Chapter Eleven
This afternoon, Daniel does something he has secretly, guiltily, wanted to do for years. His meeting was canceled, and he walked out of the offIce, his cheeks burning, as if his colleagues could look through his eyes and see into his soul, see where he was really going.
He has known about the Maple Bar for years. It’s a gay café and bar in New Haven. He has always been drawn to it, as he has been to so many gay cafés and bars, but has never dared do anything other than drive by, looking wistfully at the blacked-out windows.
He has memorized the address, terrified of even having a gay bar appear on his Google history. He hadn’t used the word gay. Had just put in maple and New Haven, then adding tree after the address came up, figuring he could come up with some story about researching maple trees in the unlikely event this would ever be discovered.
He has done this before, on his computer at home. He has become an expert in wiping out his cache, his history, his cookies, but still has a lingering fear that somehow someone would be able to see that occasionally, when the temptation has grown too great, he has stumbled upon gay sites, has looked at pictures, read stories with desire burning in his eyes.
He puts the address in his GPS, and drives on auto-pilot, not sure of what he will do once he gets there, sure only that he has to go, has to see whether this is real, whether he truly does want this thing that he is about to blow his life up for.
The bar is dark, and quiet. A few men sit or stand by the bar, a handful of others are grouped around a pool table. Music plays, and Daniel walks to the bar, sits down to stop his legs shaking, and immerses himself in the bar menu to avoid making eye contact.
“Hi there.” He looks up into the face of a friendly barman. “Hot out there today, huh?”
Daniel smiles. “I’ve been in an air-conditioned car all afternoon so it hasn’t been so bad.”
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Sam Adams.”
“Coming right up.”
He takes a sip and turns three-quarters on his stool, noticing that in the shadows of the room there is more activity. A couple stand against the wall, making out roughly, before walking through a doorway at the back.
Daniel watches, can’t tear his eyes away, his heart pounding with fear. And excitement.
“Wanna play?” A young, dark-haired man catches his eye and offers a pool cue, and Daniel shrugs.
“I’m not much of a pool player,” he says.
“Me neither,” says the man with a grin, sitting down on the stool next to Daniel. “I’m Mike.”
“Daniel.” They shake hands, and Mike orders a drink. He isn’t fey, or feminine, or butch. He doesn’t have leather chaps, or pierced ears, or a limp handshake. He is a regular guy, jeans and a T-shirt, a friendly smile, short back and sides. He looks exactly like every other guy Daniel knows, and finally he starts to relax.
“So . . .” Daniel says awkwardly. “Are you . . . a regular?”
“You mean, do I come here often?” Mike laughs. “I guess. I live near and, let’s face it, there aren’t exactly dozens of gay bars around here. I haven’t seen you before. Are you here on business?”
“Not exactly. I’ve known about this place for years but I’ve never . . . I just haven’t gotten around to checking it out.”
Mike takes a swig of his beer then smiles. “Married, right?”
Daniel looks down guiltily at his finger. He thought he had taken the ring off. He had.
“I can always tell,” Mike says. “You have the look. Married, with kids I’d say, and very unfamiliar with this.”
“You’re good,” Daniel says eventually with a shrug. “That’s exactly right.”
“We get a lot of marrieds in here,” Mike says. “Usually this is their secret life, the wives have no idea that they’re into men, but I don’t think that’s the case with you.”
“My wife has no idea I’m . . . into men.” The words sound so unfamiliar tripping off his tongue.
“But you look tortured. You want to tell her, right?”
“What are you?” Daniel is amazed. “A psychiatrist or a mind reader?”
“I can be anything you want me to be,” Mike says with a raised eyebrow, and Daniel suddenly realizes that he is flirting with him, and that this might not be as safe as he had assumed.
As Daniel leaves the bar, his mind is lost in thought. Once he’d understood that the flirting was harmless fun, he opened up to Mike, made a second confession, and each time he tells his story, says the words “I’m gay,” it feels more and more natural, more and more right.
“Wanna go into the back room?” Mike had said, after they had been talking for an hour, and Daniel had hesitated. He had wanted to, more than anything in the world, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be unfaithful to Bee, couldn’t do this to her, nor to himself. It was bad enough that he was unfaithful in his mind. The physical act would be too overwhelming for him right now.
It had taken every ounce of strength he had to say no.
Even now, as he walks to his car, he is tempted, over and over, to turn around, walk back in, allow Mike to take his hand and lead him into the back room.
He makes it to the car, and makes it to the highway, and even though he fights the urge to turn around at every single exit, he finally manages to make it home.
It just doesn’t feel like home anymore.
Lizzie and Stella are staying at a friend’s house, and Bee, who never has a night away from the girls, is setting the table in the dining room for dinner.
