And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  "We're not going to New Milford."

  "We're not?"

  Karim ushered her into his car. "No, what I've done is borrow a boat from a faculty member who summers on Lake Waramaug, and ordered a picnic supper from The Boulders Inn." He closed her door, walked around and slid into the driver's seat. "There's a bottle of wine on ice in the cooler in the rear. I figure we can row out until we find a cooling breeze, then anchor."

  Beth looked down at her sheer Liberty cotton print dress. "Row out?"

  He grinned. "It's not your usual row-boat, Beth. It's a lovingly restored cedar-strip skiff. Cushioned back rests, a caned center seat that doubles as a table. You can trail your fingers in the water."

  "It'll be too dark for a parasol, though," Beth said, getting in the spirit.

  "Regrettably, yes. It's okay, then?"

  "It sounds lovely," she answered.

  He nodded briskly and started the car. It was only later that Beth realized Ralph wouldn't have bothered soliciting her opinion first.

  The evening Karim had planned was like a return to her youth, Beth mused, as they rocked gently at anchor. Unlike other Connecticut lakes, Waramaug had, in those long gone years, enjoyed unusual peace even in summer. That mid-May evening it was easy to pretend that time had reversed itself. The shuttered vacation cottages awaited their traditional Memorial Day openings. The clear, spring-fed waters and tree-fringed coves was theirs alone, to explore as they wished. Lovely? Yes, but more than that, magical.

  Beth leaned back against the skiff's green velour cushion, sipping wine from the crystal goblet Karim refilled for her. The vibrant sunset hues had deepened to purple. Mist hovered above the lake's satin surface. A fish jumped. Beth sighed.

  Karim's strong face was briefly lit by the flare of a match. "A penny?" he asked. Smoke wafted toward her, aromatic, unmistakable.

  "You smoke?" she returned.

  The glowing circle dipped then returned. "An occasional cigarillo... does it bother you?"

  "Oh, no, it's just that hardly anyone I know does anymore. My father smoked cigars. My mother hated it, but I can remember going into his study—he called it a den in those days—just to get a whiff of it." She paused—"But it really wasn't the smell I relished so much as what it seemed to stand for—comfort, expansive-ness... grown-up-ness." She laughed. "Am I making any sense at all?"

  "More than most. People tend to lose sight of the importance of symbols." He traced a figure eight in the air with the burning tip. "For me, this signifies contentment." Before Beth had time to absorb the implication, he added, "My wife used to say it put her in mind of little boys smoking cornsilk behind a barn."

  His pensive tone made Beth's heart constrict. "I tried cornsilk once," she offered. "I thought I'd cough my insides out. I never did acquire a taste for tobacco, but I still like the smell."

  They fell into companionable silence. "I was thinking," Beth said, returning to his earlier query, "of how much I'm enjoying this evening. The supper was delicious--shrimp always tastes better when someone else cleans it—and relaxing here, enjoying this soft night air.…" She trailed her fingers in the dark water, then laughed at herself. "I'm afraid Housa is much more a fingers-in-the-water sort of female than I."

  "Housa?"

  "I'm sorry, I keep thinking you know more about me than you do. Housa is my daughter-in-law. A big, lovely girl made for picture hats and floaty dresses and rides in a boat like this."

  "Unusual name. Is it Indian?"

  Beth laughed. "Yes and no. Her parents were the type our parents referred to as hippies. They left successful careers in advertising to live in a tipi up beyond the covered bridge at West Cornwall. Housa was born there."

  "In a tipi?"

  "No, no, she was born in the Sharon Hospital, but she says her lullaby was the sound of the river."

  "I still don't—”

  "The Housatonic river, Karim."

  "Good Lord. Housa. Of course." He blew a lazy smoke ring. "I don't imagine her parents still live there."

  Beth shook her head. "Long gone. Long divorced, in fact, then remarried and divorced again. Her father never made it to Housa’s wedding; it might have been better if her mother hadn't."

  "Too much champagne?"

  "We could have coped with that. She accused Housa of selling out. I would have thought even drop-outs needed doctors."

  "Witch doctors, more likely. Given her background, how has Housa fared?"

