Four Seasons of Romance (18 page)

Catherine had become fixated on her pursuit, and there was
hardly time or space for anything else. She quit her job without a week’s
notice and embraced her new purpose in life—finding Leo.

*

“I’ve decided to stop working at the Chamber,” she informed
Walter the next day. “I’m going to devote my time to charitable causes.”

Walter didn’t mind; he had always been concerned what the
neighbors, not to mention the boys at the club, would think of his wife’s day
job. He didn’t want people to gossip that he was a bad husband, or worse—that
he couldn’t provide for his family.

“I think that’s wonderful, dear,” he told her. “I’m glad to
hear it. In fact, I’ll try to tweak my schedule so I’m home earlier in the
evenings. Perhaps we can start having dinner together, as in the old days.”

Catherine fought the urge to roll her eyes. Naturally, now
that she was no longer working, Walter expected her to retie her apron and make
him tasty things to eat.

“Yes, dear,” she replied, ever the dutiful wife, “of
course.”

“Wonderful. Let me know which charities you choose to
support and if there’s anything you need from me.”

The only thing Catherine needed from Walter was for him to
look the other way, which he’d been doing for years, anyway. No “charitable
causes” were on the docket. Instead, she began to take daily trips to Baltimore
without her husband’s knowledge. If she left the minute Walter departed for
work in the morning, the trip took about two hours; the return trip took
slightly longer with traffic, but she still had a good three hours in Baltimore
before driving home to cook dinner. It was intense, but she quickly became
addicted to the adventure.

In two weeks, Catherine had scoured every art gallery in
Baltimore, asking whether anyone knew a sculptor named Leo Taylor; she put
personal ads in the
Baltimore Sun
and
the independent weekly papers, all with no results. She spent the third week
scouring Baltimore’s bars and taverns. She got enough spontaneous
propositions—she was a very attractive woman, even at fifty-two—but no good
leads. By week four, Catherine was walking the streets, asking locals whether
they knew or had seen a man named Leo Taylor.

November came, and the air was frigid. As she wandered the
streets of Philadelphia, the phrase that came most often to mind was “needle in
a haystack.” The cold wind whipped at her cheeks and hair, running right
through her, revealing the emptiness inside her chest.

One chilly afternoon, she ducked into a café to regain
feelings in her fingers and toes. Exhausted, she sipped a piping hot coffee and
reflected on her search.
This is it
, she decided.
This trip to
Baltimore will be my last
. She had wasted a month of her life in a
fruitless pursuit, a frivolous dream of a married middle-aged woman. What was
she doing? What was she thinking? Sometimes, Catherine was shocked by her life
choices, especially at this age.

As she stared into space, her tired eyes focused on a shop
across the street, a shabby storefront, unexceptional save for the vaguely
familiar sign hanging in the window. Where had she seen it before?

Then, she remembered: the sign reminded her of one Leo had
welded in Philadelphia, showing it to her proudly; he then covered her eyes and
led her down the street to look. They’d feasted on bread and Brie in an alley
behind the shop afterward, the storeowner setting up a table, especially for
them. She’d recognize Leo’s handiwork anywhere: even the signs he made were
unusual and edgy.

Catherine fished a few dollars from her pocket and left it
on the table to cover the coffee. Then, she crossed the street in a daze,
staring at the flowing artwork on the glass window that announced “The Bizarre
Bazaar and Smoke Shop.” As she pushed the door open, the thick smell of
cannabis hit her in the face. Catherine had heard of these places, but she’d never
been inside one. Of course, she was hardly the target market for a store that
sold drug paraphernalia.

She wasn’t sure what made her dizzy, the cloud of pot smoke
or the prospect of finding Leo after all these years. Either way, she rubbed
her eyes and staggered toward the counter where a stout, bearded man read a
copy of the Daily Racing Form.

“Excuse me,” she said, “who welded that sign in the window?”

He didn’t look up. “I did.”

