Carol Ch. 15

She'd attached some photos. She was at a company picnic, in a halter top and cut-offs. In another she was on the phone in a nightie. In the last, she was standing in front of a fountain in a square (in Europe?) in jeans and a t-shirt -- though clearly with no bra on under the t-shirt.

It was incredibly disorienting to see this woman, who my memory had frozen in the first flush of youth. She now had some wrinkles around her eyes and lips, and she was no longer built of muscle. But she was still leggy, still pneumatic and arrestingly pretty. Time had been very kind to her. She was gorgeous.

Her beauty didn't matter to me in the least.

I wrote back: You are my heart. I am divorced. I am employed. I have no police record. No bad habits. I'm not irretrievably overweight. I want you. Will you marry me?

I was typing fast. I sent it reflexively and then screamed "Shit!" at the computer monitor. Fucking computers! I hadn't wanted to send that last part.

I got a reply in under five minutes. We were almost conversing.

Of course I will marry you, she wrote. Here is what I want: Children, lots. You have to have a cut stomach ASAP. I promise I'll stay hot, or at least thin. And I want you to make me into a crazy woman again. At least until the children come. But not overboard like before. One weekend per month, we're going to make me easy-sleazy, and you're going to like it.

I wrote back: Of course I will like it, but two weekends per month. I've had a few new ideas since college. And -- our children will be beautiful. I can't wait. How do we meet? Are you sure about this?

I sent the message and sat staring at the computer, heart thrumming in my ears. How long before the reply?

The phone rang.

"Yes?"

It was her.

"Hi, T," she managed, and then her voice broke. "Of course I'm sure. You don't think I've been keeping track of you? I wouldn't marry some stranger, for goodness' sake. I don't know how many times I looked you up since my divorce started."

"I need to see you," I croaked. "My poor honey. I need to see you tonight. I can--"

She interrupted me with a laugh. "I just bought a ticket. For three hours from now! Don't you love computers? I'll take a leave of absence from my company. But I bought a one-way ticket. We can drive back and pack up my stuff. Oh!" She stopped suddenly. "Sorry! Is this okay with you?"

"If I can see you in five hours, yes." I don't think I've ever meant anything I've said more wholeheartedly. My whole life, so recently closed in, felt like it was opening up again.

"Um, about the rules..." she started. "Are we...?"

I was already stiff. How did she do that, anyway? "Why not? About the rules."

"I don't really have anything to wear," she said. "In that line. Are you suuuure?"

I could hear the smile in her voice. She was goading me again. I could feel my pulse and I knew her brand of craziness could only be good for me.

I said, "So stop on your way to the airport. Change in the cab. Nothing underneath. Okay? Nothing too young. Just inappropriate. And, you should make friends with someone at the airport or the plane."

"Kissing friends? I don't know if I still have the knack." She giggled. "Look! I'm stupid again! It's much better than being serious and sad."

She kept giggling and I remembered how it could run away with her, if I didn't stop it in time. I said: "We're going to make you a wet dream."

"You actually remember that!" she gasped. Then: "A wet dream for who, Tyler?"

I remembered our first conversation (as boyfriend/girlfriend) like it was yesterday. I changed my response a little from the original: "I'm not jealous. But you're a wet dream for me."

"Then I'm in. We have a lot of catching up to do. You have to hear about the five years after we broke up -- you will not believe how dumb I was. I was awesome."

We spoke for ten more minutes, specifics about the trip. We always liked to plan things. We would meet at the airport, she would just have a carry-on bag. I'd theoretically be able to 'see the goods shaking' (as she put it) as she walked down the concourse, if she was able to find a nice dress. For such a short flight she could certainly be that indecent at least. (Jeez, but I loved her!) And we wouldn't say anything until after we had kissed.

"I'll see you soon, my love," she crooned. "I'm feeling happy again. Are you?"

"Yes. I'm very happy," I said. I had no reservations about telling her that anymore. I had no reservations at all.

What I wanted most was to hear her footstep in the hall, and see her turn the corner with a tired grin, and have our child on her hip. The rest (whatever adventures we would end up having) would be icing on the cake.

I looked around my computer den. Surely she'd expect me to be more organized than I was in college.

I brought the huge garbage can in from the side yard, and started making room in the house.