And Karen and Bob did talk a lot. Often, what started as a comment about a certain class lecture or event on campus turned into a thirty-minute conversation or even a philosophical discussion. And they agreed on so many things, almost as if they had been raised in the same household and taught by the same teachers. Every day, they agreed, had the possibility of being productive and satisfying; if they did what they were supposed to do, worked hard at it, and spent time with each other, they couldn’t fail one another or themselves.
That Christmas break, Bob’s father, Tucker, began asking the question that had been on Bob’s mind for months: When are you going to propose to that girl? Bob had just one more semester at school before graduation. After that, he would be out in the world, out of Karen’s everyday life. He wanted her with him, but he knew she wanted to finish her education. And that was almost as important to him as it was to her. Should he put an engagement ring on her finger when it would have to sit without companion for eighteen months? Tucker said Bob would have to do that if he wanted Karen to stay with him. She’s too much of a catch, he said, to leave on a state university campus bare-handed. Still, Bob hesitated, wondering if Karen would want to wear his ring for such an extended period of time. He decided he would give it to her the summer after her junior year, when they would have to wait just twelve months to get married. By the end of March, he had changed his mind.
Ray McNamara transferred to the university in January from Salzburger University in Georgia. He was an immediate presence on campus because he was touted as having the potential to be the best baseball player the school had ever seen, which was saying something for a Division Two team that had won the championship four times in the last seven years. Before transferring, Ray played shortstop for the Salzburger Bulldogs, and they were very sorry to see him go. He could throw the ball to first base as fast as the pitcher could across the plate. At State, just like at Salzburger, everyone wanted to get a personal, up-close look at him, and when he or she did, the women, in particular, talked about little else. He was six feet, six inches tall, with sandy blond hair that just brushed the top of his shoulders, and a tanned face with enough fat covering his jawbone to give him a nice guy rather than a tough guy look. His blue eyes were distinct enough to be seen and admired from a distance. If the baseball team held a Meet Ray night, a thousand girls would have stood in line. He had his pick of hundreds, but out of randomness and chance, he found Karen.
They met in an art history class, Ray being one of the few people who majored in the subject with the idea of someday opening an art museum after he was finished with a fifteen-year career in professional baseball. Ray’s parents were his most fervent supporters, not only of his interest in baseball, but also of his devotion to the study of the history of art. They wanted him to use his mind as well as his arms and legs; it was their idea that he seek temporary refuge in the north, far away from Georgia and the inexorable pursuit by the Atlanta Braves. If Ray was going to play for them, fine, but he was going to do it with an art history diploma taped to the inside of his locker door.
Like everyone who looked at him, Karen considered Ray to be magazine advertisement–quality handsome. Karen had been told all her life how pretty she was, so she was comfortable around attractive boys. She was comfortable around Ray for another reason, too: She was secure in her relationship with Bob; she wasn’t searching for a boyfriend. So she was relaxed in Ray’s presence rather than flustered and nervous like the other girls. She was flirtatious, but that was her nature rather than something she turned on for Ray. She talked to him without stumbling over her words, and, even more important in Ray’s eyes, she talked to him about art. They sat next to each other in class and, between the two of them, answered half of the questions asked by the professor. This shared interest made them fast friends. They often walked after class to the student center for a quick cup of coffee and more discussion, before heading off in separate ways to their next classes.
It wasn’t long before Evan Blackhurst shared the news about their friendship, their coffee breaks with his housemate. Bob was not immediately alarmed, but he didn’t like the big deal Evan and the other guys he lived with made out of it. How can you allow this guy unrestricted access to your girlfriend? How trustworthy is Karen? How long do you think it will take her to compare the two of you and realize being with a major-league baseball player might be a more lucrative long-term choice than being with a marketing manager, or whatever it is you think you’re going to do? All of their suspicions eventually worked their way into Bob’s mind, invading warriors over the wall, and he became, for the first time in his relationship with Karen, intensely jealous. He told Karen to break off her friendship with Ray if she wanted to continue dating him. When Karen dutifully told Ray the next day at the end of their class, he looked at her strangely. “What?” she asked.
He hesitated a moment. “I don’t know how you can let a guy treat you like that,” he said softly, before slowly exhaling through barely open lips as he often did when he was thinking about something.
“Treat me like what?”
“Like his property. I mean, as far as I know, you two are boyfriend and girlfriend. I’m not looking to change that. I’m just looking to be your friend.”
Karen shrugged. “I guess he’s jealous. I can see that. I mean, if he were spending as much time with another girl as I am with you, I wouldn’t like it either.”
“Meaning you don’t trust each other.”
“Of course we trust each other.”
“It doesn’t sound like it to me. If you trusted each other, you’d allow friendships with other people, regardless of gender.”
“But those are precisely the friendships that can get in the way of a good relationship.”
Ray leaned over in his chair, moving a little closer to Karen. “If they get in the way, well, then maybe the relationship isn’t as good as you thought it was.” And then he slid out of his seat, scooped up his books, and walked out of the room.
