Chapter Eleven
Susan sat in her Adirondack chair staring out over the gulf. The morning was new and the sun had not yet eclipsed the tall pine trees behind her. The Gulf of Mexico looked black. Her mood was as dark as her surroundings. Tiny early morning waves broke quickly and without conviction, slapping against the shoreline. She held a small photo album in her lap. It contained pictures of her and Richard’s honeymoon in Paris. On the train into Guard de Norde, she suggested that all of the photographs be taken in black and white. The effect gave anyone viewing them the sense that the couple had been together for an eternity. She did not hold the same perception of their time abroad as Richard. Her flirtations with Ralph were of no significance … then. The letter she penned, only days earlier, was meant to be therapeutic and never to be mailed. She turned the album's pages slowly. One picture was of her and Richard at the base of the Eiffel Tower. The next was taken from its top. It was of the spot on the River Seine, where the couple sat on its edge with their feet dangling down the sloped riverbank. They ate pistachios and drank wine while they talked about their dreams for the future. She could not look at a single photo without a vision of her being together with Ralph becoming super-imposed onto her consciousness. Her secondary man was supposed to be someone she could lean on when-ever the need arose. His presence was quickly becoming a necessity.
When she turned another page she saw a picture that Richard had taken of the street in front of the hotel where they stayed. He leaned far out of the window, dangling above the street with her holding his feet, in order to capture the scene. The fresh vegetable market where they bought produce daily could be seen just down the road. On the other side was the florist where Richard bought her bouquet for their wedding. The wine and cheese shop they frequented was also visible. Each morning they were awakened by the sounds of the man who operated the vegetable stand calling out which fresh produce he had for that day. The memory brought a smile to her face. Innocent memories were tainted by the image of Ralph lurking nearby.
She closed the album, slowly leaned her head against the chair back and stared out at the gulf. Confusion caused by maintaining genuine love for two men began to overwhelm her. A stout woman who walked along the beach came into her field of vision. Her presence did not register. Susan’s thoughts were still occupied by the triumvirate of lovers. The woman saw a potential new friend in Susan as she looked from the water’s edge and desperately tried to make eye contact. Hoping her movement would attract Susan’s gaze the woman continued slowly along the shoreline. She stopped and bent over to pick up seashells numerous times, trying to stay within her future acquaintances sight-line. Even though her progress was filled with hesitation, she eventually made her way out of Susan’s sight. So, the woman turned and began to walk in the opposite direction, once again, inserting herself into Susan’s line of sight. She repeated all of the same delay tactics, and covered the entire length of Susan’s field of vision again without being given a second glance. Not discouraged, the woman stopped and sat on the sand at the point of the wave-break. Occasionally, she looked over her shoulder, longing for a glance from this woman she did not know, but knew if they met they could be fast-friends.
Intellectually Susan knew that there was no way she could continue to encourage Ralph about the viability of their relationship. Or, was it Richard that she should be brutally honest with? She had no desire to make her marriage a first, but she also knew she couldn’t live outside the truth.
Finally, the stout woman at the shore gave up on the coy manner in which she attempted to get Susan’s attention. She stood and walked directly toward her. Susan did not notice this strange, out-sized woman until she had covered more than half the distance between them. She was not in the mood to talk. The lenses of her sunglasses acted as her defense shield giving her reason to appear as if she did not see the woman.
“Hi. My name is Emma Bale,” the woman introduced herself eagerly while still a number of feet from Susan’s chair.
“Hi Emma.” She watched as the woman boldly stepped over her outstretched legs and plopped herself into Richard’s chair.
Still hiding behind her sunglasses, Susan looked at the woman out of the corner of her eye. She found it appalling that a woman as large as Emma chose to wear a bikini. Normally, she would not be so judgmental, but her mindset was bent on seeking out the shortcomings of others. When the woman sat down and her belly met her thighs, the bottom half of her bathing suit was completely hidden.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name,” Emma insisted.
“Susan.” She paused, then offered only half of an apology, “I guess I was too caught up in my thoughts. I did not mean to be rude.” She lifted the photo album from her lap and placed it on the arm of the chair.
“I could tell that you had something on your mind,” Emma said, smugly.
