CHAPTER 27
“Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of traveling.”
—Margaret Lee Runbeck
We spent Christmas in Seattle, relaxing in the cool, misty, and tranquil Northwest air. My month-long headache subsided just enough to feel halfway normal. Megan made a special point to come down to visit, helping me clear my head, talking while we walked my favorite trail.
“When Reese signed his letter, he signed ‘Love ya’ like he was afraid to say ‘I love you.’ ” I said, bringing up a philosophical discussion. A girl-talk dissection like I hadn’t had since high school.
“Well, you are married.”
“I know.” I kicked a stray chunk of damp bark, watching it settle amongst the trees.
“Have you heard any more from him?” Megan asked while treading lightly on the rain-slicked path.
“Not really, just a short note wishing me a Merry Christmas. Oh, he did send an e-card. It was sweet and funny, nothing mushy.”
“Has he said anything about wanting to get back together?”
“No. He wouldn’t. He knows what divorce can be,” I said, thinking back to the hard times we suffered at its hands. Especially him—ruining his life, ruining our life together.
I was collected enough that I didn’t cry anymore while talking it over and had improved to melancholy.
“Maybe God knew you needed an angel.”
“He loved me to a fault,” I said, working through my thoughts.
“Maybe he didn’t love you enough. He didn’t let you in to help him with his problems,” Megan gently countered.
“Maybe he didn’t love himself,” I wondered aloud, then drifted to my next thought. “When I got married, I never thought for a minute that I’d be tempted. Then the one man on the whole planet who could possibly tempt me says he still loves me and blows my mind.” I stopped, admiring a banana slug sliming its way down a leaf. “Why is this happening to me?”
Matter-of-fact, Megan said, “You need to move on.”
“How?” I asked her to explain the impossible. We stopped at a bench, careful not to run out of woods before we finished talking, covered everything. “You know, I was right between them,” I went on, thinking out loud before Megan could answer. She listened, giving me space to talk. “Reese was patient, gentle, giving, selfless, funny, shy, and sensitive. When we were together, I was the wild one. He used to calm me down,” I said, in awe. “Now I’m a dormouse—or mat. Doormat, feels like it.” I sulked. My playfulness had been stuffed in the closet along with the skeleton. “Glenn is outgoing, rough, insensitive, harsh, and selfish. I don’t laugh anymore.”
Megan put her arm ‘round my shoulders, still lending an ear.
“When Reese was afraid, he ran from me; when Glenn’s afraid, he strikes out like a vicious cat or a snake or something, into this burst of outrageous anger,” I said, venting, throwing off Megan’s arm in the rant.
“Maybe it’s a test. I’m being Divinely tested,” I postulated, perking up. “I’ll pass. I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’ll pass.”
“I know you will.” Megan looked at me with both pity and reassurance.
We hugged, surrounded by the rustling trees’ whispering calm. Having Megan close made me remember: I forget how much I miss her when she’s not around.
* * *
“Thanks for watching Sydney,” Glenn said.
“No problem. You two go have fun,” Megan called after us.
“I can’t wait for all-you-can-eat crab,” I said, looking forward to dinner as we left. “I’m glad we’re here, we never get crab anymore.”
“Oh yeah,” Glenn said in agreement. He drove, then turned the corner, Mt. Rainier in full view. “Did you and Megan have a nice visit?”
“We had a good time.” A faint, reflective smile appeared on my face, then my mind checked out, remembering the afternoon with Megan and drifting from there.
I thanked God that Reese had been my first love. I thought of the enormous restraint Reese had shown, no pressure on me, which I had not fully appreciated back then—he must have had bright-indigo titanium balls. What if I had said yes to Glenn that first time, not knowing anything else? Where would I have been if I didn’t know any another way, that there was something more? I would have been at the bottom of this pit with no looking up. Even though I had lost Reese, he had given me life.
Glenn waved his hand in front of my face, bringing me back to the present, breaking my trance. “What’d you talk about?” he asked.
“You know, life . . . stuff . . . where we’ve been, where we’re going.”
Glenn held the restaurant door open where we went in and sat down.
My mind checked out again, briefly, thinking of Glenn’s unshakable belief in me. I felt like I was cheating on my husband with Reese and I felt like I was cheating on Reese with my husband.
But I wasn’t.
Glenn stuffed me into the trust box. I chose to stay in.
“And, where are we going?” he asked.
“You know, plugging along, raising a family, saving the world.” I smiled. “You’ve got to get those airplanes into shape. They’re counting on you,” I said, referring to his latest coming-to-Jesus meeting. “It is an airplane you’re working on, isn’t it?”
“Camryn . . .” Everything in Glenn’s expression said he’d love to tell me, but couldn’t. One time he slipped, saying something about a pilot wanking himself in his space suit, not noticing when an emergency light had come on. “They get bored up there,” he had said, then hastily added, “You’re not supposed to know that. That’s classified.” Glenn had gone so far as to explain that a coming-to-Jesus meeting happened when many talented individuals had been toiling away on a huge, unsolvable problem, unable to come up with a solution. The meeting gathered an elite throng along with divine upper management and gray-beard aeronautic sages to find the elusive answer they couldn’t summon on their own. And if they couldn’t find the answer, someone would be dead, in the worst case, literally.
