Safe Harbour (28 page)

“Your life sounds as boring as mine,” she said, with a disgusted look. “That's not what I meant, and you know it. What's happening with Matt?”

“He took Pip to the father-daughter dinner tonight,” Ophélie said innocently, teasing her friend beyond belief.

“I know that, you dope. What's happening with you and him? Anything?”

“Don't be ridiculous. He's going to marry Pip one day and be my son-in-law.” She looked pleased.

“You're sick. He must be gay.”

“I doubt it. But if he is, it's none of my business.” Ophélie looked unconcerned, and Andrea sat back with a frustrated look. She had recently started going out with one of her colleagues from the office, although Ophélie knew he was married. But that never seemed to bother Andrea. She'd been out with a lot of married men over the years, and said the arrangement suited her. She didn't want to get married, and didn't want a man underfoot all the time. But Ophélie had long since suspected that wasn't true. Especially now, with the baby, it would have been nice for her to get married. She just didn't have much faith that she'd find anyone anymore, and was willing to settle for whatever she could have, even if it was on loan and belonged to someone else.

“Don't you even want to go out with him?” It sounded unnatural to her. Ophélie was a beautiful woman, and she was only forty-two, nearly fortythree, but far too young to give up on men, and spend the rest of her life mourning Ted.

“Nope,” Ophélie answered quietly. “I don't want to go out with anyone. I still feel married to Ted.” And whatever she felt, or didn't, for Matt was irrelevant. They both liked the relationship as it was. Expecting more from it, or even allowing it to go there, if it did, was too high-risk for her. And she never wanted to spoil what they had now. But she said none of that to Andrea. Ophélie knew she would never have understood. She was far more given to self-indulgence than restraint, which Ophélie preferred.

“What if Ted didn't feel as married to you? What do you think he would have done if you had died instead? Do you think he would have carried a torch for you for the rest of his life?” Ophélie looked unhappy at the question. It brought up some old painful memories that Andrea was aware of. But it irked her to see Ophélie wasting her life. She didn't think Ted was worth it, no matter how much Ophélie had loved him. It just wasn't healthy for her to be alone forever because of him. And Ophélie was clearly determined to stay on the path of the celibate grieving widow for the rest of her life.

“It doesn't matter what he would have done,” she said quietly. “This is what I'm doing, and how I feel. It's what I want to do.” She had made a choice for herself, and was comfortable with it, no matter how kind and attractive Matt was.

“Maybe Matt just doesn't turn you on. What about the homeless place you work? Is there anyone there? What's the director like?” She was clutching at straws for her friend's benefit, and Ophélie laughed at her.

“I like her very much. And she's a woman.”

“I give up. You're hopeless.” Andrea threw up her hands.

“Good. How about you? What's this new guy like?”

“Just my cup of tea. His wife is having twins in December. He says she's brain dead, and the marriage has been in trouble for years, which is why she got pregnant. Dumb thing to do, but people do it. He's not the love of my life, but we have a good time together.” Until the babies came, and he fell in love with his wife again, or didn't. But it was no solution for Andrea, and they both knew it. She claimed she didn't want a “solution,” just an occasional roll in the hay to prove to herself she wasn't dead yet.

“He doesn't sound like the answer,” Ophélie said sympathetically, sorry for her. Andrea had made so many poor choices in her life, for such a long time.

“He isn't. It'll do for now. He'll be too busy when the babies come anyway. Right now, she's on bed rest, and they haven't had sex since June.” Just listening to her was depressing. Everything she described was all that Ophélie had never wanted. It was all about expediency and convenience and settling for less than she deserved, just to have a warm body in her bed.

As difficult as Ted may have been, Ophélie loved their marriage. Loved being married to him and loving him, and supporting him emotionally in their years of poverty, celebrating with and for him when he made it. She loved their loyalty, and the fact that they'd been together forever. She had never cheated on him, nor wanted to. And even if he had slipped once, she knew he loved her, and had forgiven him. It horrified her now to think that she was single again, and the dating world terrified her. She was much happier at home with Pip, than out carousing with men who were cheating on their wives, or even bachelors who wanted to stay that way, and were just looking to get laid. She couldn't think of anything worse. And she had no desire to spoil her friendship with Matt, hurt him, or get hurt again. She cherished what they had, just as it was. They were much better off as friends, no matter what Andrea thought.

