A Forty Year Kiss

25

One morning there was a knock on his back door. Blueberry rose lazily from his spot on the kitchen floor and pretended the part of a guard dog as he trotted to the back of the house, barking lackadaisically a few times before stopping to stretch, yawn, and then collapse on a new patch of cool wood flooring.

So fearsome, Charlie said, scratching the dog’s head as he made his way to the door.

It was Vivian, holding what appeared to be a picnic basket.

He gave her a kiss and held the door open. She rubbed at Blueberry’s head and then moved into the kitchen and set the basket down.

I can’t believe you drove all the way up here. To what do I owe this surprise?

I just thought that, with the nice spring temperatures today, maybe we could go for a little drive. It’s what old people are supposed to do, isn’t it? Scenic drives?

First, we’re not old, he said going to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. I’ve never used a senior-citizen discount in my life. Secondly, I’m occupied for the moment. Unless you want to go upstairs? he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Yeah, well, no. Come on. No funny business. I don’t want to dillydally. I’ve got a plan for us.

Fine. But I’m going to drink my coffee. And do Wordle.

I already finished. Took me two.

I saw that. You must have cheated. Or gotten help from Melissa. Who do I have to help me here? Blueberry? Sweet dog, but useless when it comes to Wordle.

Oh, you’re not useless, are you? she said, rubbing the dog’s head and scratching below his muzzle.

So they sat that way, for a half hour or so. Charlie at the kitchen island, sipping his coffee, staring at his phone, intermittently reading a newspaper article, or flipping to a Sudoku puzzle. Outside, the morning brightened and brightened some more.

You’re a very…deliberate Wordle player, she said.

Well, I mean, I’ve got twenty-four hours. Why not use it?

It wasn’t really that hard a word.

I’m so close, he said pensively.

Since you are otherwise occupied, I think I’ll go visit Shelby, she said. I feel bad I can’t see her every day, but…come out to the barn when you finish. She gathered up her light jacket and then stood in the doorway. It’s so strange, she said, quietly.

What?

Just that, when we were married—you know, forever ago—I could have never pictured you this way. Sitting. Working puzzles. Not saying a word. You were always talking back then. Or yelling. I think silence used to make you nervous or something.

He did not care to darken the morning, or the easy loveliness of the moment, so he only smiled, but for some reason, he internalized her words, and rolled them over and over, like worrying a river stone in his pocket, and he realized that she was of course right.

That rightness did not surprise him. But what did surprise him was the sudden depth of his memory. As if he’d just dived very deep into a cold, clear northern lake, where his oldest memories lived near the bedrock, near some ancient resting sturgeon in its safest place, and he remembered that in his childhood, when his father was very drunk, he often grew terribly quiet, and he would sit in his chair, silent, until without any warning at all, he would fly into a rage, angry at the most inconsequential things. A pot left on the stove with cold soup. A counter sticky with sugar. A cupboard door left open. Oh. The number of nights when he slammed those cupboards, a few times with Charlie’s young hand in the space before the door shut… He shook his head and recentered himself in the present. Focused on Wordle.

There. Got it in five, he said with some satisfaction. Arrow. Those double letters always trip me up.

Five. That’s not bad, Vivian said, smiling victoriously and bouncing her eyebrows. I mean, it’s not two, but…

He rose and went towards her slowly.

Oh, now you’ll pay attention to me? she said. No, I’m going to check on the horse. Be ready in twenty minutes.

They packed a green thermos of coffee, Vivian’s picnic basket, and a backpack with a thick Faribault blanket.

You sure you don’t want to take my truck?

I’m one hundred percent sure, she said. Then you’d be in control. Today, you’re my passenger.

Will you at least tell me where we’re going?

No. I won’t. I want it to be a surprise. What is it you’re always telling me? Relax? So great. Relax, Charlie. I’ve concluded this is my only choice with you. If I decide where we’re going, it has to be kept a secret. Otherwise, you’re liable to take control.

He did as he was told and leaned back in the old battered passenger seat of Vivian’s Saturn to survey the countryside blurring past.

How’s Melissa doing? he asked, after some time had passed.

Vivian turned and glanced at him briefly, then returned her eyes to the road. She’s good. She was a little weird a few weeks back. I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly. I thought maybe she was lying to me about something. A new boyfriend maybe. Or drinking too much. But now I notice she’s been looking at colleges. And places in Saint Paul. Minneapolis too.

Places? he asked, playing dumb.

Vivian’s voice cracked with reserved sadness, but she replied, Oh, apartments, I guess. I suppose it makes sense. Better jobs there. Better money. More opportunities, I suppose.

He reached for her hand. It must be hard for you, he said. I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to—she indicated her eyes, the unbidden tears—I didn’t mean to be sad. But it’s been on my mind. I don’t know where I’ll go, or what I’ll do. I can’t imagine having to drive to go visit my granddaughters. She shook her head.

Maybe you could go with them? he suggested. I mean, if I’m being honest, that wouldn’t be my first choice. But I’d understand. I’d completely understand.

I don’t think so. I think this is partly what I was hoping for Melissa. That she’d feel confident enough to go out and make her own way. I can’t just tag along now that she wants to be free, to be on her own.

