Another Love: Lost

Carly wouldn't let me buy them anything but a scorecard: ball park food cost way too much and wasn't good for you anyway, so they'd eaten at home, she said. We found our seats, and I smiled at the two red heads bent over the scorecard as they filled in the lineups. They were so serious, you'd have thought the outcome of the game depended on their strategy. Carly had even printed the previous night's box score, so she could mark the relief pitchers who were unavailable or unlikely to be used.

I had warned Carly that our group could get a little loud sometimes. I needn't have bothered. She was the loudest of any of us, and Randi was a close second. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone watch a game with such intensity. They knew their stuff, too. The Reds clung to a 3-2 lead in the top of the fifth, and the Cubs had Rizzo up with one out and runners at the corners.

"In at third! Play in at third!" Carly shouted, as people turned around to look at her.

"You really think Rizzo's going to bunt?" I asked. Carly didn't even look at me.

"Most managers wouldn't, but Maddon would," Randi explained. "Rizzo grounds into too many double plays, and he really wants that run. Suicide squeeze." Then she joined her mother yelling "In at third!"

Sure enough, after taking a couple of pitches, Rizzo bunted, the surprised third baseman threw the ball into the stands, and they ended up second and third with the tying run in.

"See?" Randi asked me. "Outmanaged again!"

Carly slumped to her seat for a moment, shook her head as she marked her scorecard, then stood and started yelling for a strikeout. She didn't get it: three straight extra base hits finished the Reds' starter and gave the Cubs a 7-3 lead.

None of us would ever have imagined Carly could be like this. Her face was flushed, her eyes shone, she was clearly having the time of her life. Her enthusiasm never waned despite the score; folks around us shouted stuff like "You tell 'em, Red! Give 'em hell!" One guy even wanted to buy her a beer.

The redheads studied their scorecard between halves of the ninth inning. "One more run, just one run," Carly muttered. I didn't understand.

"What good will that do? We're down four."

"That makes it a save situation, and he'll bring in Davis. He threw 31 pitches last night. He'll have to face the top of the order. Hamilton'll be toast, but when he's tired his pitches straighten out, and Cozart and Votto can hit him."

A one-out triple and a pinch-hit single, which of course wouldn't have happened without the encouragement of our two redheads, made it 7-4. As Carly predicted, Davis came in and wasn't sharp: he hit Hamilton and walked Cozart to load the bases for Votto. The place was roaring as the Reds' first baseman spoiled pitch after pitch, and Carly and Randi were hollering with the best of them. After a dozen pitches, Carly leaned over to me. "He's getting frustrated; here it comes, this pitch or next." She was right again: Davis tried to blow a waist-high fast ball past Votto. He turned on it and deposited it several rows back in the right field seats.

I think watching their hero win the game drove Carly and Randi temporarily insane. They were jumping up and down, shouting, hugging each other, dancing around each other, and generally acting even more excited than the players on the field. Then Randi launched herself at me and clung like a limpet.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. McDonald. This is the best day ever!" She squeezed my neck as hard as she could and I held her. I could get used to this, I thought. I could get used to this with no trouble at all. I felt my eyes misting up and made as if to put her down.

"No, let me stay. Please?" she said, clinging even tighter.

"Whatever you like, Randi," I whispered in her ear. I turned to Carly to be sure it was okay. Wide green eyes met mine, open and sincere and candid. The hard shell was gone; the real Carly shone through: impulsive, enthusiastic, warm-hearted, and true. I'll never know how long we stood staring at each other, while Randi snuggled into me and the ballpark cleared out around us. I don't remember walking to the car, or driving back to the shelter. I do remember thinking that maybe Georges and Simone weren't as far wrong as I thought they were.

We needed to talk. I knew that even before Carly called and asked if we could meet after supper a couple of days later. I walked into the office at the appointed time. Carly sat at her desk, her rigid back to me, her hair in its usual tight bun, her hard shell intact. Had I just dreamed Sunday, and that other Carly?

"Mr. McDonald!" Randi took a running start between the desks, a flying leap, and was in my arms. Carly walked over to us. Her usual neutral expression was firmly in place, but there was something different in those green eyes. No, I hadn't dreamed Sunday.

"Randi, we don't jump on people," Carly admonished as I deposited the little flame-haired girl onto her feet.

"But Mom, this isn't people, it's Mr. McDonald!" I was shocked; it was the first time I'd heard the girl say anything back to her mother.

"I understand, but you still need to be polite."

"Yes, Mom." She turned to me. "Mr. McDonald, is it okay with you if I jump on you? How about if we shake hands first?" She even held out her hand, the little minx. It was all I could do not to laugh, and Carly was having serious trouble keeping the corners of her mouth anchored in their normal downward position.

"Ah, I think you'd better clear that with your mother," I temporized.

"We'll talk about that later. Say good night to Mr. McDonald, Randi; it's bedtime."

