Chapter 1
The room was large and sunny with two bay windows that looked
out to the back yard which bordered onto the green space beyond that was filled
with maples, elms and honeysuckle, all lush early spring green. Purple and sage fabric draped the windows and
pooled gently onto the floor, making the 14-feet ceilings seem even
higher. There were two sofas with plump
white cushions angled toward each other, with a glass coffee table
in-between. The bases of the end table
lamps were spindles shaped like waves, and copper planters in front of the
windows were filled with Peace Lilies and Lavender.
Bernard escorted Emilie into the room, gesturing, “This is
the great room. My sister-in-law did the
paintings. This is her version of a
Matisse with gold fish and this one, ‘Woman with Child’ reminds me of a
Picasso. The colors were rich, with
turquoise and orange, deep blues and reds, both paintings lively and
cheerful. As they walked over to the
sofa, Emilie felt her heart flutter.
Bernard’s hair was deep black, with ringlets just where his hair touched
his collar. He had Mediterranean skin,
and the stubble of his end-of-day beard made him irresistible. About 5’10”, he had the build of and grace of
a tennis player. As he settled in, he
faced her, his arm resting on the back the sofa.
Emilie was petite, with wispy reddish hair. While Bernard’s skin was olive, hers was
peach, and the faint blush of her cheeks deepened as she spoke. She found herself talking in a quiet voice,
like speaking through sighs, almost holding her breath as they shared stories
about simple things. As she leaned into
the multi-colored throw pillows and casually put one onto her lap, she felt his
gaze and lost her train of thought. “Oh
my, what was I saying?” He reached over
and touched her hair lightly...”how your daughter says you don’t listen very
well.” They both laughed. “I find there is so much going on in my mind,
what I am thinking makes it hard to even hear myself speak...let alone anyone
else! It’s embarrassing.” As she spoke, Emilie was conscious of
Bernard’s hand resting next to hers and the shape of his lips, and how she
loved his laugh. When he smiled, a
dimple appeared in his right cheek, his brown eyes serious yet playful. She was drawn into his stories and her mind transformed
them into scenes...He entered stage
right, she approached and looked out, casting her eyes right to left, as if
lost. Does everyone do this? she
wondered.
In his mid-forties, Bernard had lost his wife a few years ago. When diagnosed with cancer, she had been
given hard choices...treatment to slow its progress accompanied by nausea, hair
loss, aging skin or no treatment which would shorten her time, yet give her an
almost normal quality of life. With young
children, Elana, now 11 and Dylan, now 9, she decided on no treatment. They had
spoken of his wife before now, but only lightly. This was the first time he had described his
wife’s last 6 months. Eventually, the
cancer filled her lungs making it hard for her to breathe. Emergency trips to
the hospital meant using a syringe to withdraw fluid from her lungs. Tumors on
her chest bled onto her nightgowns. She was brave, but it was a brutal death.
“What a heartbreaking
choice to make,” Emilie whispered, her eyes moist with emotion. “How did you feel...was it the right
choice?” She could barely imagine his
loss, how his children must miss her, how selfish it was for her to be
there...wanting to hold him and take away all that sadness, take his wife’s
place. Oh my goodness, she thought, did I really think that...take her place?
She fought the temptation to fast-forward into the future. “I wanted her to take treatments... but she
wanted the children to remember her as she was...happy and loving, well enough
to enjoy being with them. She didn’t
think she could do that dealing with radiation and chemo.” He looked away. Emilie watched him closely, waiting. “Once she
made her choice, she made peace with it.”
Emilie thought of how different her own mother’s choice had
been. She had continued her breast
cancer treatments for almost five years after it was diagnosed, even when doctors
had said there was no use. She had thought
she would live to be 100. She was 82,
and Emilie had witnessed her death moans, administered the morphine, and sang
to her at the end, but couldn’t make herself take her mother’s hand. She
couldn’t distinguish if the tears that welled in her eyes were for Bernard’s
wife, her own mother’s death, or the shame in not reaching out in those last
moments. Would I ever share this with
him? What would he think of me? Maybe
there are secrets about ourselves we will never share. We live with each other
as illusions, versions of the truth. “Between
giving in to it and making a fight, there must be a middle road that makes
sense,” she said softly. This
conversation, views on life and death, the role we play in caring for others,
these were too heavy to take on today.
They would wait for another time, she thought. She felt her heart beating. He was close enough to kiss her.
Bernard looked at Emilie.
Was he talking too much about the
past? Would this conversation about his
wife scare her off? His wife’s
cancer had taken center stage in their lives, and he missed having a woman in
his life. He yearned to touch her face,
feel the fullness of her naked breasts against him. He liked that she was a university professor.
