Don't Explain (28 page)

“You have proof of this?” his voice had become deeper and grim.

Caitlyn proceeded cautiously. This was not going the way she hoped it
would. She kept her voice low and kind, “Like I said, I saw the ovulation
strips and then…”

“That is not proof, Caitlyn,” he interrupted while throwing his pizza
down onto the greasy paper plate. “You made an assumption. She could have those
for many other reasons,” he paused, and they both knew it was a ridiculous
statement. She looked at him with doubt in her eyes, but he continued in a
different direction, “Who's to say that they were even ovulation strips at all?”

“Listen, I know that this is hard to believe, but I know what I saw…”

“I heard the heartbeat.”

“Did you go to the OB with her? Did you hear it straight from the source?”

“She texted it to me. I couldn't make it. I had appointments.”

Caitlyn pulled out her phone and pulled up an mp3 file. The quick, thumping
sound of a heartbeat echoed through the bowling alley. “Sound familiar?”

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“I downloaded it. It was a quick search and a few seconds of my time.”
Michael was silent. “I talked to…”

“You don't know what the hell you are talking about,” he barked at her. “Margaret
was right. You would do anything to break us up. I didn't expect this from you,
Caitlyn. I thought that you understood where we were. I will not let you
slander her for your own benefit, and I certainly won't abandon the mother of
my child because of something you thought you saw two weeks ago. I am a doctor.
I would know if she wasn't pregnant. Jesus, Caitlyn. Do you think that I am an
idiot?”

Caitlyn's posture changed to submissive: her back formed a C, her
shoulders slumped forward, and her gaze turned to the floor. “I just…” She was
overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment and couldn't finish.

“You just what?” he yelled as Margaret strode out of the bathroom.

She saw the body language that Michael and Caitlyn displayed, and her
eyes became dark and small as she quickly moved to attack, but Michael grabbed
her hand as she approached. “You know what? Never mind.” He turned to Margaret,
who suddenly appeared chipper. “Let's get out of here.” He glared at Caitlyn,
who caught the hateful look out of her peripheral before quickly withdrawing
any gaze in their direction. “Stay out of our business.” He said as he turned,
Margaret in hand.

Caitlyn just sat there. She heard an agitated, “Michael, what happened?”
as the two exited the bowling alley.

She could hear Michael shout, “Tom, we're leaving.” Tom popped his head
back into the bowling alley for a moment and said goodbye, but left quickly to
catch his ride.

Caitlyn slipped off the dual colored shoes and slipped into her clogs.
She stood up, looked at the nearly full pizza and the hardly touched pitcher of
beer. She sighed, piled several slices onto her paper plate and left the
bowling alley in a long walk of humiliation. Though there weren't many people
there, the ones who were watched her intently as she shuffled out of the
building.

Caitlyn gripped the top of the steering wheel and then banged her
forehead into it three times. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter
and that in time Michael would know that she was right and would feel bad with
how he had just treated her, but this was no comfort to her. She told herself
that she was done with their histrionic behavior. Maple Field was her town, her
world. If they didn't want to be a part of it, they shouldn't have bought a
house here. She was physically tired from the emotions that had swept through
her in the last few hours and found that what she wanted most was to curl up in
her big bed and sleep.

Instead, Caitlyn pulled out her phone. There was no use in waiting for
someone who didn’t trust her.

A deep voice answered her call.

“Hey, Charles. I’m going to be in Amherst tomorrow. How would you like to
have that dinner with me?” There was a silence on the other end, and Caitlyn
glanced at the number she dialed. This was the one he called from. “This is
Caitlyn Murphy by the way.”

There was a short laugh on the other end. “I know. I just didn’t expect
you to call. I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

The next morning Caitlyn packed a small bag with the outfit she bought
for the first night she was supposed to have dinner with him, one additional
outfit, her essentials, and a couple of books she had been meaning to read. Just
in case.

