Rapture

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On the last Saturday of his trip Jeff had an early lunch with Georgianne at her house. She made steak sandwiches, and after the meal they got into his rental car and drove east on 1-84. It was to be a day out, one that Jeff hoped would serve as a brief swing through the past and on into the future.

"I haven't been to Millville since Mom closed the house and moved down to Tampa," Georgianne said.

Two pleasant long weeks had passed, and Jeff didn't know what they added up to as far as he and Georgianne were concerned. He'd been through a lot. He felt drained, mentally, emotionally, and even physically, and, although he had enjoyed all his time with Georgianne, he wondered if he shouldn't have more than nice memories and continued hope to show for it.

He had seen her every single day. She worked five mornings a week at the nursery school, so he would meet her in the afternoon or evening, or both. They would go out to eat, or stop somewhere for a few drinks, or she would cook something at home for him. They took drives through the countryside of northwestern Connecticut. They visited an antique shop owned by a friend of Georgianne, and they looked in at a gallery, where Jeff compared the art on exhibit unfavorably with her sketches. They looked at the lovely old houses in villages like Roxbury, Washington, Bridgewater, Gaylordsville, Kent, and Cornwall. Most of all, they talked-and it was good. There was no question in Jeffs mind that Georgianne was making a real effort to put her personal tragedy behind her. Every day he thought he saw some small sign that she was getting better.

He knew he had a lot to do with it, simply by being there, keeping her busy and drawing her out. But it was a strain in many ways, and he thought, ironically, that getting back to work in California would be like taking a rest.

One of the strains he had to cope with was the need to rein himself in when he was with Georgianne. His instinct was to be more aggressive about burying the past and Sean, and to be more open about his feelings for Georgianne. But he was terrified of upsetting everything he was working for with her, and so he was constantly on guard against himself. He had the pleasure of being with her, but not the full pleasure. He had her to himself for large chunks of time, but always within carefully drawn limits.

Georgianne liked being with Jeff. She felt safe with him, and it was a time when she needed more than anything else to feel safe. He was a distraction, an old friend and good company. In his own somewhat awkward, glancing way, he made her think about things she knew she had to deal with, and he did so inoffensively.

After they'd been to Burt and Bobbie's house, for instance, Jeff had mentioned widowhood and remarriage. He probably didn't even know what he'd done, but he'd made her think for the first time since Sean's death about her sex life. Georgianne had been forced to admit to herself that a significant part of the awful loneliness she felt, missing Sean, was purely sexual. She had no idea what she would do about it in the coming weeks and months, but at least she had a better understanding of the problem now, and that represented progress. The funny part about Jeff's helping her to see this was that her feelings for him were not at all sexual.

Jeff, in idle moments, occupied himself with the ever-changing numbers that testified to his love for Georgianne. She had never mentioned the subject of his staying at her house, so he kept his room at the Ramada and watched the bill accumulate. When he added in the car-rental charges, the round-trip air fares, all the meals and miles, it came to an impressive sum of money. He was pleased. Numbers were symbols, and the larger they became, the happier he felt. Movie stars and rock singers lived like this, falling in love in Honolulu, breaking up in Vail, reconciling in Saint Tropez. Jeff knew that he and Geor gianne would never live that recklessly, but they would enjoy the same freedom-it was part of the new life he was creating for both of them.

He turned off 1-84 a few miles before Waterbury and drove the back roads into Millville. They swung by the high school, where a crowd of cars in the parking lot suggested a football game in progress, although the field wasn't visible from the road. They circled the green, another place where many hours had been idled away, and they passed the town library, one of Jeffs favorite refuges in adolescence. The library was freighted with erotic history for him. It was where he'd first started looking up girl's skirts. Thro of his former girlfriends had worked part time at the library. The long dark aisles of books, especially the upstairs stacks, were wonderful places for useful peeking, fast kisses, and an occasional grope.

After a quick run through the center of Millville, they headed south on the New Haven Road. When they were approaching the Brewer house, Jeff asked Georgianne if she wanted to stop and say hello.

"No, don't bother," she replied definitely.

He took it as a good sign: Georgianne didn't want to go through the inevitable explanations of Sean's death.

"Miss the old homestead?" he asked as the Slaton driveway appeared ahead on the left.

"No ... not really." A moment later, she continued. it was a good house and I loved growing up there, but you can't live in the past."

He said nothing, but he felt a shiver of excitement. She was looking to the future. If she could say that about her family home ... But it didn't occur to him that her words might have any bearing on his own life.

They reached New Haven thirty minutes later, and Jeff went to the parking lot in the center of Broadway. He and Georgianne spent a while browsing through the Yale Co-op and looking in the windows of some of the fancy clothing stores nearby.

