Chapter Fourteen
Since we had now exchanged close friends, I figured I would ask, “Who’s next?”
“Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stephen of course.”
“Of course, how foolish of me. So when have you planned this excursion?”
“Next weekend. I know, the opera will have to wait…don’t even try to act upset, Donna told me about the ‘bet ya’ twenty.”
I would have to stop telling Donna anything of possible value.
“You and I can drive up Friday after work. Here,” reaching into her bag she pulls out a piece of paper with motel names and phone numbers, “have to be prepared with you. I’ll stay at my aunt’s and you get to pick a place from this list. The ones with the asterisks are the best.”
“Nicer rooms?”
“You really have no idea who you are dealing with, do you,” matter of fact statement, “no bars, pools, or any other amenity that could put you in contact with some hot babe.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you one hundred percent. I just don’t want you to get any ideas while we are at my aunt’s.”
“How old is you aunt?”
“I am going to overlook that remark. Donna was right, you aren’t housebroken.” Donna and I need to talk, seriously talk. “And don’t go yelling at Donna, she only has your best interests in mind.”
“And you read my mind.”
“Stop mumbling Dave, it’s unbecoming.”
In a change of plans, we took Friday and the following Monday off. We would leave early enough on Friday to make the eight hour drive and arrive in time for dinner. Also, this avoided, at least for me, a tempting motel stop. By leaving on Monday morning we could spend more time Sunday at Auntie's and, as on Friday, would get us home while it was still light.
It’s 7 PM Thursday night and Dog is sitting patiently at the top of the foyer steps waiting to go to the car for the short ride to the kennel. Like a small child - bags packed and ready to leave for Disney World - Dog has been sitting there for some two hours, ever since I packed Dog’s 'travel bag'. The excitement started the moment I pulled the brown paper Trader Joe’s shopping bag out from under the kitchen counter. I can take out any other bag and nothing happens. But as soon as Dog sees the Trader Joe’s bag – the only one with handles - it’s as if Dog can read the black marker note on its side: ‘Dog’s. One bag of food, twice a day.’ As soon as the travel bag comes out Dog will sit patiently by my leg watching me fill the individual Zip Lock bags with food, least Dog has to eat something different; watch me Zip Lock bag the ration of two dog biscuits per day, unknowing they are weight control biscuits made from the food; and the dog chew bag. Hay, I am not a complete meannie, I always ‘drop’ a few dog food pellets on the floor and at least one biscuit. Gives Dog the chance to dive for them ‘before I can pick them up off the floor;’ great game as long as you really don’t try to bend down to retrieve them, because Dog is fast and heads can go bump.
So Dog now sits by the foyer steps as I move through the house preparing for the weekend trip. Laundry has to be washed. I mentioned to Donna that I had to do laundry before I went, “Good idea, clean undies in case you get lucky.”
“At least this time you don’t have a chance to slip a pair of Sponge Bob little boy briefs into my suitcase!”
“They were brand new, fresh out of the package...and besides Ashley thought they were cute!”
“Ashley thought I was a pervert!”
“Had nothing to do with the Sponge Bobs. It was later that night, she thought you were my brother and dropped her stupid island something or other drink all over the dance floor when I joked about a foursome.”
“Well at least she did not get sick like what’s his name...‘I love hot peppers.’”
“Robert, and he felt real bad.”
“Being sick, or is that how your leg got scratched?”
“You are a pervert Dave! That happened when we were on the bike ride.” I started to laugh. Reading my mind, “I did not try to hit that old lady. She walked right out in front of us!”
“Donna, you had your head turned talking to the hot pepperman. She should be eternally grateful we decided on bikes and not motor scooters.”
OK, trash has to be collected and placed outside. And, of course charge the cell phone. All the while, Dog waits patiently, never leaving the foyer.
