Truths of the Heart (38 page)

“Oh, for heaven's sake.”

“Probably Sunday late or Monday. And that reminds me, again. Remember
the deal, you’re moving to Detroit.”

“I know I know, have a nice trip.”

Outside, lounging beside the pool, T.S. beside her, she took up her
journal and wrote:

I never thought I could lie like that. But think about it. The truth
would not be a pretty picture now would it. Where on the list does lying fall
in relation to adultery? While you're at a listing, try fear, love, dread,
anxiety, job, publicity, ethics, sense of fairness, honesty … but no guilt. How
do you explain that? Easy and if you don't know by now forget it. Better yet,
go back and read a few pages of your journal starting a month after that
spectacle at Ford Field. How did you ever agree to that? Let's not rehash that.
It was a mistake! I take full responsibility. Could we please move on.

She paused, thought, then continued the entry:

What is this insanity? I'm an adulteress and I don't feel guilty. Would
be stoned in some bygone era. Don't discount the present era's lust for
savagery. I should have never married … you panicked is what you did, you saw
forty plus coming down the pike and you freaked. Carl was so, so, so what? A
partner on the Christmas-party dance floor? Animal instinct, I.e., good lay …
Doctor Z!

Booga booga. I never thought this could happen. How could things turn
out this way? I allowed it to happen. Or did I make it happen? Or is it fate?
Ha!

She recalled Seth's theory about the future, living in an unseen myth, someone's
imagination, no boundaries, things simply go all over the place, whatever the
writer decides, people do. But in The Good Book of Life, minor writers have to
be somewhat logical or readers will be suspicious of plot manipulation.

She paused then wrote:
PLOT MANIPULATION: Great Escape, HOUGHTON
LAKE!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

After she left, Rachelle's smell on him, Seth, every time he closed his
eyes, her face, an inch from his, smiled. When he opened his eyes, came
thoughts of Laura's visit to Rachelle.

No doubt about it, Laura is nuts. Have to do something about that, but
what?

He thought and thought and then he wished Jude was still here. He would
sick her on Laura. That not an option, he figured direct approach. But then he
reasoned, If you go to Laura what are you going to say? Leave Rachelle alone.
Where would that get you? More to the point, where would that get Rachelle. If Laura
has gone this far, she might do anything. If you go to her, you are putting
Rachelle in the middle and confirming that you are involved with her. Damn!
Sooner or later Laura is going to pull something spooky out of her voodoo hat.

There is one other option … but you step over ants on the sidewalk.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tuesday afternoon, Rachelle in a maze of wondering, longing, anxiety, Seth's
face, eyes, the way about him, his touch, his tenderness, his hair, his lips,
his being … she whispered many times, “My god, it's insane.”

She counted the hours since she had been with him.

Call him. He has no phone. How could anyone not have a phone? Never thought
to ask about email. I wonder … best not to email.

She thought she heard someone at the door. She opened it. No one.

Why doesn't he come by? Think about that, Z.

She wanted to drive to his place.

That is not how the game is played. Game? Why doesn't he call from a
pay phone?

The phone rang. She ran to it. It was a telemarketer. She hung up,
poured a glass of white merlot, went for a swim, sailed around the lake, talked
to T.S.

Night came, she showered, put on her pajamas, tried to read, watched PBS.
At 2:00 A.M. she took up her journal and wrote:

Being with him is as natural as breathing. My skin aches for him … Carl
could not handle even the hint of any of this … what does it matter now....

****

Wednesday morning, that Houghton Lake escape idea festering, the idea that
Seth might be with one of his female friends … he hadn't called her … something
might have happened again, an accident, he might be … besides she had to get
his manuscript and, if she did nothing else, she had to get him a cell phone.

She showered, quickly blow-dried her hair, dressed in tan walking
shorts, white polo shirt. No socks, slipping on her tennis shoes, she noticed
T.S. watching her.

“Don't look at me like that.”

He turned away.

“I won't be gone but a few hours.”

He looked back to her, gave her that I-know-what-is-going-on look,
turned and went downstairs.

“Snot.”

Rachelle's first stop was the AT&T retail store where she bought a
cell phone and signed up for service using her M.S.U. address. Package in hand,
she drove to and parked a block away from Seth's apartment building. The cell
phone she had purchased in hand, walking down the street her cell began
chiming. Without looking she turned it off and made her way to his apartment
and tapped on his door.

No answer, a million thoughts raced through her mind. Prominent was a
female opening the door. Worst scenario, Laura opening the door. Maybe he
wasn't there.

Seth opened the door. Hair more disheveled than usual, he wore only white
boxer shorts. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Rache….”

“I forgot to get your manuscript and I....”

He reached and took her hands.

She stepped to him, dropped the phone package to the floor, and they locked
like reunited time travelers. As they devouring each other, he kicked the door
shut.

She whispered between bites, “I never knew it could be like this.”

She stepped back and they looked at each another. She said, “And what
have you be doing all this time away from me?”

He said, “I can't believe any of this.”

“Believe it.” She picked up the package she had dropped. “Here.”

