Providence (20 page)

I carried Jenny’s bags up to Ruthie’s room. I’d be sleeping in my old bedroom again, only this night would be different from other nights. Jenny would be sleeping in a room where no one had stayed for the past three years. Seeing a girl in Ruthie’s room brought back a powerful flood of memories.

Jenny unpacked her suitcase on top of the bed. Around her were all the things that made it Ruthie’s room. A collection of ceramic figurines—a bashful bassett hound, a devoted farm collie. Souvenirs Marianne brought her from Davenport and Des Moines. A mahogany jewelry box with yellow hand-painted daffodils across the lid, a pink satin bed pillow embroidered with the words “Everybody Footloose!” Ruthie’s clothes still hung on their hangers in her closet, and underneath them on the floor was her high-school band clarinet in its case. My room looked no different than when I’d left it either. Nothing had changed; our rooms were portraits of the two of us brushed in another era when we were other people.

The days spent in Overton were remarkable. My mom and Aunt Nancy felt instantly at ease in Jenny’s presence. Jenny seemed ready even then to step into the family, perfectly happy watching
Jeopardy
in the evenings with my mom, the two of them chatting away in the den.

We spent New Year’s Eve at the Pizza Hut in Davenport. Jenny and I met up with Erin and Mitch afterward at his place, and the four of us played cards with his parents until midnight. Then we kissed our girls and sang “Auld Lang Syne,” accompanied by music from an antique Victrola.

On New Year’s afternoon, the four of us left Overton for Providence, feeling like rock stars coming off a ten-day concert tour. Jenny and I talked quietly in the backseat of the Cutlass as the late-afternoon sun gave way to evening.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” I asked.

“I got everything I wanted. Time with my parents, time with you.”

“Do you know how happy seeing you happy makes me?” The words sounded like nonsense, but she sighed her approval anyway. “Could you tell how much my mom likes you?”

“I like her. She’s a strong woman.”

“Did you notice how everyone treated Mitchell and me as if we were grown up?”

“You are grown up, Jack. Your mother and Mitch’s family see you both differently because you’ve moved away, been successful at school, and brought home two smart chicks who don’t take any crap from you.” She chuckled, and I gave her a playful jab in the ribs.

The falling darkness chased away the last of the sun’s light. Erin leaned her head on Mitch’s shoulder. A few frozen, solitary cars passed us on the frozen highway. The warm hum of the engine and the coziness of the backseat turned our conversation deeper.

“So what do you think about Mitch and Erin? Do you think they’re getting close?”

“Well, he’s asked her to marry him. I’d say that’s pretty close.”

“You’re kidding?” I said, surprised. “When?”

“He asked her while they were staying at Erin’s house. Don’t say anything to him because he doesn’t want anyone to know, especially you.”

“Especially me. Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to get ribbed over someone he cares deeply about.”

“Is that what I do?”

Jenny drew nearer to me, her voice inches from my ear. “Jack, Mitchell’s found someone he’s in love with. I don’t think he likes it very much when you tease him about all his high-school girlfriends. Mitchell’s changing. Did you know he met with one of the pastors at our church?”

“What about?”

“His faith. He’s accepted the Lord and wanted to talk about being baptized. I think he’s getting serious about a lot of things in his life, the kinds of things he doesn’t want you to joke about.”

“I’m not that insensitive, am I?”

“No, Jack, you’re not insensitive. But you and Mitchell grew up together playing football and listening to John Cougar and making each other laugh. What he’s doing now doesn’t have anything to do with those things.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Don’t be. He loves you very much. He’s just … different. I’m sure he’ll talk to you when he feels comfortable with that. Now, do you want to hear more about the engagement?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know when or even if they plan to make it official, but he’s definitely serious about it. They both are.”

“How serious can they be?” I asked, sounding like the parent of a lovesick teenager. “He’s only just gotten out of high school.”

“People get married just out of high school all the time. Plus, she’s not just out of school.”

“So they could conceivably be married in a year or two?” I said, still feeling stung that Mitch would consider such a major decision without talking to me.

