Knowing Is Not Enough (16 page)

“I saw him and I’m all good. Clean bill of health.”

“So you’re sleeping and eating well?”

“Good on both.”

“Is there anything else you would like to talk about before our next meeting?”

“Oh, yeah, I need a new attorney.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t recommend an attorney to you. You may want to ask some of the other individuals in your circle of support.”

“Yeah, but I’ll figure this out. I want to keep it separate from them right now.”

“Okay.”

“All right, same time next week?”

“I believe so. I may go to D.C. I haven’t decided yet, but Karen will tentatively put you down for next week.”

“Okay, just call if anything changes.”

“I will. Don’t forget to see Karen.”

I heard Mr. Johnson talking to Karen on his way out. Following him I met with three more clients, and finally I was free for the day. A couple of hours left in the day, plenty of time to make a phone call to Jake’s mother.

“Karen?”

“Yes—”

“I know it’s early, but you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want. I’ll close up.”

She grinned. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” I heard her shuffling papers. “So what are you going to do for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Transcribe my notes, then call Ms. Thomas.”

I hoped that would slide by, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t. “Call Ms. Thomas?” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you said?”

“Yup,” I said. “I’m calling because she wants to talk to me about something. I think she’s under the weather.”

“Sick?”

“I don’t know.” Karen’s mouth parted on the ready with presumably with more questions. I raised my hand, “I’m sorry, but I’ve had this conversation with one of you inquisitive ladies already . . . please, go home. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Karen hesitated before leaving my office, got her things, then locked up and left. I wanted to go visit Sanford in D.C., hopefully rekindle our relationship, but I wasn’t feeling brave enough to call him. I took the passive way out and decided to write an email. I was concerned about Sanford’s reaction, so I threw Linda’s name in to see if we could come and visit. I sat with my hands positioned on the keyboard, waiting for the words to come, but they didn’t. I removed my hands from the keys.

I dialed Jake’s mother’s number instead. She answered almost immediately. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Thomas, how are you?”

“I’m fine, who’s this?” I remembered her being this vibrant, energetic woman.
Something’s off, I feel and hear it in her voice
.

“It’s Alex.”

“Lawd, baby, I miss you so much. Did Jake tell you to call?”

Her voice filled my heart, pushing aside any concerns or questions I had about making this call. Love is all that remained for her, and I missed our connection and what that felt like. The feeling was overwhelming. Teary-eyed, I confessed, to my surprise, “I miss you, too.”

“Did you talk to Jake? He told me he was going call you. So he called you?”

I wiped the warm taste of salt from my lips. “He sure did, and stopped by last week.”

“Why haven’t you called me? You divorced Jake, not me.”

“I know. I’ll do—be better about staying in touch—I promise. You got me worried over here.”

“Honey, don’t worry about me, this isn’t nothing but old age. Lord willing you gone feel all these aches and pains one day. I told Jake not to worry you about this.”

“Well he’s just concerned about his favorite girl. So, what are your doctors saying . . . besides old age?”

She sighed. “Oh, this arthritis is acting up in my hip and I was getting a little forgetful about my medication. The doctors think I have breast cancer. But you know those doctors don’t know what they talking about. I told Jake we just gone pray on this and if it’s my time to go—then it’s my time to go.”

“Ms. Thomas! Why didn’t you call me?”

She chuckled. “Alex, what is this Ms. Thomas mess? Call me Mom—this memory of mine is getting so bad. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have Jake. He said he’s gone move in with me, did he tell you?”

I thought of Jake correcting me on who was moving in with whom. My words were enveloped in a smile. “Okay, yes, Mom, he told me,” I said. “When is all this supposed to happen?”

“As soon as he finds a place for us. He’s having a hard time. That girlfriend of his is helping. She can’t find nothing, either. I don’t know why he got her. I told Jake you found the last place. He should have you look.”

“I’d think between the two of them they should be able to find something you’ll like.”

“They can’t get along long enough.”

My interest in their dysfunction, though inappropriate, was undeniable. I pushed the speakerphone to untether myself to get the 411 on what did
can’t get long
mean. “Oh, now, it can’t be that bad,” I said.

“Huh, that’s what you think.”

“Just give it time. Now when is your next appointment with the doctor? If you don’t mind, I’d like to go with you.”

“I would love that—I really would. I’ll have Jake call and give you the doctor’s information.”

“Don’t forget. I want to come and find out how you’re doing.”

“He will, baby, I won’t forget. Now I have to get off this phone. All this medication makes me sleepy.”

“I’ll call Jake just in case,” I said.

“I’ll talk to you later. Well, no, I’ll see you, won’t I?” There was uncertainty in her voice.

“Yes, you’ll do both,” I said, putting as much reassurance in my voice as possible.

We hung up and my thoughts went to Jake. He must be trying to manage what used to be my role in the relationship, that of problem-solver. I should go over there—
wait
—
stop it, Alex
.
Jake will figure this out. He doesn’t need you fixing things for him
. Old habits die-hard.

The telephone interrupted my thoughts. It was Jake. “That was fast.”

“How did your talk with Mother go?”

“You must be near her. I just got off the phone.”

He chuckled. “I’m here, but I was trying not to eavesdrop.”

“It went well—I think. She didn’t remember asking you to call me. Something else strange happened—she’s usually so even-tempered, but she was going on about your relationship—or lack thereof—with Taylor. Surprising she mentioned that to me.”

“That’s a non-issue. How much do you know about breast cancer?”

A non-issue? What does that mean?
“I know enough to be concerned.”

He took a deep breath. “We really don’t know a whole lot right now. At her age, who knows what direction this could go in?”

