Tilting at Windmills

by Joseph Pittman

  “This isn’t much of a moment for anything,” I replied, standing before the car with the suitcases still in my hands, hoping she’d get the hint that as long as I held them, she was holding me up. But she wasn’t giving up easily, and so I cleared my throat to help along my hint.

  She got off the car at last, enabling me to open the trunk and drop both bags onto the carpeted floor beside the emergency repair kit. It helps to be prepared. Except at this precise moment, I wasn’t. Not for this.

  “Brian, don’t you think I’m owed a better explanation? For all of this—us. Brian, for us?”

  I wasn’t budging. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  She wrapped herself in her arms. “I’ve never seen you be so cold. There’s nothing in your eyes.”

  “The new president of a corporation has important responsibilities, and I’m sure your underlings at work need your expert guidance.”

  “That’s your third reference to work. Why won’t you talk to me—the person, the woman—not the title? Dammit, Brian.”

  “Maddie, what are you doing here? And how did you know to find me here—now,” I asked, hoping we could dispense with this scene quickly and painlessly—okay, quickly. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up this distant attitude. Truth was, inside I was melting at the sight of her gleaming hair, the resonance of her voice. She was a beautiful woman, nothing could change that, but my feelings went far below the surface, deep down to the heart.

  “Don’t be mad at John—I forced him to tell me.”

  “John. Great. My best friend sides with . . .” But then I dropped it. It was irrelevant at this point. I guess that in the face of true friendship, his actions were justified. He was looking toward the long run.

  “Take me with you,” she blurted out.

  I couldn’t help it—I laughed. And I instantly regretted it. I was angry, yes, but cruelty had no place, not between two people who had once shared their hopes and dreams, their inner souls with each other.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Look, Maddie, let’s just leave it as is, before either one of us says something hurtful. This . . . whatever you call it . . . my leaving, it’s something I have to do for myself. If I stayed, I wouldn’t be the man you want me to be. He doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “That’s why I want to go. Let me know who you are, who you’ve become.”

  “Maddie, there’s no way you could give everything up now. You’d call it a vacation, and in two hours, you’d be checking your messages. This is no vacation, not for me.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s life, and it’s vital I do this. Alone.”

  “I think you’re running away,” she stated, and for a second I was shaken to the core. Those were John’s words, too, and again doubt crept beneath my skin. Was I really running away? Or had John used this line on Maddie in an effort to get me to change my mind? Was now the time to tell Maddie everything? But if I did come clean now, at this crucial moment, would I still be able to leave, to say that final good-bye, or would the flood of memories we’d created draw me close to her, to where I’d be unable to resist her? Silence enveloped us—indecision on my part, uncertainty on hers—and for a moment I saw the woman I’d fallen for, had come to love. It was a nice way to remember her.

  “Good-bye, Maddie,” I said strongly, confidence taking over. It worked. Maddie let me go, no more explanation needed.

  We’d loved each other, planned a future.

  But people change and so do their plans, and sometimes things are never the same. You can’t relive the past; you can’t recapture its mood. Life is a series of new memories, and new adventures, and I for one was ready for them.

  One last stop, and it seemed predestined, because I found a parking space right in front of the building. In New York, you find hidden messages in the details.

  I was on 47th Street, a street I’d walked or crossed many times, but only one time in particular did the street leave any lasting impression. The month had been December, just last year, less than three short months ago. Snow had covered the sidewalks of New York, pretty, white litter that drifted down from the sky and still seemed fresh on that cold morning. Maddie and I, we’d been playing tourist in our own backyard as we visited the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, window-shopped along Fifth Avenue, and contemplated taking in a matinee. It was a Wednesday and the office was closed for the holiday week. There were any number of streets we could have taken, but 47th, going west, would take us directly to the half-price TKTS booth where we could see what Broadway had to offer on that beautiful winter’s day. So we headed west, strolling arm in arm down the diamond district, lost in our own world. We stopped in front of a tiny shop called Eli’s Jewelers and I pointed to something glistening in the window. A not tiny piece of diamond surrounded by three others on a gold band, it sparkled in the bright sunshine and I thanked the weather or maybe even God for giving the ring that extra sheen.

  “Oh . . . oh, Brian, it’s beautiful. No, it’s more than that. It’s . . . indescribable. There’s no word in the English language . . .”

  She turned to me.

  “Now you know the problem I have every time someone asks me about you. I become utterly speechless.”

  “Oh,” she said, and leaned in until our lips touched. We were lost in each other and could have been anywhere rather than in this wintry urban wilderness.

  The blaring sound of a taxi horn broke us apart and we laughed. People passing us smiled, the holiday mood vibrantly alive on this diamond-laced street. I told her then that the ring would soon be hers. But it was official—we were now unofficially engaged, or pre-engaged, or, forsaking a label, merely two people very much in love.

  That day, we did see a show, we did walk hand in hand through the drifts of snow in Central Park, and we did make love the night long. And we did see nothing but the brightest and most intoxicating future imaginable. The perfect life, marriage, children. She wanted three kids, and I said how fine that sounded. Maddie wanted boys, and wasn’t that wonderful, but a special little girl would, I thought, bring out the untapped father in me. So with these hopes and dreams shared, I took the next step. The next morning I went back to Eli’s and bought the ring.

