I am home in Whistler for the Christmas holidays.
“I should give my tenant notice at the beginning of January if we’re going to start renovating in February.” I rest my chin on Scott’s chest. He shifts under my body, takes a breath and clamps his lips together. I push away from him to bring his face into focus, “What is it?”
He turns away. I swivel my legs off the couch so that I balance on his belly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m struggling.” Scott lets go of his breath.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t picture having a baby.” He scans my face. I slide off his body onto the couch beside him. His brow creases and he lies still as if he hopes not to get a beating.
“I don’t know what to say.” My heart goes into survival mode. Lock the doors. Conserve energy. Keep busy. Brace for pain.
“I need to know that I can go away and work for however long and you’ll stay home and look after the baby.”
“I’ve been clear with you that I have no desire to be a single mom. I want to share parenting with my mate. I don’t understand why you need to go away.”
“Purely selfish reasons.” He pauses and takes a breath. “I thought you’d be mad.”
I look at the floor and fiddle with my fingernails. “I’m sad.” We sit side by side saying nothing. I place my hand on the side of his cheek and look at him. “You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“I want you to be happy.” I move down the couch so we both have room to escape. Tears roll down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Scott places his hand on the couch beside my leg.
I tighten my jaw and my anger builds. “I’ve heard that too many times for it to mean anything. I knew all along you didn’t love me.”
“I’m screaming inside. Maybe there are different levels of love. If I can’t be there for you 100 per cent then I don’t want to be there at all.” He sighs, pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll go.” I rest my chin on my hand and look away. My crying gets louder as his footsteps fade down the stairs.
I hear Scott say, “Oh, Sue,” and he thumps back up to the living room, wraps his arms around my stiff body. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll be okay, you know. I’ll be okay without you. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve survived losing Jim, so I know I’ll survive losing you.” I purse my lips and stare at him, wanting to hurt him back.
He stands up and shrugs. “I guess I’ll get going,” he whispers. With each slow footstep on the stairs, a drum beats louder in my body until I vibrate with rage. Why didn’t I let Scott go when he first said he didn’t want to have kids? I hate him for not being like Jim. I hate him for not knowing what he wants. I hate him for being selfish and hurting me. My eyes burn.
Before Scott has opened the front door to leave, I stand up and shout with clenched fists, “Wait a second. Get back up here.”
He jogs back up the stairs and stands before me, hands buried in his pockets.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? You proposed to me. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work so we can move in together and start a life together and now you bail? How can you do that?” My arms stiffen at the shrill sound of my voice.
He mumbles at his shoes. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Go. Get out.” I wave my hand and turn away from him. The front door opens and closes. A motor putters, whines, revs and fades.
Looking to the ceiling I bawl, “Jim, please come back. I tried so hard to let go and to be with Scott. I took all of the photographs of you down. I didn’t go to your family’s place for Christmas. Please, come back.”
For two hours I sit on the couch, paralyzed. The numbness of grieving Jim returns, and I go to bed with thick, heavy limbs and dream of that night when Kevin and Eric came with the news.
The next day, in Scott’s driveway, I visualize the possible scene. Perhaps Scott will open the door, gather me in his arms and say how sorry he is and that I am the one he loves more than anything. Finally, I knock.
Scott opens the door slowly.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Do you want to come in?”
“Yes.” Scott’s dog licks my hand and wags his tail as I pass by.
I perch at the kitchen table, and Scott slouches on the couch, knees wide apart.
“I don’t know what to say.” I stare at my hands. “I don’t know why we can’t figure this out if we love each other.” I slide my fingers along the wood grain of the IKEA table.
“I don’t know, Sue. Given your special relationship with Jim, I didn’t really feel like you accepted me for who I am.” Scott deflates as these words suck his energy.
With a few steps, I kneel before him, hands on his thighs.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I haven’t done enough to let go of Jim.” A sneering voice inside of me says, Yeah, you know Scott has seen the rest of Jim’s ashes on your bedroom shelf and those clothes you keep in the closet. You even gave him one of Jim’s old jackets to wear once. Shit, that doesn’t seem fair, but I’m doing my best.
I choke out, “But I’ll try harder. Why don’t we just try living together? Forget about getting married and having kids. We’ll just move in together and see how it goes.” I breathe quickly and look at him.
His face does not soften and his mouth barely moves when he says, “I’ll think about it.”
I withdraw my hands to my sides and sit back on my heels. “Okay.” I couldn’t have begged much more than that. Completely exposed, I use the chair to help me up, feel for my keys on the table and let myself out.
Two days later I return to work in Vancouver for the month of January. My leave begins February 1, when Scott and I were supposed to move in together. When I arrive at school, I coach myself. Okay, pull yourself together. You survived before, you’ll survive this. Don’t let it affect your job. I open the door to our office and Robyn turns around from writing on the board.
