Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) (21 page)

“I’ll try,” he said.

He squared himself behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. We rode silently back to campus.

When he stopped the car, he said, “I really did love you, Alice,” and I was almost glad it was past tense.

“I know,” I said. “I loved you too.”

And then, knowing he would not call or write me again—and knowing with certainty now that I did not want him to—I said, “Good-bye, Dave.”

He leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “Good-bye,” he said.

Once I had got out and shut the door, he drove away and didn’t look back. I stood on the sidewalk watching him leave and knew I had made one of the best, and the most difficult, decisions of my life. I was alone again, but I wasn’t lonely.

*  *  *

There were serious things to think about now. I was determined to repay Dad the deposits he had made for my wedding. With Dave out of the picture, I had more time to concentrate on my studies, but it was going to be a very different Christmas from what we’d thought. We had planned to get together with Dave’s folks—his and mine—and of course that wasn’t happening. And to top it all off, Elizabeth called with the news that she and Moe were engaged.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” I said. “I’m so
happy
for you!”

“And he’ll be taking his bar exam soon.”

“That is so great!” I told her. “We all love Moe!”

“We haven’t set a date yet. I want to get you through your wedding first before I start planning mine.”

“No,” I said, and didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. “It’s over with Dave. I broke our engagement.”

“What?”

“It just seemed right. I wasn’t sure. But you know, I feel so much better. . . .”

“Oh, Alice!”

“Really, I’m okay,” I said, and meant it.

The next month was one of the worst and best I could remember. Sometimes I thought I might be schizophrenic, because one day I felt free and ready to explore the world, and the next I wanted to cuddle up in my decrepit beanbag chair, far too small for me, sure that I had given up the most loyal man who would ever love me. The
only
man, perhaps, I thought when I was most despondent.

I wished Dave had been mad at me. Railed at me. Driven off at ninety miles an hour, and I could have thought,
Good riddance.
Instead, he’d kissed me on the forehead. Maybe I should call him. Text him. Say I was a fool and wanted him back. Maybe joy would come, if I gave it time.

Then, one day in class—a class titled Old Philosophers,
New Age—we were discussing Emerson’s essay “Self-Reliance,” and this line from it seemed to be written especially for me:
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string
.

Yes! Except that some days the iron string felt weak and wobbly and I could scarcely hear it at all. Other times it was loud—loud enough to propel me out of bed some mornings as if to say,
Get up and go be the person you want to be!

Still, I dreaded Christmas. The fact that the rest of the world seemed happy and filled with the holiday spirit made my sadness worse. I dreaded seeing my friends and hearing their happy news, having to explain, over and over again, what happened between Dave and me. I knew they’d only want to comfort me, not judge, but somehow I felt that nothing they could say or do would make me feel better. It had to come from inside, and sometimes it was there, sometimes not.

I’ve heard that the best thing to do when you’re feeling low is to concentrate on someone else’s unhappiness, work to make someone else feel better, and when Sylvia told me that Aunt Sally and Uncle Milt were virtual shut-ins, due to Milt’s failing health, I decided to spend a few days after Christmas with them.

“They’d be delighted, Alice. A wonderful thing for you to do,” Dad said.

Valerie had applied for a job as curator of a small new museum that was being built in Oklahoma City, and she’d been more or less accepted for the job if she wanted it. She was going down after Christmas to look the place over, talk with the
foundation that was building the museum, and see how she felt about living there after she graduated.

Oklahoma?
I thought. Was she serious?

“Come with me,” she had offered. “Maybe you’ll like it so much, you’ll want to move there after you get your master’s.”

I doubted that, but because it would be new territory for me, a new experience, I told her I’d join her for a few days after I visited Aunt Sally in Chicago.

My next bank statement, though, confirmed what I’d already suspected—that I had about reached the bottom of my savings. All these years, through high school and college, I had faithfully put money aside from everything I earned, knowing that while Dad would pay for my tuition and books all through college and grad school, everything else had to come out of my own savings. That trip to California had almost wiped me out. I would have to live a Spartan life till I graduated, and I still owed Dad for the wedding-that-never-was. Okay—Oklahoma was my last hurrah. Was that depressing or what?

