Дуглас Кеннеди - Five Days

‘But we all want answers, don’t we?’

‘You’re talking to a Unitarian,’ Lucy said. ‘We pray “to whom it may concern”.’

‘And the one thing I liked most about being an Episcopalian — besides all that good Anglican choral music — was that it always preached a gospel of thinking about faith in a personal and non-doctrinal way. No real directives from on high. No Old Testament God who kicked butt if you didn’t believe he was the Man in Charge. Still, the one problem with being part of a thinking religion is that there is absolutely no certainty whatsoever.’

‘Does that truly bother you?’

‘Sometimes, honestly, yes, it does unsettle me — the idea that this is it, that there is nothing beyond this except mystery. God knows I’ve tried to believe in a hereafter — that is a component of Episcopalianism. But it’s always held out as more of a poetic idea — a fantasia, so to speak — than an absolute divine truth. As such I doubt I am ever going to run into anyone I know in the afterlife either. But if there is no hereafter, then how do we make sense of this very flawed business called life?’

‘Now there’s a question that will never have a definitive answer. But I do have a question about a completely unrelated, but nonetheless important matter — did Dan take the job?’

I nodded.

‘That’s good news, I guess,’ Lucy said.

‘Not for him. But I didn’t coerce him or force his hand. though he acts as if I did.’

‘That’s because he feels guilty about being out of work for so long, as he also hates the fact that he has no choice but to take this job.’

I stared into my glass of wine.

‘I wish it was as simple as that. I just feel that we’re kind of lost together. And that’s an oxymoron, isn’t it? If you are together you’re not supposed to be lost. Then again. ’

‘So many of us are lost together. Have you suggested counseling?’

‘Of course. To Dan the idea of talking about our problems in front of a third party. it’s anathema to him. Anyway, I only know one marriage that was saved by counseling—’

‘And that’s because they had a suicide pact.’

I found myself laughing. Loudly.

‘You’re terrible,’ I said.

‘I think it’s called being a realist.’

‘I don’t want the marriage to end.’

‘But you don’t want it to continue as it is.’

‘No. But. how can I put this? I don’t know of a way out. If I leave, then what?’

‘You’ll be like me. A woman in her early forties on her own in small-town Maine. Were I the devious type I’d encourage you to leave him — so you’d end up where I am now. Alone. Wondering what the future holds. Thinking: Maybe I should try my luck in a bigger place — Boston or Chicago or somewhere in the Sun Belt, not that I could stand the politics down there. But then what? You cart your baggage with you wherever you go. So, I suppose the real question is—’

‘I know what the question is,’ I said.

‘The thing is — do you have an answer?’

Again I looked down into my wine.

‘I have many answers and no answers,’ I finally said.

‘Join the club.’

Outside the tavern Lucy said:

‘So tomorrow’s the big day.’

‘A trip to a radiography conference in suburban Boston is hardly a trip to Paris.’

‘Still, you get to play hooky for a couple of days.’

‘And if you tell me that the time away will make things seem clearer. ’

‘Fear not. If anything you’ll just come back feeling even more conflicted because you’ve stepped away from it all for a couple of days. Such is life.’

She leaned forward and gave me a hug.

‘You know what I want more than anything?’ she said. ‘Surprise. A surprise or two would be nice.’

‘Don’t you have to be on the lookout for surprises in order to find one?’

‘You’re a philosopher, Laura.’

‘No, I am a wife and mother and radiographic technician who works nine to five forty-nine weeks a year. My life.’

‘And if I were to tell you: “It could be worse. ”’

‘I’d hate you and agree with you at the same time.’

On my drive home my cellphone began to emit the bing sound indicating that I’d just received a text. It had to be Ben. No one else texted me at this hour. I didn’t reach for it until I was parked in our driveway, simultaneously noting that all the lights in the house were off, except for the one in the downstairs hallway that we always leave on to indicate someone is home — and, more recently, to welcome back children arriving home late. On which note, I had received a text earlier tonight from Sally:

Sleeping over at Brad’s. Will come by early tomorrow for my school stuff.

‘Sleeping over’. What a clever use of an innocent, pre-college euphemism. No doubt Brad’s parents knew that my daughter would be sharing his bed tonight and that they wouldn’t be doing so as ‘just friends’. Then again, Sally turns eighteen in nine months. I was sleeping with my boyfriend when I was her age. So I can’t exactly reproach her for ‘sleeping over’ at Brad’s. But this is the first time she has been direct and open about the fact that she is sexually active — and I can’t help but figure that she decided, after all that went down tonight with her father, to be finally direct about her relationship with Brad. Or, at least, direct with me — as I doubted she texted Dan the same information. Like so many fathers he’s rather queasy about the idea that she is no longer the innocent daddy’s girl. not that she has been a daddy’s girl for some time. I texted Sally back:

Leaving about nine for Boston, so will still be here to see you. Love — Mom.

Pressing ‘send’ I watched it disappear. Then I turned my attention to Ben’s message:

Am wondering if true love really exists? Answers on a postcard to my new website: thesorrowsofyoungwertherinmaine.com. Trying to paint. Not having much luck. Don’t call tonight — going to sit in my studio all night and force myself to do something with a brush. B xxx

Ben citing Goethe. I smiled and tapped out a reply:

Hope all goes well in the studio tonight. If not will go right eventually. Important thing is to go easy on yourself — I know easier said than done, but also absolutely crucial. You have been through a difficult time. Don’t expect too much of yourself right now.

Immediately I deleted those last two sentences. ‘I know I’ve been through a difficult time,’ I could hear him saying, ‘and I always have — and always will — expect a lot of myself. so don’t tell me to short-change myself.’ It’s one of the most complex aspects of parenting — knowing when not to say something or when to sidestep the sort of advice that sounds like a bromide or a band-aid applied to a major wound. And even if, in time, Ben may look upon the loss of his first love as a necessary rite of passage, the fact is that he still remains raw and fragile in its aftermath. To tell him that, five years from now, he might consider it all much ado about nothing would be so counterproductive. So I rephrased the end of the text to read:

Do know I am always here for you whenever you need me. Love — Mom

I wanted to add something about me hoping that he could still come home next week, but again applied the brakes, thinking that he doesn’t want to feel pushed into anything right now. If I say nothing he’ll probably show up.

I checked my watch. It was almost ten p.m. — and I needed to be on the road by seven tomorrow. I went inside. Dan had cleared away the dinner plates and turned on the dishwasher and left everything tidy. I shut off the hall light and went upstairs, hoping that Dan was already asleep and wouldn’t question our daughter’s whereabouts. I too needed rest. Today had been a particularly complex day. But aren’t all days complex? Don’t they all throw something in your path that upends the momentum of things, or simply reminds you that life never goes the way you want it?