by Beth K. Vogt
“. . . I gotta admit, this would be a whole lot easier if I didn’t have the stuff with Vanessa weighing me down.” Logan leaned forward on the wooden table, a half-eaten cheeseburger on his plate.
Vanessa stumbled to a halt. She was weighing him down?
Here she was, coming to surprise him, to tell him how much she missed him . . . that she loved him enough to change things . . . and he . . . he wasn’t missing her at all.
She turned away and collided with someone entering the restaurant. Fell back, the force knocking her purse from her hands, the contents spilling onto the floor.
“I’m so sorry.” The guy bent to help her.
“My fault. My fault. Don’t worry about it.” She scrambled to gather everything—her cell phone, lip gloss, Life Savers, loose change—back into her purse.
Get out. Get out.
One quick glance over her shoulder—and yes, Logan was looking right at her—everyone in his booth was.
The smile on his face froze. He half rose. “Vanessa?”
She shook her head and lunged out the door, leaving who-knew-what from her purse still on the floor.
She ran to the rental car and was jamming the key into the lock—come on!—when Logan caught up to her.
“Vanessa! What are you doing here?”
How did he manage to infuse just the right amount of surprise . . . and happiness into his question?
“I—I thought I’d surprise you.” She stiffened her shoulders. Turned. Somehow found the strength to look into his blue eyes. “I thought we could spend the weekend together.”
He reached for her, as if he might pull her close. “Wow—that’s fantastic! I never thought—”
She shrugged out of his embrace. “I realize you never thought I’d show up this weekend.”
“What?” His eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about? I was having dinner with the team—”
“I heard what you said, Logan.”
Now he had the decency to avert his eyes, his face flushing red. “Vanessa, you misunderstood.”
“ ‘Things would be easier if Vanessa wasn’t weighing me down’? That is what you said—although I realize I may not have quoted you exactly.”
“There’s no reason to be sarcastic.”
“Really? Really?” She knew she was raising her voice. That people on the street were staring at them as they walked by. “You’re upset that I’m being sarcastic? Logan, you’re insulting me to your friends—telling them that you don’t want to be married.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“For months now you’ve been choosing this—Oklahoma, storm chasing, even Max and Brady and Julie—over me. Admit it.”
“I’m not standing on a street corner and discussing this with you.”
“You won’t ever discuss our marriage with me.”
“Come back to my apartment. We can talk there.”
“No.” Vanessa backed up against the car, gripping the door handle.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“If I come back to your apartment, I know exactly what will happen—and I’m tired of being sidetracked by . . . by . . . that.”
“Come back to the apartment. We’ll just talk, okay?”
Hearing the door unlock, she jerked it open, forcing Logan to step away as she dove into the safety of the car. “You’re happy here. You don’t want to be married . . . fine. I don’t want to be, either. I want a divorce.”
The word rent the air between them.
“You don’t mean that.”
She bit her lip to stop the trembling. “I do. I shouldn’t have come here . . . but at least I know the truth.”
He gripped the side of the door, squatting down beside the car, his face pale. “You are jumping to all sorts of wrong conclusions here, Vanessa.”
“Am I?” She stared straight ahead, the rays of the setting sun blinding her.
“I’ve told you I’m not going to fight about this here. If you won’t come back to my apartment, then come on back inside and have dinner with us. Let’s cool down.”
Of course Logan wasn’t going to fight with her—he’d stopping fighting for their marriage months ago. She’d lost him to storm chasing . . . not another woman.
“I need to go—” The word “home” refused to form. “—back to Florida.”
Logan spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t do this, Vanessa. Please.”
Vanessa swallowed a sob.
“It’s obvious now . . . that our marriage has been over for a long time.” She cranked the engine to life, shifted into gear. “Don’t fight this.”
• • •
There were people who said they hated surprises—and he’d never understood why. Until today.
Logan stared at his cell phone. “She won’t answer her phone.”
“Do you know where she’s staying?”
Ever-practical Julie, always thinking ahead.
“No!” Logan buried his face in his hand for a moment. “Sorry. Like I said, I didn’t even know she was coming out here at all.”
“Why didn’t she come in? Stay and have dinner?”
“She heard what I said—about how she’s weighing me down.”
“Oh, no, Logan. That’s bad.” Julie reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “But you explained you didn’t mean it—you were talking about how hard it is to manage a long-distance relationship . . .”
“I know what I was talking about. And you guys know what I was talking about.” Logan shoved aside his plate. “But Vanessa knows what she heard. And now she wants a divorce.”
“You’ve got to admit you don’t live like a regular married couple, Logan. You’re here, and she’s there—”
“Thank you for that commentary, Max.”
“What are you going to do, boss?”
“Wait for her to call me back. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”
• • •
She’d never know who was more surprised when she used the word “divorce”—Logan or herself. Did she really want a divorce? Or was she overreacting—hoping to finally get his attention? Trying to get him to fight with her, fight for their marriage, even as their relationship disintegrated.