He and Pip came home at ten-thirty that night. She looked happy and disheveled, her shirt had come untucked from her skirt, and he had his tie in his pocket. They had eaten fried chicken, and danced to rap music the girls had selected. And they both said they'd had a great time.

“I'm not so sure about their music,” he said, laughing with Ophélie, as she poured him a glass of white wine, after Pip went to bed. “Pip seems to love it. And she sure can dance.”

“I used to love to dance too,” Ophélie said with a happy smile. She was glad they had had a good time. As usual, he had saved the day for them. And Pip had gone to bed beaming from ear to ear. Ophélie suspected she had a crush on him, but it seemed harmless and reasonable to her. Matt wasn't even aware of it, which seemed a good thing. If he had known, it might have embarrassed Pip.

“And now? You don't love to dance anymore?” he asked with a broad grin as they sat down.

“Ted hated to dance, although he was a fairly decent dancer. I haven't danced in years.” And she realized now that she wasn't likely to again. Not the way she chose to live. Pip was going to have to do all the dancing in the family from now on. She told herself she was over the hill. The Widow Mackenzie was in seclusion, and intended to stay that way. It was one of the many things she accepted about her situation. She would never make love again either. She didn't even allow herself to think about it.

“Maybe we should go dancing sometime, just to keep your hand in. Or your feet,” he teased, and she smiled. She knew he was just being silly with her. He was in high spirits after his evening with Pip.

“I think my feet are pretty much past it by now. Besides, I agree with you about Pip's music. Pretty scary stuff. She puts on the radio every day on the way to school, and nearly deafens me.”

“I thought about that tonight too. Industrial injury at seventh-grade dance. It's okay, as an artist, it's no great loss. It would be tough if I were a composer or a conductor.” They went on chatting for a while, and for once, he didn't mention the outreach team, and she was relieved. Her work with them had been going well, and there had been no untoward events in recent weeks. More than ever, she felt safe and comfortable with them. And she and Bob had become good friends. She gave him gratuitous advice about his kids, although he seemed to be doing fine on his own, and she talked a lot about Pip. He had just started dating his wife's best friend, which she thought was sweet, and probably good for his kids, who were crazy about her. She was happy for him.

It was nearly midnight when Matt left. It was a beautiful starry night, and she knew it would be peaceful and lovely on his drive home. She envied him. She missed the beach. And then, just before he drove off, she waved and ran down the steps. She had wanted to ask him something.

“I almost forgot. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” It was in three weeks, and she had been meaning to ask him for weeks.

“Same thing I do every year. Ignore it. I am the original Bah Humbug person. I don't believe in turkeys. Or Christmas. They're against my religion.” It was easy for her to guess why. Since his children had gone out of his life, she was sure the holidays were painful for him, but maybe with her and Pip, it would be all right, and a little more appealing to him.

“Do you have any desire to change that? Pip and Andrea and I are going to have it here. What do you think?”

“I think you're sweet to ask me. But I'm not very good at all that anymore. Too much water under the bridge, or under the turkey, as it were. Why don't you and Pip come out for the day, the day after? I'd like that, if you want to come.”

“I'm sure Pip would, and so would I.” She didn't want to press him about Thanksgiving. She could only imagine how hard it must be for him. Just as it was for her now. The holidays had been hateful the year before. “I just thought I'd ask.” She was slightly disappointed, but concealed it from him. He had already done more than enough for them. He didn't owe them anything.

“Thank you,” he said, looking touched in spite of his refusal of her invitation.

“Thank you for taking Pip to her dance,” she said, smiling at him.