I’ve been lonely before and it didn’t kill me
, I told myself on Christmas morning when I sat down with Dad and Sylvia to open presents. Les and Stacy were with her parents this time. Dad did his best to keep things cheerful. He played only light music on CDs, gave me funny presents in my stocking. He and Sylvia kept me busy in the kitchen, and neighbors came by later to share the holiday spirit. But there’s a certain loneliness that comes from having no one special in your life, and I was feeling that acutely.

*  *  *

This was a mistake, I thought, when I got off the plane in Chicago. I wondered if I would ever be able to go there again—pass through it, even—without feeling depressed. Two relationships hadn’t worked out now, and being reminded of the first made it all the more painful.

But I found I liked being with Aunt Sally and Uncle Milt, because no one tried to make me feel jolly, so I didn’t disappoint. I brought them a framed photo of them with their daughter, Carol, that they probably never realized Dad had taken at Lester’s wedding, a large magnifying glass with a light, and DVDs from Les and Stacy. Aunt Sally had perfected the art of seeming delighted no matter what you gave her, but I didn’t even have to pretend: When I opened their gift for me and found a used copy of the book
The Prophet,
with Mom’s name on the inside cover, I was really delighted.

“It was all the rage back in the seventies,” Aunt Sally explained, “and Marie loaned it to me when she’d finished, but I never got around to reading it all. Then I was cleaning out our bookshelves a few months ago and found it. I thought you might like to have it, since your mother was so fond of it.”

“What a perfect gift!” I said, gently turning the pages. “Anything of Mom’s is a real treasure to me.”

Uncle Milt didn’t beat around the bush. “Your dad tells us your engagement’s off, sweetheart. You just take your time. Our little Alice deserves the best, and if a fella doesn’t measure up, you forget him.”

“It wasn’t a case of not measuring up, Uncle Milt,” I told
him. “We were just too different, and he’ll make a great husband for someone, just not me.”

“Well, I dated a lot of boys who were too different from me before I met this one,” Aunt Sally said, stroking the back of Milt’s head, letting her fingers slide down the collar of his shirt and up again. “And I’m glad I waited, because I got the best.”

I smiled, loving that they were still so close. “I’m in no hurry,” I said.

Alone in their guest room later, I gently turned the pages that my mother’s fingers had turned, and various phrases by Khalil Gibran leaped out at me:
Let there be spaces in your togetherness / And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Didn’t that refer to Dave and me? Wasn’t that an admonition not to be too much alike? But just when I felt that old familiar panic begin, I read this phrase:
No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.
That meant not even the prophet himself could tell me what was best for me—I needed to trust that I made the right decision.

I stayed only two nights, helping Aunt Sally sort through some old photos and playing hearts with Uncle Milt. We watched
Masterpiece Theater
together, and the next day, with my plane leaving for Oklahoma City at 4:15, I could tell that they both could use a nap. So I told them I wanted to get to the airport early—that I needed to find a gift for Val—and they were happy to let me go, with hugs all around. Milt had insisted on driving me to O’Hare, but Sally had wisely arranged for a neighbor to
take me, and I was glad. It was a miserably cold day with sleet coming down, making the walk from Aunt Sally’s out to the car slightly treacherous, and I huddled in the passenger seat, wishing the neighbor would turn the fan up a couple notches to get the heat to my legs. At the airport I was in such a hurry to get inside, where, I hoped, it would be warmer—fat chance—that I awkwardly offered the man a twenty-dollar bill. This delayed my exit even longer as he described the many favors Milt and Sally had done for him and refused to take any money.

Inside the terminal at last, I shook the sleet from my hair and wheeled my carry-on over to the departure board, only to discover that my plane would be leaving an hour and a half late. I was already two and a half hours early, which meant I had four hours to buy a Christmas present for Val, where every shop in this airport charged twice as much for everything as it would cost somewhere else. Besides, I’d already bought a cute little wool cap for her, so I didn’t really need anything more.

