SHARP BARKING startled Theresa awake, and she bolted out of bed, trying to focus and figure out the cause of Gypsy’s commotion. The dog was moving from window to window, tail wagging and then stopping, lifting herself to the level of each sill but unable to be satisfied with what she saw or couldn’t see.
Suddenly the sound of a small engine or motor filled the morning air, bursting in on the grogginess of sleep and confusion. Something was definitely going on outside, and it was close to the house. Gypsy became more agitated, barking louder to challenge the sound below.
Theresa hurried to the closest window, still without curtains, and leaned out. As she stretched further to see around the corner, leaning as far as her tiptoes would allow, she steadied herself with outstretched arms, and her nightgown slipped loosely off her shoulder. Gypsy nuzzled her, as if asking to be told what was happening. Theresa looked down at the dog and then back to the yard as a riding mower came into view, with Rick at the wheel.
This time he didn’t look away when he caught her by surprise. She pulled back, clutching at her gown, not completely covering her body and not caring. She noticed how brown her skin looked in contrast to the pale pink fabric. Theresa felt desire, mixed with remembering. Rick waved sheepishly and headed the mower in a straight line toward the water, away from the house.
“It’s okay, Gypsy; it’s Rick.”
She pulled on a sun top and wrapped a bright floral skirt around her, tying a knot at the waist. Hurrying barefoot down the stairs, she fluffed her hair with her hands. “He’s come to tame the jungle grasses.” She laughed reassuringly to both the dog and herself. But she knew she felt like a hungry native girl in the jungle, anxious for the work of the day to be over and the pleasure of the night to begin. She wanted to be close to this man, and she didn’t care about the rules of the game.
As she pushed open the screen door and started down the steps, a folded piece of paper caught her eye. It was stuck in the first lilac bush, close to the ground. In bold printed letters, it said simply, “Feed Bobby O.K.?” No signature, no addressee. The list of names, men’s names, associated in some way with Whimsy Towers was growing longer: Claude, Stormy, Bobby. Was there any connection between them? And why was permission needed to feed Bobby? Or was Theresa being asked to feed the mysterious Bobby?
The momentary distraction of the note was forgotten as she saw the riding mower swing a broad turn and head in her direction. Rick was smiling and waving, and she ran to meet him.
He throttled down the powerful mower. “Good morning! Thought I’d get an early start before we have to call in some goats to get this grass down.”
Theresa heard the words, but she just stared at him and watched his eyes meet hers, hoping for what she felt when he saw her in the open window.
“I guess we still never got to the business of your taking care of things here.”
“No, I guess not, not officially. I just came on the assumption that we’d work it out. I pretty much know what needs doing, unless the lady of the manor has other ideas.”
He smiled that broad grin that found its way to her heart and caused her common sense to disconnect from reason. Theresa couldn’t tell whether his comment was searching for cues from her or was an honest request for gardening input. She walked slowly around the humming mower, watching him watching her. Like a calculating feline assesses her prey, she circled him with anticipation. He was too good and too kind to approach a married woman, even a vulnerable one. It was she who chose to attack.
“How about a ride on your chariot?” she asked, putting a bare foot next to his leg and beginning to climb up.
“These things aren’t exactly made for two,” he said, offering no resistance.
She sat awkwardly on his lap, with one arm around his neck, and he enclosed her with both his arms on the wheel.
“Ready? Hold on.” The mower jerked forward, and Theresa settled more firmly against the worn softness of Rick’s blue jeans and flannel shirt. Her face was close to his, and the earthy smell of cut grass began to mix with the scent of her night lotion and bath powder. His arms were strong and firm around her, occasionally holding her a little tighter than the jostling of the mower seemed to require.
They cut a dozen or so rows before Theresa let her face touch his, her hair tickling his neck. She lightly kissed his cheek and felt him lessen the pressure on the gas pedal. He turned to her, his eyes full of questions, and they kissed with the ease of two people who knew they should.
The mower veered off to the side, destroying the established pattern, but the kiss lingered, and the previously charted course was changed.
“Theresa, I don’t know that this is a good idea,” Rick whispered, but held her tighter. “I … I don’t think we should be doing this.”
The mower was carrying them along like a runaway stallion, and Theresa was not getting off. She felt his body contradicting his words, and she turned around to straddle him face on. The mower came to an abrupt stop. Her legs wrapped around him in the seat, knees pointing to the playful clouds above, and they kissed again, and again, without objection. Rick pulled her toward him, his hands reaching under the wraparound skirt, and he soon found she wore nothing under it. Her skin was smooth and warm. He struggled to reach the zipper on his jeans, and she lifted herself up and helped him unzip the path of no return.
