Snow Angels (23 page)

I wondered all week if I should tell Bax about my dinner date with Randy on Friday, but I decided that sharing more of my own personal drama was not how to keep Bax interested. Bax was a low-key sort of guy who liked harmony and adult behavior. I couldn’t envision Bax or any member of his family ever losing control, even in matters of the heart.

I must admit that a part of me was still moved by Randy’s insistence that he wanted me back. It’s not like you can commit more than fifteen years to being with somebody and then suddenly walk away and not have any feelings for that person. It’s not like he’d cheated on me or beat me up or spent every last dime we had drinking or gambling. Randy was a decent guy in his own way and he did deserve to have one meal with me where I sat and listened to what had actually driven him out of my life.

He picked me up at seven and I was dressed to please him. I had taken some time getting ready, trying to make myself as attractive as I could without looking as though I were trying. Randy took me to the next little town over to a restaurant that had been built out on the side of an old country store. It had rustic plank flooring and checkered tablecloths topped with candles in wine bottles. It was one of the places rich people vacationing in the mountains liked to go, a place they would call quaint. The restaurant served fabulous country food with some Italian and stir-fry thrown in. They didn’t have a liquor license, so you had to bring your own bottle of wine. Randy pulled our bottle from a brown paper bag, a Chianti, which made me smile that he’d made the effort to remember the wine I liked.

Randy had asked that we be seated in a corner with a nice view. I knew he wanted to charm me with this restaurant and his wine selection. Did he think I would buy into this charade, as if this was going to be our new life together? Dates and wine on Friday nights instead of television by myself while he was off boating?

After we had given our order, Randy said, “Look, Michelle, I don’t want to beat around the bush. I know I need to apologize to you and I do, with all my heart. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for being so selfish. Will you accept my apology?”

Anger flared in me. “Just like that? You say you’re sorry and then everything’s fine?”

“No. I don’t expect everything to be fine, but I do want to try to start setting things right.”

“And how’s that? What’s setting things right mean to you? Does that mean you get to come back home?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the matter? Getting a little tired of sleeping in the dorms with all the other stinky guys?”

He smiled at that. “I’ve stayed other places too. I’ve been at Mom and Dad’s a while. I’ve surfed some couches.”

So he’d been staying with his parents, driving an hour round-trip from outside of Gatlinburg to work.

“So what? Now that you’ve had your little vacation from me you’re ready to come home?”

“I was ready a long time ago, but I was afraid you wouldn’t take me back.”

“Or you just realized that my mother has moved out and now that you don’t have to help me with her anymore you’re ready to resume your old lifestyle.”

I hit a nerve with that one. He leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of wine.

“I understand your anger,” he finally said. “It was a shitty thing to do.”

I didn’t answer, but just sat there, staring in turn at him and out the window. Our food came and we spent a while just eating and not talking. That was how we’d spent most of our meals together. Often in restaurants I’d look around at other couples and they would be doing the same thing, concentrating on eating and not even looking at each other, particularly those you could tell had been together a while.

And then there would be the couples to envy, those people who seemed to really be enjoying each other’s company, people for whom the meal seemed to be more about the companionship and less about the food. I had always wanted to be one of those women who could share a meal with her man and have it be a way to connect.

But maybe some couples had said everything they had to say. Maybe some men take their comfort in just being together and they don’t feel the need to prattle on about things as people do when they are in the beginning stages of a relationship. This had been the most Randy and I had talked to each other over dinner in years, but every time I went out with Bax it was one interesting conversation after another. I wondered if Bax and I were together on a permanent basis if the conversation would ever wane.

We finished our meal without confrontation and polished off the bottle of wine. We didn’t order dessert, but agreed that coffee would be good. While we waited for our coffee Randy tried again.

“So, Michelle,” he said. “Is there anything that I can do to make this up to you?” He looked so sad. Except for his big blue pleading eyes, he seemed more rugged than before, although I couldn’t decide why. Maybe it was just my imagination. Or maybe I was simply seeing him for the first time, just a rough old guy with a really big heart. I was getting used to a little polish in a man. When I was at Bax’s house I was treated like a guest, not like I was expected to cook and clean up and do everything. But was Bax a reality for me? Did we even have a chance since his ideal family was so very different than the reality I could provide?

I’d spent a lot of time thinking about Randy and Bax, weighing the pros and cons of each relationship. Each man had definite marks in his pro column, but Randy’s negative column was much more complete. But was that fair? If I had spent the last fifteen years or so learning all of Bax’s bad habits and dealing with his issues, would his con column be full too? Dating isn’t reality. Dating is a farce, with everybody involved playacting what life should be. Seeing somebody new was about creating a perfect world, not one you could really live in each and every day.

And was there even the slightest possibility that Bax and I would be together even a year from now? Our relationship had lasted much longer than I had expected. I knew I wasn’t the type of woman his family wanted for him. Although they had done their best to make me feel welcome, I knew they needed someone who could participate in their political discussions and select a good wine that wasn’t Chianti. They wanted someone for Bax who could contribute children to the family equation.

Randy and I were cut from the same cloth. Problem was, Randy was willing to continue to be the same person he had always been. He just wanted to pick up where we left off. On the other hand, I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted. The pull of the familiar was strong, but I was stronger. It would be easy to step right back into our life. We could go on like nothing had ever happened if I could only let go. But I wouldn’t let myself fall back into that morass of mediocrity. There was nothing wrong with our old life; I just wanted something more interesting now.

Still, I loved Randy. I’d never stopped loving him. I knew this as I watched him sip his coffee while he waited for my reply. Was there anything he could do to make this up to me? Only if he could be somebody else.

“Let’s talk about this in the truck. I’m ready to go home,” I said.

