An Abundant Woman

by Elizabeth Neff Walker

  “Well, this,” he said, and kissed me for the longest time, until the heat had started rising in my body. Then he released me with a sigh. “Did the tennis balls help?"

  “Yeah, they did, and I'll try to be more honest with myself.” I curled up on his sofa and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “But I'm not sure I like your knowing that much about me."

  He crouched in front of me, his head at a quizzical tilt. “You've always seemed to know what my vulnerabilities were, from the day we met. You knew I was depressed then, which even I hadn't figured out."

  “There's a lot of manic-depression in my family. I can recognize both.” I traced the line of his jaw, a little rough now with a day's growth of beard. “Sometimes I think I got a tidbit of the mania without the depression."

  “But you seemed to realize how distressed I was, too, about my work. How could you have known that?"

  Time for another confession. I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I read your poem. I found it in the bike helmet with the maps. I know I shouldn't have read it, but, hell, Jack, it was like a cry from your heart."

  He looked stunned. “But you never said anything."

  “It was a very personal poem, a glimpse into your soul. I wasn't sure you'd want to discuss it. I'm sorry if I violated your privacy."

  “I think we're both going to be especially careful about each other's personal issues,” he said, taking a seat beside me on the sofa and drawing my hands into his. “We've both got some significant ones, but we'll help each other. And you fought to stay here with me, Mandy, which tells me you feel something for me."

  “Of course I do,” I said gruffly.

  “And not just in some brief romantic fantasy?” he suggested.

  “No, not just in some brief romantic fantasy."

  “And what would you say those feeling were?"

  I sniffed regally. “We are not in the habit of being questioned about our feelings."

  “Then perhaps it's time ‘we’ got in the habit, your highness,” he said. “Because I intend for it to be a regular element of our lives together. When we wake up in the morning, I'm likely to say, ‘I love you, Mandy.’ And I'll be hoping you'll have something to share with me, too."

  “Oh, you Americans are so easy with your endearments. You love this and you love that. You love your lattes, and you love your BMWs. What does it means to say you love me, or I love you?” I flushed at saying it, and Jack's eyes danced. “It just means you're fond of this year's model or this week's flavor, doesn't it?"

  He grinned at me. “For some it may. In this case, I'd say it means you are this week's flavor and this year's model, and next year's, and the next year's. Mandy, it means I feel an extraordinary affection for you, and a smashing sexual attraction to you. It means you've captured my head and my heart and a great number of other parts of me. It means I feel committed to you, to the two of us together. In short, it means I love you."

  We British are known for keeping a stiff upper lip, but mine seemed to be quivering just then. His deep blue eyes were intent on me, and insistent that I reveal the truth to him. It was time for me to stop pretending this was all some game I could choose to play, and admit that I, too, had made a decision that was irrevocable.

  “I love you, Jack. I'm just about overwhelmed with loving you. And I'll do everything I can to help us stay together, to make this work.” My eyes dropped to our joined hands. “But you have to understand that there is nothing I can or want to do about my weight. This is me. This is how I stay."

  “Your weight isn't an issue for me. It never has been."

  I sighed, knowing it was true. “How can you not care that I'm fat?” I asked plaintively.

  “The best English muffins are,” he said, bending to cover my lips with his.

  Epilogue

  When Lavinia Hager announced that I was to complete the six month program in Madison, she made no reference to our previous discussion. Doug Lattimore, apparently, had decided that he was not, after all, up to making such a strenuous commitment at the time. “He's sure,” Lavinia said, looking me straight in the eye, “that you'll handle the project in the best possible manner. And he looks forward to your return in November with the results of your study."

  My guess was that it was a combination of Nigel approaching him—after all, what did Nigel have to lose?—and Lavinia's cooled interest in his arrival that had done the trick. In any case, when I told Jack the news, he hugged me and presented me with a saucily wrapped package which contained an adorable cream-colored cotton pointelle tank top and shorts set.

  “This,” he said, “is to remind you that I think you're the sexiest woman I've ever met. I hope you'll wear it for me when we're alone, but also as underwear when it might help to be reminded of that."

  The soft cotton knit felt provocative in a way that silk and satin had never felt on me. Jack thought so, too, I believe, as this charming set never lasted long on my poor hungry flesh. I wore it at the Oconomowoc retreat and at Mayfield House to lounge in, and on numerous occasions underneath my skirts and jumpers. I wore it the first time Jack took me to have dinner with his children, and when I went to the airport to pick up Cass for her brief visit at the end of August.

  I wore it when I returned to London in November. Nigel picked me up at the airport and regarded me with suspicion. “You've changed,” he said.

  “Not so very much.” I accepted his chaste kiss and studied this handsome stranger whom I'd been married to for twenty-odd years. “You look more relaxed, Nigel. It suits you."

  “Thanks. You look ... glowing."

  I laughed. “I'm not pregnant. Have you arranged to stay with Tony or somewhere else?"

  He shrugged. “With Tony. His mum's getting more used to the idea, but she doesn't really like it. We've talked about getting a place of our own."

  “Let's just see how things go, okay?"

  Nigel nodded and picked up my carry-on. “Are you worried about Doug?"

