by Kieran York
“I’m a people person, and if I say so myself, excellent at what I do, but I have no aptitude for the fine arts. I have enormous admiration for those who possess creative talent.”
“I would imagine Tricia also had enormous appreciation for your support.”
“She was a great deal like you are, Danielle. Compulsively drawn to find her very best. I have a great respect for those willing to give their lives over to their arts. You give a gift to audiences, to spectators, to celebrators, or to lost souls. To all of humanity.”
“It isn’t so much that I’ve been willing to give my life to art. I’ve needed to do so. Tricia probably couldn’t have helped being a singer. She was fortunate in having you at her side.”
“Tricia was so full of life. I was blessed to share her exuberance. Although there were times when I felt left behind, I wouldn’t trade a single day.”
“She sounds like a wonderful person, Bethany. To be with you, she must have been wonderful.”
“I remember the last morning I spent with her. I insisted she take our auto, telling her I would take a cab to the airport. She wanted to do some shopping for my birthday gift. We kissed goodbye, and I told her to be careful. A car filled with teenagers sped through a Yield sign. Our auto was broadsided. Tricia was killed upon impact.”
I reached across the table to hold her hand. “Losing Tricia must have been the worst time of your life.”
She swiped her wet cheeks. “Thankfully, I had Carrie’s support and the support of other friends. For the last six years, it seems as if I’ve been waiting for Tricia to come back. So I know how you feel about Molly. At least Molly’s return is a possibility. Tricia isn’t coming back. But it was so hard. For the first couple of years, I’d see something relating to music in a store and I’d want to buy it for her. Then it would strike me. She’s gone.”
“I’m glad you had people around you who cared for you.”
“Friends and family. Carrie was especially wonderful. Like a younger sister to me.”
“She and Esther have an excellent relationship. I think they’ll visit one another.”
“Travel is nearly all paid by both my profession and Carrie’s travel agency. So I’m sure she’ll be traveling to Denver.”
“And you’ll visit me?”
Bethany smiled. “I’d like that very much. Danielle, we’re all frightened of giving our love. I have been. Until now there hasn’t been anyone I truly wanted to love.”
We were quiet for many minutes. I tightly held her hand in mine. I then stood in front of her and leaned down. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. We embraced as if we might lose one another if we let go. I was acutely aware of how complete she made me feel.
Chapter 29
It was noon. Same place—Fav’s. Same woman—Molly.
I looked across the table and into her somber brown eyes. We’d greeted each other cordially.
She’d dressed casually, yet with elegance. I’d also dressed casually but didn’t pull off the same sharp fashion look.
Our server brought our lunches of pheasant salad with cranberry vinaigrette
She tasted hers. “Yes. It’s as delicious as I remembered. Since I recommended it, I hope you like it. This is my favorite restaurant in London, as well as my favorite lunch.”
I trickled a dollop of dressing over the variety of herbs and greens and placed the slices of pheasant breasts onto the salad. I took a bite and my taste buds ignited. “This is absolutely the best salad I’ve ever had. Great choice.”
“I’m pleased you like it.”
“We’ve always liked similar things.”
There was a moment’s pause, before she finally spoke. “After meeting with you last time, I realized I might have heaped some cruel accusations on you. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you. I tried to explain my feelings to you. Certainly not to bring you pain.”
I decided to be honest. “Naturally, I’m wounded. I honestly had no idea there were problems in our relationship.”
“I didn’t realize you had no idea about what I was experiencing. Even if you had recognized the difficulty, there wouldn’t have been anything you could have done.” She hesitated. “When I got home after our meeting, I spoke with Samantha.”
“Samantha is a lovely young woman. She looks like her mother.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw Pamela’s photographs on the jackets of her books. Their resemblance is close. But when we met, I wasn’t thinking in terms of a book’s dust jacket photo I’d seen thirty years ago.”
“You were right that raising her is the best contribution I’ve made in life. At any rate, she took your side. She thought I’d been heartless in how I treated you. She’s very fond of you.”
“You pointed out my shortcomings. They’re accurate.”
“I knew how much you loved me, Danielle. My intention in seeing you was to give you closure.”
“Love you. Molly, I still love you. I might’ve been young and arrogant about the breakup and wrongly placed blame with you. It doesn’t matter who was at fault. It was my responsibility to pick up the pieces and go on with my life. I wasn’t successful at continuing on. You aren’t responsible for closure. Your truth is your reality, and you owe me nothing.”
“I should have known how my truth would impact you. When I left, I believed I was leaving to make it best for both of us. Maybe so we wouldn’t need to begin battling to save our relationship. There’s agony in that.”
“My parents gave up on their love and their marriage,” I said. “If you’ll recall, I told you I’d never give up. No matter what happened, I would never have left you.”
She suddenly became angry. “Ah yes. I recall how you forever sanctified fidelity and hated betrayal. Do you think your life would have been better if your parents had remained in a loveless marriage? That Samantha turned out as wonderfully as she did was a miracle. I was in a loveless relationship. Believe me, it’s toxic.”
