I interrupted him. “Maybe I’m taking something for granted and I shouldn’t. I’ve told you how I feel, but what about you? Do you want to see me again?”
“What kind of a question is that? Less than two hours ago I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me; of course I do. Look, dear, here’s the answer, if you can accept it. My duties at the university are light and I have time to travel; in October I’m planning to attend a biochemistry conference in San Francisco…”
“October! That’s just two months from now. Are you serious? In January I’m taking a business trip to the CSX Railroad in Jacksonville, Florida. Do you think you could …”
“Yes, I could.”
“And there are letters …”
“… and telephones. It’s less than 700 miles from Seattle to San Francisco, a little over two hours by plane. That’s feasible, don’t you think? Kate, I’m offering you half a loaf; this time will you take it?”
I squeezed his hand and my heart sang. “This time I’m never letting you go.”
We fell asleep on the loveseat, me with my head on David’s shoulder and David with his head resting on mine. He awakened about an hour later and nudged me. “Come on, sleepyhead, time for bed. If we sit here all night, by morning we’ll be too stiff to move.”
“David?”
“Mmmm.”
“If Arlene had been willing to divorce you and we’d gotten married, do you think it would have worked out?” Naturally, I expected him to say we would have lived happily ever after. When David replied simply “no,” his answer stung me.
“No! Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been happy; ergo, I wouldn’t have been either. You’re not like Arlene. She had no ambition, professional or intellectual. She was content to be my appendage, to live in my shadow, to be ‘Mrs. Dr. Rosenau’. But you’re different. When you were a student you were so competitive that you simply mowed everyone else down. You didn’t just want an ‘A’ – that was a given – you wanted the best ‘A’. How would you like to have attended a party with me and heard me introduced as ‘David Rosenau, the biochemist who won the whatever prize,’ followed by ‘and this is his wife, Kate’, with the subtext ‘she irons his shirts.’?”
I smiled.
“You would have hated it. You may not have known what you wanted to do 27 years ago, you may not have had a goal, but you damn well weren’t going to be satisfied as a bit player in someone else’s life. You had to grow up, to affirm yourself, and you never would have done that with me. I’m proud of you. You’ve become the woman I hoped you’d be.”
I laid my head on his chest.
“Do you think we can be happy now?”
“I’m sure we will be.”
I put the blanket back on the bed and David turned out the light; we stood for a moment in the darkness, holding one another. He took off the bathrobe and tossed it on the chair, followed by my nightgown, which he unbuttoned and slipped over my head. David picked me up and laid me on the bed. “Do you remember?” he asked, and even in the dark I could tell he was smiling.
“Yes, I remember. We won’t ever say goodbye again, will we?”
“No, Kate. This isn’t the end of our story; it’s the beginning of chapter two.”
When I awakened, sunlight was just starting to outline the edges of the heavy damask curtains and creep across the rug. I was lying on my left side and felt David press against my back; he was kissing the nape of my neck and stroking my breast with his right hand. I stirred slightly and snuggled against him.
“Kate,” he whispered, “sometimes, first thing in the morning ….”
I understood. I rolled over to face him and ran my fingers along his forehead. “Your eyebrows grew back during the night.” David laughed and clasped me to him.
He was still asleep when I woke up at eight. I tiptoed around the room collecting my clothes, packed my suitcase, and sat down in a chair beside him. David was lying on his back, and as I studied his face, I remembered what I’d told him years before, that he would always be handsome because it was in his bones. I was right. In repose his face was smooth, and a slight smile was playing around the corners of his lips.
I bent over to kiss him and David opened his eyes. “I like this hotel’s wake-up call. Thank you.”
“For this?”
“For this morning, for last night, for coming to Seattle, for everything.”
I kissed him again. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s mutual.”
David stretched and yawned. “Have you showered yet?”
“I was waiting for you.” As soon as I spoke, I regretted my words. When we’d gone to bed, he’d turned off the lamp before undressing, and it occurred to me he might be sensitive about my seeing his body. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dim.
“Do you want to keep the light off?” I asked as we went into the bathroom.
David flicked the switch and gave me a knowing smile. “I’m not that decrepit; if we’re going to make a habit of meeting like this, you might as well get used to me. Besides, in the dark how can I enjoy looking at you?”
While I was drying my hair, David inspected his face in the mirror. “I’ll be arrested for vagrancy if I go out on the street with stubble like this. Did you bring a razor?" I handed it to him and he ran his fingers along my cheek. “I’m sorry; your face looks sunburned where I rubbed against you. I should have thought of that earlier.” He began to shave and then stopped to look at me in the mirror. “The first night we spent together at the motel – I went out to buy a razor because I forgot to pack one, do you remember? Did you have one with you?”
“I think so.”
“How come you didn’t offer to let me use it?”
My face reddened. “I didn’t want you to know I shaved my legs.”
David guffawed. “I’m a scientist, remember? I’m aware women have hair on their legs. Next you’ll be confessing you shave your armpits.”
“True.”
“My God!”
We looked at each other and laughed, happy to be teasing one another, to be silly; the pain and tension of the previous night were gone. It was as though we’d been parted for just a day, and we picked up the threads of our life without missing a beat.
It was only during the drive to Sea-Tac that our conversation faltered. We were both sobered by the memory of the last time David had driven me to the same airport 27 years before. He parked his car, took my suitcase from the trunk and we walked across the skybridge to the main terminal.
“Your flight’s with Alaska?”
“Yes, it leaves from Concourse C.” I went to the Alaska counter and checked my bag.
“I’ll have to say goodbye – no, not say goodbye - see you off, at the security checkpoint. The procedure’s changed since 1957 when I could practically accompany you to the door of the airplane.”
I gave him a final kiss, put my purse and briefcase on the x-ray conveyor belt, and stepped through the metal detector arch. Before going to the boarding area, I turned to look back at David. He mouthed “October,” and I nodded. I pretended to take a ball from my pocket; I dusted it off on my sleeve, held it up to the light for inspection, and threw it to him. A big grin flashed across David’s face. He leaped in the air, grabbed the imaginary ball above his head, and then he hurled it back to me. I gave him two thumbs up and walked toward Concourse C.
I have saved Daddy’s letters for my children, who hardly knew their grandfather, and I have saved mine for my grandchildren, who hardly know me. Like the friends who corresponded with my mother, many of the people I wrote about have passed away, and I am a last witness to the experiences we shared so many years ago, but when I, too, am gone, these memories will live in the letters to my mother.
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Letters To My Mother Page 31