At 9:45 I reach for the leash to take Dog outside to water the grass before lights out, and Dog goes ballistic. Dog is jumping like a kangaroo, with all four paws achieving simultaneous lift off. No matter how many times I tell Dog to stop the kangaroo routine, Dog seems to miss the concept of calmer excitement. Tonight I feel really bad because I know what’s going to happen outside. Dog does not even wait to reach the bottom of the porch steps before making the charge to the Trail Blazer. Thankfully I was ready and braced for the initial lunge. Eighty pounds of midair Dog snaps the lead taught. “Tomorrow; I keep telling you tomorrow!”
When I finally turn off the living room lights, Dog is asleep at the foyer stairs. I really do feel bad because I know Dog can not comprehend the concept of tomorrow; hell Dog has trouble comprehending ‘wait a second.’
Nevertheless tomorrow arrives and after a ‘false start’ for morning grass watering Dog finally gets to drag me to the Trail Blazer. I get in and as soon as I turn the ignition key the winning begins. See, Dog loves to get in a vehicle; it’s just the idea of the vehicle actually moving that’s not fun. Turn the key and winning hits you in surround sound. Get to your destination and Dog jumps out like the vehicle is on fire; then can not wait to jump back in. One day, although pre-warned, Karen wanted to take Dog with us down to the river. Dog was as quiet as a church mouse the entire ride. When we all got out of the vehicle Karen scratched Dog behind the ear, “You are the nicest dog, Dog.” Looking at me, “How can you complain about Dog that way!” Dog gives me a dog’s version of a smug smile. “Poor Dog, the mean man tells fibs about you.”
“Karen, I’d stop winning too if a pretty woman scratched me behind the ear.”
“I scratched you behind the ear once and you complained.”
“You drew blood!”
“And your point is?”
We were shopping and she wanted to try a woman’s hat on me; I tried to duck my head and her nails left their mark. As we walked towards the river Karen patted Dog on the head, “He’s really a softy Dog.”
That is until a soaking wet Dog climbed in her lap. “DOG!”
“You look like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.”
“Very funny, Dave. Why don’t you come over here and I’ll SCRATCH you behind the ear again!”
This morning, adding confusion to Dog’s morning, I stop at Breen’s first because she wants to check out the kennel. Per the impress the ladies routine, Dog stops winning and acts as if Breen is a long lost friend. Paying more attention to Dog – well I did get a nice good morning kiss - “You sure the place treats Dog nicely.”
“Why is it women think more about Dog’s welfare than mine?”
“Should I answer that?”
“No, from your look I think I’ll drop the subject.”
“Dog did I ever tell you about the time Dave made me so angry I had to take a long walk, only to find out the shit went to dinner without me and had the nerve to enjoy the food!”
“Dog...wait, what am I doing? I was going to defend my actions to Dog.”
Breen rummages through Dog’s travel bag, “Dave, how come Dog only gets one chew?”
“Because the mutt will only be at the kennel for four days.”
“Dog is not a mutt; he’s apparently the only gentleman living in your house!”
“Tell you what, leave your food on the table like Bill did and see what the ‘gentleman’ does with it.”
“Probably learned food stealing from you, ‘Mr. Do You Want Your Egg Roll.’”
With Dog now at the kennel - proba
bly already having a doggie massage - Breen and I are heading up the road. Breen and her aunt have a special relationship, more of a mother and daughter relationship; not implying Breen does not get along with her parents.
Which reminded me, the last time Breen mentioned my name and her parents in the same sentence it was not in my favor. Well - a deep subject - we will have to cross that bridge when we come to it, and the last thing I wanted to do was raise the subject of ‘how are you going to explain this to your parents?’ Maybe Aunt Margaret was the way Breen planned to cross the bridge. Show up at Aunt Margaret’s with Dave in tow, count on her good manners and hospitality, then let Aunt Margaret break the news to mom and pop. This was a situation I would have to keep an eye on.
The other interesting thing about this trip was Uncle Stephen; I never recalled Breen mentioning her uncle. Not that she gave the impression there was no uncle, Breen just never mentioned or referred to him. It was always 'Aunt Margaret this', 'my aunt that'. So my mind is working overtime as we make the drive; aunt and uncle, is that being polite, or is that a sign of necessary formality to announce the next step from an ‘item’?