She sat in the rental car outside the first motel she’d found. She needed to go see if there was a vacancy. The silence in the car seemed to seep into her heart, touching the invisible wound that grew with every breath she took.
Yes, they’d grown apart—something more than the geographic distance. But she’d never suspected Logan resented her. That he had stopped loving her. That he wanted his dream more than he wanted their marriage.
He was fine with staying at OU?
Fine with living apart?
Fine.
Then they needed to end their sham of a marriage. He could stop pretending he loved her.
Vanessa inhaled a shuddering breath.
God, this was awful.
She’d stayed.
She’d thought he would come back.
But there was no reason for her to keep waiting for Logan now. To figure her life from Christmas break to spring break to whatever few weeks every summer Logan decided to give her.
How had this happened?
It was all so crazy . . . too crazy to last.
Who gets married at eighteen and stays married—besides Logan’s grandparents?
What was that saying about absence making the heart grow fonder?
Ha.
Distance made the heart . . . forget. Not care.
Distance made the heart quit.
TWENTY-FOUR
Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes.
—HUGH PRATHER (1938–2010), WRITER AND MINISTER
The echo of the poignant lyrics to “All I Ask of You” followed Vanessa out to the lobby of the Buell Theater. Ted sheltered her from the ever-shifting crowd, his arm across her back, the musky scent of his aftershave comforting in its familiarity.
“Enjoying the show?”
Ted’s question interrupted the melody replaying in her head. “Yes—you’ll have to thank your colleague for giving you the tickets.” Vanessa’s fringed brown skirt swayed against her embroidered cowboy boots. “It’s such a romantic musical.”
Ted straightened his striped tie. “If you like being stalked by some deranged guy wearing a mask.”
“Ted! The Phantom loves Christine—in a tortured kind of way. And didn’t you hear Raoul pledge to love her, to protect her, in the last song?”
“I warned you I wasn’t a fan of musicals, Nessa—although the live orchestra is nice.”
Before she could reply, Ted’s attention caught on someone across the room. “Excuse me, babe. I think I see—yes, it’s Dr. Bannister.”
“Who?” Vanessa craned her neck, trying to see who had distracted Ted in the swirl of laughing, talking people.
“Dr. Bannister—he’s part of the team heading up the medical conference next April. He invited me to help plan the event—”
“Excuse me? Since when did you get involved with planning the conference?”
“I thought I explained that’s why I came down to Florida—for a preliminary meeting with the committee.”
Vanessa stepped out of the shelter of Ted’s arm, bumping into a woman wearing black and a cascade of pearls. “No—you said you flew to Florida because you were concerned about me after the hurricane.”
“That, too, of course.” Ted was already putting space between them. “I need to go say hello. There’s a lot riding on this professionally.”
And with that, her fiancé abandoned her in pursuit of some all-important networking opportunity.
By the time he returned, bringing Dr. and Mrs. Bannister with him, Vanessa had purchased a program and a Phantom of the Opera CD. She managed an appropriate smile and handshake, murmuring hello when Ted introduced her, and then stood silent as the medical conference hijacked the conversation.
When the lobby lights dimmed, Vanessa excused herself and found her way to their seats in the mezzanine while Ted continued his conversation with the Bannisters—both of whom were physicians. Ted slipped in beside her at the last possible moment, an uncharacteristic grin on his face.
“They invited us out for drinks afterward. Isn’t that great?”
“You told them no, right?” Vanessa stopped flipping through the program filled with photos of the musical.
“Of course not. Dr. Bannister is a very influential man in the medical community—”
“And we’re on a date.”
“We’ll finish the show and then meet the Bannisters in the lobby.” Ted took her hand in his. “The best of both worlds. This is turning into an excellent evening, don’t you think?”
The swell of the orchestra silenced Vanessa’s response.
On the drive back to her apartment after a dessert time that stretched through two hours, Ted tugged his tie loose. When he reached over to hold her hand, Vanessa kept a firm grip on the plastic case protecting the CD disc.
“What’s that?”
“I bought it during intermission, while you were talking to Dr. Bannister.”
“Do you want me to put it in the CD player?”
“No. I’ll listen to it when I get home.”
“Are you feeling okay, Nessa? You’ve been quiet.”
“You were so busy talking to Dr. Bannister and his wife, I didn’t think you even noticed me at all, Ted.”
“What kind of remark is that?”
“An honest one.” She closed her eyes for a few moments. Did she really want to argue about this? “We were on a date, Ted. Granted, someone gave you those tickets, but still, how often do we get dressed up and go out? And then you turned it into a business meeting!”
“Was I supposed to ignore Dr. Bannister?”
“Yes!”
“Be reasonable.”
