Becoming Mrs. Lewis(103)

I told her the truth. “I believe I’m alone in that budding emotion.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said.

“Honestly, Eva.” We reached the end of the path and stood before the pond. “He has no interest in anything more than this deep friendship, what he calls philia.”

Eva had turned to me and shaded her eyes against the evening sun. “I see the way he looks at you. It’s like no one else exists and you have a secret language. He looks to you first when he says something, as if he’s checking with you.”

My chest filled with this hope that Eva’s words offered, but I knew the truth. “It is love, but a different kind to him. The man has been a philosopher since he was eight years old and he picked up Dante—it’s his medieval world view.” I shook my head with a smile. “His complete dedication to the virtues keeps him from falling into the kind of love that captures a heart. He knows how, after all these years, to guard his heart behind the moral goodness he’s practiced. He belongs to God and the church almost more than most priests I know.”

“But he’s not a priest, and you’re a woman, and a vibrant one to boot.” Eva drew closer to me and took my hands, one in each of her own. “Be patient, Joy. The heart has its own rhythm and timing.”

“I don’t think it’s a sense of timing, Eva. I must accept the golden friendship that we do have.” I paused. “And there’s more. His friends are suspicious of me—especially Tollers, who calls me ‘that woman,’ and he cares what Tollers thinks, cares a lot. I’m divorced. I have children. I’m a New Yorker. I have Jewish ancestry. There are reasons.” I glanced at the sky, thunderheads forming. “And the last time he loved wholly—his mother—he lost her in the most catastrophic way. He’s cautious. Temperate.”

“Joy, give him time.”

I shrugged and looked back to her dear smile. “These are only guesses, Eva. How could I know? I’ve come to know him better than anyone except Warnie, but still how could I truly know? He tells me he is too old to begin another love affair and that philia is our destiny.”

I hugged her as Chad approached from the far end of the pathway, calling his wife’s name.

As I folded the last of the pants, I reminded myself to tell Jack of the phone call from Dutton, scooped the basket under my arm, and ambled to the back door of the house. When I entered the common room, the sight of a woman in Jack’s chair startled me. It was too dim to make her out exactly, but she was definitely a woman, reading a book and curled comfortably with her shoes tossed to one side of the chair.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, rage flaring in a dark burst of the old angry-Joy.

She startled and dropped the book, stood and stumbled before pressing her fingers to her temples. “I’m Moira Sayer. We’ve met before.”

“I don’t think so.” I held close the laundry basket and took two steps toward her.

She held to the edge of Jack’s chair. “I have every right to be here, same as you. I’m George Sayer’s wife. Jack said I could come here to read while George worked at Magdalen.”

George.

Sayer.

This was the first friend of Jack’s I’d met at the Eastgate. Moira, his wife, with whom I’d had tea only last year.

“I’m so sorry.” I clutched the basket tighter. “I’m very sorry.” I fled the room with the heat of shame burning through my skin. Would I ever learn? Or change?

I carried the basket upstairs and left a pile of Jack’s clothes outside his room and took the remainder to the boys’ room. I then entered my downstairs bedroom and closed the door to sit and drop my head on the desk.

How did I slip backward into horrid old habits so easily? Into jealousy and rage, as if they were as welcoming as a warm river swim?

It only took a few moments until the knock arrived.

“Yes?”

“Joy?”

I opened the door to Jack.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was an ass to your friend. She startled me; I didn’t know she was here. I think I must have deeply embarrassed you.” I shook my head. “My anger—sometimes I still find myself at cross purposes with the world.”

He laughed. “Oh, it’s not so bad. I explained to her that I hadn’t told you she was here, and you having such terrible eyesight didn’t know she wasn’t an intruder meant to steal my manuscripts for her own.” He laughed, with that merry twinkle in his eye.

“My terrible eyesight?” I tried to laugh, but nothing came out.

“Yes, what with your glass eye in one and your cataracts in the other.”

“Jack. You forgive too easily and warmly. I’m not accustomed.” I smiled and exited the room to join him in the hallway.

“Let’s get out into the sunlight,” he said.

“Yes, let’s gather some beans and tomatoes for dinner.”

“Very good,” he agreed. “And then we’ll walk into Oxford?”

Together we scooted down the thin hall, where I grabbed a basket for the vegetables and an apron to cover my dress. Then we were outside to the summer sunshine again. Moira had gone, and neither of us acknowledged her absence.

I glanced around the grounds. “Where’s Davy?”