Hope Falls_Giving a Little

by Frances Elliot

  When he didn’t answer, she astonished him again, rolling up onto his back and gripping the tops of his arms. “Tell me. Tell me you’ll come back or I’ll bite you really hard, right here.”

  He felt her teeth on the flesh of his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscles of his biceps. Inexplicably, he found himself beginning to smile again. “Emily,” he said, staring at the headboard in front of him and trying to sound serious, “has anyone ever told you you’re a very pushy woman? Do this, Joe; do that, Joe; come back at Christmas or I’ll rip you to pieces you, Joe.”

  There was a pause; she shifted her weight, and when she spoke again, her lips were near his ear. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, her voice low, “if you come back, I promise I’ll tell you some of the things I was thinking while you were inside me just now.”

  Something in her tone told him it hadn’t been sweet and tender musings on l’amour running through her brain and he groaned. As his mind immediately began to run through the catalog of possible acts, he felt the familiar tug and pull of his groin muscles. Her little teeth were now on the edge of his ear, taunting him. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. His voice was raspy – he stopped, cleared his throat and tried again. “If you will release my ear and get the hell off me, we can talk about it.”

  With an exaggerated sigh of resignation, she rolled to his side and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “All right, I’ll accept that,” she said slowly. “But I want you to know I am not a happy woman.”

  “If you’re trying to sound dangerous, you’re failing miserably.”

  Her lips were twitching. “Fool. I am a very dangerous woman,” she said, and made a strange face.

  He looked at her quizzically and then said, laughing, “Exactly what are you trying to convey there, cutie? You look like you’ve got something in your eye.”

  She laughed too and then punched him, hard, on the upper arm. “Don’t be mean. That was the sultry femme fatale look I’ve been practicing since eighth grade.”

  “Ever get anywhere with it?”

  “Never tried it before. Needs work, huh?”

  “I’ll say.” He stopped chuckling, reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger. “Emily,” he said quietly.

  Hearing his tone, she quieted and looked away from his face. “Okay,” she said to the edge of the pillowcase. “Get it over with.”

  Several seconds ticked by before he spoke. “You know that dream people have where all of a sudden they’re on stage, dressed like Hamlet or a butler or something? And all the other actors are staring, waiting for the next line but the person doesn’t know what they’re doing or how they got there?”

  She looked at him then, and her beautiful blue eyes were full of understanding. “That’s close to how I’ve been feeling here, “ he said after a pause. “Only in this dream, I sort of remember my lines, and sometimes I know what I’m supposed to do next, but I still feel a little like an actor in the wrong play. It’s…hard, sometimes.”

  Her eyes clouded with pain; hurriedly he said, “Not with you. No, no – with you I just…I forget myself, I forget everything, I just feel.”

  “But isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Of course it is. It’s wonderful, but it’s…dangerous for me. And I’m being much more honest with you than I usually am, because I care about you and I think it’s risky for you, too.”

  He could read her so easily – he saw her think, start to make a “don’t be silly” face, think again and then sigh a little. “Okay. How about this?” She was looking away from him again, down at her clasped hands and he automatically lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear so he could see her face.

  “How about you just say you’ll wait and see how you feel. Isn’t that how you live anyway? Deciding to stay or wait or move along on the spur of the moment?”

  Well, she had a point there. Maybe he could live with that – no promises, no deals, no plans, just an option he should consider. “You know, I take the pushy thing back – you are an unusually accommodating woman,” he said, smiling again.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide with amazement, and said “I’m pretty sure that is the first time in my entire life anyone has said that to me.”

  Abruptly, suddenly businesslike, she sat up, rose and walked around the bed to pick up his bathrobe. Leaning to kiss him lightly on the lips, she said, “I am changing the subject and going downstairs to make a sandwich. I will be taking this robe so you’ll stay put.”

  “What are you talking about? No one’s home – I can run all over the house if I feel like it.”