  "She's a darling, really she is, and very gifted artistically, but she's much too disorganized to do anything with it." She hesitated. "Not that it's any of my business, but I sometimes think Andy—that's my son—encourages her dependency. I know I spend a lot of my time unsnarling their family tangles." She scooped up a palmful of water and let it trickle through her fingers. "If I had just a smidgeon of her talent...."

  "Seems to me you have a talent of your own, Beth." He paused to extinguish his cigarillo in the lake. "For being a patsy."

  The faint hiss as the glowing tip met the water could have been the deflation of her spirits. "That's not fair. He's my son. He works very hard," she countered.

  "He's an adult. It's his family."

  Beth abruptly shifted her position, causing the skiff to rock. She clutched at her toppling wineglass.

  "Maybe patsy was a poor choice," he said.

  "I'm not sure there is a good choice. Daughter, wife, mother, grandmother: being a patsy, as you call it, is part and parcel of the female territory. Ask your wife."

  "My soon-to-be ex-wife is a termagant."

  "I don't know what that means!"

  "It means that, like Georgina DeLuca, she's made a career out of resisting being taken for a patsy. Look, Beth, all I was trying to say is that you're an attractive, intelligent woman with valuable talents of your own. You have good judgment, common sense, and you're not a quitter."

  "When did you come to that conclusion?"

  "Earlier, when we were talking about what you're going to say to the trustees. Besides, I'm sure your fierce friend Georgina doesn't suffer fools gladly."

  Beth's mouth twisted wryly. "Well, at least you have that part right."

  Karim left the car windows down on the drive back to Eastbury. The fresh green odor of newly mown lawns wafted in on the cool evening air along the narrow winding roads. Here and there a porch light winked through the maple leaves; moths flickered in the beams of the headlights.

  "I'm told the ice isn't out yet on the ponds up in Maine," he said.

  "Is that where you were before coming to Peabody?"

  "Yes, at Colby College in Waterville."

  "Colby? it's quite good, isn't it?"

  "Academically speaking, one of the best in the country, but the administrative challenge Peabody offered intrigued me."

  "I imagine you welcomed the opportunity to be near your daughter, too."

  Karim fell silent. "I welcomed the opportunity to do some much needed fence-mending," he finally said.

  Beth recalled the red-haired girl's discontented expression. "I was lucky. Neither of my children was rebellious, except in token ways... you know, the occasional slam of a door or floods of tears, but some of my friends.…" She shook her head.

  " 'Floods of tears.' " Karim's laugh was bitter. "The Biblical flood lasted only forty days and forty nights; ours never—" He stopped abruptly and drew a deep breath. "Forgive me, Beth, there's nothing more boring than other people's families. Let's just say Amity has reason to be unhappy about a lot of things; unfortunately, she's included my decision to divorce her mother among them."

  "She blames you for it?"

  "She blames both of us, and herself, too. My leaving a tenured professorship at Colby to take a higher-salaried administrative position here makes her feel guilty, which is my fault because she's convinced I've sacrificed myself for her, and round and round we go."

  "Have you? Sacrificed yourself, that is?"

  "Amity's twenty-five, Beth. She dropped out of Colby in her junior
year, so when she decided last fall she wanted to go to medical school I would have turned heaven and earth to help her—as much for my sake as hers."

  "Medical school? That's wonderful, but very ambitious. Would you like my son to talk with her? I'm sure he—"

  Karim shook his head. "Thank you, no. Yale was very impressed with her transcript; all she lacks for acceptance are a few more credits in the sciences. That's what she's working on at Peabody. I bullied her into coming here, using my academic perks to twist her arm because I knew she'd hate the thought of my keeping an eye on her." He sighed. "She's not an easy girl."

  Beth wondered if she’d been on drugs. "Maybe she feels squeezed between two strong parents."

  "Perhaps so," he admitted, "but at her age, her parents should be the least interesting people in her life."

  Beth sensed both despair and exasperation in his words. How well do any of us know our children, she wondered. After all, it wasn't until last week that she had fully realized how little her daughter knew about her.