She pulled out one of the many phone books she had collected in her time
there and looked at the Amherst hotel listings. She wanted to be comfortable,
but not too comfortable that it put her into debt. Though at this point, a
hundred extra bucks wasn’t really a big deal compared to the $50,000 she
already owed and couldn’t pay. She settled upon a mid-range chain with spa tubs
in every room. She called and made the arrangements.

Disappointed that she had to wait until 4:00 to check in, she tried to
determine what she would do for the entirety of the morning and afternoon
because staying in Maple Field was not an option. She was glad to sleep in her
own bed, but now she had to get out again.

The day went by quickly. She stopped by St. Vincent’s and visited her
mother. She didn’t want to. The chance of running into Michael was too high,
though at this point, he probably wouldn’t set foot near her mother’s room. It
was a quick visit, and soon she was in Amherst touring Emily Dickinson’s house
and then the art museum on campus.

When she arrived at her hotel that afternoon at exactly 4:00, she was
aglow. The world seemed to smile back at her when she smiled at it. The clerk
at the front desk cheerfully checked her in and wished her a good stay. Caitlyn
knew that his wish for her was already in the process of being granted.

As she dressed herself for that evening, she looked confidently at her
reflection in the mirror. She knew that her appeal, wit, strength, and beauty
had attracted this suitor. He hadn't been thrown on her by a friend with the
promise of sex. He wanted to be with her. He waited.

She ran a brush through her hair and smiled at herself one last time
after hearing a knock at her hotel room's door. She slipped on her jacket and
quickly tied the belt around her waist. She took a deep breath and opened the
door, revealing Charles. His hands rested casually in the pockets of dark
jeans. His button up had a small, blue and white checkerboard pattern that brightened
up his eyes. The two buttons were left undone. Over his shirt was a black,
cashmere, two-button blazer that fit him perfectly and had a gray pocket
square. He looked up at her and gave her a sweet half-smile. To her, it looked
as though he was a young boy who had just gotten caught stealing a cookie
before dinner. A flash of him as a fourth grader came to the front her of her
mind. She smiled back at him comforted by his innocent charm.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hi,” he responded, mimicking her tone. He held out his hand, and she put
hers in his. He pulled her out in to the night's brisk air, and she pulled the
door shut behind her. She felt like a teenager: a strange mix of carelessness
and nervousness. She was comforted by his strength and confidence as he held
her hand tightly in his

“How do you feel about seafood?” he inquired.

“I feel quite good about it,” she joked.

“Excellent.” He flashed that smile at her again. Charles escorted her to
his car, opened the door for her, and held her hand as she carefully lowered
herself into the leather seat. For a moment she thought back to the night when
she and Michael went to De Luca's. She was not used to being driven around or
being taken care of to any extent. While this treatment made her vaguely
uncomfortable, she realized that these men had bestowed on her a valuable gift:
respect. She hoped that Charles's respect would last longer than Michael's.

“You’re not going to hurt me are you?” Lost in her thought she didn't
even realize she had spoken.

Charles looked at her, his eyebrows kneaded into his forehead. He looked
deeply into her eyes and said, “I wasn't planning on it.” His face relaxed, and
he spoke gently, “But let's have dinner before we jump too far ahead and decide
who is going to hurt whom.”

“Okay” was her only response. She turned a deep shade of red that she
hoped was not detectable in the dim, moonlit car. In just a few moments she
went from child-like enthusiasm about this evening to dread and disconnection.

Fortunately, Charles was very personable and was able to strike up
interesting conversation during dinner, which disarmed Caitlyn considerably. He
asked her what happened to her after fifth grade and where she went to college.

“What were you doing in Worcester on a Friday? Shouldn’t you have been
teaching or something?”

“I was playing hooky from my classes. The unfortunate thing about being
in one of the straight sciences is that they make you teach. I can only take a
few weeks of arrogant Physics 101 students before I need a break. So, I
schedule a variety of conferences throughout the semesters and let the TAs do
the dirty work. This way the university doesn't catch on. Hell, they even pay
for my attendance and hotel. It's not a bad deal.” He smiled at her, and she
began to relax.

