Seeking Sara Summers

by Susan Gabriel

  Grady’s father, Howard, gave Sara a hug. He was Grady’s height of six feet, but had a bulk to him that Grady had never had. Despite the winter temperatures, he wore a green polo shirt, orange sweater and green striped pants, as if to make the moment more festive. His challenge with clothing choices, notwithstanding, Sara had always liked him.

  They gathered in the dining room while Stella served lunch. Then the day proceeded following the same script as it did every year.

  “How’s school, Sara?” Howard asked, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

  “Fine,” she said.

  “What play are you doing this year?”

  This was always Howard’s question. “I’m not sure yet,” she said.

  “I still remember you in that play at Beacon. What was the name of it?”

  Every year she told him the name. Every year he forgot.

  “You were great in that,” he said.

  Sara’s senior year she had played the female lead in the school play. Julia usually got these parts, but wasn’t around to play it that year. The local newspaper had even written a glowing article about her performance.

  “Howard, leave her alone,” Stella said. “Your son gets to be the star today.” She beamed at Grady. “Isn’t it amazing that he’s 45?” she continued. “Of course his mother is only 39.”

  Everyone laughed except for Sara. Sullen didn’t even begin to describe her current mood. When it came time to open the gifts Grady seemed unimpressed with the digital camera Sara had bought him.

  “The old one works fine,” he said.

  “The kids all chipped in. They said this is one of the best.”

  “Where did you get that old camera, anyway?” Howard asked. “Did we give it to you?”

  “No, a friend did.”

  “Julia,” I said. “And me, too, actually.” It felt strange to say Julia’s name.

  “Julia David?” Stella asked. “Oh my, that girl was so beautiful. What ever happened to her anyway?”

  I fell in love with her, Sara wanted to say.

  “Some lucky guy probably snagged her up in a hurry,” Howard laughed.

  Stella sighed and looked at Grady, as if fate had delivered him a cruel blow by not letting him be that ‘lucky guy.’

  “Is the pie ready?” Grady asked his mother. His eyes met Sara’s and warned her not to say anything further. Had Grady not told them it was Julia she had visited in Italy? Or maybe he had neglected to tell them that she had even been gone. Sara was a minor player in their family drama. And if left up to Stella, Sara was convinced she would be written out of the play altogether.

  They were home by seven with Grady in front of the television watching a football game. Sara didn’t feel like being alone and called Maggie. “I need a friend. Do you mind if I come over?”

  “Not at all,” Maggie said, sounding surprised by the request. “The place is a mess, but I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  Despite their four-year friendship, Maggie had been to Sara’s house only once to give her a ride home when her Volvo wouldn’t start. The place had been in its usual chaotic state. Sara had been to her house once, as well, a Christmas faculty party several years before. Maggie’s house was immense, too big for one person, in Sara’s view. Maggie had received it in her divorce settlement from an unfaithful husband. In contrast to Sara’s disorganized domain, everything in Maggie’s house was placed with sterile precision.

  They sat in Maggie’s den in matching wingback chairs, the same color as their glasses of Merlot. Did she plan that? Sara wondered. The walls were a light shade of green. Sara looked around for the ‘mess’ Maggie had claimed her home was in but found nothing out of place.

  Tasteful window treatments and carefully chosen furniture, each piece articulated with a green color scheme in mind, adorned the ample rooms. The books on the bookshelves were classified by category. No evidence existed of the children she herself had launched into the world except for a few immaculately matted, framed and carefully placed portrait photographs.

  Sara, on the other hand, had never gotten around to putting up curtains, relying on window shades instead. Their furniture was a mixture of things they had bought in college and an eclectic collection of newer pieces that didn’t quite match. Books and papers were stacked on nearly every flat surface. The dining room table and its set of matching chairs sacrificed totally to this end.

  It was cold where they sat in Maggie’s den. The wine provided the only warmth in the room. The plate on the side table between them held a platter with small equal squares of cheddar cheese, each pierced in the center with a green toothpick. Sara tried to imagine how many boxes of assorted color toothpicks Maggie had bought and only used the green ones. Would she perhaps donate the remainders to a catering business in town?

  Sara reached for a cube of cheese.

  “You said you needed a friend,” Maggie said. “What’s up?”

  Sara thoughtfully chewed the cheese, debating what was acceptable to tell her, and swallowed. “Maggie, do you ever wish your life was different?”

  “All the time,” she said. “Doesn’t everybody?” Maggie picked a loose thread from her olive green corduroy pants and placed it in her pocket.

  “So what do you do about it?” Sara anticipated the answer. Maggie’s position in life was to have no position.

  “Since this cancer thing, you ask so many questions, Sara. Don’t you drive yourself nuts?” Maggie smiled.

  Is she comforted by the thought that she’s not like me? Sara wondered.

  “Yes, sometimes I do drive myself nuts.” Sara pulled her sweater closer.

  Maggie laughed and poured them both another glass of Merlot. Sara took a long sip and for the first time that night she felt warm. While Maggie might wish her life had played out in a different way, it would never occur to her to actually pursue another course. Perhaps this similarity was why they were friends. But Sara didn’t want to be like Maggie. She didn’t want to play life so safe.

