An Ever Fixéd Mark (35 page)

“Lizzie, I’m so sorry,” Meg began
immediately. “I had too much to drink.”

“
You have too much to
drink a lot,” Lizzie took off her coat. “Anyway, it’s
done.”

“But you had such an awful fight…” Meg
looked down. “Ben is a really good guy. I am sorry I put him in
this position.”

“What about me, Meg? Doesn’t it matter that
you did this to me?”

Meg’s lip trembled. “I’m a rotten
friend.”

Lizzie knew it was wrong to judge Meg. She
felt her conscious sting from the hypocrisy. “You’re lonely,”
Lizzie shook the anger out of her head. “We all do stupid things to
stop that ache.”

“So we’re okay?”

“I guess so,” Lizzie just wanted to get her
things and leave the house.

“I love you, Lizzie,” Meg hugged her. “I’ll
make it up to you.”

“Yeah,” Lizzie said absently and let Meg go.
“I promised I would meet Ben.”

Meg nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lizzie rounded towards the stairs but noticed the stack of mail she
hadn’t checked in a week. She grabbed the pile and brought it up
the stairs. On top of a stack was a photograph that showed why
Oliver was so familiar to Paula. He was on the cover of another
museum newsletter. Lizzie scanned the caption and accompanying
article. It explained what she already knew about his research and
visit to Boston. He was giving a student lecture and collaborating
with faculty at UMASS.

Lizzie shut her bedroom
door and let herself look at his photograph, a random candid of him
wearing a cap standing outdoors with a group of students. Ben was
so angry at the mention of his name, at her suggestion that his
worry was anything but a genuine desire for her safety. How could
this Professor Ol in the photograph be menacing? He had an ill
opinion of Ben. Was it not possible they both were lying about one
another? Was it bad blood as Oliver had said? Was it really bad
blood? Was it Charlotte? Was it Melissa Benson? Was it Eloise
Hutchins? Or was it Lily?

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Lizzie felt the burn of the cold November
wind in her lungs as she climbed back up the stairs to Ben’s door.
It had been a while since she ran four miles. She was glad she made
use of the daylight after she got home from the office. It was one
less hour she was sitting alone in the apartment.

She was used to being there by herself. He
worked late many nights when she would go there to cook dinner or
read a book. Even so, she half expected him to be there waiting by
the kitchen window as he was on her birthday. That he hadn’t really
gone back for a second week. That he decided he accomplished all
obligation required in his previous visit.

She knew it was a month commitment to get
the Chicago clinic on its feet. That his weekends home were his
opportunity to catch up on the business of his Boston office. She
knew it was less time he spent with her. He promised it was only a
month. He told her, when he left early that Monday morning, that at
the end of November he would come home, go with her to
Thanksgiving, and never go back to Chicago.

She didn’t think she would miss him as much
as she did. She didn’t like some unresolved tension about things
that were spoken aloud after the party. Lizzie knew the wounds of
those words could only heal with time. She knew the fact she missed
him accelerated the healing process by letting her see what her
life would be without him. After the first week, she wanted it to
be the end of November. His bed felt cold without him at her side.
Her day felt empty without seeing the gray green eyes. He tried to
call or email her every day. But a five minute hello wasn’t the
same as having his conversation beside her.

It was different than the last trip he took,
when the thing that most upset her was forgetting her birthday.
Then she could distract herself by spending time at Jefferson Park,
watching movies and drinking wine with Meg. Lizzie didn’t want to
go home. She didn’t want to talk to Meg. She couldn’t indulge her
apologies or excuses. She didn’t want to be in her bedroom where
there was a recent memory of such an awful fight with Ben.

She took a shower and started a load of
laundry before settling with her laptop in the living room. There
wasn’t a whole lot in her email that she hadn’t seen at work, but
she was able to linger voyeuristically on Facebook for twenty
minutes. She didn’t want to find Meg there. Or even Nora. She
couldn’t deal with them. She read one of Andrew’s posts and then
saw a status update from Oliver.

