Eclipse

Having said goodbye to Rose, they headed to the parking lot. The noise of the bar still ringing in her ears, Carol was grateful to get into the car with Therese. It had started to rain, the tentative droplets turning slowly into a steady drizzle. A shudder ran through Carol as she closed the car door behind her, relieved to lock the cold air outside. Therese turned the heater on and pulled out of the half-empty lot as inconspicuously as she could as if afraid her car would somehow disturb the concert in progress.

Carol listened to the drum of the rain accelerating, breaking away from the pattern it had assumed only a moment ago. The Jeep’s headlights scoured the road ahead, zooming confidently through what was now a dense downpour. Therese was quiet, her attention seemingly focused on driving. Carol couldn’t tell if she was calm or agitated, happy or sad. Her face, illuminated from time to time by the lights of the traffic, gave away nothing. Yet Carol knew she looked far too serene to really be that way.

Carol didn’t mind the silence, for they were quiet for a reason. They might have left the dance floor but its spell was still unbroken. Each time she glanced at Therese, the tiny mirrored orb took another spin on its axis, startling her with photons of hope.

To just sit there, to remain perfectly still, soothed her heavy heart. For once Carol didn’t feel the need to rush forward or to find her answers in advance. She had always been like that, impatient to wait around and let things take their time. Even with a bad premonition, she had been the same – intolerant to the point of being quarrelsome when faced with delay, no matter how disadvantageous it might prove to be for her. “Are you the kind of person who has to read the last page of a book before deciding if you want to buy it?" Abby had jokingly asked her. “Why ruin the story before it has even begun?” she had questioned, shaking her head in disbelief.

It wasn’t the journey Carol didn’t trust, it was the catharses she most often found lacking. She was afraid that whatever she tried on would inescapably turn mundane or habitual, as if hers were a kind of a reverse Midas touch that turned potential gold into ashes. Since life itself couldn’t be a disappointment, she herself had to be one.

While studying drama at Vassar, Carol had learned about hamartia, a term outlined by Aristotle himself that referred to the protagonist’s ultimate failing in a tragedy. At times she had been prone to wonder if her constant vacillating stemmed from a similar source, from some tragic flaw in her character that bred discontent. Still, it wasn’t what the concept had originally implied. Hamartia meant missing the mark and making a mistake instead of choosing the right path or objective, it had nothing to do with moral failure. Not knowing better, she had chosen foolishly, mistaken one thing for another. Being aware of it hadn’t offered much comfort, though.

Therese’s hands rested on the steering wheel, immobile, as the car sped along the I-95. There was nothing commonplace in this most ordinary of all situations, Carol thought, and it gave her pleasure to think so even if she couldn’t quite explain why. They would talk soon enough, but right now she wasn’t going to fracture the delicate aftermath of something that hadn’t needed words in the first place.

'What you do still betters what is done,' Carol remembered from the production of The Winter’s Tale she had been a part of at Vassar. ‘When you speak, sweet, I’d have you do it ever… When you do dance, I wish you a wave o’ the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that; move still, still so, and own no other function: each your doing, so singular in each particular, crowns what you are doing in the present deed, that all your acts are queens.’

Carol hadn’t thought of Shakespeare in a long time nor had she known she would still remember the passages barely understood all those years ago. She was heavy, wondrously so, like a feather weighted down by the gravity of now.

When the Jeep roared into the Lincoln Tunnel, Carol’s heart started to beat faster. Butterflies, she thought, leveling her breath. The fluttering sensation got only worse once they resurfaced on the side of Manhattan. The lights of the city stung her eyes through the streaks of rain missed by the wiper blades. The heater was still on, blowing hot air inside. Carol hadn’t noticed how warm the car had become, how potently the heat had stuck to its interior. The leather and the rubber mats smelled odious all of a sudden.

I’m alright, Carol repeated between pained breaths though her throat felt oddly tight. I will make it if I’ll only concentrate. Yet she knew what was happening, the nausea building up inside her like a balloon inflating on its own. Only a couple of blocks anymore, she calmed her racing heart. Every turn the car made jolted her guts, forcing her to swallow, to push back what was already on its way up. “Therese…” she managed to mumble, but the effort it took undid what little was left of her resistance. In a violent surge of inner revolt, she threw up on the floor and on the dashboard above the glove compartment, on herself and, what was the worst of all, partly on Therese as well.

