Reflection (24 page)

Drew was not much for sharing confidences, but on one occasion—after he'd had a few beers—he'd told Michael that his marriage had started to disintegrate after Will died. His wife became depressed to the point of attempting suicide, and she was in and out of hospitals for a year or so. When she started getting better, Drew had his own bout with depression, as if he'd avoided dealing with his own grief until she could handle hers without him. Ready to enjoy life once again, his wife couldn't tolerate Drew's black moods, and one day she simply packed up and moved out. They'd been divorced nearly ten years now, and as far as Michael could tell, Drew seemed thoroughly disinclined to remarry or even to develop a strong, close relationship with a woman. He dated women Michael thought of as “companions.” Drew would go to the movies with them, or out to dinner. He'd probably had a sexual relationship with one or two of them. But he seemed to be a thoroughly confirmed bachelor.

“Marriage didn't do much for me,” he'd said that night when he'd had too much to drink. “Gave me a son, took him away. Gave me a wife, made her crazy. Doesn't exactly inspire me to do it all over again.”

Michael got the steaks from the refrigerator, brushed a little steak sauce on them, and carried them out to the yard where Drew was stirring the coals in the flagstone barbecue. Michael handed him the plate, then picked up a bottle of club soda from the picnic table and twisted off the cap.

His mind was still on Will's picture. He couldn't imagine losing a child. Much as he'd missed seeing Rachel this week, he'd thoroughly enjoyed the rare uninterrupted time with his son.

“So,” Drew said as he slapped one of the steaks on the grill. “What's it like having your old comrade in town?”

It was a moment before Michael realized that Drew was talking about Rachel, not Jason. He took a swallow of soda. “Pretty rough,” he said as he leaned against the wall of the barbecue. The stone was cool through his shirt. “I'm trying not to see her for a while. I haven't spoken to her in a week. We were getting too close.”

“Really?” Drew looked at him from under hooded brows. “Just how far did things go?”

The question took Michael by surprise, and he laughed. “Nowhere you're thinking of,” he said, then shook his head. “We were twenty-three the last time we had a hankering for each other. You'd think it would be easier to deal with—or at least less frustrating—at forty-four.”

Drew laughed. “Yeah. I know what you're saying.”

“I don't mean to imply that it's just physical,” Michael said quickly. “It would actually be easier if it were.” He could resist a purely physical attraction, he thought. So black and white. So clearly wrong. It was all the other things Rachel offered him that he found difficult to resist.

Drew gave him that hooded look again. “Are we talking the L word, or do we just plain want to jump her bones?” he asked.

Michael laughed again, awkwardly this time, and dropped his gaze to the soda bottle in his hand. “Not sure I can talk about this,” he said. He'd intentionally skipped the support group on Friday night, but he really should go this week. He wished he could open up in there, use the group the way it was meant to be used. “It's both, I guess. We have a lot in common, and I've loved her since we were kids. I've just been able to forget that fact for the better part of the last two decades. Having her around makes it difficult.”

“Listen, Mike.” Drew peeked at the underside of one of the steaks, lifting it with the long tines of a barbecue fork. He stood up straight and looked Michael in the eye. “I know you and I don't exactly think alike on this sort of thing,” he said. “I can't relate to the whole element of religion that's so important to you. But…why don't you just go for it?”

Michael groaned. “It's not that simple, and you know it. Not that neat and clean.”

“You have this annoyingly refined sense of right and wrong, you know it?”

“Yes, I know it. And ‘going for it' would fall into the ‘wrong' category. Unforgivable. I have no right to see Rachel when I know it's putting my marriage at risk.”

Drew shook his head. “Why are you beating that poor old dead horse? You and Katy have nothing together anymore. You told me that yourself and—”

“Wait a minute.” An unexpected tide of panic welled up in Michael's chest. For a moment, he regretted ever having spoken candidly to Drew about his marriage. “If nothing else, we still have Jace.”