“How old is your mother?”

“Seventy-three.”

“What’s this appointment she’s got coming up for?”

“A biopsy—and other tests to see how large the tumor is. It’s tomorrow. If you can’t make it I’ll completely understand and explain it to her.”

“No, I don’t want to disappoint her. What time and where?”

“St. Mary’s at eleven.”

“It’s going to be just you and her?”

He laughed. “Yes, just us.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to have multiple things to deal with all at once.”

“No need to apologize. I told you, that’s a non-issue. It’s not a problem, you coming means a lot to both of us.”

“Eleven, I’ll be there.’

“See you then.”

My thoughts switched with the click of the receiver
back to Sanford. I wished he were here. I turned my chair to face the window. The days are getting shorter. No clients or Karen, only the humming of the air conditioner and me, alone with my thoughts of penitence.
If I have any hope of regaining what we started I need to admit I made a mistake, apologize, then catch the next plane out there and see him
.

I turned off my computer and lights before heading out the lobby door toward my car. The night sky was uncharacteristically clear. It reminded me of the time Sanford and I went to the poetry reading. The full moon glowed that night, just as it did now. I never felt more like myself than I did in that moment with him. So what’s the worst that could happen . . . I get my heart broken, he rejects me and I’m alone again?
Technically, I’m alone now
. Well it’s all happened before and I survived. You’re a therapist, it shouldn’t take you this long to get here. I’m going to take a leap of faith, put all my cards on the table, and tell him how I’ve been feeling.

A watched phone doesn’t ring.

Then again, maybe it does. The phone started buzzing. An unknown caller. Karen, long gone for the evening, couldn’t provide the desired, necessary screen. Whoever it was knew my direct number. Hesitant to answer, I continued to watch and listen until it reached its fourth ring. Then, as magically as it started, it stopped.
It couldn’t have been Sanford, much as I want it to be. Maybe wishing it were him is better than knowing it wasn’t
.

Making decisions was the hard part. The rest was logistics and geography. I made my decision. I didn’t want to vacillate over calling Sanford anymore. I was over it, but the thought of talking to Sanford had my stomach in knots. I needed to eat. Time to pack it in, and head toward home. I could pick something up on the way, coffee and a muffin that I may regret buying and eating later.

Back home I dropped everything but my cup in the foyer, cut the downstairs lights on then walked in the family room to make my call. One bite of the muffin
solved the cliffhanger on my purchase. Bad decision. I turned on the television, muted the volume, and then flipped through my phone contacts until I saw his face. My finger was on the button. I stopped. Better rehearse the conversation in my head versus ad-libbing.

I’ll call. He’ll be glad I did. We’ll talk about his leaving without us getting together, but it won’t be awkward because he’ll be so glad to hear my voice. He’ll tell me what’s going on with him and how much he misses me and I’ll say the same. I’ll explain I made a mistake we should have stayed together and worked around the distance. Then I’ll mention coming to see him. He’ll be happy. The End
.

With any luck, the call will go exactly they way I want it to. I’ll be the victor, and everything will fall back in place. I pushed the call button. The ringing reverberated throughout the room. It was unnerving. To pronounced. I unmuted the television to get some background noise, and took a sip of coffee to ease my nerves. The phone rang twice, and then his voicemail came on. I hesitated too long to hang up. I didn’t expect this and didn’t have a prepared message. I groaned silently and left an uncoordinated ten-second pause before I stammered, “Hey Sanford, it’s me. Give me a call when you get a chance.” I checked the time to ensure I wasn’t calling too late. I wasn’t. A quick ring followed by voicemail only meant one thing. He rejected my call. All that pre-call prepping, only to be pushed into voicemail.
I didn’t rehearse voicemail
. I propped up a pillow and lay across the couch resting my phone and coffee on the floor.

I felt antsy.
I can’t just lie here
. I picked my phone back up and called Linda. She didn’t answer either. An evening
with my thoughts isn’t good for anybody—namely, me.

By design or justifiable, waiting for his returned call was nothing short of torture. It took three hellacious, analytical hours complete with multiple trips to the bathroom to expel an ill-conceived muffin before Sanford called me back. I maintained my position on the couch. He wasn’t getting the full performance now. His rejection took the shine from this call. He’s getting the under study now.

“Hello.”

Sanford’s voice, drowned out by the noise in the background, sounded—to my dismay—surprisingly cheerful.
And I don’t think it’s because I called
.

“Hey, how are you?” Before I could answer he asked, “Are you asleep?”

I raised my voice. “No, just resting.”

“Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk before I left.”

“I’m sorry too.” I paused to rearrange what I’d rehearsed earlier in my head.

“Are you still there?” he asked.

“I miss you.” The words just leapt out of my mouth. Five seconds passed . . . silence. I felt a twinge in my heart. My feelings were hurt.
You’ve come this far
. I asked, “Did you hear me?”

The joviality in his voice faded. “Yes—I heard you.”

“Is this is a good time?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called you later. I can call you tomorrow after work if you have something on your mind you want to talk about.”

If I want to talk? The picture is stronger now
. Whatever lingering feelings I had for Sanford, he clearly didn’t share. I recovered. “No, that’s okay—it’s nothing.” I tried to save
face. “Just checking on my friend. Seeing what’s up.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“We’re thinking about coming out there to see you out.”

“Who’s we?

“Just me and Linda.”

“All right—that’s good. Send me an email and let me know when you want to come and I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

“I got to run, we’re seeing a movie and—”

“Oh, sure, I—”

He interrupted before I could finish my sentence. “I’ll catch up with you later.”