Absence of Grace (26 page)

Clen stepped inside the lodge then closed the door and stood leaning against it, breathing quickly as if she’d run all the way from the marina. And from the moment she felt the dock beneath her feet, she’d struggled not to do just that, run. Instead, she’d walked at a reasonable pace, talking with Gerrum, hoping to get things back to where they’d been before the whales. Before he kissed her.

It had been a perfect experience, seeing the whales. A sense of the sacred drawing near. She’d last felt that awakening to the nuns chanting Vigils at Resurrection. In the predawn darkness, she’d listened to that wordless vibration until it seemed, after a time, to be more than sound.

Before leaving the abbey, she arose one morning and made her way to the dimly lit chapel. She sat in the back, and the chant had swept past like a procession of medieval ladies in long gowns. She’d listened to the words only after she had absorbed the rhythm and sweetness of the sound itself.

And what about being kissed by Gerrum? A shimmer of longing, as surprising as it was upsetting, made her tremble. Perhaps not sacred, but an experience she would remember to the end of her days. For a brief span of time, kissing Gerrum, she’d forgotten her reluctance to accept the friendship he offered. Forgotten, too, her regrets over her wasted life, her guilt, her worries about the future. It had all slipped away as effortlessly as a bird skimming the surface of a sun-bright sea.

But now she was back on solid ground.

With quick resolution, she stepped into the lodge’s kitchen to find the dishes were put away. A note was left on the counter.

Clen,

Heard you had a chance to see humpbacks with Gerrum. Definitely not an experience that should be followed by dirty dishes! Marian

Trembling, Clen wrapped her arms around herself. She needed those dishes. Needed the ordinariness of soapy water and a mess put to rights. Without that transition, likely she would face a long, restless night.

Atlanta, Georgia

After graduating from Marymead, Clen moved to Atlanta, because it was both a long way from Colorado Springs and where Maxine lived. She hoped to find a position where her degree in mathematics would be put to good use, but all she could manage was a secretarial position in a brokerage firm.

“Michelle, how wonderful. Administrative Assistant. It sounds very impressive.”

“A secretary by any other name is still a secretary, Mom.”

“But, you’ll have opportunities, sweetie.”

Oddly enough, her mother turned out to be correct, although not in quite the way she’d no doubt meant.

Clen was assigned to work for a man who drank too much at lunch and expected her to pick up the slack. At first, she thought she was being stupid to cover for Edward, then she realized he was providing her with more opportunities than most assistants were given. And it was all going swimmingly until Edward passed out at the office Christmas party, attracting the attention of Paul Douglas, a higher up and the firm’s most celebrated bachelor. Paul started dropping by Edward’s office to ask probing questions.

When it became obvious Edward relied on Clen for more of the answers than he should, Paul’s attention switched abruptly. “Miss McClendon, I believe I understand your reluctance in this affair. However, I assure you I intend to get to the bottom of it. With or without your help.”

Clen employed her best silent stare. She didn’t want to inform on Edward, although he richly deserved it for being stupid, because in her mind, the equation was balanced by the experience she’d gained.

Paul grimaced and left. Shortly afterward, Clen was transferred to a position with a more abstemious executive and Edward was assigned a new assistant. Within three months of that change, Edward was gone and Clen had begun training as a broker. She enjoyed her new responsibilities, although they gave her little time to think about whether she was on a career path that would satisfy her for the long haul.

Over the next year and a half, she saw Paul Douglas on a regular basis—at business meetings and at the firm’s mandatory Fourth of July and Christmas parties. Females, single and married, spent those occasions hovering around Paul like anxious hummingbirds. Clen watched from a distance, relieved she felt no impulse to join them.

She never expected a man who had his pick of women like Paul did to be interested in her. So she was rendered speechless when he called and invited her to dinner.

“You can’t give me the silent treatment over the phone, Clen. A simple yes, I’d love to, is all that’s needed here.”

“Okay. I’ll have dinner with you.”

“See. Was that so difficult? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Paul was used to getting his own way and that was attractive at first, although she didn’t let him know it. She wasn’t playing hard to get, just making sure when he moved on, and he would, he wouldn’t take a piece of her heart with him. As she continued to accept his invitations, she worked to project an air of disinterested sophistication she copied from Audrey Hepburn films.