“Yeah, but you're a grown-up, you know? And so's Katy. You need more than a kid to make you happy. And Jace would survive if you split up.” Drew took a long draw on his beer. “You know, in all the years I've known you, I've never heard you say one really positive thing about Katy?”

Michael started to protest, but Drew interrupted him.

“Oh, you talk about how sharp she is, or about her professional accomplishments and all, but I've never gotten the sense that she makes you happy.”

Michael felt the wave of panic again. Drew was right. “It's not just Katy that stops me,” he said. “Not just my marriage.”

Drew turned the steaks over. “You're trapped, you know that, Mike?” He looked at him. “I mean, there've been times when I've envied you because you always seemed to know just where you fit in. You're always so calm and… I don't know, at peace with yourself and your religion and all. But it's got you trapped, doesn't it? You can't do anything—”

“I don't feel that way,” Michael argued. “I've never felt trapped.” At least he'd never felt that way before.

“It's not really like you'd be doing something behind Katy's back.” Drew couldn't seem to shut up. “You told me the two of you were viewing this time as a separation.”

“Well, that's changed.”

Drew eyed him, the fork poised in the air. “What do you mean?”

“I got a call from her the other night. She was upset and said she wanted to work out our problems when she gets back.”

For the first time in too many minutes, Drew seemed to have nothing to say. He turned the steaks over again, unnecessarily. “She was probably just in a mood,” he said finally. “PMS or something. Feeling lonely.”

“Well, I don't know what prompted it. All I know is that I can't pretend I don't have a wife.”

“Let me just say two things.” Drew sat down on top of the picnic table. “I need to get this out, okay? Then I'll quit bugging you.”

“Do I have a choice?” Michael asked wryly.

“No, you don't.” He held his index finger in the air. “First of all, I personally think that you and Rachel should do whatever you damn well please.”

Michael started to protest, but Drew cut him off. “I know you think I'm some sort of amoral pagan,” he said, “but I'm just giving you my opinion. Whatever you do, though,” he leaned forward, “you'd better keep it private. Friends or lovers, you've got to keep this thing under wraps.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I've heard some dirt already. People have seen the two of you together, and people don't like her. Whether that's fair or not is beside the point. They just don't. And right now, with the land fight and all, you need to keep people's respect. This town worships the ground you walk on, but no one's so blinded by admiration for you that they won't see what's happening. You need to keep your credibility in shape.”

People were talking about him behind his back. “Who's saying things?” he asked. “What have you heard?”

“Just…couple of guys on the crew. Russell over at the post office. Those who aren't saying it are thinking it. This town is too small and you're too visible and Katy is too well thought of. You don't need a scandal right now, Mike, so do what you want with Rachel—I personally think you should ball her brains out and have a good time doing it; and you should forget about your wife who said with her own two lips, ‘I'm treating this like a separation,'—but whatever you do, don't get caught at it.”

The steaks were done. He and Drew ate dinner on the picnic table, an unusual silence between them. Michael steered any conversation away from Rachel, away from Katy, but those thoughts gnawed at him and he found he could hardly eat.

“Hey, I tore something out of the Sunday
Washington Post
for you,” Drew said when they had nearly finished.

“What's that?”

“It's in the kitchen. An ad for the National Symphony. They're doing an all-Huber concert on…not this weekend, but the next one, I think. The nineteenth? Thought maybe Rachel and her grandmother might be interested.”

“Yes, thanks. I'm sure they would be.” And so was he, although he had Jace to think about. Jace and so much more. Still, he could picture himself and the two women making a weekend of it in D.C. Away from Reflection. Away from any gossip.

He left Drew's house earlier than he'd planned and drove directly to the church. He didn't go downstairs to his office. Instead, he walked into the empty sanctuary, leaving it dark except for the light in the foyer, and sat down in one of the center pews.