They had not heard the blackbirds in the tall oak near the house. The birds were screaming with alarm and anger, but no warning was loud enough to slow the racing speed of passion. As if on signal, dozens of birds flapped noisily out of the tree, leaving the branches bare and quiet. But stillness couldn’t mask the face of regret.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” said Theresa breathlessly, not caring that the steering wheel was pushing into her back. “And it was wonderful.”
“Theresa, I … I don’t know what to say. We had no business … ”
“I know. I know you’re right,” she said, pulling herself up from him and straightening her skirt. “I know it was wrong, but I’m not sorry. It felt so right and so special.”
“And so selfish on my part.” Rick was trying to put himself back together. “I haven’t been attracted to any woman since Carol. You’ve caught me off guard, Theresa from Virginia. And I feel guilty as hell.”
“Because now you’ve kissed another woman?”
He looked at her with a quizzical smile. “A little more than a kiss, wouldn’t you say?”
She blushed and pushed back his hair with both her hands. She sat content.
“Theresa, you are a married woman. I don’t want to mess with that. You’re very attractive and desirable, but that’s a game I don’t want to play.”
Theresa felt like a sixteen-year-old caught in the backseat with someone else’s boyfriend; it was she who had really transgressed. She had done worse than step outside a trusting relationship; she had smashed the barrier of the forbidden and let animal instincts run wild. She had committed adultery without dreams and imagining, and she loved it and wanted more.
“We need to promise not to do this again,” Rick continued, as if trying to convince himself, but he still cradled her on his lap, kissing the curls pressed into his face.
“I can’t promise,” she said simply.
“I can’t be dishonest, Theresa. I can’t pretend this is real … or right.”
“Can I blame it on the seductive rocking of the mower? ‘The mower made me do it’?” she teased.
“No, the desire of the moment made us both do it. We felt close and at home with each other. So natural and so ready. Theresa, we are both hungry for love, but an affair is not going to satisfy either of us.” He smiled at her with enormous tenderness. “At least not for long.”
“It’s the guilty conscience thing,” she said quietly, as if she was being scolded.
“Of course it is. That’s why we care for each other, feel comfortable together. We value goodness and the desire to do what’s right. We want to love, but we fell off the track, and it’s wrong for both of us.”
She could not argue with him, although her heart called out that she wanted to change her life and live for the moment, climbing forbidden peaks and not caring about the consequences. She felt warm and safe in Rick’s arms. Perhaps the future was not theirs, and they had only today, but it had been sweet.
A mist hovered on the ocean as the sun blazed through the morning haze, reaching higher and higher, casting a wild prism of color across the water. The sun rose each day without invitation. It struggled to brighten the sky no matter what obstacles Mother Nature threw in its path. Dust or clouds and rain could veil the power, but the source of brightness didn’t change. It could be hidden but not cancelled. Its strength had no lasting opponent.
“Rick, are you happy?” Theresa asked, watching the water change into soft rainbow hues melting across the surface as the mist tried to lift.
Still holding her warm and comfortable on his lap, he answered, “Are you referring to the extraordinary last few minutes of my life or a broader time frame?”
She poked him and stared straight into his eyes. She wanted to understand her feelings and have a glimpse into a heart that was whole, even with its shadows of the past. She trusted him and felt a closeness that she craved. The discontent in her marriage was wrapped in a web of confusion, and Theresa wondered whether it was to be endured or confronted. Being satisfied with one’s life was the challenge of the ages, and she yearned to know the recipe for healing.
“Gratitude,” he continued. “Forget the ‘be happy’ business and focus on gratitude. You’ll find that ‘happy’ is what you bring and not what you get. Waiting for something good or better or different is what keeps half of humanity in a state of limbo and empty expectation. Large doses of gratitude create happiness.”
“Is this the old ‘glass half empty, half full’ query of life?”
“You bet. And the glass is definitely half full … and filling. Forget empty; it’s the road to misery, and you know about misery’s desire for company!” Rick laughed and tried to shift Theresa’s weight on his lap. “It’s a mighty big pit to fall into, complete with a welcome mat!”
“And what’s the other half of humanity doing?” she continued. “The half not waiting around for happiness to land on them?”
Rick became serious. “They don’t have much time to wonder if they are happy, or even should be. Their days are consumed with the necessities of existence, the most basic demands. Clean water, enough food, keeping their children safe and healthy. They don’t have the luxury of whining.” He paused, and Theresa saw that faraway look return to his face, a look of fond remembering, tinged with resignation. “Injustice sings out from the soul through random placement of birth. One day in India would graphically show you what I mean.”
“India! I’ve never even been outside of Virginia, that I can remember, before last week. I’m afraid my grasp of the world is pretty much academic.” Realizing she would not be able to corner him on the ways of the heart, she pursued his comment. “And when were you in India?”
