“I love this place,” said Nick, following the waitress to an open booth in the back. “The food is better here than at my mother’s house. And that’s saying something.”
Karen sat down, and Nick slid in the seat across from her. She looked out the window to avoid looking at him, thinking he would be able to tell how close she was feeling to him at that very moment. The waitress returned with glasses of ice water and asked them if they knew what they wanted for lunch. Nick ordered two meat-loaf specials and two coffees. “I know that was presumptuous of me,” he said, when the waitress had departed. “But you have not had meat loaf until you’ve eaten it here.” Karen smiled at him. “Okay,” he said, straightening his cutlery. “I’ve got something to confess.”
“Really?” asked Karen, trying to sound only casually interested.
Nick raised his eyebrows and said, “I’ve got a bit of a crush on you.”
And there it was, out for both of them to hear. His words floated above Karen’s head and then splintered into a thousand pieces and rained down on her; her skin felt prickly, and her ears were hot. Conversations from other tables bumped into their space, but Karen couldn’t make out any of the words. His words kept repeating in her head. What she had been telling herself about him, what she had rationalized as nothing more than a desire to be near him, she knew in this moment was laughable. She was, had been for weeks, falling in love with him. A slow smile spread across her warm face. “Throw me a line,” he said, laughing, as the waitress set down two mugs of coffee.
“What do you want me to say?” Her smile was full-blown now.
“Anything!”
She counted to five and then said it. “I feel the same way.”
Nick sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Really?”
“Truly.”
“Well,” he said, fiddling with his fork, “that’s a very good thing and a very bad thing.”
“Why?”
“It’s good because unrequited love is depressing. And it’s bad because we’re both already spoken for, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Karen, still focused on his use of the word love. Did he love her?
“So,” said Nick, moving his water glass so the waitress could set down his plate, “what shall we do about it?”
“Well. We can carry on and pretend we didn’t say anything.” Nick nodded. “Or, we can carry on like we’re not married.” She blushed violently as soon as the words left her mouth. Nick laughed out loud. “I can’t believe I said that.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Are you kidding? That was the perfect thing to say, at a perfectly awkward moment.”
“I’m embarrassed,” said Karen, looking down at her plate.
Nick lifted her chin with his hand until she looked at him. “Don’t be. If we can’t tell each other everything, then we don’t have anything.”
“What do we have?” asked Karen in a whisper.
“We have a friendship with the potential for a relationship. We can either stay where we are or we can move forward. If we move forward, however, there’s no going back.”
Karen took a sip of water. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” said Nick, twirling his wedding ring, “that relationships like this move in one direction. If we have a romantic relationship, we will never go back to being just friends.”
Karen’s heart began to beat faster. “You know this because you’ve done this before?”
“No. I have never done this before. But I know how it works. If you and I decide to make love, we will either do it until the end of time or it will end badly.”
“You sound so serious.”
“That’s because this is serious.”
The waitress walked up to the table and looked at their untouched plates of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and whole kernel corn. “Is everything okay here?”
“I have no idea,” said Karen.
Nick smiled and then, addressing the waitress by her name, asked her to take the plates back to the kitchen and put them under the warmer for a couple of minutes. As soon as she took them and walked away, Nick looked back at Karen. “I’ve frightened you.”
Karen put her hand up. “No, no, you haven’t. I just hadn’t thought about it in those terms.”
Nick nodded his head. “Maybe you haven’t thought about us like I’ve thought about us, in very romantic terms. Karen, I think about being with you, about holding you, all the time. And I’ve got to do something about it or absolutely forget it. That’s the only reason I brought it up today. I was half hoping you’d tell me off.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, but it might be what I need.”
The waitress returned with their warm plates, and Nick lifted his fork to show her his eagerness to dig in. When she left, he put down the fork. He looked back at Karen, who lowered her gaze to her plate. “It’s probably what I need, too.”
