Chapter 4

It had started out simply enough, she was making a dinner for the two of them. He was going overboard with the idea of eating healthy, which she understood, but found very boring. Also, it seemed to symbolize his new depressed attitude and therefore, her inability to lift him out of his doldrums. She’d scoured her cookbooks for recipes that were low in sodium and cholesterol yet looked like they would appetizing. She settled on one for boiled chicken and broccoli simmered in an olive oil vinaigrette that looked decent.

She watched as he picked listlessly at his meal; he ate it, but without his former gusto. He even complemented her on it, but it wasn’t the same old Palmer. After they ate they went into the living room and sat on the sofa to watch television. He stared blankly at the screen. If she said anything to him, he would perk up briefly, respond pleasantly, then drift back into his own world. It was almost like he’d developed attention deficit disorder. Ellen began to feel like she was failing him and it broke her heart.

She began to wonder if she could do anything right: she’d had an affair with a younger man and gotten pregnant, strike one, once pregnant she’d miscarried, strike two, she was trying to bring Palmer back to normal and didn’t seem to know how, strike three. Three strikes and you’re out. She saw herself as an incompetent, a loser. The thought ran through her head that she was simply incapable of doing anything, at least not anything important, without failing.

As she slid into the depths of self-pity, her emotions took over. She felt her lips tremble as her eyes welled up. She tried hard not to cry, but was unsuccessful in that also; tears were now running down her cheeks. She was the very picture of sorrow and self-recrimination.

“Ellen, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

Startled by his voice she was unable to answer, merely shaking her head vigorously. He reached over and wiped her cheek.

“Did I do something? What’s bothering you, tell me. Please.”

Ellen took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. She leaned forward, hands pressed between her knees, shaking her head slowly. She wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I don’t know, nothing seems to work for me anymore.” There was a pitiful quality in her voice. “I wanted to help, you’re not the same. I don’t know, I thought I could ... do something. I can’t, not working I guess.”

She felt his arm slide across her shoulders. He pulled her easily to him, her head resting against his chest. His free hand stroked her cheek.

“I don’t understand. You have helped. We’ve been getting together ever since I left the hospital. You’ve been cooking for me, keeping me company. How have you not helped?”

“No,” shook her head again, “not like that. You’ve changed, we’ve all noticed. I thought I could get you back to your old self, but I can’t. I can’t, I’ve tried but it isn’t working.”

Leaning against him as she was, Ellen could feel him exhale. It was like he was deflating.

“Ellen, don’t put this on yourself. I’m not sure how to explain this.” She waited while he paused. “Look, this heart thing, I know it was no big deal, but it’s the beginning of something. I know there’s going to be more problems from here on out. This is just the start. A few weeks ago I was in good health, or thought I was. Now, suddenly I’m an old man; not in years so much, but I’m on the downhill slide. I’m facing the beginning of the end, that’s a fact. This isn’t your cross to bear.”

“Bullshit!” She almost spat the word out, glaring up at him. “It’s all bullshit and you know it. People have had worse happen than you did at younger ages and have lived long and happy lives. I’ve been feeling sorry for you? Seems like you’ve been feeling sorry enough for yourself, you don’t need any sympathy from me.”

“Hey, you want talk about people feeling sorry for themselves, go look in a mirror. Who are you to talk?”

Looking at him, she realized he was right. Even now, was she sorry for him or herself? She wasn’t sure. Emotions were swirling through her all jumbled up: anger, sorrow, frustration, pity, self-pity, fear. She was unable to respond. He placed his hands on the sides of her face, as if he were holding her head.

“Ellen, please, I’m sorry. I had no right to say that. Forgive me. You’ve been nothing but a friend to me since this thing happened. I wouldn’t want to insult you for all the world. I had no right to say that.”

“No,” her voice was strangely calm now. “You had every right, you’re absolutely right. I have been feeling sorry for myself. Even now, I’m not sure if I’m sorry that you couldn’t be helped out of your funk, or sorry that I couldn’t be the one to do it. I see that now.”

Then for reasons unbeknownst to her, she stretched herself up and kissed him. It wasn’t a particularly passion filled kiss but it was emotional. Then she embraced him, her head on his shoulder.

“God, aren’t we something? Blind leading the blind, or at least trying to. It’s all a God damned joke.”

She leaned back and looked at him again, then kissed him once more. The first time she had taken him by surprise, not so this time. He responded slowly and gently but lovingly. The whole thing was unplanned and unscripted, completely spontaneous. Neither had even thought about making love, let alone intended for it to happen. Ellen had a tingling nervous feeling in her bowels, one that she remembered from her younger days, when sex was still new and novel to her. Her one hand dropped down to feel him; he was aroused. Her hand jerked away from his erection quickly, as if burned. It was also like her early sexual encounters, when she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but she didn’t want to stop.

As she clung to him, their lips pressed together, tongues probing, John’s hands roaming freely, feeling her through her clothes, she knew this would be different, better perhaps, than any sexual experience she’d had in a long time. Make no mistake, Ellen had always enjoyed sex, but after the early period of her marriage it had become something purely physical; highly enjoyable but a simple part of life. Sort of like having a good meal or a night out; great, but something you expect every now and then and feel entitled to. This, even in these very early stages of foreplay, had an emotional quality to it that she hadn’t felt through most of her marriage, not with her ex, not with young Ted, or with the couple of dalliances she’d had in between.

She could feel her heart beating rapidly and heavily, nervous with anticipation. When she loosened her grip on him her hands were trembling. As he kissed her neck, his hand pressed against her lower belly, massaging it lovingly then moving down to her crotch firmly pressuring her. Even through her slacks, his touch thrilled her. Her thighs involuntarily closed together, trapping his hand while her hips shifted in a rocking motion. She’d passed the point of no return.

Her hands eased him gently back away from her and she stood up. She looked down at him wordlessly, watching as he got up off the sofa. Once he was in front of her they embraced each other, pressing their bodies tightly against each other as they kissed. Ending the kiss, Ellen stepped back, one hand on the side of his face. She slowly let it slid down to his neck finally dropping away. Neither had said a word, the silence would continue. Turning, she started to walk slowly to the bedroom glancing once over her shoulder to be sure he was following her. She wanted to see if he would come uninvited, she was hoping, actually. He didn’t disappoint her.

Once in the bedroom, she closed the drapes and shut the door. She didn’t turn on the lights, she wanted it dark. It wasn’t because she had any qualms about nudity, either being seen or seeing him, she intended for it to be a purely tactile experience; wishing to feel it rather than see it. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that’s how she wanted it to happen. Taking his hand she led him the last few steps through the darkness to the bed and sat down, pulling him down beside her. He put his arm around her.

“Ellen, I...” She pressed her fingers over his lips, silencing him.

“Shhhh,” Then whispered in his ear, “Don’t talk. No more words, please.”

Then she moved her hand to the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. And so it went, wordlessly in the dark they would make love. She reveled in the whole process; again, it reminded her of her early sexual experiences. Fumbling with their clothes, they undressed each other in stages. Unseen hands caressing, fondling, probing, lips pressing against flesh in the blackness; all done quietly, only the sound of their heavy breathing, occasionally highlighted by a soft moan or sigh, could be heard. His delicate personal caresses arousing her, driving her, preparing her for the ultimate intimacy. This was the way she wanted it to be, she wanted to lose herself in the pure sensuality of the act, uncorrupted by words.