“I suppose it was best that I wasn’t raised by my parents. For many reasons. But I didn’t consider our relationship loveless, Molly. Everyone we knew believed our relationship was good.”
“It might have been good. But it wasn’t great. I opted for great. After I left, I discovered great doesn’t exist. Maybe I shouldn’t have left you. For my own reasons, I did. I regret having left you. Well, I regret everything with the exception of Samantha.”
“I believed you loved me. After you left, I found that reclaiming the innocence of trust was difficult if not impossible. I’ve still never loved anyone as I love you.”
“Nor I you. I did find that perfection is unattainable.” She took a bite of salad but probably wasn’t enjoying the meal anymore than I was.
“I’ll always believe there was only one completely true reason for your leaving,” I said. “You found someone better.”
“Pamela was certainly not better. I found someone who needed me. Emotionally, she was an invalid. You never needed me. You had your art.”
I scrunched my napkin and dropped it on the table. “If I had been needy, would you have considered staying with me? If I had been an alcoholic? Maybe I could have thrown in drugs along with an alcohol problem so that we might have remained together. That would have made me even more pathetic. As well as more like my mother.”
She dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry you went through so much pain.”
“I’m pathetic enough and empty enough to still be experiencing that pain. Did you ever experience hurt?”
“You were the only woman who was ever in love with me and that I was in love with. Have you ever considered the consequence my leaving had on me? But I needed to leave.” She held her left arm out. “The itch is here.” Then she held up her right arm and said, “You only scratched here. You were always a mile from where I needed reassurance. Sadly, you didn’t even realize I had unfulfilled needs. But if you had concerned yourself with my emotional deficits, maybe you wouldn’t have found th
e depth of your soul that you paint with such eloquence now.”
I picked up my napkin and smoothed it into its original shape. Would that this situation could be smoothed as easily. “Have you ever considered I might have reached success faster with you at my side? I wanted my success for you as well as for me. Instead, my struggle has been a lifetime’s suffering. There were times when I didn’t even want to live. So please don’t insist on playing some guiltless what-if game. I confess I was too preoccupied with my art. I concede I wasn’t delicate enough about my sexuality. I have the feeling that no matter what I changed, it wouldn’t be enough. I begged you not to leave me. And I would have done anything for you. I would have tried to help you with your emotional deficits if I had known they were there.”
Molly poked at her salad. “That was the problem. You couldn’t have helped me. We weren’t on the same path. We lost our way. I didn’t understand your commitment to art. And you didn’t have a clue about my passion for philosophy.” She stabbed a chunk of pheasant with her fork. “We were going in separate directions. Growing apart.”
“Molly, I agree I didn’t get philosophy. I always figured we’re all philosophers. Each individual. One’s own belief system. Not the universal kind that elevates those who espouse other people’s philosophy. But we accepted one another’s chosen fields.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I revered philosophy as much as you did art? Philosophy has saved me. It gave me a way to interpret life. Philosophy is my way of viewing life. When you marginalized philosophy, you marginalized me as well.”
“I recall a time I attacked philosophy because you mentioned how a photograph could capture people’s spirits as well as an artist. I spoke out of frustration and anger. I apologized.”
“And I told you back then I was sorry for what I’d said, Danielle. I didn’t mean your art in particular. Don’t you see, even now we’re arguing over past hurts. The truth is, I felt at home in my field. Pamela was a renowned writer and professor in my field. She was there, and I sadly believed you weren’t. But none of that matters now. I can’t undo it. It’s all too late.”
“Why is it too late? A chance meeting here in London. Maybe it’s meant to be. We could be kinder to one another. More understanding. We could make it all better. Age teaches how to be mellow. So why not another chance?”
“Listen to yourself. We’re sixty years old. Each year we circle the track, and each year we hope for another. We’ll never again be thirty.” Her eyes held an enormous pain.
“We could try to be sixty together. Is it too much of a stretch to believe love doesn’t just vanish? I want to believe love remains.”
“It may very well remain, but it doesn’t always stay the same. It changes.”
“Molly, we’ve changed, yes. But love is still there.”
“This is why I didn’t want to meet with you again. You seem convinced that we can have this reconnect. That’s impossible. We have different lives to live. They’ve been different for thirty years. It can’t happen.”
“Can’t happen and won’t happen seem to be your mantra. But it could happen. And as far as I’m concerned it could.” I waited for her to meet my eyes. As if in another world, she blinked rapidly and then faced me again.
“Molly,” I said, “don’t you see, we could work it out. Maybe we could live in California half the year and Colorado the other half. Why not take a chance?”
“There are complications. It didn’t work thirty years ago. It certainly wouldn’t work now. Why can’t you see that?” Attempting to convince me seemed to have depleted her. “Please.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t. But you must. What can I say to dissuade you from believing this absurd idea of us together?”
“Maybe I can’t ever be discouraged for the one simple reason that I have no control over. I’m still in love with you.”
She stood. Tears filled her eyes. “And I’m still in love with you. But it’s too late.” She sobbed as she rushed from the restaurant.
Stunned and with blurred vision, I quickly asked the waiter for the bill as I made my way to the exit. He waved me on, reporting that my friend had taken care of it before we dined.