Nick inhaled and exhaled. “Okay. Let’s say we’ve talked enough about this today. Let’s eat our lunch and talk about newspaper stories and our kids. Let’s try to put the awkwardness aside, and we can talk another day.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“And I don’t know if I can put your Walmart story in the paper tomorrow unless you change your lead.”
Karen narrowed her eyes. “That’s a very good lead.”
“Yes, it is. Now eat your meat loaf.”
When Rebecca got home from school and again announced that she didn’t want a snack before walking out of the room, up the stairs, and to her bedroom, Karen decided it was time to do something other than just let it happen. She ascended the stairs a minute or so after her daughter, then knocked on Rebecca’s door. Rebecca didn’t answer, which Karen chose to interpret as an invitation to walk in. “Mom!” said Rebecca, lying on her bed. “You’re invading my space!”
“Actually,” said Karen, sitting down on the bed next to her daughter, “this is my space. You’re just a tenant.”
Rebecca scooted closer to the wall, away from Karen. “Very funny.”
Karen waited a moment before saying, “What are we going to do about this eating thing?”
Rebecca focused on her book. “I eat.”
“When? You don’t eat much at home, and I suspect you’re not eating at school.”
“You pack me a nutritious lunch every day,” said Rebecca in her typical sardonic tone.
“And I’ll bet you throw that lunch away. Not only is that unhealthy, it’s also wasteful.”
“Lecture number 33.”
“And 103, and 1,003. This issue is not going to just go away. We need to talk about it. We need to talk about a lot of things.”
Rebecca rolled over and faced the wall. “I’d honestly love to, Mom. But I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Karen stood. “Okay, you get to that homework, because you and I are going out to dinner at six, and we’ll be gone for a couple of hours.”
Rebecca rolled over and faced her mother. “What about Robert?”
“He’ll be here with a sitter.”
Karen and Rebecca were led to a table for two at Steak Now, Rebecca’s favorite restaurant when she was eating. She was a carnivore, just like Bob. Instead of a burger, Rebecca ordered a Cobb salad, with dressing on the side, and a diet soda, duplicating her mother’s order. When their meals arrived, Rebecca pushed her plate toward the middle of the table. “I can’t eat this. It’s loaded with cheese and bacon.”
Karen put a forkful of her salad into her mouth. “I know,” she said, chewing. “That’s what makes it so good.”
“If I had known you were going to trick me into eating a salad like this, I wouldn’t have come.”
“I didn’t trick you. You looked at the menu.”
“You told me it was good. That it was healthy!” Rebecca’s eyes welled up with tears.
“Easy, honey,” said Karen, reaching across the table. “Your tears will over-salt your food.”
> Rebecca frowned and looked out the window at the dark parking lot. “I don’t find humor in that kind of remark.”
Karen took a sip of her soda. “You don’t find humor in much these days.”
Rebecca was silent, and then said, “I don’t think that’s true.”
“I do. You seem angry more often than not. What I’d like to do is try to help you with that.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then maybe you’re just hungry. You’ve got to eat, Rebecca. To be a healthy person, you have to feed your body. If you don’t, it will stop working for you.”
“And if I do, my friends will stop talking to me.”
Karen put down her fork. “What friends? What are you talking about?”
Rebecca dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Clare, Joy, Tina, and Alexandra. They’re all a size zero, and if I don’t become a zero by the end of the month, I’m out.”
Karen sat back against the chair padding. “Why do you want to be friends with these girls?”
“Because they’re popular and they like me.”
“Only if you’re bone thin? What kind of criteria is that for a friendship?”
“You lost weight.”
“To get back to a size six, yes,” said Karen. “I have no interest in becoming a size zero.”
“Well, you’re not eleven and trying to fit in,” said Rebecca, looking down at her plate.
“Fit in with other, nicer girls, Rebecca. You have so much to offer.”
“I don’t feel like I do.”
