18. Past meets Present
Claire dropped her purse in the casita before making her way up to see if Pat was still at home. She mounted the stairs.
“Pat?” she called. No answer.
Looking around, she didn’t find him. She went outside and, on a whim, headed up to the Mirador. Pat was sitting in his normal spot, reading on his computer. He looked up.
“Oh hi, there. How’d it go at the doctor?”
“Said I’m making a good recovery but to take it easy for another week. Janie says she has a friend with a red-light sauna. She’s going to see if we can use it.”
Claire sat down in the chair next to him. “What have you been up to?”
“Working on the acknowledgments. Could you read it and see if I need to edit anything?”
“Sure.” She reached over and pulled the computer to her. She read the normal accolades to the agent and editors, but then she came to the last part.
To Claire, whose love of words and life has made me see how much I was missing. This book would never have achieved its best form or been completed without your deft insights and work. And your presence has made writing the most fun it’s been in years.
Claire sat back, drinking in the words. They were a splendid gift to her. He hadn’t just been requesting her help, he truly believed she had made an important contribution.
“This is so nice, Pat. Thank you.”
“Thank you. Since our last, um, let’s say, discussion, I wanted to share something with you. The day we met, you had noted that the book you’d read was ‘off.’ The reason was that my wife had found out she needed a heart operation. She never came out of surgery. I’d been in the middle of the book. As you can imagine, my mind and especially my heart weren’t in it. I forced myself to finish it as I had a deadline to meet. I took a long sabbatical and came here for a while to heal.”
Claire reached over and laid her hand on his. “Oh, Pat. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you? You didn’t know. I used to not understand what my divorced friends were dealing with. The death of my wife changed that. Yes, I grieved for her. But I also grieved for losing our marriage. Of being a husband. No one ever tells you that you grieve the loss of your marriage as much as you grieve for someone who’s died. It’s the death of a marriage, of a future. It’s like unfinished business. There’s no closure. I finally understood what my divorced friends had told me.”
“I don’t know about divorce, but I know about grieving a future that will never be and for someone you loved.” She hesitated before continuing. “Pat, I’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve gotten used to being independent. I don’t know if I’m ready to change that.”
“At least you’re being honest with me. I understand your concern. In some ways, I’ve been alone for a long time too. But I think in a way my wife knew. You see, I’d fallen in love with a dream when I was young. I couldn’t let it go. It hung on with a tenacity I’d never encountered. The fact is, you can’t choose who you will or won’t love. Your heart chooses for you.”
He raised her hands to his lips, brushing them both with soft kisses. “Whether you stay or go, I know my heart has chosen you. I want you in my life.”
Claire took his face in her hands, kissing him softly on the lips. When they parted, she whispered, “My heart says one thing, my head another. I need to be sure. The fact is, I loved someone, and I compared everyone to him over my life. It was—is—wrong, but I can’t help it. Over the years, I’ve pursued my career at the expense of relationships. I may be too old to change now.”
“Let’s make this week the best we can. If you feel you still need to leave after that, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Claire’s lips turned up into a smile. That was exactly what Charlie said the last time they’d met before he left for Vietnam. About crossing bridges.
A rush of emotion came over her.
“Pat, I saw a picture in your study. It was you with a group of men in military uniform.”
Pat glanced up, thinking. “Oh, you mean my platoon picture? Yes?”
“Can we go see it?”
He made a face. “Now you’ve got me curious. Okay, let’s go.”
They walked back down the stairs, and with each step downward, a strange feeling grew in her chest. They made their way over to the picture.
“This one?” Pat pointed.
Claire struggled to speak. “Yes. Who are they?”
“A bunch of young men who were ready for life. Instead, they met death.”
Claire broke down, sobs coming from deep inside.
“Claire, sit down.”
He led her to a chair in the study. She slumped into its depths. She couldn’t help it. The grief poured from her. It wouldn’t let up.
Pat sprang up to grab some tissues while Claire rocked back and forth.
“I’m sorry. I, did you know someone who didn’t come back from ‘Nam’?”
She wiped her eyes; the pain radiating all along her body. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Finally, she pointed at the picture. Taking a deep breath, she spoke. “Charlie. That’s my Charlie.”
Pat rocked back on his feet.
“Claire?”
He bolted up and away from her before turning back. “Claire, is it really you?”
She sniffed, wiping her eyes. His question took her aback. “Of course, it’s me. What do you mean?”
“I mean, we have a lot to discuss because I have a story you’re going to find hard to believe.”