by John Cariani
Resigned and defeated, Lendall finally said, “Okay.” And he pulled open the storm door and pushed open the main door to his house so he could go get what Gayle had asked for.
And he started inside.
Before the aluminum storm door swung shut, he caught it and pushed it open and asked Gayle if she wanted to wait inside.
And she said, “Nope. I’ll wait out here. Thanks.” She was afraid the warmth of Lendall’s living room would melt her resolve.
“It’s cold.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Okay,” said Lendall. Gayle was right. It wasn’t cold. It was above average for the time of year. Nineteen degrees, according to the big round Agway thermometer on the porch.
Lendall headed inside and closed the door behind him to keep the heat in and the cold out. And started making his way across his living room and down the hallway to his bedroom to do what Gayle had asked him to do.
As he walked, he got anxious. And he wasn’t the kind of guy who got anxious. But giving Gayle back all the love she had given him was going to change their lives forever.
And Lendall didn’t know if that change was going to be for the best. Or for the worst.
As he dragged his feet into his bedroom, it felt like it was going to be for the worst.
Gayle, on the other hand, was convinced that getting back all the love she had given Lendall was going to be for the best. And she plunked herself down in the Adirondack chair she sat in when she and Lendall would sit on his porch and enjoy the sweet summer days and the cool summer nights that only places like northern Maine have.
And she looked out across Lendall’s yard and across the Road to Nowhere and into the Norsworthys’ broccoli and potato fields.
And waited.
When Lendall got to his bedroom, he felt a strange lightness fill up his insides. It made him feel like he had the light from a campfire dancing around in his belly. And it made him feel like what he bet the astronauts must have felt when they walked on the moon.
And it made him feel like something wonderful was about to happen.
Even though what was actually happening was really awful.
He went to his dresser and opened its top middle drawer, which was where he kept his wallet and his keys and his Skoal and his nail clippers and his change and some Big Red gum and some Tums and—for the past couple of weeks—something else he had been meaning to give Gayle: a small maroon velvet pouch.
He picked up the pouch and closed his fleshy hand around it. And then took a moment to hope and pray that all would be okay.
And then he closed the drawer and exited his bedroom and started walking down the hall. The lightness he had been feeling had dissipated. And Lendall felt like his big, heavy self again as he walked.
When he got to the front door, he paused. And really hoped that Gayle would accept what he was bringing her—in the way he wanted her to accept it.
* * *
While Gayle waited for Lendall, she had settled into a strange position in her chair. Her feet were outstretched, her butt was resting on its front edge, her hands were jammed in her pockets, her shoulders were up around her ears, her face was sunken into her jacket, and the back of her head was pressed up against the back of the chair. She looked like a plank of wood. And did not look comfortable.
Lendall pulled the front door open, and the sound of the weather stripping unsealing made Gayle sit up in the chair. Then he pushed the storm door open and made his way onto the porch again. And it seemed like all the garbage bags full of all the love he had given Gayle—and that Gayle had returned—were taking up more room on the porch than they had been before he had gone inside.
He saw Gayle sitting in her chair—the one she sat in the summertime. And he hoped she’d still be coming by to sit in that chair next summer—and for many summers to come.
And Gayle looked up at Lendall.
And was not happy.
At all.
Because it seemed that Lendall had come out onto the porch empty-handed.
Gayle dropped her head and shook it disapprovingly. And scoffed. And rolled her eyes. And then looked back up at Lendall and was about to chew him out for not doing what she had asked—when she saw that Lendall had stretched his arm out toward her and was holding a small maroon velvet pouch in the palm of his hand. And when he was sure he had her attention, he turned his palm down and let the little pouch drop. His ring finger was looped through the drawstring of the pouch, so it only dropped a few inches. And then swung back and forth in the porch light.
Gayle did nothing but stare at the pouch for a few moments.
Lendall couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or mesmerized by it.
And when it seemed like she was more mesmerized than disappointed, Lendall placed it on a small table next to Gayle’s chair.
And Gayle continued to stare at the pouch.
And then she looked up at Lendall.
And then glanced back down at the pouch and then back up at Lendall and sneered. “What is that?”
“It’s all the love you gave me.” And it was all the love she had given him.
And then his heart fluttered and he felt that strange lightness again for a moment—and it made him feel like something wonderful was about to happen—again.
“What?” asked Gayle in disbelief. “That’s not—there is no way—that is not all the love I gave you!” And then she laughed derisively. And then, all of a sudden, seemed to be crying.
“Hey,” said Lendall, going to Gayle to comfort her.
But Gayle didn’t want Lendall’s comfort, because she didn’t want it to weaken her resolve, so she hopped up out of the chair and didn’t let him near her.
“Gayle, come on,” Lendall pleaded. “Tell me what is goin’ on?”
“I told you: we’re done.”
“Why do you keep sayin’ that?”
“Because…” Gayle took a moment to collect her thoughts—and herself—and when she and her thoughts were collected, she went on. “Because when I asked you what you thought about us getting married—remember when I asked you that?”
