Burning the Map (23 page)

M
y mouth now hangs open, but I'm mute with shock. I can't take my eyes off the brilliant square diamond resting elegantly on a thin wisp of platinum. Inside my head, pieces jangle loose and bat themselves around. My first coherent thought is that I'm ridiculously flattered. John wants to
marry
me?

John and I had spoken only briefly about marriage, and then only in the most general sense. He'd said that he wanted to be married eventually, but not yet, and I'd agreed, telling him that it wasn't one of my main goals to wear the white, at least not until I'd established myself and proven that I could be completely independent. We never specifically included each other in that general talk. But now here he is, his face brimming with hope.

“John,” I say finally, wrenching myself back to the present, to the image of him offering up this olive branch in the form of a diamond on a bed of blue. “We have problems. I don't know if this is the solution.”

The expectation in his eyes flickers and dims, but he pulls
himself up straighter. “I'll do anything for you. Anything. I'll talk to you whenever you want. I'll support you through your parents' divorce. I want you to have all the time you need with your friends. I'll go to counseling if you think we need that.”

“I don't know—” I start to say, but he puts a finger to my lips, and pulls at my arms, turning me, until we're both cross-legged, facing each other. It dawns on me that during the few times I did consider marriage, this is not how I thought I'd get engaged—sweating under the sun, wearing no makeup and sitting like kids at camp.

“I love you more than anything in the world,” John says, and he grips one of my hands tightly. “I've only truly realized that since you left. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. I want you to be my wife.”

The words
my wife
send a shock through me. They sound possessive rather than comforting. Yet maybe this is the breakthrough I've been waiting for with him. Perhaps now his passion will fill in around his professional drive. Perhaps this commitment would mean warm, knowing looks and long talks late into the night. Maybe this
was
the solution. Maybe it did signal John's ability to change.

“Try it,” he says, holding out the open blue box. He has a small smile on his face like a kid who knows he's about to get that birthday present he's waited for all year.

I pull the ring from its velvety perch, and it sparkles in the sun, reminding me of the way the sea glittered when I first saw it from the bus. I place it on the ring finger of my left hand. It fits perfectly. I hold it out, angling it this way and that, vaguely aware of John's growing smile as he watches me. But suddenly I feel a constriction, as if the ring is growing tighter, and there's a tightness in my chest as well.

I see myself then, in years to come, still unsatisfied, bitching and complaining to the friends I have left or to some strangers in an identity-free support group for co-dependents, whatever that means. I see that John is willing to give
me everything—everything he can muster. The counseling, the time with friends, the talks. Yet John's everything will never satisfy me. He is not
the one
that Jenny was talking about. I see that clearly now, where I'd only caught glimpses of it before.

I tug the ring off my hand and push it back into the box. “I can't, John. It's not right.”

I'm struck by the fact that this gesture might have done the trick only a short time ago. It could have been enough. But after the last few weeks, I find myself unable to settle. What's the old adage? You don't marry who's right for you, you marry who's right for you at the time. Well, I want the person who's really right for me, even if I have to wait forever.

“Casey, please,” John says, the smile plummeting off his face, his eyes pained again.

I despise myself for causing that look, that pain, but I can't do anything different.

“Please,” he says again. “I'll do whatever you need.”

“I know you will, but…” I pause for a moment, searching for the proper words. Turning my head, I see a cruise ship leaving its mooring. “We're not meant for each other,” I say at last. “I'm not the one for you.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “You're the only one for me.”

“John, what about everything I said to you? I just told you that I was unfaithful.”

A spark of anger briefly interrupts the anguish in his face. “I'm willing to get past it.”

I'm not,
I respond silently.

My eyes cloud with tears. How did it come to this? I wonder. How can I hurt him like this?

“Don't do this, Casey,” he says. “Don't do this. Just give it time.”

“Time won't help.” Then finally I say it. “It's over.”

