November Surprise

by Laurel Osterkamp

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing important,” says Jack.

  I look at him and my jealousy turns to anger.

  “Well, I don’t know what you were doing, but I know what it looks like. Being so cozy on the couch, if Petra walked in right now, she would totally get the wrong idea.”

  “But she won’t walk in,” says Sharon, her voice tight and defensive.

  I glare at her. “Not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Jack demands.

  “The point is, getting caught almost doing something, makes you just as guilty as if you were actually doing it.”

  My words come out like little bullets of aggression, and even though Jack and Sharon, in theory, have done nothing wrong, somehow the two of them are wounded into submission. Their faces are bathed in guilt and shame, and their mouths hang open, both of them unable to find their voice.

  “Jack, think! Petra. You have a wife. You can’t do this.”

  Jack’s cheeks turn pink, but he squares his shoulders and stands his ground. “We weren’t really going to do—”

  I cut him off. “And Sharon! Think. This is a bad, bad idea.”

  Sharon tucks her mussed-up hair behind her ears. She looks more defeated than Jack at this point, which is out of character for her. “No… I mean, yeah. Of course. We weren’t thinking.” She gets up and straightens her clothes. “I should go.”

  Sharon searches for her shoes, her purse, and her dignity. I stand there in pajamas, my hands balled into fists.

  “Sorry…” she whispers to me on her way out. “I was having a bad night. I’ll call you?”

  I clench my lips together but give her a slight nod—just enough encouragement to let her know we’ll get past this.

  “Nice meeting you, Jack.”

  She exits and the door clicks shut. Jack and I are left alone.

  “What’s going on?” I demand.

  He stammers. “It’s not… you wouldn’t… you have no right to yell at me like that.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s as much as you’re getting from me tonight.”

  Jack is still sitting on the couch, the collar of his shirt stretched out and his hair tousled. If he and Sharon were doing anything more nefarious than talking, he’s certainly not going to confide in me now. Somehow he looks even more vulnerable and innocent than usual.

  “Whatever it is you’re accusing me of, don’t tell Petra, okay?”

  “Jack…” How could he think I would ever betray him like that? It must be his fear talking. “Of course I won’t tell her. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

  He agrees and I retreat back to my bed, where I toss and turn most of the night.

  The next morning Jack looks like he tossed and turned as well. When I’m up and making coffee he straggles into the kitchen to join me. He rubs his eyes and his head, and sits down at my breakfast nook.

  “You don’t need to give me any sort of a lecture, okay? It’s really not necessary. I already feel like crap.”

  Standing with my back pressed against my kitchen counter, I regard him. The distance between us feels much larger than the ten feet or so that’s separating us.

  “Jack,” I say, trying hard not to let the sound of judgment invade my tone, “I wasn’t going to lecture you. I just want to understand. I mean, I’m worried about you. Is your marriage in trouble, or something?”

  He hangs his head. “I don’t think so…just being here, seeing your life – it made me realize what I’m missing. Your life is like an episode of Friends—”

  “Not quite,” I interject. “Nobody I know, including myself, is nearly that good looking. And Monica and Rachel’s apartment is a lot nicer…”

  Jack interrupts me back. “It’s a lot closer than what I have. Sometimes I wonder if I just skipped over my youth.”

  I think back to Jack’s wedding day. That was when my secret super-crush on Monty began. He had asked me to dance and later lured me back to his hotel room. I totally acted on impulse by saying yes; it was a young and frivolous thing to do. Meanwhile, Jack made the biggest commitment of his life. Monty had expressed his doubts about Jack’s marriage that evening, partly because Petra was the only woman Jack had ever slept with.

  “Of course they’re happy now,” Monty had said. “I just hope they’ll be happy years from now, and they won’t regret settling down before they’ve had a chance to live a little.”

  At the time I thought Monty was just being a cynical yet protective older brother. Now I wonder if he was right.

  I sit across from Jack at the breakfast nook. “The grass is always greener, you know?” He nods his head again, but I’m not convinced he agrees. “I’m looking for what you already have.”

  “But maybe finding it is half the fun,” he says. “Getting what you want too easily presents its own set of hazards.”

  “I suppose,” I tell him. “But no harm, no foul, right? You’ll get past this, okay?” I grab his hand and give it a squeeze. He gives me a half smile, and we sit in sleepy silence for a while.

  After some time, I say, “I’m sorry I freaked out on you. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

  He turns his head towards mine. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Really? I’m forgiven, just like that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  I feel my anxiety rising again and I try to gulp it down. “What if I’m not as good a person as you think I am?”

  He leans into me, and bumps his shoulder into mine. “Do you think I’m friends with you because you’re good?”

  I don’t answer; I just look at him with questioning eyes. “I don’t need you to be good,” he says. “I just need you to be you.”

  I lean in and kiss his cheek. What would the world be like without Jack? I don’t ever want to find out.

  I never tell Jack my own set of secrets, but they weigh on me. On Monday I get to the office early, determined to confess to Sue Ellen what I have done, even if it costs me. Which it will. But when I walk in, she’s standing at her desk, packing her belongings into a box.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She speaks to me without looking in my direction, without smiling. “I’m leaving. I’m going back to Utah.”

