Hands on the Wheel Ch. 04

The longer she talked, the brighter her eyes sparkled, the less she looked and sounded like Woodley. But as she went on talking about her dream of marriage—being part of a family, things that she and Tim and Hattie could do together that she had thought were forever lost to her, maybe even having children with him—his vicarious happiness began to fade.

It was replaced by a growing sense of loss, sorrow that he had lost that dream of family three times: when his high school sweetheart got knocked up by his best friend and married him; when Jean turned out to have no desire for a family, even just the two of them; and increasingly most painful of all, when he destroyed his chances of happiness with Fumiko by never bothering to reach out to her when he got back from Japan.

Suddenly it was as if a dam burst in his brain, releasing an overwhelming grief that he couldn't suppress any longer. Tears began running down his cheeks, and he finally buried his face in his hands. Sarah rushed over to his side of the booth, sat beside him, and cradled his head on her shoulder. "Oh my God, Ivan, I didn't think...you seemed to understand...oh, I love you so much, but—"

He turned and put a hand on each of her shoulders. "No, no, Sarah, that's not it, I'm not unhappy because you and Tim love each other. That makes me very, very happy. I know you love me, the same way I love you, and we always will. But it just hit me how much I want what you will have with Tim and I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of ever getting it. Either somebody takes it away from me or I screw it up myself."

He told her about his high school sweetheart's betrayal. She knew only too well what Jean had done, but he'd never told anyone about Fumiko. It was too personal, he'd acted so stupidly. "There's something, someone I never told you about, Sarah. I know now that I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone. I think she was my best, maybe my only real chance for happiness, but I managed to turn it into nothing but a stupid fubar."

He moved back to the other side of the table. "This is going to take a while; we probably should get another drink." While he signaled the waitress and ordered two more sodas with a twist, Sarah called Tim.

"Hello, sweetheart. Something's come up, I'm going to be later than I thought...No, nothing's wrong, I just need some more time. I'll explain when I get home...Thanks. I love you too, Tim. More and more every day."

Ivan drank half the glass of soda and began the tale of Fumiko, starting with the data mining conference and incident with a lapful of egg. Whenever his emotions made it difficult to continue, Sarah would reach across the table, take his hands, and speak soothingly. By the time he finished with the tale of his terribly frustrating attempt to explain things to her at the hotel in San José last week, it was almost 11:00 and they both were exhausted.

When her Uber ride pulled up, they hugged for a long moment, then Sarah kissed him on the cheek. "It's going to be okay, Ivan, I just know it. You're going to prove that nice guys don't always finish last."

One week later

______________

Sarah was tired from the flight, the hassle of getting from the airport to her hotel in downtown Vancouver, then the Uber ride out to this suburb. She stopped at the door, took a deep breath, and pushed the doorbell button. She heard footsteps, then the door opened part way. She had seen the picture of Fumiko that Ivan found online, but it hadn't done her justice.

"Hello. My name is Sarah Morrison. I apologize for arriving unannounced, but may I speak with you? It's important."

The young Asian woman looked puzzled. "What about?"

"Please, I'm not selling anything." No, but I am selling someone. "I'm a friend of Ivan Wolfe."

After an awkward pause, Fumiko stepped back, invited Sarah in, and walked to the kitchen. It was apparent she was in the middle of preparing something. She gestured to a stool at the island across from where she had been working. "May I get you something to drink? There's coffee, or I could make some tea."

"Coffee would be wonderful, black. And please forgive me for interrupting your cooking. Would another time be better?"

"No, no, this is fine. I'm just baking some rolls for a school picnic." She poured coffee into a mug emblazoned with a Haida orca. "I'm quite curious to hear why you have come such a long way to speak of Ivan. I assume you came from California."

Sarah nodded. "Yes. Ivan didn't ask me to come, by the way, this was my idea. He doesn't even know I'm here." She paused, trying to remember how she'd intended to build her case, but couldn't remember her lines. She cupped the mug in both hands and gazed at the bold design of the killer whale.

Finally, she looked Fumiko in the eye and spoke so softly that Fumiko strained to hear. "He loves you. He can't forgive himself for not reaching out to you when he came back from Japan. Please let me explain."