  “Not particularly. I'll probably only stay two or three months, and it won't be worth his while to make life too difficult for me. Jack is supposed to come after Christmas. If everything works out all right, I'll go back to America with him."

  “You're sure?"

  I smiled. “Oh, yes, I'm sure."

  “And if that all happened, you'd let me buy you out of the house?"

  Netherhall Gardens had been my touchstone over the years. My home, my place in London. When I felt Cass was alienated from me, and Nigel was distant from me, and Doug was giving me a hard time at work, Netherhall Gardens had been my haven.

  “Yes, I'll let you buy me out of the house."

  He glanced down at me, his face relieved. “Thanks, Mandy. You've always been the most remarkable person. I don't suppose I've told you that, have I?"

  “Not as often as I'd have liked,” I admitted, tucking my arm through his and heading toward the baggage claim area.

  * * * *

  I wore the pointelle cotton knit underwear when Jack arrived on a snowy Boxing Day. He cocked his head to look at me and said, “Good. I was hoping you would. Do we have the house to ourselves?"

  “Yep. Cass has gone off for the weekend with friends."

  “Smart kid you have, Mandy,” he said, grinning. He had liked Cass when she visited in Madison, and had helped me adjust to Cass's sudden decision to try art school instead of going back to University.

  As we made our way through London, I pointed out landmarks that were important to me. Driving up the Finchley Road, turning into Netherhall Gardens, was like coming home with him for the first time. Every other place we'd stayed had been his, or foreign to both of us, really. This was mine, for now.

  Winter was not its best season, but the lights I'd left on inside the old brick house welcomed us in out of the cold, dark night. Jack followed me into the foyer, his hand twined with mine. His gaze softened as he took in the cozy sitting room with its plump sofa cushions and garden of greenery.

  “I've pictu
red you here,” he said. “I had the one snapshot enlarged. I keep it in the living room, unless Cliff comes to visit. They're doing fine, by the way. Angel told me to tell you she's pregnant, and very happy about it. If it's a girl, they're considering the name Amanda."

  “Far too old-fashioned for an American girl,” I said, though I was pleased.

  “And my folks send their love."

  The day I'd met his parents I had worn the pointelle set, too. My impression was that his parents weren't very sociable, and that they'd never much approved of his wife Karen. Jack and I had waited in the house in Oconomowoc until we heard a car pull into the drive. Then Jack gave me a bracing smile, said, “They're just folks, Mandy,” and led me out into the sunshine.

  Two people had climbed out of the car, a spindly older man with a fringe of white hair, and a sprightly, sharp-eyed woman as round as I was myself. I looked up at Jack and asked, “Why didn't you tell me?"

  “Because you had to believe me first, sweetheart.” He had proceeded to crush his mother in a bear hug, and shake hands vigorously with his father, before saying, “Mom, Dad, this is Mandy. We're planning to get married next year."

  We'd talked about it, but the announcement seemed to make everything so decided. His mother's sharp eyes took me in at a glance. Then she nodded and smiled. “Welcome to the family,” she said.

  And now here was Jack standing in front of me, proving that none of this had been a dream, or a romantic fantasy. Jack, with his wiry brown hair and warm blue eyes, and his sturdy, athletic body. Jack, who wrote poetry about his sad patients, but who was no longer sad himself. Jack, who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

  He dug in his coat pocket and drew out two small packages. “These are from the kids,” he said.

  “They have such lovely manners,” I teased.

  “Their mother's influence,” he said, grinning.

  Sandra had chosen a pair of dangling silver earrings and Luke a small framed photograph of Madison in winter. “They do like you,” Jack said. “This was their idea."

  “I'm glad.” But my worries about his children were long past. We had our own lives to worry about. As I put away our coats in the closet I asked, “What did you think of my proposal?"

  “Frankly, it blew my mind,” he admitted as he followed me into the sitting room. “At first I wondered if it was entirely too English to go over in Madison. But before I had time to despair, Angel called, telling me it was exactly what was needed in the changing health insurance climate in America."

  I knew I could depend on Angel's practical instincts. “Did she? That's great."

  Jack drew me down beside him on the sofa. “A clinic staffed with nurse-midwives, supervised by a skilled and experienced OB/GYN, with the specific intent of seeing that every birth had as little intervention as possible—the perfect setup, according to Angel. She said she'd be your first patient, and she's convinced there are plenty of pregnant women in the Madison area who are unhappy with how high tech labor has become and want it given back to women."

  “Yes, that's the impression I had when I was there."

  Jack smiled at me, drawing me tight against him. “It'll happen, Mandy, if it's what you want—coming back to America with me."

  “It's what I want.” I glanced up at his beloved face and traced the line of his jaw with my forefinger. “But what I want even more, right now, is for us to get cozy on this sofa."

  “I've been picturing that,” he said.

  Remembering that we'd finally ended up in bed together because of Jack's vivid imaging, I gave him my cheekiest grin. “Then I think you should help me out of these cumbersome clothes, because the only way I'm going to be comfortable is in my underwear."

  “Just like in your snapshot.” He started to unbutton the red silk blouse I'd bought specially for his visit. “You know how dedicated I am to turning fantasy into reality, Mandy."

  “Yes, Jack, and I'm very grateful,” I said as the blouse slid to the floor.

  * * *

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