Part II: Her Story

We arrived at the home of my parents late that night. Laura had already fallen asleep but I couldn't sleep on the drive, tortured by my guilty memories. Getting out and hugging my parents was a welcome relief.

We were back where I had grown up, inside familiar walls. I had been a child here, grown up to womanhood, gone off to school, and met Tim. That last thought made me feel an icy grip on my heart. The visit to that camp had been torture for me, a torture I couldn't escape. Finally seeing that place was almost too much to bear. All these years, I had kept the secret, the old vow. Now I felt a need burning inside me to confess.

I made it through the night, trying to stop myself from tossing and turning so I wouldn't wake Tim. It was strange sleeping in my old bed with him. All those years being good, trying to stay chaste until marriage, to now be back in my room, in my bed, with a man. My man.

It wasn't that I doubted Tim would still love me. We had something really special. In many ways, our love for each other was better than our friends had in their marriages. I knew Tim loved me as much as I loved him. I just worried how he would react to my confession.

I drew in a deep breath and came to the decision. Tomorrow. Actually, it was today. The sky was just beginning to tint with the impending dawn. I would face my demon, for good or bad. In a way, I was relieved once I had made the decision.

After breakfast, I cornered my mother in the kitchen while Tim and my dad were taking Laura out to see the cows.

"What's bothering you, dear?' my mother asked.

She used that tone. I knew she knew something was wrong. There was no denying it. She knew me too well. I tried to steel myself. If I started to cry, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to pull this off.

"Mom, I need to take Tim out for a talk, just the two of us. I was thinking of a picnic over the hill. Can you take care of Laura for a few hours?"

My mother was listening to me as she peeled potatoes at the sink. She smiled and nodded.

"We can bake cookies for after dinner," she said, never questioning what the problem was. God bless you, Mom.

"There's some sandwich stuff in the fridge, and some fruit. Do you want to bring a bottle of wine?" she offered.

I nodded before going down to the basement to retrieve the big wicker picnic basket. It was old and dusty now, not as I remembered it fresher and newer from my childhood.

Back in the kitchen, I wiped off the dust. Mom was already starting to make sandwiches. She knew me so well, knew both of us so well. She was trimming the crusts off my bread, and putting provolone cheese on Tim's sandwich. I smiled at that. She knew my husband almost as well as I knew him.

We were just about finished when I looked through the window over the sink and saw the men returning, each holding one of Laura's hands and gently swinging her between them. She was giggling with delight. They came in and Laura was bursting with things to tell me. Mom stopped her and told her to go wash her hands first.

Tim saw the picnic basket and raised an eyebrow at me in silent question. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice steady, but I was starting to sweat.

"I thought you and I would go on a picnic for lunch. A little alone time," I said, managing to keep my voice under control.

"Just the two of us?" he asked as he saw the bottle of white Zinfandel sticking out of the basket.

I managed a smile as I said, "Yeah, just the two of us. Mom's going to keep Laura and they're going to bake cookies while we're gone."

Tim walked over and put his arms around my waist, sneaking in a kiss just below my earlobe, the way I really liked. I felt my heart race at the touch of his lips.

"Sounds romantic," he whispered.

God, I hope he still thinks so later.

Mom convinced Laura that baking cookies would be better than a picnic so she didn't mind that we weren't taking her along. Dad had wandered off to do one of those things that always seemed to need doing on a farm.

Tim picked up the basket and took my hand.

"See you later this afternoon," he told Mom.

He bent down and gave Laura a kiss as he passed her, already hard at work at the table.

"Be good for Grandma," he told her.

"I'll make a special cookie for you, Daddy. Heart shaped."

Then we were gone. The back door closed behind us with finality. I had closed the door on the secrecy. Ahead of us, a glorious day beckoned. It was about a ten minute walk to the spot I had in mind and in that time I felt like I aged ten years. Tim, bless him, didn't ask what was on my mind though I knew he could tell something was bothering me.

When we crested the hill, we passed out of sight of the house. There was a pasture ahead of us and not a person in sight. In the distance, a few cows had gathered around a tree. Our destination was another shady spot, this one just above the stream that ran though the pasture. I used to come here to think when I was a teenager. It was where I had tried to work through all the angst that goes along with growing up. I had spent many lazy afternoons out here, with a book or just my thoughts for company.

I stopped beneath the old tree. Tim, taking the cue from me, put the basket down. I opened it and took out the ancient red checkered blanket. I spread it out and knelt. Opening the basket, I started taking things out and arranging them. I needed to arrange things. When the basket was empty, I finally looked up to see Tim watching me.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked. "Did I do something to upset you?"

His tenderness, his concern that he had caused my pain, broke through my façade. As I tried to say, "No, of course not," the dam holding back the tears finally gave way.