She pulled the car to the side of the road. The middle of nowhere. For early spring, the sunlight was bold and bright, and in the ditches, and down the faces of the fields, meltwater ran freely. There was no traffic. He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned towards her, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder while he offered an awkward hug. He tried his level best to say nothing, simply to be there for her. A sounding board.

He held her and wanted to say that he loved her more for a moment like this. For trusting that he was there for her now, in a way no one else was or could be. She must have trusted him to show this side of herself, this vulnerability. How strange, to feel the intensity and size of your love expand in the face of so much sadness and uncertainty.

Come on, he said, let me drive. You can relax and tell me all about it. I want to hear everything.

She sat up straight, wiped her cheeks, and gave him a mock-fiery look. Oh no, I promised myself that you wouldn’t drive today. This isn’t your date. It’s mine. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.

Fine, but I offered.

You’re always offering.

Well, I’m a nice guy, Viv.

***

Less than an hour later she parked the car in an abandoned parking lot surrounded by jack pine, oak, and white pine.

Haven’t been here in forever, he said with some wonderment.

Me neither, but today, I don’t know. Maybe this will sound strange. But I felt like the place was calling me.

She stood beside the car, holding the picnic basket, closing her eyes against the warmth of the sun, and holding her face upward, toward the light, the way he imagined a flower might. The sadness looked to have passed, and he wanted to go to her, and kiss her, but he just stood there, looking at her, appreciating her.

Do you hear it? she asked. The waterfalls?

He closed his eyes, too, and focused on the sounds around them. Blue jays cutting from treetop to treetop, distant traffic, the wind blowing through the high boughs of trees. And then, the susurration of unseen water.

He could see the waterfalls as he had, so many decades ago, when he had come to this place, long before he met her. When he was a boy on the hottest days of summer and his aunt would pile so many cousins into the back of a station wagon and they would race down the foot-worn paths to the scramble of rocks and the crashing, surging water, there to find safe pools to frolic in, to cool down, to splash.

How he interacted with the waterfalls differently as he aged. From an innocent boy escaping heat and the tedium of summer boredom, to a teenager smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, and later, visiting with girlfriends, holding each other tightly against the pressure and flow of the water, skin slippery, skin hot, skin forbidden…

He ran a hand over his face. The last time he was here with her, he was very drunk, throwing empty bottles into the river and jumping from outcropping to outcropping, scaring her, pretending to lose his balance. She had been so upset, so afraid, she packed their things and sat in the car, fuming. He shook his head, shook away the memory. He was momentarily conflicted by the desire to be free of that memory, indeed free of that old iteration of himself, and the knowledge that he was here now with the power to be different and better because of those old mistakes. The membrane between the present and the past was thin for him today. Memories swirling like ghosts. He shook his head.

I hear it, he said quietly.

She took his hand, and they walked down the broken path, beneath sheltering tree limbs, the wind always more forceful closer to the river, and the air wet with what water was carried above the violence of the falls.

When the forest opened and he could see the river for the first time, and the waterfalls, and the rapids, and the ancient rock, he squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek.

Thank you. I didn’t know that I needed to come here. But I did.

You’re welcome. Let’s find a place in the sun.

They settled on a flat rectangle of water-smoothed stone, the midday sun toasting them benignly. Downriver two fishermen sat on empty white plastic buckets, smoking cigarettes. Overhead, eagles circled lazily. Now and then, the shadow of a passing stranger, or passing strangers, caused them to sit up and say hello. He lay on his back, and she rested her head on his stomach. He ran his fingers through her hair.

You haven’t asked me many questions about the time after our divorce, she said. In fact, you’ve never asked anything about Melissa’s father.

I guess I just figured when you were ready, you’d tell me. Or that maybe it wasn’t the best time, and you didn’t much want to talk about it. I’ve never heard either of you talk about him. Well, that’s not entirely true. He did come up one time with Melissa. But she didn’t want to talk about him. And you don’t even have any pictures of him in your house. Also, back when we were married, I know I had a short fuse, but I could also get jealous. And I didn’t want to bring that kind of energy or emotion to what we’re trying to do, you know, now. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to ask. I’ve definitely wanted to ask.

What we’re trying to do?

Yeah, he said smiling, our courtship, so to speak. This, you know, second courtship.

You’ve been courting me then?

Yes, I’ve definitely been courting you. Or is that out of style these days? Is that sexist? Because I could use another word. We’ve been chillin’, I guess.

It’s an old word, she said, looking off towards the fishermen. But I like what it implies.

What’s that? Courtship? What does it imply to you?

That you respect me. That you’re taking your time. That you don’t feel entitled to an outcome.

Well, I’m definitely hoping for an outcome.

Hmmm, she said, leaning towards him, towards their kiss, I see good things ahead.

Their lips separated, but for a long moment he felt her eyelashes against his cheek, which was an exquisite sensation, more intimate even than a kiss, like a butterfly alighting on his face, or a hummingbird fluttering beside his ear. He closed his eyes and filed that feeling away in his memory, a bit wistfully.

