Seeking Sara Summers (20 page)

Sara’s emails in return were dull, lifeless. She hid her feelings from Julia as completely as she hid them from herself. She lived in purgatory, suspended between heaven and hell, between memories of Julia and her everyday reality.

Weeks passed, then months, while she waited patiently for the old Sara to return. Yet like a stretched rubber band, the old Sara refused to snap back into its original shape. Everything had changed, and nothing at all. She was purposely distant with Grady. She stayed late at school and stayed in her home office until the early hours of the morning.

Never one to push, Grady allowed the distance without questioning it. Every evening Sara wrote long emails to Julia. She sent a few, but deleted most, destroying all evidence of how she had opened a vein and let her emotions bleed red on the page.

Sara’s body ached for Julia, as though it was a separate entity and every cell had memory of her. She touched herself in the shower, imagining it was Julia touching her. She listened to her breath and heard Julia’s. Whenever she relived their time together, replaying scenes in her mind, Sara fell into the delicious sensuousness of their power. Instead of dying away, these embers lived on, constantly pumped by the circulation of memory.

In her imagination Julia sat by the fountain, whose patron saint had given them acceptance. The water’s song remained unchanged. It flowed in eternal ringlets at the woman’s feet. Candles in terracotta holders flickered through the twilight garden. Sara longed to be there with Julia as the hillside turned golden, as if illuminated from within.

Sara touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the first time she and Julia had kissed. In the evenings she went outside and glanced up at the night sky.
Star light, star bright,
she repeated, missing the partner in her duet. Sara’s wish was as clear and certain as the water in the fountain, five thousand miles away.

Three months passed. Sara suffered through another round of chemo, lost her hair, vomited with regularity, but nothing felt as torturous as keeping the secret of her love for Julia.

“Are you ready to go?” Grady asked.

On Grady’s birthday they always went to his parent’s house to celebrate his early December birthday and since it fell on a Sunday this year his mother was going all out. She had made his favorite meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and an apple pie for dessert. Sara’s role was thankfully small and unimportant.

Sara collected his wrapped present and joined Grady in the car. “Behave yourself today, okay?” Grady said, as she buckled up.

“What do you mean? Don’t I always?”

“You’ve been so sullen lately. Just try to enjoy yourself for a change.”

Had she been sullen? Was it that obvious? For some reason this made her feel a little better. If she was a martyr for doing the right thing, at least this hinted that some redeeming value might be found in her suffering.

They arrived at Grady’s parent’s house and Grady walked to the front door ahead of her. Sara mentally prepared herself for the scene to follow: greetings for the adored son, acknowledgment of the much less favored daughter-in-law, followed by pleasantries, a tough roast, banter, and goodbyes.

“Well you look good, Sara,” his mother said.

“You look good, too, Stella.” Sara handed her Grady’s present.

Stella’s hair had looked the same since Sara and Grady were children. Styled with industrial-strength hairspray, Sara doubted a bomb blast could dislodge it from its post.

Grady’s birthday was Stella’s production. Presents were always opened at the end of the meal. Stella handed them out to Grady as she deemed fit, shaking and making a big deal over each one, as if Grady were still in grade school.

Grady’s father, Howard, gave Sara a hug. He was Grady’s height of six feet, but had a bulk to him that Grady had never had. Despite the winter temperatures, he wore a green polo shirt, orange sweater and green striped pants, as if to make the moment more festive. His challenge with clothing choices, notwithstanding, Sara had always liked him.

They gathered in the dining room while Stella served lunch. Then the day proceeded following the same script as it did every year.

“How’s school, Sara?” Howard asked, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“Fine,” she said.

“What play are you doing this year?”

This was always Howard’s question. “I’m not sure yet,” she said.

“I still remember you in that play at Beacon. What was the name of it?”

Every year she told him the name. Every year he forgot.

“You were great in that,” he said.

Sara’s senior year she had played the female lead in the school play. Julia usually got these parts, but wasn’t around to play it that year. The local newspaper had even written a glowing article about her performance.

