Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) (20 page)

CHAPTER 68

F
OR THREE DAYS
Anna and I stayed in her house and explored the world of ourselves, making new discoveries, adventuring across every frontier, entering unchartered territory.

We shared our photos and our stories of our past. We cooked good food. We made love. For me the intense companionship was like an oasis in the desert.

On the fourth day Anna began to look for a job. She had been out of work for some time and her bills were beginning to pile up. After two days of searching she was hired as a waitress at Pita Pan.

She decided not to resume her night classes until the following semester. She had missed too many classes.

While Anna spent her days at Pita Pan I worked on my novel. Commuting back and forth between her house and my motor home would have been inconvenient, so I brought my laptop over to her house and spent my days writing at the kitchen table. It felt good to finally get some chapters written.

To break up my day I would stop writing at ten a.m. and go out for a run. After my run I would do some bodyweight training. Then I would shower and eat lunch and get back to my writing.

I found myself missing Anna when she was gone. Really missing her. It made me uneasy. I had not known her that long.

Every night she returned home after work and told me how her day went and then listened to how my day went. Some nights we went for long walks before dinner. Other nights we engaged in more vigorous activities.

On the weekends we took overnight trips to various places around Missouri. Most of the time we took my motor home and stayed at either a campground or an RV park or a state park. There were two or three weekends when we decided to stay at a hotel instead.

In Branson, which has more theater seats than Broadway, we watched some shows. We saw Amazing Acrobats of Shanghai, Clay Cooper’s Country Express, and Legends in Concert. We took a ride aboard the Branson Scenic Railway and ate dinner in a vintage railroad car. At Table Rock Lake, which spans more than forty-three thousand acres and eight hundred miles of shoreline, we had a picnic lunch and went on a boat cruise.

In Hannibal we went to see the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum. The famous author had lived there from the ages of seven to eighteen. The museum contained his original manuscripts and the desk he used to write
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
. As an aspiring novelist I enjoyed the visit thoroughly.

In Jefferson City we went to see the Governor’s Mansion, the Missouri State Capitol, and the Missouri State Penitentiary. The penitentiary, before it closed, used to be the oldest operating penal facility west of the Mississippi River. It was named the “bloodiest forty-seven acres in America” by
Time
magazine. Famous inmates included Kate Richards O’Hare, Charles Arthur “Pretty Boy” Floyd, and James Earl Ray.

In Kansas City we visited a number of museums. American Jazz Museum. Arabia Steamboat Museum. Kansas City Museum. Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art. Money Museum. National Museum of Toys and Miniatures. National World War I Museum.

In Springfield we explored Fantastic Caverns. A tram took us all the way through the cave. We never had to walk. The temperature in the cave was a cool sixty degrees Fahrenheit. It was a nice break from the summer heat. I finally learned the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. The former hang from the cave ceiling, the latter grow from the cave floor. Knowing this bit of trivia made me feel like one of those geniuses on the
Jeopardy
TV show.

Our weekend getaways were time away from everything except each other. The time flew by like a whirlwind.

Anna had lived her entire life in Missouri, yet she had never seen much of it. It was a great joy for me to explore the state with her. The nickname for Missouri is the Show Me State. Anna and I showed it to each other.

CHAPTER 69

O
NE SUNNY WEEKEND
afternoon we drove out to a local park and took a leisurely walk. I put my hand out and she took it and we smiled at each other. Birds moved in the trees above us, fluttering about, chirping to each other. A summer breeze carried the scent of cut grass and blooming flowers.

“I feel lucky,” Anna said. “Lucky you came into my life. I don’t feel . . . empty anymore.”

“I feel lucky too,” I said.

We were quiet, holding hands, strolling along the shaded walkway. Anna seemed pensive. Almost philosophical. Something was on her mind. We walked in silence for a while before she finally spoke again.

“Rip?”

“Yes?”

“I . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

“I’ve never felt this way before. Not about anybody. Ever. You are . . . You’re different. Special. You listen well. Like you really care. You are smart and funny and handsome. You treat me better than any man has ever treated me. You make me feel alive. You make me feel loved. I never had that, you know, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“What makes you think you’ll lose me?”

“You haven’t exactly proposed yet.”

Here we go. The beginning of the end. This is when I always lose them. They always want to put me in a cage. It never works. I tried the cage once. That was enough.

Lovers should be like library books. You don’t own them. You pick one up, check it out, bring it home. Then you begin to read it. This is where the joy is. In the reading. In the journey. In seeing how each story begins, how the plot progresses, how the characters evolve. If your library book is not a good read, you can return it and check out a different book. There are plenty to choose from. But you cannot do this if you bought the book. You cannot trade it in for something more interesting. No, you have to keep the book. Even if you don’t want it. So you stick it on a shelf. You forget about it. You let it get dusty. And nobody ever reads the book again.

“Anna,” I said, “there’s nothing wrong with just dating.”

“Yes there is. Dating is only a temporary relationship. Marriage is a real relationship. A commitment.”

“Dating’s not a real relationship?”