Randi wanted me to come with her, and Carly reluctantly agreed, so I followed mother and daughter as they held hands and led me down the labyrinthine corridors of the old place. They shared a single room, but Carly had done wonders to make it look homey. Cheery curtains hid the absence of windows; bright colors and frills made it welcoming; a prettily decorated half-divider gave Randi her own space. The little girl looked as content and happy as if she owned a palace as her mother read to her, tucked her in, and kissed her. My heart swelled as I watched the tender scene from the doorway. I tried to wipe the tear from my cheek before Carly saw it, but I don't think I succeeded.

We seated ourselves in a little cubbyhole that passed for a conference room, and looked at each other awkwardly.

"Thank you for letting me come with you," I finally began. "That was beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Carly was dubious. I couldn't think of words; maybe it's just as well. I could feel my tears start again as I remembered the scene, and similar ones with my sons, before... that. I shook my head and covered my eyes. When I faced her again, I could see in Carly's eyes that she understood what I couldn't say.

I told her my whole story. Carly wouldn't let me get away with my usual detached, unemotional narration. She wanted to know how I felt about things, asked questions that sent me down rabbit trails, and helped me open up to her even more than I had to Lisa, or even Simone and Georges. Finally, I was exhausted and shaking as we stared at each other in silence.

"I... I don't know what to say." Carly's face wasn't closed now; I saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

"Anything I could think of to say would just be trivial compared to what you've gone through. I'm... not very good at this, but I am sorry."

I just nodded. She didn't need words; her face told me she understood. Then she told me her story.

"Do you understand now?" Carly asked me. She didn't say it like "Do you finally get it?" She was saying she didn't really want to live inside that hard shell, pleading for me to understand why she did. I knew somehow that I was the first person in years besides Randi to see the real Carly, to see inside the shell. I was humbled, awed, and ashamed, too, for the way I'd thought of her before. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, make sure no harm came to her ever again. I wanted the world to see what an amazing person she was, and honor her as she deserved. I didn't know how to say any of it. So, I put my hands on the table next to Carly's, barely touching hers, and looked into those impossibly wide green eyes.

"I think I do," I said. The corners of her mouth started to rise. She moved her hands, covering mine with hers. A shy smile dawned on her face; I could feel its reflection on my own. We just sat there staring at each other.

We were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. We snatched our hands back and turned red; it felt like we'd been caught smoking in the bathroom in middle school. Bob (the guy who ran the place; I knew his name now) stuck his head in the door, a benevolent smile on his face.

"I just wanted to let you know it's 10:30, and it's lights out in thirty." He disappeared like the Cheshire cat with his benign grin, leaving Carly and me staring at each other. We'd been talking for three hours! I offered to walk Carly to her room.

"I appreciate it, Rob, but you'd never find your way back by yourself."

We busied ourselves turning off the lights and shutting the door, then stood in the hall looking at each other. I heard Simone and Georges shouting at me, "Say something, you fool," so I did.

"Could we, uh, perhaps... get together sometime?" All right, it had been a long time for me, but I did manage to stammer it out. Carly's slow smile spread across her face.

"I'd like that, Rob. I'll call you soon."

"I'll look forward to it," I said. Like her daughter, she gracefully evaded my extended hand and put her arms around my neck. My arms closed lightly around her, my eyes closed, and it seemed like I could feel our hearts physically straining toward each other. She lightly touched my cheek and whispered "Thank you" softly in my ear, and she was gone. I'm sure I had a "what just happened here?" look on my face, but my heart had no such questions.

Bob wanted a few moments with me before I left. He'd been praying for a good man for Carly for years, he said, and she looked more relaxed and happy with me than he'd ever seen her before, but he warned me to take it slow with her, and let her set the pace.

"She has major trust issues, and if you know her story, you'll understand why."

"I do understand, Bob, and the truth is I have some major issues myself." I told him a little bit of my story.

"Yes, I see." He thought for a few moments. "You've been good for her, and for Randi, too. You know she tells everyone around here how you're teaching her math and she's going to be an engineer like you someday? You didn't? Well, she does, and she's become much more outgoing, too. What I was going to say is, we have a lot of contacts here, and I know some folks who are very good at helping people overcome issues in relationships. Sort of like guide dogs, you might say. Anyway, if you think someone like that could help you, let me know and I'll connect you. There won't be any charge."

We said good night and I headed for home. What was it with the guide dogs, anyway? Was I carrying around a white cane and didn't know it? Still, it was pretty clear that Bob felt responsible for Carly, and it felt good that he was okay with my friendship with her. Or whatever it was we were doing.

I could barely make it through the next day waiting for Carly to call. I thought of calling her, but I remembered she shared a phone at Sally's, and didn't want to embarrass her. I called Ottawa to inform "my" family of developments. Simone was ecstatic; Georges somewhat less so.

"Damn. Now I owe Simone ten bucks," he groused.

"Ten? I thought it was five?"

"She made me bet double or nothing."

"Don't be a sore loser, Georges," his wife scolded between her chuckles. "You know you wanted me to win anyway."

When Carly called the next day, I was ready with my proposal. For a date, that is. I wasn't quite ready for the new warmth in her voice: that would take some getting used to. I also wasn't quite ready for a date, I discovered. Necktie or no? Jacket or no? And so on. I finally settled on a button down shirt with no tie and a jacket, and went to pick up Carly.