  She paused as though taking the question seriously, put her hand on the door jamb and looked back at him thoughtfully. “Huh. Somehow I know you wouldn’t do that. I just know things about you – it’s weird,” she said, and left the room.

  “I’m going outside to make naked snow angels,” he called after her.

  Her voice drifted back from the stairs. “That, for some reason, I believe you might do.”

  Chapter Six – Friday Afternoon

  When Emily awoke, Joe was gone and she could hear voices from downstairs. She didn’t have to look at the clock to know how late it was; she got out of bed in a hurry and headed into the bathroom to shower. The warm spray made her skin tingle and she washed herself dreamily, remembering the feel of Joe’s hands on her body. Every place she touched seemed to hold a memory, as if he’d left fingerprints on her skin.

  She’d brought the sandwich back upstairs and they’d shared it sitting on the bed, keeping the conversation light, laughing now and then at the events of the day before. When they’d finished, she’d reached across him to put the plate on the nightstand; he’d caught her arm, given her one look and said, his voice no longer bright and cheery, “What time is it?”

  That encounter had been different – slower, less frenzied, but even more intoxicating. At some point she’d opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with eyes full of tenderness, and as he leant to kiss her she heard him whisper “Oh, Emily,” so softly she almost missed it. We’re making love, becoming lovers, she’d thought – then wished she hadn’t.

  Now, as she dressed in jeans and another old t-shirt, she still felt slightly tipsy, otherworldly, preoccupied with lingering memories. Downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table, sewing a button onto a baby shirt. Emma sat beside her, carefully sorting by color an enormous heap of other buttons spilled across the table. She looked up at Emily, said very seriously, “I have had a very, very rough morning,” and sighed loudly.

  Hiding a smile, Emily sat down too. Her mom made a strange noise as if stifling a laugh and said, “Oops, pricked myself.”

  Emily arranged her face into something resembling adult concern. “Is that so? What happened honey?”

  After another loud sigh, Emma said, “Well. There was a big girl there, where Daddy took me, and she kept telling everybody what we were going to play and she said she was eight but I think she’s only seven.” She paused and gave Emily another very serious look. “Or maybe only six and a half or six and three quarters. It wasn’t very much fun at all.”

  “I told Emma you might take her into town to look at the decorations and get an ice cream,” said her mom.

  Hmm, Emily thought. Might as well. “Want to do that, honey?” she asked.

  “Yes!” she replied. “But I want to bring my stuffed animals and Aloysius, okay? Daddy wouldn’t let me before.”

  “Sure, if they don’t mind waiting in the car.”

  Emma wiggled off her chair and ran towards the hall. “Oh, they do that all the time. They like it.”

  “Put your other shoes on,” Emily’s mom called after her. “And get a sweater, too.”

  Some loud banging began somewhere outside. “That’s your father, trying to do something with that window. I’m glad you’re taking Emma away before the cursing starts.”

  “Where’s everybody else?” asked Emily, meaning Joe. She already
knew where the others were.

  “Let’s see. Abby’s down in Sacramento shopping and Aaron went back to his friend’s house. The baby is blessedly asleep.” There was a pause before she added, “And Joe said he was going for a long walk.”

  Had her tone been a little funny, Emily wondered, or is it my imagination? Her mom hadn’t commented on how late she’d gotten up, either. Unusual. “I slept ‘til about ten, got up and had a sandwich, and decided to go back to bed,” she volunteered.

  Her mom didn’t look up. “That so? Good for you, dear. You needed the rest.”

  Again, there might be something just a little off about her mother’s tone, but Emily couldn’t think of anything else to say. She shrugged to herself and got up. “I’ll go find my own shoes,” she said. “And don’t worry, I’ll get a sweater, too.” She saw her mom smiling as she left the room.

  It took a little time to get Emma suitably attired for the short trip and quite a while to get Aloysius and the rest of Emma’s menagerie properly arranged in the back seat of the car, but eventually they got on the road. This was a different winter than the one she’d left behind in Boston – a winter people seemed to accept and enjoy, savor, even.