“Dave will you do something for me?”
“Wow this is a new one, Breen is asking first.”
“Are you still implying I have been bossy in this relationship?”
“No, maybe dictatorial, maybe Tsar incarnate, but not bossy.”
“Welllll, why do you put up with it?”
“Cause I’m in love with you, and boys are fools when they’re in love.”
This time it was Breen who read between the lines. She knew I may play the ‘wimp’ to her catch-me-if-you-can game, but it was only a role. I was willing to do this because I recognized her game was a way of maintaining the space she needed for contemplation.
“I’m not trying to be bossy. I just know how you are and I want to get things moving along, because you will take forever and a day thinking things out and making plans. I want to get all this formality and introductions out of the way. I want to get us to the point where you can read my mind, which you seem to be getting much better at, take the other night for instance…I lost my train of thought…you said we needed to become companions, friends first. I agree, but - I’m not sure how to phrase this - I have a decision to make and your actions are not going to sway it one way or another. Don’t take that as a license to be a dumb shit at my aunt’s, on the contrary I know you will be the perfect gentlemen companion. I need to decide who we are by Monday morning.”
If I was not the driver I would have been looking at her in silent ‘what?’ However I was the driver, so all I could do was say, “Would you run that by me again, no, wait…let me pull over.”
“Dave it’s a highway!”
Now pulled onto the shoulder, “Breen, I love you. You cannot, nor do I want you to change that, it’s a fact. As ‘dumb shit’ as it sounds I was put on this earth to love you. But I also respect your feelings. You do not have to worry about me. I don’t want you to do anything against your desires to appease me. I think we’ve been through that once before. I just can’t accept not knowing where I stand. If it’s as boyfriend and girlfriend, an ‘item,’ fine, just keep me in perspective and take your time. If we are at the relationship leveling-off point, you have made me one happy camper by being with me. But, the big but, there are three parts to a lasting relationship, love, companionship, and sex. I think we have come to the point where you have to decide the sex issue. Is that what you were trying to tell me?”
“Yes,” she was looking down and her lap, not hiding her face from me, but contemplating, “why is it you are so blunt sometimes…no,” reaching out and touching my arm, “I’m not angry or upset. Not with you anyway…with me. There’s a scenic rest stop just up the road, let’s stop there, give me a moment to think?”
I nodded yes and I drove to the stop as Breen looked out the side window.
With the car properly parked, she asks “How long will you give me to sort out my thoughts?"
“This is not a question of days or months, it’s whether you want me to wait because you are honestly sorting them out, or you know the answer and don’t want to tell me.”
“I don’t know the answer...it has to do with...it’s more than sex and I don’t want to discuss it. I know you understand, the other night was one of those turning points in our relationship, you have changed Dave and I feel comfortable, safe in your arms. I need to get over something in my mind and I will not drag you along just for the ride. This trip is important. What my aunt thinks about you, us, is important, but not mind-changing important. I have already made up my mind that I want to hold your hand when we are together; it’s just Ken. I never thought I would want to have another relationship. You have been so wonderful accepting my craziness. That’s another reason I know you have changed. You have been so selfless when it comes to my feelings. I never thought I would ever say that to you.”
Leaning over and kissing me, “do you still want to go to my aunt’s?”
“Yes. You’ve changed yourself. You’re not the girl I knew; the girl who was forced to grow up because the men in her life selfishly took. I like what you have become. Ken did good by you. I’ll leave it at that.” I kissed her and we resumed the trip to Aunt Margaret’s.
“How did you meet your wife?”