Before Fumiko could respond, Sarah rushed on, not so quietly now, running her words together. "He has survived an emotional disaster and depression that almost killed him, but since he saw you at the conference in San José he seems to be sliding back toward that awful depression. I'm worried about him."

She fixed Fumiko with a haunting stare, imploring her to believe. "You're the key to Ivan's happiness. I'm trying to find some way to let you and Ivan find each other again. You're meant for each other."

She released her breath with a whoosh, much as a whale sounds, and sank into herself, shrinking before Fumiko's eyes. Despite her resolve, Sarah couldn't stop the tears that welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She absently wiped them away and returned her gaze to the mug she held.

Fumiko echoed Sarah's earlier soft, almost whispered voice. "You love him."

Sarah looked up. "Yes, but not as a lover. He is my dearest and most valued friend, the most precious friend I've ever had. That's why I'm so desperate for him to be happy. He called me after he saw you at the conference. It was the worst I'd heard him since...well, since something terrible happened to him a few years ago." Since that bitch of a wife almost killed him.

"He said you wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't even pay attention to him. He's sure that you don't care for him at all. That's why I'm here, to see if that's true, to see if there's any way you can at least let him try to explain—"

Fumiko interrupted. "Eight years ago I watched him for four days at a conference in Japan. I saw what a gentle, kind, and thoughtful man he was. After the conference ended we spent two days and one night together. We talked about everything, we learned about each other's lives."

Her voice softened, as it always did when she spoke words from her heart. "We made love. When he left, he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me." Then she laughed bitterly, which sounded so wrong coming from this serene woman. "I wasn't a foolish schoolgirl, I should have known better. I never heard from him again."

Sarah's face clouded, then she took a deep breath. Tamping down her urge to leap passionately to Ivan's defense, she spoke quietly and, she hoped, persuasively. "He said every time he tried to explain what happened, why he didn't call you, you decided it was more important to text someone. Then you got a call and said you had to leave because your job interview had been moved up. He thinks you just blew him off."

"No, no, it was... complicated. And I didn't have time to explain things, my plane back to Japan was that midnight. But how could he explain not talking with me after he got home? Isn't it obvious he got what he wanted, a nice night and good sex with a naïve Japanese girl?" Now it was Fumiko's turn for tears to well.

Fumiko's tears encouraged Sarah. She knew that the dough for the rolls had to rise for about an hour, so she walked around to Fumiko and took her hands. "Let's go sit somewhere more comfortable and I'll explain what happened. You might change your mind." And please, please believe me.

They went into the living room. Fumiko sat on the couch and Sarah sat in a chair facing her. She started by telling Fumiko that Ivan didn't know her email address or telephone number, he didn't even know her last name. She described how immediately Ivan's plane landed at SFO he got an urgent message on his phone from his manager, who described the program failures and how great a threat they were to the company. She described the strike team of Brian, Ivan, and Jean, how long and hard they worked, how little time there was for rest, how long it took.

She recounted with pride the way Ivan figured out what was happening, and with anger the way the misguided young man had tried to sabotage Golkonda. Her pride swelled when she told of the awards banquet and how Ivan tried to share the honors equally with the other two.

Then, with increasing bitterness—and anger that bordered on hatred—she described how Lakshmi Jeanne Maureen FitzHenry stalked, trapped, then betrayed Ivan. She took her laptop from its case and set it up on the coffee table, then sat beside Fumiko.

"I've tried to explain why Ivan didn't contact you. This should explain why Ivan fell into such a deep depression." She played the full version of Ivan's video showing Jean's admission, justification, and intention to get an abortion.

Fumiko sat for a moment, stunned. "How could she...I...I don't think I have ever known anyone like that. How could she deny him a family? Why on earth did she ever marry him?"

"Who knows? The challenge of conquering someone with his naïve moral nature? Protective coloration to mask her promiscuity? A way to stop her parents' asking when she was going to settle down? It doesn't really matter. She did it, and Ivan paid the price."

Fumiko thought about this, then shook her head. "I don't understand, but you're right. It doesn't matter." She sat for a while, trying to absorb it all and imagine how Ivan must have felt. Finally she stood and turned toward the kitchen. "The dough should be risen by now."

