Romance Redefined

by SJD Peterson

  “What is it, then?” I persisted.

  Mary Grace suddenly looked despondent. “Benson… this isn’t the easiest thing to confess, especially to one’s own son. But I’m… afraid. Afraid of getting married again. Terrified, if you want to know the truth.”

  I reached out and patted her hand. I wasn’t used to comforting my mother. “I had no idea.”

  “I have a confession to make. My hesitation has less to do with where we live and more to do with my fear of marrying again. I tried to ignore all the signs. Benson, your father and I had a very good marriage, but it wasn’t perfect. Sometimes I needed more than he knew how to give. I never told you this because I wanted his memory to be special to you. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  I stared at my mother. “What was it he couldn’t give you?”

  Mary Grace smiled wistfully. “Haven’t you guessed? It’s the one thing you’ve always wanted from Hugh. A deeper love. A passion that goes to the soul.”

  Once again, I was forced to consider I had more in common with my mother. This time it wasn’t quite as frightening. Maybe she did understand what I was going through with Hugh.

  “I wish you’d told me about this a long time ago,” I said softly.

  “How could I? Don’t you understand? I tried to hide it from myself. It’s one thing to need a certain type of love, quite another to acknowledge it. And I was truly devastated when your father died. He was a good man. A man, in fact, very much like Charles. Dependable, kind… undemonstrative.”

  “I believe I am beginning to understand,” I said. “You’re afraid that your second marriage will be a repeat of the first.”

  Mary Grace made a small grimace. “It sounds so callous in a way, as if I’m somehow disparaging your father’s memory.”

  “I know how much you loved him. Nothing can change that. But you’ve started to be honest with yourself, Mother. I don’t think you can stop now.”

  “How can I want more than I already have? I’ve been a very fortunate woman. I was married to your father, and the Winthrop family accepted me as one of their own. Now Charles, a wonderful man, is willing to make compromises in order to marry me. And I have you, the great joy of my life! How can I possibly ask for more?”

  I restrained my own rueful smile. Mary Grace was getting a little carried away again about the delights of motherhood. “Maybe it’s not wrong to want more. Take it from me, the longing for the love you’re talking about won’t go away by itself. It’s much better all around to deal with it.”

  Now Mary Grace was the one who patted my hand. “I so wanted Hugh to give you that type of love. I always believed, deep down, that he could give it to you.”

  “Mother, we need to talk about you,” I said firmly. “There’s only one solution. You have to go to Charles and tell him what the real problem is.”

  “I’m not ready for that yet.”

  “You’d better get ready, and soon. What if Hugh agrees to sell the house? You can’t just go along with it.”

  Mary Grace jumped to her feet. “Benson, you must go talk to Hugh. Right now. Immediately. Tell him that he has to delay his decision as long as possible.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I protested. “Talking to Hugh isn’t the solution. Talking to Charles is.”

  “Benson, please. Do this for me. No need to tell Hugh all the details. Just ask him to wait before he makes up his mind. And then I’ll be able to think about the rest of it.”

  I would have protested further, but I believed I understood my mother’s turmoil. It was scary, all right, contemplating the idea of telling a man exactly what you needed from him. You could very well find out, once and for all, that he couldn’t give it to you. That had happened to me with Hugh. He couldn’t give me what I needed, and it still hurt. It hurt even after all this time.

  I stood up and gave my mother a kiss. “I’ll go talk to Hugh for you. As long as you admit that what you really need to do is to sit down with Charles for a heart-to-heart.”

  “I think I’ve admitted quite enough for one day,” Mary Grace said, recovering some of her haughty airs. “Go, Benson.”

  And so I, the dutiful son, went to find my ex.

  I went up the curved drive of the Bayard home and climbed the steps to the front door. I hesitated, debating whether to knock. The door was unlocked, and in the end, I simply went in.