“Howard, leave her alone,” Stella said. “Your son gets to be the star today.” She beamed at Grady. “Isn’t it amazing that he’s 45?” she continued. “Of course his mother is only 39.”

Everyone laughed except for Sara. Sullen didn’t even begin to describe her current mood. When it came time to open the gifts Grady seemed unimpressed with the digital camera Sara had bought him.

“The old one works fine,” he said.

“The kids all chipped in. They said this is one of the best.”

“Where did you get that old camera, anyway?” Howard asked. “Did we give it to you?”

“No, a friend did.”

“Julia,” I said. “And me, too, actually.” It felt strange to say Julia’s name.

“Julia David?” Stella asked. “Oh my, that girl was so beautiful. What ever happened to her anyway?”

I fell in love with her,
Sara wanted to say.

“Some lucky guy probably snagged her up in a hurry,” Howard laughed.

Stella sighed and looked at Grady, as if fate had delivered him a cruel blow by not letting him be that ‘lucky guy.’

“Is the pie ready?” Grady asked his mother. His eyes met Sara’s and warned her not to say anything further. Had Grady not told them it was Julia she had visited in Italy? Or maybe he had neglected to tell them that she had even been gone. Sara was a minor player in their family drama. And if left up to Stella, Sara was convinced she would be written out of the play altogether.

They were home by seven with Grady in front of the television watching a football game. Sara didn’t feel like being alone and called Maggie. “I need a friend. Do you mind if I come over?”

“Not at all,” Maggie said, sounding surprised by the request. “The place is a mess, but I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Despite their four-year friendship, Maggie had been to Sara’s house only once to give her a ride home when her Volvo wouldn’t start. The place had been in its usual chaotic state. Sara had been to her house once, as well, a Christmas faculty party several years before. Maggie’s house was immense, too big for one person, in Sara’s view. Maggie had received it in her divorce settlement from an unfaithful husband. In contrast to Sara’s disorganized domain, everything in Maggie’s house was placed with sterile precision.

They sat in Maggie’s den in matching wingback chairs, the same color as their glasses of Merlot. Did she plan that? Sara wondered. The walls were a light shade of green. Sara looked around for the ‘mess’ Maggie had claimed her home was in but found nothing out of place.

Tasteful window treatments and carefully chosen furniture, each piece articulated with a green color scheme in mind, adorned the ample rooms. The books on the bookshelves were classified by category. No evidence existed of the children she herself had launched into the world except for a few immaculately matted, framed and carefully placed portrait photographs.

Sara, on the other hand, had never gotten around to putting up curtains, relying on window shades instead. Their furniture was a mixture of things they had bought in college and an eclectic collection of newer pieces that didn’t quite match. Books and papers were stacked on nearly every flat surface. The dining room table and its set of matching chairs sacrificed totally to this end.

It was cold where they sat in Maggie’s den. The wine provided the only warmth in the room. The plate on the side table between them held a platter with small equal squares of cheddar cheese, each pierced in the center with a green toothpick. Sara tried to imagine how many boxes of assorted color toothpicks Maggie had bought and only used the green ones. Would she perhaps donate the remainders to a catering business in town?

Sara reached for a cube of cheese.

“You said you needed a friend,” Maggie said. “What’s up?”

Sara thoughtfully chewed the cheese, debating what was acceptable to tell her, and swallowed. “Maggie, do you ever wish your life was different?”

“All the time,” she said. “Doesn’t everybody?” Maggie picked a loose thread from her olive green corduroy pants and placed it in her pocket.

“So what do you do about it?” Sara anticipated the answer.  Maggie’s position in life was to have no position.

“Since this cancer thing, you ask so many questions, Sara. Don’t you drive yourself nuts?” Maggie smiled.

Is she comforted by the thought that she’s not like me? Sara wondered.

“Yes, sometimes I do drive myself nuts.” Sara pulled her sweater closer. 