He didn’t try to contact her since their
hasty departure from the Fulton House. Maybe he said all he wanted
to say. Maybe his work was keeping him busy in Boston, busy enough
to realize Lizzie wasn’t worth any further conversation. She was
relieved and disappointed. She didn’t understand what he told her.
She wanted to know more. About him. About Lily. She knew Oliver
would have those answers. She knew it would displease Ben. She knew
that wanting it was worse than the thing for which she was avoiding
Meg. So, perhaps it was best that the only news from Oliver was a
ten word phrase about meeting with professors from UMASS.

She broke her concentration when several
sirens echoed through the window, followed soon by flashing lights.
She left the couch to see what was happening across the street.
There were three police cars and an ambulance. She watched as a few
pedestrians paused and started to group outside the house.

The sirens stopped, allowing Lizzie to hear
the stillness of the apartment. She realized her laundry was done
and went to move it to the dryer. She peered out the window again
when she returned to the living room and saw an officer circling
the three decker with yellow tape. She remembered seeing a young
couple coming and going from the apartment. Ben told her there was
another couple he met when he first moved in years ago. They
assumed he was the grandson of the original Dr. Benjamin
Cottingham. Neither the flashing lights nor the lingering officers
showed evidence which couple was involved in the emergency. She got
a chill and went back to her seat on the couch, noticing something
strange about the wall with the mirror. There were no white roses
on the Victorian table.

She picked up her computer again and saw the
indication of a new message. She went to her inbox and saw Oliver’s
picture with the Adidas shirt tagging the unread message. Lizzie
took in a deep breath to stop her hands from shaking. Her heartbeat
accelerated as she moved the mouse to open it.

“Hi Lizzie,

I was glad to see you last week. I would
still like to get together before I leave town. Please allow me to
take you to lunch.

Oliver”

Lizzie breathed in again, aware of another
siren and more flashing lights outside the window. Did he know she
was looking at his status and thinking about him? Or was it just
coincidence because they were both logged onto Facebook? She looked
down from the window and typed quickly.

“Oliver,

It was nice to see you…”

She looked at Ben’s office, as if he were
secretly waiting there. As if he would come out and catch her
typing a message to Oliver. As her eye moved back to the computer,
it passed the buffet where Maria’s things rested and watched over
the apartment. What would she say to Lizzie, knowing what she knew
about Oliver? He was bad news. She needed to stay away from
him.

But she wanted to know. She wanted to know
if Oliver was really… how could he be… he was Lily’s friend. Her
lover. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to Lizzie? Why should she deny
him the chance to explain himself? Lunch would be…

“I would like lunch very much. I work pretty
close to Harvard Square. Does that work for you?”

She sent the message and looked at the
buffet. Maria was stupid. She didn’t love Ben. She killed herself
and didn’t care about Ben’s feelings. Lizzie made the choice for
Ben, knowing everything that she knew. She loved Ben. She got over
her fear of relationships and being unloved and asserted herself to
be with him. She knew that. No two hours with Oliver was going to
take that away from her.

The response came onto her
screen.
“I can come to Harvard Square
tomorrow.”

Lizzie saw the empty table
at the back of the room. The vase disappeared after their fight.
Why did the white roses no longer matter after she accused him of
loving her out of revenge? After he accused her of wanting to
cheat? Was she cheating? It was just lunch. She would tell Ben
about it… when he was home. If she told him, it wouldn’t be
wrong.
“Meet me at the Border Café at
12:30,”
she typed quickly and then moved
her cursor to log out of Facebook.

*****

Lizzie made up an excuse about a doctor’s
appointment and convinced Richard to release her for the rest of
the day. It was difficult enough to find any focus in the morning.
She doubted she would have any ability to concentrate on work when
she got back from lunch. It gave her the freedom to drink,
something she felt a necessity for easier conversation… and
safety.