“No. Because there’s no security. No safety net. No knowledge that you can count on somebody to be there for you no matter what happens. Dating means you can leave when things get tough.”

“Marriage is no different. You ever seen the divorce rates?”

“Being married makes it tougher to leave.”

“Why would you want to make it tougher to leave a bad relationship? Life’s too short. If things aren’t working out, you should be free to move on. Why prolong the agony?”

“You never want to get married again?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“Yes. There is.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“What?”

“Tell me what’s wrong with staying single.”

“Well . . . aren’t you afraid of dying alone?”

“As opposed to bringing somebody with me?”

Anna shook her head sadly.

“Look,” I said. “We all die alone. No matter how close we get to another person. No matter whether we decide to get married or stay single. No matter how many people we know. You assume getting married means a spouse will always be there for you. But what are the odds of that happening? Not great. Let’s say you get married. Half of all marriages end in divorce. So now you’re down to fifty percent. But we’re not done calculating the odds yet. Because one spouse has to die first. That could be you, or it could be your spouse. So now you’re down to twenty-five percent. Not great odds.”

Anna studied me, head cocked.

“Who did this to you?” she said.

I didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you want more out of life, Rip?”

“Like what? Structure? Domestic life? If I wanted the American Dream, I’d get a nice home in the suburbs, a wife, a dog, a cat, two kids, two cars. I’d go to PTA meetings and backyard cookouts and garage sales. But I don’t want the American Dream. I have my own dream. And I’m living it. How many people can say that about their life?”

We were quiet again, still holding hands, still strolling along the walkway. After a while the silence between us went from comfortable to uncomfortable. An awareness was growing. A mutual awareness. We both knew where this was heading, and it was not somewhere I wanted to go.

We walked past other couples. Married couples. They didn’t look any happier than we were, and we were pretty miserable. At least I was.

To know oneself is the first step toward happiness. I know just enough about myself to know that I cannot live without my freedom. I wanted to be with Anna, but not at the expense of my freedom. Marriage would imprison me. It would box me in.

I also know just enough about myself to know that I cannot live without sex. Entering spousehood is like entering the priesthood. In both instances men take a vow of chastity. Priests do it knowingly. Husbands do not. But they find out soon enough. When it’s too late. Husbands in sexless marriages have no good options. Never getting laid again is a bad option. So is cheating. The only other option left is divorce.

Anna made a little sound and I turned my head to look at her. She smiled sadly and looked away. Her brown eyes were swimming.

“What’s wrong, Anna?”

“Nothing.”

“But you’re crying.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You upset with me?”

She let go my hand, just let it go.

I reached and caught her wrist. She wrenched it away.

“Please let me be,” she whispered, not looking at me.

That night the lovemaking was different. There was some distance between us that had not existed before, and I had no idea how to cross it. It felt like a sad good-bye. Anna kept her eyes shut. Tears slipped out anyway. It touched something in me. I cried a little too.

We talked about it in the morning. And in the afternoon. And in the evening. But nothing was resolved. We found no middle ground between dating and marriage. It was all or nothing. No compromise.

Anna’s need for a husband outweighed her need for me. I found something wrong with that. It seemed impersonal. As if the title of husband were more important than the man himself.

On the other hand my need for freedom outweighed my need for Anna. Was there something wrong with that too? Maybe there was. But nothing could change it.

The following morning at daybreak I packed up my things. When I went to hug Anna good-bye she flinched away from me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is not easy for me.”

“Not easy for me either.”

“You’re the one leaving. It’s always easier for the one leaving.”

She was right. I knew from experience.

“Friends?” I said.

“For what it’s worth, yes, we’re friends.”

CHAPTER 70

M
Y THOUGHTS RAMBLED
on as I motorcycled through the flickering sunlight. I had offered Anna all I could give her. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more from me. Expected more.

So long, sweetheart. I will always miss you. There will always be a deep sorrow for what might have been.

The morning sky was a rich blue. The air was warmed by the sun and smelled of pine and honeysuckle. My motorcycle purred gently beneath me.

A few miles down the winding road the loneliness began to seep in through the little chinks of my mental armor. I had lost another good woman. I was on my own again. Alone. A feeling of emptiness filled me. A sense of longing. Of loss.

There was another feeling too. A loathsome feeling. One that I was not proud of. It was a feeling of relief. A feeling that I had somehow avoided the straightjacket of lifelong husbandly duties.

I drove into the entrance of S’mores and Snores Campground and cruised past camper after camper until I reached my own. The garage ramp went down. The motorcycle went up. The straps went on.

In the campground office I checked out. Then I climbed into my motor home and drove off. Within a couple of minutes I was on the highway. When I rode past downtown Pottsland I glanced at it and realized it would be for the last time. I had no desire to return.

Later that day I spotted a hitchhiker in the distance. As I drove closer I could see it was a blonde with a small suitcase and big boobs. She looked good. I stepped on the accelerator and drove right past her. She looked even better in my rearview mirror.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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Novels featuring Rip Lane:
Missouri Loves Company
Florida Son
California Bust

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