“Linda and I met by accident, figuratively that is. I had a rental car, forgot what type it was, and was trying to find it in a crowded shopping center parking lot. I’m walking up and down the aisles using the remote to lock and unlock the doors to get the horn to sound; which by the way did not sound when you hit LOCK; the lights flashed. Anyway, as I approached a car that looked like my rental I heard the door unlock and I got in. Suddenly the lights and horn go into panic mode. I try the panic button on the fob and nothing happens. I put the key in the ignition and it will not turn. The noise is echoing off the parked cars and, to me at least, loud enough to wake the dead. I’m at a loss. Then, suddenly, the raucous stops. I hear a tapping on the glass. Startled, I look to my right and this woman is staring at me like I was trying to steal her car; because it was her car.”
“Smart.”
"I ease out, not wanting to scare her, and did an embarrassed, slinking of the body into the shadows of obscurity move, and mumbled something like ‘oooops, sorry.’ Linda just held her stare as I backed away. Of course I was not paying attention to where I was backing into and thankfully the car coming down the lane stopped before hitting me. Okay, I’m the complete fool and Linda starts to laugh. She indicates with her index finger for me to come back. She tells me that my car was one row over; she had seen the lights flash and heard the doors unlock. With a smile that was so...bright, any other word would belittle its intensity, she drives off. A few days later I was telling a friend about the incident and he says ‘oh, you’re the nut case that tried to steal Linda’s car.’ He introduced us and the rest is history.”
“Is it really history?”
I looked over at her, not upset at the question, but trying to sense her concern, “Yes, has been for several years and the book is closed.”
“I’m sorry for that question, really, I’m sorry.”
Lightly, “You’re forgiven.”
“Dave, I am sorry about that remark.”
“How important is it to you the book being closed?”
“Very, but I have no right to question your sincerity. Nor, you mine.”
“I can agree to that.”
Later while fiddling with the radio Breen asks, “How do you feel about Fred?”
“That’s an interesting question.”
“I did not mean as competition for Donna. Do you approve of him for Donna?”
“Yes, he’s good for her. I liked him from the start and I think now that Donna has opened up to him they have started to build a lasting relationship.”
“She was scared to open up to him. I could tell, woman
thing, that Donna was sensitive to being venerable again in a relationship.”
And so are you Breen, but I won’t go there. “I agree. Donna was so much in love with Cal; so happy just to be next to him, to share her life with him. Then she was devastated. No, devastated is an understatement. Donna acts tough, but she is really no less venerable than anyone else.”
“What do you like about Fred?”
“He brings conservatism to the relationship and, at the same time, a lot of me. Hope that did not sound egotistical. Breen, I know Donna is secretly in love with me.”
She looked shocked, “That was an unexpected comment. I know you did not say it to make me jealous. Thank you for having the trust in our relationship to say it.”
I smiled and nodded a ‘you’re welcome,’ “Donna has always tried to hide her true feelings and I have tried to be careful not to give her any reason to believe our relationship could be more than it is. But, at times I failed in that respect and I have only myself to blame. Donna and I can joke about it, the...,” I was looking for a word other than ‘sex.’
“Sex. Dave, you turn each other on, or at least you did.”
“Yes, we did; emphasis on ‘did.’ I wish could put into words how difficult it was to avoid admitting there was an underlining sexual attraction in our relationship. But, attraction is not action.”
“You going to coin that one Mr. Prose?”
“That was a good one.”
We laughed.
We approaching the exit before Aunt Margaret’s, “Will you do me a favor?”
“Didn’t we go through that about eight hours ago?”
Jokingly, “Yes, and don’t pull over!”
“Okay.”
“Dave, take this exit.”
I raised a questioning eyebrow, but Breen just smiled and sat back, listening to the radio.
The town was called Warren’s Tavern and there was not much to it but a few stores and a spattering of old single family homes. Breen wanted to stop at the Gas-'n-Go. We went inside and bought RC Colas and a Moon Pie for Breen. “Don’t tell Aunt Margaret I got this, okay, cause she’ll be mad at me for ruining my dessert appetite; that sort of thing.” Outside again, she took my hand and we walked over to some chairs on the store’s porch.
Now sitting, and definitely enjoying her Moon Pie, Breen looked at me with a schoolgirl grin, “Why didn’t you get one?”