Maggie laughed and poured them both another glass of Merlot. Sara took a long sip and for the first time that night she felt warm. While Maggie might wish her life had played out in a different way, it would never occur to her to actually pursue another course. Perhaps this similarity was why they were friends. But Sara didn’t want to be like Maggie. She didn’t want to play life so safe.

“What are you thinking about?” Maggie asked. “You look like you’re in a different world.”

“I guess I was,” Sara said. She wrapped her fingers around the wine glass as if it were a mug of something hot and she was wanting to warm her hands. She thought of Julia and another surge of warmth came. “I have a confession to make,” Sara added.

“A confession?” Maggie asked. “Out with it,” she added, crossing her legs. For a second, Sara could imagine what Maggie must have been like as a girl, before all the creases of her life had been ironed out. Sara imagined she was the type to seek out her adventures in books instead of real life. What would she think of Sara’s adventure?

“I haven’t told anyone this.” Sara paused. Was she really going to tell her? This went against Sara’s better judgment, but she wondered if by telling the secret it might help her to move on. But did she want to move on?

“There you go again,” Maggie said. “Sara, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distracted.” 

“Sorry,” Sara said. “Maybe I shouldn’t....”

“No, you can’t back out now,” Maggie said. “You have to tell me.” Maggie waited, her green eyes expectant.

“I met someone in Italy,” Sara said shyly.

Maggie sat straighter in the wingback chair. “You are kidding me,” she said.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Sara said.

Maggie agreed. And Sara began to tell her about Julia, but a rendition of the story that Sara felt Maggie would be more inclined to accept. She told her she had met ‘this person’ at an art gallery and things had gone from there. She managed to tell the whole story devoid of pronouns. It was not until Maggie asked
his
name that Sara realized she would have to tell her the truth.

“Well, actually…” Sara paused and took a gulp of wine, emptying the glass. Until Italy, she had never really appreciated wine or the courage it could supply in much needed moments. But Maggie was beginning to look impatient. “Actually, it wasn’t a
him
I met in Italy, but a
her.
”

Sara waited for Maggie’s response. At first her eyes narrowed, as if she had misunderstood, but then they widened. “You had an affair with a woman?” she whispered, as if the green walls might overhear.

Sara nodded. A part of her was pleased that she had shocked Maggie. Maybe she was different from her, after all.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Maggie whispered again.

Sara spoke in her full voice. “I’m not gay.”

Maggie’s confusion appeared to take on a new depth.

“At least not technically,” Sara added, realizing how strange this must sound. She dug the hole deeper. “At least not in terms of lifestyle. It was just a one-time thing.”

Julia was the only woman Sara had ever been attracted to. For her, it wasn’t about an attraction to women; it was about an attraction to Julia. But how could anyone possibly understand unless they had been through something similar? Sara was beginning to get confused, too.

“I don’t know what to say.” Maggie paused to arrange the remaining cubes of cheese on her plate as though circling her wagons to fend off an Indian attack. 

“I guess it’s too much to ask for you to be happy for me,” Sara said.

“It’s hard for me to see the act of adultery as a happy one,” Maggie said. “You know, because of my ex,” she quickly added.

The room became cold again and Maggie hadn’t bothered to refill Sara’s wine glass. She now regretted her confession, although she could understand her need to purge herself of the secret. But this was more than Maggie could deal with and Sara would have known that if she had stopped to think about it long enough.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said.

Maggie waved her apology away and made an excuse about being tired. Sara carried the plate of cheese cubes into the kitchen while Maggie got Sara’s coat, their evening ending awkwardly, at best.

On the drive home Sara contemplated Maggie’s response. She anticipated their friendship would die a slow death. Sara hoped that Maggie would have enough integrity to keep her confidence. But even if she didn’t, Sara doubted that her job would be in any jeopardy. Not that it would be a tremendous loss if it was.

There were things that she hadn’t told Maggie. About how her love for Julia had grown stronger over these last few months instead of diminishing. How she feared she had made the biggest mistake of her life by coming back to Grady. And how it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that she had done the right thing.