Lendall remembered very well when Gayle asked him what he thought about them getting married. Because the question had confused him. Because Gayle had said a long time ago that she didn’t want to get married. Because her parents hadn’t exactly set the best example of what a marriage could be. And she didn’t feel like she and Lendall needed God or the state to validate their commitment to one another.
But a couple of weeks ago, Gayle had had a change of heart. Maybe because she was watching a lot of her friends—like Sandrine—get married. Or maybe because the anniversary of their first date was coming up. Or maybe because she finally trusted that Lendall wasn’t going to limit her the way so many of her friends’ husbands had limited them.
Whatever the reason, she had decided that she wanted to get married. And when she told Lendall this, he got quiet.
Like he was being just then.
“Lendall!” hollered Gayle, sick of all his quiet.
“What?” asked Lendall, wondering why she was hollering.
“Yes or no: Do you remember me asking you what you thought about us getting married? It was snowing? I made a pizza?” Gayle made very good pizza.
“Yeah,” Lendall finally managed to answer.
“Yeah, well, when I asked you … that, you got so quiet. And I know you’re a quiet guy. But the way you got quiet when I asked you what you thought about us getting married—it was a different kind of quiet. And it made me realize some things. And one of those things is that you don’t love me.”
“What—whoa—wait—no!” Nothing could have been further from the truth. Lendall loved Gayle—her whole heart and mind and body and soul—more than anything or anyone he had ever known. “That’s not why I got quiet!”
Gayle shushed Lendall because she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and went on. “And I have been trying to fix that, I have been trying to make
you love me by giving you every bit of love I ever had—which is so stupid, because I can’t make you love me if you don’t!”
“But, I do!”
“No. You don’t. I’ve decided. And since you don’t, well, then, I think the best thing we can do right now is return the love we gave to each other, and call it…” Gayle looked at the three or four dozen garbage bags that contained all the love that Lendall had given Gayle and then looked at the single small maroon pouch that supposedly contained all the love that she had given Lendall and whimpered, “… even.”
But it wasn’t even at all.
“Oh, Jeezum Crow,” said Gayle, looking up at Lendall and indicating the small maroon pouch that was sitting on the table. “Is that really all the love I gave you?”
That was a tough question to answer. Because it was—and it wasn’t.
“I mean,” sighed Gayle, spiraling into self-doubt, “what kind of person am I if that’s all I gave you?—Wait—no!” She knew that she had given him more love than what could possibly have been in the small maroon velvet pouch and instantly stopped doubting herself. “No. No, no, no. I know I gave you more than that, Lendall, I know it!”
“Gayle—” Lendall wanted to tell her to take a look at what was in the small maroon velvet pouch before she got upset again but didn’t get a chance to, because Gayle wasn’t done.
“Did you lose it?” she half asked and half accused.
“What? No!” Lendall was surprised to find himself raising his voice.
“Did you lose it, Lendall? ’Cause I know I gave you more than that, and I think you’re pulling something on me, and this is not a good time to be pulling something on me!”
“Gayle! I’m not pullin’ somethin’ on you! I wouldn’t do that to you! Jeez!” Lendall was really mad. And he was surprised by how mad he had gotten. And by how mad Gayle had gotten. And by how loud they had both gotten.
And so was Gayle.
And it was quiet for a moment. And then Lendall pulled himself together and said calmly, “Gayle, I don’t like the way you’re talkin’ to me right now. And I don’t like the way I just talked to you right now. And—I’m sorry—but—I’m mad. Because I don’t think you get to just decide that ‘we’re done’ out of the blue without talkin’ to me about it first. But since you seem to think that you do get to decide—for both of us—that ‘we’re done’—out of the blue—without havin’ all the facts—” Lendall gestured toward the small maroon velvet pouch he had given her—“then I guess maybe you should just take what you came for … and I guess we’ll be done.”
And with that, Lendall went back inside his house and slammed the door behind him.
The storm door haltingly danced its way shut with a dull metallic thud a few seconds later.
And then it was quiet.
More quiet than it had gotten when Gayle asked Lendall what he thought about them getting married.
And more quiet than Gayle ever remembered it being in Almost—and Almost was a pretty quiet place.
Gayle stood on the porch with all the quiet, facing the door that Lendall had just slammed—and was stunned. Because she had come over to end things with Lendall.
And he had beaten her to it.
And a wave of rage surged through her body. And she punched the aluminum storm door with the outside of her fist. And then kicked it.
Because this breakup was not going as planned.
Lendall was standing on the other side of the door, also stunned—and a little sick to his stomach—that he had just ended things with Gayle.
He jumped when Gayle punched the door with her fist. And again when she kicked it.
And then he felt a wave of anger surge through his body. And it made him do something he hadn’t done in who knows how long: he locked the door.
Gayle heard the cylinder of the deadbolt click into its locked position.
And she gasped.