Catherine shook her head, trying to clear it. The
disappointment seeped into her skin, much as the pot smoke was doing at that
moment—another dead end.

She was almost at the door when something caught her eye. It
was something the man did—a subtle gesture, perhaps, the way he flipped the
page of the paper or the familiar slope of his shoulders. Whatever it was, she
studied the man’s face, captivated with expectation. He didn’t look at her, so
she couldn’t take in the eyes, but her gaze roved over two full lips hidden
behind scruffy facial hair. She knew those lips, and in that moment, her world
shifted.

“Leo?” she
asked,
her voice barely
above a whisper.

The man looked up. His eyes, already glazed from what he’d
been smoking, widened at the realization that the prim woman standing in front of
him was Catherine, the woman he loved, the woman he lost and never thought he’d
see again.

“Catherine?” he asked, hardly trusting his voice. Leo
fumbled his way out from behind the counter. “It can’t be… Is that really you?”
he stood there, his gaze transfixed on her.

She ran to him, and he swept her up with such force, as if
she weighed no more than the locket she’d given him all those years ago. In
disbelief, Leo stroked her hair and touched her arms, her face, and her hands.
Neither thought they’d ever see the other again, and the reunion sated them
with sweetness. After many years, their feelings reemerged with a sweet,
fervent ache and a dash of bitterness.

Catherine recounted the weeks of phone calls she had made,
the long journeys through the streets of Baltimore, kissing him over and over.
Never mind that Leo had put on weight or that his face was so wrinkled she
barely recognized him at first or that his hazel eyes, once so fiery and
gold-flecked, had lost much of their luster. The important thing was that they
had found each other at long last.

As if their breakup never happened, they stayed up through
the night talking about their lives and what they did. Leo told her about art
school and Chicago, the arrests and jail in his hippie days. Catherine shared
all about her kids (while concealing her favorite son’s name), social clubs,
and misadventures as a homemaker. And for a moment, they felt natural,
intoxicated by each other’s presence and the currents of feelings it brought.
But despite all that, one question hovered in the back of their minds that they
couldn’t answer. That question was
now
what?

*

For the first few months, Catherine continued her daily
sojourns to Baltimore. Her covert two-hour drive now formed the backbone of her
daily routine. Sneaking off to Baltimore became her guiding principle, and
being with Leo was her
raison d'être
.

Their interactions felt different from before. That much was
obvious to both of them, as Leo was more sedated and less erratic than he’d
been as a young man. But occasionally, the old Leo would reemerge—that smirk
when he told jokes, the way he’d chuckle or simply tell a story, and the way
he’d look at her—all the things she loved. And although now, they wouldn’t
spend all their time making love or running around, she felt happy listening to
him, holding his hand, and reveling in the feeling of togetherness his presence
brought.

But soon, Catherine noticed that many other things about Leo
had changed. The Leo she had once known was charismatic and passionate,
sometimes to a fault; the Leo today carried a dash of deep sadness, even when
he smiled or laughed. Furthermore, as she discovered, Leo lived in an
ever-present swarm of desolation, his former spontaneity had evolved into
something far more cynical—now, he seemed cold, unconcerned about anyone’s
well-being, not even his own. 

He took her to his apartment in the Bolton Hill area, which,
as she’d suspected, had no phone, and stacks of unpaid bills scattered across
the kitchen table.

“Are you in financial trouble?” she asked him.

At first, he avoided her questions, but eventually confessed
that he was in debt and behind on many of his bills, including gas and
electricity. As fall turned into winter, Catherine worried about his being
cold.

Surreptitiously, she tucked some bills in her purse, paying
them as soon as she could, but there seemed no end to it. To make matters
worse, Leo showed little interest in conserving the few resources he had. She
felt the old frustration surface—why didn’t he take better care of himself?

Still, the old chemistry was there. They talked, took walks.
It wasn’t the passionate romance of two teenagers, but it was as close as it
got for two fifty-year-olds as Leo showed her his favorite sights in Baltimore.
And eventually, she started to see the old fire of Leo still burning inside
him, although with a weaker flame.

