Love-Lines

by Sheri Langer

  A couple of vaguely familiar administrators were standing outside the main office, exchanging Christmas vacation plans. They smiled her way but didn’t stop talking as she entered the office.

  “Hi, Robbin,” Fordham said to the busy redhead behind the long front desk. “This is for Whitty.”

  “Oh, okay. They’re in the auditorium for an assembly. Do you want me to get her?”

  “No, don’t bother.”

  If Fordham told Whitty about breaking up with Aaron, Whitty would insist on going straight home to bake a celebratory cake. Fordham wasn’t quite up to that confection just yet.

  She left the project on the desk and resolutely made her way a few doors down to David’s office. One knock. Two knocks. There was no answer and no light through the crack at the bottom of the door. Her favorite security guard stopped to tell her she smelled heavenly then informed her that David hadn’t been in yet. She had no idea about any of the particulars. Before going back to the main office, Fordham pondered the question of how to ask where David had gone without seeming inappropriate.

  “Hi, Robbin,” she said to the secretary. “I wanted to ask Dr. Prince a question about, um, the poetry workshop, but he wasn’t in his office.”

  “Yeah, he left word that they wouldn’t be in.”

  “They?” Fordham asked.

  “He and his daughter and—”

  “Oh well,” she said too quickly to conceal her disappointment.

  “And Whitty’s homeroom teacher, Pam Lesley.”

  Panic set in, making Fordham’s nerves tingle. Without a smidgeon of concern about what impression she was giving, she ran out of the school, holding back tears. If the pieces fit the way she was constructing the puzzle, David, Pam, and Lily were busy getting married and becoming a family. She had waited too long and had played it too safe. She would pay for that choice. Someday in the not-so-distant future, she was going to become a yenta—her grandmother’s word for a gossip—with a dozen cats, too many cardigans, and a steady canasta game. Her bed would be in a permanent state of emptiness as birthdays came and went, unremembered and uncelebrated.

  Unwilling to bear the sadness any longer, Fordham decided to take charge of her life. She’d go home, change her clothes, and tell Abe to expect her at the office after lunch. When everything else failed her, work was unrelenting. She turned on the radio. It was tuned in to a station that was devoting a segment to “secret love.” The disc jockey had a soothing yet irksome manner that nonetheless commanded Fordham’s full attention.

  “Is there a special someone in your life who doesn’t know how special he or she is to you? Did ‘Unchained Melody’ just send you to the phone to call or text? Today on ‘Live with Cecilia,’ we’re going to help you find the courage to share your feelings. Our number is 555-213-5550. Call and tell us your story. In the meantime, Robert Palmer wants to say he’s got a ‘Bad Case of Loving You.’”

  A couple of weeks prior, she would have considered it a sign from the universe that she needed to find David no matter what. But those days had passed. She promptly mumbled, “Screw you,” and clicked the radio off.

  Ten minutes later, having settled for a Christmas CD stashed in the glove compartment, she was home. No cars in the driveway meant Dorie had gone out, probably getting the latest edition of New York Weddings, her new favorite publication. Fordham noted her luggage still sitting in the hallway by the door. Thinking about all the unpacking she had to do was exacerbating her already somber mood. She went into her room, and her eyes darted to David’s submission, which she’d deliberately left hanging in its rightful home.

  She recalled Margo’s most recent advice about relationships. Darling, love is only easy for ducks because they’re ducks. You can’t just quack and expect to be understood. Fordham concluded that not much would help her handle her current situation.

  She had to find a way to put the past behind her. She went to the wall and tugged on the submission until the tack fell to the floor. Then she went into the kitchen and pulled out that copy. She searched the house and collected every copy until she had a pile sitting on the island in the kitchen.

  Dorie came in through the side door, humming “Chapel of Love.” If she’d been anyone but her mother, Fordham might have tackled her.

  “I’m so glad you’re home!” Dorie gave her a peck on the cheek. “So what happened when you got to the school and talked to David?”

