An Abundant Woman

by Elizabeth Neff Walker

  But I stayed at the window, gazing out for a long time, my mood a tangle of conflicting emotions. A longing so strong I could scarcely credit it seemed to tug at both my body and my heart. A sadness just as strong battled to overwhelm the longing, and everything else I felt.

  Looking out over the misty, dripping scene, I also experienced joy in some corner of my soul, a sliver of pure sunlight. What that small, surprising pocket was all about I couldn't imagine. Alongside it was the desire to laugh, almost hysterically, at my present situation. But I am basically a practical person, so I shrugged off all these disturbing emotions and went downstairs to find food.

  The refrigerator had a minimum of supplies—a carton of milk that was not outdated, orange juice, part of a dozen eggs, some bits of reasonable-looking cheeses, various relishes, spreads, and jams, a partial loaf of 9-grain bread and a plate of fruit. The freezer had a number of TV dinners, frozen juices, ice, ice cream and a variety of Sara Lee frozen desserts. Someone—possibly Jack but more likely his kids—had a sweet tooth. There were also a few packages of frozen meats and vegetables, more appropriate for an evening meal.

  All things considered, I decided to make myself a toasted cheese sandwich and a cup of cocoa, and have some fruit after. Or possibly the frozen pound cake with some of the canned mandarin orange sections I'd found in the cabinet alongside the cocoa. It was pleasurable to putter around the kitchen, though it had very few of the modern conveniences I had in my own—no microwave, no Cuisinart, no fancy pots and pans. The utensils almost belonged to an earlier period, and I couldn't help but wonder if Jack's ex-wife had moved any gourmet equipment back home with her.

  The cocoa was warm and the cheese sandwich toasting on its second side when I heard Jack stomping on the back porch. “I'm in here,” I called, and he showed up in the doorway looking fresh-faced and relaxed. Obviously a walk did him good. “Would you like a toasted cheese sandwich and cocoa?"

  He shrugged out of the slicker he was wearing and hung it on a hook on the porch. “I brought some lunch meats. Salami, sliced turkey. I was going to make you sandwiches."

  “That sounds great, but the toasted cheese is hot,” I coaxed. “Why don't you start on it and I'll make another one for myself?"

  “Okay.” Jack handed down two mugs from the hooks under a cabinet and poured steaming cocoa into them. His equilibrium was restored, and with apparent ease he touched my fingers as he passed me a plate for the sandwich. “Let's stick this in the oven for a minute to keep warm, while you make more. I'd like on and a half, please."

  Since I'd been contemplating whether one would be enough, this was welcome news. I made two more sandwiches and stood chatting easily with him while they browned. As it was a little chilly for the open porch, we took our plates and cups into the living room, where I snuggled into one end of the sofa and he took his chair across the room.

  “How long has it been since your parents lived here?” I asked.

  “At least ten years. The area was getting too crowded for them, so they bought a property in the back of beyond, where they're happy as turtles. Even when they lived here we came up for many weekends, though Karen never felt particularly comfortable with them around.” He grinned ruefully. “They're not particularly polished people, just solid, intelligent folks. They still own the place. I offered to buy it, but they said I'd inherit it when they died."

  “No brothers or sisters?"

  “No. An only child."

  “Me, too. And as you can see, I'm spoiled rotten."

  “I never had to worry about that with my folks. They believed in character building."

  “They seem to have done a good job."

  He frowned. “You hardly know me."

  “Yes, but it takes a lot of discipline to become a pediatric neurosurgeon, and a lot of strength."

  His face took on a despondent cast. “Recently I've wondered whether I can keep doing it. It's so incredibly sad to see some of these kids and know that no matter how much you do for them, most won't lead normal lives. They're so courageous, and so hopeful, and their parents expect so much. I try to explain the realities, but it's hard for them to absorb what they don't want to hear."

  Remembering his poem, I said, “And sometimes you can't do as much for the kids as you'd hoped."