What followed was Karen and Bob’s first real fight. They had minor disagreements every now and again, but nothing like the discussion that evening in the parking lot behind Karen’s dorm. Karen had told Bob at lunch that she needed to talk to him about Ray. And because she wasn’t through thinking about it and didn’t want to make a scene in the dining hall, she suggested they meet after dinner. Bob went to Karen’s room that night with the intention of taking a short walk and talking about Ray in a calm, incidental manner. He assumed Karen had followed his advice and told Ray she would no longer be spending time with him. So, when he ushered Karen outside and asked her what was on her mind, he didn’t expect her accusatory tone. “Ray thinks you don’t trust me, and I think he’s right.”
“What?” Bob stopped walking and turned to face Karen.
“You heard what I said.” Karen was now facing him, arms folded across her chest.
“Since when does Ray’s opinion hold any stock with you?”
“Ray’s opinion of art has always been important to me.”
“We’re not talking about art, Karen,” said Bob, hoping to quickly clear up their misunderstanding. “We’re talking about us.”
Karen looked off to one side, away from Bob’s confused expression. “I know we’re talking about us. We’re talking about you not trusting me because I have a friendship with another guy.”
“That friendship is taking up a tremendous amount of your time.”
“And?”
“And since Ray McNamara has come to campus, I think you’ve had a shift in your perspective on our relationship.”
Karen turned to face him again. “Maybe it’s a healthy shift.”
“And maybe I could shift my perspective in a healthy way by spending more time with your roommate.”
“Allison?”
“Absolutely. We’re good friends. I think the world of her; she thinks the world of me. In fact, one night when she’d had a couple of wine coolers after her shift at The Grape, she tol
d me to consider her if things didn’t work out between us.”
“Allison wouldn’t say that.”
“Ask her. She might deny it, but just look at her eyes when she does. She won’t be able to look at you because it’s true.”
“I don’t believe you.” Karen’s stomach was telling a different story.
“Fine. I’ll turn my friendship with Allison up a notch, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Is that a threat, Bob Parsons?”
“Oh no,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, creating a mirror image of Karen’s pose. “I fully intend on following through.”
Karen’s lower eyelashes flooded with tears. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. I had no idea you could be so cruel and find enjoyment in it.”
“And I had no idea you could delude yourself into thinking your so-called friendship with Ray McNamara wouldn’t hurt me.”
“We haven’t done anything, Bob,” said Karen defensively.
“Finish the sentence, Karen. You haven’t done anything yet. You think people don’t notice the way he looks at you? You think I don’t see what’s happening?”
Karen gathered her hair into a ponytail and then, not finding an elastic around her wrist, let it fall back onto her shoulders. “Well, I don’t see it.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
Karen looked into Bob’s eyes. “Perhaps I have been a fool.” She turned and started up the sidewalk, back to the dorm.
Bob watched her until she was halfway, waiting to see if she’d turn around, before calling her name. When he did, she turned. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore tonight,” she announced. She walked the rest of the way, opened the heavy wood door, and was gone. Bob stood looking at the door for another minute, hoping she would come back out, but knowing she wouldn’t. His very next thought was to find a jewelry store as soon as morning came.
Karen started to cry on the other side of the door. She dragged herself up the two flights to her floor, opened the door to her room, and lay down on her bed. Allison, who was on her bed reading a novel for her Contemporary American Authors class, got up, crossed the room, and sat down beside Karen. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not to you.”
“What’s going on?”
Karen sat up on her bed. “Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”
Allison blushed. “No,” she said.
“Then why did he just tell me you told him you were interested in him.”
Allison looked at the floor. “Look,” she said. “It was that night you were with Ray at that gallery opening downtown. Bob was coming home from a bar with his friends when I walked out of The Grape with Maryanne. She ditched me when she saw Terry, so I struck up a conversation with Bob. We joked around. I guess I ended up telling him, kidding around, Karen, to look me up if he ever broke up with you. It wasn’t a big deal, but I’m sorry. You were out with Ray, though, and I didn’t know what you were thinking. And hey, as you say all the time, Bob’s a great catch. Still, I was being more funny than serious.”
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
“Tell me you’ve never had a few white wines and flirted with someone else’s boyfriend.”
“Don’t blame it on the wine.”
“Fine. You’re perfect. I’m not.”
“I am not perfect,” said Karen. “I’m confused.”
“Okay,” said Allison. “Now do you want to talk about it?”
Karen grabbed a tissue from the box on the old steamer trunk that served as her bedside table. “I don’t know why Bob is so angry with me.”
“He’s angry with you because he’s jealous. Karen, he loves you.”
“How can I be sure? If he loves me, why doesn’t he trust me?”
Allison smiled slightly. “Because Ray McNamara is like a Roman god. He’s the hottest thing on campus, and he’s spending his free time with you. What would you think if you were in Bob’s shoes?”