"Darling, what did I—" he started to ask but I stopped him with a finger across his lips. He pursed his lips and kissed that finger. I felt so in love with him at that moment. I also felt so rotten inside.

"Tim," I started, "I have to tell you something. Please just listen. I'll explain it all. I should have told you this a long time ago. I'm sorry that I kept it from you for so long."

I could tell by the look on his face that he desperately wanted to ask a question but he didn't. He was waiting for me to speak. It was hurting me so much to see him so concerned. I was causing him pain over something I had done. I steeled myself for the next sentence as I took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and spoke. The words came out in a rush as I spoke too fast to let myself start crying and not be able to finish.

"I know all about Camp Kisatchie. All of it. I know about Patrice, and the canoe trips, Abby, skinny-dipping in the pool, and I know why that summer was so special for Patrice. I know you were her first."

I looked at him, waiting for a reaction, an explosion. He was stunned. I could see the unspoken word How? forming on his lips but he waited for me to continue. He wasn't angry. Of course he wasn't. Our love was so strong. Strong enough even to weather this—I hoped. He was being so patient with me. I knew that I was in too deep to stop now so I began the story I had kept to myself for too many years.

In the fall of 1982, when I returned to school, my roommate had transferred to another school so I got a new one. She was my age, pretty and pleasant, and we quickly became good friends. She told me about her new boyfriend and I hung on every word. I didn't have a boyfriend at that time, though I desperately wanted one. I was in love with the idea of being in love. She described him as the most wonderful, caring and sexiest guy in the world. As the semester progressed, however, I could tell that the distance was wearing on her and on the relationship. We talked about how she had worked at a summer camp and about her friend from the camp who had broken up with her boyfriend over the summer.

In the fall, I went on that trip for the competition and that is where I met my Prince Charming—the answer to my prayers. Torrid would not begin to describe the long weekend as I fell into his arms, already determined to meet that special someone. He was all that to me and so much more. I was in love almost from the first moment. I could tell that he was looking for something like that, too.

When I came back to school, I had a story to tell my roommate. We compared notes, as girls will do, even intimate ones. We shared our encounters and how special they were. We still hadn't mentioned any names, feeling that keeping our lovers nameless made it alright to be talking about the sex. This went on for about two weeks as he and I exchanged letters, and I kept begging him to send a picture.

Then, there was that day when the picture came in the mail. I had gone down to check my post office box after my last class. When I saw the stiff envelope folded into the tiny box, my heart leapt. I tore it open right there and lovingly took out the photograph. I went right to the bookstore and bought a frame for it. Returning to my dorm room, I put it in the frame and set it on my desk. I was so silly, adjusting the position until I had a perfect view of it when I was lying in bed.

I was there, admiring the picture when she came in from her last class. She could see I was excited about something. I told her about the picture and pointed to it. She looked at it, wanting to share my excitement. Then, her expression changed. Her face fell. It was fear, or betrayal, or maybe hate—something very bad. She slowly sat down on her bed never taking her eyes off the picture of my new boyfriend.

'What's wrong?" I asked with alarm, having no idea what could shake her up so much.

"It's him," she finally managed to say, fighting tears. "It's Tim."

Patrice put her face in her hands and cried. I still didn't get it. I got up and sat next to her on her bed, putting my arm around her.

"Yes, it's Tim, the guy I met in Louisiana," I said, still clueless. Then, like a bolt of lighting, it hit me. "How did you know his name?"

"How do you think?" Patrice asked through tears and sobs. "He is my boyfriend, who I gave my virginity to," she explained, unable to say anything more as she whimpered.

No! I wanted to shout, to scream. It can't be! But I didn't say anything. I just looked at the picture, the picture of my boyfriend, the picture of her boyfriend. I felt what it was like for dreams to be shattered. I felt my life unraveling.

"Patrice, I had no idea. He never said anything. I would have never—"

"He wouldn't have. I never told you, but I knew the distance thing wasn't working out for us. I needed someone here, someone to hold me, touch me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew it was coming to an end. We were talking about that in our letters, but I never told you. I had built him up so much that I was ashamed to tell you my perfect love was falling to pieces."

"But if I had known, I would never have done what I did," I said, the reality of that last phrase weighing heavily on my heart.

I had done those things, and I couldn't take them back. I don't think it would have mattered even if I had known. I was in love with that guy. I had found my perfect someone.

At the same time, I felt like I was taking something precious from my best friend. I hadn't known Patrice all that long, I reasoned. I had known Tim for even less time. But I was in love with Tim.

Patrice finally lifted her head to speak.

"What should we do?" she asked me.

I knew what was the right thing to do, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted Tim.

"What do you mean?" I answered with another question.