  I glanced first into one room, then another. Drop cloths covered the furniture. So many shrouded forms. It was sad. That was how this house had always felt to me, as if a sadness were trapped inside, like a ghost that couldn’t escape.

  I found Hugh in the main room. He stood motionless, gazing at the portrait of his parents that hung in a dim alcove. He didn’t turn or acknowledge my presence. At last I came to stand beside him, and I too gazed at the portrait of his parents. Alexander and Grace Bayard, captured forever on canvas, were looking into each other’s eyes so devotedly.

  “They were very much in love, weren’t they?” I murmured.

  “Do you really think that?” Hugh asked, and the harshness in his voice startled me.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I know I was only a child when your father died, but I remember him and your mother together. And my own mother used to tell me stories about them, the perfect couple.” Only now did I understand why sometimes Mary Grace had almost sounded envious recounting those stories. Perhaps Mary Grace saw in the Bayards’ devotion to each other what had been missing in her own marriage.

  “How little you know of the reality,” Hugh said, his voice still harsh. “It’s always been like you, Ben, to cast a romantic glow on everything. It prevents you from seeing what’s really there.”

  Something in his tone was unfamiliar. It took me a moment to identify it as anger. Hugh was notoriously self-contained. Now he paced the room restlessly. “I can’t understand why your mother and Charles want to live here. There are too many damn memories.”

  “Perhaps for you,” I said carefully. “Charles, I’m sure, merely sees it as a convenient solution to his problems. As for my mother, the truth is, she’s not really sure she wants to live here at all. She sent me with a message. She’d like you to wait on your decision until she really has time to think it through.”

  He looked irritated. “Maybe I’m missing something. In one breath she announces she wants to buy this house. In the next she announces she doesn’t?”

  “Something like that. It’s a long story.”

  Hugh continued to pace. He was worked up in a way I had never witnessed before. One set of curtains in the room was partially open, but that didn’t dispel the murkiness here. I shivered a little, even though I wasn’t cold, and went to open the curtains farther.

  “Don’t do that,” Hugh said, and now I heard a hint of pain in his voice. Just a hint, but it was there. I remained by the window, very still.

  “Hugh, what did you mean when you said I knew so little of the reality? Tell me.”

  “Some stories shouldn’t be told.”

  “No. You’re wrong about that. Today my mother shared some things I wish I’d known years ago. But she’s been smothering her emotions. It wasn’t until now that they finally came out. I think you smother your emotions too.”

  “Leave it alone, Benny.” His voice was rough.

  I crossed to him and placed a hand on his arm. I could feel his muscles tense. “Something’s going on,” I said. “It’s something to do with this house, isn’t it? But what is it, Hugh? Don’t shut me out this time. Please don’t shut me out.” I’d pleaded with him many other times, and it hadn’t been any use. Hugh had always closed himself off from me. I hadn’t been allowed to share whatever pain or sorrow Hugh had suffered in the past. Why should today be any different?

  His silence defeated me. I dropped my hand from his arm and turned away. It was then that he spoke, and the pain in his voice deepened.

  “Lord, Benny, I hate this house. I hate it. Yet I’ve never let go. Maybe I can’t. That’s the worst of it—maybe I ju
st can’t let go.”

  The shadows in the room thickened, the draped furniture looming eerily here and there, like so many shipwrecks in a mist. Hugh stood with his head bowed.

  “The perfect couple,” he said, his voice grating. “Yes, my parents could be the perfect couple when it suited them, when they wanted to put up a front. But here in this house, things were different. No pretense. They argued a lot. They tried to hurt each other. They knew how to do it too. After years of marriage, they understood each other’s weaknesses.”

  I touched his arm again. “Hugh, I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I found a solution. I just got the hell out of here whenever I could. I probably spent more time at the office than my father did.” Hugh pulled away and resumed his pacing.