  “I dropped off Whitty’s project,” she said stoically. “And nothing happened. He wasn’t there.”

  “What’s this?” Dorie rested a copy of New York Weddings on the counter next to Fordham’s stack of David’s submissions.

  “Kindling. I’m having a bonfire of my insanities.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Actually, I’m making more sense now than I have in months!” Fordham opened a drawer and took out a pack of matches.

  “Fordham Ruth Price, put down those matches right now!” Dorie pounded her hand on the island. “Are you nuts?”

  In an instant, Fordham threw down the pack just as she’d done when she was six and being admonished for trying to light a sparkler in the kitchen on the Fourth of July.

  “I’ve had enough, Mom. I’m done with this fairy tale.” Fordham picked up the top submission from the pile and waved it in the air. “It wasn’t just David who wasn’t at the school. Lily and Pam are out with him.” She couldn’t stop a few tears from streaming down her cheeks.

  “I’m not old enough to give up on fairy tales,” Dorie said. “Let me make you a bite to eat. You’re looking a little gaunt.”

  That was music to her ears. The last time Dorie had told her she was too thin was when she was twelve and spending every dinner night as Bashful in the town’s traveling theater production of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

  “Thanks, Mom. I am kind of hungry,” she said, surprising herself.

  Fordham picked up the wedding magazine, leafed through the first few pages, and tossed it aside in what she feared would become enduring ennui. Dorie was standing at the fridge and seemed fixated on several envelopes grouped in a large Bronx Zoo magnet clip.

  “Oh, Fordham. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy with Abe and wedding plans that I completely forgot to give you this.” Dorie pocketed the other letters except for one, which she tossed in front of Fordham. Not only was it from Crestwood, but the return address also signified that it was from David’s office.

  Fordham tore open the letter, barely noticing her mother making her breakfast. She decided to read it out loud.

  “Dear Parents,

  “As you know, Pam Lesley has been substituting for Debbie Kessler, who’s on maternity leave. This situation will be changing again as Ms. Lesley has been offered a prestigious grant to pursue her graduate degree at the School of Education at Seattle University, effective immediately."

  A sudden crash ended her recitation. Dorie had dropped a bottle of dressing on the floor, and shards of glass soaking in slick liquid covered a cluster of tiles near the refrigerator. Fordham jumped up and grabbed a wad of paper towels from the holder on the counter.

  “You know what they say—besides, ‘Dorie, you’re a klutz,’” Dorie said, taking out a broom and dustpan. “Broken glass is good luck.”

  Fordham tossed the heap of used towels into the trash. “David said that when my car got messed up.” She picked up David’s letter. “Mom, were you listening?”

  “Yeah. Hopefully, we won’t be overwhelmed by fumes from the vinegar.”

  Dorie went over the floor with the broom, and Fordham continued reading.

  “Ms. Lesley’s service has been an asset to our school, and I personally cannot thank her enough for her expertise as my daughter Lily’s caretaker for the past several months. In her place will be Lisa Oberlander, who comes to us from Chestnut Ridge Day School.”

  “So now what?” Dorie leaned the broom up against the wall.

  “It doesn’t sound like David’s engaged to Pa
m.” Fordham scrutinized the letter in front of her.

  “No sugar, Sherlock,” Dorie said. “When did you realize that?”

  “While you were sweeping.”

  Fordham reread the letter to herself.

  “Mom, I think it’s a sign.” She grabbed the laminated submission. “I’ve got to go.”

  A LIGHT SNOW BEGAN to fall as Fordham drove to David’s house, and she was glad the ice scraper she’d gotten from her secret Santa the year before was still in the trunk. Being prepared was a gift that typically evaded her, but in that moment, with the smell of Christmas in the air, the frosty picture-postcard treetops, and her heart feeling hopeful, she was ready for anything...