“You’re smart. You’re a talented dancer and actress. And you are the absolute perfect size.”
“Says you,” said Rebecca, the beginning of a smile on her face.
Karen took another bite of her salad. “Try it,” she said. “It’s good.”
“I’ll take it home. Maybe I’ll eat some later.”
Rebecca held the foam shell of salad on her lap in the car. She told Karen a little more about what she called the pressures of sixth grade, but waited until the car was in the driveway to drop what Karen would refer to later as the bomb. “Are you and Daddy going to get a divorce?”
Karen’s heart thumped in her chest as she turned the car off. Perspiration dampened her forehead. “Why do you ask that?”
Rebecca shrugged. “You just don’t seem that happy anymore. In fact, the only time you seem really happy is when Daddy’s away on business trips.”
Karen searched for words. “Do I?”
“Clare’s parents are getting divorced. She says it’s a good thing because all they ever do is fight about money.”
“What does Clare think about that?” asked Karen, unbuckling her seat belt and turning to face Rebecca.
“She’s a little sad, I think. But Alexandra told her it’s no big deal. Her parents have been divorced for three years. She lives with her mom and goes to her dad’s house every Wednesday after school for the night and every other weekend.”
“What does she think of that?”
“She says it’s okay. Before the divorce, her dad worked all the time, so she said she sees him more now than she used to.”
“Is that good?”
“That’s how it is with us, Mom. Daddy works all the time, brings home a lot of money, and we get to do what we want.” Karen said nothing. “Is that why you’re happy when he’s gone, Mom? Because you get to do what you want?”
“I am like everyone else; I get to do what I want to do only some of the time, only after other things are done. Having that freedom is important. We need to be able to make choices.”
“I’d like to opt out of school. I hate it.”
“You might not like the social component right now, but you love learning, and you’re a very smart girl,” said Karen, reaching over and touching Rebecca’s shoulder. “You will figure this friendship stuff out.”
Rebecca reached for the door handle. “I hope we both figure it out.”
Karen cocked her head in question as Rebecca stepped out of the car, closed the door behind her, and started walking up the driveway toward the house.
Bob opened the door to his hotel room and set his suitcase beside the king-size bed. He left a message on the answering machine at home to let Karen know he had arrived safely, then walked to the window to see the magnificent view of the harbor. On the way to the hotel from the airport, he had decided Australia would be a wonderful destination for a family vacation, even though he had never been before. They could fly down at Christmastime, when it would be freezing at home and warm and sunny “down under.” The kids loved wearing shorts and bathing suits in the wintertime, and Karen would welcome a new vacation destination, a change from the sanitized walls of Tucker and Janet’s Florida condo. Bob unpacked his bag, then got into a very warm shower to ease his body fatigue from the twenty-two-hour plane ride and to freshen up for his meeting with the production leader that afternoon. He wanted to be sure everything was in place before the safety review and celebrations the following day.
John Simpson was a tall, dark-haired man with a thick accent and a strong handshake. Five minutes into their conversation and plant tour, he invited Bob to his house that night for an early dinner. The workers, Bob could see as they made the rounds, appeared to like their leader, and their latest production numbers were impressive. As part of a non-union shop, the workers were rewarded for their efforts rather than their years of service. Bob was pleased to be able to personally reward their stellar performance this year as Forester’s best site. After the tour, John and Bob talked in John’s office for another half hour before getting into their cars and driving back toward Sydney.
John’s petite wife, Carrie, and their two young boys, Johnny and James, met the men at the door. Bob watched as James jumped up into his father’s arms as John was bending down to kiss his wife on the lips. Johnny shouted something about playing ball, and John promised he would as soon as Mr. Parsons was settled. What that meant, Bob quickly discovered, was a seat in a very comfortable lawn chair and a chilled glass holding sixteen ounces of cold beer. “Watch our little game and pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” John said in a lowered voice as he handed Bob the beer. “I’ve got to toss the ball for ten minutes, and then I’ll be able to join you.”