“No, no,” he says, talking over my words. “We'll go to
counseling. I won't bring up marriage again. I'll give you all the time you want.”

The urge to accept this time is so strong. It would salve his hurt, which shines from his eyes, but I see with clarity that procrastination would only be prolonging the inevitable.

“I'm so sorry.” I pull him to me. His weight sags against my chest. He doesn't return the embrace.

 

I watch helplessly as John packs T-shirts, a bathing suit and his white button-down in the stiff tan suitcase. Normally, he's a meticulous packer, making small, wrinkle-free rolls of his T-shirts, separating his underwear from his toiletries. But now he throws in a pair of shorts with a haphazard arm, dumping running shoes and a can of shaving cream on top of that.

I panic momentarily, wanting to tell him to take the ring out and ask me again, but I can't get my mouth open to say the words. I try to convince myself that leaving John will be something like graduating from college. I'd loved University of Michigan, but I'd outgrown it. As painful as it was to leave Ann Arbor, I knew it was time to move on. Logically, this analogy works, but it trivializes John, comparing him to a campus where I was personally responsible for increasing the sale of Budweiser.

“Can I help?” I ask as he stomps around the room, gathering his travel alarm clock off the nightstand, snatching a shirt from the chair.

He throws me a stony glance, but his look softens after a second, and he shakes his head. I wish I could do something to alter that wounded expression, but it's time to face the music instead of ignoring the steady beat that's been thumping in the background like a neighbor's bass.

“Why don't you just stay the night?” I ask.

“I can't stay now. You don't want me, and I have to go.”

“That's not true.” And it isn't. Because when John left, it would be official. Over.

“The boat to Athens leaves at ten tonight. I'll just wait at the dock,” he says.

“It's only seven o'clock. Let's get something to eat first.” It's all unraveling too rapidly. I've been on this lazy vacation, growing accustomed to island time, and now John is here, and within twenty-four hours a two-year relationship has crumbled.

“I can't,” John says, zipping the suitcase. “I have to go.”

“I'll walk you to the dock.” I move closer to him, desperate for a little more time.

“No…” He starts to say something else, but my shrill voice drowns out his words.

“I'm coming with you to the dock!” I say, snatching his bag off the bed and carrying it to the door, as if by doing this I can lessen his emotional load, as well.

John sighs and follows me.

The pier for the Athens liner is deserted. No noisy backpackers to divert our attention, no innkeepers hawking their establishments. It's eerily quiet, but for the water slapping against the dock. A well of emotions rushes up inside me—fear of being alone, guilt for causing his pain, relief that there has been some conclusion, some decision. Most of all, I feel sadness at the loss of him because even though it's the correct decision, he'll leave a definite gap in my life.

“I'll wait with you,” I tell John, gazing out at the water, clutching the handle of his bag to stop my hands from trembling.

“No.” He grabs his suitcase and drops it with a thud. “Just go.”

“I'll wait,” I say, as if I hadn't heard him.

“Casey. Leave,” he says in a harsh tone.

I flinch, then slowly I touch his arm, his elbow and finally
his shoulder, until he turns toward me. When his head finally follows and he looks at me, his eyes are brimming with tears.

“I wish you understood,” he says.

“I do.” I pull him to me. “It's just—”

“Don't explain any more.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I can't take it.”

At the sound of the tired resignation in his voice, my own tears rush out again. All I can do is hold him as tightly as possible. Seconds go by, then minutes.

At last, John pulls back, wiping at the tears with one swipe of his hand. “I'll be okay, Case. Don't worry about me.”

“I'll call you when I get home. We'll go to lunch, or dinner, or—”

“You'd better go now,” he interrupts, but he says this softly. When I hesitate, he whispers, “Please.”

“You're sure?” I ask, wondering what else I can do to help him, help me. I feel completely out of control. This is it. This is it.

John nods, squeezing my hand.

“Okay,” I say.