She was early. She left the office with
plenty of time to spare. She got a table and was halfway through
her first margarita when Oliver walked into the restaurant. He
stopped briefly to pause at the hostess station but then lifted his
eyes as if expecting to see her. She waved weakly and watched him
approach the table. He seemed even more handsome in his North Face
winter coat and well tailored jeans. She didn’t remember what he
was wearing to the museum. Why did it intrigue her so much now?
It’s not like he ever worried much about the clothing he wore. He
dressed in whatever was most useful and comfortable in the
weather.

“Hello Lizzie,” he smiled.

“Hi,” she managed pleasantry as she tried to
erase the comments from her mind.

“Already started?” he looked at her fruity
drink.

“Well… I figured I’d be drinking alone, so I
didn’t think it would matter if I went ahead.”

“Yes, that always is… I thought lunch would
make you more comfortable… being in a public place,” he took off
his coat and settled into a chair.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” Lizzie swirled
the straw through the slush. The tequila already turned her cheeks
pink. “Ben usually orders my second drink for himself.”

“Ah,” Oliver picked up his menu and looked
it over. “So I should order what you’re having?”

“Yes, please,” Lizzie laughed and sipped
through her straw. “You should get fish tacos and decide they
weren’t fresh.”

“You definitely know the routine.”

“I’m getting the chimichangas. They are
really bad for me… but I don’t care.”

“You look really good, Lizzie,” Oliver sat
up in his chair. “Are you still running marathons?”

“Hardly,” she laughed at herself. “I’m lucky
if I get in five miles a week these days.”

“I bet you could still do it if you put your
mind to it,” Oliver smiled. His smile made her squirm in discomfort
and in hope.

“It’s all about the mind,” Lizzie sat back
from her drink.

“The mind is an amazing thing,” he kept his
gaze steady.

“Indeed,” Lizzie nodded as the waitress
approached and took their orders. Oliver followed her
recommendation to repeat her margarita and the fish tacos. “I saw
an article about the talk you gave at UMASS.”

“I haven’t given it yet,” Oliver
smirked.

“Oh,” Lizzie felt her cheeks burn, hoping it
was just the alcohol.

“It’s on Thursday. You should come.”

“I…” Lizzie grasped the neck of her
margarita glass.

“I’ll ask you again before we leave,” Oliver
put the straw into his glass of water that he wasn’t going to
drink.

“I never thought of you as a scientist,”
Lizzie took another sip, grateful for the pungency of the
tequila.

“I was a lawyer once.”

“That’s why you were so good at debate
club?”

“Yeah,” he looked down with a pleased grin
and then shifted back to her. “You were a fierce opponent.”

“I was rather bull headed in high school,”
Lizzie fingered her straw. “I still am.”

“
Actually, it was a debate
we had about municipal recycling that got me interested in
environmental science,” Oliver bit his lip.

“Really?”

“You were pretty passionate about newspapers
and collecting bottles and cans,” Oliver fiddled with the
silverware. “It got me thinking.”

“Well, you actually did something with those
thoughts. I’m still wasting a lot of hot water when I take a
shower.”

“
Nobody’s perfect. Hell, I
am researching the environmental impact of tourism and I fly in
airplanes across the country. But… it doesn’t make the issue less
important. I realized that about ten years ago. When you are around
this place long enough, you realize how … I’ve seen so much damage
to the earth. I am trying to use my longevity for some
good.”

“That’s… that is wow.”

“I’m not a businessman like Ben. I tried
that… it didn’t work out so well.”

“You aren’t like Ben.”

“Except for one pretty major detail.”

“No, you aren’t like Ben,” Lizzie looked
hard at the dwindling amount of liquid in her glass.

Oliver let his eyes go to the window and
follow the blurred shapes walking down Church Street. “Didn’t you
go to college here?”

“Mm hmm,” Lizzie answered through her
sip.

“You like Cambridge, then?”

“I guess. Enough to work here and live close
by.”

“Mmm,” he looked at her.

“You got married.”

“I did.”

“That’s good,” Lizzie hid the fact she felt
a sudden letdown. “How did you meet her?”

“She was a student,” Oliver took the wrapper
from Lizzie’s straw.