Carol Ch. 02

She wouldn't answer--she never had, when he had written her over the years--but he would make this one effort to clear the air and part as friends, and then he would be done with it. He could finally forget about her and get on with his life.

He sat down to write.

He mailed the letter and forgot it, knowing he would get no answer. He was done.

----

More than a month later:

There was a single envelope in his mailbox. Business-sized, cream-colored. No return address. Junk mail, he thought--but his address was handwritten. He looked at it, and froze.

He had not seen that handwriting for twenty years or more, but he knew it like he knew his own. For a minute or two, he could not move.

He finally did, and took the letter inside before he opened it. Charlie sat down at his kitchen table and slit the envelope open with his pocketknife. His hands were quivering, just a little.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was over her. This meant nothing. It was a letter from an old friend, nothing more.

When he thought he was calm, he opened the envelope and looked inside. Two pages! That was strange. Carol did not like to write, and kept her notes short and impersonal.

And this was even stranger: The letter was dated almost three weeks before. He looked at the postmark and thought for a moment. Sure enough, it looked as though she had written a reply not long after she received his letter, but not mailed it till a few days ago.

He wondered why. Well, maybe she just forgot to mail it. Not important.

He began to read.

"Dear Charlie,

"Does this mean you don't love me any more?"

He gaped at that first line, then laughed and read on.

"I'm so glad you found a reason and a cure. I think of you often, and always fondly."

She did not hate him, then. He smiled.

There followed some newsy small talk; her sons were both in college, her job was going well, and Larry had been ill but was doing better. There were details on all but that last.

At the end, a tiny shock:

"If you want to call, it would be better to call me at work than at home." A number followed. Then:

"Please do call. I'd love to talk to you. It's been too long."

He put the letter down carefully, as if it might break. And then he just sat and stared into space for a while.

He would hear her voice again. Tomorrow.

He had trouble sleeping again that night, but not from depression. He didn't know what he felt. The sensations were unfamiliar, and he had no words for them. He had once known what they were, he thought, but he had not felt them for so long he didn't recognize them.

Much later, he realized what they were:

Joy. And hope.

The next day, he called the number she had given him. This time, his hands were definitely shaking.

He was in the shop teacher's office, about as private as it gets in a middle school. He listen to the phone ringing. Once... Twice...

He was going to get her voicemail, he just knew it. "Hello?"

That low, melodious voice had not changed a bit.

"....Carol?"

"Charlie! It's so good to hear from you!"

"It's so good to hear your voice again," he said, then winced and hit his forehead. He didn't want to sound like the lover carrying a torch. But her next words rocked him, and he forgot about all that.

"I think about you all the time," she said, and her voice was low and intimate.

Oh, my God, he thought. What does that mean?

He had been prepared for coolness and caution on her part, or maybe for a kind of distant, condescending forgiveness. But not for this.

He was winging it now. "I think about you all the time, too, Carol. But you knew that," he added with a chuckle, to take the edge off. He could always pass it off as a joke.

He wouldn't have to. "I'm glad," she said, her voice just as low and warm. He felt a stirring in his crotch.

He wanted to ask, "Why?" but didn't.

Small talk followed, catching up. What he was doing for a living now, how he liked it, the same for her. What kind of cars they drove. A TV show they both liked.

He was divorced now. "Are you?" She sounded pleased at that, instead of sympathetic. Another tiny bell rang in his head.

He made her laugh with stories from his classroom. She made him smile with her pride in her boys. They just visited, old friends--but there was an undercurrent with it; they were old lovers, too. They did not mention that, but it was there.

They made a date to talk again the next day. He told her when his off period was, and she promised to be waiting.

It didn't occur to him till after he hung up how strange that was. They were both so eager to reconnect. He knew why he was--but why was she?

He was so happy, he cancelled homework for the students in all his classes. He wanted them to be happy, too.

They talked again the next day, and then again three days after that. She could not talk on weekends, she said, and it would be better if he never called her at home.

"Oh?" he said, inquiringly. The question was obvious.

