The Three of Us -4- Finis

Time is the longest distance between two places
—Tennessee Williams

I don’t handle intimate disclosures well and when Joanna confessed she had been previously married, I was thrown off balance for a moment.

It was the last thing I expected and was already feeling socially awkward—but then to my horror I heard myself asking the inevitable question:

“May I ask who was your husband?”

If I expected her to be reticent, she wasn’t—she didn’t betray any visible emotion at all except for a blasé indifference I thought wasn’t at all contrived, but real.

She appeared flat and emotionless and I knew it was exactly how she felt about her decision.

“James Reardon, fashion editor at Vogue. It turns out our marriage was good for both our careers—but not much else, I’m afraid.”

Again, there was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry, Joanna,” I murmured.

She held up a hand to halt further discussion.

“It’s over now—it can’t be helped. I find I’m managing better on my own anyway.”

“Are you? I said, surprised. “I’m not.”

The words hung in the air between us. I couldn’t believe I said them. I don’t know what possessed me—maybe all those nights of talking to her in my dreams and confessing I was miserable and lonely.

She stared at me the way someone stares at a stranger trying to decide whether they merely look familiar or are indeed a friend. She seemed to conclude she could confide in me.

“If I'm really honest, I think I feel the same way too,” she said finally, “all this bravado about being independent and responsible—but at the end of the day, I just want to come home and be held.”

She began to weep and without thinking about it I took her in my arms and held her. It felt natural—as if that’s where she belonged.

After a few minutes when her tears subsided, she looked into my eyes, searching again inside me.

“Didn’t you see it was you all those years? I only agreed to that silly pact about remaining unattached because we were young and I thought you needed your freedom. But when you and Paul sailed off to the Florida Keys, I felt abandoned.”

“But it wasn’t me who was meant for you—it was Paul.”

Anger flashed across her features.

“Did I say that? When did I ever say or do anything that would make you think that? Paul Conrad only cared about himself. All those letters and photos you sent—Paul could have cared less.”

I stared at her, hearing, but unfortunately, not believing a word.

So much time had passed between us, a lifetime separated us from who we were. Paul was gone. I had vicariously loved her through him, but now that had ended.

“Where do we go from here?” I finally asked.

“We’ll keep in touch,” she reassured me. I buried my face in her hair.

I had danced with her in dreams but all my words were painted air.

“Let’s meet in Toronto in the spring,” I suggested.

She smiled, her eyes glistened and we left it at that.

I was divided. I’d go home to Sasha, think about this, speak to Joanna in dreams and possibly someday lay Paul to rest.

We promised to keep in touch—it wasn't much, but probably the best we could manage then.

So many questions haunt me still—the ones I never confronted except in dreams. But the largest unanswered question remains:

How do you open up to someone who has only been an imaginary lover to you?

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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