It wasn’t a good time, she exhaled, and we were married for a long, long time, Roy and me. Twenty-two years, actually. After you, after our divorce, I was single for a while, I guess it was maybe two or three years, and then I met Roy.

He was so different than you, and in the beginning, that was refreshing. He was steady. He was a mechanic. Owned his own shop. That’s one thing I remember about him. His hands were always oily, always greasy, and there was a sink in his garage, in his house, where he used this soap, with pumice in it, and he’d scrub his fingers and hands and forearms until they were almost raw. The soap smelled like oranges. Early on, he was very conscious of that. Of how he smelled and looked. His fingernails.

I got pregnant with Melissa before we were even married. My parents pushed us to get hitched though. Our wedding day was very simple. There was a little ceremony at the courthouse in Chippewa. My parents were our witnesses. Afterwards they took us out to dinner, and when we came home that night, I don’t know… It just felt immediately different. God, maybe it’s awful for me to say this, but it felt like he stopped trying. Like he stopped trying the minute he could.

Charlie pulled her even closer to him. Against the sometimes cool of the wind off the river and the benevolent spray of the river water.

He wasn’t like you at all. He wasn’t spontaneous or fun. He wasn’t, I don’t know, sensual or romantic. He didn’t even really talk a lot. We were just, I don’t know, partners. He was never mean to me, or abusive, but over time, he just talked less and less, and then he had his accident, and everything got worse.

God, it was terrible. He was at his shop one day, and you know those hydraulic lifts they use for propping cars up, so mechanics can work underneath? Anyway, there was a malfunction or something, or maybe someone even did it on purpose, we could never find out, but basically, a car dropped, and hit his head. Cracked his skull open.

She shook her head. No tears. Just a dry, windblown, desolate memory.

He should have died. That would have been the humane thing, the compassionate thing. For all of us. But he was taken to a hospital, and they somehow saved him.

He was never the same, Charlie put in.

No, she said, shaking her head again, glancing up at the sun. No, he wasn’t.

But you didn’t leave him.

No. I couldn’t. I just, couldn’t. He was older than me, and his family—well, they were awful. They never visited. Never thanked me for anything. I couldn’t leave him alone. So I did everything. I’d wake up in the morning, get Melissa and—get her ready and off to school, make his breakfast, and then go to the shop, and even though I didn’t know anything about cars, I did my best. He had a couple of employees who helped me for a long time. Good guys.

For a few years I’d take him with me to the garage, like I was taking a kid, or a dog, but he wasn’t always appropriate, you know? Or polite. The accident changed his brain, and sometimes he’d shout at customers. Or laugh at their beat-up old cars. It was demoralizing. Like we were all part of this charade to try and somehow keep his life together, but there was no point. He was never returning to normal.

Eventually, the business went under. I just couldn’t keep up. One of the mechanics retired, and then it just became too much. I couldn’t leave him home alone, so I worked nights and weekends, and that’s what kills me. Melissa had to be with him, you know? Like a babysitter. They’d watch movies together or whatever, and she’d call me at work if he was confused or wanted to leave the house.

Now Vivian began to quietly cry, and he held her very tightly.

You didn’t do anything wrong, he said. you were doing your best. Doing what you thought was right.

I shouldn’t have done that to her. Shouldn’t have asked her to do that. She was just a kid. Watching this—this man. And it was her dad, sure, but she’d have to help him in the bathroom and, you know, help him with his clothes sometimes. I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have done that to her.

She covered her head with her hands and began sobbing. Some kids standing on shore pointed at them, and Charlie held up a hand to let them know that everything was okay, but it didn’t look okay, he was sure of that.

How could I have asked her to do that? How could I have asked her to watch him? Her own father? No kid should have to do that.

She wiped her face, but it was evident she was tormented by that time, all those years of helplessness, of trying to do the right thing without knowing precisely what that meant. Of feeling trapped. Of wanting more for her daughter.

She just kept shaking her head, like every thought she conjured, every memory that arose was painful.

When he passed away, she sighed, it was a tremendous relief. Melissa was seventeen. Someone would say, some doctor now would say that it wasn’t so much relief as PTSD. Or that I had been in shock for years. Because I just wasn’t there for her. I couldn’t be there for her. I was just—exhausted, you know? That’s the biggest regret of my life. And it’s this huge long regret that I can’t even parse. I regret marrying him, yes, but then he’s also the reason I had Melissa. And he wasn’t a bad man. He was, well, he was my husband.

I’m sorry, he said again. But, hey. Hey, look at me now.

She turned her face towards his.

You did the best you could, Viv. You kept your family together. You didn’t abandon anyone. You tried as hard as you could.

Then he held her as tightly as he could. And they stayed that way for a long time, until the midday sun dipped towards the treetops and the afternoon cooled and the fishermen packed up their buckets and rods and tackle boxes and disappeared into the shadows. They held hands as they walked back to her car.

I’m sorry, she said quietly.

For what?

For talking about sad things. This wasn’t exactly like our first dates out here.

I wouldn’t trade this afternoon for anything. And trust me, I wouldn’t want to be back in that time, or be the person I was.

Me either, she admitted. Me either.