  “That's the worst, when things look so promising and turn out to be a disaster.” His left hand tightened on the arm of his chair. “Sometimes you wonder if another surgeon could have done better."

  “But you know he couldn't,” I said with all the firmness at my command.

  His glance was curious. “You never lose confidence in yourself?"

  “Not completely, or I couldn't operate. You couldn't either, Jack."

  “I know. But this past year has been difficult, with the divorce and the patient losses. Sometimes I've wished I'd gone into a different line of work."

  There are doctors who say that frequently, but I suspect Jack had never even considered it until recently. He didn't need platitudes right now, and the only thing I could think of to say was, “Every line of work has its disappointments and frustrations,” so I said nothing.

  Jack had finished his sandwiches and sat holding his cocoa mug as though to warm his hands. He stared into its depths for a minute and added, “I wanted something demanding, something worthwhile, something where I could make a difference. And then you realize, when you have kids, that every parent makes that kind of difference, or could. You don't have to be a neurosurgeon to change lives. But I screwed up at the parenting thing."

  “How?” I asked, almost afraid to interject myself into his musings.

  “Kids need both parents. I had that, I meant to give it to mine."

  “So you were the one who wanted the divorce?"

  “No.” He blinked at his mug and set it aside. “Well, I've told myself it was entirely Karen's idea, but just lately I've come to understand that it wasn't, really. I'd lost my belief in her."

  “Why?"

  “Oh, she's a good mother, does all the right things, teaches the kids about life. But her world started to seem so superficial. She's interested in maintaining a place in local ‘society.’ Her dad is a doctor, a urologist, and her mother comes from blueblood stock. Karen had been raised to believe she was a chosen person."

  He grimaced and met my interested gaze. “I thought that was independence, self-confidence, when I met her—strength that came from her knowing she had a place in the world. Later I felt disillusioned."

  “But it was Karen who asked for the divorce?"

  He nodded. “And it came as quite a surprise. I thought I'd hidden my feelings well, and they were only part of the story, in any case. She has a lot of excellent qualities. When she told me she wanted a divorce, she said, ‘If you'd just once be honest with yourself, Jack, you'd know it's what you want, too.’”

  He sat brooding for a long time, and I said nothing. “Actually, she was wrong about that,” he said finally. “I didn't want a divorce. But I didn't value her the same way I had originally. I suppose she sensed that, don't you?” Fortunately it was a rhetorical question and he continued, “It was my blindness that caused the problem, and I wouldn't for the world have had her pay for it, or the kids."

  “You'd have continued in the marriage as if there were no problem?"

  His shoulders rose and fell. His gaze met mine briefly and swung away toward the window. “I think so. Probably if I hadn't been a doctor, faced with life and death and disability, I wouldn't have considered the social world so shallow. I would have been proud to be part of the set who made things happen culturally in Madison. They're not a bunch of dilettantes just indulging in their own pleasure They're on the boards of worthy institutions, they volunteer for meaningful organizations. At the time I'd lost sight of that."

  “But now you recognize what a rich and fulfilling experience it can be to be on of the first families of Madison."

  My sarcasm was meant to bring a little reality to this discussion, a
nd Jack acknowledged it with a lopsided grin. “Okay, so I still think society is superficial,” he admitted. “But I'd have put up with that small annoyance for the sake of keeping my family together."

  “Laudable, I'm sure. But you can't blame your wife for not staying with someone who basically disapproved of her."

  “I don't blame Karen. I blame myself."

  I leaned toward him, hands clasped earnestly around my knees. “How about not blaming anyone? How about just accepting this as one of the little tricks life plays on us?"

  “Too simplistic,” he retorted. “It was my faulty judgment that created the whole mess."

  “Since when is one's judgment perfect when one falls in love? We see what we want to see in people we're crazy about. Jung had a whole lot to say on the subject, I believe."

  Jack ran a hand through his wiry brown hair. “You know what's sick? I can remember thinking she'd make a great doctor's wife—independent, capable, knowing the routine because of her father. Where did I get off, seeing her in terms of what I needed?"