“That’s why Bob doesn’t trust me?”
“Yes,” said Allison. “Now that we’ve established that you’re not perfect, that means you’re human.”
“He’s human, and I trust him.”
“That’s because he hasn’t tested you. You might not feel the same way if he started hanging with an adorable marketing student.”
“Or you.”
“Look, I said I was sorry.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s over.”
Allison stood. “What do you want me to do here?”
“Nothing,” said Karen, reaching for another tissue. She blew her nose. “Do you think Ray likes me as more than a friend?”
“Yes. Now what you have to decide is if you like him as more than a friend.”
They both turned their heads toward the door when they heard a knock. Allison opened the door and found Ray standing in the hallway. “Hey, Allison. I’m here to see Karen.” Allison turned around and looked at Karen, who nodded her head. Allison opened the door wide. He stepped into the room and looked at Karen. “Do you have time to take a walk with me?”
“Sure.” Karen stood and put on her coat, still warm on the inside from her ten minutes outside with Bob. Without saying another word, she walked out of the room and into the hallway. Ray followed her, shutting the door behind them.
“Are you okay?” he asked, putting his arm around her like he sometimes did when they were alone together.
“Yes. I’ve had a long day.”
“Me too.”
Outside, Karen wrapped her coat tightly around her. In the twenty minutes she had been inside, she had forgotten how cold it was. She had no hat and no gloves and was suddenly not sure she wanted to walk and talk with Ray. She needed time, not more data, to figure out what was going on with Bob. When she turned to tell Ray she wanted to go back inside, he said, “You’re cold. I know somewhere we can go where it’s warm.”
“You’re not used to this weather. You must be freezing.”
“Honestly, I’m kind of numb right now.” Again, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We don’t have far to go.”
They walked across the street to an older section of campus with century-old granite buildings. Ray walked Karen to the far side of the closest one and opened the door. They walked inside, where it was darker than it was outside. “Why isn’t this building locked?”
“The lock doesn’t work.” Ray took Karen’s hand and led her up a short flight of stairs. “I have a government class in here. It’s a great place to come when I get distracted in the library or when I have some thinking to do.” They walked down the hallway, stopping at another unlocked door. The light from the streetlamp outside shone through the small windows near the ceiling of the classroom, helping them make their way to a large desk at the front. When they reached it, Ray bent down and switched on the small lamp that sat on the corner. The room, Karen could see now, was large enough for only twelve or so desks and chairs. Three sides of the room were lined with neatly stacked books on shelves.
“Whose room is this?”
“Ed Frasure’s,” said Ray, sitting on his professor’s desk. “Nice, right?” Karen walked to the closest stack of books and then brushed the back of her fingers along their worn cloth spines. “When I’m in this class, I feel like one of the founding fathers we discuss,” Ray said. “That sounds kind of dumb, doesn’t it?”
“No. It’s what should happen in a room like this.”
“It would be a shame to leave it.” Karen turned around and looked at him. “The Braves have made me another offer. I don’t know if I can turn this one down.”
Keeping her eyes on Ray, Karen sat down in the chair closest to her. He was, as was often said, an outstanding specimen of the human race. His facial features, while well defined, were muted, as if carved out of soft stone. His body was massive, but flexible enough to appear like a contained liquid, masculine and graceful. It occurred to Karen, as she studied him, that his interest in art history made sen
se; he was like a living sculpture, exuding beauty and intensity with every breath.
And he was right about the Braves—it was a very good offer: millions of dollars a year for several years. Car, house, endorsements, everything was in place. All he had to do was sign the contract a Braves representative was flying north next week and pack his bags. This is what, he told Karen, he had been dreaming about since he was seven years old. He had known since then that he wanted to play baseball. It had never been his wish to be a fireman, or a policeman, or an astronaut; he had always wanted to be a major league baseball player. And yet, here he was, attending university instead, waiting for an arbitrary “right time.” Some of that hesitation was out of respect for his father. Even though Tom McNamara knew the professional sports game (Ray had, after all, been looked at by scouts since he was fourteen years old), Tom wanted his only son to finish school. Perhaps this was because he hadn’t finished. Or perhaps it was because one year really didn’t matter that much. But offers like the one on the table were not typical, and when they surfaced, they had a very short shelf life. Plus, Ray said he could finish his degree on the road.
“What do your baseball buddies say?”
Ray laughed. “They tell me I’d be crazy not to take it, every last one of them.”
“How does their opinion affect yours?”
“Not in any great way.”
“No?”
Ray walked from the professor’s desk to the chair next to Karen. He sat down, then leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “They’re baseball players, Karen,” he said, arms up over his shoulders, hands cradling his head. “That’s what they’re supposed to say.”
“So, ask someone whose opinion matters to you.”
“I am.” Ray looked at Karen. “And there’s one thing you could say that would make it easy for me.”
A Changing Marriage Page 4