“Jack, conceivably they could be married next week.”

I sat in silence. I’d wanted change when we’d left Overton months earlier, but exactly what had been left unchanged?

“Let him tell you in his own time.” She reached through the darkness, feeling for my arm, then worked her way down to my hand and held it. “Jack, do you think we’re serious?”

“I know how I feel about you. That’s serious.”

“I don’t just mean in our feelings for each other. Do you ever think of us in any kind of future sense?”

“I don’t think that far ahead. I know you think about these things. But … well … isn’t it enough to have the here and now?”

That should have been a warning sign for Jenny, a flashing yellow light signaling her to slow down. We had every needed piece for building the perfect relationship, except one: my long-term commitment. These emotionally clumsy moments were small intimate reminders that something foreboding was looming just ahead. For entirely different reasons, we each invented our own rationale that allowed us to shrug it off.

“I’m not trying to rush you, Jack,” she said, sensing my uneasiness.

She was utterly unaware, as was I, of private beliefs held in the vault of the subconscious, which I doubt I could have expressed then had either of us even known what they were. We continued to talk as we traveled the last stretch of highway to Providence, but what about, I don’t remember. What I do recall is an awareness of a shadow. A sickening feeling that while my love for Jenny would grow every day, something else was growing too. She was in love and committed. I was only in love.

~
T
WENTY-ONE
~

Your kiss is on my list of the best things in life.

—Hall and Oates

“Kiss on My List”

A bitterly cold wind blew through all thirty-one days of January 1986. It carved furrows in the frozen snow, cutting abstract ice sculptures across the four corners of campus. It blasted against the sides of the buildings, launching clusters of snowflakes high into the colorless night, and it compelled students to sequester themselves voluntarily inside their warm apartments, braving the frozen outerworld only for classes or emergencies.

We kept our apartment at a snug seventy-two degrees, thanks to two hearty ancient cast-iron heaters we worked like a team of rented mules. Through the large windows in the living room, I watched the chapped and bundled faces of the Providence student body returning from late classes, wrapped in layers of thick clothing. My day had ended by two thirty. After an arctic trek home, I eagerly embraced the warmth and shelter of the apartment. I’d worked the night before and was grateful not to have to go out and wait tables at City Club. Mitchell and Erin were in Ontario, Canada, on a short-term mission trip and wouldn’t be back until Sunday. Jenny had spent her morning in classes, and afternoon in a work-study lab. An hour earlier she’d called to talk.

“Hello, is this the man who used to jog around campus in those cute little running shorts?” she teased.

“Speaking.”

“I want to file a complaint.”

“What about?”

“I want to complain about this scandalous weather that’s kept me from seeing you in them.”

I grinned at her flirtation.

“Sorry, I’ve been banned from public streets. But I still do private shows.”

She laughed. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m cleaning this disgusting pig sty I call home. But I have cabin fever. Are you thinking of coming by for a surprise visit?”

“Only if I can tempt you away from housecleaning.”

“I thought you had a full day of school and work-study?”

“I did have a full day. It’s four thirty. I’ve been here since eight.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve had a hard day at the office, and now you want to come home to someone who will cook your dinner and fetch you your pipe and slippers.”

“And my newspaper,” she added without missing a beat. “And while you’re at it, cancel all my appointments for tomorrow. I could use a break.”

“Well, I’m no secretary, but I think I can manage dinner. The apartment’s clean; that’s reason enough to come over.”

“What are we having?”

The cupboards were bare except for Mitchell’s last can of tomato soup. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

“Sounds delicious,” she played along. “Give me another twenty minutes, then I’ll be on my way.”

I slogged to the corner grocery, picked up Diet Coke, angel-hair pasta, and a jar of spaghetti sauce. I spotted a raspberry coffee cake, thick with white icing, one of Jenny’s comfort foods, and bought that, too, then brought it home.

A few frozen Eskimos, numbed by the cold, made their way past my window in the dark. Then I caught sight of Jenny coming up the sidewalk. I darted across the room and opened the door before she reached the top of the stairs, bitterly cold air biting at my arms and stocking feet.