They were affectionate with each other, but neither rushed
things. The feeling of unity and the joy of companionship brought them together
more than ever, the ease they felt in each other’s presence erased whole
decades of the lives they had lived apart, and the feelings they’d once felt
for each other were rekindled, almost as bold and fresh as before.

“Catherine,” Leo told her one night, “I’m happy you’ve come
back. I was bitter about it for a while, but somehow when I see you, everything
just fades back. Let’s not talk or worry too much; just enjoy being together
again. Something very special happens when I see you; it’s like I’m floating.”
Catherine held his hand and put her arms around his shoulders.

“I never stopped loving you, remember that,” Leo whispered.
Catherine would not admit the same, though she knew it was true for her as
well.

“But…” he started.

“What is it?” Catherine asked.

“No, there’s no sense talking about it,” he whispered.

As the weeks went on, she found herself more attached to Leo
as she found new ways to pierce the sadness that hovered inside him. Catherine
still seemed to know the right things to say or do to bring out the old Leo, if
only for a short time. They found new interests to share as they went to
afternoon movies, shared long lunches, although she tried to wean him off the
sugary, fatty foods he loved. 

On the eighth week of their renewed courtship, Leo greeted
her with a fresh bouquet of lilies and black-eyed
Susans
,
his apartment clean, and a lunch of wines, cheeses, and thinly sliced meats
awaiting them. 

“It’s lovely,” Catherine murmured, as she wriggled out of
her coat and hat. Leo helped ease her out of her coat sleeves, hanging them on
the
coatrack
beside the door.

“I didn’t even know you had a
coatrack
,”
she said.

“I didn’t, either,” he answered. “I guess it’s a good thing
I cleaned up.”

They laughed for a moment, but then grew quiet as he placed
his hand on the small of her back.

“It’s good to see you, Catherine.”

She turned to look at him. There, in his large doleful eyes
were the flecks of gold she remembered. Right then, she saw the spirit of
who
he was—who he had always been.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but before she could
say anything, he placed his lips on hers, pressed himself into her, as she felt
the heat from his body shoot through her like a flame as she undid his shirt.

Minutes later, they lay naked in bed, her back curled into his
stomach, as he traced the outline of her body, a body with a few more wrinkles
but still the body of the only woman he loved.

Gently, he turned her over so they faced each other, kissed
her mouth, her neck, then trailed his lips lower and lower until he reached her
breasts, her body emitting desire like a heat wave.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.
“Like
you used to.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, as he guided himself
inside her.

Her body succumbed instantly to his touch. No one had ever
satisfied her as he could, and now she remembered why. They made love for
hours—madly, passionately. Her nonexistent sex life with Walter, Gregory’s
selfish lovemaking… everything faded and was replaced by one beautiful,
explosive union between two souls.

Holding her close, just as he had done every day they were
together, Leo told Catherine he loved her.

“And I love you,” she whispered, the first time she had
confessed it since their reunion.

The holidays came too fast for either of them—first
Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Catherine adored the yuletide season and looked
forward to the streets of Philadelphia strung with festive lights and wreaths,
but this year, it was all drudgery, as December’s busy social calendar
interrupted her daily trips to Baltimore. Everywhere Catherine went with
Walter, every holiday business and social function they attended, she wished
she were on Leo Taylor’s arm instead.

All three of her children came home for the holidays. Leo,
Lily, and Sarah bounded through the front door of the house, full of stories
from academic lives, tales of difficult teachers and new romances (and,
sometimes, both at once). Leo had fallen in love with a woman working toward
her PhD in philosophy; Lily had a crush on the TA in her romantic poetry class.
Sarah, the youngest of their children, focused on her studies and didn’t worry
about love. An environmental science major, she lectured them all on the
dangers of carbon monoxide and pesticides; they chided her about it but in a
loving, good-natured way. Catherine was thrilled to be with her kids and took
great pains to cook their favorite dishes, especially for Leo—her favorite.