Daykeeper, page 7
I finish part of my chicken and put the rest in the refrigerator for lunch tomorrow. I walk over to the couch and lie down, closing my eyes. I sniff the air, hoping that her perfume is still there, but it is gone. Other than my memory, there is no reminder of what happened, just an empty space on the wall where Charlotte’s picture used to be.
A tinge of guilt rolls up in my stomach again, and I wonder if I am doing the right thing. I wish I could get a confirmation that I am not being a bad widower, that I am not disrespecting my wife’s memory. I have heard of men remarrying a year after the passing of their wives, and I even heard about one widower who was introduced to his second wife by his first wife prior to her death. At first I found the idea odd, but now that I am here, I can understand it on some level. I am used to having someone around me. Who I am is set up around my having a life partner, and now that I am alone, I am a wreck. I don’t know how to be by myself, and honestly, I don’t want to be.
Part of me wants to believe that Charlotte would want me to be happy, but the other part doesn’t really know what to make of it. Maybe I am just telling myself what I want to hear. Whatever the case, I need to decide what will be and how I will approach this new chapter. One thing is sure: I have reached the middle of the lake. Either I turn around or keep swimming.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tanya calls me shortly after ten o’clock and is pulling into the driveway around eleven. We don’t make it past the foyer this time. Before I realize it, she is on top of me, pushing down on my chest so that my back is pinned to the carpet. It is only when she drops herself onto my chest from exhaustion that she even says “hello.” I can’t complain, though. I could learn to appreciate such a greeting.
She puts on her baby t-shirt and panties and heads for the couch. “How was your first day back?” she asks.
I wipe the sweat from my face and collect my clothes from the floor. “It was all right. Nothing major happened today, so those are always good days.”
She smiles. “I saw you this afternoon.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t help but notice you. You look pretty sexy when you step.”
“Thanks,” she responds. “We’re getting closer to rush, so it’s important that people see us so they know that we’re strong on the yard.”
I put on my boxers and a t-shirt and sit down beside her. She immediately stretches her legs across my lap and smiles at me.
“I take it your week is off to a good start,” I say, taking one of her feet in my hands and massaging it.
She closes her eyes, relaxing her head against one of the throw pillows. “Mmm hmm,” she moans, her lips sealed in a smile. “That feels nice.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What is this?”
“What do you mean?”
“This. Here. What we’re doing.”
She chuckles softly. “Do we have to name it?”
I swallow. “No. I was just curious.”
She lifts her leg from my lap. “I need to use your bathroom.”
“Help yourself,” I say, shifting so that she can stand.
When she walks away, I feel embarrassed for having asked the question. Being off the market for over seventeen years, I find that I don’t know what to say in these situations anymore.
I pick up the remote control lying on the coffee table and turn on the flat screen. I scan channels for the hell of it—just to have something to do. I’m trying to ease my mind and not get too ahead of myself, but I can’t help but wonder how long all of this will last.
“Ed,” I hear Tanya call from down the hall.
“Yes?”
“Can you come here?”
“Sure,” I say, hopping up from the couch. I walk toward the bathroom, and when I don’t see her, I call out, “Where are you?”
“Back here. In the bedroom.”
My heart catches in my chest, and for a moment I can’t breathe. I can already envision the framed photographs of Charlotte on the nightstand next to my bed, the wedding photos on the wall. I can even remember the hospital bed we had put in our bedroom, which sat perpendicular to the bed that had been ours. Now Tanya is standing in this room, this sacred space, and I don’t what to think—or feel.
As I enter the room, Tanya reads my expression.
“I’m sorry,” she says, putting a framed photograph of Charlotte back on the nightstand.
I don’t know if she is saying that she is sorry for walking back into this room or if she is sorry for my loss. I swallow hard and try to relax my creased brow.
“She was very beautiful,” Tanya says, stepping away from the nightstand.
I walk past her and pick up the photograph she has just put down. I look at it, as if seeing it for the first time. Charlotte is wearing a heavy leather jacket as she stands in front of Stone Mountain. It’s one of the last outings we had before she got sick. I remember the day all too clearly, how we went out to eat dinner in downtown Atlanta after leaving the park and came back here, where we made love for the rest of the evening. Until Tanya came in here, the picture had not been moved, except for dusting, in nearly two years.
I put the photograph back in its place and turn to face Tanya. She stares at me, not knowing what to say.
“Why did you come in here?” My voice is firm, and I feel as though I am about to lecture a child.
“I don’t know,” she starts. “I was just walking down the hall, and I saw a picture of this beautiful woman.” I see the fear building in her eyes, as she realizes she has done something wrong. “I just wanted to tell you something.”
“Yeah. What?”
“Maybe I should tell you later. You don’t look very happy.”