Jeff still had a certain fondness for New Haven. In high school, it had had a vague prestige value: if you could take your date thirty miles to New Haven, find your way to some worthwhile joint-a jazzy coffee bar, a folk club, a shady head shop that sold nitrous oxide-you were a cut above the jerks who couldn't find their way beyond the creature-feature drive-in. It wasn't New York or Boston, but in those days and at that age New Haven had been the first step toward some imaginary sophistication.

And this, Jeff thought as he and Georgianne strolled along York Street, is the date we should have had back then....

The air was crisp and sweet, the light sharp, the afternoon purely October. They walked through Yale courtyards and side streets. They said little, but seemed content to enjoy the day in each other's presence. Later, they went to a Truffaut double bill, Stolen Kisses and The Man Who Loved Women, and then had a white clam sauce pizza and cold beer at Pepe's. It was all as effortless as a dream, a dream of the future by way of the past, and if it was the best day of the entire two weeks, Jeff attributed that to the fact that they'd come a distance from Foxrock. When Georgianne moved away from there permanently, every day would be like this one.

That morning he had worked out a quicker, alternate route back to Danbury, by way of Shelton and Newtown, but it was still a fair drive. Georgianne dozed off on the way. Jeff found some quiet jazz on the FM band and pulled her gently closer to him. She settled comfortably, resting her head on his shoulder. As soon as that happened, he eased up on the gas pedal. No need to rush. He wanted to enjoy every second of the drive. He was taking Georgianne home after a date. She was nestled against him, and he could smell her hair. A moment he had dreamed of and waited for, and now that it had finally arrived he didn't want it to end. He would have been happy to drive around the back roads of Connecticut like this all night.

When he did park the car on Indian Hill Road, Georgianne stirred and looked up at him. She smiled sleepily. Perfect, he thought, just perfect. And he smiled back at her.

"Sorry ... I hope I didn't bother you."

"Of course you didn't."

"Do you want some coffee, or a drink?"

"Not coffee, but a nightcap would be nice." He was flying back to Los Angeles the next day. He had no intention of saying good-bye to her at this point.

The house was chilly again. Jeff went to mix the drinks in the kitchen while Georgianne turned up the heat. He knew what it was-she wasn't yet used to looking after every little thing about the house by herself. One winter alone here would do it for her, he thought. A house required a good deal of regular maintenance. As Sean had said, there were always chores and repairs to be done. And the snowConnecticut winters were no fun. He was convinced that by spring Georgianne would feel different about this house.

"Thanks for a wonderful day," she said after he'd brought the drinks into the living room.

"It was nice, wasn't it."

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep like that."

"Why not? It was a long day, and we did quite a bit of walking. Besides, I enjoyed driving you home that way."

They were sitting together on the couch.

"Do you want anything?" she asked. "If you're hungry..."

Jeff shook his head. "No thanks. Tomorrow I have to fly back to California and my job. So right now all I want is to sit here and get quietly drunk with you."

"I haven't been drunk in ages." Georgianne smiled at the thought, but then became very still. A moment later she asked, "What was your wife like, Jeff?"

"I don't remember," he answered. Her question didn't surprise him, but seemed a natural expression of her growing interest in his life. "I know that sounds strange," he went on, "but I can remember people I haven't seen in twenty years better than I can Audrey. She was just a brief period in my life that's now a blank spot, more or less."

"Oh, but you know what she looked like."

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said. "Her hair was dirty blond, about medium length, like yours. After we got married, she went from being the right weight for her build to being fashionably skinny. And she cut her hair short, so that she looked more like a boy. Maybe that was part of the problem."

"Did she remarry?"

"Yes, thank God." He laughed. "Saved me a lot of money. Best thing she ever did for me."

"But you never did. Marry again."

A couple of small statements, like coins clicking faintly in an empty pocket.

"No," Jeff replied. She seemed to be waiting for more, but he had anticipated this question many times. He couldn't be flip. It was important. Yet he still didn't have a good answer. "I just buried myself in my work, and it was probably the right thing to do at the time. But I'm getting away from that now. I can see that I let work become a kind of mania for me, and I don't want to live that way now. I let it go on for far too long. There are more important things in life." Then, softly, "I would, you know. Marry again. If it was right ..."

"You should," Georgianne said distantly. She had been listening to him and taking in his words, but she was lost in her own thoughts as well. He'd been through a bad marriage; he was entitled to a good one, and he could still look and hope for it. But she'd had a good marriage already, a very good one, and now she thought she had no right to hope for anything.

Jeff took their glasses into the kitchen for refilling. He made Georgianne's drink a little stronger, his own weaker. She wasn't yet thinking in terms of a possible relationship between the two of them-he understood that. And he knew it wasn't something he could rush. But he felt disconcerted. He thought about all the time and effort and energy he had expended, the months of planning and work, the extraordinary risks he had taken-all culminating in these two weeks alone with her. Now he was about to return to California, a separation that would only make things harder. At the very least, he had to make sure he had planted the idea in her mind, even if he had to jolt her a little bit to do so. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left here thinking he'd been too hesitant and fearful again.