“Hey. How’s it going, Sue?” She smiles.
“Great, Robyn, how was your holiday?” I beeline to my desk and drop my bag.
“What’s wrong?” She moves toward me.
My chin quivers. I stare at my desk.
“What’s wrong?” She puts her hand on my arm.
I look at her concerned face and let go. “Scott bailed.”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes fill with tears and we lean into each other at the same time.
There are outdoor trips to plan, assignments to grade and lessons to teach, but every chance I get I seek refuge at my desk with the latest book I’ve bought, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. I earmark every other page and underline every other word. My insides feel like an old fuzzy television screen. Sometimes I don’t want to swallow, for fear that my saliva will never hit bottom. Scott is important to me, but I’ve been in this prison of hollowness before. Scott goes away to work for three weeks and sends one e-mail in which he reinforces his decision and signs it “Scott.” When I am quite sure that Scott has really bailed, I venture to tell other people. One friend asks me why our relationship didn’t work out. I tell her, “I guess he didn’t love me.” She responds sternly,
“You mean he didn’t love you the way you wanted him to.” I want Scott to love me the way Jim loved me.
Dad and I walk along Jericho Beach and talk.
“I wonder why I chose to be with Scott.” The “it’s my fault” voice chimes in.
“Because you were trying to continue your old life,” Dad says confidently, walking with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes, that’s part of it,” I agree, but the rest of my response percolates in private as we walk along in silence. I try to heal old wounds. Jim’s death has a cascade effect on my past hurts. I had tucked those hurts away but now they surface and demand attention. My confidence is eroded and I question my decision to leave my mother to live with my father when I was 16. I question my decision not to see my mother for eight years. I question my once-a-year relationship with my mother now. Was everything my fault?
The positive good-girl voice in me perks up. “You know, I’ve learned two great lessons from being with Scott: I know that my heart is able and willing to open up and love even after losing Jim, and I will not abandon myself in the name of love.”
Dad nods.
Robyn teaches more of the classes so I don’t have to be in front of the students as much. The month crawls by. On February 1, the end of term, I pack up and drive to Whistler for my five-month leave of absence.
I call Scott and drop by his place. He is quiet, contemplative, resigned, as if he is waiting for me to lose hope. We go on hikes and sometimes we have sex. Afterward, I feel ill. Emptier. But I will do almost anything to avoid more loss. The monkeys in my brain hoot and holler and swing maniacally.
I coach myself. Enough of Scott. Don’t use him as a distraction. You have your own work to do.
Thoughts writhe in my mind like snakes, seeking a pattern and strangling one another in the process. Why am I frantic? Because I try to convince myself that I am worthy of love. Maybe letting go of Scott represents more than the relationship. I need to start fresh and stop clinging to what is familiar. Take a break from this house Jim and I built. Jump. Make a decision and embrace it. Take responsibility for my life. There’s no one else to blame. Scott is no longer a part of my life, so wish him well and move on. Don’t try to change the way he feels. There’s nothing wrong with me. Stop wallowing. Get on with the things I want to do: art, wilderness trips, travel. Write a book; study alternative medicine.
In my journal I write pages summarizing my relationship with Scott and who is to blame for what. I come out much better than he does. My anger subsides, my pen slows and I finish with a blessing to Scott:
I loved laughing with you, skiing with you and dreaming with you. I loved when you were tender and loving with me – when your heart was open. You are a good person: sensitive and well meaning. I’m sorry that our journey together is over. I thought we were going to grow old together. You are not a part of my life anymore and that is heartbreaking. I will try to accept that and wish you well.
I wake up the morning after writing that entry with a vivid dream about Jim and Scott fresh before my eyes and reach for my journal to write it down.
In the dream, I am at home in Whistler working on the computer. Jim and Scott are rock climbing a new route nearby that Jim and I climbed the day before. A ghostly transparent figure of Jim appears before me. By the way he looks at me I know that something is wrong. He floats away, looking back to see if I follow. My family and friends yell after me that I don’t know the way, that I will get lost. But I know the way like my own heart and climb up the rock after Jim. When I catch up, Jim turns to me and motions above him. I climb past Jim, focused on each move, worried about Scott. I see Scott’s body lying flat against the rock. As I approach, he turns with a resigned look, hanging from his arm that disappears into a fissure in the rock, as if he is being swallowed. His face tells me not to worry, but he looks like a child trying to be brave. I think of options: amputation … but he is buried too deep. We look at one another and it is clear that this is it. This is as far as he can go. He tells me with his eyes to go on without him. I float back down to Jim.
It’s been a long time since I dreamt of Jim. It feels like we had a visit.