The Jeep slowed down and came to a halt less than ten seconds later. Stunned, Therese stared at the few choice bits of her mother’s supper all over her lap. “I’m so sorry!” Carol cried out in despair. “I’m so sorry…I’m so, so…” As if moving in slow motion, Therese put her hand gently on Carol’s left shoulder. When Carol dared to look at her, she couldn’t have been more surprised. Therese’s whole being was jerking out of irrepressible, silent laughter.

“It’s okay,” Therese gasped, droll tears welling from her eyes. “It really is,” she added breathlessly, squeezing Carol’s arm. Therese sounded suddenly as if a heavy burden had just been lifted off of her shoulders. “And I’d show you just how okay it is, but I’m not going to since you’re covered in puke…” By now she was convulsing with laughter. “And you did a pretty good job messing me up as well!” She took another toll of the damage and guffawed. “Way to go, Regan!”

It took a while before Carol could see any humor in their predicament, but because of Therese she couldn’t stay mortified forever. Still chuckling, Therese parked the Jeep in the driveway next to Carol’s car. Its interior should be hosed down immediately, she explained once she had managed to calm down. “I should do it,” Carol offered sheepishly, but Therese wouldn’t hear of it.

“You washing The Jeeper?” she contested Carol again. “Well, some other time in some other gear, maybe, but not now…” Grinning, Therese picked up the garden hose and proceeded to salvage her beloved four-wheeler from its foul new lining.

Did she just..? Carol narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what Therese had meant by her off-the-cuff remark. Nah. “Fine,” Carol said, rolling her eyes at such cockiness, “have it your way.”

Carol was in the shower when Therese came upstairs. Soon she heard a knock on the bathroom door. “Is there another one here somewhere or should I just wait for my turn?” Therese asked through the half-closed door.

“You can use the bathroom next to the guest bedroom,” Carol said. “I put some clean clothes and a towel for you there next to the sink.” The shower pouring down on her, she felt vulnerable and still ashamed of what had just happened.

“Thanks.” Therese hovered in the doorway for a few moments longer before taking her cue.

Fifteen minutes later Therese was done with her freshening up. She was wearing a loose flannel shirt over a white tank top and a pair of green boxers that had evidently survived Carol’s bilious outburst. The plaid shirt looked familiar but Carol didn't recall having put it there for her. "This was right next to the ones you’d left me so I chose it instead. It looked snuggly," Therese said, smoothing the soft fabric between her fingers.

It used to belong to Harge, Carol remembered suddenly. Therese's hair was damp, barely towel dry. It looked nice, becoming, Carol thought. "The pants were a bit baggy so I skipped them..." She paused to hesitate. "In fact I was kinda hoping I could stay here tonight," Therese continued. "It's late and I'm not too keen on driving the wet Jeep back just yet." She looked at Carol expectantly. "If that's okay with you?" Her eyes were alert, attentive.

"Of course," Carol replied, wishing she had suggested it herself after all the trouble she had put Therese through. "There's no way you're going to take that car back to Poughkeepsie,” she pontificated. “I’ll have it properly cleaned for you tomorrow.” Therese seemed pleased, her smile fittingly lopsided.

“Should I worry?” she asked Carol. “The way you keep tossing your cookies, I mean.” The intent of her question was sincere despite the laid-back words she chose to convey it with.

“I’m fine,” Carol stated evasively. “It’s nothing.” She hated lying or at least omitting the truth, but she just couldn’t bring herself to talk about it right now. “Would you like a cup of tea or something?” she asked instead.

“I think we should go to bed,” Therese said, noticing too late how she had phrased it. “I mean it’s really late and you’re not feeling well and I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.” She drummed her fingers on the kitchen island, her brow slightly furrowed. “The guest room looks really nice.” Therese glanced clumsily at Carol. “Comfy.”

Carol wanted Therese to sleep in the same bed with her, and knowing it paralyzed her with fear. If only it could be as innocent as it had been in Poughkeepsie, she fretted. She herself had ruined it by thinking of it excessively, making too much out of it, actively seeking and wanting something more out of her tender recollection when all she was supposed to do was to be content with Therese’s kindness.