She grimaced as she said, "I mean about Tim. Who gets him?"

I felt a pang in my stomach. It wasn't the honorable thing to do, but I said it.

"I thought you said your relationship was coming apart. Do you still want him?"

There. I did it. This wasn't a ball on the playground that we were arguing over. It was love. Patrice gave a very deep sigh.

"I still love him, but I just can't see us surviving. As much as I want him, I want what's best for him. Do you think you could make it work? The two of you?"

Was she really giving in that easily? I wondered. He was her first, after all. I knew how she felt about that. All girls felt that way about the first person they made love with. I still remembered my first time. I wasn't in love with him anymore, but I'd always feel love for him. I thought about that. True, my first time was a few years ago, not a few months ago. If I really wanted Tim, I'd have to be assertive even if it hurt Patrice. And I wanted Tim. God, how I wanted Tim!

"Yes."

There, I said it. I staked my claim. I marked my territory.

"I expected you to say that," she responded without emotion. Saying it that way actually conveyed emotion. Emotion I didn't want to hear.

That made me feel guilty. She was right, of course. When someone points out your fault and you know they're right, it hurts even more. I didn't know how to respond to her. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

"I wanted this to work," she said, morosely. "I wanted us to last, I wanted to marry him and have his children. I wanted it all. Being at this school sucks!"

Her last words rang in an echo against the painted cinderblock walls. I wasn't sure if she was giving up or just getting ready to fight. I waited.

"He's a wonderful guy, but you know that, after your weekend."

Patrice sounded almost spiteful that time.

"I had him for the whole summer."

After saying that, she studied the picture intently.

"I can't believe we both fell for the same guy," she said softly. Then, "Yes, I can. He's perfect. He's funny, caring, sensitive, loving, and so fine."

Forgetting my fear, I spoke up before I even realized I voiced that thought out loud.

"He has the cutest bubble butt."

Patrice smiled at my comment and nodded.

"And he can eat pussy to make your toes curl," she added.

We continued like we had before, comparing boyfriends. Only, this time, we knew we were comparing the same boyfriend. We listed all of his good qualities, all of his prowess in bed. We covered him from head to toe. It was almost surreal. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Patrice seemed almost ethereal, like she wasn't really there or she was discussing a fictional character. None of it seemed real. Well, nothing except the picture staring back at us.

After dinner, we were back in the room discussing Tim. We never reached a decision. After the light was turned out, we kept on talking in the dark until we fell asleep.

In the morning when I woke up, the thoughts of the previous afternoon came rushing back to me. I looked at the picture I had so carefully placed on the desk. Tim's face was smiling back at me. When I had opened the envelope, I was so happy. Now, I wasn't sure. Was I stealing Patrice's boyfriend?

I lay in that state between sleep and awake, reliving the weekend we had met. A smile delicately brushed my face as I remembered how we met. How he watched me from the side as we both ordered at the Burger King counter. When he heard me order and say to someone with me that I loved extra ketchup, he changed his order. He told that cashier that if it was good enough for me, it was worth trying.

I gave him a smile and a raised eyebrow. When we took our seats, he guided his friends to the booth opposite ours, sitting where he could watch me. I kept looking up shyly at him. Finally, after what felt like years, he came over and introduced himself. I just about melted. He asked if he could sit next to me and I couldn't think how to respond. When he asked if that was a no, I came to my senses and scooted over, patting the seat next to me. He sat down, the smell of his aftershave making my heart pound.

"Fran, you awake?" Patrice called softly.

"Yes," I answered.

Patrice was quiet. She got up and went to the bathroom. When she came back, she sat on her bed and looked first at Tim's picture then at me.

"You're right. I can't make this long distance thing work. I need more. I need a boyfriend who is here. If you think you can make him happy, then you should try."

Her tone was even, without inflection. It was like a judge delivering a death sentence.

I had what I wanted but now I only felt worse. All I could think about was how I was taking away her dream. She had been telling me about her boyfriend for months. I had listened eagerly about how wonderful he was and I had wished I'd meet someone like him someday. Now I had. Why didn't I feel good about that?

"Are you giving up?" I asked Patrice.

"I don't think that's what I'm doing. I think it's already over. I want the best for Tim. If I can't give it to him, I want someone else to."

Patrice's words shocked me. I was overjoyed that she was willing to step aside and not be any competition to me, that I had a clear shot at Tim, but I still felt wrong about it. I felt like I was taking advantage of her. My silence as I thought that over spurred her to continue.

"Do you realize what I'm saying? I'm giving up. Tim is all yours."

"Patrice, I—hell, I'm not sure what I want."

"Don't you want him?" she asked, a little agitated.

"Of course I do. He's wonderful, he's handsome, loving... but then you know all that," I said.

