Don't Explain

by Audrey Dacey

  Caitlyn took Tom’s hand, and he pulled her a little bit closer to him. “You didn't know?”

  She looked at him and lifted her brows and indistinctly shook her head, “No.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  At least he was a gentleman. It could be a lot worse.

  “No. Stay. It'll be good to have a buffer from those two.” She turned her gaze to Michael and Margaret. His followed, and he laughed.

  “I know what you mean.”

  Michael was watching them intently, and Caitlyn laced her arm through Tom's as they headed to the counter behind the lane.

  “I got our college party staple,” she poured glasses for Michael and Tom. “It's not good, but it's cheap.” She slid one over to Tom and then held out the second glass for Michael while sipping her own. Michael took the glass from her but immediately set it down on the counter.

  “None for me, thanks. I want to support Margaret, and as long as she can't have a drink, I am not going to drink either.”

  Caitlyn gagged a little on her beer from his sick sweetness and kept gagging on the stale smell of cigarettes from the days when people chain smoked in places like this. Her living arrangements were going to smell a lot like this soon. At least she hoped it would be stale.

  She set her beer down. “Well, I guess we won't need a whole pitcher then.” She slid the pitcher and her glass away from the party.

  Tom looked at her and said, “I'll help with the pitcher. It makes me a better bowler anyway.”

  Tom was sweet to offer to help, but she decided that she wouldn't numb herself after all; at least anymore. A wave of nausea swept over her as she sat down on the hard plastic of one of the orange and white quad benches. “You guys need shoes and balls. Why don't you go grab them while I set us up in the computer?”

  “Oh, I don't think I am going to play,” Margaret said, waving her hands in front of her. “I don't want to strain myself with heavy weights, and besides my back already hurts.” Caitlyn gagged a bit again, took a deep breath, and shook it off. Her head pounded even more with Margaret's high voice filling her ears.

  Michael and Tom went off to grab gear, and Margaret grabbed Caitlyn's arm and looked her in the eyes. “If you say anything to him, I will destroy you.” Caitlyn thought for a moment about how childish Margaret was acting. Who says, I will destroy you?

  “Whatever,” was Caitlyn's response as she shook off Margaret's grip. Margaret didn't have any power. She was the one about to be destroyed.

  Caitlyn, Michael, and Tom began their game, and after a while, they began to have fun. They laughed at one another's gutter balls and low scores, while cheering on and doing dances after a rare spare or even rarer strike. Margaret attempted to make Caitlyn jealous by slobbering all over Michael after each turn and hanging on his arm like a bag when he wasn't bowling. Caitlyn considered doing the same with Tom, but she did not want to use him like that. He was a sweet guy and while they were having fun, their body language mutually agreed that anything more wouldn't work.

  Despite Margaret's over-the-top behavior, Caitlyn was beginning to lose sight of her purpose. Her stomach growled, so she called a timeout to refuel. They walked out of the pit and sat at the stools behind the counter where a large pizza awaited them. Michael carefully chose his seat between the two women.

  “I am starving!” Caitlyn exclaimed. She grabbed a slice of the pizza, pulled on the cheese strings vigorously to detach it from the pie as quickly as possible, and stuffed it into her mouth. Margaret suddenly slapped her hand over her mouth, spun the stool toward the back of the bowling alley, and flew through the restroom door across the hallway. Michael started to follow her, but Caitlyn reminded him that it was the ladies' room, and he did not make the cut. So, he too grabbed a slice and began eating.

  Tom's phone rang, and he moved to the exit to answer an apparent business call.

  Caitlyn quickly recognized this opportunity as the only one she might have in the evening to talk to Michael alone. She decided to take advantage of it. “Michael, there's something that I need to tell you.”

  “Shoot, Murph.” He said casually biting into his slice. She knew that he wouldn't be so casual for much longer.

  “I don't really know how to put this any other way except to be up front. When I was at your house two weeks ago, I saw ovulation strips on the bathroom counter.” She paused to watch his reaction, but he didn't react. “Margaret wouldn't need them if she was really pregnant.”

