Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel (7 page)

Kate smiled. She really loved what she did. Communication
was such a funny thing — like a large, unruly, potentially dangerous beast that
had to be repeatedly stroked and soothed before it behaved the way you wanted
it to. She was able to guide them where she wanted them to go because she was a
skilled listener. They didn’t always comply, but it was gratifying when they
saw things her way.

She continued. “Also, despite efforts to reconcile, the
difficulty seems to be a mutual lack of trust.” Kate let that suggestion sink
in for a moment before elaborating. “Eli, you feel that D'arcy finds fault
rather than sharing her feelings with you. Is that so? “ Eli scowled
thoughtfully, his pen moving again, pouring his emotional turmoil onto the page
in jagged black lines. “D'arcy, you feel that Eli also has found other sources
of emotional support. Correct?” D'arcy looked stricken.

“Very concise,” interjected Simon, his eyes flat. What
was that supposed to mean? She didn’t like his tone, and glared at him, forcing
herself to continue. What happened to the charmer at the tea trolley?

“Would you also agree that you’ve been unable to resolve
your differences so far mainly because of difficulty communicating? And this
lack of communication has become perceived as a lack of caring?” Kate paused,
referring to her notes, dropping the volume of her voice to just above a
whisper. “But that is not necessarily so, is it? I believe I can clearly hear
you both saying that you feel hurt and abandoned. Is that right?” She looked at
them both, and found that they were both embarrassed. Unable to look at each
other, squirming, their eyes shifting. Eli’s focus on his sketching
intensified. D’arcy’s restless hands reached for her handbag and settled on a
piece of gum.

“It’s a very easy psychological trap to fall into—to
assume that the other person isn’t listening, and therefore doesn’t care
anymore, or values different things than we do. The more we’re hurting, the
more assumptions we lock onto about the other person’s point of view. This is
perfectly normal. It doesn’t make either of you the villain here.” Simon
cleared his throat and Kate shot him another questioning glance, realizing she
didn’t have a clue what was in his mind. What? Was he criticizing her? She shut
her mind to thoughts of Simon and persevered.

Kate paused to smile reassuringly at D'arcy and Eli,
willing them to look at her. “So would you agree that you haven’t really given
yourselves a chance to resolve your differences yet? You don’t yet know for
certain that they
are
irreconcilable.” This time, they looked up—thoughtful, questioning—and met each
other’s eyes, wavering, uncertain. Kate smiled.
Now we’re getting somewhere
.
I can see what they want.

Sharon, predictably, bristled at this suggestion. Her
somber expression, together with the starkly black suit and white shirt that
further bleached her pale complexion and severe hair, lent her the disposition
of an anemic undertaker. Kate almost smiled at the image, until she caught her
attempt to draw Simon in. Lord, how she wished she could be alone with her
clients to work her mediation magic without distraction!

“And I have one more point. It’s this: that before you
are able to work through your differences, all of your issues and all the
necessary information must be on the table. No secrets. Does that make sense to
you?” Eli’s pen suddenly flipped out of his hand onto the table with a rattle.

“Sorry,” he muttered, retrieving it.

“Indeed,” came Simon’s editorial. Was that supposed to be
a comment about Eli, D'arcy, or was he referring to their own dirty secrets?
Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? She clenched her teeth in frustration. Was it
her own paranoia that made it seem like he was criticizing her every move? She
felt raw and exposed.

Eli looked confused and a little suspicious, as though
she were fishing for a confession, and he glanced nervously at Simon. The
regular rhythm of D’arcy’s gum chewing slowed. Kate noticed Simon staring at
D'arcy with a narrowed, pensive eyes.

“Now,” Kate said, “Let’s practice listening. And I’m
looking for affirmations not accusations. D'arcy would you like to open the
exchange?”

D'arcy hesitated for a long moment, her gum-chewing
continuing in slow motion. “We-ell. My biggest concern has to be Eli’s lack of
responsibility. I know he’s always been spontaneous and carefree, and I’ve
always liked that about him, but there’s a point at which a person has to
accept his share of responsibilities. Has to be an adult.” D'arcy paused, and
looked at Kate, her eyebrows raised.

“That’s great, D'arcy. You can address Eli directly now.
He’s listening.” She inclined her head at Eli.