She was matter-of-fact, if a little embarrassed: "Larry doesn't like you much, Charlie. He wouldn't be pleased that we're back in touch. I don't keep secrets from my husband, but--well, you're special."

They hit on the idea of using voicemail. He could leave messages for her at her work, and she could leave messages for him at his school.

After they hung up, he felt a little drunk. Not only were they back in touch, she had given him a secret channel of communication, just for him.

He thought about what was happening. He thought of little else for the next two days. She left messages for him, and he for her. And he thought.

All that he had learned since going on the meds went out the window. Just a girl he had once loved? This was Carol. He loved her. He had always loved her. He always would.

But there was no pain now. They were friends again, and that was more than he had ever dreamed was possible.

And he determined in his mind that that would be enough. Not because he willed it. It just was. To be her friend again, to have a place, however small, in her heart--that would be, it was, enough.

They spoke three or four times a week. They were rekindling an old friendship, but that undercurrent was still there. He wondered what was happening, and one day she told him.

"Charlie, I told you Larry's been sick. He still is. He had cancer, and he's had the surgery, but now he's on chemo and some other medications." She paused. "Charlie. He's not Larry any more."

"What do you mean?"

"He's distant. He doesn't feel anything. It's almost like--like--he's a stranger. And I'm a stranger to him."

She paused, and when she spoke again, there was a quiver in he voice. "Charlie, I'm scared. And I--I'm lonely. I need a friend. I don't have many, and none that I can talk to like you."

"I'll be your friend, Carol. You know that."

"Yes."

"Any time. Day or night. Anything you need."

"I know. Thank you, Charlie. That's why I wrote back. I knew you'd be there for me. Even after--after everything."

"You were right. I always will be."

They spoke of other things, and soon he made her laugh again. When she hung up that day, she didn't say "Goodbye." She said, "Love ya, man."

He meditated on it. Larry had cancer. He hoped--he really did--that he would be all right. It would be so hard on Carol if he died. But still--

He pushed the thought away. He would not hope that. It wouldn't be right, and there was no guarantee she'd run to him anyway.

Sometimes she gave him updates on Larry's condition. But of his death, or the possibility of it, or what could happen then--they never spoke of that. Not once. It was there, lying on the table between them, but neither of them ever mentioned it.

And that, as it turned out, was just as well.

They continued to talk. One afternoon, he opened his heart to her. He feared it, but he could keep silent no longer. "Carol...?"

"....Yes?" He had heard that same warm and caring tone before, long ago.

"Carol, can I tell you something?"

"Is it something I already know?" He heard the gentle smile in her voice.

"I'm pretty sure. But I need to tell you something besides that, and then ask something of you."

"What?"

"What is it that you already know, Carol? Tell me that first."

She spoke softly. "That you love me, Chahlie."

He heard it. And somehow he managed to go on.

"Yes. I do."

"What else did you need to tell me and ask me?"

"I need to be able to talk about it, Carol. I know there's nothing you can do but listen. But I can't pretend I don't feel the way I do. I tried for years, and that didn't work out so well, did it?"

"No." Quietly.

"I have to be able to tell you how I feel. I just have to. Can you accept that, and hear it, and can we still be friends with that between us?"

She spoke quietly. "I can take it if you can."

"Thank you." His voice almost cracked. He didn't think she heard it.

"Tell me now," she said then.

"What?"

"Tell me how you feel about me. I want to hear it."

"You do?"

"Yes. Just tell me, Charlie."

So he did. He told her. He told her as much as he could bear--not about the pain of losing her, but about how he needed her in his life, needed to feel a connection with her, needed to touch her heart.

"Carol, when you won't speak to me, I don't exist. Nothing matters. Just knowing that you care again, just being your friend again these last few weeks--it's meant the world to me. The pain is gone now, Carol, but--but God, I need you. I need you in my life so much."

"Do you have no one, Charlie? You haven't mentioned if you've dated since your divorce."

"There's no one I want, Carol. I've been out with women once or twice, but three's a crowd."

"Three?"

"You're always there, between us."

"Oh, Chahlie--I'm so sorry. I never meant to do that to you."

"I know. It's not your fault. You can't help being what you are."

"And what is that?"