“What's this?”

“Open it.”

He did. “I don't want a cell phone, I hate phones.”

“You are a twenty-six year old dinosaur,” she said as she embraced him again.
“I sometimes hate them too … but how else am I going to keep track of you?”

“Marry me, live with me.”

After a passionate few minutes, she stopped him and began detailed instruction
on how to use the phone, his number. He pushed the phone away. They couldn't
keep hands off each other.

An hour later, lying on the sofa, the windows open, a warm breeze flapping
through the thin white curtains, Seth said, “I can't believe this is the
reserved professor I met only months ago.”

“Bosh.”

She put her hand on his chest, “Seth I'm thinking of going to our
cottage, Houghton Lake, couple days, do some sailing, wanna go?”

“When?”

“We could go tomorrow.”

“You could get away, I mean....”

“Not a problem, what about you, da Vinci work?”

“Not a problem.”

A thought crept into Seth.
Could she be playing games with me? She probably
has a different student every semester, student hors d’oeurve, toothpick and
olive, Ritz cracker up.

Rachelle said, “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't you want to go?”

“Aren't you afraid someone might see us at
our
cottage?”

She sat up.

He pulled her back, “Kidding.”

“It's in the boon docks, isolated … and it's not our, I mean it was my
family’s, I inherited the cottage.”

“Is this where you take all your promising students for summer flings,
to your cottage den....”

She abruptly stood and started to dress.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Go to hell.”

“What are you doing?”

“If you say something like that ever again you'll never see me again.”

“Will you relax, I was just joking.”

She pointed at him, “Don't.”

“Where is it?”

She told Seth of the cottage on Houghton Lake. “You’ll love it. It's
heaven this time of year.”

“Where is Carl these days?”

“He's in Washington, then he's going to Spain.”

“Spain?”

“Football game.”

“Oh, I get it, that's why we can go to Houghton Lake….”

She stood and stared at him.

“I'm sorry.”

“Are we criminals planning something evil?”

“I don't think so.”

“I don't' feel sneaky guilty about us. Damn it, I want the whole world
to

 
know.”

“Me too.”

“So what's the deal with Ms. Laura?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“I met her, about a year ago, art show, then I saw you and nothing else
mattered … I never....”

Embracing her, he said, “Why don't we elope somewhere, run away.”

She looked into his eyes, “Oh, Seth, if it were only that easy.”

“Why don't we?”

“Seth … how are we going to do that?”

“Just go, Jude did.”

“I wish.”

“Why not?”

“You are such a dreamer beamer.” She looked off silently, thinking.

“Carl. You fear him, don't you?”

“You don't know Carl.”

“I think I do.” He paused, “You know, he's going to find out sooner or later.”

“I don't want to contemplate that.”

“But, what if....”

“'What if' is God's joke on us all … what if your Laura friend … why
don't we talk about everything up at Houghton Lake, I think better up there.”

“You going to wear your disguise?”

“Keep it up.”

After they dressed, she stepped to him. They stood silent holding each other,
more at clinging.

She looked at her watch. “I'll pick you up at 11:30 tomorrow morning.”

She paused, “Maybe....”

“What?”

“Maybe I should pick you up someplace else.”

“Oh wow, how about the bus station.”

“I'll be here, 11:30, don’t be late.”

“If I'm not here, I'll leave the door open, or just knock.”

“You're being difficult.”

“I know.”

She said, “See you tomorrow morning.”

Their fingertips clinging, touching, releasing, she stepped to the door
then turned back to him. “Work on that manuscript, bring it with you, we'll get
it ready to send to Triune.”

He moved to hold her.

She said, “This could go on for a week, see you tomorrow.”

She slipped out the door and left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rachelle home, there were three messages from Carl. She turned her cell
phone on and as she deleted them, her cell phone began the familiar CAT’s
theme. Caller ID, Carl’s cell. A new Rachelle,
What the hell?
She
answered, “Hello.”

Carl: “Where the bejesus you been?”

She rolled her eyes, looked at the ceiling.

Carl: “You in Ann Arbor?”

“What....” she almost forgot. “Tomorrow.”

“Where you staying?”

“Have to see what's available.”

“Well, I'm at the Mayflower in D.C., let me know.”

“Okey dokey.”

“You see it?”

“What?”

“What! The hearings all over TV.”

“Been so busy, no.”

“More tomorrow, I gotta go back.”

Sudden unease, her Houghton Lake plans, “Oh, pray tell, will that interfere
with your Spain plans?”

“Shouldn't, we're leaving Friday, game's Saturday.”

“Oh, that's good.”

“Let me know where you're staying.”

“Okay, bye bye and say hello in Español.”

She pressed end and found T.S. staring at her.

She winked at him, “I getting better at prevarication, don't you
think?”

He yawned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Thursday morning, Rachelle—mouth dry, palms sweaty, pulse near jogging rate,
amazed at how right this all felt—overflowed T.S. Eliot's food bowl with Cat's
Meow dry food. Eyeing her, he seemed to know what was going on.