  "Granted, I only saw your daughter from a distance, but with her looks I would think she'd have at least one camp follower.”

  "She does. Nick Cuddon, nice fellow, a systems analyst at IBM in Southbury. He asked her to move in with him, but she says she's not ready yet. The reasons she gives vary—the kindest is that she can't afford any distractions right now. He's very patient."

  "Is she living with you?"

  "Me?" He sounded incredulous. "Lord, no. She's living in the grad dorm—thanks to the recession, some rooms were left begging and I wangled one for her. It was one of those academic perks I mentioned."

  Beth fell silent, wishing she could see his face more clearly. Was he resentful or merely resigned? She had learned to gauge Ralph's mood from the set of his mouth, but Karim's eluded her: either she had missed something or his lack of forth-rightness was deliberate. She sought neutral ground. "What field has Amity chosen, Karim?"

  "Psychiatry." He slid a wry glance in her direction. "I wouldn't blame you if you thought it an ironic choice."

  "Actually, I don't. In my experience, most doctors in the mental health field have quirks of their own. I think it makes them more sensitive to the problems of others."

  "In Amity's case, I'm not sure quirk is the term I'd choose."

  "Ah, but what one person sees as a problem may seem only a quirk to another."

  Karim fell silent. Beth saw his hands clench the steering wheel. "Thank you, Dr. Volmar," he said at length. His tone was very dry.

  "Wait'11 you get my bill," she said, deciding not to take offense.

  "I can't remember the last time I was sent a bill by a member of the medical or dental professions. Today, it's pay on the spot, sometimes before you even get a chance to check out the diploma on the wall. You were married to a surgeon—what do you think would happen if I refused?"

  "It's true—Ralph's patients were expected to pay a substantial portion of his fee up front," she admitted, "but I can't remember anyone ever refusing. I guess by the time they got to him they were too desperate to refuse, but if someone had.…" Beth leaned back, considering. "Ralph was a dedicated physician. The welfare of his patients always came first."

  "A caring man, your husband."

  He sounded envious, Beth thought. "Caring?" She paused, lips. pursing. "He was a surgeon—I think responsible would be a better choice."

  "Responsible. Of course." Beth had to strain to hear him. "You're a fortunate woman, Beth."

  "Because Ralph was responsible? I don't see—”

  "Because he saw to it he got paid first," Karim returned lightly.

  Beth laughed. "I doubt he'd have removed your brand new heart if you hadn't. I don't know what dentists do." She paused, musing. "Do you suppose they drill out fillings? Chisel off crowns?"

  They grinned at each other, their brief clash forgotten. Karim slowed for the turn into Beth's drive. The petals drifting down from the crabapple trees glistened in the moonlight like snow flakes. Does he expect me to ask him in? Beth wondered. Should I?

  She began rummaging in her purse for her keys. By the time Karim came around to help her out of the car she had them in her hand ready to drop into his. Wordlessly, he preceded her to her front door, and opened it. When she turned to thank him—bright smile on her face, polite words on her lips—he clasped her shoulders and drew her close. As his head descended, blotting out the glow from the lamp post behind them, Beth lifted her face to meet his seeking mouth. His lips found hers, angled, and parted. He tasted of wine and smoke.

  One of his hands rose to cup her head, then stroke it gently. "How very special you are," he murmured.

  Although the rueful tone of his words prepared her for his intention, when he released her and stepped away she felt more regret than relief at having a difficult decision taken out of her hands. Her fingers rose to cover shoulders bereft of his warm touch.

  "Goodnight, Karim," she whispered. Then, louder, "I'll see you on the twenty-second?"

  "Sooner, I trust, but on the twenty-second, certainly. I'll call you."

  It wasn't a question. Beth looked up into his shadowed eyes. A watchful gleam awaited her response. You're too old to play at being coy. She smiled. "Please do."

  Beth waited for Karim's car to leave the drive before turning off the outside lights. The clack of the locks and the click of her heels as she crossed the spacious tiled foyer emphasized the emptiness of darkened rooms that had once housed a family. The grandfather clock struck the hour. How could it be only ten? As the chimes' sepulchral tones died away she again reminded herself to ask Andy to disconnect them.

