~ Don't Say Goodbye To Love ~

by

Judith K. Ivie

Carl sat stiffly at the wooden table where he had shared meals with Jeannie and the kids for eight years. It had been one of the first purchases after they were married, and he knew every nick in its surface intimately after hundreds, thousands of midnight snacks, two o’clock feedings, and Sunday breakfasts. Jeannie stood with her back to him while she poured the coffee, and he admired the sweet, familiar curve of her calves and slim hips. Then he frowned as he realized that she was probably dressed up to go out somewhere as soon as he left with the kids.

“Going out to lunch?” he asked bluntly as she put a steaming mug in front of him.

“Nowhere at all,” she returned lightly. “It seemed like sort of a special occasion to have you with us again, that’s all.” She colored slightly and dropped her eyes as she took a sip of coffee. He still wore his wedding band, she noted with relief.

“Carl--”

“Jeannie--” he said at the same time.

She made an after you gesture and smiled encouragingly.

Gazing into her warm, brown eyes, Carl’s heart beat a little faster. He was still mesmerized by his wife--and she was still his wife, if only she would have him back. He longed to cover the slim fingers resting on the table with his own and looked away to cover his confusion. “How are you, Jeannie? The kids look fine.”

Jeannie longed to put her hand against his cheek in a familiar caress. How tired he looked, and how unhappy Could it be that he missed her as much as she missed him? Firmly, she wrapped her disobedient fingers around the mug. “I’m fine, Carl. We’re all fine, although I don’t think Ricky is completely fooled by this special-assignment-in-Boston story. Sometimes I think your son has a sixth sense. He doesn’t miss much, and I hate lying to him.”

“I know, but this doesn’t have to involve him or Laura yet. I don’t want either one of them thinking they have anything to do with our... with why I’m not here. Let’s at least let them have their Christmas.”

“All right, Carl.” Jeannie rose to get the plate of cookies she had baked last night. “Chocolate chip, your favorite.” Jeannie nudged the plate toward him as he reached for a cookie, and their fingers brushed, sending a thrill of warmth through Jeannie. Hastily, she picked up her mug.

“This is nice,” Carl said finally. He bit into the cookie with strong, white teeth. “Mmmm, good. You always made great chocolate chip cookies.” Wearing his son’s shy grin and a few crumbs at one edge of his mouth, Carl felt happier than he could remember feeling at any time during the last year. Slowly, he felt the tension of the last weeks draining out of his body, and he looked around the cheerful kitchen with pleasure. “I guess I never really looked at this room before. It’s pretty, cheerful. A lot like you, actually.” He watched Jeannie’s face closely.

She looked at him over the rim of her coffee mug. “A lot like us, actually, Carl. Or the way we used to be. This room has a lot of you in it, too.” She gestured to the chair rail running along two walls of the large room, which Carl had painstakingly fitted together and stained to match the house’s woodwork. Above it on the far wall hung the three-tiered wooden spice rack he had fashioned to hold her collection of colored bottles filled with cinnamon and sage, lemon rind and curry. Together, they had chosen the slate blue paint and calico fabric from which Jeannie had sewn café curtains, which hung at the large windows and across the door that opened out into a mud room. “The room misses you, Carl. We all do.”

Carl stared helplessly at his wife. “And I miss you, more than you can imagine. I hate not being here.” Then he laughed. “I know. That must sound strange considering how much of the time I’ve spent avoiding this house for the last couple of years.”

Jeannie struggled to order her thoughts. “But why, Carl? Why did you stay away so much? We used to be so happy.”

Carl jerked his chair away from the table and strode to the window. He looked out at the wintry back yard for a moment, then turned back to face her. “Yes, Jeannie, we were--‘were’ being the operative word. We were very happy until you got that bee in your bonnet about going back to work.”

Jeannie felt as if he had sloshed ice water over her. Instantly, her face clouded, and she clenched her fingers together under the table’s edge. “A bee in my bonnet?” she repeated icily. “What a quaint expression and so like you. Next you’ll be saying that we were happy because you kept me barefoot and pregnant, home baking cookies while you played the big, strong breadwinner. Welcome to the Carl McKay anachronism festival.” The brown eyes, so loving a moment ago, now snapped angrily.

Hot words rose in Carl’s throat, but before he could utter them, Ricky and Laura dashed into the room.

“Movie’s over, Daddy. When are we going bowling? Can we go now?” they clamored, their patience at an end.

Carl stood. “Do you want them home at any special time?” he asked tersely.

“Six o’clock, please. I have to wash their hair tonight, and they’ll want to get it over with early. Go get your jackets and mittens, you two.”

They rushed out to the mud room.

“Well, I guess that’s it, then.”

“Right,” Jeannie agreed. “Oh, and Carl, if you insist on keeping up this pretense about our separation, make sure you give Ricky some plausible excuse for your leaving again tonight.” Jeannie turned back to the sink and poured the dregs of their coffee down the drain. Her back was rigid and unapproachable beneath the bright sweater.

Defeated, Carl went to shepherd his children into their jackets.

Jeannie waited for the front door to close behind them before she let herself cry.