  Michael turned his eyes to hers, eyebrows kneaded inward in irritation, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  She stopped, recognizing the significance of this moment, and questioned her motives. She was about to dismiss the whole idea and just let it play out naturally, but realized it was already too late. “Margaret isn't pregnant.” She was serious and firm in her tone but really wanted to break into tears and hug him. The tension in his body told her that her hugs would not be welcome.

  “You have proof of this?” his voice had become deeper and grim.

  Caitlyn proceeded cautiously. This was not going the way she hoped it would. She kept her voice low and kind, “Like I said, I saw the ovulation strips and then…”

  “That is not proof, Caitlyn,” he interrupted while throwing his pizza down onto the greasy paper plate. “You made an assumption. She could have those for many other reasons,” he paused, and they both knew it was a ridiculous statement. She looked at him with doubt in her eyes, but he continued in a different direction, “Who's to say that they were even ovulation strips at all?”

  “Listen, I know that this is hard to believe, but I know what I saw…”

  “I heard the heartbeat.”

  “Did you go to the OB with her? Did you hear it straight from the source?”

  “She texted it to me. I couldn't make it. I had appointments.”

  Caitlyn pulled out her phone and pulled up an mp3 file. The quick, thumping sound of a heartbeat echoed through the bowling alley. “Sound familiar?”

  “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

  “I downloaded it. It was a quick search and a few seconds of my time.” Michael was silent. “I talked to…”

  “You don't know what the hell you are talking about,” he barked at her. “Margaret was right. You would do anything to break us up. I didn't expect this from you, Caitlyn. I thought that you understood where we were. I will not let you slander her for your own benefit, and I certainly won't abandon the mother of my child because of something you thought you saw two weeks ago. I am a doctor. I would know if she wasn't pregnant. Jesus, Caitlyn. Do you think that I am an idiot?”

  Caitlyn's posture changed to submissive: her back formed a C, her shoulders slumped forward, and her gaze turned to the floor. “I just…” She was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment and couldn't finish.

  “You just what?” he yelled as Margaret strode out of the bathroom.

  She saw the body language that Michael and Caitlyn displayed, and her eyes became dark and small as she quickly moved to attack, but Michael grabbed her hand as she approached. “You know what? Never mind.” He turned to Margaret, who suddenly appeared chipper. “Let's get out of here.” He glared at Caitlyn, who caught the hateful look out of her peripheral before quickly withdrawing any gaze in their direction. “Stay out of our business.” He said as he turned, Margaret in hand.

  Caitlyn just sat there. She heard an agitated, “Michael, what happened?” as the two exited the bowling alley.

  She could hear Michael shout, “Tom, we're leaving.” Tom popped his head back into the bowling alley for a moment and said goodbye, but left quickly to catch his ride.

  Caitlyn slipped off the dual colored shoes and slipped into her clogs. She stood up, looked at the nearly full pizza and the hardly touched pitcher of beer. She sighed, piled several slices onto her paper plate and left the bowling alley in a long walk of humiliation. Though there weren't many people there, the ones who were watched her intently as she sh
uffled out of the building.

  Caitlyn gripped the top of the steering wheel and then banged her forehead into it three times. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter and that in time Michael would know that she was right and would feel bad with how he had just treated her, but this was no comfort to her. She told herself that she was done with their histrionic behavior. Maple Field was her town, her world. If they didn't want to be a part of it, they shouldn't have bought a house here. She was physically tired from the emotions that had swept through her in the last few hours and found that what she wanted most was to curl up in her big bed and sleep.

  Instead, Caitlyn pulled out her phone. There was no use in waiting for someone who didn’t trust her.

  A deep voice answered her call.

  “Hey, Charles. I’m going to be in Amherst tomorrow. How would you like to have that dinner with me?” There was a silence on the other end, and Caitlyn glanced at the number she dialed. This was the one he called from. “This is Caitlyn Murphy by the way.”