She looked as nervous as I felt, but had a lot less reason. It was the first time I'd seen her dressed up, and she was a revelation. She wore a dark green dress made out of some kind of silky stuff that clung to her, highlighting beautiful curves I'd never suspected were there, while shaping the long, elegant lines of her slim frame. She wore her hair loose and off her face; its coppery waves framed her lovely neck, caressed her slim shoulders, and tumbled down her back. I was dumbstruck. She was beautiful!

Carly's nervous expression gave way to that slow smile that I was growing to love as she basked in my slack-jawed admiration, and she dropped a cute little curtsy as she accepted the white rose I offered her. I didn't think anybody did that these days. I watched spellbound as she placed the rose in the bosom of her dress. Yes, I had made sure there were no thorns.

Neither of us can tell you what we ate that night. We know we ate something, and we're sure it was good, because we've been back to the place since, but it seriously didn't matter. We talked; we gazed into each other's eyes. We touched rarely, and then only hands, but when we did, it was electric. We felt the scars on each other's hearts and wept healing tears over them as we held each other, tender and comforting.

Somehow, without in the least intending to, we'd managed to fall in love. We weren't naïve; we knew issues from our pasts would cause trouble, and they did. We were both shy and reserved (except at baseball games), her by choice and necessity, me by nature, and we had to work to be as open with each other as we needed to be. Karen and I had never done that kind of work: I guess we'd been so happy to find each other, we never thought work was required. Maybe that's what left her vulnerable to Philippe, I don't know. I did know that whatever mistakes I might have made with Karen, I wasn't going to repeat them, if I could help it.

We both wanted the same thing, and we pursued it. We saw in each other the person to whom we could tell anything, from whom we would hide nothing, to whom we would always be true. The scars from our past would never vanish, and would forever remind us of the importance of being true, even as we healed each other with our love. We never did take advantage of Bob's offer; we realized we would have to do the heavy lifting ourselves anyway. We did, and the rewards we found in each other were more than worth it. Oh, and Randi wrote to Joey Votto to thank him for hitting the home run that brought us together. Gentleman that he is, he wrote her back and wished us all many happy years together. He even included three game tickets.

For years afterward, whenever someone would ask me where I found this incredible, beautiful woman, I would shrug, look my Carly in the eyes, and say, "Oh, I found her in the Salvation Army warehouse."

If Randi was with us, she'd say, "Yeah, he got us off the two-for-one shelf," and we would all three smile like the cat that ate the canary. If the asker was a likely-looking candidate, Carly would eye him or her and say,

"You know, we're always looking for volunteers..." She actually got some pretty good volunteers that way.

It's been over four years now since Avril Du Monte forcibly introduced me to my wife as her husband's lover. I still love jet engines: my new team at GE is building a prototype that will leave Persephone in the dust. But today I'm heading home early to help Carly finish wallpapering the last bedroom in the old house that we bought. The house was sound, and in a good location, but had been neglected and needed a lot of work. We left the spare bedrooms until last, but we have to finish them today because Georges and Simone and their family are coming from Ottawa tomorrow for Thanksgiving. We've been their guests often, but this is the first time they're visiting us.

They became my family during the dark days, and still are. They and Carly loved each other on first sight; their children adopted Randi just as quickly. She hadn't really minded her only-child life at the shelter, but had no problem giving it up to instantly gain two big sisters who spoiled her, two little brothers who thought she was a goddess, and a real live baby sister.

Randi is eleven now, and is in a special math and science program for the very smart. She's either genius or near-genius level, they tell us. She's got the jet engine bug already, poor thing, and thinks she wants to get her degrees then come work with her dad. Which is me, now. I adopted her the same day I married Carly: package deal, as they say. She's also in ballet, debate, and soccer, and something else that I'm forgetting. Never mind, she came home right after school to help get the house ready for her "cousins."

It's Thanksgiving, Canadian variety. We're all busy at Sally's on American Thanksgiving, so we celebrate with the Canadians. It doesn't seem quite right: the leaves are still on the trees, and it's 80 outside. But the smells of turkey dinner fill the old house from the kitchen to the attic; the sounds of happy children and contented grownups, likewise. The house seems happy, as if it had been built for occasions like this.

We all sit at the big dining room table, stuffed to the point of torpor. The wine is poured; I rise from my place at the head of the table. Everyone, even the children, joins me. (They have sparkling grape juice except Stephanie, who at eighteen is having wine with her dinner.) The first toast, as tradition demands, is to my wife, my Carly, the apple of my eye and the holder of my heart. We give her three rousing cheers, and three more for good measure, while she blushes. She's still beautiful. Next are Simone and Georges, friends who have become family and more. By special permission (she's eleven, after all) Randi gives a well-spoken and moving toast to her Canadian cousins. A silent toast remembers those less fortunate than we are, both in love and in worldly goods. Finally, we drink to the future: we pledge to love each other in word and deed and truth, in complete and open honesty, as long as we walk this earth. And so we shall.