  And when she finally found a place to park behind the bank and stepped out of the car, the scent of the air embraced her and welcomed her back, happy to find her home again. Temporary fencing already surrounded the lot next door; men were unloading and stacking bound Christmas trees, releasing even more of the sweet, familiar aroma of evergreen.

  For such a small town, Main Street certainly was jammed with people. The sidewalks were almost impassable, cluttered with groups of people chatting, exchanging Thanksgiving stories, calling out to friends across the street or staring into shop windows. Emily could see long lines stretching outside both the café and the ice cream shop, so she walked a delighted Emma down to the toy store.

  At first Emily tried to keep track of the toys Emma wanted but very quickly realized it was a waste of time. “Everything” was all she needed to remember – the only items not desired were those disdainfully labeled “too babyish.” They were browsing through shelves of dolls and their rather eccentric wardrobe options when Emily spotted a guy she’d dated in high school, down at the end of the aisle. “Hey, Bob,” she said as she walked over, “nice to see you.”

  He turned to her, said “Hi,” and then paused, obviously drawing a blank.

  “Emily Elmore. From high school.”

  It still took a moment. “Oh, Emily. Of course. How are you? It’s been a long time.”

  Apparently long enough to completely forget me, thought Emily, feeling mildly offended. They exchanged dull, mindless chit-chat until Emma tugged at her sleeve and announced it was time to leave. As they turned to go, Bob suddenly showed a spark of life. “Oh, wait, before you go – have you heard Joe Chandler’s back in town? Do you know if that’s true?”

  Taken aback, Emily said simply, “He’s staying with us.”

  Bob looked avidly interested. “Really? Is he, like, totally weird?”

  Something in his face was making Emily uncomfortable. “Not at all,” she said flatly. “He’s perfectly fine,” she added and turned away again.

  To her annoyance, Bob kept step. “But where’s he been? I heard he was in prison.”

  Emily stopped walking. “That’s strange. He’s a psychiatrist in Beverly Hills, treats all the movie stars. Runs an animal shelter, too and sits in with Bruce Springsteen when he’s in town.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Bob was awed, his mouth agape.

  “Yes, Bob, I’m kidding. Great to see you. C’mon Emma, let’s get in line for ice cream.”

  The rest of the afternoon was mildly depressing. She had to re-introduce herself to two other people and in various shops, overheard four separate conversations about Joe. Most of the comments seemed kind and sympathetic, but a few people sounded like Bob – slightly ghoulish, a bit too eager to hear bad news.

  Around three o’clock, Emma began to drag her feet so they made their way back to the car. After a couple blocks of chatter, the little girl fell asleep mid-sentence and Emily had the rest of the drive to contemplate the afternoon.

  Obviously, she hadn’t expected a parade and the key to the city, but she thought people would at least remember she existed. Maybe at Christmas she should make more of an effort, get in touch with a few old friends, drive into town more often. The feeling that she didn’t belong here anymore was unsettling, hurtful even.

  On the other hand, she thought, how horrible to be as well remembered as Joe, to be the headline story in a town like this. No wonder he’d gotten the hell out – how could he possibly move past the tragedy if everyone around him constantly reminded him of the past, kept careful eyes on him, monitored his progress?

  Of course, leaving hadn’t worked either, she realized. She’d seen so many flashes of a different Joe she’d begun to believe that the warm, funny personality was the one he normally presented to the world. But that was wasn’t true at all; he wasn’t usually anything like…

  It’s me, she thought; he’s different with me. I’m changing him. Someone behind her blew a horn and Emily realized she’d slowed to about two miles an hour. She pulled to the side of the road, let the car pass and stopped for a minute. Well, she thought, good thing somebody blew that horn, I was about to crown myself Princess Emily, magical transformer of men. A single glance, the mere touch of her hand – all cares would be forgotten forever. Get a grip, she told herself, and drove on.

