Grace Takes a Time Out Ch. 09

2nd Wednesday

When Peter arrives as usual at 8:00 or so he is surprised to find Grace at the kitchen table looking tired and wearing the same clothes she had left the house in the previous morning. Her immediate response to his look of surprise is: "I just got home 15 minutes ago. Don't ask, it's a long story." After another pull of coffee from her mug she continues: "OK, you can ask. Pour me another cup." And she pushes her mug across the table at him.

"How was your day yesterday? I got your text and worked until 5:00 or so." He is inquiring, cautious, as he refills her mug.

"Anything exciting happen here?" she asks, as if trying to put off talking about her day.

"I got most of guest room done. Shirley called and wants to meet on Saturday so I can help out some friend of hers with something she didn't tell me what it was." Grace cocks a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Judy came by looking for you. We had lunch from your fridge, talked about the painting, and she went back to work." That gets both eyebrows up, but no immediate response.

"Remember the part about no commitments, our personal time is our own?" Grace asks, uncertain and wanting confirmation. He nods, questions her with his eyes and shows concern. She continues: '"After I left yesterday I went downtown and got the paint and other stuff for my room and then went to have lunch. I was sitting there at one of the sidewalk tables on MDB having a sandwich, and I don't want to leave out the part that I was thinking of what we might do in the afternoon," her eyes briefly sparkle at him "and there's a tap on my shoulder, I turn, and there's Stan - the man of my mis-spent youth." Peter's eyes widen.

"Yeah. I was surprised, too. Before I met Joe I dated this guy, Stan, and it was pretty hot for a while. I never thought of it as long term because as charming and sexy as Stan was, he had the emotional depth of a ten year old coupled with the intellect of a, well, a used car salesman. God, he was good in bed, but most of the rest of the time it was pretty tedious. Even at the young and stupid age of 22 - no offense, Peter - I could tell that this guy was a non-starter. But he was fun for a while; I think it lasted about 2 months."

"So when I turned and saw him there yesterday," Grace continues "it was a shock. I haven't talked to him for 15 years. And there he was, smiling at me. So of course I invited him to sit down and we must have talked for an hour or two. He is in town for some sort of insurance sales convention or meeting. Lives in So Cal, divorced last year, couple of kids. So we talked and talked, I said 'sure' to the dinner invitation, met him later for dinner, and had the all night tour of his hotel room. And here I am." Grace looks at Peter with concern and questioning in her eyes.

"Wow. That's something, Grace." says Peter, with a hint of surprise and wonder. "How do you feel about this guy?"

"I don't. It was like a flashback. I haven't even thought about him for years. When it was hot, it was hot." She looks at the ceiling and pauses. "His best feature was his dick." Peter's eyes widen again and his mouth hangs open. "Oh, don't be shocked! I was young and stupid, the whole thing was unreasonable." She looks at Peter sheepishly. "When I saw him there yesterday the first thing that came into my mind was something like 'I wonder if he's still as good as he was then?' and in my current vacation state of mind I figured I could find out."

"So you just jumped into bed with him?" Peter glares at her, somehow still wide eyed.

"Hey! Back off. I can do what I want, but yes, it was like I wanted to know if he still had it, or if I did. And, he's still charming, if a little fat." She chuckles to herself: "He's a poster boy for too much fast food. I'm in way better shape than he is. It even occurred to me to worry if we went at it too hard he might get hurt." Another chuckle.

"Hope you had your protection." Peter is getting bitchy.

"Yes I did, thank you. You're pushing your limits!" She's right back at him. "I'm telling you all this because we agreed to tell the truth: don't you criticize me for keeping in touch!"

"OK, OK. I gotta go paint." And he gets up from the table to start his work day, his face stern and unreceptive.

"And don't get all pissy with me." She's replies, her dander up. "I'm wiped out. A shower and a nap and I'll be fine." So they part, he to the guest room and she to her room, shower, and bed.

*

Around 11:00 she comes into the room he is working on; she's dressed for the gym in tank top, sweat shorts, and iPod. After a couple of hours of sleep she's looking more together, almost cheery; but her hair looks like it just got out of bed. Peter is focused on the current wall. "I'm off to the gym." she says. "Lunch when I get back?"

"When you're back." He replies, still cranky and uncharitable. The implication is clear that she may not be back soon.

"Is that a question? You don't own me, you know. I don't have any obligations. Don't you get all clingy and possessive! I'll do what I want when I want!"

"I'm sure you will Grace." He comes back, dismissively. "You do what you want. Just let me know what's next on my list."

"We agreed that our own time is our own and there are no commitments. Maybe I took you for more mature than you are, but you need to just back off and deal with it."

"Right. You're a woman of the world and I'm just the baby sitter." He says this dripping with sarcasm. "You can make me do what you want. Hell, you can even throw Judy at me, or me at Judy, so you can watch us dance! I don't like, or want, to be pushed around for your entertainment." He is getting pumped up and angry.

"The two of you are adults: take some responsibility. It's not like you didn't jump at the chance with either one of us. What'd you two do yesterday while I wasn't looking?" It's a challenge, almost shouted at this point.

