I shouldn’t even be thinking about Eve! What’s the matter with me? Here I am in church! On Christmas Eve! And my wonderful little family is all around me, but what am I doing? I’m thinking about what it was like to make love to Eve to the music of Frankie Valli singing “My Eyes Adored You” in 1975. Yes, I thought, that’s what I’m doing and I don’t care. The thought police couldn’t hear me. I could think about whatever I wanted and I was still safe. I was a man possessed.
So I indulged my memories, remembering how wonderful, almost surreal it had been. When I was with Eve time was suspended. We were drawn to each other like metal filings to a magnet, one filament at a time and then all in a rush. I had been hopelessly and completely in love with her, lost in her beautiful eyes, her breathing and her heartbeat pounding against mine. I remembered it. I remembered it all. I reminded myself that a man is very lucky to ever have had a love like that, even once in his life. And her mother had ruined it. Cookie. I would never forgive her. That judgmental, small-minded bitch who found us together, called me a common laborer from a family with no distinction, and said her daughter was destined for a far grander life than I could ever offer her.
As we did whenever possible, we went to her house when Cookie wasn’t home. One day, Cookie wasn’t supposed to be home until six. We were in Eve’s bedroom, in her bed, screwing our brains out with every ounce of energy our eighteen-year-old selves could muster. Suddenly, the door opened and the screaming started. “You! Stop this at once! Leave my daughter alone! Get out of her bed! Get out of my house now or I’ll call the police! And don’t you dare ever come back here!” I fumbled around trying to gather my clothes, which were flung all over the room. I barely got my pants and shoes on as I left the house. I was still buttoning my shirt as I started my car. I could hear Eve shrieking. I wanted to go back in and rescue her, but I knew better. Cookie was a wildcard. She would have done something drastic, like claim rape. Did Cookie really think Eve was not a willing partner?
Cookie was always trading on her ancestors—someone had signed the Declaration of Independence a million years ago. She was such a prude. Such a snob. I despised Cookie and loved Eve in equal amounts. But we had been too young to fight and too afraid of Cookie.
I wondered if Cookie had even an inkling of how successful I had become. As she lived in Charleston, there was a chance she could’ve known. But would that change her opinion of me? Oh, sure, Carl was a doctor and he saved lives here and there, but he had no soul. No true passion. At least not one that I had been able to detect.
I glanced at Eliza sitting in the pew next to me and was immediately awash in guilt. She was beautiful, in her exotic way, and I loved her. I did. I loved everything about her. She had no hidden agenda, no guile. No. Eliza only wanted to be my wife, my partner, the mother of our children. And she was an absolute delight to live with. She was a reasonable woman, fair and insightful, not given to moody or bitchy behavior. Her marvelous sense of humor had carried us through so many awkward situations. Her meals had not only warmed and nourished us all but her culinary efforts had won me contracts. When a bid was in question, I brought the client home and Eliza whipped up something mind boggling that brought the client to his knees, singing her praises, begging to sign on the dotted line. There was no doubt that she was my greatest asset. Oh, God, the things she could do with a chicken. My mouth watered for her coq au vin.
I wondered then if Eliza had ever had someone in her deep past who meant to her what Eve meant to me. A first love? A regret? Things we never shared? Was there a man she thought about in a weak moment? Someone she had loved with youthful abandon? Someone who had broken her heart? Did certain music trigger memories? If there was someone like that in her past, she had never said one word about it. Not one word.
But then again, I thought, I never told her about Eve.
The pine-scented air was crisp as we left the church. It felt like a Christmas Eve should feel, a little damp and raw with the promise of something new and wonderful about to happen. It sent a rush of happiness through each one of us and we smiled for no reason other than that we were together.
By the time we arrived home the boys were fast asleep in the backseat of the car. We pulled into the garage and I lowered the door with the remote. Luckily, the boys didn’t stir. Ever so quietly, Eliza carried Luke and I carried Max to their bedroom, where we undressed them, pulling on their pajamas as their listless bodies flailed. We kissed the boys on their foreheads, turned down the light to very low, and left the room, leaving the door ajar.
“They ran out of steam,” I said quietly.
“They’ll be up at five, if we’re lucky,” Eliza said.
“I’m going to take Rufus outside,” I said.
“Do you want to have a glass of wine while we fix Santa?”
“Sure, but why don’t we step outside together for a moment? It’s so beautiful.”
I roused Rufus from his bed in the family room and Eliza followed me through the kitchen doors onto the patio.
“Let’s go down by the river,” I said.
“Okay, but just for a minute. What if the boys wake up? I need to be able to hear them.”
“Don’t worry. This is probably the one night of the year they won’t leave their room.”
I knew Eliza could see me smiling, even in the dark, hoping I was right. She took my outstretched hand and walked with me toward the water.
The full moon was up, high in the sky, surrounded by billions of twinkling stars. Rufus wandered off toward an ancient live oak tree, draped with long sheets of Spanish moss that moved slowly in the evening breeze like a ghost. We could smell the brackish water of the Stono River, brimming with life and death as it flowed in a southwesterly direction. Its ripples shimmered with light reflected from the night sky. We stood there, on our dock, leaning against the railing. I had my arm around her shoulder and hers was looped around my waist.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Stanley. I sure do love you.”
“Merry Christmas to you, sweetheart. I love you too. So much. Man, we sure are lucky.”
“Sometimes I can hardly believe it.”
We stood there for a few more minutes until Rufus meandered over to us and nudged us with his snout.
“I think our old man is ready for bed,” I said.
“Yep, and I think our tree is ready for Santa.”
Soon all the toys were arranged under the tree and, weary from the day, we crawled under our own bedcovers, too tired to think of anything but sleep.
After a few minutes, I rolled over on my side and threw my arm over Eliza.
“We sure have it good, babe, don’t we?”
I thought I heard her say, “Yep. Don’t fuck it up.” I sat up and looked at her, but she was already asleep.
chapter 6
eliza and the unexpected guest
There was hardly a sliver of daylight when Luke and Max appeared at the side of our bed.
“Is she awake?” Max whispered.
“No. What time is it?” Luke whispered.
“You know I can’t tell time yet,” Max hissed.
I groaned and the boys jumped.
“It’s too early!” I said. “Go back to bed!”