I exhale slowly. I look at her, then look away. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say something, ‘cause right now I’m feeling like you don’t want me here.”
I tense my jaw, and it’s as if every photograph of my wife starts glowing across the room like Christmas lights. Then the guilt pangs kick me in my gut.
“I should leave,” Tanya says, turning and walking back toward the den.
I want to follow her, but I can’t bring myself to move—or even open my mouth. I feel as though Charlotte is watching me, waiting to see what I will do. I stand still, paralyzed by my thoughts.
I hear the door close at the other end of the house, and I know that Tanya is gone.
As I turn to look back at the photograph on the nightstand, I realize that Charlotte is gone, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
My 10 o’clock class huddles in groups, working on a project I have assigned them. Eyes float above opened laptops, and I know that some of them are doing the work—those who are serious about learning—and others are checking their social media accounts or checking e-mail. Normally I would walk around proctoring their activities, but today I don’t feel like doing much of anything.
I had momentarily considered calling in sick this morning so I could lie in bed and host a one-man pity party, but I’m too old to be acting like that. So I go through the motions, maintaining the status quo.
Soon the class ends and the students drop their assignments on my desk, before heading out. I stuff the papers into my leather satchel and walk back to my office. I’m tired, not physically, but emotionally. Last night I tried again to dream of Charlotte, and when that didn’t happen, I found myself thinking about Tanya. I really messed that up. I didn’t even call her last night to check on her. I’d been a complete ass, not all that different than that Kevin guy she had just been dating. I want to pick up my cell phone and call her, but I know she’s probably in class, and even if she weren’t, she probably wouldn’t want to talk to me. I just didn’t know how to react when I saw her with Charlotte’s photograph.
Now as I sit looking out of my office window, I hope I will see her walking by. Maybe she’ll look up and see me in one of the windows and smile, letting me know that everything is all right. But I can’t make out one student from the next, and with the sunrays slanting against the building, my face would be hidden by its reflection from anyone who cared to look upward.
Dr. Cordell Murphy is full of far more shit than I thought he was. I thumb through his journal article for the third time, citing inconsistencies and other problems. Part of me just wants to walk into his office and tell him what a fool he is for showing up to a battle of wits completely unarmed, but I remind myself that he’s actually doing me a favor. I can get several more articles published by just going back and forth with this fool, and at this point everything works for the greater good of tenure.
As I make notes on my response, I shudder at the thought I have to sit on a committee with him. What was once a scholarly article has now become the makings of a war among colleagues, and while I plan to win this particular war, I hate the fact that my antagonism is reserved from another Ellison-Wright faculty member, especially one with whom I have to work.
When my office hours are finished, I walk across the campus to the faculty parking lot. I scan the yard for Tanya, but I don’t see her.
As I put my bag on the floorboard of the passenger’s side of the car, I pick up my cell phone and dial my brother. He picks up on the second ring.
“Ed-brunski,” Marcus greets me, picking from one of his many nicknames for me.
“How’s it going?” I respond.
“Moving like a laxative, my brother, like a laxative.”
I chuckle, as I steer out of the parking lot and off campus.
“So what are you up to?” he asks.
I tell him all about last night, and wait quietly while he digests it.
“Mmm hmmph,” he finally grunts.
“So what should I do?”
He inhales deeply and says, “You gotta answer that one yourself. Clearly, you might not be ready to push on, but I kind of think that deep down you are. You just won’t give yourself permission to go there.”
I nod. Then I realize that he can’t see me. “I feel you,” I finally say.
“Let me ask you a question. Do you like this Tanya girl?”
“Yes.”
“And is she worth the effort you’re putting into this?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you might want to just go with it,” Marcus says.
I ponder his words for a moment before asking, “How do I fix what happened last night? She probably thinks I’m crazy or something.”
“Ed, everyone makes mistakes. If she likes you, she just might for forgive you for this one. You won’t know until you talk to her.”
“So I should call her or wait for her to call me?”
He chuckles. “If you’re waiting for her to call you, then you might be waiting a long time. In theory you’re the one who fucked up, so you need to clear the air.”
I consider this, before saying, “Thank you.”
“No problem. Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Cut yourself some slack and try to get back to enjoying life.”
I nod, thanking him, before hanging up and exiting onto Interstate 85 South.
No. 31
I don’t know why your kisses scare
Me, like goblins lurking beneath old bridges
Or ghosts that swing from the nooks
Of huge Dixie oaks. You hold me
Like Nina, your spell, wicked with desire,
Drawing me from my cocoon to be
Born within the beauty of your lips.
Once I get home, I call Tanya. When her voicemail comes on, I fumble to find the words to leave as a message.