I stand for one last moment gazing at the person who'd been a family member, a friend and a lover for most of my short adult life. And now he would be none of those things. Just like that.

I
walk aimlessly for an hour or so, the sharp whites and blues of the town taking on a warm orange glow as the sun sets west of the village. I'm not really sure where I'm going or what I'm going to do. I just know that I'm afraid to slow down.

It's over, I keep telling myself. It's done. I no longer have a boyfriend, a significant other, a lover. John is no longer a part of my life. I'm stunned by the speed of the events. I can't stop seeing his face, the tears spilling from his eyes.

At some point I concede defeat to the blisters forming on my feet, and find my way back to the Carbonaki. By the time I get there, Kat and Sin are getting ready to go out for the night, music blaring from my CD player.

“What happened to you?” Sin asks, looking alarmed at my tear-stained face and puffy red eyes. She crosses the room and turns off the music.

I slump on my bed and lie back. “I broke up with John.”

“Whoa!” I hear Kat say. “What happened?”

I sit up again and look at them. “He proposed first, and then we broke up.”

“Jesus,” Sin says.

Kat sinks on the bed across from me. “You've got to be kidding.”

I shake my head. “He had this beautiful ring. I don't know if he brought it with him or bought it here, but he said he wanted to get married, and he promised he would change. He looked so hopeful, holding out this box.” I stop for a breath.

“What did you do? What did you say?” Kat asks.

“I actually thought about it. I thought maybe things could change, maybe I could be happy with John for the rest of my life. Then I realized I wasn't in love with him the way you should be when you get engaged.”

“Did you tell him that?” Sin says.

“I just told him we weren't right together, and nothing was going to change that.”

“How did he take it?”

“He's crushed, and I'm crushed that I did it to him.”

“So where is he?” Kat looks around, as if John might walk in the door at any minute.

“He's down at the dock waiting for the boat to Athens. He won't stay the night, and he won't let me wait with him.”

“Wow.” Sin shakes her head, gazing at me as if she can't tear her eyes away. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” I say. “Terrible that I had to make him so sad, and terrible because I'm going to miss him so much. But…” I flop back on the bed again, my mind reeling.

“But what?” Kat says.

“It's just that I knew it had to happen. I knew it was right to break up.”

“Well, that's the most important thing,” Kat says. “You have to be sure.”

“I'm sure, but if you could have seen his face—” I start crying again. “It just killed me.”

They fuss over me, and I give them the
War and Peace
version of John's proposal. We discuss the issue from every possible angle and the conclusion is always the same: You did the right thing.

“So, girlfriend,” Sin says after the thirtieth rehashing. “What do you want to do tonight? What will make you feel better?” She tousles my hair.

“I can't go to the bars. I'm not in the mood.”

“Well, then how about I get a bottle of wine, and we'll sit by the pool?” Kat says.

“That sounds perfect, but I have to make a call first.”

 

It's the crack of dawn in Chicago, yet my father answers the phone with a chipper, “Rich Evers!”

“Dad,” I say. “It's me, Casey.”

“Casey, honey. Are you still in Europe? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” I say, arranging myself on a hard wooden chair in the lobby of the Carbonaki. “I'm sorry to bother you.”

“You're not bothering me, sweetie,” he says, and then adds, after a moment, “I was worried when I got your message.”

“Are you having an affair?” I blurt out. I just have to know. A young couple that is passing by me looks alarmed as I say this, and they stick to the other side of the hall.

“An affair?” he says, sounding amused. “Of course not. Who would I have an affair with?”

“Little Miss What's-Her-Bucket. Your assistant.”

“Ms. Hamlin?” He sounds entertained at the thought. “No, Casey. I'm not having an affair. Not with Ms. Hamlin or anyone else.”

“Then why are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

I hear him exhale loudly, as if buying himself some time to compose an answer. “Your mother and I haven't had much
of a relationship for years. Nothing could make it better, and I decided that life is too short to live like that.”

