by Nicky Webber
CHAPTER 19
Tour d’Italia
Logan, the commiserate fluctuator, hovered between lukewarm sympathy, brooding silence and overt agitation with his lot in life. Mila could tell as his footsteps walked into the room which of the trifecta he was going to portray each time he returned home from work. She had those few seconds to change her responses accordingly. Mila always waited for him to speak first and if he didn’t, she asked how his work day had gone. He opened a beer or poured a smooth red wine before speaking.
Logan often marched straight past her with an off-hand tilt of his head in her direction before walking to his the bedroom. Their bedroom. He would quickly change out of his suit and tie, transforming himself into the old Logan after dressing in his play clothes, as he called them, a baggy pair of knee-length shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt. She patiently waited in the living room or continued preparing dinner in the kitchen. Silence, silence, and more silence. It worked wonders. There’s power in silence. This should be Lessons in Marriage 101–hold your tongue!
She used to fill every verbal gap in conversation with something. Not bothered now. She enjoyed silence. Had it made her a calmer person? Hard to believe. But when she was with Maddy, they chattered constantly, laughing and shrieking, just like old times. But with Logan and even Fred, she would maintain a reasonable level of hushed calmness. The commentary seemed pointless now, and her opinions of no importance. She had cheated cancer, so she had nothing more to prove or say. She barely listened when the men talked and often drifted off to her fantasy place while they prattled on about politics, work and endless animated exchanges about cycling and routes they wanted to ride.
Mila tried to calculate the time frame until her expected demise. After various considerations, she settled on ten years. She would enjoy ten more summers of being mobile and in reasonable health if she exercised and ate well. This seemed a rational number, unless she translated the self-abstracted time allocation into summers. She wanted to laugh and have fun as often as possible. Difficult to achieve when day-to-day life and bills got in the way. But she didn’t let mere reality stop her. She still had days when her spirit was a tiny hard pebble in the pit of her stomach, and she had no energy to be present for anyone or anything. The silence was her only communication, along with an 8.00pm bedtime. This routine was her temporary cure, which usually delivered a few uplifting, energized days. Sometimes she felt so alive she wanted to suck up the sky and soak in the sun like a sponge. During these brief moments of indulgent lightness, she wondered how it was possible to feel so isolated and dark the following day.
She opened the fridge to check on the second batch of home-made Limoncello. She poured a shot glass to taste the pale gold. It was even better than her earlier attempt. After gulping down the first mouthful, she poured herself another glass and flung herself back onto the sofa, indulging in every silky mouthful. No wonder the Romans drank and ate themselves into extinction!
Completely out of left field and out of character, Logan returned from his cycle training with Fred and announced a three-week trip to Spain.
‘Let’s go!’ he proudly stated, with a firm hand resting on her shoulder.
Mila was shocked and momentarily savored the imaginary pleasure before realizing her husband was serious.
‘Really?’ she responded. ‘Are you sure? What about time off work and the cost?’
‘To hell with it!’ he said proudly. ‘Let’s just put it on the mortgage and have some real fun!’
It was Mila’s turn to be speechless. Had he been reading her mind? She didn’t question him, but ensured she had booked and paid for the tickets within twenty-four hours. In twenty-five days, they would be in Barcelona. It was real. There was no turning back.
Three weeks later Fred dropped the excited couple off at LAX international departures.
‘You should’ve come with us,’ Logan said, slapping Fred on the shoulders as he helped load the last suitcase onto the trolley at LAX.
‘If only,’ smiled Fred. ‘You know, Mr. Jones, some of us have bills and back-up bills to pay.’
Both men hugged and parted company. Fred kissed Mila farewell and watched the pair move through the double doors and into the customs and security area. He had convinced Logan to take his wife away on holiday to celebrate Mila’s recovery and good health after all the drama of the past year. Logan agreed, hopeful, weirdly, that it would mitigate some guilt he felt about Maddy and give Fred a free run at his own marriage. As soon as that thought sprung into Logan’s mind, he immediately smothered it, appalled at his compromised thinking.