I sighed and tried to figure out which waiting section looked the most comfortable for the next four hours since I really didn’t want to go through security yet. I was walking past a luggage shop, hoping to find a bookstore, when I saw a tall man coming toward me, wheeling a large duffel bag behind him, a smaller bag over one shoulder. He had a two-day growth of stubble on his face, and a lock of hair had fallen down over one eye. There was something familiar about him, and then . . . And then . . .

He stopped about ten feet away, and so did I.

Was it possible?

I took a few steps closer.

“Patrick?”

“Alice!”

One hand went to my chest to restart my heart, and this time he took a few steps forward. We continued to stare at each other in shock and wonder.

“What are you . . . ?” we said in unison. Then we both began to smile at our awkwardness.

“What are you doing in Chicago?” Patrick asked first.

“Heading off to explore the world,” I joked lamely, gazing at the hair that was a darker red now, a reddish brown. His eyes were lined beneath, as though he hadn’t slept for several days, probably because he
hadn’t
slept for several days, but I’d know his smile anywhere. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Coming home,” he said. “Heading to Union Station for a train to Milwaukee.”

“I can’t believe . . . ,” I said.

And then . . . I don’t know if it was some small gesture he made, but when he had let go of the duffel bag beside him, we were both moving forward at the same time, and I was in his arms, my cheek against his chest, drinking in his scent, his breath, his heartbeat—all so familiar to me.

People walked by, and we didn’t care. Someone could have wheeled our luggage away, and we probably wouldn’t have noticed. When we finally backed away, we kept clutching each other’s sleeves as though we couldn’t let go.

“Where are you going, really?” Patrick asked.

“Oklahoma City.”

“Oklahoma!”

“To visit my roommate. She signed on for a job there after she graduates. She wanted me to come look it over, help her decide.”

“Then you’re still in school?”

“Yes. I’ll be starting my master’s after I graduate in June. What about you?”

“Coming home to have a serious talk with the U. See how much credit they’ll let me have for my study abroad and my two years in the Peace Corps.” He gave a sheepish laugh that sounded so much like the old Patrick. “Actually, what I was looking for right now was a Big Mac. I promised myself that as soon as I set foot on U.S. soil, I’d treat myself to the biggest burger I could find.”

“Could I go with you?” I asked.

His face lit up like a neon sign. “
Can
you?”

“I’ve got time.”

He reached for his duffel bag, but he didn’t take his eyes off me. “I still can’t believe this,” he said as we walked a few feet more.

“Neither can I. That we’d be in the same concourse, even.” I finally remembered that Patrick’s parents had moved to Wisconsin after Patrick started college. “What time’s your train?”

“It’s a commuter; I could go any time. All my folks know is that I’m coming this week. What about you? When’s your flight?”

“It was delayed until six forty-five.”

“That’s terrific! Great!”

*  *  *

We found a hamburger place. I don’t even remember the name of it. I just remember sliding into a booth across from Patrick and watching him eat two burgers while I ate one and shared his fries.

“Isn’t this unbelievable?” he said. “What are the odds, do you think?”

“Ten million to one?”

“So fill me in on everything. And if I start to doze off, it doesn’t mean you’re boring. It’s just that I’ve probably slept only an hour or two in the last forty-eight.”

“Oh, God, Patrick! You need to get home and collapse,” I said.

“Not as bad as I need these burgers,” he told me. “Oh, man, these are really good.”

“When did you eat last?” I asked curiously.

“Uh . . . two days ago? I’m not sure.”

“What did you have?”

“Rice.”

“And before that?”

“Some kind of rice.”

We both laughed.

“No, there was food on the plane, but not much. So what about you?” he asked. “Where did you spend Christmas?”

“With my parents. Then I came to Chicago to visit Aunt Sally and Uncle Milt. I was on my way out.”