"Yes, I do. And I really want you to have him."

She was really giving up without a fight. I wasn't sure what to do. Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted and felt terrible about it?

"Aren't you happy, Fran?" Patrice asked me, sounding concerned now.

"Yes. I think I am. I'm glad about Tim, but I feel like I'm stealing something from you."

"So what should we do? Arm wrestle for him?" Patrice asked, and she laughed.

I laughed too, but uneasily. This wasn't right. It felt all wrong somehow.

"I'm confused. You have been talking about how much you loved Tim, and now you're willing to step aside and let me have him. What is this all about?"

"Isn't that what you want?" she asked. "Don't you want Tim?"

"Of course, but it sounded like you two had something really special."

"Look, I'm trying to give you what you want. Do the honorable thing and all that shit. The long distance thing isn't working out for us so I want you to try. He is a really special guy and he deserves someone who can love him and make it work. I'm doing it for him as much as for you," she explained.

I should have said something. I should have offered to back out. I just couldn't, though. I had been looking for someone like Tim and when I found him, I just couldn't let go. I held on, even though it felt wrong. I let my heart guide my actions instead of my head. I ignored what Patrice was doing. I didn't question her. I guess I was afraid she'd change her mind.

Patrice began planning our strategy. It was a little weird how she suddenly seemed so detached from the guy who held her heart just a few days ago, the guy she had willingly surrendered her virginity to only a few months before.

"I'll write him and tell him that it is just not working out for us. I'll let him off the hook so he will feel free to pursue you."

"Do you think that will work?" I asked, hopefully. I wanted Tim so desperately that I was overlooking things that should have put up alarms.

"He knows how difficult long distance relationships are. He has been hinting in his letters that it isn't going to work for us. I've been ignoring it, but now I'll write back and agree. If I have to, I'll even tell him that I met someone else."

Then Patrice looked very serious. She leaned forward and spoke directly to my face. "You have to make this work. I want your solemn promise that you will do whatever you have to so Tim is happy. Will you do that for me?"

I thought about her words. I didn't think about what her real motive would be. I didn't want to try to figure it out. I just wanted Tim.

"Yes, I promise," I whispered.

"Say it," she practically ordered.

"I give you my word that I will do whatever I have to do to make this work."

That seemed to satisfy her. She looked almost relieved that she had just agreed to break up with Tim. But there was more.

"Tim must never know about our agreement. You can't ever tell him. Not that you know about me, or that you even know he was dating someone else when he met you. That's part of the bargain. Alright?"

I was so far into this that I blindly agreed, not wanting to take a chance of losing the guy I had found. I nodded.

"You're a lucky girl, Fran. Don't ever forget that."

I guess looking back that I should have felt like I had just made a deal with the devil. I didn't realize at the time how hard it would be to keep that promise. It hurts to keep something like that from the person I love so deeply. As the years progressed, it became harder but also more difficult to explain why I hadn't said something earlier.

I was coming back from class a maybe a week or two later when Miriam, the RA on my floor, stopped me as I passed her room.

"Fran, we need to talk."

"What's the matter?" I asked. I couldn't recall any rules I had broken lately.

"Patrice moved out. She found a new roommate in another dorm."

"What? She's gone already? Did she say why?"

"No, I was hoping you could tell me something. Did you two have a fight or something?"

"Not that I can think of," I lied, the first of many.

"I'll look for a roommate for you, but for now you're alone."

I walked back to my room in a daze. When I opened the door, I felt the shock all over again as I saw that Patrice's side of the room was entirely bare. It was as if she had never been there.

I tried tracking her down, tried talking to her. She avoided me. Eventually, my attempts to get in touch with her earned me a card in the mail from her. It said simply, "Remember your promise." Nothing more.

I stopped trying to talk to her after that. Eventually, I heard that she transferred to another university and I lost touch with her. I pursued my relationship with Tim, as much for myself as to honor my promise to Patrice.

I was blinking back tears as I drew myself back to the present, to my husband, to Tim.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I kept that from you all those years. At first, I felt I had to do it to keep you. After that, I couldn't imagine how I'd explain not telling you sooner. Then, yesterday, when you stopped at that camp, it all came back. It was overwhelming, facing those ghosts from my past, from our past. I feel like our love is based on lies. You have to believe me, Tim. I always loved you from the very first time we met."

Then I broke down into sobs. I had done it. After all those years, I had finally broken my vow of silence and come clean. I had no idea how my husband would react and that thought terrified me to my very soul. My greatest fear was to lose Tim. To lose him to that memory of Patrice which I took from him. We had a wonderful, loving life together. I didn't want to lose that... and I didn't want to take that away from Tim. Yet, I knew I deserved whatever happened next.