Barcelona was just the tonic, and within three days Mila shone. They shared delicious meals and strolled back to their triple-story ancient looking, stone clad hotel, during star scattered, clear moonlit evenings.
‘This is so magical, Logan,’ Mila says. ‘We should’ve done this years ago.’
‘I’m just delighted you’re happy and enjoying it here.’ he smiles at his wife, glowing in the moonlight. He reaches out and clasps her hand in his.
‘Mila, I’ve been so frightened by your illness,’ he doesn’t want to use the ‘C,’ word and shatter their contentment. ‘I simply forgot how wonderful you can be and how much fun we enjoy together. It’s just like old times.’
‘It is!’ she grins. ‘Where did those wonderful, wild young students go to, eh?’
Logan pulls her towards him, hugging her and kissing her firmly. ‘You do know I love you?’
‘Yes, of course, Logan,’ she says. ‘I love you too.’
‘All right, then!’ Logan states with authority. ‘I guess I’m going to get lucky tonight then!’ They both laugh and walk back to their hotel, holding hands.
Two days after Logan and Mila return home from Barcelona, the four friends make plans to catch up for dinner. The Jones’ rattle off their tours of Barcelona and Seville, the laughter they enjoyed when attempting to order meals in Spanish. In tandem, they both enthusiastically describe the exquisite ancient architecture of the cathedrals, museums, galleries and surrounding plastered villages baking in the blistering sun along the Mediterranean Coast.
‘It was simply magical,’ Mila gushes, still delighted by the beautiful holiday.
Fred passes the salad across the table to Maddy as Logan elaborates on the congested city traffic and navigating the Spanish public metro system.
‘Sounds amazing. We should all go together next time, and you can show us the sights,’ Maddy says.
‘Absolutely,’ smiles Logan. ‘It’s a fabulous place and the locals are so helpful, nothing’s too much trouble.’
‘Would you go again then?’ asks Fred.
‘Absolutely,’ says Mila. ‘But only if you two come with us. We would have so much fun.’
‘It’s great to see you both looking so happy and well,’ Maddy adds.
‘It was just perfect,’ sighs Mila. ‘Spending uninterrupted time with the man I love in romantic Barcelona was a dream come true.’
‘Ahhh, yes,’ smiles Logan at his wife. ‘The city for lovers for sure.’
Logan’s words make Maddy think about love and the impact it’s had on her life. She can’t quite put her feelings into words. Listening to her lover talk like this about his wife is difficult, but she accepts the love they share too. Did she feel jealous? Uncomfortable, but not really jealousy. She is envious that Mila has such a devoted husband. Unsure what to think, she tries to block her analyzing. There is no point. She wonders if Logan’s last words on the subject were a signal to her? Were they still lovers or just habitually insane and co-dependent on one another’s physical attraction? What did she know of love? Maddy believes she has made her bed and buried herself in disappointment. She shudders, attempting to shake off her fatalistic view.
CHAPTER 20
Close Enough
Maddy knew women often operated relationships through layers of breath-taking manipulation, and she sited herself to herself as a case in point. She preferred Fred’s cold re
moteness, with the occasional grunt of acknowledgment, to the unnerving guilt and remorse she felt about loving Logan in a parallel reality.
A week earlier Maddy read a research article stating the average person should get eight hugs a day. EIGHT!! Are they serious? With her own brand of DIY therapy, she tormented Fred with a point system. She told him he owed her 48,416 hugs to date. He looked confused but did not comment.
She started a daily countdown from eight hugs each day. The average daily total proved he was one down (she forced him to hug her once a day), with seven more to go most other weekdays. He owed her one-hundred-and-ten hugs by the week’s end. Fred thought she was slightly insane and taking her neediness to a whole crazy level. It was hard to understand why she was like this; after all, he told her twice a year that he loved her.
Only last week she had challenged him, complaining that she felt like his house-mate rather than his wife.