  I couldn't help laughing at him. “Jack, my dear, we all see other people in terms of what we need. Do you think she didn't consider what it would be like to be a doctor's wife, and choose that because it would indeed feel comfortable to her? That's not calculating on either part. It's a reasonable consideration, among all the other things you consider when you decide to marry someone."

  I could remember telling myself what a good father Nigel would make because he was so gentle and so thoughtful and so accommodating. He very much wanted to have children at the time, perhaps because friends were starting to have their families, perhaps because he'd been an only child and wanted to raise a bunch of his own.

  But these were only some of his traits, the ones I'd needed to see then. All of his other traits were just as visible—his devotion to science and research, his reclusiveness, his irritation with people who distracted him, his intelligence, his respect for his parents, his enthusiasm for long, solitary walks in the country.

  Jack has just asked me something, and I'd been too caught up in my thoughts to hear. “I beg your pardon?"

  “Did you want any dessert? There's fruit in the fridge."

  “What I really want is the pound cake with mandarin orange sections on it."

  He shook his head with amusement. “You've been scouting out the kitchen. Why don't you get us each some? This seems to be your meal."

  Just to be on the safe side, since he might be mocking me, I gave him my superior sniff and departed for the kitchen. He soon followed me and stood leaning against the door frame as I sliced and set the pound cake in the warm oven to defrost and opened the can of orange sections.

  Because the house wasn't over-warm, I had changed into a sweatsuit while reading the manual upstairs. This outfit was a teal color which tended to make my eyes look greener. On the other hand, the sweatshirt and pants were a loose fit, suggesting that I lounged around in them, rather than taking any exercise seriously. Jack seemed to be considering my clothing with a jaundiced eyes.

  “Do you actually go outside in that outfit?” he asked.

  “What a rude question! Of course I go outside in it."

  “But you look like a cuddly teddy bear. Don't people want to take you home?"

  My heart nearly arrested, I swear it. Probably some valve misfired in shock, like when you swallow something the wrong way. “No one,” I said, “has ever wanted to take me home."

  “I doubt that."

  “Well, if they have, they've resisted the impulse. Besides, in England you're more likely to see Paddington Bear in his slicker and galoshes, than you are to see some roly-poly Winnie-the-Pooh."

  “Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, his gaze still on me, “I remember reading the Pooh stories to my kids. As I recall, Pooh had a sweet tooth."

  “For honey,” I informed him. “Paddington Bear probably eats vegetables."

  His eyes glinted with laughter. “Don't you like vegetables, Mandy?"

  Again my heart did one of those unruly things. “Why did you call me Mandy?"

  “That's what your husband calls you apparently. He asked for Mandy when I answered."

  “Well, I haven't been using it in America."

  “Would you rather I didn't, then?"

  There seemed something pointed about his question, and yet it was a very simple one. Would I rather he didn't call me by that familiar name, insist that he use the more formal one? I gave a tsk of confusion and said, “I don't mind your using it, Jack, but I don't really want everyone to adopt it. At the boarding house, at the University, it seems more appropriate to be Amanda, or Dr. Potter. In England I'm Mrs. or Ms. Potter."

  “Ah, yes, a surgeon. It's a quaint custom."

  “We're full of quaint customs,” I said, taking the pound cake out of the oven and placing two slices on each of our plates. they weren't very large slices. Jack watched as I spooned the orange sections with their syrup over them. “There's an OB/GYN office here with a poster on the door saying: But we've always done it that way. I like how Americans mock themselves. It's more honest than all our little tricks of habit and tradition."

  He took the two plates and carried them into the living room, where he joined me on the sofa. Though he didn't sit particularly close to me, I had felt more comfortable when he was in his own chair. We each took a bite of dessert. The pound cake wasn't completely defrosted, but in my opinion it tasted better cold. I raised a questioning brow at him.

  “Delicious. You never answered my question about vegetables."

