Travelers Rest (13 page)

Laney shook her head. She gathered Jane in her arms and held her tight. Then, pulling back, she said, “I have to get you home now.”

By the time they arrived, the ambulance had come and gone. Most of the guests had retreated to their rooms or left the house in deference to the tragedy unfolding under its roof. Gram was in the kitchen, talking with two policemen and a man Jane recognized as the family lawyer.

Jane pulled her hand from Laney’s and ran to her parents’ bedroom. Her father was there, sitting in profile on the edge of the bed, cradling something against his chest. He was weeping quietly and mumbling words Jane couldn’t hear. In another moment the weeping turned to rage as he threw the empty bottle of bourbon against the bedroom wall. The last remnant of Meredith that he’d cradled to his heart now shattered into a dozen shards of glass.

“Daddy?”

Peter Morrow turned toward his daughter’s voice. Jane drew back at the bitter anguish sketched into the contours of his face.
I shouldn’t be here,
she thought. But to her surprise, he opened his arms. She hung back for several awkward seconds before running into them. The moment tasted bittersweet. Mamma was dead, but for the first time, Jane believed that her father might actually love her.

———

“Oh, excuse me. Sorry. Clumsy of me.”

Jane brushed a peanut out of her hair and looked up at her accidental assailant. “That’s all right. No problem. It’s pretty crowded here.”

The young man holding the bag of peanuts looked around the park. “Yeah. Great turnout, huh? I’ve never seen this place so crowded. Have you?”

Jane shook her head and shrugged. “I’ve only been here once before—”

“What’s that?” The young man squatted down to hear better over the drums.

“I said, I’ve only been here once before. I don’t actually live here in Asheville. I’m just visiting for the summer.”

“Oh yeah? Well, mind if I sit here? It looks like the boulders are all taken.”

Jane laughed and nodded at the concrete ledge beside her. “Go ahead. It’s open.”

The young man sat. For the next few minutes Jane was uncomfortably aware of his body close to hers, so close that in the gentle push and shove of the crowd their elbows occasionally touched. He was tall, with firm sun-browned legs sticking out from a pair of denim shorts and ending in a pair of tattered leather Docksiders. He wore a T-shirt with the letters UNCA emblazoned across the front. Jane wondered whether he might be a student at the university there in Asheville. He ate from a bag of peanuts, his right arm traveling methodically up and down between the bag and his mouth. He had a pleasant face, intelligent eyes behind a pair of unobtrusive glasses, and a head of wild brown curls that obviously refused to be tamed. He exuded a quiet strength, a strength that he himself seemed unaware of or perhaps disinterested in, as he absorbed the activity around him with the same enthusiasm with which he inhaled the nuts.

He looked at her once and smiled, then looked away again. She had come to the park so she wouldn’t have to be alone. But she didn’t want this either, this reminder of what it was
not
to be alone. This reminder of men in the world whose bodies were strong and young and healthy. Whose bodies worked and whose limbs moved at will and without thought, as though it were something to be taken for granted rather than something to be embraced with gratitude.

At the next break in the drumming,
Jane decided,
I’ll leave.

But before that break came, the young man turned to her and asked, “So you enjoying your stay in Asheville?”

“What? Oh yes. Very much.” Jane offered what she hoped might pass for a genuine smile. “It’s such an eclectic little town.”

“That’s a good way to put it. Where you from?”

“Troy. You probably never heard of it.”

“Nope. That in North Carolina?”

“Yeah. About a hundred and fifty miles east of here. There’s not much there but, well . . .” Jane shrugged. “It’s home.”

“I’m from Atlanta myself. I prefer Asheville, though.”

Jane nodded. The rhythmic drumming went on. There should be a break soon, Jane thought, and then she would cut her way through the crowd and head home.

The man beside her wadded up the now empty bag and stood. Jane felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. She pasted on another smile and looked up at him with the intention of saying
Good-bye. Nice to meet you.
But before she could get the words out, he nodded toward the dancers and said, “I’m going down. Want to come?”

She looked from him to the dancers and back again. “You mean, go down there and dance?”

“Sure,” he said. “But listen, I’m going to go throw this away. I’ll be right back.”

He leapt off the tier and headed for a garbage can. Jane sat momentarily paralyzed by indecision. She wanted to dance with him, and she didn’t. She felt self-conscious, yet at the same time she didn’t care what this crowd of strangers thought. And then there was Seth.

Jane looked at her engagement ring, fingered the diamond. The young man must not have noticed it.

She was in love with Seth, engaged to be married to him. But she was here and Seth was somewhere else, and maybe for a few minutes she could just have fun, just enjoy life again.

She slipped the ring off and tucked it into the pocket of her Capri pants. Then the man was there, standing in front of her, holding out his hand. She hesitated only a moment, and then she took it.

18

Hey Diana,

How’s London? The house is quiet without you, but Roscoe, Juniper, and I are enjoying one another’s company and are doing well. Okay, fairly well, except that last night I ended up giving my cell phone number to some guy I met in Pritchard Park. I can’t believe I did it. I went to listen to the drumming and ended up on the dance floor with this guy named Ted Taggert. What’s worse is that after we danced for nearly an hour—which was an absolute blast, by the way—he asked me to have dinner with him, and I said yes. We ended up eating at the Grove Arcade, and we didn’t pay the bill (Dutch treat, I insisted) until we noticed the kitchen closing up and the light being turned off.