As John threw the first ball to Johnny, Carrie, carrying a glass of wine, sat down in the chair next to Bob’s. Bob lifted his glass to her. “Thank you for having me,” he said. “Did John give you any notice?”
“About thirty minutes,” Carrie said, laughing.
“We can go out, you know.”
“No worries. As soon as I was off with John, I called the rib man. He’ll be around shortly.” They turned their attention back to the game. “This has become a bit of a tradition. John now plays ball with the boys every night when he comes home. When it’s bad weather, they build towers with blocks in the basement.”
“They seem to enjoy it.”
Carrie smiled. “They enjoy anything related to their father. I’m afraid I’m second choice in this family.”
Bob decided that if a vote were taken at his house, he’d come in second, too. He knew his children loved him; at least they repeated the words I love you when he said them. But he was suddenly ashamed by how little time he actually spent with them. The notion of playing with them every day was as foreign to him as traveling to Australia. Running around the backyard with Robert was not his idea of relaxing. And what would he do with Rebecca, listen to CDs in her room? Then again, maybe this wasn’t John Simpson’s idea of relaxing, either. Maybe doing it day after day, week after week had become relaxing. Or maybe he just did it because he had an interest in his children.
“Do you have children?”
“I do. A daughter, Rebecca, who’s eleven going on twenty, and a son, Robert, who’s nine going on six.”
Carrie laughed. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I think Johnny and James will never grow up. Of course, that wouldn’t break my heart.”
“They’re wonderful
when they’re little,” said Bob, looking back at the boys.
“How about your Robert? Does he like to play ball?”
Bob thought for a moment and realized he had no idea whether Robert liked to play ball or not. Did he play at school? Did he play with the neighborhood kid, what’s his name? Jason? Did Robert still build with blocks in the basement? Bob did remember that. Robert used to spend hours in the basement building with blocks. Or was it playing with cars?
“Yes, he does,” said Bob. “Baseball is his favorite.”
“That’s what John’s going to introduce them to next. They’re mad about football, what you call soccer, but John wants them to be well-rounded. He’s kind of funny about things like that.”
Bob took the last sip of his beer. “I think that’s great. Too many parents have their kids specialize these days.”
Carrie nodded her head. “Would you like another beer?” Bob looked at his empty glass. “I’ll wait for John.”
He didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, John wrapped up the game, scooped up the boys, and put them into the bathtub. Carrie excused herself to bathe them while John poured another beer for Bob and one for himself. Before they finished their glasses, the boys, who were wearing cotton pajamas, reappeared and jubilantly announced they were having a special dinner in the TV room. Bob watched as Carrie popped the frozen meals into the microwave and poured glasses of milk, while John set up two small tables and clicked to what he called one of the best cartoons on television to entertain the boys. Minutes later, the boys were settled and the rib man was at the door. It was a display of efficient teamwork, prodding Bob to think that John ran his home the same way as he ran his successful plant. Bob had very little to do with what happened in his home, which meant being unhappy about it was more his fault than Karen’s. Why had he bowed out of everyday involvement? Why had he so fervently drawn the line between what he did and what she did?
On the drive back to his hotel, Bob resolved to spend more time with Karen, to take her out more, and to find an activity he could individually share with each child. He had proven himself many times over at Forester; he didn’t need to carry the entire company on his back. The money would still roll in; it wasn’t too late to change. He’d start by taking home gifts from Australia, as a kind of peace offering. In the past he hadn’t bought his family anything when he was away. His excuse to himself had been that he was too busy. But the true reason was rooted in his self-obsession. He thought about his needs first, at home and on the road. Karen, Rebecca, and Robert became shadows when he was away on business, barely perceptible boats moored in a foggy harbor. Even when he was home, in their midst, he was seldom connected the way John was with his wife and boys. Had Bob’s family ever been united?
A Changing Marriage Page 27