Answered Prayers (15 page)

They chatted easily on the way to the restaurant. He talked about his latest cases that had come in, and as they drove past NYU, he reminded her optimistically that she would be there soon, at the law school, and she smiled. It was easy just being with him, and talking about things. She admitted to him how hurt she had been when Ellie said she wasn't coming home.

“It's hard, Fred,” he said, looking gently at her, “we have to be pretty thick-skinned. It's not easy watching them grow up and go away. I can't believe how much I've missed my boys this year. But it's their job to try their wings, and ours to let them fly away. Tough stuff, I know,” he said, taking her hand. They held hands comfortably until they reached the restaurant. And she was startled by how cozy it was. It was an adorable little Italian place. The waiter gave them a table in a quiet corner, and she and Brad settled in. She dropped her coat over the back of the chair, in case she got cold. And Brad couldn't help noticing again how pretty she was. “I forget what you look like sometimes,” he teased. “When I get your e-mails, you're ten years old again in my head, or at the most fourteen. And then suddenly, when I see you, you're all grown up.”

“It's funny. It happens to me too. In my mind's eye, you're always about fourteen and I'm twelve. Remember the time we put the frog in Jack's bed?” She laughed just thinking of it, and so did Brad.

“Yes, I do. He damn near killed me for it. He put a snake in mine the next time I came over, as revenge. I hated those corn snakes of his.”

“Me too.” They ordered dinner then, and a half bottle of white wine. It was the perfect place to have come, it was quiet and pretty, and peaceful just sitting there with him. And with Alex away, they had all the time in the world.

“So what do you think will happen now, when you start classes in January?” In both their minds, the LSAT prep class didn't really count, although it was hard work. Brad asked with curiosity, after they finished their salad, and waited for the main course, “Do you think Alex will get used to it, or go berserk?” He didn't know about the LSAT class she'd been taking so couldn't object.

“I think he'll complain. But the truth is, we hardly see each other. We barely speak. He comes in, eats dinner, goes to bed. And a couple of days a week he goes on business trips. He wants a lot less attention from me than he thinks,” she said practically. She had it all worked out in her head.

“And what about you?” Brad asked pointedly. “What do you want from him, Fred?” It was the kind of question Jack used to ask her, and that she seldom asked herself. Faith was a woman who made few demands, and admitted to few needs. She had taken care of herself emotionally for a long time, just as she had as a child, with the exception of Jack's support.

“I don't need much,” she said quietly, lowering her eyes and looking down at her hands. “I have everything I want,” she said, glancing back up at him.

“I didn't mean materially, I mean what do you need from him to make your life work?” It was a question he had recently asked himself.

“My life works the way it is. Besides, Alex isn't someone who's open to meeting other people's needs.” He was shut down, and had always been. It was something she had accepted about him for a long time.

“How nice for him, if he can get away with it. Who's there for you, Fred?” The question was blunt and to the point, as Faith shrugged. For a variety of reasons, she had isolated herself in recent years. She had needed time to grieve Jack's death. And she had focused all her emotional energies on the girls in their last years at home. Alex hadn't enjoyed socializing with her much in recent years. He was consumed by his work. And particularly since Jack's death, she had drifted away from her friends. She had become very solitary, which made her all the more grateful for Brad's friendship now. It was easier to let him in because he was part of her childhood and had been so close to Jack. In some ways, she had not yet recovered from her brother's death.

“All I really need are my kids. They're always there for me.” She had reduced her needs to that, and it was all that mattered now.

“Really? It doesn't sound like Ellie's on that team, if she's going to Saint Moritz over the holidays. She's meeting her own needs, although that's standard behavior for one's kids.” He was blunt about what he saw, and it bothered him that Eloise was so kind to her father, and so hard on Faith.

“She's young,” Faith said rapidly, willing to make excuses for her, as she was for everyone else, and always had been. Where others around her were critical, Faith always made an affort to excuse and forgive. She was generous to a fault.