  “You know what’s funny?” he said after a moment. “The worst times weren’t my parents’ arguments. The worst were the reconciliations. For a while, everything would be fine. They’d be enthralled with each other, as if they were trying to make up for all the hurt they’d inflicted. But I always knew that would change sooner or later. Another confrontation. Accusations, recriminations. More accusations… my mother’s tears.”

  Hugh returned to the portrait of his parents. A veil of shadows and dust obscured it. “A good likeness,” he said sardonically. “The way they’re looking only at each other. Even when they were fighting and lashing out, they were absorbed in each other. I felt like an outsider most of the time. An outsider who didn’t want to be anywhere near either one of them.”

  “Hugh, when your father died—”

  “Enough, Ben.” The warning was clear, but I didn’t heed it.

  “There’s more, isn’t there? I know there is. You have to talk about it.”

  “No.” Hugh uttered only that one word, but I heard the heaviness in his voice. He bowed his head again in the gathering night.

  I went to him then. This time I was determined Hugh wouldn’t pull away from me. I wrapped my arms around him and held on to him as tightly as I could.

  Hugh remained, head still bowed. But he didn’t lift his own arms to hold me in return. It would be futile to push Hugh further—he’d shut down. His parents’ relationship obviously was a sore spot, one that had festered for years and years. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the root of Hugh’s inability to share his feelings. Actually, I was sure it was. However, until Hugh dealt with it, allowed the wound to heal, there was no hope for us. I laid my check against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, wishing he’d allow me to help him mend it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SUNLIGHT GLINTED on the water, as Hugh stood at the helm of the boat. I welcomed the ocean breeze. I’d forgotten how good it felt to be out here like this. A little sailing seemed to be just what we needed. Amazingly Hugh had convinced me to come along. It had taken some doing, but he’d persuaded me.

  I watched Hugh appreciatively. He hadn’t lost any of his skill. He was expertly tending the jib sheets, allowing the boat to work with the wind and glide smoothly through the water. I tucked my hair back behind my ears, but the strands still came loose to whip around my face. I really needed a haircut. There were a lot of things I needed lately, especially finding some answers to all those damn questions.

  A dazzling sky arching overhead, the cobalt ocean spreading out before us. It was precisely the atmosphere needed to set aside the past, the questions, the future, the pain, and just enjoy the here and now.

  “How’s it going in New York?” Hugh asked.

  “Just fine.” My voice sounded a little too clipped.

  “Look,” Hugh began, sounding awkward, “that time I showed up with the bike—”

  “It was a nice idea. Just bad timing,” I said.

  “Are you serious about this Jason Collins?”

  I yanked the jib, bringing it in too tight. Quickly I corrected it, then glanced at Hugh again. “Jason’s asked me to marry him. I guess that means it’s serious.”

  I watched Hugh’s face carefully, but it was neutral. He gave nothing away as to how my declaration affected him.

  “Set the date yet?” he asked nonchalantly.

  And that just irritated the hell out of me. “For crying out loud, no! Of course I haven’t. Do you honestly think I’d jump into another relationship just like that?”

  “I don’t know what you’d do, Ben. I’ve never quite figured you out. You’re thinking about marrying this guy, aren’t you?”

  I sighed. “Jason is very nice.”

  “But that’s not what I asked.”

  “Hugh, do you really want to get into it?” I certainly didn’t. Why couldn’t we just enjoy the beautiful sunshine?

  “It’s as good a subject as any.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get into it. All I know is that I should have left for New York this morning. Yet here I am.”

  “Maybe I already know the answer. If you were going to marry him, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

  “And maybe I shouldn’t be. Every time I try to have a conversation with you, I end up getting agitated and just… just… I don’t know, sad.”

  Hugh stared off into the distance. I began to wonder if he was going to say anything. He surprised me when he said, “I’ve never meant to make you sad. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.” Hugh shook his head, looking truly miserable. “Collins, I suppose, doesn’t make you feel like that.”