He loved the elegant simplicity of this church. Through one of the tall narrow windows he could see the half-moon in the blue-black sky, and although they were not visible, he felt the nearness of the forest and the pond. He closed his eyes, and the inside of his eyelids held a dark memory of the half-moon.

I've gotten too smug, Lord
.

He had lived a holy life for so long that it felt effortless to him. It
had
been effortless. It was easy to be righteous when there was nothing to tempt you away from that path. Rachel had been the cause of his failing when he was younger. His weakness. He'd wanted something he couldn't have. And here she was back again, like a test.

Is this a test, Lord? If it is, I need your help to pass it
.

There were people in the church who had not wanted him as their minister because he had been raised outside the faith. He was raised with worldly values, they argued. Worldly ideals. He could slip too easily. Until now, he'd thought they were mistaken.

Grant me humility, and please help me to remember all those for whom I'm responsible.

“I personally think you should ball her brains out.”

Michael jerked to attention, eyes open. Outside the window, the moon was a sharp white sickle in the sky, and it was a moment before he could shift his eyes from it and return his focus to his prayer.

Please give me the strength to fight temptation
.

He sat quietly in the empty church an hour longer, words of prayer burning like a blister on his tongue. For the first time, though, he had the feeling that no one was listening.

RACHEL'S PALMS WERE DAMP
as she parked her car in front of the small, brick United Church of Christ. She turned off the ignition and looked across the street at the Lutheran church. She was to meet Becky Frank there in five minutes, at seven o'clock, but she couldn't bring herself to get out of the car and stand in front of the church to wait. Women—and an occasional man or two—walked up the broad sidewalk toward the church's red door, carrying their gym bags, laughing and chatting together. As courageous as she'd been lately about going places, being seen, she didn't want to wait awkwardly among those strangers.

She spotted the red hair first. Becky walked up the sidewalk of the Lutheran church and, once she'd reached the door, turned to face the street. She glanced at her watch, and Rachel got out of her car and waved.

Becky met her with a hug. “You look great!” she said. “Haven't changed a bit.”

“Right.” Rachel smiled. “Although I can say the same about you and mean it sincerely.” Except for the finest of lines in the fairest of skin, Becky looked about seventeen. Her distinctive red hair was still cut in the pageboy that had been dated even in high school.

They entered the church foyer, and Becky led her down the stairs to the basement and into a large room with a hardwood floor and low ceiling. Several women and a couple of men were milling around, a few of them stretching, a few engaged in conversation. All of them wore curious expressions as Rachel and Becky entered the room. A couple of them greeted Becky warmly.

“This is my friend Rachel,” Becky said to the women closest to them.

The women nodded at Rachel as Becky rattled off their names, but there was no time for anything more than introductions before the thirtyish blond instructor started the music.

It was a good class, strenuous enough to let Rachel know that she was still not back in shape in spite of her bike rides but not so taxing that she couldn't keep up. The instructor was the peppy type whose enthusiasm was contagious. She had everyone clapping and smiling, and by the end of the forty-five minutes Rachel felt flushed and happy.

In the spacious but cramped ladies' room she and Becky showered and dressed along with a half-dozen other women. Rachel wondered if they knew who she was. Several of them seemed friendly; a few others didn't even look in her direction. Typical of any group, she thought.

Becky seemed to know them all well. She talked to the women about their kids and their jobs, while Rachel remained uncharacteristically quiet. She would usually try to join in the conversation of a group like this, but here she was afraid of stepping over boundary lines she couldn't see.

She was slipping on her sandals when one of the women asked her how her grandmother was doing. So they
did
know who she was.

“She's recovering very well,” Rachel said with a smile—probably a bit too wide, but the woman's simple show of concern cheered her. “Thanks for asking.”

She and Becky were heading for the door of the rest room when the woman called out, “I hope you'll come again,” and Rachel was so heartened by that invitation that she barely heard the rush of whispering that followed them out the door.