‘I can’t understand you, Fred. God help me, I have tried. I have left you to your own devices, kept silent, tried not to talk and allow you time in your cave,’ she pleaded. ‘But instead of you eventually reaching out for me, you carry on as if I’m not there and we both end up living in two isolated worlds.’ She paused. ‘And then I’ve tried the exact opposite, hugging you, talking to you, appealing to you in every way to ensure you feel loved and cared for, and after twenty-four hours, you retreat into that damn silent cave again. I can’t win. I’ve run out of things to try.’
Fred hated these conversations, scrambling to think what to say. What did Maddy want to hear from him?
‘Maddy, it’s not like that. I can’t explain except to say I’m frantically busy with programming and work demands. I need to concentrate. I’ve told you how I sometimes have tons of sequences of code in my head, and I’m working on linking it and then you say something about dinner or did I see a news story?’ He hoped this would stop her from going down this rabbit hole again. It worked last time.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. He watched her dumbfounded, uneasy, knowing it wasn’t like her to cry.
‘Is there something else going on?’ he asked plaintively.
Shrugging, Maddy knew there was no way forward. ‘I don’t know what to do, Fred. I imagined I would live happily ever after and you would love me forever.’
‘But I do,’ he stated, wanting to end the discussion. His words hung in the wide, silent gulf between them.
‘I know you do,’ Maddy responded. ‘I finally get it you cannot give the affection and kind of love I need.’
More silence. Fred was unsure where this was going, and his comment had done nothing to steer her off track. Maddy tried again.
‘You make me feel like I am the domestic help, Fred. I could be your brother. I do the housework, cook, clean and you are just there in your head. It’s just so dysfunctional.’
He hesitated, and so did she. Heavy unspoken feelings hung in the space between them as he asked. ‘Well, what do you want to do?’
She looked at him and felt pity. She felt sorry for him because he didn’t know what pleasure and comfort there is in really loving someone. He didn’t have any idea. Maybe he was incapable? So, what did she want to do?
‘A couple of years ago, I seriously thought of divorce. I didn’t tell you because I thought there wasn’t any point unless I was going to act on it. I went so far as looking at apartments online and figuring out if I could afford to live in the city and get on with my life.’
‘But you didn’t.’ he stated, always careful to avoid emotion and stick to the facts.
‘No. I didn’t. But I quite liked the idea of a small studio apartment on the bus route. A bed, desk, and chair in my room where the cooking and housework would be minimal, and I could walk to work. No emotional stress or demands on my time. Just me, alone and in peace. It has some appeal, you know.’
He sighed slowly in agreement. ‘I think I understand what you’re saying. I can try harder.’
This was always the treadmill of their conversations, and now she felt too much time had passed. Mila had told her to create her own life, develop her own interests and friends, and get on with some fulfillment for herself. In that way, her life would prove easier. And although Fred rarely said those three little love words to her, she believed he loved her as much as he could, and it would have to be enough for her.
‘This is as good as it gets,’ he once joked, and she understood the joke was on her.
Maddy knew Mila would have agreed that anyone with more than a pea for a brain must realize how careless it is to not show any affection to the women in their sphere of influence. Every woman likes to feel loved. Fred ignored this basic rule of the heart at his peril. Thus, Maddy’s recent threats of separation and divorce convince Fred of an emotional overreaction. Maddy understood too that acting on an idle threat gave her little choice but to work things out somehow. Or face an even more isolated and penniless existence. It was all just too hard now, heading into middle age, where choices were narrower than the eye of a needle, and there was no more silken thread left to weave an exciting future life.
The local University’s Head of Psychiatry, Dr. Brad Wilson, according to Maddy’s elderly father-in-law, Jack Davis, believed genuine love doesn’t exist. Ironic really, given Jack is a very self-absorbed character, having divorced Fred’s mother forty-three years ago and had ruined two other serious relationships in his lifetime. But he confidently quoted Dr. Wilson to Maddy and Fred over a family lunch.
