CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHERYL INVITED TIMOTHY over for dinner on Thursday evening to show off her culinary talents. Her parents went to Chicago to visit her younger sister, so they had the house to themselves, a luxury they rarely enjoyed. Timothy loved how she made life simple. He arrived at her house.

They smiled, kissed, and hugged in the doorway.

“I’m excited. It’s not every day I get to show off my domestic talents,” Cheryl said.

“Me too. Can’t wait,” Timothy said. “So, your parents are in Chicago to visit your sister?”

“Yeah, but I think Mom wanted an excuse to go Christmas shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

“So we’re all alone?” he said.

“Yes, Mister O’Rourke, and we’re going to enjoy this wonderful dinner I prepared.” Cheryl called him Mister when she wanted to change the tone of a conversation.

“Wow, it smells good in here. What’s for chow?”

“Fried chicken. My own recipe. Peas, carrots, and rolls. I don’t know how the rolls will turn out. I followed your mom’s recipe, hoping I got it right. I’m sure I added the right amount of love.” Cheryl smiled.

“I’m sure they will be fine,” Timothy said. “How about a beer?” He held up a bag with the beer.

“The red-white-and-blue cans?” Cheryl said.

“Yep, PBR,” he said.

“You’re predictable if anything.”

“I told you. I got a taste for this stuff in Nam. We used to drink this stuff warm when it came in on pallets.”

“Well, I don’t like my beer warm, so put it in the refrigerator,” she said.

Cheryl walked to the dining room, and Timothy went to the kitchen. She thought, That conversation is always just below the surface. He never passes on an opportunity to say something. It’s trying to work its way out. He’s struggling to get this into words.

“Come on in here after you put that beer away,” she said.

They talked while sitting at a perfectly set dining room table. China. Crystal goblets. The right amount of silverware in the right places. Cloth napkins.

“Is this your stuff?” Timothy said.

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful. Looks expensive,” he said.

“Thanks. I reached deep into my hope chest and pulled it out.” The moment she said this Cheryl regretted it. Timothy didn’t respond. She didn’t want to appear to be pressuring him. She knew he already had enough on his mind. She shifted topics quickly.

“So, I bet Mom is thrilled with the new furnace,” she said.

“Oh yeah. She loves the heat but is worried about how I paid for it. She feels guilty that I emptied my savings account.”

“I can understand that,” Cheryl said. “When do you see Father Schmitt again?”

“I’m going by his office tomorrow to see if he was able to do anything for me.”

“That’s good news. TA positions go mostly to grad students,” she said.

“They do, but he said he would look into it. I don’t know if there’s anything there, but I know he’s a man of his word. If it’s there, he’ll find it.”

Cheryl didn’t want to discourage Timothy, but she knew TA positions did not go to undergrads. “Tim, I worry about you. You work hard to keep everything together. I worry about you breaking.”

“I work as hard as I need to. Besides, as Hoffen says, we’re all broken in some way. It’s how we put ourselves together that matters,” he said.

“Good advice. Even though I haven’t met him, I think I like that man,” she said.

“Then you can meet him Saturday night at dinner. I asked him to join us. Mom said she would make a pot roast.”

“I would like that.” She got up from the table. “I’m going to check on things.”

Cheryl left Timothy sitting at the table, picking at the beer can. He downed the Pabst and went for another. They returned to the table with the food and sat in silence until it became awkward. Cheryl used silence in her job and at times found it helpful to draw out other people.

“Man, this is great chicken,” said Timothy.

“Thank you, Mister O’Rourke. I’m pleased it meets your palette’s approval.”

Timothy pushed the food around on his plate. Cheryl sensed that Timothy was struggling with the small talk.

“You know what’s really bugging me? You could do a lot better than me,” he said.

“What? What do you mean better than you?”

“Look at me. Not just broke—in debt. I’m in a hole, and I keep digging. You deserve more than this.”

“More than what?” she said.

“Look, I’m damaged goods. Why waste your time waiting for me to get out of this hole?”

“First, you’re not damaged goods. Second, I’m not wasting my time. This is how relationships work. You go through stuff together. And as far as your debt goes, who cares? I don’t care about the money.”

“It’s easy to not care about the money when you have some,” Timothy said.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” Cheryl said. “I didn’t set out to find a rich man. I set out to find a good man, and you’re a good man.”

“It’s just when we talk about the future, I have nothing to offer you. People need more than hope in their hope chests,” Timothy said.

His sarcasm about the hope chest did not escape Cheryl, but she let it slide.

“Are you talking about material things?” she said.

“Yes, and debt. How can I take care of you when I can’t even take care of myself?”

“So there it is. The male ego?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you don’t have to do this all by yourself. This is what couples do. They are there for each other. I am here for you. Besides, I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t want your money,” he said.

“I’m not offering you money. I’m talking emotional support. We’ll figure out the other stuff. Timothy, you have this thing about carrying the world’s problems on your shoulders. They’re not that big, and it’s not your job. Others have to help, too.”

“I didn’t mean to be flip,” he said.

“I know. Look, you’re loyal, generous to a fault, and loving. You’re a good person. That’s the man I love.”

“Even if I’m broke?”

“Even when you’re broken,” Cheryl said.

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“I’m defensive tonight. Hoffen said something that is chewing on me. He talked about unfinished business. It describes my life perfectly. Too many loose ends. No security. No stability. When will I ever feel safe again?”

“Safe?” Cheryl zeroed in on this word.

“Stable—you know, financially,” Timothy said.

“Things are a little unsteady in your life right now. It’s natural for you to react this way. You want to tie up your loose ends or, in Hoffen’s words, finish your business,” she said.

Timothy rubbed his leg.

“Does it hurt tonight?” Cheryl asked.

“Yeah, a bit. I think sandbagging got to it, but I couldn’t let a bunch of grunts see it.”

“Guy thing?”

“Yes, a guy thing.”

“Timothy, look at me. I want you. I want the war hero, the scared little boy, and the in-debt you. All of you. And yes, the broken you.”

“But you could do much better.”

“Stop saying that. It’s insulting to me. Settling with you is not settling in life. Look at me. I love you, warts and all. Can you say the same about me?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t, unless you give up. Hang on a minute, I have something for you.”

Cheryl left the room and returned with a coffee mug.

“I found this in a gift shop the other day and thought of you. What do you think of the inscription?”

Timothy read aloud the inscription on the mug. “Don’t die wondering!” He smiled. “You know, it could read Don’t die wandering.”

“Yes, that too. Timothy, the only time I feel disappointed is when you stare so deeply into the darkness that you cannot see light.”

“Boy, you sound like Hoffen.”

“I told you. I like him already.”

“Like I said, you’ll get a chance to meet him Saturday.”

“I look forward to it.”

“So, how long are your parents going to be gone?”

They both smiled.