“Get in here!” I said.

Jenny rushed in. I shut the door and held her mittened hands, rubbing the cold away.

“I’m only going to say this once, and then I’ll stop complaining, but man is it freezing out there!”

I sat her down on the sofa, fussing over her, and helped her take off her coat and icy mittens. Then I held her close, warming her chilled body.

“This is the kind of reception I was hoping for,” she said.

I pushed my face into the chilled nape of her neck.

She giggled and squirmed. “Jack, you’d better stop that!”

I pulled back to arm’s length and looked at her. We hadn’t seen each other in twenty-four hours. Too long to be apart. She put her arms around my neck.

“I’ve missed you, Jack Clayton.”

“I’m never letting you go.”

“Promise?”

I smiled, not knowing the answer.

Jenny didn’t see a college freshman in her arms, or a small-town boy from the corn-row world of Iowa. She saw her best friend and suitor, a man and a rose growing beautifully in her generous heart. She was wise enough to know all roses have thorns, but inexperience convinced her they could all be pruned away. What she wanted more than anything was to be my wife, my best friend, and my lover. We were both aware of the intensity she brought to our relationship.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Only starved.”

“How’s spaghetti sound?”

“Mmm,” Jenny reluctantly pulled herself away, and we moved into the kitchen. She rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of Diet Coke.

“There’s coffee cake on the table. Why don’t you start with that? How long can you stay?”

“A little while,” she said, tearing at the cardboard-and-cellophane box. “I’ve got to call my mom tonight when she gets home from work, and I’ve got to get a message to Anne in my study group. Otherwise, I’m all yours.”

“Have you heard anything from Erin?” I poured spaghetti sauce into a pan and set it on the stove. “Mitch doesn’t know how to operate a telephone.”

“She called last night. Everything’s fine. They’re both fine.”

“And she’s getting college credit for the trip to boot.”

“Right. I’ve never seen two people so magnetically attracted to each other.”

“Have they said anything more about marriage?”

“It’s just a guess, but I think they’ll wait until after she graduates. She’s taken classes every summer, so fall is Erin’s last semester.”

Jenny waltzed into the kitchen and stuffed a thin piece of the sweet cake into my mouth. After we kissed, a brief unceremonious peck, she rested her head against my chest, and we rocked gently to and fro, a private dance in our candlelit kitchen dance hall. I realized then just how romantic and out of time everything felt. A silent snowfall had painted Providence quiet and empty, but inside the apartment I felt full, complete, everything I loved safely closed in my arms.

“Do you know you’re a much-loved man, Jack Clayton?” Jenny’s body was a perfect fit against mine. “There will never be anyone who will love you as much as I do.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

She looked up at me, holding my hands loosely in her own. “Jack, when I was sixteen, my dad took me camping one weekend at a cabin on a lake, just the two of us. He told me the story of how he and my mom met and fell in love. I wasn’t allowed to date then, not until eighteen, but my dad gave me a journal to write in, to record my thoughts and dreams about the man I would someday love with all my heart. That journal … It turns out I’ve been writing about you, Jack.”

“Jenny, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Sometimes I can’t believe you feel this way.” I thought back to the day we’d met in front of Lillian Hall.

Jenny laughed. “I’m not perfect.”

“I can still be in awe of you, can’t I?”

Jenny let go of my hands and walked backward to the other side of the kitchen. “Promise me something, Jack? Promise you’ll never leave me, okay,” she asked. “Will you do that?”

Her face had become suddenly serious. Her tender, unguarded heart exposed and made vulnerable by love. This was no trifling question. Inexperience with the opposite sex didn’t hinder my recognition of the importance of these emotions, some of which came leaping out like a jack-in-the-box.

Her question sounded like a contract—maybe it was. A promise to be written in eternity. I closed the distance between us, my words pouring out in the serious tone one uses when taking an oath.

“Jenny, I will never leave you. I will always, always love you.”

She closed her eyes, speeding two tears down her face, and we embraced again.