She had been divorced for three years and was raising her 6-year old daughter, Corrina
alone. He liked her energy and optimism
and found he enjoyed even the silences between them. She was very different from his wife who had
always been a stay-at-home Mom, attending to the details of the household and
inviting friends for dinner on Friday nights or arranging play-dates for the
kids. He found it better to remember the earlier times, when she was healthy.
Several weeks ago, Emilie gave in to her friends who had urged
her to try dating. Finding someone on
the Internet seemed so pathetic, and she really didn’t know if she was ready to
have a relationship again. But she was
also afraid that was so ready that
anyone who showed any interest in her
might draw her in. Bernard’s profile
caught her attention. Widowed, with two
young children, he was looking for a long-term relationship, not casual
dating. Emilie loved being a mother, and
she sensed this was a family who might need her. Bernard, with his global experience and role
as a business consultant, was very appealing.
He was smart, strategic, charming... confident...all qualities she
admired.
They
had talked on the phone and emailed, but their first meeting was at her home.
She had prepared Cory, “His name rhymes with
‘yard’....BerNARD.” Cory had sat quietly
on her Mom’s lap. “I like to draw,” she
explained. Bernard had asked to see her
pictures, and she brought out several water colors. “This one is called ‘Hundred Hundred.’” He chatted
about the colors and shapes of the... “fish, are they?” He found her darling with her curly blonde
locks and talked to her in a gentle voice with a touch of amusement. “They’re not lost,” Cory explained solemnly. After this visit, he had then taken a 10-day
trip to India, and today he planned to introduce Emilie to his children, Elana
and Nico. That means something, she
thought, feeling nervous, but it’s like being on a job interview.
Just then, a car pulled into the drive. Lisa and the children
burst into the house. Eliana and Niko spent
much of their time with their Aunt Lisa, who had taken on the role of
Mother-Aunt. Lisa was 2 years older than her sister and had happily taken on
attending the children’s school events, planning their birthday parties, and
often appeared on a Friday night unannounced with a bottle of wine and a home-cooked
meal. Bernard vaguely sensed her interest in him, but dismissed her long hugs
as sisterly and focused on what he did value...continuity for his children and
easy companionship.
Flushed and ready to embrace her brother-in-law, she stopped
short and took in the scene. She had
walked in on an intimate moment. Bernard was leaning in toward a woman on the sofa.
Both were smiling. Had they just kissed? They looked guilty of something. Bernard reached for Emilie’s hand as they
both got up to greet the family. “This
is Emilie,” Bernard said cheerfully and embraced the children, turning toward
Emilie, “and this is my daughter Eliana and my son Niko! Oh, and of course, my sister-in-law,
Lisa.” Lisa chaffed at
“sister-in-law.” Will he always define me in terms of my sister? She felt pangs of jealousy and
disappointment. “Emilie,” she said crisply.
“I haven’t heard very much about you except that you work a lot and are very
busy with your own daughter.” Emile
looked at Bernard to gauge his reaction. He was already busy chatting with the
kids, and did not notice the cool reception.
I see, thought Emilie, she is not ready to have another woman in
this family’s life. She suddenly felt
self-conscious and defensive. “Bernard says you have been a great help with Eliana
and Niko.” “I have been their second
mother since my sister died,” Lisa declared firmly.
Bernard jumped in, “Well, thanks for dropping the kids off,
Lisa. Emilie and I have plans with the kids for the weekend, so we’ll touch
bases some time next week.” Lisa
bristled. She had been planning a
romantic evening to welcome Bernard home from his trip to India, and this
relationship with Emilie was clearly moving too fast. “Sure...and you’ll have to tell me everything
about your trip,” she said with a strained cheerfulness as she leaned over to
give him a hug. He stepped away as she
reached in, and she awkwardly hugged his arm instead. “Oh, I have a gift for you, a vase I picked
up in one of the markets in Mumbai.” He
walked to the table by the front door where it was placed, opened the door and
handed the vase to her. Lisa understood
she was being dismissed.
As the door closed, Lisa heard Bernard say, “Let’s go to pick
up Cory at the babysitter’s, and then go out to dinner. How does that sound?” Eliana eyed Emilie... “We usually spend
Friday night alone with our Dad.” “I
know...I am usually alone with Cory, too.
Do you like to bake cookies?” Emilie
looked into Eliana’s eyes. “Sure...chocolate
chips are my favorite.” “Well, maybe we
can bake cookies after dinner. She turned to Bernard. “Would that be OK?” “Sure, if you will dance
with me.” He reached out, took her hand
and slipped his other around her waist drawing her near. His heart was aching
remembering the feel of family, what it was like to hold a woman in his arms. He hummed and twirled her about while the
children tried to ignore them.
Dylan grabbed an apple and asked if he should bring one for
Corinna too. I wish
he would hold me like this every day, Emilie thought, and that this could be the beginning of “happily ever after.” There’s much more to tell, but it was….almost.
