A Summer In Europe (44 page)

“Oh, sure, I get what you mean now,” he said. “Spreadsheets. I love creating spreadsheets. They’re just so organized and logical and easy to read. When I’m building one at work, an hour can disappear like nothing.”

Gwen blinked at him. “I see.” And she did. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand this fixation of his. It was—again—because she understood it
too well
. So well that she had to take an immediate step back to try to see life from Richard’s perspective. Particularly, her place in it. She, too, had been organized, logical and easy to read. She, too, had valued these qualities—not just in herself but in others.

This summer, however, had challenged and changed her and, in the end, made her strive to be a little more like another self. One she sometimes caught glimmers of when she wasn’t thinking so hard. Perhaps it was the Gwendolyn Reese she
might have been,
if her youth hadn’t been marred by tragedy. If she hadn’t had to shift so early from the one being taken care of to the one in the caretaker role—at least with her dad and her brothers. Maybe, in order to be a happy and fulfilled
woman,
she needed to shift back and first become a happy and fulfilled
girl
.

She swallowed and looked at Richard with all the kindness and compassion in her heart. She wanted so much to reach out and hug him because he wasn’t at all a
bad
man. He just wasn’t the
right
man. Not for her now. How grateful to him she was for that ... even though it made the situation more difficult. More painful. Tears pricked her eyes. She cared about him enough to prevent as much hurt as humanly possible. Somehow, she had to keep him from proposing to her.

He didn’t seem to notice her struggle, though. “Let’s go,” he said.

As they walked away from the museum, Gwen saw a street musician playing guitar. His voice was raspy, but in a good way. It scratched at her apathy and lifted her spirits.

Contrary to what Richard thought—to what she herself had thought before this trip—a marriage proposal was
not
going to make her happy. But she knew now that she did have strong passions. She was moved by good music, by the beauty of nature, by the remarkable interconnectivity of life. She was grateful to Emerson, too (not that this meant she needed to marry
him
just because she was thankful), for opening her eyes to the latter and to Aunt Bea and Zenia in particular for reminding her that passions have to be expressed in order to live life fully. That this helped to keep the fear and dysfunction at bay. To expand her window’s view on the world and broaden her scope.

“Ready for lunch?” Richard asked, whipping out a slip of paper that had a restaurant name on it. “We’re a little early still, but I found a place online that serves more American food. I don’t think it’s got a menu selection as large as The Surfing Cow’s, but it was the closest to it that I could find in London. Somewhere near a place called Leicester Square.” He nodded at her like this was a done deal, patted his breast pocket (which bulged out slightly) and grinned at her. “They open in”—he consulted his watch—“eigh-teen minutes. So, by the time we get there—”

“Um, Richard?”

“Yeah?”

She shook her head slightly, trying to come up with a way to say what she needed to say. Her tears grew from prickles of mist to full raindrops as she said, “I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea for today. I don’t think—”

He shot her a puzzled look. “Really? You’re not in the mood for steak?” He scanned his sheet again. “That’s okay, Gwen. You don’t have to get all upset about it. We could find a pizza place or, maybe, somewhere with burgers and chicken sandwiches. I was just trying to find us someplace nice.”

She sniffled. “I know you were.” She stopped and faced him. “I love the gesture. I really do, Richard. And I can’t thank you enough—truly—for being my boyfriend, for being my
friend,
especially, and for caring about me over these past two years. I appreciate how you tried to understand me and how you flew all the way over here, even though I know traveling isn’t something you enjoy.” She paused. “I didn’t know I’d enjoy it. And—and it’s made me wonder what else about myself I didn’t know. There seems to be a lot of things, actually ...” She sniffled again and took a deep breath. “For one, I’m not ready to get engaged.”

He squinted at her, unable to hide his surprise. “So, you want me to wait until the fall to propose after all?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to have to wait for me, Richard.”

“I’m confused, Gwendolyn. I mean, I bought the ring. I came here. I—”

“I know you did. I know. But I also know that I’m not ready to get married yet. I don’t know when I will be ready.” She hesitated and then finally said the hardest part. “And I don’t know who I’ll want to marry when I
am
ready.” She bit her lip and forced herself to meet his eye. “I’m so sorry, Richard.”