"That's fine for you to say. But what happens in 10 days when it's over? I just go back to my boring life? You open the bomb bay doors and drop me out? Fine for you, you can just walk down the street and pick 'em up. And I'm back at square one?"

"Fuck you, Peter! You think in 10 days I'll be moving on to a sunny life of freedom and excitement? The kids will be back, I'll be single suburban mom again with my minivan, the endless lessons and activities, and the overbearing gossiping scrutiny of the PTA! I'm sure looking forward to that. I told you this was a vacation for me, and I'm damn well going to have it. You don't like it? You can get off the cruise." Her anger is tangible and thick in the air; she's staring at him like she'd like to melt him into a puddle on the spot.

"Maybe I will! You've just been using me and pushing me around the whole time." There's an air of desperation on his anger.

"Right. And you've been fucking me three times a day, going off to screw big tits Shirley, and getting it off on Judy, too. Who made all this possible? You better think about where it's coming from, stud. Without me you'd be nowhere!" She's flushed, her face burning red, sweating, shouting, and radiating anger. "I'm going to the gym. You'd better put up, shut up, or get lost before I come back!" and with that she turns, leaves the room, and seconds later slams the front door behind her so the whole house vibrates.

Peter leans back against a newly painted wall and slides down, slumping to the floor. He is destroyed, his mind is on overload, blank, tears streaming down his cheeks.

*

90 minutes later Grace returns and seeks Peter out; she can see that not much has been done since she left. "Peter: I am sorry I lost my temper this morning. I apologize."

"Me too, Grace. I got all pumped up, and I know I overstepped. Please forgive me and forgive me if I said anything that hurt you." They look into each other's eyes, both tearing up. "I am sorry. But I am so confused. It's all been so confusing. It's been too much too fast. I was jealous and angry, and I know that's my problem to deal with not yours. But, God, I feel so messed up." He leans forward to put his arms around her and hold her close, sobbing quietly.

"Me too, Peter." She hugs him, looking over his shoulder at the blank wall, tears in her eyes too. "Come on, let's get some lunch." And she breaks the embrace gently. He inhales, pulls himself together, stands up straight, and arm in arm they go to the kitchen.

A few minutes later they are sitting next to each other at the kitchen table nibbling at sandwiches they made, mainly staring into space. "I still miss Joe." Grace says from nowhere in particular. "Some days I am so lonely I don't know what I'm going to do. Every day, all the time, I have to be strong for Joe Jr. and Claire: there's no time off. All I want is some time off once in a while. Can you understand that?" He looks at her and nods. "I just want someone to be with me and help out; I am so lonely. And they'll be back in a week and a half and I'll have to be strong again. And Mom and Dad: they want me to be strong too. Sometimes I feel like I'm climbing Mt. Everest, pulling the kids in their wagon behind me." She is disintegrating. "Peter, please hold me? I want to be held." She looks to him, pleading, tears welling up in her eyes, and reaches out; he reaches to her as she stands and comes to him, and she sits on his lap, her arms around him. She is sobbing and shaking; he can feel her tears ponding on his shoulder.

After a few minutes Peter squeezes her gently and suggests: "Grace, let's go into the living room and sit on the sofa. That'll be better." She nods, still weepy, they stand, still holding close, and he leads her to the living room where he sits at one end of the sofa and she settles next to him, still holding on, facing him leaning across his chest.

Then she starts to cry again. "I'm sorry Peter. I can't stop. Hold me, please. I just want you to hold me." So he does, and she slowly sinks down, her head and shoulder on his lap. Every few minutes another burst of sobbing shakes her; in between he can't tell if she's awake or asleep. At some point she turns over so her head and shoulders are still on his lap, her back to his stomach, his hands on her side and shoulder, occasionally stroking his fingers through her hair.

After an hour of this he is stiff and sore. He shakes her gently and says: "Grace, let me put you to bed so you can sleep. You need to rest." He actually has no idea what to do but this seems as reasonable as anything. Stiffly, Grace straightens out, gets up, and barely aware of his urging, allows herself to be led to her room and settled into her bed, still dressed.

As he lets her down he pulls back to stand but she grasps his arms: "Stay with me, please. Hold me." she asks, pleads with her blood-shot eyes. He kicks off his shoes, lies down next to her, and puts his arms around her as best he can. She starts to cry again, putting her arms around him. "I am so lonely." he hears her say softly. After a few minutes she is quiet again and he drifts off to sleep.

When he awakens he is first aware of his own muscle stiffness, then of her soft sobbing and shaking, last of the long shadows through the bedroom window: it must have been at least a few of hours. He pulls her close as she sobs, and she responds by holding him close; nothing is said. He can feel the dampness of his shirt and the sheet where her tears have been dripping. After a few more minutes she is quiet again - he extracts himself and sits next to her on the bed, still touching her gently with one hand. What to do? he wonders. I am so out of my depth.

Over the next hour the periods of weeping become less frequent and the periods of quiet sleep longer until he figures he can leave her and take a bathroom break. Too tired to stand, he sits on the toilet staring through the open door to the bedroom where Grace is now asleep, and tries to think of what to do; it comes to him at last. He finishes, walks quietly to the kitchen and finds his cell phone. He dials, raises it to his ear, and after a brief wait says: "Judy, it's Peter. Grace needs you."