We Are the Light(6)

When Jill pulled into my driveway, she shifted into park, turned off the engine, and stared at the lower half of the steering wheel for a long time before she said, “Did I ruin everything?”

I, of course, told her she hadn’t and that we should chalk it up to the wine and that we didn’t ever need to talk about what had happened in Maryland again. She thanked me and made a half-hearted joke about being an alcoholic, but I didn’t laugh. Instead, I looked into her eyes and said, “You are worthy of love.” I was surprised to see that I had taken her chin in my hand and she was looking up at me with wet eyes, but she eventually swallowed and nodded a few times, which was when I let go of her.

Inside my house, we ordered a pizza and watched a forgettable movie from opposite ends of the couch, where she fell asleep and spent the night.

When I met up with Darcy in our bedroom, I told her everything that had happened except for my being inside Jill for that brief moment. And Darcy told me that I had done what was necessary and that she was proud of me, which made me feel awful for obvious reasons. But then she said that Jill and I needed each other and she was happy that we were taking care of one another. I sort of fell forward at this point and Darce wrapped me in her wings and held me until I felt so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust into flames.

When the sun rose, I woke up naked on the bedroom floor. I immediately replayed everything that had happened. I began to feel nauseous when I got to the part where I had lied to Darce. I wondered whether she had seen me with Jill. Since becoming an angel, Darcy seems to know everything about my new life without my having to tell her, which has taken some getting used to, to say the least. But she said nothing about what happened between Jill and me in the hotel room and I haven’t said anything either. For the first time since we started officially dating back in ninety-two, I began to feel a little distant from my wife, which made me worry that my marriage might be in trouble.

I thought it would help to speak with Jill, but she wasn’t in the guest room or on the couch. She was already back at the Cup Of Spoons serving breakfast to the good citizens of Majestic, PA.

The next thing I knew, I was speed walking, and then I was outside your home, on the sidewalk, looking to see if I could catch a glimpse of you, but your shades were drawn like always. I didn’t want to risk getting arrested, so I kept walking. For some reason I walked past Jacob Hansen’s home maybe eighteen or so times, daring myself to look over and see if Jacob’s younger brother, Eli, or their mother might be in the front yard watering the flowers or something. I fantasized about one of them waving at me in a friendly, forgiving way. But no matter how many times I walked past, I couldn’t make myself look. Not even once.

Like always, whenever I passed my fellow Majestic townsmen and townswomen, they nodded or tipped their hats like I was a saint or a superhero or some such nonsense, which is really starting to bother me. Whatever miracle happened in the Majestic Theater, I wasn’t responsible for it, no matter what the rumors around town might say. But I got to wondering whether those rumors had made me irresistible to Jill, who—even in her late forties—is still more beautiful than any movie star you can imagine. It’s like the hometown-hero narrative that the local and then national media pushed has bewitched everyone except me, which has been more than a little disorienting, to put it mildly.

Did you have many reporters bothering you back in December? Jill used to throw snowballs at them when they were camped outside my home for those first few weeks. When it got really cold, she started filling up balloons with water and firing those too. Bobby the cop told her she had to stop doing that. She used to get so angry. I’d just sneak out the back door and hop fences whenever I wanted to get away and take my walks. Sometimes they found me and followed me around town. I’d just ignore them. I actually could block all of that out pretty well by hiding deep inside myself. But after Christmas, most of the media people went away to chase fresher stories.

Darce says my hometown-hero persona is good cover, meaning the misinformation that’s been circulating since the tragedy allows my wife to hang around Majestic and visit me every night. She says if people knew the truth, angel-hunting season would begin and then that would be it for our relationship, which I guess I can understand. I don’t want my wife to be hunted.

I asked Darce whether we should be worried about you keeping my confidence, especially since I’m now writing these tell-all letters, but Darcy says I’m protected by that piece of paper we both signed at the beginning of my treatment, the one that says we agree to keep our analytic container sacred, meaning what we discuss must be kept a secret from everyone outside of our container. Even though you tried to end my treatment prematurely, psyche tells me I can still trust you to keep all of this confidential.

What do you think about my Maryland story?

Does it make you secretly hate me a little?

Have I disappointed you?

You can be honest.

I can take it.

Seriously.

Your most loyal analysand,

Lucas





3.


Dear Karl,

Since you still haven’t written back, I’m thinking maybe I’ve told you too much too fast, and yet there’s so much I still haven’t said. I’ve been quite selective. But I forget that you are also still in mourning and have clearly—via the letter you sent terminating my analysis, as well as your silence—expressed your need for physical, mental, and emotional space. I worry that I’m overwhelming you, especially since I am no longer paying for your time.