“Eli’s… ” D'arcy turned to him awkwardly, her eyes
faltering, her voice dropping in tenor, “ …you’ve… always let me take care of
things, and I’ve done that, but I won’t always be able to,” she raised both
hands in a silent plea, “to pay the bills, fix the cars, clean the house, cook
meals. Look after you.” Why was D'arcy so afraid? Perhaps she’s ill?

Kate turned her eyes from the exchange between D'arcy and
Eli to scan the room, and jolted to notice Simon’s gaze resting pensively on
her! Again his attention pulled her mind from her clients to wonder about him,
and who had been taking care of him these past fifteen years, and why he
carried with him an aura of sadness. She tried to pull her focus back.

“I never asked you to look after me,” Eli’s voice held a
note of defiance. “You’re not my mother.”

“Exactly. I’m
not
your mother,” she agreed, a little too earnestly. Their timbre of their
discussion escalated, while D'arcy complained about doing all the work while
Eli played. Tempers flared. They needed her.

Eli’s agitation was reflected in a rapid tapping of his
pen.

D’arcy’s face crumpled. “I’m too busy taking care of you
to do my own thing. What if I got sick? What if we run out of money? The way
you’re spending money… it’s crazy.” D’arcee’s eyes searched Eli’s, desperate
for acknowledgement.

A flicker of questioning concern in his eyes was replaced
by indignation. “I’ve got my own money now. I don’t need yours and I don’t need
permission to spend it. I’m not affecting you.” Kate bit down on her lips,
silently urging him to lower his defenses. She willed him with her whole being
to be courageous.

“It
does
affect me.” D'arcy cast her eyes around the room, unfocussed and glistening,
while she expressed her concerns about their future security. “We’re married.”

“You’re always so uptight; it’s no big deal,” said Eli.

Oh Eli!
You totally dropped the ball,
baby.
Kate pressed her lips together and gave him a disappointed
shake of her head. He dropped his eyes and stared gloomily at his sketchpad,
clearly aware he was being childish.

D'arcy seemed to know she’d scored a point. Her speech
slowed, becoming more enunciated, tears shimmering in her round, hazel eyes.
“When are you going to grow up?”

Simon cleared his throat, and glancing over, Kate saw him
scowling, his jaw set. She flinched when he turned his hard gaze in her
direction. He bugged his eyes at her, his hands twitching, as though he wanted
to wring her neck, demanding something from her. Her heart thudded. What?

Breathless, Kate cut in, “Okay, D'arcy. I suspect Eli’s feeling
a bit defensive at the moment.”
Not
the only one!
She turned to face him. “Eli. Can you tell me, tell
D'arcy, what you hear her saying. What is
she
worried about?” She felt Simon’s tension slacken beside her, and the tight band
around her own ribs eased with it, as though her nerve endings were tethered to
his. What was this?

Eli sat, sulking, reluctant to play by Kate’s rules or be
drawn out. She met his eye, stern but sympathetic and encouraging. His voice
was just above a mumble. All he managed to express were irrational fears of
oppression and loss of artistic freedom.

“Are you saying what you hear D'arcy saying, or what
you’re afraid of?” Kate asked, looking steadily at him. From the corner of her
eye, Kate noticed Simon lower his hands and lean forward.

Eli stared hard at her for a long moment. “Okay. Maybe
I’m overreacting. I dunno. For years, she never asked me to be anything that
wasn’t me.” Eli was subdued, speaking softly. “I was good enough for her
before. Why the change now?”

Kate paraphrased Eli’s concerns. She could certainly
relate to fears of lost identity and integrity.

“That’s ridiculous.” D'arcy replied, then hesitated and
softened her voice. “All I’m saying is: chip in, that’s all. I’m looking for
Eli to contribute, not just with the money he’s earned, but by caring, by
showing an interest in the things we have invested in together, our future, our
dreams,” D'arcy hesitated, “ … in me, you know?”

“Eli?” Kate prompted. “What do you hear now?”

“Yeah. I hear. I hear,” he said, looking down, his lip
pressed into a thin line. His fountain pen rested on the page, ink bleeding
slowly outward in a growing ragged blot.

“Do you want to think about that for a while?”

Eli nodded. He wasn’t making eye contact with anyone now.
He wasn’t sketching either, but staring sightlessly at the Rorschach splotch on
his notepad.