  There was a short laugh on the other end. “I know. I just didn’t expect you to call. I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The next morning Caitlyn packed a small bag with the outfit she bought for the first night she was supposed to have dinner with him, one additional outfit, her essentials, and a couple of books she had been meaning to read. Just in case.

  She pulled out one of the many phone books she had collected in her time there and looked at the Amherst hotel listings. She wanted to be comfortable, but not too comfortable that it put her into debt. Though at this point, a hundred extra bucks wasn’t really a big deal compared to the $50,000 she already owed and couldn’t pay. She settled upon a mid-range chain with spa tubs in every room. She called and made the arrangements.

  Disappointed that she had to wait until 4:00 to check in, she tried to determine what she would do for the entirety of the morning and afternoon because staying in Maple Field was not an option. She was glad to sleep in her own bed, but now she had to get out again.

  The day went by quickly. She stopped by St. Vincent’s and visited her mother. She didn’t want to. The chance of running into Michael was too high, though at this point, he probably wouldn’t set foot near her mother’s room. It was a quick visit, and soon she was in Amherst touring Emily Dickinson’s house and then the art museum on campus.

  When she arrived at her hotel that afternoon at exactly 4:00, she was aglow. The world seemed to smile back at her when she smiled at it. The clerk at the front desk cheerfully checked her in and wished her a good stay. Caitlyn knew that his wish for her was already in the process of being granted.

  As she dressed herself for that evening, she looked confidently at her reflection in the mirror. She knew that her appeal, wit, strength, and beauty had attracted this suitor. He hadn't been thrown on her by a friend with the promise of sex. He wanted to be with her. He waited.

  She ran a brush through her hair and smiled at herself one last time after hearing a knock at her hotel room's door. She slipped on her jacket and quickly tied the belt around her waist. She took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing Charles. His hands rested casually in the pockets of dark jeans. His button up had a small, blue and white checkerboard pattern that brightened up his eyes. The two buttons were left undone. Over his shirt was a black, cashmere, two-button blazer that fit him perfectly and had a gray pocket square. He looked up at her and gave her a sweet half-smile. To her, it looked as though he was a young boy who had just gotten caught stealing a cookie before dinner. A flash of him as a fourth grader came to the front her of her mind. She smiled back at him comforted by his innocent charm.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  “Hi,” he responded, mimicking her tone. He held out his hand, and she put hers in his. He pulled her out in to the night's brisk air, and she pulled the door shut behind her. She felt like a teenager: a strange mix of carelessness and nervousness. She was comforted by his strength and confidence as he held her hand tightly in his

  “How do you feel about seafood?” he inquired.

  “I feel quite good about it,” she joked.

  “Excellent.” He flashed that smile at her again. Charles escorted her to his car, opened the door for her, and held her hand as she carefully lowered herself into the leather seat. For a moment she thought back to the night when she and Michael went to De Luca's. She was not used to being driven around or being taken care of to any extent. While this treatment made her vaguely uncomfortable, she realized that these men had bestowed on her a valuable gift: respect. She hoped that Charles's respect would last longer than Michael's.

  “You’re not going to hurt me are you?” Lost in her thought she didn't even realize she had spoken.

  Charles looked at her, his eyebrows kneaded into his forehead. He looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I wasn't planning on it.” His face relaxed, and he spoke gently, “But let's have dinner before we jump too far ahead and decide who is going to hurt whom.”

  “Okay” was her only response. She turned a deep shade of red that she hoped was not detectable in the dim, moonlit car. In just a few moments she went from child-like enthusiasm about this evening to dread and disconnection.

  Fortunately, Charles was very personable and was able to strike up interesting conversation during dinner, which disarmed Caitlyn considerably. He asked her what happened to her after fifth grade and where she went to college.

  “What were you doing in Worcester on a Friday? Shouldn’t you have been teaching or something?”

  “I was playing hooky from my classes. The unfortunate thing about being in one of the straight sciences is that they make you teach. I can only take a few weeks of arrogant Physics 101 students before I need a break. So, I schedule a variety of conferences throughout the semesters and let the TAs do the dirty work. This way the university doesn't catch on. Hell, they even pay for my attendance and hotel. It's not a bad deal.” He smiled at her, and she began to relax.