Don’t think I’m happy about this, Diana, because I’m not. I’m in love with Seth, and I don’t intend to break my commitment to him.

I’m wondering, though, whether you happen to know Ted, or whether you know
of
him, since he works at the U. It’s a large campus, I realize, and you’re in different departments, but maybe you’ve come across him. He’s an assistant professor in environmental studies. His PhD is in something having to do with fish and with stream ecosystems, and though he spent an hour over dinner telling me about his studies and his work, I didn’t retain enough of it to begin to tell you anything at all. I only know that when he isn’t teaching or poking around in stream beds, he’s playing guitar with a three-piece band started by one of the other professors. They’ve actually released a CD! They call themselves the Tree-hugging Trio.

He likes to talk so, thankfully, I didn’t have to tell him much about myself. All he knows is that I’m from Troy and I’m in town house-sitting. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Seth, and I’m kicking myself now for that. I believe that’s called telling a lie by not telling the whole truth.

But I guess when it comes right down to it, I wanted a night away, a night of not thinking about my life. When the opportunity showed up, I took it. For a few hours I remembered how it felt to be young and alive. But I should have stopped there and not given Ted the impression I would see him again. Now I’ve opened up for myself a pretty can of worms. I feel awful for not having told him about Seth to begin with. And to think I did this behind Seth’s back. Last night it was fun; this morning it leaves me feeling sick.

Okay, so help me out with this problem, will you? Tell me what to do, how to get out of it politely if Ted calls. Maybe my old pre-Seth luck will hold out and he won’t call. That would make it easiest all around.

Love,

Jane

———

Jane,

So what’s the problem? I don’t consider meeting a nice, intelligent young man a problem. Instead, I’d call that crazy good luck. So you gave him your phone number. Of course you did. You’d have been an idiot not to. Yes, there’s Seth. I realize that. But listen, don’t be a martyr. Don’t sacrifice yourself on the altar of commitment. If you and Seth were already married, that would be different. But you’re not. You are still free to pursue another direction with your life. To answer your question, I don’t know Ted. But he sounds like someone I would like to know, and someone you
ought
to know. So when he calls, by all means, see him, talk with him, get to know him. Give him—and yourself—a chance.

Listen, I’m not at all saying you should dump Seth. And I’m certainly not saying you should dump him because he’s disabled, though let’s be honest here, it does change the situation, and it changes it into something you didn’t sign up for when you agreed to marry him. But if you still want to marry him, all right, it’s up to you.

What I think you should understand is this: You wouldn’t have given Ted your phone number if you hadn’t wanted to, right? If you hadn’t been attracted to him, you could have easily skipped on the dinner invitation. You know, “Thanks but no thanks. And by the way, I’m engaged.” But you went and you had a good time, and maybe that’s the first clue that you’re ready to move on.

Hey, I may be a woman of science, but I also happen to be an incorrigible romantic. We only have one chance to get it right. Well, okay, there’s always divorce, but why not try to get it right on the first go-round? Saves a lot of time, money, and heartache when you do. And listen, Jane, no guilt. You wanted to feel young and alive because you
are
young and alive. And you deserve to be happy, just as we all do.

Must dash. Carl and I are getting ready for dinner with some of his co-workers. London is fabulous; more about that later.

For now, I’m thinking of you and sending love.

Diana

19

T
his your room, Truman?”

Truman looked up from the newspaper in his lap and smiled at Jane, who stood in the open doorway. “This is it. Come on in. Were you looking for me or just happening by?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me.” He waved toward the unoccupied vinyl chair that matched his own. “Have a seat.”

Jane sat down and looked briefly around the room. His was one of the private rooms consisting of a single bed, a chest of drawers, two chairs, a TV, and a couple of standard-issue prints on the walls, cheap-motel style landscapes. Few things in the room spoke of Truman Rockaway and his life, other than a couple of medical books on the dresser and a framed photograph of a young woman wearing pearls.

Jane studied the photo curiously, wondering whether it might be Maggie. “Is that . . . ?”

“My mother,” Truman said. “When she was young.”

“Ah.” Jane nodded. “She was very pretty.”

“Yes, she was. I don’t have many photos of her. It was Mrs. Evans who paid for the sitting for her, a birthday gift, I believe it was. She even let Mamma borrow the necklace for the picture.”

“Very nice.”

Truman smiled. “Have you been visiting with Seth?” he asked.

“Briefly. His parents are here this weekend.”

“And you don’t like them?”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong. I love them. We get along great.”

“Well?”

Jane shrugged. “I try to give them space. You know, time together. Besides . . .”

“Besides what?”

“It’s hard sometimes. Being with them, I mean. Jewel used to look at me with love and pride. Now she looks at me with pity. When Seth is released from here in a couple of months, they’ll be taking him home to Troy. So today they were talking about the changes they’re making to the house. You know, making it wheelchair accessible and all. Jewel is going to retire to take care of Seth full-time.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s as though I’m not in the picture anymore. Like we never had a wedding planned. I’m beginning to lose hope, Truman.”

“Hope is one thing we must never lose, Jane.”

“I suppose. Unless in fact the situation truly is hopeless.” She gave a small, sad laugh.

“I don’t think your situation with Seth is hopeless.”

“My best friend Diana thinks I ought to just move on. Seth’s parents seem to think the same thing. And come on, let’s face it, Seth wants me to find someone else. He told me so.”

Truman folded the paper and rubbed his chin. “I believe we had this conversation before, didn’t we, Jane?”