When Love Is True. Joan Kilby
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off for the night. I know you told me not to write, but I can’t help myself. Your photo is among my few personal possessions on the wooden crate next to the army cot that is my bed.
You must have had your baby by now. Did your labor go all right? Does the baby look like you? Girl or boy? Not a day goes by that I don’t berate myself for being halfway around the world when you needed me.
We’re working sixteen-hour days in the most appalling conditions. The only thing that makes life bearable is the human contact. Jumma, the young Darfur boy who runs errands between the operating tent and the doctor’s quarters, regularly has us in stitches…. Evan went on to relate a series of anecdotes that had Chloe alternately smiling and shaking her head. The world he described, while unimaginably dreadful, also contained glimpses of humor and humanity. It took her far away from her mundane round of diapers and 2:00 a.m. feedings and the daily routine of making dinner for a husband who, although kind and loving, didn’t know Nureyev from Nabokov.
Finally, Evan concluded, Remember how we talked all night and made love at dawn? I still get excited just thinking of you. I’m consumed with jealousy, knowing that someone else has his hands on your lovely body. Someday, somehow, I swear we’ll be together again. Till then, thoughts of you dance like a butterfly upon my heart. Adieu, sweet Chloe. Forever yours, Evan.
Chloe lay back in the water, the hand holding the letter dangling over the edge of the tub. Oh, Evan. She shut her eyes and could taste again his mouth on hers, feel his hands, sensitive and sure, touching her, arousing her. The letter slipped to the floor as she lost herself in memories of his lithe, strong body, like a god, like an angel. His laughter, his golden hair glinting in the sun, the sun-warmed scent of his skin…The images and feelings she created in her mind were so real that she never wanted to open her eyes.
Gradually the water cooled and reality intruded. Chloe sat up, blinking against the light, noticing the cracks in the green tiles, the black mold in the grout, the damp under-the-sink smell that never went away no matter how frequently she cleaned. Suddenly she felt weak and depressed.
Wearily she pulled herself up and looked around for the soap and a washcloth. Lathering soap onto the cloth, she started scrubbing. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto her swollen breasts.
“Chloe?” Daniel’s voice was right outside the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she choked out. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’m going to get some plywood,” he said and started to open the door. “I need to wash my hands.”
“Wait!” Panicking, Chloe reached for Evan’s letter. Water dripped onto the tile floor and she spoke loudly to cover the rustle of paper. “Can’t you do that in the kitchen?”
“We’re out of soap there.” He paused before curtly adding, “May I come in?”
“Just a second.” Chloe shoved the letter into a drawer in the vanity. Submerging herself in the sloshing bathwater, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Okay.”
Daniel glanced at the puddle on the floor and then looked at Chloe in the mirror. “You should come out if you’re cold.”
“I will soon.” Halfheartedly she splashed lukewarm water over her shoulders.
He searched the bottom cupboard. “I can’t find the soap. Did you put it in a drawer?”
“It’s in the cabinet,” Chloe said quickly. “I’m positive.”
Daniel glanced over his shoulder at her anxious tone, then moved a package of toilet paper. “You’re right. Here it is.” Carefully he unwrapped a bar of soap and put the paper in the trash. Even then he didn’t leave.
“What is it?” Chloe asked, ready to scream.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Why do you keep asking that?”
His dark eyes searched her face. He shrugged and said simply, “I’ll be back soon.”
She waited until she heard his truck pull out, then got out of the tub. Wrapped in a towel, she removed Evan’s letter from the drawer and tucked it inside a box of sanitary napkins. It was only when she was dressed and combing out her hair that she looked at the reflection of herself and saw her red-rimmed eyes.
Daniel wasn’t stupid. He must have guessed she was crying over a letter from Evan. If only she could talk things over with Daniel, the way she had when they’d met. He’d been so understanding, so compassionate, counseling her not to count on a man who had gone away without making up after they’d fought. What would he advise her to do now?
How do I stop loving the man who’s my kindred spirit? she imagined herself asking Daniel. How do I start loving my husband when we have nothing in common but our child? Was I wrong to marry one man when I love another?
But she could no longer talk to Daniel about Evan. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t fair to have second thoughts. Neither could she rid her heart of Evan, even if she’d wanted to. That was her real crime—she didn’t want to stop loving Evan.
Chloe layered on a woolen undershirt and one of Daniel’s thick flannel workshirts, drew on her heavy corduroy pants and buried her feet in socks and slippers, trying to get warm. She just had time to throw a stew together and get it simmering on the stove before Daniel returned from the building-supply outlet with sheets of plywood.
His handheld electric saw whirred, drowning out the radio Chloe’d turned on, and piece by piece he replaced the flooring. Chloe sat in the living room knitting a blanket for Brianna’s crib, shutting out her thoughts with the rhythmic clicking of the needles. After Daniel finished repairing the floor, he spent the rest of the day digging a trench down one side of the house and laying drainage tiles. He worked in the pouring rain until the light was gone, before coming in soaking wet, his nose dripping and his reddened hands like ice.
“I’ll run you a hot bath to warm up,” Chloe said, putting down her knitting to hang up his sodden rain jacket.
Daniel gave her an oblique glance. “No, thanks.”
Later she lay in bed in the dark, worrying, while she listened to Daniel brushing his teeth. A thin line of yellow light glowed around the closed bathroom door. She should have moved the letter to a safer place. She should have destroyed it. She should have…
The water stopped. The toothbrush clattered softly in the metal holder. Chloe caught her breath, her ears straining in the silence. She heard a drawer slide open slowly. More silence. Then the drawer was shut and another opened.
Daniel glanced through the contents of the drawer—hairdryer, bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a box of sanitary napkins, hairbrush. He picked up the half-empty box of napkins. If she thought he was too squeamish to look in here, she didn’t know him very well. Breath held, he pushed his hand inside…Bingo.
Daniel withdrew the envelope and studied the address. He was an expert on Evan’s bold, elegant handwriting, having seen the various cards he’d given Chloe, all of which she’d saved. There’d been a birthday card, cards with funny pictures and cards with romantic scenes, all overflowing with Evan’s witty observations, references to shared experiences or poetic allusions that Daniel didn’t begin to understand.
Daniel picked up the envelope and tested the solid thickness of several sheets of paper. Rage and despair flooded him as he thought about the sheer unfairness of having to compete with Evan, who used words so easily he could fill pages and pages with them. Daniel’s hand started to tighten around the envelope. Hastily he stuffed it back into the box before he ended up crumpling it into a ball. Quietly, carefully, he shut the drawer. He didn’t need to read the letter to know Evan had once again seduced Chloe.
Daniel had hoped that when they were married and Evan was gone again that part of Chloe’s life would be over. Now he realized it would never be over, as long as Evan continued to occupy a place in her mind and her heart. Daniel had married