  Except for the abrupt stop and complete halt of traffic in both directions. She turned on the local news, and one smart-ass at the weather desk reported that Grandma got run over by a reindeer. Annoyed, she shut it off and spotted a cop walking in the road toward a long line of squad cars and emergency vehicles. Fordham opened her window and called out to get his attention. He stopped at several cars, finally reached hers, and explained the situation. Through a steady stream of noise from nearby equipment, she surmised that an explosion of some kind of gas line was the culprit. The one thing the cop made crystal clear was that she should sit tight because it was going to be a while before the problem could be resolved.

  Sitting in traffic was the most annoying thing she could think of, with the possible exception of a poorly executed bikini wax. Her phone buzzed, and she read a new text. Crestwood was evacuated due to a suspected gas leak, and buses were taking the students to the middle school. Parents should arrange to pick up their kids as soon as possible.

  Soon wasn’t happening. Fordham called Dorie. Her mother didn’t answer, so she left a text. Then she turned on her CD player and sang along with Aretha Franklin until the songs started skipping. Overuse was an ongoing problem with her collection. Returning to the radio, she found it set on the same station that it had been on earlier that day.

  “That was Evan from Warwick, New York, hoping his secret love reads his submission in the upcoming book from the Flowers from the Heart series.”

  Fordham had no clue they already had advertisers for the book. She wondered if Abe had anything to do with this choice.

  “It’s ‘Live with Cecilia’ here to make your Christmas merry and bright. We’ve been having a weeklong segment on ‘Secret Love,’ and we’re looking forward to your call. Next up, we have a woman from Boca Raton, Florida. Merry Christmas, you’re on the air...”

  “Hi, Cecilia,” the caller said. “I’m afraid my Christmas isn’t going to be very merry. I think I made a terrible mistake, and I’m not sure how to fix it.’

  “Well, let’s see if we can help. I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked—what’s your name?”

  “I’m Denise, and this isn’t exactly about secret love, but in a way, it is, because even though I just divorced my husband, he doesn’t know I’m still in love with him.”

  Fordham nearly choked on the protein bar she was eating and stared at the radio.

  “Okay, Denise from Boca Raton, tell us what’s going on,” Cecilia said.

  “Well,” the caller said, “a few months ago, I was feeling very lonely. My husband, Aaron—now my ex-husband—is a very prominent fertility specialist, and he was doing a lot of traveling to expand his practice. He left for a business trip when we were in the midst of having our pipes overhauled. One thing led to another, and I had an affair with the plumber’s assistant. He was a sweet younger guy, and he was around. I’m not proud of what I did, but it happened because I missed my husband.”

  Fordham could feel a few tears building in the corners of her eyes. Aaron had never been hers after all.

  “What would you say to your husband if you had the chance?” Cecilia asked.

  “We have this silly little thing we do. We speak in song titles. So I would tell him, Aaron honey, ‘We Can Work It Out,’ and please ‘Don’t Give Up on Us, Baby.’”

  “Aaron, if you’re listening, this is Cecilia. It’s Christmastime, and we hope things work out for you and Denise. Now, let’s play those songs for you...”

  Fordham dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. If she had married Aaron, it would have been an even bigger mistake than when she married Gil. He belonged with Denise, and her mother and Abe had been right all along. She’d been nothing but a rebound relationship to help him deal with his disappointment. And now she was stuck in this car, unable to move forward in every way imaginable.

  She picked up her phone to see if Dorie had gotten back to her, but there were no new messages. She decided to call the middle school to tell them she was stuck in traffic seemingly connected to the problem at Crestwood and would be there as soon as possible. But the call couldn’t go through. Her phone, along with her life, was overheating and powering down.

  Fordham was about to burst into tears when the line of cars in front of her began to move. A holiday gift. Chanukah was all about miracles. She drove down a side road to head toward the middle school, the opposite direction from David’s house. The snow was still light and, since it wasn’t sticking to the ground, was more calming than menacing. In a few minutes, she’d get Whitty and take her home, and all the obstacles that kept her from talking to David would be history.

