by Joan Kilby
“For crying out loud, Ida, what a question. Of course there’s a difference between friendship and love.”
But for the life of him he couldn’t have said what that difference was. Marrying Ida would be an easy out. He would have a wife and child—the family he’d always wanted. They would have to make room in their child’s life for Rick, but Will thought he could cope with that. He and Ida could continue with their plans as if this whole summer had never happened. The heat, the madness, Maeve—all would vanish in the calm, rational cool of autumn. No one need ever know that for a short space of time he’d been lifted to the sublime and dizzying heights of love. And if he regretted missing out on passion, how much more might he regret never having children?
He scooted closer to Ida and put his hand on her belly. “How is he doing?”
Ida smiled. “Really good. The morning sickness has passed.” She touched his hand and gazed at him beseechingly. “I know it’s not fair to burden you with the decision, but I’ve driven myself crazy with worry over what to do.”
“Give me a little time to think things over.”
“Thank you.” She rose from the couch. “I’d better go.”
“Do you want to stay in the spare room?” he said. The rain was no longer torrential, but it still fell steadily.
She shook her head. “Rick might phone from San Diego in the morning.”
“Ida—” He broke off. He was too tired to protest, and she was beyond lecturing. “Drive safely.”
He saw her to her car, then watched until her taillights disappeared down the driveway. If he could keep Maeve out of the equation, he just might be able to make a decision regarding Ida.
MCLEOD’S VAN was still parked in front of Aussie Electronics when Will pulled up the next morning. The sight of pickets striking at his factory enraged him. Until he remembered he’d come here today to make his factory their factory, and put everyone, including himself, back to work.
“Where were you yesterday, Beaumont? Business so good you can afford to take a day off?” McLeod, in his shorts, singlet and thongs, jeered from the steps of his van. “How about using some of your profits to keep jobs in the country, instead of selling out like everyone else?”
Will strolled over to the group, hands in his pockets. His employees parted to give him access to McLeod, some of them watching with interest for the coming confrontation, but many averting their eyes in embarrassment. Will pretended not to notice their discomfort. “G’day, Tom. Rita. Hi, Noel. How’s the new grandson?”
Then he let his gaze drop slowly from McLeod’s unshaven jaw to his dirty toenails. “Profits aren’t as great as you obviously imagine.”
“Bullshit,” McLeod said with a derisive laugh, and glanced around at his group of supporters. A few laughed with him. Most did not.
“Come inside and see for yourself,” Will said. “I’ve instructed my accountant to open the books.”
“They’ll be the cooked version,” McLeod sneered.
Will ignored the gibe and turned to the assembled crowd. “I’m offering the employees of Aussie Electronics the opportunity to collectively purchase controlling interest in the business. An injection of funds on this scale will be sufficient to keep the Mornington plant open and Aussie Electronics right here at home, where it belongs.”
“What’s the catch?” someone called.
Will thrust his hands in his pockets and thought a moment. “The catch is, I’ll be on contract as head of Research and Development, and Paul will continue as the firm’s accountant. We want to protect all our jobs. Any of you who are interested, come inside. We’ll discuss this further with Art and Paul.”
“It’s a trick,” McLeod scoffed, as the men and women laid down their signs and turned to follow Will. “He’s just trying to get you back to work.”
“Good!” someone shouted. “Getting back to work is exactly what we want.”
Negotiations proceeded for the rest of the day. Paul had come out from Melbourne to give the assembled employees a frank and realistic rundown on the company’s finances. At the end of a long and sometimes heated discussion, Will was asked to leave the room so the matter could be put to a vote.
Before he left, Will glanced over the group. McLeod and Kitrick hadn’t joined the discussions, and he was glad. The rest were good workers and, until circumstances had pushed them to the wall, loyal employees. He could do worse than put his fate in their hands. After all, they had done the same for him every day at Aussie Electronics.