“My diet routine, watch the carbs...sooo, even though I love Moon Pies, I want to spend my carbs on the homemade stuff you said your aunt is making for us.”
In an amused voice, Breen asks, “Stuff?”
“I said that in a nice way.”
“David, my aunt does not make stuff. She bakes pies and cakes.”
“OK, I am holding out for the wonderful pies and cakes that your aunt has lovingly, tirelessly, carefully baked for us to enjoy.”
“BS, BS, BS!”
I notice she had been looking across the street, “Dave, when Donna and I first met, she said that the two of you maintained your privacy, yet could still be so close.” She looks at me with a questioning look.
“We are close, but yes we have our privet lives. Then, my relationship with Donna is not what I want with you. I...Breen, I want to be open with you, but we still need some privacy...it’s the balance.” I could tell she understood and agreed. So I volunteered, “I overheard Donna say that she had no idea where I went soon after my divorce, and the possible sex with swans part also.”
Breen giggled, “Is it a secret? I mean why is it so important to keep it from Donna?”
“I never intended it to be a secret. She never asked and I guess, eventually, as time passed, it became a ‘secret.’ I did not tell her right out because she would not have approved of the trip. I had planned a cruise, then I said hell, do something totally stupid. So first I went to New York, bought some strawberry cheesecake and ate it while I walked around SoHo. Bought some orange and stuffed it in my mouth as I took a tour of Chinatown.”
Breen is staring at me open- mouthed, not wanting to believe what I was telling her.
“I flew to Monterey, California for some key lime cheesecake with mango sauce and watched the sea lions. Albuquerque was next. Went to Dee’s Cheesecake Factory on Menaul Boulevard for amaretto cheesecake; I think it was chocolate amaretto. Strange city to have cheesecake worthy of a special trip; that’s cause you need to experience it fresh served in the small shop next to the bakery."
"Flew to Del Ray, Florida for some really good, diner-style cheesecake; the kind you used to be able to buy at diners from Baltimore to New Jersey. Now you have to go to where the great diner cheesecake chefs have retired. Then, back home...cheesecaked out, if I might say, but my mind was clear.”
Breen had that look of ‘should I laugh or cry,’ “Your mind? No wonder you kept this to yourself. I think sex with swans in Switzerland may have been easier for Donna to understand.”
Moon Pie finished, she put out her hand to stop me from getting up.
Her mood took a sudden change; it became serious, deep in thought. Not knowing why, I waited. She is looking, staring at something across the street. “See that house over there, the yellow one?”
I nodded.
“I was in the upstairs bedroom, the one to the right of the door, when I decided to get married the first time. My friend Trish lived there at the time. We had just walked back from this store. I remember the day so vividly.” Breen was now looking off into the distance, not at the house, but through it. “I missed the Moon Pies when we lived overseas. Funny how little things like that stay in your mind. I was here for a visit and Trish and I just talked and shoved Moon Pies in our faces for three days. Well, it seemed like a lot of them; guess I was making up for the one’s I had missed and those I would miss when I left.”
I had no idea what Moon Pies and marriage had in common. Nor did I have words to respond, so as to help Breen grasp what she was reaching for.
“Trish laughed at me over all the Moon Pies and made a comment about it was a good thing I was not into guys the way I was feeding myself on junk food. It was meant as a joke, but how would she know about my life in the ‘big world,’ as she called life outside Warren’s Tavern.” Breen looked at me, studied my face, “I had an instant vision of marriage as the answer to my life’s problems. Marriage was the obvious step because he had been urging me to marry him. I could tell you words like ‘teenage love’ and ‘teenage immaturity,’ but Dave I never fully understood why I got married the first time.”
She had stopped speaking, but her eyes told me that she was continuing the story silently to herself. In a soft, almost whisper, “I tried to be a good wife, I really did try. Maybe the cards were stacked against me from the very start because I chose someone who was so selfish he wanted to share nothing with me, just take.” She paused. I nodded, reached out and took her hand. Almost to herself, “That part we have gone over before, haven’t we?” I gave her hand a gentle squeeze in reply.
