open for new business.”

  “Thank you.” I mean it from the bottom of my heart, though it does sort of feel like I need to be saved all over again.

  “You’d do the same for me.” Jeremy waves me off. “I need to leave in an hour. Will you be okay on your own? I can reschedule if that would make you feel better.”

  “No. You should go. I have to learn to be on my own again. I might as well go cold turkey.” I look around the room. Even though Jeremy has a lot of art on display, his apartment is the polar opposite of Dolores’ house. For starters, it’s pristine. No magazines lying around. No empty wine glasses to be found on the coffee table. It’s also modern with lots of ceiling spots shining indirect light on us, angular objects and bright colors. It would fit nicely in any lifestyle magazine on interior decorating, but it’s not cozy like Dolores’ house.

  Oh, Dolores.

  “Dolores said something pretty mean about me and my mother.” It helps to focus on the one thing she said that really hurt me. All the other things she said, I can understand now that I’ve had some time to calm down, but that particular remark still hurts.

  “What did she say about the mighty Deborah Winters?” Jeremy asks.

  “That I should call my mother back once in a while and that my relationship with her is a prime example of how I avoid confrontation.”

  “Ouch.” Jeremy goes to refill my cup. “Do you need a shot of whiskey in that?”

  “That was so below the belt. I can’t believe she actually said that after everything I told her.”

  “She was upset. People say all sorts of things they don’t mean when they’re upset.”

  “That might be so, but… well, I guess I don’t know how to move forward with Dolores after this. I don’t want to lose her entirely. Fuck, at times, I never wanted things to end between us.”

  “I know.” Jeremy’s voice shoots up. “You sat in that very chair telling me all about your dreams for you and Dolores.”

  “I kind of miss her already, even though I’m also still cross with her.”

  “That might be so, but I do think it would be best for you not to see her for a little while. Wouldn’t want you to relapse.” Jeremy looks at his watch.

  We sit in silence for a few seconds.

  “Any chance of a hug before you leave?” I give Jeremy my most sheepish smile.

  “Of course, darling, but don’t get any ideas in your head for in the middle of the night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After Jeremy has left and I’m truly alone, I rehash everything Dolores has said. I quickly realize there’s not much point, nor is there a lot of sense to me sitting in Jeremy’s living room, waiting for him to come home. I stare out of the window with its scenic view over the high rises of Chicago and I know, perhaps for the first time, that I’m going to have to find a way to make it in this life alone. I’m going to have to find another reason to smile in the morning. I’m going to have to find satisfaction from something other than Dolores’ hands all over me.

  Dolores’ hands. Dolores’ lips. Dolores’ post-orgasmic grin.

  I grab my purse and head out for a long walk. Summer has officially descended on Chicago, but it’s not too humid just yet. I have a vague destination in mind, even though it’s quite a few miles from Jeremy’s apartment. But it’s closer than the cemetery, which is on Dolores’ side of town. I walk and I walk, until it’s dark, until I arrive at my destination. Cooley’s.

  By the time I plop down on a bar stool, I’ve exhausted not only the soles of my feet, but also whatever mechanism in my brain I’m using to keep my thoughts off Dolores. Perhaps my choice of bar has something to do with that. When we came here after meeting the lawyer about Ian’s will, it was the first time I felt really close to her. It was also when I told her about my not-so-stellar relationship with my parents and my mother in particular. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that. There are some things certain people can’t understand.

  Dolores, as Ian’s mother, can’t really understand the complicated feelings I have for my own mother, the reasons I have for ignoring her and for not respecting her the way a daughter should. Although I think of my mother often—much more than I would like. I see her face every time I look in the mirror. I hear her voice, that shrill instrument with which she used to tell me that, no matter what, we would always be family.

  Am I as self-involved as my mother? I ask myself while I dive into the beer I’ve ordered. Tommy hasn’t spotted me yet, and I’m glad to have a few more minutes to myself, because he’s sure to come over and give me a hug and say how sorry he is again. That’s all well and good and according to the rules of mourning, but if I had a nickel for every time someone expressed to me how sorry they were since Ian died, I’d be rich. But I am already rich. Ian took care of that. Though I can honestly say that money has never been a motivator for anything in my life. On the contrary. All the money my mother made while she was out running her company and missing our childhood never did a thing to make my brother and me happier. I knew from the age of six that money doesn’t bring happiness. It bought us a parade of nannies, that’s it.