Kate stole a glance at her watch. She reckoned that both
her clients had had about enough for one day. Furthermore, she had quite a lot
of information to digest and record in her notes. Not just their words — though
those were interesting enough — but all the non-verbal signals and signs that
they were emanating. She’d wrap up the meeting, and then by next Tuesday, she’d
have a fresh approach mapped out.

“I think we should stop there for today. It’s a good
start, though you’re both falling into your old habits. I think you know that.
You’ve both shared a lot of information and feelings and we all need time to
digest and consider. Sharon, you’ve been very quiet. Do you have any questions
or comments before we wrap up for this morning?”

Sharon was ill-disguising her critical thoughts of the
disloyal and irresponsible Eli. “No, thank you. I think I’ve heard enough for
today.” She scratched a few brief notes in her notebook and closed it with a
slap.

“Simon? Any questions?” Kate didn't look up from her
notes while she spoke, though she peeked at him through her dropped lashes.

“Hmm. Many. But, I, too, have had enough for one day,” he
said, his mouth curving up mysteriously to one side, as though his secret
thoughts were quite amusing, and might involve her. He abruptly turned away,
“How about a
post mortem
over sushi, Eli?” The two of them said their good-byes and left immediately,
followed shortly afterwards by D'arcy and Sharon, who stood and talked softly
in the corridor for a few moments.

Kate quietly made notes while she waited for everyone to
leave. It was a good start. The first step was always to deal with emotions,
and both Eli and D'arcy had been fairly expressive and open, and, she felt
honest. There was a lot of hurting and mistrust, and if they could get that out
in the open, the material issues might just go away. She’d talk about the
agreement next time.

She felt she’d begun to uncover D'arcy and Eli’s needs,
concerns, hopes and fears. It occurred to her to question her own while she was
about it. Things were going more or less as she expected with D'arcy and Eli,
and altogether outside of her expectations regarding Simon. She was doing all
right, wasn’t she? Instead of feeling calmer in his presence, however, she was
becoming increasingly agitated, distracted and confused. She felt a strange
intimacy with him, with his body. It was as though fifteen years hadn’t passed,
and they were still connected somehow.

~*~

“
Ah
,
there you are.” A stiff British accent that she didn’t recognize.

“Excuse me? Who’s calling please?” said Kate upon
answering her phone the following day.

“Helen Duchamp. I left several messages.”

All this morning? Aah. “I’m sorry, I just got in. We
haven’t met. You’re … D’arcy’s mother then?”

“Yes, dear.” The condescension was dripping off of her
voice like icicles. “Of course.”

Oh, of course. “And what can I do for you, Mrs. Duchamp?”

“What can you do for me?” The woman’s voice was as
brittle and cold as ice crystals. “The least I would have expected is a
courtesy call to discuss my objectives for these sessions that I’m paying for
before they get too far along.”

Aha. It was like that, was it? Kate slowed her breathing.
“I take it D'arcy doesn’t know you’re calling.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mrs. Duchamp’s laugh was shrill.
“This is strictly confidential. Just between you and I.”

“Excuse
me
,
Mrs. Duchamp. Let me clarify for you how mediation works.” She paused, gritting
her teeth. “Firstly, my clients are
both
D'arcy and Eli, and I will invoice them for my fees. How they are financing the
payments is none of my concern. Secondly,
my
objective for the sessions, as it should be, is to mediate discussions between
my clients, and, if possible, facilitate a reconciliation.”

“Yes, yes. But you and I know how these things really
work.”

“Do we?” Kate knew she couldn’t be rude to this woman.
Mustn’t hang up on her, but she was sorely tempted.

“This marriage is a farce and it’s high time it ended.
This man can only hurt my daughter more. He’ll ruin her life if it goes on much
longer. She needs someone more suited to her own station in life, who can
support her.”

“Mrs. Duchamp, please … ”

“My daughter is a dreamer, Miss O’Day. She seems
incapable of seeing what she’s gotten into. He’s gotten what he wanted from our
family, and it’s time for him to move along. I’m relying upon you to use these
sessions to shine a hard light on that man. She
must
see him for the user that he is. Surely you
understand, I have only my daughter’s best interests at heart.”