Sarah followed her into the kitchen. Fumiko punched down the spongy dough, lifted it out of the bowl, sprinkled a bit of flour on the counter top, and folded the dough over on itself a few times, pressing it flat each time. Leaving it to rest a few minutes, she melted some butter in the microwave. She looked up at Sarah. "I can't imagine how much that must have hurt him."

Sarah nodded. "He divorced her, of course. She tried to drag it out, but had no real grounds. He started drinking heavily and became an alcoholic. After a year he had ruined his health and was in danger of losing his job."

Fumiko tried to absorb this as she smoothed a bit of flour on a tapered wooden rolling pin, then rolled out the dough until it was about 2cm thick. Using a pizza cutter, she cut the dough into rectangles. One by one, she pinched together the short sides of each doughy rectangle and placed them in a baking pan.

When the pan was filled, she brushed the top of each roll with melted butter, then covered the pan with a dishtowel and put it on the countertop beneath the cupboard overhang. "They'll be ready to go in the oven in half an hour or so. Are you hungry? We could have an early lunch."

Sarah looked at her watch and was surprised to see it was already a few minutes after eleven. "I had no idea I talked that long. I hope it helped." She realized that despite her anxiety, she really was hungry. "Lunch would be nice. May I help?" They fixed a light lunch and ate in the kitchen, avoiding any talk of Ivan. While they ate Fumiko turned on the oven.

When they finished eating, Fumiko made sure that that the rolls had risen, then put them in the oven. Sarah accepted her offer of a cup of tea, so she prepared a pot of green tea and poured them each a cup. After taking a sip, she asked the question Sarah knew was coming. "If Ivan was an alcoholic, how did he overcome it? Why did he stop drinking? Is he healthy now?"

Sarah struggled to find the best answer, but knew that she had to tell the truth, difficult though it might be. "Yes, he's healthy now, and he certainly was an alcoholic. Brian and Jeremy and I were afraid he was going to die if he didn't stop. He did stop, but how isn't a pretty story." She told about arriving at Ivan's apartment, what he looked like, what she told him was going to happen, and most of the details of the routine they followed.

She didn't pull any punches. "I told him that he was behaving like a child, that I wasn't going to let him crawl into a bottle any more, that every time he even thought about wanting a drink I would have sex with him. To be blunt, I told him that I was going to fuck him sober and smarter, and that I was the judge of when he got there. I made him eat right and exercise. It took three weeks, but he came out of it."

But she left out the night that Ivan made love to her, the night Woodley died and Sarah was resurrected. That was too personal, too sensitive, too special to share even with this gentle woman whom Sarah believed was the key to Ivan's happiness.

She told about leaving Golkonda the Friday before Ivan came back to work. Fumiko looked puzzled. "But if you believed Ivan was well again, why quit your job? It sounds like you loved him. Why did you leave him?"

Sarah dreaded this question, but she wanted happiness for Ivan—and Fumiko—so badly that it had to be answered. The awful truth was the only option.

"Yes, I was falling in love with him. Even worse, I was afraid that he was falling in love with me. I couldn't let that happen. He deserves better." She took in a deep breath, held it for long moments, then let it out in a rush. Her voice cracked, but she fought off tears. "He didn't, he still doesn't deserve someone like me."

Fumiko was stunned. What on earth could this beautiful, poised woman mean by "someone like me?" She stammered her objection. "What...why would you say such thing? Why do you not deserve Ivan? You are very beautiful, very intelligent, you love him. I do not understand. That cannot be true."

Sarah stared at the tabletop, searching for the way to begin. Just as she looked up and drew breath to speak, the oven timer dinged. Fumiko apologized and took the rolls out of the oven; Sarah welcomed the reprieve, but knew she had to answer as soon as Fumiko returned or she'd lose the courage to tell the story.

"I've never told anyone this story, especially not Ivan. But he'll have to know, someday." She looked away from Fumiko; she couldn't bear to look this gentle woman in the face as she told her story.

______________

Graduation was two days off. She had lived up to her parents' hopes and expectations, would graduate with honors in psychology and a minor in computer science. Week after week, month after month, year after year, she had turned down her roommate Emily Dickinson's invitations to party or even date, knowing she couldn't afford the time and the possibility of getting involved in a romance.