Maybe if she hadn’t told Abby about Therese at all, maybe then it would have remained untarnished by her superfluous flights of fancy. Abby wouldn’t have known how to tease her, to put thoughts in her head, although blaming her was nothing short of blasphemous to their friendship. Carol had told her willingly and welcomed the gentle mockery to have something new and exciting to crowd her mind. If she hadn’t been so shaken up by Harge’s death, the austere funeral, the ill-timed baby and all those past-due memories, then maybe, just maybe, she would have known what was right and what was wrong. Then again, I wouldn’t have met Therese had I not been that way, occurred to her as well.

Clearing her throat, Therese attempted to smile at Carol. It was a brave effort but nothing more. “Good night, Carol,” she said softly and retreated to her designated area.

Regrets, second thoughts and downright confusion unsettling her, Carol didn’t think she could fall asleep but she did. The sleep felt thin, transparent, too conscious to lull her into believing she was resting at all, and the dream that came with it seemed to happen in her bedroom, right next to her. She opened her eyes and saw Harge even though he didn’t resemble him in the least. He looked like Bob, Therese’s dad, and he smiled at her. Despite the thinning hair and unruly beard, Carol still recognized him as Harge and asked him why he had come and why he looked different.

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” Harge replied in Bob’s voice. Taking Carol’s hand, he sat on the bed. “I just quit my job, that’s all,” Harge/Bob said. He leaned in closer, his brown eyes moist and hurt. “You should’ve told her about the baby.”

Carol wasn’t afraid, she was puzzled. “Her?” she asked incredulously.

Harge/Bob glanced at her disapprovingly. “You should’ve told me about the baby, I said.” He seemed impatient, distracted by something Carol wasn’t privileged to see. “I work with Nana nowadays,” he spoke after a moment’s silence. Closing his eyes briefly, he straightened his back and breathed out a long, hollow sigh. He looked old, older than his years, and the sad, tired rings around his eyes upset Carol, because he looked like her dying husband again. The distant tears broke out as mere murmurs at first, emanating from the pit of her stomach, growing stronger and stronger until she couldn’t keep them lodged in anymore. “What is dead must remain dead,” Harge said gently, but the tenderness of his voice only served to make Carol even more inconsolable.                

“Carol…” a voice called out to her. “Wake up… you’re having a bad dream.” Carol was still crying when she opened her eyes and saw Therese leaning over her. She looked as if she had just awakened, her dark hair in sweet disarray. Sobbing, Carol sat up and reached for a tissue on the nightstand. It took a while before her erratic breathing calmed down. “It’s early,” Therese said. “Close your eyes, I’ll stay here till you fall asleep.” She pulled the duvet over Carol and tucked her in, before taking a seat in the armchair next to the bed. “Sleep.”    

The next time Carol woke up, the sun was peeking through the blinds, casting a yellow square on Therese who was sleeping curled up in the chair. Noticing how tightly she was grabbing her sides, Carol got up and put a blanket over her bare limbs. Therese appeared fragile but the soft, warm weight seemed to relax her through the haze of her dream. “I like you very much.” Carol’s whisper was muffled, almost inaudible. 

“Morning.” Therese sat in the chair, her legs wide apart. The blanket was carefully folded on the armrest. “How are you feeling?” Her smile radiated the kind curiosity Carol associated with her already.

I must have dozed off, she thought. “Much better, thank you.” Carol did feel better, neither the dream nor the nausea no longer holding their grip on her.

“Why don’t you relax a bit longer while I go and see if there’s something I could find for that empty stomach of yours?” Therese got up, ready and raring to put her renewed energy to good use. Carol didn’t mind her kind offer, quite the contrary. She was happy to remain in bed.

She heard Therese taking out dishes from the cupboard, opening the refrigerator and humming a tune that sounded vaguely familiar. “Where’s the coffee?” Therese shouted out.

“It’s in the freezer,” Carol hollered back. “You know how to use the moka pot?” she asked but got no response. Unnecessary question, she mused, hearing water being poured down from the faucet.

Soon she heard something else as well. A key was being turned in the lock and the door of her apartment opened. “Carol!” A cheerful voice greeted from the foyer.

Abby. Carol stiffened remembering Therese’s tank top and boxer shorts. Oh fuck. Her mind racing, she tried to think of what to do but all she could come up with was an urgent wish to slide under the covers completely and to pretend she wasn’t there at all.

“Oh… hello…” Abby had made it to the kitchen, Carol deduced.

“Hey.” Therese’s voice was somewhat perkier.

