Part One
Gloria gave him the look. “It’s been over a year now. Have you called her?”
Tanner hated the way the bartender’s glare could make him feel guilty. She seemed to see into his soul and, unlike most people with that ability, had no hesitation in confronting him. In reply, he shrugged as he studied his rum and coke.
“I don’t understand you. For several months you floated on clouds because of her and then you go and break it off.” Gloria shook her head. “She loves you, and I thought you loved her. What the heck is wrong with you?”
Unwilling to meet her gaze, Tanner ran his index finger around the glass. His words meeked out. “She’s only in her thirties. I’m almost double her age. It’s too much.”
“That’s silly, and you didn’t seem to mind at first. You brought out the best in each other. I saw how she looked at you, and how you couldn’t take your eyes from her.” Gloria nodded at the other bartender, who went to serve several new customers. “Never saw you so happy as when you were with her. Why throw that all away for something as artificial as age?”
Tanner coughed into a napkin not sure if he felt ill or regretful. “When she’s fifty, I’ll be seventy-five. Hardly fair to her, is it?”
Gloria’s brow angered. “There are plenty of people who have as much of an age difference. It shouldn’t matter, if you love her. I’m sure she agrees.”
He grunted in reply.
Leaning toward him, Gloria lowered her voice. “Happiness is elusive. You’re throwing it away.”
He squinted at her. “I heard people talk. Here, in this bar. ‘What’s she see in that old guy.’ And, ‘Sugar Daddy and Gold-digger?’ She deserves to be with someone to grow old with, not a person she’ll need to take care of the rest of her life.” With a disgruntled flourish he lifted the glass and emptied it with one quick swallow.
“They say, ‘Only the good die young.’ That suggests you’ll outlive her.” With her easy grace, she mixed him another drink. “Only fools and the jealous would have said anything about you two. Thought you knew better than to listen to idiots.” Gloria raised an eyebrow. “From what I have heard, she might have even more money than you do.”
Shrugging, Tanner glanced toward an empty corner booth. “That writer who comes in here, she’s one of them. Heard her talk about me having insecurities and trying to recapture my youth.” His tone turned accusative. “She was talking to you.”
Gloria inhaled as she pushed the filled glass toward him. “She did say that, but I knew she never pays attention to varying viewpoints. Bartenders listen. That’s what I did. Served her wine and let her vent her complaints. She has plenty.”
“There have been others, as well.” His voice dropped as well as his prosecutor attitude. “They’re right. I’m too old for someone that young. I’ve even said things like that when I see mismatched couples.”
“You’re mistaken. Those customers were wrong.” Before she could continue a large party entered and Gloria went to take their drink orders.
Tanner hardly noticed she’d gone as his mind filled with memories of those wonderful months when he’d felt alive and when every sunrise proclaimed hope. Livy had been the reason.
He’d given up on love before he met her. Once Alexa died, he believed he could never find anyone ever again. Certain she was his soulmate, his wife had been his prime reason for living. She bore him two children and created a perfect family. He chuckled despite his sadness. Perfect only in the relative sense as occasional arguments, rare disappointments and a few chilly times kept their relationship real, but compared to their friends, their marriage appeared ideal. It certainly had kept him content.
When she died at the tender age of sixty after a short battle with the big C, he was left alone in their large home and fell into an extended period of mourning, existing only to work.
Sixteen months later he emerged from the cone of misery and sold his landscaping business—their landscaping business—for a sizeable profit and dedicated himself to becoming a patron of the arts. His contributions helped the local theater company remodel their theater, and he became great friends with the artistic directors of the troupe.
During the production of a world premier of a local playwright’s work, he met Livy, and his heart reawakened.
He had loved her words, reading the script before the meeting. Upon seeing her he fell in love for the second time in life. She apparently did, too. For the next few months, they spent every possible moment together. Their coupling revitalized Tanner and inspired her writing.
Then doubts crept forward. People glared at his gray hair and wrinkles matched with her youthful face. He sensed the stares and the frowns. He heard the slurs aimed mostly at him and a few hurtful ones targeted at her. Guilt built inside of him and he asked Livy about it. She dismissed their comments by suggesting love trumped it all. He wanted to believe her.
Then, his adult-children and other relatives reacted with shock at his relationship with Livy. The words from his son, slightly older than Tanner’s new love interest, cut deep. “It’s crazy. What are you thinking? Are you an old fool?”
His daughter acted hurt and disappointed which shook him to his core. “How could you? She’s my age. What could she see in someone as old as you? Is this some warped attempt to be young again? You can’t turn back the clock!”
