Elissa Ambrose - Journey Of The Heart

What would the meticulous Dr. Palmer’s reaction have been to her appearance this morning? He could never acknowledge that she could be anything less than perfect. The prestigious heart surgeon probably would have had a coronary himself.

Be fair, she reprimanded herself. Isn’t this what you always wanted? To be perfect in someone’s eyes? To sit up there, high on that proverbial pedestal?

Tell me, doesn’t it get lonely up there, alone in your ivory tower?

Be quiet, she imagined herself telling Jake. I’m happy now. Edward and I are perfect for each other. You shouldn’t put him down; he’s a lot like you—handsome, bright, driven by his career. Oh yes, there’s one more thing. Like you, he doesn’t want children. Except there’s one small difference. You don’t want more children, and he doesn’t want any. But any way you look at it, it comes down to no children in my life, now that I no longer have Cory or the ability to conceive. So you see? Edward and I are made for each other. What’s that, Jake? Why did I leave you, only to hook up with someone who’s a lot like you? The difference between the two of you is that he knows I’m around. He adores me. In his eyes I’m perfect.

She ran her fingers along the bridge of her nose. Well, almost perfect. Edward was always urging her to get that little bump removed. He didn’t see it as an addition to her character, as Jake always had.

Maybe she would have her nose fixed, after all.

Looking in the vanity mirror over the sink—oh, those damn, cruel mirrors!—she rubbed her hand against the side of her neck. With clarity she remembered the sick feeling she’d had when she’d first discovered the swelling. She’d tried to ignore it, hoping it was only a sign of another cold—the third in two months. But the swelling didn’t go away, and she was exhausted all the time, often waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat. It was Ellen who had insisted that she undergo tests, and it was Ellen who had diagnosed her with Hodgkin’s disease.

A chill spread through Laura’s body as she recalled her friend’s words. She remembered how the air in the room had been suddenly sucked away. This is what drowning must feel like, she’d thought with cold detachment. Even though Ellen had insisted that the prognosis was excellent, Laura had felt as though she’d been given a death sentence. It was then she realized that whether she lived for fifty more years or only one, she didn’t want to spend whatever time she had left in a one-sided relationship. She deserved more. It was then she had decided to leave Jake.

Her fingers left the base of her neck, slowly moving down between her breasts, to the left side of her upper abdomen. After the diagnosis, her spleen had been removed and she had undergone a regimen of chemotherapy. The scar from the surgery was gone, only a long telltale line remaining. The first time she’d spent the night with Edward, two years ago, he’d remarked that the surgeons had done an excellent job, that Laura was a good healer. She was a lucky woman, he’d added jokingly, telling her she’d be a good candidate for a facelift when the time came. She’d punched him playfully in the shoulder.

Her incision may have healed, but the wound from the chemotherapy would never go away. She recalled the oncologist’s words, that dark day a lifetime ago. Dr. Waring had told her, as gently as possible, that as a result of the treatment, Laura would likely never be able to have children.

A lucky woman. Lucky? She supposed she was. She was alive, wasn’t she? She had been in remission for almost five years, which according to many was the magic yardstick for being considered cured.

She pressed her hand across the flatness of her belly. Edward was always complimenting her on her slim, youthful shape. She was well preserved for an old lady of thirty-three, he liked to say in jest. Slowly, she inched her hand down to the satiny expanse of her firm thighs, trying to remember the last time she and Edward had made love. Sex was no longer an important part of her life, hadn’t been for a long time. Trying to conjure up the image of Edward’s face, she told herself she was lucky to have found someone who felt the same way she did.

A lucky woman. She frowned. When had she put sex on the back burner? When she left Jake, she admitted to herself. She’d once read that sex was often the last thing to go in a relationship; she now questioned if it had been the only thing, outside of being a mother to Cory, that had kept her in the marriage. If it hadn’t been for the sex, would she have left a lot sooner? She considered what her life might have been like. She might have met someone else and had a child of her own, before the cure for her terrible disease had left her sterile.

Tell the truth, Laura. It wasn’t only the sex that kept you and Jake together. At least not on your part. After he had proposed to her that night at Freeman’s Pond, they had lain under the stars for hours, talking about the future. Her happiness had been complete, and she had believed with all her heart that it would endure.

She removed her bra and rolled down her panty hose, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. She stepped into the shower. For a long while she just stood there, immobile under the rusty showerhead, allowing the steamy, now clear stream to beat against her face. After she had arrived at the house two days ago, she had immediately gone to work scrubbing down the upstairs bathroom, and afterward, replacing her aunt’s face and body soaps with her own special preferences. She’d always had a penchant for expensive toiletries—it was her one personal luxury, she liked to tell herself. But she found herself wondering why she had brought so many of her things here in the first place.

Just how long was she planning to stay?

Still lingering in the air, the smell of cleaning disinfectant assaulted her nostrils, taking her back to that Saturday in December at the indoor community pool. It was the winter she turned twelve, and she had just finished her first period. Jake had accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her under the water. Pressing his body against hers, he dragged her poolside as if he were rescuing her from drowning. Big hero. All he wanted was to cop a feel off her newly budding breasts. But as angry as she was, she also felt a tingling in her stomach, although at the time she couldn’t identify the sensation. “I think she needs artificial respiration,” Jake announced to all their friends. She pushed him away and ran off to the lockers, Cassie and Cynthia following closely behind.

Like I said, some things in life don’t change.

It’s true, Laura thought now—some things never change. Jake was still the same cocky adolescent. Every time she thought about what had happened earlier that morning, she felt her blood churning.

There you go again, Laura. Can’t you ever tell the truth? Sure, you loved him and for you it wasn’t just the sex that kept you in the marriage, but let’s be honest here—the sex was good. Once again she caught herself thinking about the night he had proposed. Admit it, Laura, it wasn’t just the talking you remember so well. And speaking of sex, didn’t it feel nice, that day at the community pool so long ago, when he pushed his cool, bare chest against the thin layer of your bathing suit top? Haven’t you always regretted, one little bit, running off to the lockers before he had a chance to perform mouth-to-mouth?

She picked up her favorite soap, My Secret Sin, and her body sponge from the caddy over the faucet, and began washing her arms and legs. Gradually, the cleansing gave way to a slow massage, the nylon both fleecy and scratchy against her skin. The aroma of the scented suds merged with the memory of Jake’s woodsy scent, blotting out the last traces of disinfectant. She closed her eyes. Once again she tried to picture Edward’s face, and once again she failed. “Go away, Jake,” she moaned into the vapor. “Some things in life do change.” Oblivious to the groaning in the pipes behind the wall, she stood under the slow, hot flow, and then, dropping the sponge, slid her hand down her soap-streaked belly, seeking the softness below.