“This is Ed. I just wanted to talk with you about last night—apologize to you. Uh, you can call me back or I can call you or, well, you know. I just hope that we can talk some time tonight. I’ll be online, too.”
By now I sound like a bumbling fool, so I offer a quick closing. “Take care, and I hope to hear from you soon.” I hang up the phone to spare myself further embarrassment.
Less than a minute later my phone rings. I glance at the caller ID and smile when I see Tanya’s name.
“Hey,” I answer. “I was hoping you would call me back.”
“Who the fuck is this?” The voice is deep and much harsher than I expected.
I look at the cell phone display, and it clearly says “Tanya” on it.
“Hello?” I say again.
“Bitch, I just asked you who the fuck this is,” the guy says again.
I don’t say anything.
“Don’t call back, or I’ll fuck you up, Eadie, or who ever the fuck this is.”
The phone clicks, and I stand there looking at it. My mind is a jumble, but it slowly dawns on me that Kevin must have gotten hold of Tanya’s cell phone. Still shaking off the phone threat, I replay the name that he called me. Eadie?
“Eadie,” I say over and over until I hear the letters that make up my nickname. Rather than put “Ed” into her phone, she went with a feminine name so no one would notice if they used her phone, I’m guessing.
Everything might have worked out well, too, if I hadn’t just called.
I am too shocked to even be angry about that boy cursing me out. Still a part of me wonders what I have gotten myself into. I need to talk to her now more than ever.
In an effort to collect myself, I lie down on the couch. When I awake, it’s nearly midnight, our usual talk time.
I rush to log on to WEB instant messenger, hoping to find her online. And although I wait around for an hour, she never comes on. I look at my cell phone, willing it to ring, and when it doesn’t, I close my laptop and head to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
With all of the tools available for communicating with someone, I am flustered at how I’ve managed to be locked out of Tanya’s world. With the cell phone not an option and our inability to connect over WEB instant messenger, I can only hope to run into her physically. At one point, I actually consider sending her an e-mail through her school account, but I realize I don’t even know her last name. It’s probably for the better that she doesn’t know I am trying so hard to connect with her. I wouldn’t want her thinking that I was crowding her.
I try to get into a daily routine that does not include her, but I find my thoughts drifting back to her, my mind stuck in daydreams of the two times we made love. Is that what I’d call it though? Did we make love? I’m skeptical to think of it all as just fucking, but maybe that’s what it was. And maybe that phase is over and she’s onto someone else. She doesn’t strike me as that kind of person, but then again, I realize I don’t really know all that much about her.
The irony is that the department secretary, Missy Alexander, has taken to leaving little Post-Its on my desk at work, words of encouragement and the occasional Bible verse, almost as if she can sense the heavy level of sinning I’m involved in. I thank her and try not to read any more deeply into the timing of her actions. After all, I am the king of assumptions.
By the beginning of the weekend, I have all but resigned myself to the fact that Tanya is no longer interested in me. I still log on to WEB instant messenger on Friday night, hoping to see her so I can at least bring some closure to the situation.
When I see her logged on, my stomach is immediately filled with butterflies. I type, “hi” and push send.
Then I wait.
She responds within seconds, and for that, I am truly relieved.
“What’s up?”
“I’m sorry,” I type. No point in beating around the bush.
“For what?”
“Last week—with the picture.”
“Oh. OK.”
A minute passes before either of us types anything else.
“I tried to call you,” I type.
“I know. Kevin stole my phone.”
“Did I get you in trouble?”
“Not really. It’s over with him.”
“Do you have your phone now?”
“Yes.”
“Can you call me?” I type.
“Hold on.”
A few seconds later my cell phone rings. I grab it quickly and place it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, you,” she says, her voice warm and soft. It’s as if we never missed a day of talking. I want to reach through the phone and hold her.
“I’m so sorry about before,” I say again. “I didn’t know what to think when I saw you in my bedroom. I just overreacted.”
“I understand,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been in there anyway. It’s not like you invited me in there.”
“Still, I was tripping.”
“I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me.”
“Done,” I say, relieved.
She chuckles lightly, and for the first time all week I feel that familiar rhythm of talking to her.
“What happened this week? I didn’t think I would ever hear from you again.”
She is quiet for a moment before answering. “After falling out with Kevin again, I decided to take some ‘me’ time.”
I want to ask her about Kevin, but decide to keep the focus on us instead. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m better.”
“Tanya?”
“Yes.”
“I want to see you,” I blurt out.
“When?”
“Now.”
I hear her breathing, but she does not speak.
I wait patiently.
“You asked me about what it was that we’re doing here,” she starts. “I’m just getting out of a relationship, so I’m not looking for anything serious. And I know you probably aren’t ready for anything serious either.”
I want to ask her why she thinks I don’t want anything serious, but I shut out those thoughts and listen.