  Her assumption that the middle school parking lot would be empty and holding a spot for her had obviously been a delusion brought on by wintery brain freeze. Cars were converging every which way. Fordham figured it would be easier to park at the farthest corner from the entrance than to fight the pileup. Her phone would still not respond to her efforts to turn it back on. As she neared the school, she spotted a couple of kids from Whitty’s class, but she didn’t see Whitty.

  The main office was mobbed with anxious parents. People were buzzing about getting to Costco or the supermarket before the nor’easter buried them in a foot of snow. Fordham searched for Whitty but didn’t see her anywhere. She went into the main office and asked to use the phone.

  Dorie answered, sounding exasperated. She’d just gotten home after having gone out to pick up a few holiday gifts and hadn’t realized she’d left her phone at home. She had more messages than Santa, and considering it was Christmastime, that was a lot of messages. She was going through them one by one while Fordham patiently listened on her end of the phone. The calls were from Dorie’s nail place, her hair stylist, and her Y Group friend with the hairy mole, plus a few from Abe, reminding her how much he couldn’t wait to be her husband. Finally, she got to the one from Crestwood.

  “Oh my! They evacuated Crestwood! Fordham, Whitty’s at the middle school."

  “I’m at the middle school. She’s not here.” Fordham tried not to let frenzy get the better of her. “Mom, are there any other messages?”

  “Let’s see. Um, my dry cleaner won’t have my silk teddy until next week. Um, they’ve extended the sale on kosher turkey—”

  “Mom, anything relevant?”

  “Okay, you’re right, you’re right. Here you go. David has Whitty.”

  “David has her?” Fordham said.

  “He knows you’re out of town, and he tried me but couldn’t connect because I was being a forgetful moron—not his words—so he brought her to his house.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Don’t text him. And if he calls, do the usual and ignore it. I’m going there, and I’ll speak to him myself.”

  Fordham walked back to the car, laughing. Only Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors could compete. The day seemed so ridiculous when she replayed it in her mind, but the biggest act was yet to come, and since she wasn’t the only player, she couldn’t determine how things would go when she and David finally managed to speak.

  Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at David’s house. The silence had been golden, and she was as ready as she would ever be to explain her part in whatever feelings had been building between them. She assumed his car was in the garage and pulled up in front of the house. The snow was
coming down hard as she trekked across his lawn to get to the front door. She knocked, infinitely grateful to not have to bear witness to an assumed proposal through his window. Several knocks later, there was no answer.

  Fordham got back into her car, frustrated. She turned the ignition and hit the defroster to melt some of the snow off her windshield. With the way her day was going, it was possible David and the girls had joined the ranks of cautious consumers in buying up every last carton of milk and loaf of bread. If she waited, the snow could pile up, and she wouldn’t be able to get home. If she left, she might be able to track them down at the supermarket. But maybe being snowbound at David’s house wasn’t such a bad idea. Finally, a plan I can get behind.

  She was about to turn off the car when a Sienna pulled up behind hers. It wasn’t David’s car. She imagined David’s neighbors telling him that a strange woman they’d seen before was parked in front of his house. Not wanting to take any chances, she was about to pull away when a large branch from a tree dropped right in front of her car.

  She screeched to a halt, which produced a weird sound, given the snow. Fordham was about to back up when there was a knock at her window. In the past, she might have jumped, but somewhere in her heart, she knew it would be David. She got out of the car, slipping a little. He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

  “That’s not your car,” Fordham said, leaning on him.

  “It’s a rental. Mine’s in the shop. Broken headlight.” David guided her to stand against the driver’s door. “Was your flight delayed?” He made sure she was steady on her feet before letting her go.

  “Indefinitely.”

  “What happened?”

  “Besides you, not much.”

  “You broke off your engagement?” Despite sounding more surprised than anything else, David broke out into a broad grin.

  “I had to,” she said, wiping a snowflake from her eye.

  Whitty and Lily got out of the car and came toward her.

  “Mom!” Whitty shrieked. “You’re here!”