Destiny Delayed

“You won’t believe who I ran into the other day, at the airport in Charleston, of all places,” Tom said. He had gone to Charleston to see his daughter.

“We’ve been friends for forty plus years. Why wouldn’t I believe you?” I asked. “You would lie to me?”

“Sometimes, Jay, but not right now.” A retired thoracic surgeon, Tom stood just under six feet tall with a full head of brown hair that made me envious.   

“Okay, who did you see?”

“Mary Jean Meadows. Can you believe it? I was walking down the concourse to baggage claim and she was heading to her gate. We recognized each other right away.”

“No kidding. How is she?”

“She’s fine. Looks great for an old broad.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “She asked about you.” We were standing in line waiting for a table at Marty’s, our favorite breakfast spot in Orlando.

“What did you tell her?” The hostess pointed us to our regular table. The server stopped by, a long-legged, slim, young woman with long dark hair. “You two are still alive?” She feigned shock that we were still breathing. “You want the same slop you always eat?” 

We laughed, Tom louder than I did. Sheila was a young woman hoping for a role at Disney World, playing one of the characters. “Sheila, you’ll know when I’m gone,” I said. “I’ll send a retraction letter to Disney rescinding my reference.” I had retired from Disney, where I’d worked as an executive in accounting.

Sheila hugged me, which surprised me a little. “I’ll get your coffee. Let me know if you need oxygen after looking at my ass.”

I shook my head and turned back to Tom. “So?” The place was crowded with tourists, but the season was winding down.

“I told her about Joyce having early onset of Alzheimer’s. She said to send her condolences. It turns out her husband died a couple of years ago; coronary artery disease.”

Joyce and I had had a good marriage. She didn’t last long after her diagnosis which was hard, but I felt it was a blessing.  “Two years ago.” I thought that over for a moment. “Is she a widow then?”

“She is. Don’t get too excited. I don’t want Sheila running over here with a defibrillator. But Mary Jean lives in Cocoa Beach.”

“What ’s that supposed to mean? I haven’t spoken to her in at least 40 years. I’m not looking for anybody.” Mary Jean and I had dated steadily for three years at the University of South Carolina. During the summer before our senior year, she met a Frenchman while spending the summer in Nice. They fell in love. When she got home, she broke the news to me as gently as she could, but I took it hard, a real blow to my ego. I loved her. I had been planning to propose to her on her birthday in September. I didn’t make things unpleasant for her, but it took me three years to get over her. It was Joyce who saved me.

“We took a selfie together. My request,” Tom said.

Their eggs, sausage and toast arrived. “You always had a thing for her,” I said.

“You’re an idiot. You want to see her picture or not?” The two men had been fraternity brothers at school. They served as each other’s best man when they got married. Now, they played golf almost every day and poker every Thursday night.

“Let’s see it.” Tom showed me the photo. I studied it for a while.

Sheila came over and broke the silence. “Long lost love?” I ignored her.

“She looks fantastic. I can see why you recognized her. She’s still pretty as ever,” I said.

“She jilted him once upon a time,” Tom said, speaking to Sheila.

“Obviously; He looks like he’s in a trance.” She patted my shoulder. “Very pretty, Jay. Give her a call if she’s a single woman.”

We finished our breakfast talking about golf. As we were leaving, Sheila stopped at our table. We always left her a generous tip. “The best part of my day is over already,” she said with a smile.

Sassy, I liked that about her. “I’ll make a call to a friend in HR at Disney,” I said. “Sometimes that helps.”

When we got into my car, Tom asked, “You want Mary Jean’s email address?”

“She gave it to you?”

“I asked her for it. She didn’t ask why. I think she knew. I’m sure she’d like to hear from you.”

I drove the Infiniti I’d leased just a month ago, toward I-4. It was a warm, sunny, spring morning. We would tee-off in about an hour. “I don’t know, Tom. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Okay, I’ll toss the slip of paper she gave me. But, let’s play for money today. I think your concentration might be off.” He laughed.

“That’s your style exactly,” I said. “Give me the damn paper. I have to think about it, though.”

That night, I was putting some aloe on my face and neck to reduce the effect of the sunburn I got. It had been hotter than I realized. Just as Tom had predicted, I hadn’t played very well. I looked in the mirror in a way I hadn’t done in a long time. Had I aged beyond the point where Mary Jean would recognize me?

I waited a couple of days before sending the email, a tentative sounding note.

Mary Jean:

Tom told me he ran into you. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. I’m very sorry for your loss. It would be nice to see you again. Occasionally, I play golf in Cocoa Beach. Maybe we could meet for coffee the next time I’m there. You look wonderful, by the way.

 Best,

Jay.           

Saying I played golf in Cocoa Beach was a huge exaggeration. I’d played there once, two or three years ago. All of my emails included my cell phone number. I debated whether to remove it, but decided it was silly. I left it there and hit the send button.

The next morning, I checked my email even before my eyes were focused. She had replied.

Dear Jay,

I was hoping I might hear from you. Tom was certain you would get in touch, but I had my doubts. He’s still quite the comedian, but he was, as always, kind. I’d love to see you the next time you play golf at Cocoa. I don’t want to seem too forward, but I play the game too. If you wouldn’t mind a round with a high handicapper, it might be a nice way to get reacquainted. Old friends make the best friends, don’t they?

Fondly,

Mary Jean

She included her phone number, so now the ball was in my court. I saw Tom later that day at the clubhouse before our round of golf. I told him what happened. He grinned and asked me the question I had been trying to ignore since he said he ran into her. “You still mad at her for dumping you for Charles de Gaulle?”