  Now, with the memory of that day so bittersweet in my mind, I entered the little jewelry shop. The ring was in my pocket. The tinkling of a bell alerted the owner, and he smiled at me with recognition. His brow furrowed. This kindly old gentleman had been in business too long a time, and he knew a wounded heart when he saw one.

  “My boy,” he said, and clasped his hands in genuine concern. There was little else to say.

  I removed the box from my pocket and set it on the counter without opening it.

  “I bought this . . .”

  “New Year’s Eve, I remember. Figured you needed it for the evening’s celebration. Not so?”

  I shook my head. “Change of plans.”

  “Let me get my paperwork—I’ll be right back.”

  He left me, and I stole a quick glance around the small shop. The last thing I wanted to see was a giddy couple hovering over a selection of engagement rings. I was shaky still from having seen Maddie, and I wondered if any good at all had come of our seeing each other again. She’d given me one last chance to explain my actions. For her, too, it was the moment to come clean, and the fact that she hadn’t done so told me I’d made the right decision. Maddie and I were not destiny’s couple.

  One day, though, one day in the future, we’d have to confront the truth, settle the past before we could move on. Or was that all psychobabble?

  “Here we go,” the man said, a thick file marked DECEMBER in his frail old hands. “Only February is thicker,” he confessed.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I suddenly announced.

  “Eh? What’s that?”

  “I’m holding onto the ring.”

  He was very confused. Join the club.

  “I can’t explain it,” I said, and that much was the tr
uth. “Something is telling me to keep it.”

  He smiled, showing his teeth. “Hope?”

  I shook my head. “More of a talisman. For my journey.”

  “Eh?”

  “It’s okay—I don’t especially get it either. But someday, maybe I will, and someday, perhaps I’ll return and we can do business.” I picked up the ring box and quickly pocketed it. “Thanks.”

  “Life, my boy,” the old man wisely said. “Always we must tilt at windmills. But they turn, and they turn, and you live. Remember.”

  I left the jewelry store, my wallet empty but my heart somehow richer, and it was that exact feeling that took me through the crowded streets of New York City, through the Lincoln Tunnel, into New Jersey, and onto an empty road that held nothing but hope and, somewhere, someplace, my future.

  FIRST INTERLUDE

  Brian slept little that first night, and by nine o’clock in the morning, he was back at the hospital. Annie lay in the slightly arched bed, silent and still in the sleep of the wounded. Her vital signs had stabilized, that was good, and the color had returned to her cheeks. That instilled within him hope that she would wake sometime soon. Perhaps today.

  He’d left the farmhouse that morning under a cloud of controversy, Janey insisting she was going with him. She simply wanted to see her mother, that was all. Cynthia and Brian had exchanged worried looks, confused about what was best for Janey, and in the end had found themselves agreeing: It was too soon. Let Annie wake, let her be able to talk to her girl, assure her she was on the mend. Janey, wise beyond her years, had relented—for now, she said—freeing Brian to leave without guilt.

  Except he wasn’t guiltless. Sure, maybe when it came to Janey, but Annie, that was an altogether different story. Was it his stubbornness, or hers, or just the fates or the hand of God or a freak accident? He could debate this for all eternity and probably not come up with a satisfactory answer. Perhaps, for now, it was best to let go of blame and concentrate on what was. His healing could wait; Annie’s could not.

  He was back at his post, beside her bed, watching her sleep. She wasn’t breathing, not on her own, and maybe wouldn’t for a while. As a result of the accident, Annie had punctured a lung. The surgery had staved off further damage, but they had to wait for a positive sign of recovery. The other bruises were more obvious, especially this next day, purples and reds that stood pronounced on her forehead and cheeks and on her hands. Still, there was something about her, a glow of life, and that gave him—yes, he couldn’t think it enough, not in this crucial period of recovery—hope.

  “Janey sends her love,” Brian said. “Actually, she wanted to bring it herself, wrapped in a tight bow, no doubt, and sparkling with glitter.” Maybe he was wrong in not bringing Janey to her mother’s side. The hospital staff, though, had their own rules, and if Janey had to follow Brian’s, Brian had to follow the hospital’s. Loving people and wanting the best for them was never easy but always worth it.

  “I was thinking, Annie, of the first time we met. First time I met Janey, too. Could it really have been only six months ago? Seems like I’ve known you forever and Janey since she was a baby. She’s grown so much, even from that first moment we met—you remember, by the windmill.”

  Just then a beeping filled the room, startling Brian. Fear struck his heart as he realized the machine at Annie’s side was blaring and he didn’t know what it meant. He knew it didn’t signal anything good. He was about to call for a nurse when the door to the room burst open and a team of nurses entered, one rushing to Annie’s side, another to the machine, while the third ushered Brian outside, ignoring his protests and questions. In a blur, a handful of white-coated figures flew past him and into the closed ICU.

  “Annie . . .” he said, her name a whisper on his lips.