“I’m Abby, Carol’s best friend, and you are..?” Carol contemplated briefly climbing out on the roof of her house.

“Therese,” said Therese calmly.

“Of course you are,” Abby smiled, already relishing the moment. “Did I come at a bad time? I did, didn’t I?” Miss Gerhard wasn’t going to leave a single stone unturned.

“No, it’s okay, we’re getting up,” Therese replied.

“You. Are. Getting. Up,” Abby repeated as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard. “Excellent.” Carol had no way of seeing what was happening in the other room but she was pretty sure her friend was anxious to see her. “And where is my friend hiding?” Abby continued, her question snaking all the way to Carol’s ears.     

“She’s still in bed,” Therese said matter-of-factly.

“She’s still in bed.” Abby’s parrot routine was getting fast on Carol’s nerves. She could feel Abby grinning ecstatically through the wall.

“Goddammit, Gerhard!” Carol jumped up from the bed and put her robe on. She might as well face the music. “Put a sock in it,” she hissed at Abby, stepping in the living room. “It was too late for Therese to drive back to Poughkeepsie last night, so she stayed in the guest room.” Which she hadn’t exactly done, Carol realized right away.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Abby commented, her eyes twinkling with unbridled amusement. “So very kind of you, Carol.” She was biting her lip fervently.

“Yeah, I have to get my Jeep’s interior cleaned after yesterday so Carol suggested I get it done here,” Therese explained, seemingly oblivious to what was going on between two friends.

“What happened in the bu… in your car?” Abby questioned, her eyes darting wildly back and forth between Carol and Therese.   

“You don’t want to know,” Carol snapped at her, hoping it would put an end to the entire embarrassment.

“Try me!” Abby was quick to challenge. “I’m sure I’d be impressed…” she mumbled although it sounded more like she was giggling. “Oh God, I almost forgot Lou!” Abby realized, horrified. “He’s in the car and probably tearing the upholstery by now.”

Carol was eager to use the opportunity to change the subject. “Why didn’t you bring him in? What’s going on?” she asked, distressed.

“Gen got a last minute appointment for Mickey at the doctor’s,” Abby explained. “Oh, it’s nothing serious,” she continued, noticing Carol’s alarmed expression. “But I have to catch a flight to D.C. in less than three hours, and I was hoping you could look after Lou till Gen picks him up?” Abby pleaded. “It’ll be an hour-and-a-half, tops,” she promised.

“Of course,” Carol agreed. “Go get him, don’t keep him waiting.” Looking after Lou wasn’t how she had pictured this morning but she wasn’t going to turn her back on her friend.    

“Thanks so much,” Abby beamed. “And you even have help,” she said, addressing her demure words to Therese. “You look like babysitting material…”  Abby smiled adorably at her new acquaintance before rushing down to her car.

She returned five minutes later with a sullen little boy. Lou looked around, scanning the premises with his customary unnerving fashion. “Sweetie,” Abby cooed to him, “this is Therese, she and aunt Carol will keep you company till Mom and Mickey are back, okay?” She pushed the bewildered boy forward.

“Hello,” Therese greeted him, smiling warmly. “I’m Therese, nice to meet you.”

Lou stared at her suspiciously. “You’re a DYKE!” he shouted out unexpectedly. Abby blushed up to her ears and Carol wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Therese snorted involuntarily. “Lou, was it..?” When the boy nodded, she winked at him. “You’re a very perceptive young man but I’d rather you call me Therese, okay?” Her eyes were sparkling with suppressed laughter.

“My mom’s envr… envir… envrnr…” Lou attempted, getting tangled up with his r’s.

“I’m an environmental lobbyist,” Abby helped out. “You’ll get there, Lou,” she encouraged her son. She looked at Therese apologetically. “It’s really nice to meet you, Therese. Carol’s told me and my wife so much about you.” Abby was being her most charming self.

Smiling, Therese glanced at Carol. “Nice to meet you too. I’m sure we’ll be fine with this fella,” she said, leaning down to talk to Lou. “How ‘bout some cereal, what’ll you say?” Lou’s eyes lit up and he followed her to the kitchen.  

“She’s lovely,” Abby whispered to Carol as she was about to leave. “We’re so going to talk about her and this when I get back.” With this she was obviously referring to the scene she had inadvertently stepped into, and as far as Carol knew, Abby never made empty promises.