  My nose automatically wrinkled upwards. “Have you eaten vegetables in England? When I was a child they were always overcooked, and I can't say it's that much better now. Raw vegetables I like; cooked ones I can as often as not pass up. Actually, I always refuse cooked cabbage. I remember the smell of it too well in the hallways of overcrowded apartment buildings."

  “So you've lived in overcrowded apartment buildings?"

  “Sure. When you're young and haven't a lot of money, that's where you end up."

  “But you must have married fairly young."

  “At twenty-two. Nigel and I didn't have two beans between us. Not that it mattered. We were way too busy to spend much time at home."

  “And too much in love to want for material possessions,” he suggested with a mild question in his voice.

  I wasn't going to tell Jack that Nigel and I had been crazy about each other. The truth was that I had been deeply moved by Nigel, who was extremely handsome and a little lost in those days. And Nigel had seemed quietly loving and genuinely attached to me.

  “Mmmm,” I murmured, which was neither yes nor no. My pound cake was almost gone, but Jack still had one piece left. When he saw me eyeing it, he asked, “Do you want this?"

  “Certainly not! If I wanted another piece, I'd help myself to it from the kitchen. I rarely have difficulty speaking up when it comes to my food needs."

  He cocked his head at me. “Are there other needs you do have difficulty speaking up about?"

  When I leveled a cool gaze at him, Jack, to my surprise, colored slightly. One hand lifted in a gesture of apology, the other set aside his dessert plate.

  “Sorry. I'm feeling really confused.” His brows drew down over puzzled eyes. “There's a sexual attraction that's developed between us ... isn't there?"

  I nodded.

  “But you're married."

  I nodded again.

  “So we aren't going to do anything about it."

  I didn't nod.

  “Are we?"

  I moistened my dry lips and said, “I don't know."

  He grimaced. “No wonder I'm confused."

  “Well, there are lots of reasons you wouldn't want to do anything about it, either. It's not just me."

  “What reasons?"

  Ticking them off on my fingers, I said, “First, I'm your houseguest and you're not sure it's proper to seduce a houseguest."

  “I thought they did it in English
country houses all the time."

  “That's a myth—I think. Second, it could screw up the friendship we've been developing, which has its own rewards."

  He leaned back against the sofa, a warmth suffusing his eyes as he regarded me. “I do like the friendship we're developing, Mandy."

  “I do, too.” My pulse quickened just from the way he was looking at me. I cleared my throat. “Where was I? Oh, yes, number three. You're not in the market of a ‘relationship,’ and you know most women don't really want sex without one."

  His brows lifted. “Do I know that? You're crediting me with knowledge I probably should have, but ... You, for instance, wouldn't be interested in sex without a long-term commitment?"

  “We weren't talking about me."

  “Of course we were talking about you."

  Yes, we were, weren't we? “Well, I'm different,” I said lamely.

  “I know you're different, Mandy."

  “And there's my weight. You're not used to thinking of a fat woman as sexy.” This was, to me, the crux of the matter. I swallowed hard against the sudden lump in my throat. “It would hurt me if you were turned off by my naked body."

  “I wouldn't be,” he said, his voice gentle. “I find you very appealing, Mandy."

  “Yeah, well, in my clothes looking all cuddly.” I sounded gruff and a little contentious. “I'm a realist, Jack. I know the world's perception of weight. Lavinia Hager turns out to be fat phobic."

  “Your department chair? Holly hell."

  “Right.” I lifted his plate from the pillow beside me and rose from the sofa. “Let's just take it easy. The situation is confusing to both of us."

  He followed me into the kitchen. “It's my turn to do the dishes. Why don't you find a rain jacket, and we'll go for a walk after I finish?"

  “Sort of like a cold shower? Sounds good to me."

  Chapter Ten

  Swathed in a bright yellow slicker like his own, and an old waterproof hat, I was guided by Jack on a vigorous hike around the Oconomowoc area. His house was a distance from the town to begin with, and then he wound us around Fowler Lake and into the center of the old town.