“A bit selfish, isn't it?” I ask, thinking of my mother by herself in the big rambling house.

“Well, yes. I suppose it is selfish, but Casey, I don't know that you can understand what it's like to be in your fifties and realize that the majority of your life has passed you by, and you barely noticed it.”

“What are you talking about? You have a great job, great family, lots of friends.”

“Yes.” He paused. “But there are so many other things I wanted for my life, too.”

“Like what?” I ask, surprised by his words. He's always seemed like the content suburban family man. Or perhaps I never really looked past that.

“Well, did you know that I wanted to be a musician?”

“I know you played guitar in college.” In my mind, I see a black-and-white photo of my dad at a university party, guitar in hand, a group of coeds in front of him.

“I did play back then, and I always wanted to be in a real band and to write music. Then I got the job at the bank, and I married your mother, and we had kids. I kept thinking I would get back to it, that I would pick it up again, but the years flew by, and I never seemed to have the time.”

“I didn't know you were so unhappy,” I say, the bitterness creeping back into my voice.

“Not unhappy. Just maybe unfulfilled.” He exhales loudly again. “Listen, I know you're not asking for any words of wisdom from your old man, but if I could give you any advice it would be this—make all your minutes count, every last one of them. And start now because, honey, while the possibilities may seem endless, the time sure isn't.”

“Geez, Dad, I didn't know you were such a poet,” I joke, unaccustomed to his tone. He doesn't respond. “Guess
what?” I say then, feeling the urge to confide. “There's another breakup to report.”

“What do you mean?”

“I broke up with John tonight.”

“Tonight? I thought you were on that trip with your girlfriends.”

I explain about John's arrival, as well as his subsequent proposal and departure.

“So,” I say, when I've finished the tale, “maybe we could start hitting the bars on Rush Street together.”

My father laughs, sounding relieved to hear my attempt at humor, but it stops abruptly. “Are you all right, hon?”

“I'm going to be fine. It had to happen.”

“Yes,” my father says. “I know what you mean.”

The hall phone starts to make clicking noises and a Greek woman's voice comes on, telling me, I assume, to deposit more money.

“I gotta go, Dad,” I say.

“Okay, sweetie. Call me when you get home. And Casey, please know that I will always take care of your mother.”

“I know you will.”

“And you make sure you take care of you.” He sounds a little choked up, but it could be the connection.

 

Kat, Lindsey and I sit at the edge of the hotel's pool, drinking wine out of the bottle.

“My dad says he's not having an affair,” I tell them.

“Do you believe him?” Sin says.

I think about this for a moment. “I do. I think I was looking for a reason for their split, something concrete and obvious, but it turns out it's not that simple.”

“What do you mean?” Kat takes a sip of the red wine, her chestnut hair falling over her shoulders as she does so. “If it's not an affair, then why?”

“He said they haven't had a good relationship for a long
time, which is true. He didn't see it getting any better, and wants more out of life than that.”

“Sort of like you and John,” Kat says.

Her words startle me. I'm not like my parents. Yet she's right. I want more from a relationship than I could ever get from John.

We spend the rest of the night talking, talking and talking, about everything and nothing. We decide to leave for Athens the next morning and spend our last few days there, seeing the Acropolis and the rest of the sights.

Later, despite the infusion of wine, I'm unable to sleep. My mind whirs over the last few weeks and spins on to those upcoming. Soon I'll be practicing law, living a nine-to-five existence, like you're suppose to when you grow up. It's not the hours that bother me, though. It's the drudgery of the law. A science of semantics, of crossing t's and dotting i's, built one case on top of another. But maybe it will be more than that, I tell myself. Surely it will be more exciting, more fulfilling.

I want to sleep, but I keep hearing the note of regret in my father's voice as he described hopes lost.
Don't let that happen to me,
I pray to whatever God might be tuning in,
please don't let that happen to me.