“I was just wondering,” I said, with feigned innocence, knowing I wasn’t going to get an answer.
“You pregnant yet?” Glenn asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“Will you please stop asking?” I said, exasperated annoyance in my voice. For a brief moment I had a twinge of emotional pain, thinking back on Reese’s revelation that he had, at one time, pictured us with a family. Calming myself, I continued, “You’ll be the first to know.”
“You sound like you’re having second thoughts,” Glenn said, worried. “Do you still want a baby? You haven’t seemed interested in trying.”
“No, it’s not that,” I said simplifying matters, knowing Glenn would never understand my many tortured thoughts, dancing around what was really on my mind. “You can only get pregnant at just the right time of the month.” Nowhere to go, but forward, I said, convincing myself, “Yes, I want a baby.”
A smile returned to Glenn’s face. He reached for my hand just as the crab arrived.
CHAPTER 28
“Jesus answered him, ‘I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.’ ”
Luke 23:43 (NIV1984)
Dear Reese,
I’m glad you had a good Christmas. Mine was merry (ha ha), especially seeing Megan again and being in Washington. It felt like home. Thanks for your note. It’s always good to hear from you.
It’s been great writing to you just like old times, except it’s not just like old times because at least one of us is unavailable. Frankly, that’s been hard. Real hard. There’s things I’d like to say, but I can’t. There’s part of me that wishes we could pick up where we left off, but there is no erasing the years and events in between.
Sometimes I feel like the walking dead. Part of me already has died. The wild, controlled-out-of-control, fun side is gone. Glenn doesn’t even know how fun I can be. Only you have had that from me. Sometimes even I have forgotten.
What made yo
u get a hold of me when you did? Sometimes I wonder why this fairy-tale thing has happened to us and I’m searching for the answers. Everything happens for a reason and I’m only beginning to know the reasons, difficult to grasp as they may be. Hopefully something positive will come out of it. I know I have learned a lot of things I probably would not have learned had we stayed together. I hope the same for you and that this wasn’t a big mistake.
Neither of us was very good at speaking up and talking out problems. It’s not like we had very good relationship role models. Look at our parents, both sets divorced. I would hate to think that had we gotten married, we would have clammed up inside, not talking about problems, and followed the same path.
The thing I loved most about us is that we were friends first, real and true friends before . . . you know what I mean. That’s so important. It’s true. Fools rush in. I found out—conducting my own scientific study, me as the guinea pig. Ha ha. It’s really no shocker that over half of marriages don’t work out. I think at least half of those that do last are just toughing it out. My theory is that marital happiness follows a bell curve. Marriage is such a leap of faith. I’m guessing that only ten percent are truly happy, perfect matches. I would have hated to be in that ten percent and still not work out because we didn’t talk things over. I never knew how to discuss things until Glenn made me. Sometimes the discussions involved yelling, something I rarely did before, almost never. I really had no choice until I was backed into a corner and had to speak up or else end up like my mother, diagnosed with depression and a nervous breakdown when it might have been a lack of communication skills and a bout of insecurity. I had no one to teach me those things. Glenn, just being who he is, taught me those things, and although it has sometimes been a rough and unpleasant road, I am grateful. He has brought out the best in me in the worst way. (I hope that made sense.) I know so much more than I did back when we were twenty.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I had to get out of bed and empty this poem out of my head, or maybe it was poured from my heart. I hope you like it.
Reflection
You are a reflection of me
When I gaze upon you
I see a countenance of forgiveness
and understanding
A face of question and hope
Insightful eyes
Fearful lips
I see arms of warmth and compassion
Legs of patience and fortitude
Gentle hands
Courageous feet
I see a body of commitment and obligation
Supported by a strong, enduring back
For a reflection cannot be seen without
the element from which it transpires
The element is Love
Love always,
Camryn
* * *
Dear Megan,
Glenn went out with some guys from work tonight. He said they had a ‘come-to-Jesus’ meeting today and they wanted to talk about it after hours. Sydney went to bed early, so I have some much needed time to write to you.
I still think of Reese often, which is an improvement from constantly. He doesn’t write so much, which is probably a good thing even though I miss him every day of my life. I still hurt to think of how we threw such a good thing away, not knowing what we had. On the up side, I have come to figure that we would have screwed it up eventually, so better sooner rather than later. If Reese and I, having so much in common and getting along so well, had married and then fallen apart, I would have lost all hope. At least now I have hope that happily ever after could be possible. Love isn’t enough; it’s not all you need. Self-assurance and being secure enough to speak up are huge too. Then, say, you do have all that, but your spouse turns out to have a compulsive disorder . . . . There are just so many variables; it makes my head hurt thinking about it. I wonder why anyone takes a chance. So many things can and do go wrong.
You’ve agonized about not having found anyone yet. Being single might not be such a bad thing. Anyway, I’m still looking for the answers, but I have figured out a couple of things.
