"George!"
The call brought him back slowly, replacing the long sandy
beach and the gently waving palm trees that his mind had seen through
the window, with the bare branches of the familiar old elm tree.
Stripped of it's leaves weeks ago, those branches now were capped
with strips of white, the wet clinging snow of last night's storm.
Reluctantly he answered, "Yes, Liz". Tempted, he almost
used the name he sometimes called her in his mind. She hated it when
someone called her "Lizzie", said it reminded her of Henry Ford's old
car, the Tin Lizzie, and she wasn't amused. He had other pet names
for her, some of which she liked but he didn't feel like using any one
of them today.
"George!"
Stronger now, that note of impatience. He was reminded of
a television commercial he had heard long ago. A little scene in which
a husband yielded to his wife's urging that he buy a Ford automobile
and explained it by saying plaintively, "My wife has a shrill voice".
George had yielded many times for just that reason. The voice that
had been so seductive, so full of love in their early days was seldom
soft of late but filled with impatience at the slightest (so it seemed to
George) deviation from what she expected.
Elizabeth heard the creaking of his office chair as he arose,
then his measured steps coming down the hall. His reluctance was no
surprise to her, that was his way of showing his irritation. It hadn't
been more than a month or so into their marriage when she first
observed that and she had learned to ignore it. Almost anything else
was a first step toward a real angry exchange, and it hadn't been all
that long since the last one. She looked again at the small sheet of
paper. How carelessly it had been hidden, almost as if it were
expected to be found. But by whom, she wondered. Was it for her to
find, or George?
"Look at this", she demanded, holding the little paper toward
him,
George hesitated. What was that new note in her voice? An
accusation? His acceptance of the paper was as deliberate as had been
his slow walk down the hall. He tried in vain to read something in her
expression before finally dropping his eyes to the paper in his hand.
Reading it took only a moment and looking up he again searched for
meaning in her steady gaze.
"Don't tell me you don't recognize her handwriting".
For the past year there had been only one "her" in any
conversation between them, that was George's ex-wife, Gloria. It had
been a friendly divorce less than a month before George and Elizabeth
had married. Much too friendly, Elizabeth thought. At first she had
been able to live with that casual friendship, the occasional meetings
to discuss the children's progress, or the accidental meetings in a store
or restaurant. But when she found a month ago that George had been
having lunch with Gloria every Friday for weeks she demanded an
explanation. She also demanded that the meetings stop.
"Gloria is having problems with the kids", George had
explained. "I didn't want to trouble you with it. I was just giving her
advice and support."
Even then she had no thought that George was being
unfaithful to her, there didn't seem to have been any opportunity for
that, at least not until last Thursday. She still seethed over that little
episode.
"It was no big deal", George had said. "Gloria needed a little
help and I gave her a few dollars."
" Since when is seven hundred and fifty dollars just a few? And
why did it take all afternoon to give it to her? Did you count it out
one dollar at a time? And why did you have to deliver it, seems like
you could have handed it to her at one of your precious lunches!"
His explanations, logical to him, had fallen on deaf ears. Now,
with this note in his hand, George paused, hunting for a response that
would fare better than his previous attempts to calm these troubled
waters. George searched his memories, easily skipping over the last
year of life with Elizabeth and recalling the previous twelve with
Gloria. It wasn't this unpleasant he thought, even when he told Gloria
about Elizabeth and suggested that they get a divorce. Her response
had amazed him. Twelve years of a comfortable marriage, two
reasonably responsible children, a nice home, and Gloria hadn't
screamed or cried, she had simply pointed out that she suspected that
something was going on with Elizabeth and that she wasn't about to
share him with anybody!
Elizabeth's voice easily penetrated his reverie, "Well, George".
George stared at the note in his hand, "It does look like her
handwriting."
You were wonderful, it was just like old times!
Last Thursday's pleasant afternoon had been 'Just like old
times', at least like some of the old times. Times before Elizabeth.
Times when the two of them took such an afternoon, forgot the office,
forgot the kids, forgot the housework, forgot the world around them.
But that was before Elizabeth had walked into his real estate office
looking for a place to live She was new in town and so willing to
accept his help,
"Well, just what does she mean by that 'You were wonderful',
George?"
How can there be so many different ways of saying 'George',
he wondered, and so few of them really pleasant. When he had finally
found this house for her, "Oh George, it's just the kind of a place I've
always wanted", she said. The memory of that 'George' and the
weeks that followed brought a wry smile to his face. No wonder that
Gloria wasn't surprised when he old her about Elizabeth. Many days
he had returned to the office after an afternoon with Elizabeth to find
that Gloria had tried to call him or had been there, hoping to see him.
Many nights he had come home late after dinner with Elizabeth with
some weak excuse of business meetings or dinners with clients. The
"George" that Elizabeth had breathed in his ear during those days had
raised his pulse and brought a promise of sensuous living but never a
thought that "George" could sound like anything else from her.
"So what does that silly grin mean, George?
Gloria had asked him that question once, almost the same
words, and the smile didn't leave his face as the memory came
flooding back. He had just closed a deal on a big house that he
thought was lost and in his pocket were the tickets for the trip to Fiji
that they had dreamed of and couldn't afford. He had tried to keep
the greeting normal and casual as he came home from the office but
his face betrayed him . It still didn't spoil the surprise. Ah, those two
weeks of warm sands and waving palm trees, the day and evening of
just the two of them on their own private beach, swimming and
sunning with no one else in view for miles. It was even better than
they had expected. He could almost feel the warm sun on his bare skin
as he thought of those long lazy days.
"George!"
Reluctantly he put the memories aside and looked again at
Elizabeth, "Well, where did you get this?"
"In your closet where you hid it, obviously! How else do you
suppose I got it?'
Now how could that have got in my closet, George wondered.
I've never seen this before and Gloria certainly hasn't been here. He
looked again at the paper in his hand. Strange, it felt just a little sticky
along the top edge of the back side. Turning it over he could see the
different look of the narrow band across the top of the sheet.
Suddenly it was clear to him. It was a 'Post-it' note. Then Gloria
must have stuck it to his jacket somewhere as they parted after their
pleasant afternoon. But "Wonderful"? Other than the financial help
and the pleasant conversation, what was so wonderful? Of course it
had been nice sharing the memories, perhaps that had been what got
him thinking again about the soft breezes and the waving palm trees.
Yes and the rest of it, too. We should have gone again, maybe taken
the kids, they would have been a little older then and would have had
a ball. George could almost see them chasing the waves and each
other up and down that beautiful beach.
"George!"
George slowly pulled his wallet from his pocket. After looking
again at the note he carefully placed it with the paper money.
"Elizabeth, I think I have to talk to Gloria about this",
. "And why won't you talk to ME about it? I've had enough of
your visits, if that is what they are, with Gloria. She's your EX-wife,
remember?"
"That I do remember."
"And remember this! She has wanted you back since the day
you left her for me and if you go talk to her now you can just stay
with her, "
Yes ,Dear"
It was almost six months before George watched his kids
chase each other down that long, warm, sandy beach with the palm
trees waving in the balmy breezes.
"They are loving it, aren't they?", Gloria asked.
"Yes Dear"
[end]