"The only woman I'll ever love." He paused. "I learned what passion is, loving you, Carol. In all these years, it's never left me. I still feel the same about you as I did when we first started dating."

"That's very strange."

"It is. But it's true." Then he told her what he had told Sharon, of his prayer.

"For just one hour, Carol."

"Chahlie... I don't know what to say. I've never heard of anything like that."

There was a small silence then. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry I can't be with you, Chahlie. I really am. I'm sorry I've brought you so much pain."

"You were worth it. You still are. Just be my friend and let me love you, and the pain will be gone."

"Okay. If you say so."

"I do."

----

The day finally came when they talked about meeting.

"Charlie, there's a real-estate conference in ----- in a few weeks. I can get away for three whole days. Can you meet me there?"

"Can I? Lemme see what's on my schedule--hmmm, no earthquakes, the Lord's not coming back, the world's not ending, I haven't broken both my legs or lost my mind--I could work around those anyway--"

She was laughing happily. "Oh, I'll be there, Carol. Wild horses, alla that. Just tell me where and when."

She did. And then she sounded vaguely guilty. "Charlie--I've never done anything like this before--I don't--"

He interrupted her. "Relax, Carol. I don't want to have an affair with you."

She sighed in relief. "I didn't think you did. I knew you understood. But--"

"I just want to see you, Carol. But I will ask one thing."

"What?"

"When I see you--will you let me hold you for a little while? Just hold you?"

Very softly: "I can do that."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

His anticipation mounted. So did hers. They agreed to meet at a mall not far from the convention center, where she would sign in and leave.

He bought a new suit. He had been working out for months, knowing this day would come, and he had lost weight. He was ready.

He drove there all but vibrating with anticipation, checked into his hotel, and then went to the mall a half-hour early, carrying a single red rose.

And she was already there. He saw her looking in a store window near the place where they had agreed to meet, and he just watched her for a moment.

Carol wore a modest business suit, knee-length, and stood with her feet primly together--a little pigeon-toed, like a child.

Charlie smiled. She was a little thicker at the waist, but only a little; the swell of her breasts was, if anything, greater, and her bottom protruded a little more, but fetchingly. Her hair was cut shorter, shoulder-length. Her hands were clasped modestly in front of her, holding her purse.

She still looked like an angel.

He walked up near her and just stood there. It was only a few seconds before she saw his reflection in the glass. She turned.

"Hello, Charlie," she said. Her smile was like sunrise.

"Hello, Carol." He stepped forward, and she gave him a quick, cautious hug and kissed his cheek.

They looked at each other. They were both 47 now, not 20. Charlie knew his face had aged, and his hair was graying, through he still had all of it; but Carol's face seemed hardly touched by the passing of the years.

She had no lines around her mouth or eyes, no sign of worry or sadness; her life had been happier than his. There was only a little softness around her jawline and her chin, and a tiny touch of gray in her hair. He was pleased to see she did not dye it.

She looked 30, not 47. He handed her the rose. "How pretty! Thank you, Charlie!"

"Have you had dinner?"

They took his car and left hers at the mall. Once in his car, she moved near him.

He was surprised. He turned to look at her, and she was very near, close beside him. Her head was lifted toward him, her face upturned, and when he leaned toward her, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth just a fraction.

My God, he thought. She wants me to kiss her. Carol, my Carol, wants me to kiss her again....

He did. It was a chaste and proper kiss, mouths closed, but sweet and unhurried--and he sensed that he could have had more.

Not yet, he thought.

He marveled at how familiar her lips were to his mouth, even after so long.

They drove to a nearby restaurant--Mexican food, a favorite for both--and spoke little beyond, "It's so good to see you" and "How are you?" on the way there. Conversation, they knew, would come more easily at the restaurant.

And it did. After they ordered, they looked at each other across the table. They had chosen a booth, where they could face each other and still be close. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said. "I tell my husband everything."

He smiled and said, "You're not doing anything wrong."

"I know. I'm not ashamed, but it would bother him."

"Let me see your hands."

Puzzled, she held them out.