From his late wife’s best friend, Kali, came the most telling blows. “What an insult to Alexa? Have you no respect for her memory? This actress is a gold-digger, and you should know better. I’m ashamed for you, for your children. You’re twice this—this woman’s age.”
As hurtful were the jokes form his buddies, who chortled about her beauty and his antiquity.
The taunts convinced him to end it. Terminating a relationship—an affair—never happened smoothly, and he took the coward’s way by calling her from the airport. He announced it was over, and he couldn’t see her anymore. To drive home his point, he told her he needed to spend time with his son in Seattle and didn’t know if he would ever come back.
She tried to convince him to stay and offered to follow him to the Coast.
He insisted her doing so would only cause more heartache—for her.
She protested, but he countered by claiming the wonderful memories of their summer of passion had been just an enjoyable interlude in his life. It had been nothing more, but she had to know they had no future together.
She argued, tried to convince him loving relationships knew no age. When she insisted they meet again, he refused. This needed to be a clean break and seeing one another again would only make it more difficult. When she asked him if he loved her, he lied and declared he didn’t and never had.
Ending the talk, he moped for the entire flight. When he arrived out West, his son assured him he had done the right thing, the proper thing. Tanner didn’t know. But when Livy called, sent texts, e-mails, and even letters, it pained him not to reply. The break-up needed to be final. That’s what his son, his daughter, and Kali told him.
In the following year on the day Tanner turned sixty-two, he hiked along the Pacific coast. No one celebrated with him as he shivered in the cool November breeze. His son, buried at work, suggested they could do something special on some Sunday. His daughter back in Michigan sent him a card and wished she could be with him, but couldn’t, as she tended to three healthy children and a man-child of a husband, someone who looked wise without understanding the meaning of the word.
At that point Tanner wanted to be alone. Alexa’s spirit, growing fainter with each passing year, still on occasion walked with him, and he remembered how she had always helped make sense of things. But at that point on his many solitary journeys, she remained mute, merely nodding her love and giving him as much comfort as a yesterday being could give.
Several times he imagined Livy watched. But when he turned to see her, she vanished. From friends back home he knew she had left River Forest for Toronto, where her latest play, one he had worked on with her, became a huge hit.
In quiet moments he often thought of her. Her appeal proved more than physical. An aura of vivacity and intelligence proved her biggest assets. Other men had to sense the same thing, but she, for reasons beyond his understanding, had seemed to focus on him.
Back at the bar, Gloria broke into his thoughts with a pat on his hand. “Do you know that she and I keep in touch?”
He hoped his second shrug convinced Gloria that he didn’t care. He did. “Yeah.”
“We talked yesterday. She’s back in Michigan.”
“Uh-huh.” Feigning a lack of interest, Tanner sipped his drink.
“She’s in Williamston, a small town near East Lansing. The professional theater there is doing her latest new work.” Gloria’s fingers drummed on the countertop. “Toronto wanted it, but she told them she wanted it to premiere in Michigan first. They asked her why. She said she owed it to the people who helped her get started.”
“That’s nice of her.” Williamston, being only two hours away, tempted him.
“She sounds great. Let me show you her schedule. It’s right here.” She pushed her cell phone toward Tanner. “I checked their website. Thought you might be interested.”
On the screen he saw she would be at the theater for the opening week showings. The first performance would be tomorrow night. With a heavy sight, he glanced at Gloria. “Wish her luck for me.”
“She’s staying at the River House Hotel in the town. Checked in today. Be there until Sunday evening when she heads back to New York.”
Tanner felt his head bob. “Making lots of money, I bet.”
“She is. Did you know, her other play, which opened in Toronto, that she just sold the movie rights to Hollywood. She’s going out there soon to write the screenplay. She has two new productions opening in New York. She’s doing great, at least, financially.” Gloria then excused herself to fill another set of orders.
Tanner did not finish his second drink but tossed a twenty onto the bar. Without another word he slid off his seat and walked out to the parking lot. Three minutes later he aimed his Subaru Forrester toward Williamston.
Part 2
The director shook his head. “She said she won’t talk to you until after you’ve read it. If you know her like I do, if you want a chance to tell her anything, read the damn script.”
Flabbergasted, Tanner looked at the script. “What the h—”
“Read it. She’ll be at dress rehearsal this evening. Be done about nine. If you’ve read, she said she’d talk to you then. If you don’t, don’t come.” The director held his hands with palms upturned. “She sounded serious.”
Two hours later sitting in a booth at the Red Cedar Grill, he nursed his third rum and coke and finished The Coupled. Convinced she’d created a masterpiece, he stared at the pages and wondered how she’d made the characters step out of the pages to perform the play in his mind. While awed, a large part of him felt violated. She had told their story, their love affair, added a final act, and made it all sound beautiful and heart-wrenching.