Oddly enough, just knowing that after today they might all be sharing equally in the good times and the bad eased some of the pain he felt at losing his company. He wasn’t losing a company, he argued to himself; he was gaining a hundred partners.
Even so, the twenty minutes he paced the corridor alone was an agonizing wait. Virtually everyone had to agree, to make the scheme work. Paul had told him the company could be kept afloat by selling shares, but regaining their competitive edge would require everyone to agree to a pay cut. Will had taken the lead by accepting a twenty-percent drop in salary.
He was gazing out the plate-glass window at the horses in the paddocks and wondering how long he would continue to have this view, when he felt Paul touch his shoulder.
“Congratulations, you old bastard,” Paul said, shaking his hand. “Your employees have voted overwhelmingly in favor of buying out controlling interest in Aussie Electronics. They’ve got some ideas to increase productivity. And they’re amenable to a ten-percent wage cut.”
If anyone had told Will three months ago that he’d be overjoyed to sell his company to his employees, he would have said they were mad. But his shoulders sagged in gratitude and relief as he pumped Paul’s hand. “Thanks, mate.”
The cheer that greeted him from the assembled workers when he returned to the factory floor raised his spirits even higher. Tears came to his eyes as he moved among the men and women whose fortunes were now bound irrevocably to his.
He came at last to Art. The older man clasped his hand with both of his. “I’m proud of you, lad. You did the right thing.”
“I hope you’ll consider taking your old job back.”
Art grinned. “I never really left it.”
Will hesitated. “How’s Maeve?”
“She’s packing her things. She’s going away for a while.”
“To Fiji with her ex-husband?” Will asked. Please, no. Although he knew it was irrational, if he couldn’t have her he didn’t want anyone else to, either.
“Nah, she wouldn’t go anywhere with that clown. She’s going to the Dandenong Mountains to her friend Rose’s place in Emerald. She says she needs to be alone for a few days. Or a few weeks.” Art gave him a piercing glance. “You wouldn’t know what that’s all about, I suppose?”
Will looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Art. It’s between Maeve and me.”
“Are you going to fix whatever’s wrong?”
“If I could, I most certainly would. More than that, I can’t tell you.”
Art studied the toes of his work boots while he thought about that. Then, glancing up, he said, “Come by for a beer sometime.”
“Thanks, Art. I will.”
THAT EVENING, Maeve parked her ute next to Will’s Mercedes in the parking lot at Sorrento Ocean Beach and walked to the cliff edge to scan the waves below. She’d tried his house first, but when he wasn’t there, she’d gone looking for him. She wanted to tell him how pleased she was about his decision to sell the factory to the workers. She wanted to say goodbye before leaving for Rose’s house. And to see him one last time.
The rain had washed the air clear, and the wind had whipped the waves into towering walls of green. After a moment she spotted him, sliding down the cascading slope, pivoting and sliding again, hugging the curl, dragging a hand in the water, eking every second of energy and motion out of the wave, until, fully upright, he slowed to a wobbly halt in the rushing foam at the edge of the shore.
Longing surged throug
h her. In spite of her intention not to try to talk to him, her feet started to move of their own accord down the path to the beach. As he bent to pick up his board, he glanced up at the cliff. She lifted a hand in greeting. He didn’t return the gesture. At the sight of the stern set of his brow, she dropped her arm slowly to her side.
So. There were to be no further goodbyes. Head down against the buffeting wind, she walked back to her vehicle. Suddenly, she was glad she was getting right away from the peninsula. In the hills around Emerald she wouldn’t accidentally bump into him in the shopping mall, or at a stoplight. Or torture herself by haunting the surf beaches in the vain hope of glimpsing the man she loved.
WILL HAD BEEN DOING OKAY until he’d looked up and seen Maeve. He hadn’t come to any brilliant conclusions about Ida, but for the few moments he’d flown down the crest of the wave, his mind had been mercifully free of the need to make irrevocable decisions.
