Jim thought of his wife, his great good luck. Did he love her? He was grateful to her. Did she still love him? He wasn’t sure anymore. Their love for Nathan was their strongest bond, but since he went off to Amherst, they seemed untethered. They had become careful with each other, as if a sharp word might sever the connection. Nathan noticed, as an only child will, and asked his mother what had happened. “We’re adjusting to a Nathanless life,” she said. “Don’t worry about us.” She wasn’t worrying. She had again come to a fork in the road.
For Jim, the adjustment was to a Rupertless life. He tried to imagine his life if Eleanor agreed to marry him, if he divorced Anne. Nathan would be angry, but he’d come around eventually; children always did. Eleanor’s boys would be angry too, but that would be more her problem than his. His married friends and colleagues would at first be shocked and disapproving; then they’d be envious. He’d miss the Lehmans. Most of all, he’d miss Anne. He wished he could give up the dream of Eleanor. He would, he knew, be less happy with her than with Anne, but happiness was no longer the point. He was stuck. From the deep recesses of his brain, the words of “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” memorized in eighth grade, clamored into consciousness: Someone had blundered. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but…The congregation rose, stepping on the poem’s last line. The choir began singing “Jerusalem.”
—
Jim began to think he should cut back on surgeries. He was sixty-four. He’d been practicing for thirty years, since he finished his cardiology fellowship in 1972. He was tired of standing for five hours; his back, which used to ache the last hour of an operation, now ached almost from the beginning and then for hours after. His hands, swelling with arthritis, were clumsier, more likely to make mistakes; his eyes were seeing less clearly even with his magnifiers. He was sweating buckets, from all two million sweat glands it seemed; he thought the nurses shrank from him, repelled by his odor. He talked with Nathan about these changes. Nate had finished his first year of medical school and was itching to start rotations in July. The year had given him enough knowledge to have formed some set opinions. He had always been a boy who kept his eyes open, and in the last year, he had seen many older surgeons resisting assistance in the operating room, risking a malpractice suit, becoming more arrogant as their skills declined. “Two a week, Dad,” he said. Jim swallowed hard; he had expected Nathan to argue with him.
“Look,” Nathan said, seeing his father’s dismay, “you’ve got a great future as Presbyterian’s second-opinion guru.”
“You’ll be a great doctor,” Jim said. “I asked. You answered. Balls.”
Nathan looked at his dad. “Are you sure the symptoms are age-related?” he asked. “Not from drugs or drink?”
“What made you say that?” Jim asked. “Has your mother said something to you?”
Nathan paused, giving Jim a start. They both sensed a tectonic shift. Jim wanted Nathan’s good opinion.
“Mom is loyal to a fault,” Nathan said. “I have eyes, Dad.”
Jim roused a small smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
When Jim made his announcement that he was cutting back on surgeries to do more consulting, he suggested that he thought his colleagues were too quick to operate.
“Why did you do that?” Anne asked.
“Better that they think I’m insulting them than losing my grip,” he said.
“When does it end?” she asked. “This chest beating.”
“In the grave,” he said, smiling at her. She looked blankly back at him. He felt a pang. From the beginning, Jim had counted on Anne’s obliging nature. She had said, half joking, not long after they were married, that she came with a lifetime warranty, only his to violate. He had believed her. He couldn’t remember an argument that had left either of them raw or jagged. He had always been able to make her see things his way. Her new, sharper edge gave him a feeling of dispossession. It wasn’t open rebellion, more like dogged resistance. She was becoming less agreeable and more polite. A note of judgment, hinging on criticism, tinged her conversations with him. She was cooler to him, not adoring, not even admiring. She went along without agreeing, as if the matter didn’t matter. “Oh, let’s agree to disagree,” she would say. She started sleeping in Nathan’s room when he went off to Haiti. It was clear Nate no longer needed his parents. Anne had never needed Jim, but she had wanted him. That was no longer clear.
Anne was changing in other ways as well. She had taken up rigorous exercising again, something she hadn’t done since she was pregnant. She had gotten prettier as she grew older, hitting her peak in her late forties and early fifties. She’s better-looking than I am these days, he thought. He wondered if she knew what he was planning. He wondered if she was making plans of her own. He had a spasm of panic.
His new surgical schedule left him free two afternoons a week to stake out the Lincoln Plaza Theater. The second week he ran into Eleanor going into Road to Perdition, the new Mendes. She showed surprise seeing him.
“I’ve cut back at the hospital,” he said. “I wanted to do other things. Going to movies was one of them.”
When the movie ended, Jim asked Eleanor if she’d like a cup of coffee. She agreed, no boys or husband to rush home to, and they walked up Columbus to Starbucks. They sat in the window at a high counter. They had to turn to look at each other, a choice both avoided. Jim started sweating. Eleanor shifted in her seat. He had no small talk. He plunged.
“I bought the ‘Stoker-Shelley Memorial Wing’ plaque,” he said. “I was the one.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Eleanor said.
“The plaque outside the oncology wing. You must have seen it,” he said.
Eleanor shook her head. “No,” she said.
She’s not giving anything away, Jim thought. That’s Eleanor.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, still looking straight ahead.
Eleanor turned to look at him, incredulity in her face. “No,” she said.
“Will you see me regularly, then?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked. “We’re free finally to be together.”
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“It’s our time, now.”
“That was so long ago. I’m not that girl anymore.”
“You are. I see her in you.”
“Please stop,” she said. “That was eons ago. I got over you.”
“How could you get over me? We were so much in love.” Jim could hear the note of wounded grievance in his voice. He coughed to clear it.
“What can I say?” she said. “That was then.”
“Is there someone else?” he said. “Are you seeing Carlo Benedetti?”
“Please stop this, Jim,” she said. “You’re plowing ancient history.”
“Why did you come to my wedding?” Jim asked.
Eleanor took in a deep breath. “I didn’t want to; Rupert did. He wanted to meet the Lehmans.”
“Why did you send the fish server in your parents’ pattern?” he asked.
“It was on your registry,” she said. “It was your pattern, yours and Anne’s.” She moved her chair back a bit.
“You weren’t at all curious to see me?”
“No. I hadn’t thought about you for years. I had a long, good marriage. Rupert was the right man for me. I was very lucky.”