  Utah? So she is red state, just not from the South.

  “I didn’t know you were from Utah.”

  Now she glares at me, with recrimination in her eyes. Does she already know? “If you’d bothered to ask, you’d know all sorts of things about me. But you missed your chance.”

  Perspiration forms on the back of my neck. Thank God we’re the only two in the office so far. At least this confrontation doesn’t have to be done in front of an audience.

  “Sue Ellen, I’m sorry if I offended you somehow. Really.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says. Then she straightens her sweater and brushes back her long hair. She’s always reminded me of a character from the first season of The Facts of Life—skinny, pure, and usually dressed in a pullover and jean skirt. “My boyfriend called. He wants me back. We’re moving home to be near our families.”

  “Oh. Wow. When did he call?”

  “Saturday morning.” Sue Ellen walks to the file cabinet, finds a lone folder with a few sheets of paper inside, and drops it into her box of stuff. I consider asking what file it is she’s taking, but I don’t. “It’s funny,” she continues. “He said he also called me at work, and left a message. But I checked my voice mail, and there was nothing.” She raises an eyebrow at me in silent accusation.

  “Odd,” I reply. “You know, come to think of it, a lot of my messages have been mysteriously disappearing too. There must be something wrong with our voice mail system.”

  Sue Ellen picks up her tape dispenser, which I know she didn’t pay for herself, and puts it in the box with the rest of her stuff.

  “Well, I’m glad I’m leaving. All things considered, I’d r
ather be happy than successful any day.” She picks up her box and walks toward the door. “I’d wish you luck, but with your ambition, I’m sure you’ll do fine without it.”

  Ambition? I’ve never thought of myself having much. But watching her walk through the door for the last time, I feel strangely accomplished. I’ve won the battle without even having to fight.

  The next day Sharon comes over to watch the election results with me. We tiptoe around the weekend’s incident now that Jack is safely back in Des Moines.

  Clinton has already been declared the victor, even though it’s early in the evening. Sharon and I are staring at the television, but neither of us responds to what we see.

  “Hey, guess what?” I say.

  “What?”

  “You know my crazy co-worker, Sue Ellen? She quit yesterday. No warning, no notice, just cleared out her desk and left.”

  Sharon smiles and waves her hands in the air. “Yay! That’s great news. Now you have two victories to celebrate.”

  She picks up her glass of ice water, and clinks it with my glass of diet coke.

  “You’re right. It is great.” I turn back to the television. Bill and Hillary are beaming, waving at the camera, full of the light that comes from winning.

  “Are you sad that Dole didn’t win?”

  Sharon chuckles. “I kind of saw it coming.”

  “Well, thanks for celebrating with me. You’re a good friend.”

  Sharon brushes a microscopic piece of lint off her pants leg. “I’m glad you think so, Lucy.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Her eyes tear up. “Nothing happened between Jack and me. I wouldn’t do that.”

  I cozy up to her on the couch, and put my arm around her. “I’m sorry to accuse you. Of course you wouldn’t. I mean, he’s married.”

  Then Sharon really starts to cry.

  “What is it?” I ask, trying to sound gentle.

  “I wouldn’t do that to Jack,” Sharon says, “but I’m not above sleeping with a married man.”

  I wait for her to explain. After a moment she does.

  “Tony. My coworker. It’s been building for a while. If it makes any difference to you, I think I’m in love with him.”

  I brush her hair away from her damp cheek. “What I think doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  She sniffs and grabs my hand. “Of course it does. You’re so good. Sometimes I think you never do anything wrong.”

  I squeeze her hand and look again at the television. “Come on. You know that’s not true. But even if it was…” I recall what Jack said to me days ago, and decide I can genuinely say it to Sharon as well. “I don’t need you to be good; I only need you to be you.”

  Sharon hiccups. “Well, that’s a relief, because I’m not feeling at all good lately.”

  I smile, even though it feels counterintuitive. “I guess nothing’s ever as uncomplicated as we want it to be, is it?”

  Sharon shakes her head. “Nope.”

  I sigh and refocus on the television. Clinton has just been elected for four more years. Prosperity will continue and the world will be ours. We just have to want it badly enough.

  “Today the American people have spoken. They have affirmed our course. They have told us to go forward. America has told every one of us -- Democrats, Republicans and Independents -- loud and clear: it is time to put politics aside, join together and get the job done for America's future.” Clinton’s raspy voice declares this to America, he beams, he smiles, he communicates his message of hope to all those who care to hear.

  If only life could be as simple as he makes it seem when he’s at his best. But nobody is always at their best, are they?

  Chapter 7. December, 1999

  I pull my car up to the curb. I have one more of my mom’s fruitcakes left to deliver, and I’m at Jack’s house. I saved his house for last, in hope that we could hang out for a while before I need to be home for dinner. I ring the doorbell, smiling in anticipation of seeing him.

  But when the door opens it’s not Jack I see, but Monty.

  “Lucy?” he says. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. The last time I saw or spoke to Monty was when we spent the night together after Jack’s wedding. It took a long time, way too long actually, but I finally managed to exorcise Monty from my mind.