Maeve had thrown him off balance, literally and figuratively. Conflicting emotions and unfulfilled dreams flooded his consciousness, destroying his concentration. The next wave he caught, his timing was off and he tumbled into the trough. His board caught him a painful clip on the shoulder as he was pushed under by the crashing wall of water. The next two waves he missed entirely, drifting on the receding swell like a piece of flotsam.
Bruised in his body and battered in his mind, he picked himself out of the shallows and trudged up the hill to his car. Making love with her had inserted doubt into his future. And like the dilemma over his factory, nothing could begin to go right in his personal life until he knew what was truly important to him.
Back home, he hosed down his board and rinsed off his wet suit. Yes, he wanted children. But why exactly did he want them? Was it to carry on the family name? His brothers had already accomplished that, and, anyway, he honestly couldn’t say having a Will Jr. to walk in his footsteps was critical to his happiness.
Was it to make up for what he’d lost as a child when his father had died? But no one could ever really make up for that. Or was it so he wouldn’t be lonely in his old age? Maybe. Yet who was to say his children wouldn’t move away or neglect him? He hoped neither would happen, but he felt instinctively that having children because of what they could do for you in future wasn’t a good reason.
He hung his wet suit over the clothesline to dry and wandered back to the house, avoiding looking at the rockery or the spot on the lawn where he’d found love with Maeve.
Ida’s question also niggled. What was the difference between love and friendship? Why would marrying Ida be better or worse than marrying Maeve? Aside from the children factor, that is.
Will changed and loaded his rusty lawn mower into the back of the Merc. A half hour later, he was unloading it onto his mother’s footpath.
“Where’s Maeve?” Phyllis asked, squinting against the smoke that curled up from the cigarette tucked between her lips. Below her cotton shirt and shorts, her thin legs ended in a pair of worn pink thongs.
“Don’t know.” Will checked that the tank held enough petrol by shaking the mower until he heard liquid slosh. Then he set it back on the ground to haul on the cord. It wouldn’t start.
“That mower of Maeve’s was high class.”
“It was nice,” he agreed, and gave the cord another yank. Still wouldn’t start. He cursed under his breath.
Phyllis sucked in a deep drag and blew the plume of smoke out through her nose. “She did a wonderful job on your garden.”
Phyllis was doing her best to sound him out on the subject, but he didn’t feel like talking about her. “I thought you were going to quit smoking.”
“When you become a father, I’ll quit smoking.”
“At the rate I’m going, that may never happen.” Bent over the mower, hauling on the cord, Will felt himself turning red from exertion.
“What about Ida? Aren’t you two getting married?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped. There were too many things he didn’t know at the moment for his peace of mind. Too many questions unanswered. And no one to answer them except him.
“Don’t get testy with me because you’ve got yourself in a mess over two women. I just hope you haven’t broken your promise to me.”
“I will not hurt Ida, Mother, I swear.”
“I didn’t mean that promise. I know you wouldn’t consciously hurt her. And maybe Ida needs to take the initiative where the father of her baby is concerned. No, I meant the second promise—to be true to yourself.”
To be true to himself, he had to know what was most important to him. He’d thought it was children, but since Maeve had left, he was beginning to have doubts. Yet to give up his dream… “Long before I ever wanted a wife, I wanted children.”
“Wife is generic. What you want is Maeve.” Phyllis jabbed her cigarette at him. “What are you going to do about it?”
He straightened, ready to snap at her again. Then he saw the compassion in his mother’s eyes, and his irritation evaporated, replaced by utter weariness. “Her daughter died as a baby. She absolutely doesn’t want any more children. What can I do?”
“You could start by talking to her. Did you ever hear of ‘Love conquers all’?”
“A cliché,” he said dismissively. “Meaningless.”
“Are you telling me what you feel for Maeve is meaningless?”
He refused to answer. With one last yank on the cord, he brought the mower sputtering to life.