  “He irritates me sometimes, but no, he doesn’t make me as sad as you do.”

  Hugh tied off the helm and came to sit next to me. He pressed his palm to my cheek, holding my gaze, his expression unexpectedly somber. He leaned in as if he were going to kiss me.

  I jumped up, moved away from him.

  “Benny—”

  I turned to face him. “Sex won’t solve anything. It’s merely a reprieve from reality for a short time. It doesn’t fix anything.”

  “I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “I just want to be with you.”

  “Another way of saying you want to get me into bed.”

  Hugh shook his head vigorously. “No. I think about you a lot, and you may be quite surprised to know it’s rarely about sex.”

  “Really?” I asked, skeptical.

  “Yes, really,” Hugh insisted. “I always wonder what you’re doing, if you’re with Collins. I mean, you have a new career, a new man, everything in place. I know I’m supposed to be happy for you. Hell, I should congratulate you for reaching your goal, but….”

  I gawked at him. I didn’t know this man before me. Twice now he’d shared his private feelings. I didn’t move, didn’t say a word for fear I’d wake up in my bed and it was all just a dream. But of course, Hugh left me hanging. My first instinct was to rant and rave, but it dawned on me how hard, how foreign this must be for him.

  “These are the kinds of things I need to hear,” I said gently. “Last night, when you were talking about your parents, I was beyond elated. You were actually sharing something with me, something real.”

  “I don’t like talking about such things.”

  “Why does it scare you so much? Why is it so hard for you to expose your emotions to me? It’s okay to be a little vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable is just another way of saying weak,” Hugh countered, sounding miserable.

  I went and sat next to him. I wanted to pull him into a hug, tell him it was okay, but I didn’t. Until Hugh dealt with the anger he was holding on to from his past, then it would never be okay. I caressed his back. “No, Hugh. It makes you human.”

  He didn’t say anything else. After a few moments, he stood and got the boat headed back toward the docks. I watched the waves slap against the boat, and in the distance a gull cried. I was disappointed he had effectively ended the conversation, but I was thankful there had even been one. That glimmer of hope sparked again.

  I prayed this time I wouldn’t regret it.

  I HONKED
as the line of cars in front of me slowed. Not that it would do me any good. The stream of traffic was endless. It had been like this almost the entire way from Charleston.

  “Benson, dear,” said my mother from the back seat, “it really isn’t polite to honk.”

  “Mother, do I have to remind you that I am not your chauffeur.”

  “That’s quite obvious. I’d never hire you. You’re much too aggressive of a driver.”

  “And your son.”

  “Yes, yes.” Mary Grace waved a dismissive hand. “Hugh, please tell me you don’t let Ben drive. He’s really not very good at it.”

  “Luckily, they don’t do much driving in New York City,” said Hugh from the passenger seat.

  I frowned. Hugh’s presence was an unwelcome distraction. His presence, in fact, had been a distraction all day. Since we’d returned from sailing I kept waiting for him to say something. I was becoming impatient, which was ridiculous. I’d waited more than ten years for Hugh to open up to me, and now that he was beginning to, it was completely unrealistic to think he’d share in the course of one day everything he was feeling or had ever felt.

  I honked again, loudly and deliberately, as the traffic came to a complete standstill.

  “Really, Benson. You almost ran into that man’s bumper.”

  “Mother!”

  “It looked awfully close to me. What do you think, Hugh?”

  “Let’s just hope there was no exchange of paint,” he said with a grin.

  It was never Hugh’s way to be tactful. With the vehicle stopped, I found my glance straying to him. He gazed back at me, and his eyes seemed particularly dark. What was he thinking? And why did he have to look so stubborn and attractive all at once?

  “Benson, dear, I believe that now certain motorists are honking at you,” Mary Grace said.

  The traffic was moving again, and I pressed my foot on the gas. The car jolted forward, none too smoothly. Proof my mother brought out the worst in me, in more ways than one.