  “What are you thinking about?” Maggie asked. “You look like you’re in a different world.”

  “I guess I was,” Sara said. She wrapped her fingers around the wine glass as if it were a mug of something hot and she was wanting to warm her hands. She thought of Julia and another surge of warmth came. “I have a confession to make,” Sara added.

  “A confession?” Maggie asked. “Out with it,” she added, crossing her legs. For a second, Sara could imagine what Maggie must have been like as a girl, before all the creases of her life had been ironed out. Sara imagined she was the type to seek out her adventures in books instead of real life. What would she think of Sara’s adventure?

  “I haven’t told anyone this.” Sara paused. Was she really going to tell her? This went against Sara’s better judgment, but she wondered if by telling the secret it might help her to move on. But did she want to move on?

  “There you go again,” Maggie said. “Sara, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distracted.”

  “Sorry,” Sara said. “Maybe I shouldn’t....”

  “No, you can’t back out now,” Maggie said. “You have to tell me.” Maggie waited, her green eyes expectant.

  “I met someone in Italy,” Sara said shyly.

  Maggie sat straighter in the wingback chair. “You are kidding me,” she said.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Sara said.

  Maggie agreed. And Sara began to tell her about Julia, but a rendition of the story that Sara felt Maggie would be more inclined to accept. She told her she had met ‘this person’ at an art gallery and things had gone from there. She managed to tell the whole story devoid of pronouns. It was not until Maggie asked his name that Sara realized she would have to tell her the truth.

  “Well, actually…” Sara paused and took a gulp of wine, emptying the glass. Until Italy, she had never really appreciated wine or the courage it could supply in much needed moments. But Maggie was beginning to look impatient. “Actually, it wasn’t a
him I met in Italy, but a her.”

  Sara waited for Maggie’s response. At first her eyes narrowed, as if she had misunderstood, but then they widened. “You had an affair with a woman?” she whispered, as if the green walls might overhear.

  Sara nodded. A part of her was pleased that she had shocked Maggie. Maybe she was different from her, after all.

  “I didn’t know you were gay,” Maggie whispered again.

  Sara spoke in her full voice. “I’m not gay.”

  Maggie’s confusion appeared to take on a new depth.

  “At least not technically,” Sara added, realizing how strange this must sound. She dug the hole deeper. “At least not in terms of lifestyle. It was just a one-time thing.”

  Julia was the only woman Sara had ever been attracted to. For her, it wasn’t about an attraction to women; it was about an attraction to Julia. But how could anyone possibly understand unless they had been through something similar? Sara was beginning to get confused, too.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Maggie paused to arrange the remaining cubes of cheese on her plate as though circling her wagons to fend off an Indian attack.

  “I guess it’s too much to ask for you to be happy for me,” Sara said.

  “It’s hard for me to see the act of adultery as a happy one,” Maggie said. “You know, because of my ex,” she quickly added.

  The room became cold again and Maggie hadn’t bothered to refill Sara’s wine glass. She now regretted her confession, although she could understand her need to purge herself of the secret. But this was more than Maggie could deal with and Sara would have known that if she had stopped to think about it long enough.

  “I’m sorry,” Sara said.

  Maggie waved her apology away and made an excuse about being tired. Sara carried the plate of cheese cubes into the kitchen while Maggie got Sara’s coat, their evening ending awkwardly, at best.

  On the drive home Sara contemplated Maggie’s response. She anticipated their friendship would die a slow death. Sara hoped that Maggie would have enough integrity to keep her confidence. But even if she didn’t, Sara doubted that her job would be in any jeopardy. Not that it would be a tremendous loss if it was.

  There were things that she hadn’t told Maggie. About how her love for Julia had grown stronger over these last few months instead of diminishing. How she feared she had made the biggest mistake of her life by coming back to Grady. And how it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that she had done the right thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  This was one of the most miserable Christmases of Sara’s life. Topped only by the Christmas after her mother had died. But she was determined to act like nothing was wrong; as much for her sake as everyone else. Making Christmas dinner gave her a break from thinking of Julia as she preoccupied herself with the details and the timing of the meal.

  Sam, their youngest son, took a small piece of turkey Sara had just taken out of the oven and blew on it before putting the morsel in his mouth. Luke, reunited with his master, watched Sam’s every move, his tail beating a steady rhythm on the floor.

  “Delicious,” he pronounced. “You’re the best, Mom.” He embraced her, and then leaned down to pet Luke. Sam didn’t need her anymore, a reality that made her a bit nostalgic on holidays.

  “It’s nice to have you home, honey,” Sara said. She genuinely meant it, despite her holiday angst.

  Sam was tall with sandy-colored hair that fell down into his blue eyes. A golden boy, some might call him. He had the body of an athlete, although he didn’t play any sports past junior high. And during college he was handsome enough to get a job modeling men’s fashions.

  When Sara looked at Sam she saw not only the child she had raised who was now a young man, but also a part of herself. Unfortunately, it was a part that was insecure and overly sensitive despite his handsomeness.