  “I didn’t know you were in town.” I stammer.

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Home for Christmas.”

  “But you never…” I stop myself. I don’t want him to know that for years I have been hoping to see him on some sort of holiday visit, only to be disappointed every time.

  He looks down at the fruitcake I’m holding. It’s wrapped, with a red bow on top. “Oh,” I say, and I hold out the cake. “It’s a fruitcake. For you. For your family, actually. From my mom. She makes them every year for her friends.”

  “Not her enemies?” He laughs at his fruitcake joke and takes it from me. Our fingers touch. The brief moment of physical contact is enough to leave me a little winded.

  “Thanks,” he says, referring to the cake. I shift my weight from one foot to the next. “You know,” he continues, “I should be really mad at you.”

  “Huh?” I look at him, trying to tell if he’s kidding. His hair is sticking out in different directions, like it hasn’t been combed all day. He’s wearing a flannel shirt that’s frayed at the collar, and his five-o-clock shadow is showing. It’s enough to make him look rugged and handsome, but not angry.

  “You left without saying goodbye.”

  “I… are you talking about four years ago?”

  He nods his head slowly. “What was with that? I woke up, and you were gone.”

  “I thought that’s how one-night stands work.”

  He squints at me. “Sometimes. But afterwards, when we watched CNN and ate room service in bed, I fell asleep before you finished telling me why Newt Gingrich is the devil incarnate.”

  The wind is cold, and I’m still standing in his doorway. He sees me shiver. “Do you want to come in? I think Jack’s around, somewhere.”

  We step inside, into the entryway. “I really didn’t know you wanted me to stay all night.”

  “Of course I did.” He hasn’t moved, and I can’t walk past him, so we’re standing very close.

  “Umm… Sorry. I guess. I mean, I had to get back. I was driving home the next day, and work was super busy, and I needed to do laundry.”

  He points up to the ceiling. I look up and see a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above us. “You can make it up to me now,” he says with a smile.

  Monty grabs both ends of the woolen scarf that hangs around my neck, and with a gentle tug, we’re less than inch apart. He leans his head down, and before I can even comprehend what’s happening, he’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him back. And it feels every bit as good as I remember from before, which is bad. Bad. He lives in New York. I don’t have time for this right now. He’s Jack’s brother. Jack. God Damn It.

  I push him away. “Are you crazy? Didn’t you say Jack was home?”

  Monty laughs. This is obviously all a big joke to him. “Jack!” he yells. “Lucy’s here.”

  Monty steps away and walks into the kitchen, taking the fruitcake with him. I stand there, awkwardly, hoping guilt won’t show on my face. Then Jack comes bounding in.

  “Lucy!” he yells, and he picks me up in a ferocious hug. “When did you get into town?”

  “Last night.”

  “I thought you weren’t getting here until tomorrow.”

  Jack has put me down and released me. I run my hand nervously through my hair, and notice that Monty has returned from the kitchen.

  “She should come to dinner with us tomorrow night,” Monty says.

  Jack nods his head vigorously. “You should. Do you have plans? Petra and I want to go to this new Thai place. It’s supposed to be really authentic.”

  I look past Jack, at Monty. He raises his eyebrows and smiles.

  “Sounds great,” I sa
y.

  The next night we all go for dinner. Our table is in a prime spot, right by the fish-tank, which gurgles throughout our meal. The eggrolls are excellent, and the conversation isn’t even a little awkward. Mostly we discuss Y2K and our predictions for New Years Eve. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think Jack was trying to set Monty and me up.

  “You’re both political junkies,” he says. “I don’t know anyone more obsessed with politics than the two of you.”

  “It’s a sign of intelligence,” Monty replies. “And it’s wonk, not political junkie. Junkie makes us sound like we need to go through rehab, when actually, unlike some people, we care about the world and not just ourselves.”

  In response Jack dips his fingers into his water glass then flicks them at Monty. Monty lets out a satisfied laugh, clearly proud of his consistent ability to annoy his younger brother.

  After dinner, Monty offers to walk me to my car. Petra was cold, so she and Jack are already in the shelter of their Toyota Corolla.

  We reach my little blue Volkswagen, and without prelude he says, “Can I get your number?”

  I’m momentarily speechless. “You want to call me?”

  He laughs. “Don’t look so surprised. Yes, I’d like to call you, unless you don’t want me to.”

  “Umm…no, that’s fine.” I rub my mittened hands together for warmth. “I just don’t understand the point, since we live thousands of miles away from each other.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You can say no.”

  “Yeah, but that would be rude.”

  “Thanks. I’m flattered.” He’s wearing a wool sailor jacket, and he reaches into one of his pockets. “There’s nothing I love more than getting a girl’s number out politeness.” He takes out his cell phone, and fingers poised, waits for me to recite my digits. After I’m done, he smiles and says, “I might also get your email from Jack, if you’re okay with it. I think you’d enjoy some of the articles I come across at the ACLU. I could send you links.”

  “Great,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Monty leans in, gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, and says, “It’s not like I’m always having one night stands either, you know.” He then turns around and walks away. I tell myself to get used to the sight of his back, as he moves out of my reach.