“Did you like it?” Her voice cut through the haze. “It’s our story. Sad ending and all.”
She slid into the seat across from him. For a long moment neither spoke.
“It’s beautiful. Your best.” He fingered the bound papers. “Was I that dense?”
“Evidently. We’re not together.”
“Do you—?”
“Have heart disease? No, it’s beating fine.” She danced her fingers on the table. “And, no, you do not have a daughter.”
“In the script, it all sounded—real. That part was all imagined?”
“I write plays, made up stories, for dramatic effect.” She looked toward the waitress and nodded while pointing at Tanner’s drink. “A little girl with you would have been wonderful.”
“I would have—”
“Resented me. Her. Us. No, you told me you didn’t love me. Remember saying that?” She swiped at a stray lock of dark hair from her face. It refused to cooperate. “If you didn’t want me, it would have been wrong to anchor you with a baby.”
“It’s not that at all. I—” He leaned forward, almost knocking over his drink. “I made a mistake, about us. For good reasons, because I never wanted to hurt you.”
“It would have been worse for a child to have a Father who only stayed out of obligation.”
“That’s not true. I just didn’t want you saddled with an aging relic to take care of the rest of your life. It wouldn’t be fair to you, or to any child we had.”
“We’ve had that talk.” She shook her head. As the waitress approached with two rum and cokes, they remained quiet. When the server left, Livy squinted at him. “Why did you come?”
The question had tortured Tanner on the two-hour drive. No answer had presented itself, other than he wanted, no, needed to see her. He didn’t know if that made sense, but it had kept him driving over the speed limit. His voice squeaked forcing him to stop to clear his throat. “I came because, ahem.” He went on sounding less unnatural. “For you. To see you.”
“Curious to see how fat I’d gotten? To see if success went to my head and turned me into a spoiled witch?” Her words edged with ice, she darted the questions at him. “Hoping I found someone else? Someone younger? A better bedmate?”
Falling against the back of the pew-like seat, his face warmed even as he felt the chill of her anger. “I miss you. Since I …” He turned his head and struggled to find the words.
“Since you hurt me, you realized—what?” Her lips quivered and her body appeared to tremble. “That you’d tossed me away. Did you think no could ever love you—or should?”
His heavy sigh settled them both. He took several deep breathes as she leaned back and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for him to answer.
“I am so sorry I ran away. In my head, I thought you’d be better off with someone your own age. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“But you did. You were mean, cruel. I should never talk to you again.”
“Then you wrote—this. It’s amazing. You made me kinder, a better person than I am. I wish I were that man. You deserved him, not me.”
After she sipped her drink, lipstick glistened on the edge of her glass. Before replying she wiped it off with a napkin. “Gone. A smudge eliminated with a simple piece of cloth.” She traced the top of the tumbler with her index finger. “Memories don’t go away easily. My tears turned to ink. My pillow turned to paper. My misery produced the plays. Positive reviews.” She shook her head. “I’d give it all up if I could change what you did. I’d turn back the clock and have you make the right decision. But I can’t undo what you did. Wish I could.”
“I can’t either.” He slumped in his seat. “What happened haunts me, leaves me bereft of hope. All I can do is to ask forgiveness, for a second chance.”
For several moments she kept her eyes closed and breathed in and out with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. When she spoke, it was with detachment. “I forgive you. But, no. No second chances. A hurt this deep cannot be cleaned away with absolution. We’ll go forward with the damaged souls. Now I need it to be over.” With tears in her eyes, she stood and walked away from him ignoring his calls to wait.
He caught up with her on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
She shrugged away from his touch. “It’s too late. The hurt is too much to risk anything with you again. I’ve moved on.”
He stepped in front of her and was grateful she didn’t push past. “Why did you want me to read the script? It’s about us. About what should have happened. Not the cancer. The staying together.”
“Yes, it is the way I wanted it to be. But you ruined it.” Her face contorted into fierceness. “I need to be done with you. This play is all I have left of you, of us.” She stepped around him. “Do not contact me ever again. I’m over you.”
Something in her tone and her demeanor stopped him from pursuing. He left town within the hour, never seeing the play performed. The two never talked again.
Six weeks later at her funeral he learned her cancer had spread fast. None of the treatments worked. Gloria had to tell him of her passing.
Asked to attend the reading of the will, it surprised Tanner to discover he’d been named trustee of the estate.
Even more shocking, at the attorney’s office the woman lawyer told him Livy had given birth six months earlier to a baby boy. It was his—Tanner had a son.