  She parked as close to the front door as possible, got out and opened it, then went back for Emma. They said sleeping kids were heavier – even without any basis for comparison, Emily decided that had to be true. She got Emma onto the living room sofa and slipped her coat off without fully waking her and tiptoed away.

  The house was quiet, but she could hear a voice coming from the kitchen. Partway down the hall, she stopped in her tracks – was her mother crying? Joe was speaking, his voice low. “…and I thought you ought to have it. It was my grandmother’s, I think.”

  “Your great-grandmother’s.” Emily heard her mother answer with a catch in her voice.

  “And the cups and teapot, that’s how I always picture you two. Sitting at the kitchen table, talking for hours, drinking gallons of tea.” He paused and went on. “You know, I’ve never thanked you and Mike for taking care of the place all these years, I never even thought about it, I just wanted—”

  “You don’t need to thank us, Joe…”

  Emily knew she couldn’t intrude. She wanted to listen, but she resolutely went back down the hall and upstairs to her room. So he’d gone home. She felt a tightness in her chest, as if she wanted to cry herself. What a difficult step that must have been for him – she couldn’t even imagine the courage that must have taken.

  Another funny feeling swept through her and she looked around her room with new eyes, suddenly realizing how much she took for granted. She never thought about it, just blithely assumed her family and her home would always be here, always welcoming, always unchanged. Even on Thanksgiving weekend, she’d forgotten how grateful she should be.

  The awful sense that she’d never really tried to understand the depth of the horror that ruled Joe’s life crept into her head. How could I be so unsympathetic, she thought, and then she remembered his words, “with you I just feel.” So maybe it was all right, maybe—. The telephone she’d left behind on the bedside table rang.

  She could hear the buzzing of a voice before she got the phone to her ear. “…wrong with you? Why haven’t you answered? Did you listen to your voicemail?”

  “Carl?”

  “Listen to your messages. Call back. Thirty seconds.”

  Emily stood for several seconds, staring at her phone as if she’d forgotten how it worked. With a nervous finger, she touched the button, saw that the station had called four times in the past few hours. Crap. The first message told her everything she needed to know – stomach flu h
ad swept through the office, no one anywhere was answering the fucking phone, the whole place was falling apart, call back now. Which she did.

  “Hey, Carl, Emily. I’m due back late tomorrow so—”

  “Not good enough. Karen put you on a red eye out of San Francisco tonight at ten or eleven, I forget. Call her.”

  “Wait. I can’t get to San Francisco by ten, I’m—”

  “Elmore, I’ve got an intern from BU doing half the editing and that little creep who does graphics is downtown trying to figure out how to hold the mic and point at a snow drift at the same time. Get on the plane. Find a way.” The connection clicked, and thirty seconds later, rang again.

  “By the way,” her boss went on as if he hadn’t hung up on her, “you ever do any on-air stuff in any of those shit-kicker towns you worked in?”

  “No. And I’m not doing it now, either.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, and hung up again.

  Emily sat down on the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the phone in her hand. This was the kind of opportunity she lived for – the chance to step up, help pull the broadcast together with the decimated staff, dazzle everyone with her calm efficiency and cool-headed smarts. Problem was, she didn’t feel like doing it.

  What had happened to her? She wanted to go downstairs, sit by the fire, play a little more Scrabble with her dad, maybe find a chance to talk with Joe. Have a Not Turkey dinner, watch some basketball, play with Emma, see what Abby got on her shopping trip. Aw, shit. Sacramento. She could probably…she sighed and called the station again.

  Ten minutes and multiple calls later, she trudged downstairs, passed Emma still asleep on the sofa, and went into the kitchen. Now Joe and her mom were laughing. They both looked up and Joe started to stand but Emily waved him back down. “Hello, sweetheart,” her mom said. “We didn’t hear you come in. How was your trip to town?”