Will returned home when the sun was low on the western horizon and his garden was alight with a reddish-gold glow. After he put away the lawn mower, he felt too restless to go inside.
His meandering footsteps took him eventually to the cubby. The jasmine had nearly grown over the “roof.”
Hesitating only a moment, he crouched low and entered. The dirt floor was dry, and someone—Maeve probably—had placed inside a low wooden bench.
He sat on the bench in the center of the cubby. He felt a little as if he were in church, thanks to the ethereal radiance that filtered through the jasmine vines. Then he breathed in the sweet scent of the small white flowers, and in a flash he was back in his boyhood haven. His father came unexpectedly to mind. Not the awful days and lonely weeks after William Sr.’s death, but the pure deep love the man had always shown Will, despite, or perhaps because of, his frailty. He may not have been able to play footy with his son, but he’d always taken the time to listen to Will and let him know his thoughts and feelings were important. He’d given Will understanding and had held an absolute belief in Will’s abilities.
Unconditional love. That was what Will wanted for his children. And why he wanted to have children—to pass on his father’s legacy. He was pleased with that. It felt right. So far, so good.
The correct decision, then, must be to marry Ida and have children. Will waited in vain for the lightening of his heavy spirits, which would let him know this was the solution.
Damn, this was hard. His life up until now had been relatively straightforward, the path he’d chosen based on logic and rational thought. He’d never had to spend time sorting out his emotions. He and Ida shared similar values, backgrounds and beliefs. Those, he’d heard, were the basis of long-lasting love—or, in his and Ida’s case, friendship. Yet Maeve already understood him on a level that Ida never would for all their years of friendship. How could he account for that with rationality?
He’d made a promise to be true to himself. Well, he was trying. But he must be really stupid not to get it.
Stilling his mind, he let his unfocused gaze rest on the soft greenery while he simply absorbed the last warmth of the sun and the mingled scents of flowers and leaves and earth.
Where had Maeve’s understanding sprung from? Not experience or knowledge. Intuition? Partly, maybe, but it was more than that. Between him and Maeve flickered a spark that couldn’t be quantified, captured or defined. With a certainty that defied logic he felt that spark could be fanned into a flame of pure joy that would light their
way through good times and bad as long as they both lived.
Then suddenly he got it. The spark, the flame, was love.
Blessed were those who found love.
Blessed was how he felt when he was with Maeve.
That was the difference between love and friendship.
Love’s energy hummed through him, expanding his consciousness, lifting his spirits. For one transcendental moment his understanding encompassed love in all its multitudinous glory, and at the apex were his feelings for Maeve.
Warm tears leaked from his shut eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Where confusion had filled his mind, now there was only calm certainty. Where conflicted emotions had battled for ascendancy in his heart, now love for Maeve reigned uncontested.
He would always be there for Ida and her child. But Maeve was the woman with whom he wanted to share his life.
Now he also understood that love meant relinquishing the tight control he had over his emotions. He’d held them in check so long he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. The small core of inner sadness left over from his boyhood crumbled and dissolved, and he gave himself up to love without fear.
Life was very simple, really, once you knew what you truly wanted.
“IDA?” WILL POKED his head around her office door the next day at lunchtime. “Come for a walk through the park with me.”
Ten minutes later they sat on a bench overlooking the marina and Mother’s Beach, while Will explained the nature of love.
“Converts always make the most fervent evangelists.” Ida patted his hand with a tolerant, amused smile.
“But do you see why we can’t marry?” he said earnestly. He was worried he was going to hurt her, after all. “Love is too important to knowingly base a marriage on friendship. It’s not enough for me, and it shouldn’t be enough for you, either. Maybe Rick won’t be the one for you, but someday—”
“It’s okay, Will.” Ida cut him off. “I’m glad you came to this conclusion. I was too much of a coward to make the hard choice, but in my heart I know you’re right.”
“Whatever you and the baby need, I’ll be there to give it to you both. You know that, don’t you?”