Unlovely (39 page)

Tony pulled the car into highway traffic
and peeked at Claudia out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning back with
her eyes closed. Pretending to sleep, he thought. Or maybe he wasn't being
fair. Maybe she was exhausted. Who knew? He couldn't trust his judgment with
regard to his daughter anymore.

Tony knew he hadn't been a terrific
father. Perhaps he played a role in the disaster of Claudia's adulthood. On the
other hand, it wasn't like life had been a picnic for him, either, and he'd
managed to hold it together all these years. Part of him felt a great deal of
sympathy for his child. The other part of him was ashamed of her for her
weakness. Sometimes he wanted to give her a hug, sometimes he thought she
needed a good kick in the ass.

And now she was on medication. Tony
tried to imagine how that would work out. He pictured Claudia walking around
strung out like a junkie. Maybe she'd sleep like she was sleeping now all the
time, just sit down and pass out. A zombie. He was a pharmacist, he knew
medications, but he wasn't a fan of the psychotropic drugs. A dependency on
them seemed to be one step away from being an addict. It was a bad way to cope
with life.

Sylvia had wanted Claudia to live with
them this year, had expected it. She had gone through every room, spending
extra time in the bathroom, removing anything even remotely dangerous. In her
nervous anxiety she had cleaned and polished until the house fairly shone. Then
came the news that Claudia intended to live at Melanie's. Sylvia had been
despondent, but for his part, Tony was relieved. He wasn't so sure everything
wouldn't go to hell in her life again, whether they were there or not, and
frankly, he was too old to put up with it. He loved his girl, but he could love
her better from a distance.

"So, how are you doing,
honey?" Tony asked when Claudia opened her eyes, yawned and stretched her
legs as best she could in the confined space.

"About as well as could be
expected," she answered. "Lots to do today."

The days that followed were ones of concentrated work
on the foreign language curriculum. It was fairly easy for Claudia; she rarely
had to compromise since she was the only teacher in the German section. It went
so well, in fact, that by Thursday her colleagues suggested she go home and
rest up while they took care of the details. Claudia protested that she would
prefer to fulfill her obligations to the letter, but in fact she was somewhat
grateful to be relieved of her duties. Her digestion had been upset over the
past few weeks. She hadn't been able to keep much in her stomach since the fast
food burgers on Sunday, and she'd been feeling a little weak as a result. One
of her colleagues recommended she go to a doctor, and even offered to drive
her, but Claudia demurred.

On Thursday evening Claudia skipped
dinner and made a cup of tea in her rooms instead. She sat down at her computer
and immediately went back to the social networking site, just as she'd done for
the past several days. It was pleasant to daydream and sip her tea while
looking at Mark's picture. It was like having him in the room with her. She
enjoyed discussing her day with him.

Claudia typed Mark's name into the search
bar and located his profile page quickly. His wall and information were still
unchanged – inaccessible – but there was something different this evening. Mark
had put up a new profile picture. Instead of the familiar formal pose in the
tweed jacket and tie, Mark's new picture showed him sitting on a leather
wingback chair, his right hand resting on his dog's head. He was wearing jeans,
a plaid sports shirt and a blue cardigan.

Claudia couldn't believe her eyes. The
cardigan. The blue cardigan! Not the same sweater, but very similar to the one
he had worn their first night together, the sweater he'd looked so handsome in.
This couldn't just be a coincidence. And then there was the picture itself: not
a shot of Mark with Susan, but a photo with his dog. His dog! This was not a
picture of a man madly in love with his wife.

Claudia's heart was pounding. She put
her cup on the desk so abruptly that the tea sloshed on her hand, but she
didn't even feel it.

There was only one explanation for
Mark's changing his photo at this particular time: Mark must have been
searching for her on the site, just as she'd searched for him. It wasn't until
two days ago that she'd figured out how to post the picture of herself. Mark
must have seen it and then the memories had all come flooding back, just as
they had for her. He must have relived their life together, recalled every
detail of it the way she'd done (the way she did every day). He remembered
wearing the sweater on their first date, and he remembered how she'd liked it. He
was trying to please her.

That had to be it! It had to be. He was
reticent to get in touch with her (who could blame him? Once bitten, twice shy)
and so he'd sent out this subtle, subtle signal to her. It was as if he were
saying, "I remember everything, Claudia. I remember you. Do you remember
me, and what we once were to each other?" He was declaring himself, but in
a secret way that only the two of them would understand.

It was a perfectly romantic thing to do,
and Claudia was deeply moved.

A tremendous wave of relief flooded her
body and made her weak. She had been holding a part of herself in reserve,
afraid to be hurt again. There were many nights over the past couple of months
when lying in bed, agitated from all the recent developments in her personal
life and unable to sleep, she'd wondered if she were building things up in her
mind. It seemed too good to be true, having Mark in her life again. It was like
a fairy tale. Now she had confirmation that it wasn't make-believe, and she
could allow herself to enjoy being completely, madly in love.

Joy! She wanted to sing at the top of
her lungs. Claudia flew to her radio and switched it on, turning the dial to
find a rock station. Generally, she disliked contemporary music, but at this
moment she needed to hear something loud and rhythmic and exultant. After a few
moments of frustration she found Foreigner, turned the volume way up, and
started dancing around her rooms with the wild abandon of a gypsy. To think how
close she'd come to giving up!

Horrible thought: what if that glass had
broken into usable pieces the other night and she'd done away with herself?
What if this moment had never occurred? No! Stop that thinking. It
had
happened, it had really happened. He wanted her, Mark wanted her, and some
force in the universe had thwarted her foolish plans so that she could discover
it.