He stared at her, the color seeping from his face and then returning full force. She saw him open and then close his mouth several times, but she heard no sounds coming out of it. Then he swallowed hard, blinked and rubbed his eyes before saying, “I—I’ll admit I don’t know what to say, Gwen. This is a shock. It’s not at all what I’d expected.”

“For me, too,” she whispered. “Life is full of surprises after all, I guess. Even when you work hard to prevent that from happening.” She bowed her head and tried to steady her breathing. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

He studied her expression for a long while and, then, said coolly, “You do realize I’m going to leave here, right? I’m going to fly back home, return this ring and ... and move on. That’s what you’re saying you want me to do, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms and tried to smother the hurt mixed in with the anger, but it was apparent on his face. She so very much wanted to tell him it was all a huge mistake on her part. To hug him and have him propose in his perfectly predictable way (over steak) after all.

But Gwen didn’t want to lead him on when she knew she could no longer be in this relationship without fantasizing about something more. She didn’t play games with people’s hearts. Not when she knew she could avoid it.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

She reached out to touch his folded arm, but he jerked it away. She accepted that. It was really and truly over between then now. Part of her had already begun missing him and mourning the loss. She struggled to find something to say—anything, really—that might ease his pain.

“In time, I think, this’ll be the best thing for both of us,” she began. “I think you might want someone who’s a little more conventional, a little less changeable than me. Someone—”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Gwen. That’s ridiculous.” He turned on his heel but, before he marched away, he added, “You don’t know what
you
want, and you sure as hell don’t know what
I
want. Good-bye.”

She watched him stride down the block and, even though he couldn’t hear her, she made herself say the words aloud. “You’re right, Richard,” she whispered. “My point exactly.”

Gwen wandered around central London by herself for more hours than she’d bothered to count. When she finally returned to the hotel, she collapsed into a heap on her bed in Aunt Bea’s room and fell asleep—dried tears still on her face, heaviness clenching her heart, but a rare sense of peace blanketing her mind. She awoke the next morning to Aunt Bea’s gaze trained on her.

“Oh, good morning,” she managed.

Her aunt’s face looked puffy and a bit sad. “Is it still good, Gwennie?” She held up a clear hotel bag, the kind used for laundry, which had some of Gwen’s belongings in it. Specifically, the few items she’d left up in Richard’s room. Ah. “He left these at the front desk for you when he checked out yesterday. I’m worried about you. What happened, sweetie?”

Gwen, though she crumbled a bit at first, eventually got out the pertinent parts of the story to her aunt.

Beatrice, to her credit, didn’t criticize Richard, tell Gwen “I told you so” or even suggest that Gwen would be happier with some other man sometime soon. Her aunt was a wiser woman than she was; Gwen fully understood that now. Instead, Bea just hugged her, made them both a pot of hot chocolate from the Cadbury mix the hotel kept stocked in the room and told Gwen about her own change of plans.

“I’m extending my stay. Just for two weeks,” Aunt Bea said. “There are people here I want to spend more time with and, for us older folks, it’s not always easy to make big transatlantic flights. Sally could use a little help with Peter now that they’re back home, and I’m involved in a few creative projects with Colin, too. It’s fun and, well, I like to feel needed again.”

“I need you, Aunt Bea,” Gwen admitted. “I always did.”

“I know, honey. You know you’re welcome to stay on for a couple of additional weeks, too, if you’d like. Maybe there’s a, um, reason now to do that?” she asked hopefully.

It wasn’t as if this possibility hadn’t occurred to Gwen, but a stronger thread of judgment—one braided with intuition and self-care—kept her heading on the path she felt was best. Another week or two in Europe, however pleasurable, wasn’t going to tell her what she really needed to know. That, she’d have to find out by herself.

She tried to explain this to Aunt Bea. “And besides,” she added. “I’ve got to get ready for the new school year. We have our first Teacher Institute Day on the seventeenth.”

“All right. Just wanted you to know you had options,” her aunt said.

“Thanks.” Gwen smiled at her. “I know I do.”

