It was the long silences that bothered Jean the most. Yesterday, for instance, sitting at the breakfast table with Paul, she'd felt like a guest in her own home. He'd politely inquired which section she wanted, then had divided the paper and retreated behind the business section.
What had once been a comfortable routine was now an excruciating ordeal. They used to sit side by side with the paper spread willy-nilly between them, competing with the jelly glasses and the coffee cups for space on the table.
Sonny would run by, chasing his dog, even though both of them had told him not to run in the house and not to let the dog in during meals. They'd argue with good humor about whose fault it was that their son was getting out of hand; then they'd smile indulgently at his antics and in the end neither of them would correct him.
Maybe they should have another child.
She glanced at her husband sitting at the wheel, concentrating on the road to Bill's house as if he'd never been there before. Joy to the World played on the radio, but Paul was oblivious to the holiday season. They passed Estes's Nursery and Jean spotted a throng of shoppers crowding around the Christmas trees.
"Maybe we ought to stop and get a tree," she said.
"Whatever you want." He pulled in at the nursery and parked the car.
"Don't you want a tree?"
"It's fine with me."
"I didn't ask if you approved, Paul. I asked if you wanted one."
An exuberant group of teenage carolers approached the car. With faces turned rosy from the evening breeze off the gulf, they surrounded Jean and Paul singing, We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
Paul and Jean sat with their faces frozen in polite smiles while the teenagers sang. Finally the group moved on. Jean felt like the survivor of a siege in a small country.
"Let's not argue about a tree, Jean. Let's just go inside and select one."
"That's the trouble, Paul. We don't argue about anything."
"Most married couples would envy that."
"I know we're married, Paul, but are we a couple?"
"I'll call a marriage counselor, if that's what you want."
"See. You said it again. If that's what you want. What about what you want, Paul? Don't you want anything?" He stared off into the distance as if he were seeing
something she couldn't see. She squeezed her hands together to still the panic.
"Forget I said that, Paul. Let's forget the tree and go on to Bill and Maggie's. We don't want to be late for dinner."
Paul started the car. Somewhere on the other side of the parking lot they could hear the carolers singing, Away in a Manger.
"I'll stop on my way home tomorrow and pick up a tree," he said.
"Fine."
The radio played I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Jean reached over and turned it off.
o0o
Bill and Maggie had a magnificent tree with brightly colored packages stacked almost knee-high underneath. Their house was full of the smell of Christmas baking and filled with the sound of laughter.
For a moment Paul was caught up in the wonder of the season, and he stood in front of the tree imagining it through the eyes of a child.
Was Susan singing to her child as he looked up at his tree? Was she making up a song about Christmas angels and little boys and Santa Claus?
"Dinner's served," Maggie called, and they all trooped in to her long, well-laid table.
Conversation swirled around Paul. Every now and then he added a comment, but mostly he observed. Maggie was as radiant as ever, sending secret smiles Bill's way every chance she got. No problems in their marriage. If ever there was a couple, it was Bill and Maggie.
Timmy chatted easily with Jean about school and basketball and the swim team he hoped to make next spring. She bent toward him, smiling and attentive.
Jean was a lovely woman—elegant, gracious—a woman any man would want. Perhaps he wasn't trying hard enough.
Beth Ann talked to no one, but sat quietly beside Paul spooning in food. What does one say to a teenage girl? Paul turned to strike up a conversation with her, and the shock almost bolted him from the chair. The pencil-thin neck, the sunken cheeks, the eyes dulled over. She had all the classic symptoms of an eating disorder.
"How's school, Beth Ann?" he asked.
"Fine." She barely looked at him as she shoveled in candied sweet potatoes.
Guilt assailed Paul as he studied her. His godchild, his best friend's only daughter. How could he have been so self-absorbed not to see her problems? He wondered how long she had been gorging then afterward hiding in the bathroom, ramming her finger down her throat.
After dinner he made a point of being alone with Beth Ann.
"How long has this been going on, Beth Ann?"
"What?"
"Honey, I'm a doctor. I recognize the symptoms of bulimia. I'm here to help."