  I toy with my phone and it’s so hard not to text Dolores. We’d be having dinner right about this time. Who is she having dinner with? Did our affair awaken a new longing inside of her? Did it make her ready to explore relationships again? Any woman who gets her will be the luckiest woman on the planet, I conclude, but don’t text her. I have to be strong. But not so strong that I can’t knock back my beer in a few large gulps.

  Then Tommy spots me. He comes over, embraces me and tells the bartender not to charge me for anything. Story of my life. Wanting to pay for every little thing and never having to. Except for the one thing that money can’t buy. Love. I’m paying for that big time. I pay for Ian’s death with loneliness. With giving up my affair with his mother.

  Tommy is called back behind the bar and as soon as he leaves, I compose a text to Dolores, but I don’t send it. Not yet.

  Get a grip, I tell myself. I delete the message. A relapse so soon would be fatal. There have been enough fatalities.

  By the time I’ve downed my third beer, I can almost see Ian sitting on the bar stool next to me, like some alcohol-induced hallucination—though I’ve become used to much stronger beverages than beer by now. I see him leaning his elbows on the bar, dividing his attention between a football game on the television mounted on the wall, exchanging quips with Tommy, and talking to me.

  I blink a few times, until I don’t see him anymore. But no longer seeing him hasn’t stopped me from missing him. I order another beer, because I don’t want to go back to Jeremy’s. God knows what he and Vasily are up to. I blink, wanting to see Ian again. I can imagine him, of course. His pitch black hair. His dark eyes. His long limbs always spilling over all the furniture. And I want to ask him: “What should I do, Ian? Should I meet that wretched driver? Will that change anything? And what on earth am I going to do about Dolores?”

  Good thing I’m drunk because I’m of half a mind to take a detour past her house, see what she’s up to. I wasn’t meant to be missing two people. One was more than enough.

  I call a taxi and finish my drink. Inside the taxi, I give the driver Jeremy’s address.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It’s 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep, so I grab my phone from the nightstand and log on to Facebook. Everyone else’s lives seem to be moving along as swiftly as ever. When I open the Mail app, my heart skips a beat. There’s an email from Dolores. Sent about an hour ago. I guess she can’t sleep either. With trembling hands I scroll through it.

  Sophie,

  I want you to know that I’m meeting Mr. Davis next Saturday at 2 p.m. at the Starbucks on North Michigan Avenue. You are welcome to join me. My reasons for wanting to meet with him are my own. You make your own de
cision. Whatever you decide is up to you and will not be subject to judgment from me.

  I’m sorry you felt you had to leave so abruptly. I never wanted that.

  Love,

  Dolores

  It’s the word Love that gets me the most. There’s no chance of me getting any more sleep now. But staying at Jeremy’s is different. I can’t just roam around the apartment in the middle of the night. It’s too small for that. Everything was different at Dolores’, easier. Her warm woman smell when I spooned her before falling asleep. The sweet nothings she whispered in my ear upon waking. Having slept by her side for all those weeks makes this so much more unbearable. This cold place in the bed next to me. I remember what I said to Jeremy that day when I was playing make-believe, when I was dreaming of an ideal world in which Dolores and I could be together. How I’d defended our doomed affair as I tried to put into words that she and I could be a viable couple. He was right and I was wrong.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see her.

  I put my phone down and surrender to the darkness of the night again. Just me and my thoughts. So much has happened since I last slept alone. Time has passed, for starters. Perhaps it’s this room, because it’s the one I slept in right after Ian’s accident, but I get a clear sense that I shouldn’t be staying here anymore. That if I’m going to do this on my own, I should really be alone and not use Jeremy as my crutch to make the transition bearable. I’ve used Dolores for that purpose long enough already.

  I need to go home and really face what has happened. I need to sort through his clothes and shoes and papers, through his artworks on the walls, and give away whatever I don’t want to keep as a memento. I need to make our place my place. I need to move on.