Susan did not respond. Her gaze returned to the gulf. The women sat silently for several minutes. Susan was completely still. Emma fidgeted nervously; seemingly unable to control the fact that she wanted to in-quire about what bothered her new friend. Finally, the question burst forth. “So what’s on your mind?” This woman wanted inside her psyche so badly decorum be-came a casualty from that moment forward.
Susan thought better about saying anything to a woman whom she had just met. But, the stranger appeared to be in her forties and had the aura of experience. She might be understanding and offer sage ad-vice. However, bowing to her cautious nature, she answered her inquiry with a question. “Where are you from?”
That was all the permission Emma needed. She spoke rapidly so that Susan had no chance to speak. “I grew up in Atlanta. After high school I went to the University of Georgia, majoring in Early Childhood Education. After graduating from college I moved back to Atlanta where I started my career. So, you’re proba-bly asking yourself how I came to Erstwhile. Well, my father was diagnosed with A.L.S. You know, Lou Geh-rig’s disease. He died about six months ago. Now I’m living with my stepmother. She and my father were only married four years, but she really needs someone to help around the house. I really don’t mind sacrificing for the woman my father loved.” Emma paused briefly. “Now what about you, sweetie?”
Susan still wasn’t quite comfortable with her new friend. She thought better about being too forth-coming. But this woman certainly appeared to have a great deal of compassion for others. In an effort to avoid any uncomfortable questions she tried to slide the photo album from the arm of the chair and wedge it be-tween its side and her thigh. Her attempt at discretion did not work.
“What’s that?” Emma asked.
Susan sighed. She was unwilling to talk about the fact that she was in love with a man other than her husband. Maybe if she did this woman would leave and she could sort through her problems alone. She grabbed the album, picked it up and placed it on her lap. “It’s the photo album from our honeymoon in Paris.”
“Paris! I would love to go to Paris. It has to be the most romantic city in the world.” Emma spoke rap-idly. “Was it nice?”
“It could not have been more perfect.”
“Awe. Isn’t that sweet? Your husband must be the most romantic man alive.”
“He really is.” Susan hesitated, wanting to say more, but she didn’t.
Emma picked up on her friend’s consternation. “I sense that there is something more to your story than meets the eye.”
Susan nodded.
“I’m a good listener, if you’d like to talk about it.”
Susan drew in a deep breath and then exhaled. Not until that moment did she realize that the only woman she ever confided in died of a drug overdose twenty years earlier. The opportunity Emma represent-ed, and having someone to talk to become oddly, instantly welcomed. “I know that I married the most wonderful man that any woman could hope for, but I’m not sure he is the right man for me.” It was cathartic to confess her reality to someone.
“What makes you question whether or not he is the right man for you?”
Susan shifted her gaze from Emma to the gulf. She could not bring herself to utter the words while looking her in the eye. “I think I may still be in love with a man I’ve known since I was a teenager.”
Emma’s, “Hmm,” sounded very condescending.
“What?”
“Well, obviously I could be completely wrong, but could you be holding onto a past relationship for reasons that may have made sense to a teenager?”
“How could that be? I’m a mature woman. Plus, I have known Ralph all these years and my feelings haven’t changed.”
Emma paused in order to compose her thoughts in a tactful manner. “Could nothing between you and Ralph have ever changed because neither of you have ever embraced a change?”
“But I married my husband!”
“But you haven’t let go of Ralph.” The reality of Emma’s words stung Susan. There was no way that she would tell her she wanted Ralph to be near on her honeymoon.
Emma sensed that there would be no more confessions. “Would you be willing to give up your hus-band to spend the rest of your life with Ralph?” Susan shrugged her shoulders. “Do you find it telling that I know the name of your lifelong love and I don’t your husband’s?”
“Richard.”
Emma kept the conversation moving. “Have you been in touch with Ralph? Does he know how you feel?”
The thought of lying to her new friend was not something that Susan felt good about. She avoided dis-cussing Paris. “I have written him a letter in hopes of getting in touch with my true feelings. I put everything into that letter, but I never mailed it.”
“Did it work?”
Susan shook her head.
“What’ll you do now?”
“I will do my level best to resolve the situation with as little damage as possible.”