Sometimes she had wished she could go; a couple of times she resolved she would say yes the next time Em asked. But her goals—or her parents' goals, it wasn't always clear—always quelled the nascent rebellion; they were more important than merely having fun.

But Em wasn't giving up so easily now that they were on the cusp of leaving the womb and entering the world. "For God's sake, Sarah, it's your last chance! For just once let yourself have some fun! There's nothing left to study, no more tests, no more papers. Get with it, girl!"

Sarah automatically started to decline, then stopped. Why not? She'd been good for so long, maybe she deserved one night of not being so good. Em grinned when she saw Sarah wavering. "Come on, Sarah, it'll do you good to wake up tomorrow morning with your head feeling like it's in a vise and your mouth tasting like deep-fried camel shit." Em always had a way with words. When Sarah hesitantly agreed, Em high-fived her. "All right, girlfriend! We'll give 'em a night they'll remember."

Neither young woman had any idea what an understatement that was.

"The party starts at 7:00, but nothing really gets going until around 9:00. Let's leave here around 8:30. I'll drive." Em leered comically. "But we might come home with someone else and go back for the car tomorrow."

It was only 2:30, so there was plenty of time to get ready. Sarah actually started getting excited at the thought of doing some of the things Em had told her about when she came back from one of her many parties, usually a bit drunk and sometimes with her lipstick smeared and clothes askew. Sarah wasn't a virgin, but her experiences—with a high school boyfriend and a biology classmate her sophomore year in college—had been mostly furtive, rushed, and not very pleasant. Maybe tonight would be different.

Em almost always went for semi-slut casual—tight shorts, tank top, and CFM pumps. Sarah tried several outfits, but they were either too frumpy or too dressy. She finally decided on a short, flouncy skirt and a button-up blouse with a fairly modest neckline—unless she left a few buttons loose. Tonight she was going to leave them loose. After trying and rejecting a pair of spike heels (she didn't have any proper CFMs), she chose a pair of pink running shoes.

She put on her blouse and skirt, but didn't like the way her underwear looked under them. She didn't own any sexy bras or panties and didn't want to borrow any from Em. She checked herself out in the mirror, running her hands over her breasts and wishing all her bras weren't so stiff or padded. Just then Em walked in to her bedroom with two glasses of wine and handed one to Sarah. "Here's to an early start and a late finish. The only way to go and come." She giggled and tossed off the wine. Sarah did the same.

By 8:00 they had finished the bottle and were in a mellow, let's-party mood. Sarah wasn't used to drinking the way Em was, and felt a bit tipsy already. Em's phone rang. She wandered off to answer it, then told Sarah that she had to take a skirt she had borrowed back to a friend's house. They would leave for their own party when she got back in 15 or 20 minutes.

Sarah wandered around the apartment, impatient to get to the party and experience some of the fun that Em always had. She was tired of denying herself for the sake of school, for the sake of her parents' expectations. It was time she started making her own plans, meeting her own expectations. When she passed the door to Em's room, she remembered that Em had come back from a party a few months ago proclaiming herself "well-fed and well-fucked!" and collapsing with laughter on her bed, only to fall asleep and start snoring contentedly.

She also remembered that the next morning Em had said she got some Ecstasy pills from a friend and took one herself, then made sure that she didn't drink anything she didn't pour herself. "First Law of self-defense, girl: Dope yourself, don't let others do it." Em had dug three pills out of her purse and put them at the bottom of her underwear drawer.

Sarah hesitated, then went into Em's room and opened the drawer. Digging under the lacy things, she felt two pills. Ignoring the alarm bells trying to go off in her mind, she picked up one, rearranged the panties and bras as they had been, and put the pill in her little purse with the long strap.

Feeling wicked, she stood in front of the mirror again. She shook her head and stripped off her blouse, took off her bra, and put the blouse back on. It felt a bit strange, but her nipples puckered and stood out a bit as the fabric rubbed against them. It felt good, and they really didn't show that much. Pleased with her decision, she remembered a gag gift she got for her 21st birthday. She went back to her dresser and dug down to the bottom of her underwear drawer, finally yanking out a red thong.