It was all so perfect, so miraculous!
Claudia was laughing like she hadn't laughed in years. Then, inexplicably, she
started to cry. One moment she was happy – blissfully happy, her heart could
burst – but the next she was sobbing, devastated to think of the wasted years,
to remember what a mess she'd made of everything.

This lasted for quite a while, this back
and forth, until finally she was simply exhausted, and she fell onto the sofa,
music blaring, and willed herself to lie still and concentrate on the happy
feelings. It did no good to rehash the bad things. They needed to be put into a
bag with a rock and thrown into the deepest part of the deepest ocean.

Just as her tears came under control,
she heard a knock on her door.

"Claudia? Claudia are you all
right?" It was one of the school counselors, still on campus to earn a
little extra money as a hall monitor for the
campers
two floors below.

Claudia sat up on the couch with a jerk
and reached over to turn down the volume on her radio. She swallowed hard to
clear her throat before answering.

"I'm quite well, thank you. Why do
you ask?" Claudia answered in what she hoped was a normal tone of voice.

"May I come in?"

Claudia looked around her sanctuary. No
way.

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm tired and
ready for bed. I don't want to see visitors now."

A pause. "Okay, but could you keep
it down, please? The girls are complaining about noise up here."

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I was drying my
hair and my favorite song was on the radio – I had the volume up very high.
Please extend my apologies."

"All right. Thanks."

"Good night."

A moment later, "You're sure
everything is okay?"

Claudia approached the door until she was
inches from it and spoke more forcefully. "What makes you ask? Why
wouldn't everything be okay? I just had some music playing too loud, you asked
me to turn it down, and I did. I didn't realize this was a matter of such grave
concern."

Another pause, the shuffling of feet.
"Of course you're right. Sorry, Claudia. See you tomorrow." And then
the sound of footsteps moving away down the hall.

That was embarrassing. Claudia walked
back to the table and turned her radio up, just a little. Then a little higher
again. She was tired of always putting herself last all the time, of being
patient and good, of denying herself happiness so that others could have things
the way they wanted. She had a right to enjoy her life. It was time to begin
making more plans.

Claudia increased the volume of the
music just a bit more, opened her notebook and commenced writing some of these
plans down. She didn't jump around or sing loudly, though. She was willing to
compromise that much.

Claudia slept lightly and the next morning woke well
before seven. It had taken her forever to get her mind to stop racing so she
could sleep at all; eventually she'd been forced to take a Benadryl tablet to
help her relax. She'd been a bit nervous about taking an antihistamine after
having drunk a couple of tiny glasses of Schnapps earlier in the evening, but
she woke up okay. As usual, it seems she'd been worried for nothing.

Claudia hopped out of bed and went
straight to the shower. After drying off and dressing, she brewed some coffee,
rejecting a trip to the dining hall again. She hadn't been eating in the dining
hall too often lately – so noisy, so crowded; it was impossible to hear
yourself think. All she ever felt like eating lately was toast, anyway. Better
to just stay in her rooms.

After eating half a slice of bread and
swallowing a mouthful of scalding coffee, burning her tongue and the roof of
her mouth, she went over to her desk and opened her laptop. It was time,
finally, to send Mark a message.

Claudia had thought about it all last night
as she'd tossed on her pillow. She could wait another week, another month,
another year for Mark to contact her directly and nothing at all might happen.
If Mark was so shy that he could only signal to her via wardrobe choices in
profile pictures, Claudia might be in her mid-forties before she ever found
herself in Mark's arms again. She just couldn't stand the suspense. She was
done playing games.

Claudia had briefly entertained the
possibility of requesting Mark to be a friend on the social networking site,
but decided it would accomplish nothing. He was also undoubtedly
"friends" with his wife; she would be able to read anything Claudia
posted to him. There was no privacy there. She didn't want to send an email to
his home address, since he and Susan might share an account, and she didn't
want to send one to his office because it just seemed inappropriate. The
regular post was too slow and unpredictable, and Claudia wouldn't know if Mark
had actually received her letter. She also didn't want to put him in the
position of having to conceal a letter from his wife. A telephone call was too
immediate; Claudia herself wasn't ready for a conversation, yet. Moreover, she
wanted Mark to have a chance to catch his breath and form his thoughts without
the pressure of knowing she was waiting on the phone line. The best way to get
in touch with Mark, it seemed to Claudia, was through the networking site,
through a message.

So, she sat down and typed.

Dear Mark,

It's been such a long time since you've
heard from me, and you can't imagine how sorry I am about that. I've thought
about you often, and sometimes I've wondered if you even remember me.

On a lark I looked up your name on this
site and found you. You look great! I hope life has been good to you and you
are happy.

I hope you won't find me presumptuous,
but I looked up your name in the white pages, as well, and found out that
you're teaching in a town I pass by on my way home to my parents' house. (I'm
currently at the Jameson School, teaching German and Russian). I'm planning to
drive to
Mapleville
tomorrow; could I stop by to see
you briefly on the way? I thought it would be fun to catch up if you have an
hour or so to meet for coffee somewhere.

I know this is short notice and I'd
certainly understand if it's impossible, but I do hope we can work it out.

Let me know! You pick the place, I'll
find it.

Fondly,

Claudia

Claudia considered adding her last name
to her signature to keep up the appearance of a casual missive from a
long-forgotten friend, but decided against it. Her profile picture would be
there, next to the message, so it wouldn't be necessary to addend a last name
in any case. She was proud of the
fondly
at the end. It seemed just the
right word, warm but not as emotionally charged as
love.