The farewell dinner started at five o’clock with appetizers and cocktails in one of the hotel party rooms.

“Looky there,” Hester said, pointing at a large video screen Colin had brought in, along with a laptop that projected some of his digital pictures from their tour onto it. “Remember that day in Capri? Seems so long ago.”

Gwen studied the picture. Colin had taken a shot of Hester and Zenia going through the Blue Grotto in a boat. Then it flashed to a new shot of the restaurant in Sorrento: Emerson and Thoreau were standing up with their wineglasses in hand—eyes closed, mouths open—arguing about Bacchus. She smiled, remembering that night.

She heard a snicker coming from the back of the room and the distinctive sound of Thoreau’s voice saying, “Smashingly photogenic, aren’t we?”

Then Emerson laughing and adding, “Bloody hell, Colin. You couldn’t have waited until we were looking at the camera.”

“Th-That’s the point of a c-candid shot, boys,” Colin replied with good humor.

Gwen glanced over her shoulder and saw the brothers and a bunch of the Brits clustered behind her, near the entrance. Cynthia and Louisa had traversed the room with glasses of white wine for the new arrivals and, just as Louisa handed Emerson his drink, he lifted his gaze and caught sight of Gwen. He raised his hand in a wave but didn’t step forward. Gwen waved back and turned her eyes to the screen again.

The latest image was a photo of Peter, Sally, Connie Sue and Alex having their picnic in the shadow of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, followed by a snapshot of Gwen standing in front of the famous building. Then a shot of Aunt Bea, Colin and Davis posing by a giant flower clock in Switzerland; Louisa and Cynthia armed with packages after their visit to a Murano glass shop; Guido and Hans-Josef leaning against the bus after the operetta in Budapest; Matilda and Dr. Louis on the big Ferris wheel in Vienna; and then Kamesh and Ani poring over a sudoku workbook in Paris.

And then there was a picture of Gwen and Emerson together. In Brussels. Gwen hadn’t even been aware of Colin taking the photo, and she doubted Emerson knew about it either until that moment. It was in the hallway, right before Matilda was going to compete in her final round of the sudoku competition. They were talking, just the two of them. Facing each other. Each with one shoulder touching the wall. Nothing more than that. No holding hands or sharing food or overt flirtations of any kind.

And yet ... yet ... there was an energy actually visible between them. It’d been captured by the rogue snapshot and fixed in time for all to see. The chattering in the room dwindled to almost nothing, and Gwen felt the stares of the others pricking the back of her neck. She squirmed under the silence and the scrutiny.

Aunt Bea tapped Gwen’s arm and handed her something that smelled strongly of rum. “You look like you need a drink, Gwennie.”

She nodded and accepted her aunt’s offering, grateful for Bea’s thoughtfulness and, also, for the change of photo onscreen to one of Cynthia and Hans-Josef together. Kissing behind the bed-and-breakfast in Surrey. That roused the crowd to keyed-up speech again. Across the room, she heard Hester hooting.

And as Gwen glanced in all directions, she realized there were love stories all around her:

Some were tales of heartbreak and loss—like Louisa and her inattentive husband, Zenia and her failed marriage, Hester and the unrequited love (about which she almost never spoke) that kept her single for nearly a century.

Some were stories of old loves remembered—like Davis, Colin and Aunt Bea—all of whom had beloved spouses that had long since passed away.

Some were relationships that were currently strong and steady, or recently rekindled with fresh awareness—like Peter and Sally (who’d delighted everyone by coming to the party for a short while), Connie Sue and Alex, Kamesh and his wife, Thoreau and Amanda.

And some were new loves—bright and hopeful at any age—like Ani and Saija, Hans-Josef and Cynthia, Matilda and Dr. Louie ...

Every couple had a story. Gwen’s tale was merely
one
of them.

Knowing this made it easier to handle this last day of farewells and cheerios. To deal with the demise of her relationship with Richard, say good-bye to Emerson and their tour friends and take a step into her future without planning every possible move in advance.

At dinner, seated all together on a long table, Emerson and Thoreau reprised the dramatic roles they’d held during the first meal they’d shared this way in Sorrento. Emerson was the first to stand.