“The truth is that most of the time anyway, our kids aren't there for us. It's not their job to be. They're too busy putting together their own lives,” Brad said philosophically. “But it kind of makes you wonder sometimes who's there for us, if anyone. It's great if you have a big family, brothers and sisters, a supportive spouse. But if not, who does that leave? It's not a trick question, by the way. I don't know the answer to it myself. I was thinking about it on the plane on the way here. Pam is so busy with her own life, and her own concerns, I'm not sure if I needed her, she'd be there. That's a hell of a realization to make. I had to go to the hospital for a checkup recently, just ordinary stuff, but they asked for the name of who to call in an emergency. I put down my secretary's name after I thought about it. Because I figured if they called Pam, she wouldn't take the call. It was kind of a wake-up call for me.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked, as they set down a big juicy steak in front of him, and grilled sole in front of Faith.

“Absolutely nothing,” he said honestly. “But occasionally, it does me good to face reality. I used to have a lot of illusions about what marriage should be. And the truth is, it never was. Not ours in any case, and not my parents'. They hated each other for years until they got divorced. They did a lot of ugly stuff to each other when they did, and they hardly talked for years afterward. I never wanted to have a marriage like that, and I don't. Pam and I don't hate each other, thank God, I'm not sure what we feel for each other anymore, if anything. We're friends, I guess, or something like that. Or maybe just strangers who live at the same address.” It was a painful admission to make, but he had resigned himself to it years before, just as Faith had made her peace with the way Alex treated her, and how little he involved himself in her daily life. But she hoped that he would be there for her if she ever got sick. But failing that, he offered very little in terms of daily involvement and support. He was more interested in his own life, and had been for a long time. She couldn't even remember when it had gotten that way, or how different it had been before. Probably not much. She had just been busy with the girls, and hadn't had time to observe how absent he was. Even when his body was there, his heart and mind were not.

“You know,” Faith said thoughtfully, “it's more of a statement about us than about them. Their needs are being met, or they are living out their fantasies about marriage, or their histories. Neither of them seems to need much from us, or wants to be particularly involved. We see it differently, and want more, I guess, but we're willing to accept the little they mete out. What do you suppose that says about us?”

“I used to think it made me a good guy. Lately, I'm not so sure. I think it's more about cowardice and maintaining the status quo than about much else. I don't want to make waves. I don't want to fight with her. I never want a divorce. I want to finish my life the way I started it, on the same path, with the same house, the same wife, the same job I have now. I think I hate change, because of the way I grew up. My parents were constantly threatening each other, one was always about to move out. I grew up worrying about what was going to happen, and then finally it did. I don't want to live like that now. I don't want any surprises like that.”

“Neither do I,” Faith said with a comfortable sigh. It was nice talking about it with him. She used to do it with Jack, but there had been no one to fill that role since he died.

“We pay a high price for it though,” Brad commented as he finished his steak, and set his knife and fork down on his plate. Faith had only eaten half of her fish, but she had a small appetite, which was reflected by her tiny figure. “You sacrifice a lot when you compromise, especially when you're willing to let someone else set the terms. I guess I must figure it's worth it, or I wouldn't do it. The price of peace.” He was remarkably honest, and she admired him for it. He knew what he had given up, and he seemed comfortable with it. In its own way, his was not unlike her life. Except Alex was a little more dictatorial with her than Pam was with Brad. They seemed to have solved it by going their separate ways. She and Alex still shared a life, at least most of the time, even if they didn't communicate much, or share their thoughts. She hadn't confided in him in years.

“It's lonely sometimes,” Faith said softly, as though afraid to say the words. It was something she seldom even admitted to herself, but felt safe saying to him now. She felt safe with him, and always had.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, and took her hand in his again. It was wonderful being with her. “Do you miss Jack as much as I do, Fred?” he asked after a long moment, and she nodded and looked into his eyes, hers were brimming with tears.