“Fine. Say hello to the man—but leave it at that.” She twisted in the passenger seat to face him. “Does life always have to be about medicine?”
“Medicine is my life, Nessa. You know that. It’s your life, too. You spend more time in the hospital than you do at home.”
Ted’s words reverberated through the silence in the car. He was right.
And so, so wrong.
“But there’s more to life, too.”
“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.” Ted eased the car to a stop at a red light.
Was he even listening to her? “But there’s more to life, too. We both have other interests besides medicine . . .”
Even as she spoke, Vanessa couldn’t think of anything Ted did that wasn’t related somehow to medicine. Even his handball group was made up of other physicians. But when was the last time he’d played a single match with them? And besides reading books—lots and lots of books—what hobbies did she have?
“Sure we do. We’ll be starting a family.”
That’s what he came up with for “other interests”?
“And what if one of our children doesn’t want to be a doctor, Ted? Want if none of them want to go into medicine? What if they want to be a professional ice skater? Or a stay-at-home mom?”
“Now you’re being absurd. Why wouldn’t they want to go into medicine? It’s an honorable profession.”
“But if they didn’t—you’d support their decision, right?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to talk to them, help them understand all the advantages of a medical career.” When the light turned green, Ted accelerated through the intersection. “Talking of advantages, Bannister and I were discussing the April conference.”
“Yes?”
“Since I’m on the board now, I’ll need to be involved in the conference earlier.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ll need to attend a few meetings before the wedding. And a meeting earlier the day after.”
“And what did you say to this schedule?”
Silence.
“Ted—”
“This is my career, Vanessa. ER physicians burn out in a dozen years—you know that. I’m thinking of us—our family. I’m giving you the beautiful, elegant wedding you want—and taking care of our future, too. If I leverage this year’s conference right, I might get a speaking position next year, which will lead to more opportunities in the future.”
“I don’t want to be some sort of add-on to your life, Ted. Medicine and, oh, yeah, if I want a family I probably need a wife. A conference and let’s add on a wedding, too. Shouldn’t we be so crazy in love with each other—so excited about getting married—that it’s all we want to do? Not get married and go to a medical conference.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being practical—”
“Practical is for budgets and buying a house and . . . and . . . anything else but falling in love and planning our wedding! Why do I feel like it’s medicine, medicine, medicine for you—and occasionally you’ll fit me in?” Vanessa hesitated for a moment before asking the next question. “If Bannister hadn’t invited you to a planning meeting, would you have come down to Florida just to check on me?”
“Of course I would have.”
“Nice answer.” She leaned back into the passenger seat. “Why don’t I believe you?”
• • •
Her relationship with Ted used to be easy. Stable.
And yet, for the second time in less than a week, silence stretched between them. No How’s it going, babe? phone calls. No What do you want to eat for dinner? texts.
She missed him—in the same way she missed her most comfortable pair of jeans and her FSU sweatshirt on the first day it snowed in Colorado. Even as she finished another shift that included a roadside delivery of a baby that wasn’t willing to wait until Mom got to the hospital, and the aftermath of a high-octane, bar-hopp
ing bachelorette party gone wrong, Vanessa hesitated just inside the ER doors.
Was Ted even working tonight?
As the glass doors swished open, the outside air breathing cool on her face, Ted called her name.
Ignoring the noise of the ER waiting room, Vanessa accepted Ted’s brief hug, ready to get things back to normal.
“You’re off?” Ted tucked his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat embroidered with DR. TED TOPLIFF.
“Yes. Just finished my shift.”
“And I’m on all night.” A practiced hand motion and his hair lay in place. “I’ve got time for a cup of coffee. Care to join me?”
A cup of coffee. An apology. And things would get back to where they belonged. Surely during their time apart Ted had come to understand her point of view.
“Absolutely.”
The doctors’ lounge was empty, the TV in the corner tuned to a nonstop news channel until someone else came in and switched it to a sports channel. Vanessa retrieved a can of Coke from the fridge while Ted fixed his coffee the way he liked: one cream, two sugars.
When Vanessa settled into one corner of the couch, Ted remained standing.
“Ted, I wanted to—”
“If you don’t mind, I want to go first, Nessa.”
“That’s fine.” Vanessa cradled the cold can of soda between her hands.
“I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other night.” He eased onto the couch, setting the Styrofoam cup of coffee aside, untouched. “A lot. About how there’s more to life than medicine. And how you feel like an add-on in my life.”
“Ted, I—”
“No, that statement in particular stayed with me. And then you said something about being so crazy in love with each other that getting married was all we should be thinking about—or something like that.” Ted paused, removing his wire-rim glasses and finally making direct eye contact with her. “And I realized you were right.”
At last.
“I have to be honest, Vanessa. I’m more excited about planning this medical conference than planning our destination wedding.”
Ouch.
“And I realize that’s not fair to you . . . or me.”