  Impossible minutes passed; he tried to watch through the glass until a nurse finally pulled a curtain across it. What, he wondered, could have gone wrong, so swiftly, so . . . awfully? It took fifteen endless minutes before anyone emerged, and thankfully it was Dr. Savage, her attending physician, wearing that same comforting expression and stethoscope.

  “She’s fine, Mr. Duncan—for now. We’ve got her stabilized.”

  “What happened?”

  He hung his head in silence, in contemplation. “We’re not sure—yet.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure? How about an educated guess? My God, we’re talking about a young woman’s life here. She’s got a daughter who needs her. We need to know, Doctor. Is Annie going to make it?”

  He grimaced, as though reluctant to share his thoughts. “Are there next of kin?”

  “Only her young daughter. Her parents are gone; there’s no one. I’m the closest you’ll get. Tell me, please.”

  “We’re . . . we’re concerned about a possible, uh, infection. But we’re monitoring her very closely.”

  “An infection? What kind?”

  “In the damaged lung. What pierced the lung was not one of her ribs. It was a piece of rusted metal. We believe we’ve cleaned the wound thoroughly.”

  “So what you’re saying is, we wait?”

  “Time heals,” he said, “or it plays its hand. We do our best, but we’re human. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Duncan: Annie has suffered a grievous injury. Complications with these kinds of injuries are hard to predict. But we’re anticipating and we’re watching. I’m sorry. Right now, it’s the best I can offer.”

  Brian wasn’t satisfied with Dr. Savage’s vagueness.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Dr. Savage nodded agreeably. “Stay as long as necessary. But don’t forget who needs your help more.”

  Brian stayed all day, sitting by Annie’s bedside, holding her hand and telling her how strong she was, how strong Janey was, too, how alike they were, and how she had to recover, not for his sake but for herself and, most importantly, for Janey. Finally, Cynthia urged him home, and he at last left the hospital as night fell. He rode back to the farmhouse in silence. His mind was numb and his body was drained of any energy. Luckily he was unfamiliar with the roads, their winding curves and smooth surfaces forcing him to concentrate on the drive and nothing else. He’d have to suspend the vigil he’d begun because tonight, Janey was his charge. He’d continue the vigil later, keeping watch until Annie was out of danger and in her own room, away from the morbid monitoring of the ICU. The doctor was right—there was someone who needed him so she could feel safe, secure, loved.

  Gerta Connors, who had come to stay with Janey until Brian got back, was waiting at the front door. She’d heard his car pull up.

  “How is Janey?” Brian asked, entering the house quietly.

  “Sleeping—finally. The poor thing; she doesn’t know if she’s coming or going, what’s night or day, what’s up or down.”

  “That’s another thing Janey and I have in common.”

  Gerta, one of Linden Corners’ longtime residents and perhaps its kindest, opened her arms wide and embraced Brian, patting him on the back.

  “Do you need me to stay?”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, she said, “I’ll be back at eight tomorrow, so you can go back to the hospital.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gerta left, and he went in to check on Janey, who was sound asleep, hugging tight her stuffed purple frog. She was protected, he thought, by the resilience of youth, its innocence and faith. She wasn’t ready for the complexities of life.

  He retreated to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of lemonade. He still wasn’t drinking, still couldn’t for health reasons, and these days, he didn’t even think he missed it. Taking a sip, his mouth puckering from the tartness, he went outside into the beautiful clear night and wondered what he should be doing. Taking care of Janey was at the top of his list for sure. But he couldn’t help but think that there was something else he should do. There must be, he reasoned, a way to help Annie recover.

  He’d done
nothing, still, about the windmill way out in the field. Cleaning up the awful mess was too daunting a prospect, one he just wasn’t ready to face. He knew he had to face the inevitable, so he swallowed the resistance he felt and found himself, lemonade still in hand, walking toward the ruined old structure.

  The windmill. How he’d been captivated by it when he was first passing through town, its majesty heightened by the lustrous green countryside. Now, as he closed in on the wreckage, illuminated by the glow of the moon, he found he could still easily imagine the untouched windmill’s presence on the landscape. Maybe not all was lost.

  The four sails had been knocked down and were lying in pieces on the ground. But the main structure, it wasn’t all lost. The windows were all broken out, and boards were missing and pieces of the tower were scorched. Flames had eaten away much of the cap before being doused by the heavy rain. And broken pieces of siding were scattered everywhere, leaving Brian wondering if he could figure out which piece was important, which piece went where. Was it possible that the windmill could be repaired?

  Could Brian bring the windmill back to life?

  He finished his lemonade and set the glass down, and then he sat himself down in the grass and stared at the structure, just as he had the night before, but this time he had an idea.

  He decided right then and there. He knew what needed to be done. He would rebuild the windmill. But just as suddenly, he realized how foolish a thought that really was. After all, what did he know of construction, much less restoration? Or windmills?

  That night, as he drifted off to sleep, a wise old man’s mantra came to him. “Always we must tilt at windmills,” he had said, and seemed to be saying again in these ever-hopeful dreams. “But they turn and they turn, and you live.”

  The phone woke him at seven o’clock. He grabbed it on the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Brian, it’s Cynthia.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Brian, you need to get here—now.”