  She wondered if it was too late to call Andy, suddenly wanting to tell someone about her evening, about Karim. But if she did, what could she say? I've met an attractive man who took me rowing on Lake Waramaug tonight and fed me shrimp and wine then brought me home and kissed me and it was wonderful. He'd think dear old mom had taken leave of her senses. And in a way she had. Or should it be has taken and will continue to take leave of them....

  Beth felt suddenly dizzied by confusion. She wished there was someone in whom she could confide, but the people she loved best—Andy, Housa, Dana, her mother, Georgina—would be hurt or alarmed or disapproving. For the first time in many years she wished she had a pet, a nonjudgmental, dumb creature she could safely burden with the anxious thoughts that beset her. She had encouraged Karim to phone her, she yearned for his company, but he was a vigorous, virile man—how long would a chaste doorstep kiss content him? If he demanded more as the price of his companionship, was she prepared to pay it?

  Beth frowned. That was the wrong question; she had no intention of playing the martyr. The right question was, did she want to pay it? She waited in vain for an answer.

  She trailed into the kitchen to heat a cup of milk to take up to bed and help her sleep. As she waited for the bead of bubbles to form around the edge of the pot, she idly leafed through the latest issue of the television guide.

  Tomorrow, Donahue was interviewing mothers of nude dancers; Geraldo was doing a show about battered husbands, and Oprah—

  A cloud of steam rose from the milk, demanding Beth's attention. As she filled the waiting cup, she envisioned herself on one of those talk shows.

  Beth, can you share with us what you found so very hard to tell your family and friends ?

  Well, you see, Oprah, I met this nice man.

  She could picture the impatient frown creasing Oprah's smooth brown brow. Yes, yes, but what's your problem, honey?

  Beth grimaced. How ridiculous! And yet she knew it wasn't ridiculous at all: not for her, not with her family and friends, not in this town. And that was all that mattered; that was all that ever really mattered for anyone.

  Chapter Five

  Karim didn't call. Beth could think of at least two reasons why he hadn't: the demands on his time arising from his new responsibilities, and the continuing fallout from Merrill Longyear's forced retirement.

  "Don
ovan shoved Bernie Mayhew overboard Monday morning," Georgina reported in grim tones when Beth stopped in at her office the day before the meeting to ask about the agenda.

  "Wasn't he the admissions director? I seem to recall you saying he licked Longyear's boots so hard you wondered his tongue didn't wear out."

  "Maybe," Georgina admitted. "It sounds like something I might say, but at the moment we survivors are paddling our leaky boat too hard to make distinctions. The big question on everyone's mind is, who's next?"

  "I don't believe what I'm hearing! Distinctions like that have always mattered to you. Besides, Karim Donovan respects you and the work you've done for the college."

  "Done. Past tense."

  "For heaven's sake, Georgina! 'Respects' came first. Present tense—if the rules of grammar I learned twenty years ago still apply"

  "Huh. Thirty's more like it, honey-bunch."

  Beth, correctly interpreting her friend's mutter as a grudging concession, smiled serenely.

  "So, when did you become Donovan's confidante?" Georgina demanded. Her eyes narrowed as Beth's smile faltered; she shook her finger in mock reproach. "He called you, didn't he? And you've been seeing him, haven't you? What a sly puss you've turned out to be!"

  "I saw him only once, to discuss what I would say to the trustees—"

  "—And his respect for me," Georgina finished with a mocking smile. "Sounds like a fun evening." She paused, then added, "Respecting isn't liking, you know."

  Beth ducked her head and inspected her nails.

  "Beth?"

  "The thing is... I think maybe you remind him of his wife."

  "His wife?"

  "Ex-wife. Well, almost ex... I know they've filed for divorce."

  "Not a friendly one, I gather."

  Beth shook her head.

  "Oh, swell."

  "Georgina, from what he said, the way he said it, I think your job is safe."

  "Thinking isn't knowing, Beth." A fleeting smile softened her expression. "But it's better than nothing. Now, have you got your notes in order?"

  Beth nodded. She rummaged in her purse and produced a packet of index cards secured with a rubber band.