And stared at the door.
And wondered if Lendall had just locked her out.
She opened the storm door and grabbed the knob of the main door and tried to open it.
But couldn’t.
Because Lendall had locked her out.
Which wasn’t a big deal, because Gayle had a key to Lendall’s house. And Lendall knew she had the key. So locking the door was merely a symbolic gesture.
But—an effective one.
“Lendall?” called Gayle weakly.
Lendall heard Gayle. And was so irritated with her that he slapped the switch to the porch light off.
Which left Gayle stunned and alone and locked out (kind of) and in the dark.
Lendall couldn’t believe that he had ended things with Gayle.
And he couldn’t believe that he had locked the door—and turned out the light.
But he didn’t know what else he could have done.
All Gayle seemed interested in doing was being angry at him. And being done with him.
And now Gayle and Lendall were done.
And Lendall didn’t want them to be done.
Because he felt like they were just about to get started.
Oh, if only she would look inside the small maroon velvet pouch he had given her, maybe she wouldn’t be so mad at him.
Maybe she’d be happy with him, even.
“Lendall?” Gayle called gently. She was leaning her forehead against the wooden door, hoping Lendall would answer her. But he didn’t. “Lendall?” she repeated.
Lendall went to the door and almost unlocked it and went back out onto the porch to comfort Gayle.
But then didn’t. And just stared at the door.
Gayle stared at the door, too.
And then she turned and went to the porch railing and leaned on it and looked out over the starlit potato fields of Norsworthy’s Potato Farm toward the horizon.
And she sighed.
And thought.
And then turned and took a few steps toward the door.
Which Lendall was still standing on the other side of, trying to figure out what Gayle was doing.
And when he heard those few footsteps coming toward him, he hoped that Gayle was going to ask him to let her in. Or maybe use her key to let herself in so they could talk and make right whatever was wrong.
But Gayle didn’t think that what was wrong could be made right.
So she took Lendall’s house key out of her jeans pocket.
And bent down and laid it on the doormat.
And then stood back up.
And took a breath.
And started to go. But stopped. And remembered the small maroon velvet pouch Lendall had brought to her. And figured she’d take it. It was hers, after all.
She went to it. And Lendall heard her footsteps and wondered what she was doing and pressed his ear up against the door.
But he heard nothing more, because Gayle had stopped. And was staring at the pouch—which she was able to see thanks to the faint light that was spilling out onto the porch from from the lamp on the end table in Lendall’s living room.
Gayle remembered Lendall pointing to the pouch and saying something about her not having all the facts yet—before he stormed into his house and slammed (and locked) the door behind him. And she wondered what was in it. So she leaned down and picked up the small maroon velvet pouch from off the small table between their Adirondack chairs.
She could tell that it contained something small and solid—a little box, it felt like.
She shook the pouch a bit, trying to gather more information. And sat back down in her Adirondack chair and opened it—but couldn’t quite see inside, because there wasn’t enough light.
Because Lendall had turned off the porch light.
Which was really childish, she thought.
And then she reached inside the pouch and her fingers found a small box—which she pulled out.
The box was fuzzy, like the little pouch.
And Gayle wondered what it was.
It definitely wasn’t what she had
asked Lendall to bring her.
“Lendall!” she called. And she got up out of her chair and rapped on the storm door and asked, “Lendall, what is this?”
Lendall felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again. Gayle must have been looking inside the pouch he had given her.
“What the heck is this, Lendall?”
Lendall flicked the porch light on—which allowed Gayle to see that the box she was holding was the same color as the pouch it had come in.
And then the seal of the weather stripping popped as Lendall slowly pulled open the main door. And Gayle looked up and saw Lendall push open the aluminum storm door, and she asked again, “Lendall! What is this?”
It was pretty obvious what Gayle had in her hand.
But she was so fixated with what it wasn’t that she was unable to comprehend what it was.
“It’s a ring, Gayle,” said Lendall gently as he stepped out onto the porch, pulling the wooden front door closed behind him.
“What?!?” Gayle winced.
“It’s a ring,” repeated Lendall. The storm door swung shut behind him.
“Wha—?!?” Gayle looked up at Lendall. And then at the maroon velvet box. And then back up at Lendall. “Noooo,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Lendall gently refuted.
And then Gayle realized what she was holding in her hand.
And she began to understand what was happening.
And she felt a strange lightness fill up her insides. It made her feel like a light bulb had just been switched on inside her. And like she might start rising like a helium balloon.
“Lendall.” Gayle looked up at Lendall for a long time. And finally asked, “Is this a ring?”
Lendall nodded in the affirmative.
“Yup.”
“Oh, no,” she croaked.
And Lendall got a little nervous. Why had she just said, “Oh, no”?
And then Lendall watched Gayle crumple into her Adirondack chair.
“Whoa—you okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” said Gayle, staring at the box.
Which she then opened.
And when she did, she saw a small, simple, perfect diamond ring.
And she gasped.