“I loved it. I'm going to listen to rap music every day, and see if I can learn to dance. I don't want to embarrass her next year.” It was nice that he even thought that way, Ophélie thought to herself, as he drove off. He was indeed a nice man. It was funny how people learned to survive, she mused. One learned to make do, and to make shift, and substitute and rely on friends instead of mates and spouses. They became family to each other, huddled together like people in a lifeboat in a storm. It wasn't what she had expected to do with her life, but it worked. It gave them each what they needed. It wasn't the kind of family unit she'd once had, but it was all they had now, and what worked for them. Like it or not, they had no other choice, and she was grateful for the kind hands that appeared in the dark, and held theirs, like Matt's. She was infinitely grateful to him as she locked the front door, walked upstairs, and went to bed in the silent house.

20

T
HANKSGIVING WAS EVEN HARDER THAN SHE'D EX
-pected. There was something brutal about the holidays without Ted or Chad. There was no way to dress it up, soften it, or pretend it was less painful than it was. And when she said grace to the small group at her kitchen table, expressing gratitude for all they had to share, and asking for God's blessing on her lost son and husband, she broke down and sobbed. Pip cried with her. And watching them, Andrea began to cry, and seeing all the misery around him, her baby William began to howl too. Even Mousse looked unnerved. It was so awful that after a minute Ophélie started to laugh. And they spent the rest of the day alternating between hysterical laughter and tears.

The turkey was respectable, but no one really wanted to eat it, and the stuffing was somewhat dry. It just wasn't a meal that anyone enjoyed. They had decided to eat in the kitchen, because at almost seven months, waving his chubby arms in his high chair, they knew Willie would make a mess. Ophélie was grateful they weren't in the dining room, where all she would have been able to imagine was Ted carving the turkey, as he had done every year, and Chad dressed in his suit, complaining bitterly about having to wear a tie. The memories and the loss were too fresh.

Andrea went home at the end of the afternoon with her baby, and Pip went to her room to draw. It had not been an easy day. She came out of her room just in time to see her mother about to slip into Chad's room, and she looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Please don't go in there, Mom, it'll just make you sad.” She knew what she did in there, lying miserably on Chad's bed, smelling what was left of his scent, and feeling his aura around her. She just lay there and cried for hours. Pip could always hear her through the closed door, and it broke her heart. There was no way she could take his place in her mother's eyes. And it was impossible for Ophélie to explain to her that it wasn't that she was inadequate or meant less than he had, it was simply a loss that no one could dim, a loss that nothing could replace, an unfillable void. No other child could fill it, but that didn't mean she loved Pip any less.

“I'll just go in for a minute,” Ophélie looked at her pleadingly as tears filled Pip's eyes, and then silently she went back into her room and closed the door. The look in Pip's eyes made Ophélie feel guilty for going into Chad's room, and instead she walked into her own room, and stood in her closet, staring at Ted's clothes. She needed something, someone, one of them, anything, an object, a touch, one of his jackets, a shirt, something familiar that still smelled of him, or of his cologne. It was an insatiable need that no one could understand unless they had suffered a similar loss. All that was left were their possessions and their clothes, the things they had touched or worn, or carried, or handled. She had worn his wedding ring for the past year, on a thin chain around her neck. No one knew it was there, but she did, and her hand went to it from time to time, just to reassure herself that he had in fact existed, that they had been married, and she had once been loved. It was almost hard to remember that now. It was an overwhelming feeling of panic at times, realizing yet again that he was gone, and would never return. She felt a wave of panic overwhelm her as she clutched one of his jackets to her face, as it hung in the closet next to her, and as though she could feel his arms around her, she took it off the hanger and put it on.

She stood in the closet, feeling like a lost child, as the sleeves hung down, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She could feel something rustle in one of the pockets as she did, and without thinking she reached inside. It was a letter, and for an insane moment, she wanted it to be a letter from him to her, but it wasn't. It was a single typed sheet someone had written on a computer, with an initial at the bottom of the page. She felt uncomfortable reading it since it hadn't been written to her, but it was something, some piece of him, something that he had once touched and read. And her eyes traveled slowly down the page. For a moment, she almost wondered if she'd written it herself, but she knew she hadn't, and she felt her heart begin to pound as she read what it said.