Breen quickly got up and looked at the house for a second or two, then turned around and looked at me again. “Maybe it was to be an adult, maybe a way to leave one’s childhood home...who knows, it's past history. But the guilt of your past never really leaves...” she looks straight into my eyes..."and it rears its ugly head when you truly fall in love with someone.” She paused, then, “Dave, I’m far from perfect. Don’t ever think I am perfect, because I can selfishly take just as good as anyone.” She is looking at me and telling me that she loves me. I keep the words forming silently in my mind; I just nod understanding. Understanding of the commitment her openness had just brought to the table.
As I stood, Breen looped her arm through mine and we walked to the car. She hesitated letting go so she could get in. This was real hesitation; hesitation of not wanting to lose me. Suddenly the table was turned. The commitment Breen’s openness brought to the table was what I had always dreamed about, but this w
as not a game; now I had to choose to commit or walk away. I wanted to stay.
When I got in Breen leaned over and kissed me. With seatbelt buckled, Breen leaned against me, placing her head on my shoulder. I started to place the car in gear, but she took my right hand off the gear shift, raised it to her lips, and kissed the back of my hand. “Dave, please stop thinking I am perfect. I can read your mind.” Still having no words to say, I just squeezed her hand and pressed the side of my head against hers. Breen reached out and turned the radio on, knowing the mood had to lighten up, “Music time.” We completed the trip to her aunt’s house in a peaceful, oneness.
The car is half way into the driveway of Aunt Margaret’s when three little dogs come charging out of the garage, followed by Uncle Stephen carrying a shotgun and visibly annoyed at the yapping dogs; a face that hinted this was the usual situation. This old guy, pushing 80, ambles up to the driver side window as I bring the car to a rest, shotgun cradled in his left arm, and stands there looking at me.
Breen has said nothing other than, “here comes Uncle.”
Having been close to this situation once before at a bar-store-gas pump place in backwoods North Carolina, I do the only thing you can, I get out and look at the three yapping mutts and to her uncle, “how far do you want me to toss them, skeet or trap?”
“Breen’s aunt would be real upset if I took you up on that. I’ve been banished to the garage while the house is kept spotless for you two, not that she’d let me get anything out of place anyway…so I thought Breen can find her own way into the house while you and I shoot some groundhogs.”
I look over to Breen, who is already half way to the house, “It’s OK, my aunt will understand.”
“They’re two peas in a pod,” reaching out and shaking my hand. So off I go with Breen’s uncle to take care of some pesky groundhogs.
“You know Dave…do you mind if I call you Dave…Breen calls me Uncle Steff…if that’s OK with you…I need to warn you that Breen’s aunt is putting on the Ritz for you. Ken was the only boy Breen has ever brought over.” As if he needed to complete a thought for himself, “unless you count that other one, but that mistake started and ended without real introductions. Oh, Breen may think her aunt is in the dark sometimes, but I never understood why. The two of them are like peas in a pod…read your mind like a well-worn book. Breen is like a daughter to us. With her and our own children grown and living hither and yonder, like their visits, Breen’s are real nice. Ken was almost family, church, his mom. You knew that, I can tell. My wife and I have an understanding…she runs my life and I run my mouth. That’s probably why she wanted me to be out of the house; knowing I would take the father to the ‘young man standing on the porch’ role. Oh, we really are going to try and nab a groundhog.”
We’re now sitting on a felled tree, Uncle Steff pointing to a clod of dirt that marked just one of the many holes that had made the field unsafe for horses. “Breen may have tried to hide it, but she was smiling when she got out of the car, knew I would be talking to you. See if I didn’t like you I would have said hello and ignored you.”
“Blunt, to the point. Thanks,”
One dead groundhog later we walked back to the house, “By the way, I didn’t forget about Dave, the one up here. He pines for Breen, but I hate to say this, guy never had a chance; thankfully.”
—////—
Through a Stranger's Eyes Page 14