Randy paid the bill and we were almost home before he broke the silence.

“So, what do you think?”

I sighed. “Randy, I think if you moved back in that we’d have some nice make-up sex for a few months. I think you’d go out of your way to make things up to me for a while and then everything would go right back to the way it was before.”

“And you were unhappy before?”

“I don’t know that unhappy is the right word. Bored is more like it. But I didn’t realize at the time that I was bored. I thought I was just lazy somehow, that I didn’t have any interest in anything out of the ordinary, but I’ve found out that’s not true. I’m interested in a lot of things.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Art. I like art. I’d never really thought about it before, but there’s all sorts of art out there that I never knew existed.”

“I noticed you got some new stuff in the house.”

Neither one of us said what we were thinking. That he hadn’t chosen any of the new artwork to destroy on his last visit. We pulled up my driveway and Randy cut the engine.

“You’ve changed. I can see that,” he said.

“I know.”

“I still love you. Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Randy, I don’t think it’s a matter of love. I think it’s more about compatibility.”

“Compatibility?”

“Right. Like people who enjoy each other’s company. People who like spending time together, talking and sharing things and being a couple.”

“Is that what you think you have with that other guy? What’s his name?”

“It doesn’t matter about his name. What does matter is that I’m not the same person anymore. I need more.” I got out of the truck and started up my front steps.

“Wait.” Randy followed me up. “Wait.”

I shook off his touch. “No, Randy. You said if I gave you tonight you’d sign the papers. I did my part. Now do yours.” I was suddenly so sad. This was it. My last official time with my husband. I stopped and reached up to touch his face. “It’ll be all right, Randy. You’ll find somebody else.”

“I don’t want anybody else,” he said and before I could react he had me pressed against our front door. At first I thought he was going to hurt me, then I saw the look in his eyes. He bent to kiss me. I could have fought him, but instead I chose to let him kiss me. At first it was awkward and his lips seemed foreign. I didn’t return his kiss, only endured his advances, but then my thoughts drifted to another time, in a steamy truck, our bodies fitted together in a sweaty embrace. I kissed him back. I wanted him to remember this for a long time. To want me more than he had ever wanted me. I was going to pull back and leave him hanging.

I had put my key into the lock. Randy turned the key and walked me backward into our foyer before I realized what was happening. His kisses traveled down my neck to a hollow that made me shiver. He knew all my spots, all the ways to make me give up control. I liked for a man to be in charge and when Randy ran a hand up my thigh and pulled me into him I melted into his embrace.

We never made it to the bedroom. Randy pushed up my skirt and yanked down my panties so fast that I didn’t have time to protest. He was in me and he was hard, as hard as he had been in our youth when our attraction was strong. He left me suddenly and the longing was painful, but he was quickly on me with his mouth and then I just let him do what he wanted.

My mind said no, but my body said yes.

I couldn’t fight it. I wanted it too.

Randy left right after our unexpected encounter.

“Think about this,” he’d said.

I was surprised when he didn’t try to stay the night, but in a turn of reverse psychology I surmised that he was trying the same tactic on me that I had thought to try on him. He was trying to leave me wanting more.

I immediately took a shower and crawled into bed. I had the beginning of a nagging wine headache and the shameful feeling that in the morning I was going to be very sorry I had let it happen.

But the next morning the sun was shining and birds were singing and everything seemed right with the world. I had a date with the guys painting my mother’s house and I intended to spend the entire day working out my frustrations by stripping wallpaper from the dining room. I had ideas for the little house, ideas that I’d gathered from my visits to vacation homes, from work, even from Biltmore. I could reinvent my mother’s house and make it attractive enough that some rich person would be willing to pay a pretty penny for it.

I was hitting the wall hard, sending showers of old paper and slivers of Sheetrock down into my hair when my cell rang.

Randy.
Damn
.

I let his call go unanswered.

I planned on calling the attorney and having another set of divorce papers served to him on Monday. He had to know that I was serious.

The morning’s sunshine suddenly gave way to a cloud bank that settled low over the mountaintops. The painters had not been fooled by the early sunshine and had been painting inside all day in anticipation of the rain.

It came in straight sheets for ten minutes then tapered off to a soft drumming against the copper roof of my mother’s house. Its rhythm soothed my mind and my thoughts wandered to Bax and where he was. He’d offered to help, but I had told him that I had plenty of help. He said what about for the company?

Bax wasn’t a bored guy, so if he was willing to spend a Saturday afternoon scrubbing wallpaper then he had some serious intentions.

When I heard his footfalls against my mother’s maple floors my heart swelled. He walked up behind me and put his hands on my waist and bent into my neck. He stood that way for the longest time and I reached up to place my hand along his face.

“Did you see him?” he asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I suspected as much. It’s okay. How’d it turn out?”

“I don’t love him.”

“Great.”

I knew I could tell Bax as little or as much as I wanted about what happened. I decided on conservative disclosure.

The rain was a buffer against too much conversation, and it was more a time to scrape in meditation. I’d watched Bax work often and I was always drawn to his arms, their ropey solid nature made me weak. But his hands were the most amazing parts of him. He could make something beautiful out of anything. He would take the most ordinary piece of metal and shape it into a beautiful, spectacular thing. His endless imagination enthralled me. He scraped with a solid advance and in no time the room was done.

“What now?” he asked.

“The bathroom?”

“Show me the way.”

So we spent the afternoon scraping paper, then that night at my house, eating pizza and watching a romantic comedy. There was an ease with Bax that hadn’t been there before, a willingness to be totally relaxed. The rain came steadily down for days and we stayed in with no thoughts of time.

Then on the last day Randy knocked on the front door and shot our little piece of heaven all to hell.