  “Have you had time to talk to John?” Sara asked. Since they were boys, Sam had adored his older brother. A fact that John was not always thrilled about.

  “He’s preoccupied with Dad,” Sam said. “Plus Ashley is here so I don’t know if I’ll even get a chance.” We now shared John with Ashley’s family on holidays. They would spend Christmas morning with them before driving to her parents for the rest of Christmas day.

  “How are you doing, Sam? I mean, really.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” He took another piece of turkey to give to Luke, and Sara playfully slapped his hand. “The new job is working out great. I don’t want to stay there forever, but it’s a good place to start. I can work my way up in the company if I want to, like Jess, or I can move on.”

  Like his father, Sam had majored in business at the University of Massachusetts, and was working at the same investment firm in New York as Jessica. She had gotten him the job starting at the lowest rung in a company where she was a few steps higher on the ladder. She was as good at looking out for her younger brother as John was at ignoring him.

  “Are you dating anyone?” Sara asked. This was the question she always worked into their conversations, sometimes not as gracefully as she would like. If Sam dated, he didn’t tell her about it.

  “Don’t worry so much.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  Sara didn’t like how much he sounded like her. Life could totally suck, to use his words, and he would insist everything was fine. A genetic disposition, she supposed. Denial on a DNA level.

  They took their places on the family stage: Sam with Sara in the kitchen; John talking with Grady; Ashley, the newest member in the cast, staying close to John; with Jessica to arrive just before the end of the first act.

  “Have you talked to your sister?” Sara asked Sam. Of all the siblings, Sam was the one most likely to know what was going on with the others.

  “She dumped another guy.” He sampled the oyster stuffing. Jessica had brought a series of young men through their home over the years. Sara had learned early on not to get too attached to them.

  “You mean the one she met at her gym?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s the fourth one this year. I can’t even keep their names straight anymore.”

  “Does she talk to you about it?”

  “Not really,” Sam said.

  Sara frowned and stirred the cranberries.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. Jess is just being Jess,” Sam said. “She’ll find somebody some day, and if she doesn’t, she can just come back here to live.” He chuckled.

  “That phase of my life is over, dear. I have no desire to go back and do it again.”

  “Relax, Mom. That’s the way we want it, too.” Sam put his arm around her shoulder. He was easily the most affectionate of her children and the most tuned in to Sara. “So how are you, Mom? I mean, really.”

  Sara paused, realizing Sam was referring to her health. Which version of the story had she told him? She had downplayed the whole cancer thing with her children. As far as they knew her last round of chemo was simply routine. She was now in waiting mode again to see if the chemicals had done their job. She adjusted her wig slightly. “I’m fine, honey. Good as new.”

  “Are you sure?” Sam asked.

  “I’m sure, honey. Honestly, I’m fine. Never been better.” Sara didn’t sound convincing, and he didn’t look convinced. “But you’re sweet to ask,” she added. She caressed the stubble of his light beard and remembered a four-year-old Sam standing beside Grady in the bathroom, pretending to shave like his father. “If anything changes, I’ll let you know,” she reassured him.

  “You just don’t look that happy, Mom.”

  “I’m always happy,” she said cheerfully.

  “Come on, Mom.” Sam was frowning at her.

  “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, honey, but I really am fine. Now go and pry John away from Dad and Ashley so you can talk to your favorite brother.”

  Sam kissed her on the cheek before leaving and Luke devotedly followed.

  Alone again, Sara breathed deeply. She was not about to
burden her twenty-two year old son with her drama. She was doing her best to play the role of faithful wife and mother. Who am I kidding, she thought. Not that anyone had noticed, except maybe Sam.

  Their adult children had created lives of their own. They were totally familiar, and like strangers, all at the same time. They paraded past Sara and Grady year after year with new stories, new lovers, and new friends. As far as she could tell, she and Grady were expected to watch their evolution without advice or judgment, while aging gracefully on the sofa.

  When Sara looked up from her pie crust, Ashley had joined her in the kitchen. “How’s it going, Mrs. Stanton?”

  “Fine, Ashley.” Sara forced her face into a smile. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stanton. I love watching John with his dad.”

  Sara’s fake smile hid a very real grimace. “Ashley, please don’t call me Mrs. Stanton. It makes me feel ancient.” It also made her think of Stella, her stereotypical mother-in-law. Did Ashley see Sara as that out of date?

  Ashley smiled a perfect smile, perhaps the result of years of orthodontia, and her blue eyes were accentuated by her blue sweater. Even when dressed in jeans she looked formal, her perfect posture matching her perfect smile.

  Sara glanced down to see what she had absentmindedly put on that morning. She was dressed entirely in black—black jeans and a black turtleneck. Molly Decker would be proud, she thought. In her old age she was going Goth.

  Her only attempt to look festive was the green Christmas ball earrings Sara wore that Maggie had given her for Christmas. A peace offering, Sara supposed, for their disastrous get-together three weeks before.

  “How’s law school going?” Sara asked. She used a fork to scallop the edges of the pie crust, and then placed the apple pie in the oven. Apple pies were the one dessert she knew how to make from scratch, thanks to her mother, who had made apple pies for the diner.