Jack was a tall, lean man, bordering on frail for his seventy-eight years. He took a sip of his favorite red wine before continuing.
‘Wilson says, in life, there is only sex or friendship. All relationships fall into these two categories.’ His voice was triumphant, as if this clarified all wayward misunderstanding between the sexes.
‘Can’t you have both?’ asked Fred, as he loaded more salad onto his plate and passed the bowl to his wife.
‘Well, this guy’s the expert, and he researched over many years across the male-female divide.’ Jack said.
‘I think the opposite,’ Maddy chipped in. ‘Your lover can be your best friend, so sex and friendship are a perfect combo.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ chuckled Fred. ‘I only have sex with my best friends.’
Maddy burst out laughing and Jack joined in.
‘How many best friends do you have then, son?’ asked Fred’s quizzical and amused father.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong.’ Fred instantly went into retreat, scrambling to reverse the faux pas. ‘I meant, I only have sex with Maddy, and of course, she’s my bestest friend!’
Maddy raised her eyebrows. ‘Good save Buddy! But a little too much information at the lunch table. Besides, I thought Logan was your very best friend?’
‘See? I told you!’ countered Jack. ‘Sex and Friendship, that’s all there is! Love is a fantasy!’ he announced.
‘Really?’ Maddy believed this was an excuse for Jack’s failures with females and a sad indictment of the limitations of his ability to love. She said nothing while Fred continued the conversation with his father.
She thought this entire premise was so jaded and sad, but it gave Jack a natural explanation for his lonely retirement without the close female companionship he craved. Maddy still believed in the devoted love, the unconditional. The accept-me-as-I-am type of love. Even though her marriage wasn’t perfect, she realized no one changed, and certainly not her husband. It was an exercise in futility if anyone hoped to transform personalities. She briefly discussed this concept with Logan over the phone the following day.
He became unusually silent for several seconds.
‘No one, man or woman, can change their basic personality,’ Logan said. ‘That much is obvious.’
‘I know that for sure. Both you and Fred have stuck to the same character traits you’ve both always had,’ she said. ‘I wish he would be more… more… expressive, ehhhrr… demonstrative.’
Logan laugh
ed. ‘Good luck with that, darling! Why are you getting wound up about it now? You’ve lived with him for years, and you’ve known him even longer. What’s made you consider a personality transplant now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she sighed into her cell phone. ‘I feel like the three of us are treading water. Look at us. Are we friends or are we lovers? Are we meant to be committed to one another for a lifetime too?’
‘Maddy, you’re over thinking. What’s brought this on?’ Silence greeted him. ‘Maybe you and I should get away for a weekend or something. Make some reasonable excuse. You sound down, but it will pass. This is life. Real life goes up and down. Don’t let the downer haunt you.’
‘I guess it’s since Mila’s passing. I’m lost and I’m constantly reminded now, how brief life is. What am I going to do with the time I have left?’ Maddy’s voice was solemn and more restrained than Logan had heard in recent years.
‘I miss her too. It’s a sadness I can’t reconcile. It’s a situation that will never resolve.’ Logan said. The tone of his plaintive voice was heavy with unspoken grief. ‘Acceptance is all you can do. Accept Maddy. We can’t change the decisions Mila made.’
‘But why did she take it? Why?’ Maddy’s voice remains strained. They had both talked about this before and always arrived at a dead end, neither wanting to acknowledge that their affair may have had something to do with Mila’s choice. Maddy couldn’t be certain. Even with the letter Mila left behind, it was difficult to decipher if Mila knew about Logan’s love affair with her.
‘Let’s not go there again,’ Logan almost pleaded. ‘We both know she was fearful of not recovering again and had told all three of us she would take her own life. There’s way she knew about us. We’ve always been the way we always have for over twenty-five years, Maddy. Why would she take her life because of it now? She loved us both, and she would’ve understood. We will never know for sure, so we must accept her action for what it was. A choice. Something she was always going to do.’