“If you hate it so much, why not find something more suitable? I was a
teacher for a while, but I decided to move on, make coffee.”

“What do you do with a Doctorate in Physics besides teach? There is
nothing more suitable for me. It's dealing with the freshmen and having the
opportunity to experiment on the theories I am interested in, or it’s having
some CEO tell me what to be interested in and working on that. I choose
freshmen. At least their arrogance isn't fueled by a million dollar salary and
stock options.”

“I ran into the same problem with an English degree. Teach or bust. After
several years, I busted. I think that it takes a special kind of person to
really teach a class so that the students will get something out of it. I did
okay for a while, but it wasn’t enough. It seemed that nothing I did was ever
enough.”

“Damn the straight sciences.”

“Damn the liberal arts.” Caitlyn found Charles very appealing. His casual
manner and confidence was now calming to her, and she found that, even though
she was generally a horrible conversationalist, talking to him was easy. She
was quick to bring down her guard with him and trust him. Even when she became
defensive, she was able to talk herself out of being brash or sarcastic and
really attempted to enjoy his company.

He talked about the difficulties he faced becoming and being a professor.
The conversations never went beyond the depth of a conversation of
not-too-close acquaintances. It was friendly and humorous, and Caitlyn admired
his ability to disclose and receive information with careful consideration of
his partner in dialogue. She was basking in the warmth of his character and on
the verge of bearing her soul to him, but she held back wanting not to spoil
this evening any further.

Toward the end of their meal, he digressed from the surface conversation
to dig a little deeper. “Why are you so afraid of me hurting you? Did I do
something to make you think I would hurt you?”

“Not at all. It has nothing to do with you.” She shook her head
vigorously trying to dismiss the topic all together.

“Who does it have to do with?”

“You really want to go into this? We've had a really nice evening, and I
don't want to spoil it by showing you my crazy.”

“I find that a person's crazy is the most essential thing to know about
them. You have to have compatible crazies if things are going to work.” His
tone was joking, but his expression was serious. This contradiction let Caitlyn
know that he was sincere and allowed her to calm herself into reflecting aloud.

“You're right and that's exactly why I was hurt. My crazy and this guy's
crazy just didn't work together. It wasn't reasonable.” She paused for a moment
to reflect. “I had been head-over-heels for years, and he just needed a
rebound. As it turns out I'm not crazy enough for him.” She was talking to
Charles, but the words resounded for her. Michael apparently needed someone
insane. Luckily, someone like Margaret exists in this world. It was something
that she was never willing to recognize before, and she was grateful that Charles
was able to pull it out of her. She turned her gaze to him, “I'm one of those
girls who loves to love without anyone knowing. I thrive on the angst of the
want without the action. I'm addicted to the “will-they-won't-they” dramas in
television and novels. I've read
Pride and Prejudice
every year at least
once since my sophomore year of high school. My heart breaks for others. When
my heart breaks, it shatters, and it takes me time to fit all the pieces back
together. And it's a lot worse when my heart breaks for myself. I’ve been
shuffling through the shards and cutting myself with the edges, but I think
that you've helped me sweep up a bit whether you meant to or not. While I'll
still ache, I have been having so much fun with you.” She smiled tenderly at
him, and he returned the tenderness.

“It's interesting,” he started. “I'm a bit broken-hearted myself. I got
out of a relationship about a year ago. We were college sweethearts, and I
thought we were forever, but she didn't. It got to the point where we both
wanted to move forward, but while I wanted to move with her, she wanted to move
in the opposite direction. I find that no matter how hard you try, it's
impossible to stop loving someone the moment they stop loving you.” This was
the most serious she had seen him yet, and he spoke directly to her plight. She
glided her arm across the table and held her hand out open. He placed his hand
in hers and squeezed hard. “I spend most of my days running experiments and
reading articles to help explain the world we live in and how it works,” he
took a deep breath and paused for a moment. “But I have never run into anything
that can truly explain love. We are all searching for love, yet science has yet
to explain why some relationships work and some don't. Maybe the biologists
will figure it out someday.”