  “If you hate it so much, why not find something more suitable? I was a teacher for a while, but I decided to move on, make coffee.”

  “What do you do with a Doctorate in Physics besides teach? There is nothing more suitable for me. It's dealing with the freshmen and having the opportunity to experiment on the theories I am interested in, or it’s having some CEO tell me what to be interested in and working on that. I choose freshmen. At least their arrogance isn't fueled by a million dollar salary and stock options.”

  “I ran into the same problem with an English degree. Teach or bust. After several years, I busted. I think that it takes a special kind of person to really teach a class so that the students will get something out of it. I did okay for a while, but it wasn’t enough. It seemed that nothing I did was ever enough.”

  “Damn the straight sciences.”

  “Damn the liberal arts.” Caitlyn found Charles very appealing. His casual manner and confidence was now calming to her, and she found that, even though she was generally a horrible conversationalist, talking to him was easy. She was quick to bring down her guard with him and trust him. Even when she became defensive, she was able to talk herself out of being brash or sarcastic and really attempted to enjoy his company.

  He talked about the difficulties he faced becoming and being a professor. The conversations never went beyond the depth of a conversation of not-too-close acquaintances. It was friendly and humorous, and Caitlyn admired his ability to disclose and receive information with careful consideration of his partner in dialogue. She was basking in the warmth of his character and on the verge of bearing her soul to him, but she held back wanting not to spoil this evening any further.

  Toward the end of their meal, he digressed from the surface conversation to dig a little deeper. “Why are you so afraid of me hurting you? Did I do something to make you think I would hurt you?”

  “Not at all. It has nothing to do with you.” She shook her head vigorously trying to dism
iss the topic all together.

  “Who does it have to do with?”

  “You really want to go into this? We've had a really nice evening, and I don't want to spoil it by showing you my crazy.”

  “I find that a person's crazy is the most essential thing to know about them. You have to have compatible crazies if things are going to work.” His tone was joking, but his expression was serious. This contradiction let Caitlyn know that he was sincere and allowed her to calm herself into reflecting aloud.

  “You're right and that's exactly why I was hurt. My crazy and this guy's crazy just didn't work together. It wasn't reasonable.” She paused for a moment to reflect. “I had been head-over-heels for years, and he just needed a rebound. As it turns out I'm not crazy enough for him.” She was talking to Charles, but the words resounded for her. Michael apparently needed someone insane. Luckily, someone like Margaret exists in this world. It was something that she was never willing to recognize before, and she was grateful that Charles was able to pull it out of her. She turned her gaze to him, “I'm one of those girls who loves to love without anyone knowing. I thrive on the angst of the want without the action. I'm addicted to the “will-they-won't-they” dramas in television and novels. I've read Pride and Prejudice every year at least once since my sophomore year of high school. My heart breaks for others. When my heart breaks, it shatters, and it takes me time to fit all the pieces back together. And it's a lot worse when my heart breaks for myself. I’ve been shuffling through the shards and cutting myself with the edges, but I think that you've helped me sweep up a bit whether you meant to or not. While I'll still ache, I have been having so much fun with you.” She smiled tenderly at him, and he returned the tenderness.

  “It's interesting,” he started. “I'm a bit broken-hearted myself. I got out of a relationship about a year ago. We were college sweethearts, and I thought we were forever, but she didn't. It got to the point where we both wanted to move forward, but while I wanted to move with her, she wanted to move in the opposite direction. I find that no matter how hard you try, it's impossible to stop loving someone the moment they stop loving you.” This was the most serious she had seen him yet, and he spoke directly to her plight. She glided her arm across the table and held her hand out open. He placed his hand in hers and squeezed hard. “I spend most of my days running experiments and reading articles to help explain the world we live in and how it works,” he took a deep breath and paused for a moment. “But I have never run into anything that can truly explain love. We are all searching for love, yet science has yet to explain why some relationships work and some don't. Maybe the biologists will figure it out someday.”