“Graduate school. I lived there for a time and then made several other trips to complete my research. Carol used to say that if I hadn’t fallen in love with her first, she’d have worried about the competition from my distant muse.”
Theresa thought of the dining room table inside with the inscription about muses. She wondered for a moment if muses could be male as well as female. Jealousy was an odd companion, and she had often entertained it herself while Kevin was in law school. He spent long hours with fellow students in the library and in study groups. She wasn’t certain whether she was unhappy with the school, with him, or the people who claimed his time, but she had been alone and outside the circle of activity. Late-night calls for Kevin were often from women, and she could hear him talking in low tones from his desk in their bedroom. But Kevin was too conscientious, too honest, and probably too exhausted to be tempted by any woman on the prowl, student or not, and Theresa’s anxiety dissolved at graduation.
His law office was a mistress she could handle, and the results of the relationship benefited them both. He moved quickly through the ranks of approval and accomplishment, carving a niche among the partners with his diligence and competence. He was excited, focused, and their life began to build with the certainty of success and contentment.
And then the easy conversation and sharing began to fade. They each were wooed by the subtle temptress of overwork, the pull of self-importance. Silence filled the spaces of their time together. There was less affection, less touching, less caring, and Theresa knew before she acknowledged it that her marriage was slipping to that place where no one would come looking for it.
“Did Carol practice law?” she asked Rick, who was contentedly watching the gentle rhythm of the ocean.
“No, she never had the chance. She passed the bar on the first go and her job in Boston was waiting for her, but January never came. It’s a cruel loss of talent.”
Then, shifting his weight and pulling her close to him, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t you think it’s a little odd to be talking about Carol just now? I have to sort through that on my own.”
Theresa kissed him, feeling desire and intrigue. They were parked in the middle of a half-mowed lawn, and she didn’t care who might see them. Pulling her skirt up over her hips, she felt the hot sun on skin usually out of view.
“I care about you, Rick, and I’m curious about the women in your life.”
“It’s a short list, remember?” he said. Theresa wanted to slip off her skirt and lie with him in the grass. “My mother, my sister, and Carol. Each with a slightly different role, I’m happy to say. But each with a profound influence on me. You’ll be interested to know that my favorite professors in college were often women, and one of the most renowned scholars of Indic languages is a woman.”
“What did you give her for Christmas?”
“Dr. Sentasse?”
“No, silly. Carol.”
“Now why in the world would you want to know that?”
“It was your first married Christmas together. What did you give her? Is it too intimate?”
Rick sat perfectly still. Theresa was trying to figure out this puzzle of a man and was asking him to return to a painful day in his life.
“I gave her a fuzzy yellow sweater and a plate,” he replied slowly.
“A plate?”
“It was a Christmas plate, like a platter. In the center was an elegantly dressed reindeer cavorting in the rain with boots and an umbrella. Across the top it said ‘Vixen’ and underneath, ‘You are the sweetest rain, dear.’”
Theresa said nothing, just watching him remembering.
“She had made Christmas cookies and was carrying the platter of frosted and sparkly cookies to my parents’ when we were hit. She died in the sweater I had given her just hours before. It was so soft and ... so soft … ” His words couldn’t give shape to his agony, and Theresa joined in the silent sorrow of missing a loved one.
“The platter was shattered, and the cookies scattered, of course. Our damaged packages were retrieved from the scene, but the bits of ‘Vixen’ were everywhere. For weeks and months I would spot a shiny piece under a shrub or washed to the curb. The cookies were a gift to the birds, manna from ashes, but the plate chips did not go away, like the grief that won’t give up.”
“I love rain,” said Theresa softly, with no apparent reason.
“So did Carol,” came the quick response. “She loved the sound, the smell, the cleansing freshness. She used to say that a gentle rain was sweeter than candy and healthier for the disposition.”
“I think I would have liked her.”
“I believe you would have liked each other a lot. Two kindred spirits, both a little unpredictable and pushy.”
“Pushy!” exclaimed Theresa, trying to stand up from her tangled position and poking at the crumpled flannel shirt. “Pushy? You think I’m pushy?”
She laughed as he tried to grab her hands, and they almost fell off the mower as he kissed her to stop the taunting.
“From what you’ve said about your grandmother, you seem to be her cookie cutter duplicate—sugar and fire, no ice.”
She looked at him carefully for signs of disapproval, but there was none.
“My husband might disagree with the ice part,” Theresa mused aloud, realizing she had not thought once of Kevin while making love with Rick. It was a cold woman who felt no guilt.
“I wish I could know more about my grandmother,” she said.
“Why not go talk with her nurse?” answered Rick, matter-of-factly.
“Her nurse?”
“Yeah, she works at the library.”