He took them in his own and looked at them a moment; then he turned them palm up and looked at them a little longer. He shook his head in wonder.

"What?" she asked.

"I remember your hands, Carol. They're just like I remember. Exactly."

"Really?" She looked at him with a touch of wonder in her own eyes.

"Yes." He looked up. "And your smile--and those sparkling eyes."

She showed him both, and coyly asked, "And do you remember the rest of me?" She giggled. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help asking."

He gave her a small smile. "Oh, yes," he said. "But I try not to think about the rest of you, Carol. That makes it hard on me."

Then he grinned. "No pun intended."

She had looked stricken for a second, but at that she laughed.

They talked of the past, but carefully. The food was served, and they talked as they ate. Of Ken's Pizza and the Sonic, of the Student Union and the Arena Theater, of their favorite bookstore--they shared a passion for reading--and of long nights studying together.

Finally, Carol asked quietly, "You know what I remember most?"

Charlie smiled. "Same as me, I'll bet."

"The drive-in."

He nodded. "I can't think about that either, Carol. I just can't. It hurts too much."

"Then you don't think about the Park, or the Holiday Inn either," she said, just as quietly, "or your apartment."

He closed his eyes and said nothing.

She covered his hand with her own. "I'm sorry, Charlie," she said. "I shouldn't have said that."

His eyes remained closed, but he took her hand and squeezed it. "It's all right, Carol," he said, his voice a little husky. Then he looked at her. "Just don't mention that again, all right?"

"I won't. I'm sorry."

"You can't imagine--never mind. Let's talk about something else."

"How do you like being a teacher?" she asked.

He smiled at her gratefully. "I like it," he said....

They talked and laughed and grew more comfortable throughout the meal, and after.

Finally, they sat there with their empty coffee cups between them and smiled at each other. "What now?" asked Charlie.

"There's a place I want to take you," she said. "Let's go."

They left. She directed him to a parking lot near a small shopping mall. He looked the question at her, and she smiled and opened her door. "Come on," she said. "You have to see it." They walked together toward the building.

He could never find it, forever after; but he remembered it. They passed through a series of arches, and emerged into a wonderland..

A still canal that reflected the torchlights that stood at intervals along it. The silent, darkened shops reflected them too. They were surrounded by mystic light and still water.

It was beautiful--and in the golden light, so was she. They walked beside the water and talked in low tones, often whispering. He held her hand in his as they strolled along the bank.

He learned that Larry was afraid for long that she'd go back to him. That made him stop and look at her. "Really?"

"He said he was always afraid I'd leave him and go to the bus station and go back to you, Charlie."

"But you had a car."

She smiled. "I know. But that's what he always saw, he said."

That made Charlie feel strangely warmed. Gary had been jealous and fearful of HIM...

He could not keep his eyes off her. "I can't believe you're really here," he said, and more than once.

The fourth or fifth time he said it, she came close and kissed him, and held it.

His mouth opened, just a bit; but hers opened more, and then they were kissing as they used to, long before. His arms went around her without conscious thought, and she embraced him as well.

It felt the same, he thought. Her mouth--it felt, and tasted, the same. After almost thirty years--it was the same. And it was beyond wonderful. It was a miracle.

"Believe it now?" she asked.

"Oh, Carol--" All he could do was kiss her again.

He drove her to his hotel, and neither spoke. She was snuggled up beside him as she had when they were kids. There was no lump in his throat this time.

As they pulled into the parking lot, she suddenly said, "Charlie, I can't do this. There's nothing up there but a bed--"

"I sprang for a suite, Carol. There are two couches, and a table with chairs. We'll get coffee and we'll talk, that's all."

He squeezed her shoulders and she looked at him. He smiled reassuringly. "Carol. It's me. Charlie. When did I ever give you anything you didn't want?"

She smiled back and relaxed. "Never," she said. "You're right. I'm being silly. Let's go."

They decided on Pepsis instead of coffee. They sat at the table, then side by side on the sofa, with the bed in sight at the other end of the room. They chatted for a while, and it became more and more obvious that they were both just stalling.

Finally, there came a small silence, when they had run out of small talk. They looked at each other, and they smiled.