She wants tonight to be special, a precursor to their trip, and because she’s a disastrous cook herself she stopped at Garelick & Herb earlier and picked up stuffed chicken breasts, wild rice, various salads—all Daniel’s favorites.
The iPod is plugged in, the music is romantic, and although Bee feels a little self-conscious—the two of them will be slightly lost at their eighteenth-century French refectory table in their formal red dining room—eating in the kitchen as they always do means they’ll sit without talking much, Daniel may start reading the papers halfway through, and the meal will be over in ten minutes.
Bee wants to relax tonight. No children . . . No excuse . . . She wants to light candles, sip wine, and talk to her husband. Really talk to him. She wants to reconnect with him, like they did in Nantucket. She wants it to be romantic. She wants him to remember why they’re together, why they got married. What it means to be in love, for whatever else is going on, she is quite sure he loves her, he just needs help to show it.
“So do you think we ought to book something before we go? I was looking through this magazine and we could charter a boat, go out for a picnic.”
“Sure,” Daniel says, forcing down another mouthful of chicken, his throat having closed up because he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this.
“Daniel, for God’s sake,” Bee says with a sigh, placing her knife and fork down with a clatter. “Could you show a bit of enthusiasm? You agreed to take this house in Nantucket and now you don’t seem to want to go, which, quite frankly, is ruining it for me.”
“It’s not that I’m not enthusiastic.” Daniel lays his own knife and fork down and closes his eyes for a few seconds. He opens them to see Bee looking at him quizzically.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Is it . . . me? Is this it? You want to leave?”
She has never asked him that before. Perhaps she has been too scared of the answer, and Daniel, up until very recently, had never thought that this would be the way it happens.
As he looks up and finally meets her eyes, he sees she wants him to say “No, no. Don’t be silly. Of course not.”
But he can’t. Not now. This is it, he realizes. His window of opportunity, which feels frightening, and unreal, but if he doesn’t take it now, he doesn’t know how he can carry on living such a huge lie, a lie that seems to be growing bigger and bigger with every passing hour.
Daniel struggles to form the words. This isn’t how he wanted it to happen. He had made a commitment to Dr. Posner to have some more private sessions with him, to work out how to tell Bee, but he has to do it now, and as he tries to speak, Bee’s hand flies to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “You are. I think I’m going to be sick.” She jumps up, running to the bathroom where she retches into the toilet bowl.
“Bee, I’m so sorry.” Daniel runs after her and helps her up, standing helpless in the doorway as she rinses her mouth out.
“Just tell me,” she says. “Tell me why. Things are going well. I thought we were making progress, that’s the point of this vacation, for God’s sake. Oh God,” she groans. “The vacation. What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m just not happy,” Daniel says. “I can’t keep pretending that things are fine when they’re not.”
“What do you want me to do?” Bee says quietly. “Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’m sorry I put pressure on you about sex. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. What do you need? Whatever you need I can do it, I swear. Daniel, I love you, I’ll do anything to make this work.” Desperation shines in her eyes as she pleads, convinced she will find a way.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Daniel says sadly. “I swear, this is nothing to do with you. This is just about me, about figuring out what I want.”
“So figure it out. You don’t have to leave to figure it out. Stay. I’ll help you, or give you the space. You can sleep in the spare room if you want, but don’t go. Please don’t go. What about the girls? What about me?” And the last ounce of strength seems to leave her as Bee collapses to the floor in sobs, Daniel wanting nothing more than to put his arms around her and make it better, but he can’t.
Nor can he tell her the truth. That already he feels relief. That he feels more pain than he could have imagined, hurting Bee, leaving the girls, but that the cloud that has weighed upon his shoulders his entire life, the cloud that has only grown darker and heavier throughout his marriage, has finally dispersed.
He can’t tell her this marriage is over, nor can he tell her the reasons why. Not yet. There is only so much pain you can cause one person in one go, he realizes, and it’s not necessary for her to know—there will be time for that later.
Perhaps other people find it easier to sever the ties with a clean cut, but Daniel can’t do that. The concept of needing space feels right. It feels like something Bee could live with, something that isn’t going to end her world.
It gives her false hope, he knows, but he would rather do this gently, kindly, figure out how to drop the bomb when she is stronger, a little more used to dealing with life on her own.
“I love you, Bee,” Daniel says. “I’m so sorry but I can’t stay here anymore.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll stay at the Inn tonight. I’ll figure it out. I’ll phone you tomorrow, maybe I can see the girls after school. Right now I have to go upstairs and pack.”
And he reaches down, but Bee pushes him away when he tries to console her, so he leaves her on the floor, with tears streaming down her face, and goes to throw a few of his belongings into a bag before heading out through the door.