When he returned to the living room, he found Georgianne looking more cheerful. She was standing, smiling at him, and she held something behind her back.

"Uh ... would you just sit down there, please," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

He set their drinks on the coasters on the coffee table, and then took his place on the couch.

"This is for you," she said. She handed him a large, framed pen-and-ink sketch. As he took it and looked at it, she came around to sit beside him.

"It's-beautiful." His throat was constricted with emotion. "Thank you. I love it."

It was a drawing of an old country stone wall. There were weeds and field grass along the foot of it, some brambles curling over the top at one side, a few stones missing or fallen off, but the wall itself was the overwhelming heart of the picture, an immense and powerful presence.

"You told me you especially liked the wall in the other sketch I gave you...."

"Yes, I did." He gasped. "But this is so much better. It's fantastic ... the amount of detail." He turned to her. "Thank you. Very much. This will go up as soon as I get back. God, I love it."

"It's like you," she said. "Solid and strong."

He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand while he continued to admire the drawing. Although he had asked for another sketch, he hadn't expected anything like this, and he was deeply moved.

"I've got a carton for it," Georgianne said. "So you can carry it easily on the plane."

He set the picture on the armchair, on the other side of the coffee table, and then sat down next to her again.

"It's ... fantastic."

"Do you really like it?"

"I sure do. Can't you tell?"

"Good, I'm glad." She smiled with pleasure. "I don't know what I'd have done if you didn't." She laughed, but then her face became serious. "You've been so kind and good to me these last two weeks, Jeff ... I just want to tell you how grateful I am to you."

"I've enjoyed every minute of it."

"I really mean it," she continued. "You gave me a lot of your time, and I appreciate it. I enjoyed it too, and you came at a time when I didn't think I could ever enjoy anything again. There are lots of more ex citing ways you could have spent your vacation than looking after someone coming out of ..."

"Hey, forget it," he hushed her. "I've been here because I wanted to be, not because it was something I was obliged to do. You know, when I was here in May, I said I'd stay in touch, but I never did and I felt bad about it."

"I didn't either."

"Yeah, well, it was different for you. But I should have and I didn't, and I'm not going to let that happen again. There aren't that many good friendships in the course of a lifetime, and now that we've found ours again I don't want to lose it."

"Neither do I."

"I'll be on the phone to you every week."

"Oh, Jeff, that's not-"

"Never mind. I want to. What's a telephone for? And I hope you'll give some thought to visiting L.A. Bring Bonnie. I'd love to show you around; there's a lot to see and do out there. I know you want to go to Florida and Chicago, but think about L.A. too. You have a friend there. One who cares about you."

"Maybe we will. Sometime."

A silence overtook them. Jeff wondered if he'd said too much too quickly, his words creating a vacuum in their wake. But then, he didn't care. He felt instinctively that the right moment had come.

He put an arm around Georgianne's shoulders and turned her face to his. They looked at each other for just a second or two, and then he kissed her on the lips. For him, it was a moment of great fear, and greater excitement. He was crossing an important line. He was kissing her the way a man kisses a woman, seriously, not like a brother or an old friend. She would remember it and think about it, and that, he hoped, would be enough.

Georgianne didn't respond. She felt a tiny flicker within herself, but it died instantly. Her sexual orientation was still to Sean. Her body was numb to any other man. It was too soon. And there, in that house which was hers and Sean's, it was wrong; it seemed, irrationally, almost incestuous. She felt confused and sad. She didn't want this to be happening, not now and especially not there. But she could hardly movethe situation had turned her into dead weight. Finally she moved her face slightly and rested her forehead on Jeffs shoulder.

The only thing he could do was sit there and hold her for as long as was necessary. He knew that the moment had passed. No, that wasn't it. The moment had never really been there except in his imagination. All the same, he had at last kissed Georgianne properly, and he was happy about that. TTWenty years overdue, and all the sweeter for it.

"I'm sorry I'm not better company," Georgianne said weakly after a while. She reached for her drink, disengaging herself a little from Jeff in the process. "It still gets to me, you know. It still gets to me."

It: Sean, Jeff thought. The man was slow to die, but die he would, and his hold on Georgianne would disappear with him. It was just a matter of time. Meanwhile, Jeff had given her something to remember and think about....

The next morning, before he checked out of the ho tel, Jeff called Georgianne, and they had an easy, cheerful conversation for nearly half an hour. No harm had been done, it seemed, although neither of them alluded to that moment the night before. By tacit agreement, it had been placed in a special container and set aside for an indefinite period.

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