I hastened to the street. Molly looked back at me as she was entering a limousine. There was great pain in her eyes. I saw her outline in the darkened window as the large, pearly white vehicle pulled away from the curb.
I felt as if my existence was also pulling away. “Molly,” I said with such deliberation that it frightened me. How could I live if it was too late for love?
Chapter 30
Fiona furrowed her brow. “Danielle, are you okay?” she asked as I entered the gallery.
The glare from the gallery’s fluorescent lights made me squint in an effort to dim their brightness. “I was passing by and thought I’d drop in to see how the show is going.”
“It’s going splendidly. But you seem upset. Can you tell me about it?”
“The second lunch with Molly didn’t go any better than the first.”
“There’s absolutely no benefit for you feeling as you do. You’re getting nothing out of it. Unless you’re clutching worn-out old memories to ease your fear of aging. How many times, and in how many ways, is she going to have to tell you she doesn’t love you?”
“She just now told me that she’s still in love with me.”
Fiona let loose with an enormous gush of expletives. “That fucks my theory all to hell!” She put her arm around my shoulder. “So are you going to see her again?”
“She ran out of the restaurant after she delivered her line of devoted love.” I heard someone enter the gallery.
“Do you even want to see her again?”
“If I were prudent, I wouldn’t want to be within a gazillion miles of her.”
“Don’t use prudence as being anywhere near your personal attributes. You aren’t at all fitted with a single bit of prudence. Let me repeat. Are you going to see her again?”
Before I could answer, Esther greeted me. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Well, are you going to see her again? I presume we’re talking about Molly.”
Fiona answered before I had a chance to. “Molly told her she still loves her and then made a beeline for the nearest exit. The fool.”
Without her usual restraint when it came to issues concerning Molly, Esther whirled toward me. “She a shrew. That’s it. She keeps you emotionally bouncing from hope to despair. She is an absolute sadist.”
“Don’t get ratty,” I said. “It’s so complicated. I honestly think she’s as confused as I am. Her daughter insisted that she contact me to apologize for what she said before. And yes, she said she also loves me but that it’s too late.”
“So now she’s got multiple personality disorder,” Esther said. “Playing the roles of protagonist and antagonist. Smacks you down, picks you up. Blames the breakup on your bogus defects, sees you next time and is sorry for screwing with your head. How much more are you going to take?”
Fiona piped in, saying, “In love, out of love, in love.”
I was outnumbered, so I opted for a change of topic. “Fiona, have you tallied the sales for the exhibit recently?”
“Yes, and you need to be awarded a trophy. You’re getting a bundle of money richer, even as we speak.”
“Why did I have to come to Europe to be discovered?” I hoped they didn’t notice I’d steered away from all talk of Molly. “I’m making more on this exhibit than I made in the past decade. Or ever made.”
“Good press, good initial sales, and great paintings,” Fiona said. “You’re finally being recognized. As far as why we’re triumphing in Europe—location, location, location. You see, Europe is slightly more cultured than New York.” She measured a quarter inch between her thumb and forefinger.
“I guess I don’t get it,” I told her. “The United States has always considered me a very minor artist. Very minor price tag as well.”
“After our Boston exhibit, al
l that will be put right. I’m thirsting for a cappuccino. How about I take you two crazy Saphs to Crumpets and Brew for a double cappuccino. And we can sneak a trip under the glass of their extraordinary pastry cart.”
As we left the gallery and neared the coffee shop, I asked, “Are we going to be able to change topics and find out about you two? I want to know the latest cradle-robbing stories. Are the cougars ready to divulge some splendid stories?”
“I’m overjoyed,” Fiona said. “What stamina. I may take my toy boy with me on the next exhibits. France and Germany. Germany, I’ll need my stress relieved. The artist there is a major pain.”
“Yes, I believe you’ll need your lad if what you say about your German artist is true.”
“It’s all true. The artist’s work sells. I have a long-standing arrangement with him, or I’d dump him like a rodent.”
Esther and I howled as she described her bedroom scenarios. We selected yummy lemon croissants from the tray and began to munch.
“Now let’s discuss Carrie, Esther,” I said.
“Fun at forty.” Esther took a huge bite of her pastry and a swig of cappuccino. She did divulge that Carrie liked to cuddle.
We bantered back and forth until we’d finished our snacks and coffees. I laughed at Fiona’s and Esther’s escapades. It was clear Esther’s feelings for Carrie were precious and just as clear that Fiona’s emotional ties with her toy boy were on the other end of the spectrum.
Chapter 31
Leaning the phone to my ear, I listened to Esther’s diatribe on most of the day’s news. She was waiting for Carrie to finish with her shower, while I was waiting for Bethany to arrive at the suite.
“Bethany hasn’t called,” I said.
“So she’s late. She’ll call.” Esther continued with her rant as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I’m an analogy kinda gal. There’s this breakthrough. An X-ray ghost seen after the demise of radio-bright jets. Astronomers actually caught it. Ghosts remained after a black hole’s eruption. Now here’s why I mention it. Love is analogous to black holes.”