Call me superstitious, but, did you know Reese and Glenn’s birthdays are the exact opposites, six months apart? Glenn’s is May 31st and Reese’s November 13th. How freaky is that? Reese showed me that knights in shining armor, the loving and gentle, put-a-smile-on-your-face kind, do exist. And Glenn, my blessing in disguise, my teacher I sometimes despised, showed me how to be strong and stand up for myself. Reese gave me hope; Glenn gave me strength. Reese loved me when I was nothing. Glenn loved me because he knew I could be something. I needed them both. Now I see why the stars weren’t aligned for Reese and me. He was everything I loved, but not everything I needed. He would never have taught me everything I needed to know. He didn’t know what he needed himself. He was just like me.
I feel a little bit better having figured this out (a few quarks’ worth with strangeness and charm). It doesn’t make the hurt go away; the cross is still heavy.
Love, Camryn
* * *
Dear Camryn,
Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I have been so busy. Having to look after my dad is like taking care of an irresponsible teenager. I’ll spare you the gory details, but it involves posting bail, chauffeuring him around, and general mopping up after his mess, literally and figuratively. He just lost it completely when mom left—and I don’t blame her for leaving him—but now I feel trapped. It’s like the tables are turned and I’m having to be the dad. I feel robbed, like I never really had one.
As far as how you and I may have turned out . . . well, I know we didn’t have the role models we should have, but we loved each other enough; I think we could have worked things out. I speak my mind when issues are important enough.
I have not gotten over you either. In fact, I still have our picture up in the corner. Believe me; I know you are not available. I hope I have not caused a problem for you. I’m sorry if I have. I just wanted you to know how I’ve felt all these years.
Love ya, Reese
* * *
“You busy after work?” I asked Glenn, hugging the phone between my ear and shoulder while fielding e-mail from my boss.
“I was thinking about happy hour, why?”
“Why don’t you come home first? Meet me at home—before I get Sydney,” I said, hinting at uninterrupted privacy.
Not connecting the scattered dots, Glenn asked, “Why?”
“You’ll see.” Well practiced, no longer an amateur, I knew the right time of the month, the signs—no ovulation detector needed. Egg white appeared and you hadn’t had sex in days; there was nothing to confuse it with. It was the right time.
And three weeks later when I read the positive test, staring at myself in the master bathroom mirror, awed that my prayers had been answered, I victory pumped my arm. “Yes,” I said aloud, no one to hear except David, who catnapped on the tile floor, filling a solitary sunlit square.
Glenn and I celebrated, over a lunch of gyro sandwiches.
* * *
Dear Reese,
I’ve got some big news. Bittersweet news. I feel like I have to tell you this because you need to hear it straight from me and not through the grapevine. I’ll just spit it out. I’m pregnant. It’s a long story . . . .
I explained every last detail from Glenn and I breaking our pact to decide about more children until Sydney was a year old, to Glenn’s willingness to have two vasectomy reversals—and all the circumstances and feelings in between as if Reese were closer than my best friend.
I feel like I should apologize even though I know there is nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry, Reese. This is a lot for you to take in, but I know you will understand, especially after knowing how badly your mother wanted you.
Love ya, Camryn
It was the most fully loaded I’m sorry I’d ever packed. I was sorry for Reese, alone with no prospects of a family of his own, sorry for having to break the bittersweet news, sorry that every aspect of my
longed-for babe in the making was tinged and not one hundred percent unadulterated joy, sorry I was in this mess and sorry I wasn’t completely sorry about it.
Both nervous fear and warm peace energized the ‘send’ button. It felt as if a little something was ripped away as I sent the message I knew I needed to send. It was a baby step toward moving on.
* * *
Sydney and I were driving home in the car listening to Sara Hickman’s “A Slice of Heaven,” heavy nesting setting in, when Sydney said, “I want a baby sister.”
“You do?” I said, delighted. “I want you to have a baby sister too.” Keeping Sydney excited and involved, I offered, “Do you want to go with Daddy and me to pick out a stroller for your sister?”
I hoped I could deliver.
Glenn had been worried about me when the morning sickness lasted for five months, not weeks, a sure-enough sign for me that a girl was on the way. And he worried even more when a threatened placental abruption and low amniotic fluid caused the doctor to advise taking it easy, but he was not worried enough to take over doing the dishes.
It wasn’t until after my third ultrasound, making sure everything was okay, that I heard back from Reese. Eager, yet nervous, I opened the e-mail.
Dear Camryn,
Congratulations on your pending arrival. I hope everything is going okay for you. I want you to know that there is nothing to be sorry about. I will always love you no matter what. Your kids are so lucky they have you for a mom. Remember, if you ever need me for anything, I’ll be there.
Take care and love you,
Reese
* * *
I caught my breath. Reading Reese’s message was like breathing in crisp, fresh air on a brilliantly sunny, but cold, snowy morning. Comforting. Like being enveloped by an angel. His message was a rare gem, his words priceless.
* * *
Rather than welcoming new life together, we both buried our fathers that year. Reese put an end to my perverse fantasy about being there for him when his father passed on. I called him when I heard the news, our first spoken words to each other in well over a decade. We felt the same awkward shyness we felt when I had come back from Australia, but it melted away more slowly.
Love, Carry My Bags Page 36