“How do I get to second base with you, Clen?” Paul finally asked as he kissed her goodnight.

“I need to feel there’s more to it than you racking up a score.”

“What can I do to convince you it’s not?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“How about this? Marry me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. This may be the most serious I’ve ever been. I want to marry you.”

“But...I need to think about it.”

“Meanwhile, about second base?”

“Not a chance.”

He sighed, but he didn’t withdraw his proposal, and in the days that followed he remained attentive and affectionate.

After Thanksgiving, she finally screwed up her courage to end the game. “You know that question you asked me to think about?”

“Which one?”

“The one that involved second base.”

“Oh, that question.” Paul sipped the last of his wine, set his glass down, and looked at her.

“Is the offer still open?”

“Let me think.” He stared at her through the shimmer of candlelight.

That’s that, she thought, surprised at the sudden stab of sorrow. She looked away from him, wishing she could take her words back.

“Hey, Clen. Don’t go away.” He took her hand in his, pulling it gently, pulling her attention with it back to a subject she no longer wished to pursue.

“I was teasing. The offer is still very much open.” He reached into his pocket. “I was beginning to think I’d better return this.” He opened his hand. A ring lay there, one with a large pear-cut diamond.

Looking at the ring, Clen wanted to push back her chair and run. Paul slipped the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, but then Paul had a talent for that kind of thing.

The waiter returned with their desserts, and she pulled her hand out of Paul’s and buried it in her lap until the coffee had been poured and they were alone again. She twisted the ring, wishing she could give it back, not because she’d changed her mind about marrying Paul, but because she wasn’t sure how to handle such a fancy ring and the man who went with it.

Paul smiled at her. “Now, the important question. How soon can we get married?”

“I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Well, you better start thinking. You’re the bride. It’s your show.”

“What I’d really like to do is elope.”

“Hey, works for me. The sooner the better.”

“We can’t. Mom would kill us.”

“Well, I can’t say that scenario appeals to me. I’d rather a more formal do than have Stella McClendon on my case.”

“I’ll try to keep it small.”

“That doesn’t matter, Clen. Big wedding, small wedding, elopement—as long as you say ‘I do’ to being Mrs. Paul Douglas, that’s all I care about.”

She knew by the time they’d been married a week it was a mistake. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, because it wasn’t really until they returned from St. Thomas and started the day-to-day routine of their lives that she realized she shouldn’t have married him. And the reasons were all petty.

Like, before the wedding, he’d lavishly praised her cooking, but after, he always suggested a possible alteration to the recipe. Before, he’d gone to art shows and the theater with her. After the ceremony, he made excuses to bow out, finally admitting he had neither the time nor the interest in socializing with anyone not associated with the investment business. And finally, before, when he’d come to her apartment for dinner, he’d always helped her with the dishes. After, he refused to help around the house, telling her to hire a maid. That might work for the big stuff but was no help with everyday tasks.

Gradually, her life settled into one of quiet resignation. Those and other irritations all worked like sandpaper, rubbing away her feeling of newlywed happiness until that was gone and only the lackluster smoothness of duty and habit remained.

One day, several years into their marriage, Clen bought a sketch pad, some pencils, and an eraser. Paul fussed about her drawing but eventually ignored it, giving her the opportunity to sketch him when he was unaware—watching television or engrossed in a report or a book. With her pencil she tried to pry under his skin, to get to know the stranger sharing her life.

He left on a business trip, and she laid the drawings on the dining table and circled slowly, first one direction and then the opposite, seeking an answer to her question.
Who are you?

The drawings looked blandly back.

Paul left Barringer and Hodges shortly after they married, and now he’d made another change to a position that involved extensive travel. Clen kept expecting him to say he was going to look for something that allowed him to stay home more, especially when his trips began to take him away for several days at a time. He didn’t, though.

At first, she minded being left alone so much, but after awhile she realized how peaceful the time without him was. When he came home, his presence altered her internal harmonies like dissonant music.

For his part, the constant travel energized Paul, and he seemed happier than he’d been in years.

1985