"Just like you were there the night Jean tried to kill herself? Don't talk to me about being there to help. Nobody is there to help. Nobody." She ran up the stairs.
"What was that all about?" Maggie asked, coming up behind him. "I'll swear, that child is as moody as can be these days. Say one word to her, and she bolts off and locks herself in the bathroom."
"Maggie, I need to talk to you and Bill. Alone."
Maggie's face got white. "She's not sick, is she?" She grabbed his arm. "Paul, what's wrong with my daughter?"
"Nothing that family counseling and lots of understanding won't cure."
o0o
"What a shame Maggie and Bill had to learn about Beth Ann during the Christmas season." Jean smoothed her dress and hung it neatly in the closet. In her slip
and stockinged feet, she turned to her husband. "I'm proud it was you who discovered the problem. That made it easier for them than if some stranger had pointed it out. You're a good man, Paul."
"Thank you, Jean."
The ravages of alcohol had all disappeared. Paul was fit from jogging and working out at the health club. He was getting a few gray hairs at the temple, but other than that, he looked like the same man she'd first fallen in love with, the man who had loved her back.
Sighing, she pulled her slip over her head and reached for her gown. Suddenly she felt Paul's arms around her. He pulled her back, and she leaned against his chest. They stood that way for a long while.
"Do you want to make love?" he eventually said.
"Yes."
Although he knew she was on the pill, he went into the bathroom to get a condom. No unexpected children for them. She could hear the sounds of his preparations —the door to the medicine chest opening and shutting, the tiny crackle as the packaging was torn aside.
She climbed into bed and pressed one hand over her heart, waiting. If they couldn't rekindle the flames of passion, perhaps they could kindle a tiny spark of warm regard.
The mattress sagged under Paul's weight, and she felt his lips upon her breast. He'd always kissed her first. Why wasn't he kissing her mouth? Couldn't he bear to look at her? Was he pretending she was someone else?
"Paul?" He lifted his head. "Kiss me."
He put his mouth on hers, but it wasn't what she'd call a kiss. More like an accident, two mouths colliding.
Truth to tell, she wasn't doing much, herself. Paul liked to be caressed. She slid her hand between his legs. He wasn’t even half-way engaged in what they were doing..
"Give me time, Jean." He rolled them to their sides facing each other. His hands were slim-fingered and firm, his strokes gentle.
Her heart began to race. She pressed against him, gratified at his response. With her hand between them, she eased him inside and began to move her hips.
He became perfectly still.
"Paul?"
He rolled away from her. "I'm sorry, Jean. I'm just not ready for this."
She dared not open her mouth to speak, afraid she'd scream. Moving carefully so she wouldn't disturb him, Jean turned to her side. The thing she had to decide was whether she could live with three in the bed.
o0o
On Christmas morning Susan sat with Jeffy under the tree opening gifts. Last night's family activities at her mother's had tired him out, and he was unusually pale. Susan tried not to hover. If he couldn't have his health, at least he deserved a Christmas as normal as she could make it.
"How about this one, sweetheart?" She held out a large package wrapped in gold paper and tied with a big red ribbon. "You want to open it next?"
The blue veins stood out on his pale little hands as he reached for the package. His eyes were too bright.
Please, God. Let him be well enough for his surgery soon.
She helped him get the toy out of the wrappings. It was the bright blue box, and inside, waiting to spring out, was the shiny silver dolphin.
"Ohh," he said, his eyes getting big. "It's Fergie. Mommy, it's Fergie."
"Looks just like him, doesn't it?"
"And it plays music. Is that the fish song?"
"No, darling. That's Somewhere Over the Rainbow. "
Jeffy wound the handle over and over, listening to the music and watching for the dolphin to pop out of the box. He clapped his hands at each performance.
Then suddenly he pushed the box away and started to cry.
"What is it, sweetheart?" She gathered him onto her lap. "Too much Christmas excitement?"
"Mommy." He looked up at her. "Will Paul ever take me where dolphins go?"
Susan fought against creeping despair. How could she explain broken dreams to a child?