“Yes, I do, especially at this time of year. I don't know why. I miss him all the time. Christmas shouldn't be different from any other time, but somehow it is.”

“I don't miss Debbie though,” Brad commented honestly, and Faith laughed.

“God, no. She was such a bitch. Talk about sacrificing everything for peace. I'll never know why Jack put up with her. She was awful to him. I don't know how many times she left him, or threatened to. She'd have driven me insane. At least Alex goes his own way, and does his own thing, and it sounds like Pam does too. Debbie was constantly in his face.”

“He was crazy about her though,” Brad reminded her. “I couldn't figure it out myself. I think it's one of the reasons he and I saw less and less of each other. She hated me, and I wasn't too fond of her. It kind of got in the way with me and Jack.”

“You know, she walked away without ever looking back,” Faith explained as she sat back in her chair against the red coat, which looked like a giant flower engulfing her. “Her lawyer let us know she was getting remarried and moving away. She never called. She never wrote. I never heard from her again.”

“That stinks,” Brad said, and Faith agreed.

“Much as I dislike her, I wish Jack had had kids with her, or with someone at least. It would be so wonderful to have his children now. This way, there's nothing left… just the memories … and not much else,” Faith said, fighting back tears again, as Brad squeezed her hand.

“We have each other, Fred. That's what he left us. All the good times we shared, all those memories, all those years when we were kids.” She nodded in answer, and for a moment couldn't speak.

They had cappuccino after dinner, and decided to skip dessert. And Faith was surprised when Brad looked straight at her. “Do you suppose there are any good marriages, Fred? I wonder sometimes. When I look around at the people we know, I don't think there's a single one of them who has something I'd want. It sounds cynical, but I'm beginning to think no one's dreams ever come true. We all kid ourselves about what we're getting when we start out, and how it'll turn out, and in the end, we all end up like you and I. Making compromises that cost us a hell of a lot, and being grateful for our kids and old friends to get us by.”

“That's a sad way to look at it, Brad. I like to think that somebody out there is happy. I have friends who are. At least I think they are. I can't say I'm not. I just don't have what I thought I would with Alex. It's different, that's all.” And she didn't say it to him, but her faith sustained her, and added another dimension to her life. She had always been very devout, as was Jack. Brad had always admired them both for that, and envied them their faith.

“I think you're kidding yourself, Fred. We wouldn't be e-mailing each other for old times' sake, if we had what we want in our marriages. Our kids wouldn't be the hub of our lives to the extent that they are. We might even be happy when they finally grow up and go away. What do you think you have with Alex, Fred? What would you say, honestly? I think I had a friend and a business associate in Pam, and now that we don't work together we're just friends, if that. We're roommates, and not much more.” Listening to him, it sounded sad to her, but he seemed comfortable with it. He was remarkably honest, both with her and himself. He had few illusions left, and no dreams.

“I think Alex and I are friends,” she said thoughtfully, though he thought she was being overly generous, from all he'd heard from her. But she didn't delude herself that they were still in love. They were not, but they had been once. Or at least, she had been in love with him. She was no longer sure how much emotion Alex was capable of. Probably less than she had once hoped. “We support each other. No, that's wrong,” she corrected herself, “I support him. And he provides for me. He's a good father to the girls, he's responsible. He's a decent human being.” She was struggling to find more, and having trouble coming up with words to describe what he was to her. He was solid, she could count on him. But he didn't give her much emotionally, and hadn't in years.

“See what I mean? It's not exactly what you thought marriage would be, is it, Fred? When I take a good look, I see the same thing. But just like you, I wouldn't change it. I don't think there would be much point. I think the conclusion I've come to is that you get what you get, and you make the best of it. But the truth is, it leaves a lot of holes in your life to fill. You fill it with kids, with friends, with work, with dreams, with fantasies, with regrets, with whatever works. But no matter what you fill it with, or how hard you try to kid yourself, the holes are still there.”

“That's a tough way to look at it,” Faith said, a little shaken by what he'd said, but she couldn't disagree.