I laughed. de Gaulle, who had been president of France, while Mary Jean and I were dating, wasn’t the Charles who stole my lover’s heart, but her husband’s names was Charles. Charles Jacques, was in fact an electrical engineer, who not only married her, but took her back to Nice for some twenty years. “I had a good life with Joyce, but, yeah, I never quite got over Mary Jean.”

“It was your wounded pride. You should be happy for her. In Nice, she got to live in the Magic Kingdom. You only worked there.”

“You’re a clever bastard. We playing today?” I asked.

“Sure, when are you going to Cocoa Beach?”

“I don’t know if I’m going. I mean, what good can come of it?” We headed to the first tee. “She lives sixty miles from here.” I hit my three wood about 200 yards. The ball rolled into the rough. “Guys our age, we live in the present, sort of, but think too much about the past and avoid thoughts of the future.”    

“Gee, thanks, Jay. That’s a swing thought I can work with.” He shook his head and using his driver, he hit the ball, sending it 225 yards to the middle of the fairway.

We played our round, both of us satisfied with our scores. Later, sitting in the clubhouse and drinking beer, I said, “I’ve been out on exactly two dates since Joyce died.” I rubbed my left elbow which felt a little sore. “I never told anybody this, but since Joyce died, I’ve thought about Mary Jean many times. Sometimes it’s painful. I don’t even know why I got in touch with her now.”

Tom reached for a handful of nuts. “Closure, maybe. It sounds to me like you’re still afraid of getting burned again. There are some good women out there.”

“Yeah? Why aren’t you seeing one of them?”

“Because I’m not a good man.” Tom had been married and divorced four times. He drank some beer to wash down the nuts. “You are one of the good guys, but you’re closing yourself off from meeting a good woman because of something that happened a long time ago. I think you should see her. It might put those demons to rest.”

“I’ll think about it.”

A week later, I gave in. I called Mary Jean and told her I could play the next day, a Wednesday, if she still wanted to get together. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Jay. We can play at my club, Rock Springs. Do you know where it is?”

“I do. Does 9:30 sound good?”

“That would be fine. It might rain, but if it does, we can meet there for coffee.”

 I left early the next morning but arrived just minutes before our appointed time, thanks to a traffic jam caused by a rather large alligator crossing the highway. It had been raining hard when I woke up.  In a way, I was relieved. The more I thought about it, the more I worried. What if we discovered there wasn’t much to say? Would we be wise enough to quit after nine holes? We’d never have enough small talk to last a full round. I walked into her clubhouse dining room and found her sitting at a table near the entrance. The place, with its faded wallpaper and threadbare carpeting, looked like it could use a facelift. She was wearing a yellow sundress and sandals. Her hair was a darker blonde now, but she still had those sparkling green eyes that had captivated me so many years ago.

She waved and said “Hi! You look wonderful.”

I was wearing my best slacks, a light green Polo shirt, and loafers. We hugged briefly and it made my heart jump, which made me nervous. I had forgotten the way we fit together, so perfectly. “Mary, you look lovely,” I said.

We chatted about the rain and how nice it would have been to stroll the course together, but I sensed we were both happy the weather wasn’t cooperating. After ordering coffee and muffins, we moved on to our resumes. I told her about my work with Disney and how I met Joyce when we both happened to be volunteering for a US Senator’s reelection. “We lived in Beaufort, South Carolina, until I got the Disney job. That’s when we moved to Orlando. We didn’t have any children. We tried everything, including in vitro fertilization. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Did you consider adoption?” she asked. “I’m wondering because Charles and I didn’t have children either.”

“We talked about it, but we never got around to acting on it. How about you?”

“Charles had a son by a previous marriage. That’s why we lived in France for twenty years. His little boy was five when we met. His ex-wife would never have granted him custody of their son.” She took a quick peek at her phone. “I was ambivalent about child rearing then, but I confess that I regret not having children.” The server brought coffee and two huge blueberry muffins.

“Did you enjoy living in Nice?” I asked. “I’ve never been.”

“It was lovely, thank God. Certainly, better than Myrtle Beach.” Mary Jean had grown up there.  “My husband wanted to be near his son, of course. Living there was a condition of our marriage.”

“Did you come back to the States after he passed away?”

“Oh no. When his son, whom he saw maybe a dozen times a year, was finally on his own, I insisted on moving back to the US.” She poured two sugars into her coffee and added cream. “He balked at first, but I put my foot down. Fortunately, he was an engineer and had no trouble finding work. That’s what led us to Cocoa Bach. He worked for NASA.”

“So, all these years, we lived about sixty miles apart.”

“Apparently.”

We changed the subject for a while. We talked about golf, touched on how fortunate we were to be financially secure and delved into current events, until it dawned on us that it would soon be lunch time and one of us was sure to take our leave.

I took a chance and returned to a more personal topic. “Was your marriage happy?”

“We made it work.” She placed her hands in her lap. “Was yours?’

“I have to say it was. We became best friends. It helped when the heat went down.”

She laughed, a genuine laugh. “Charles was quite romantic for the first few years. He was wonderful during that time.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. “We never quite got around to being best friends.” She shifted in her chair, obviously nervous now. “I remember your words the last time I saw you,” she said. “You told me I broke your heart. I suppose it’s far too late to apologize for that.”

“You did apologize back then, but for what it’s worth, I think…I just accepted your apology, right now.” I exhaled and smiled. I took her hand and said, “Would you like to take a ride with me?”

“I’d love to. Where are we going?” she asked.

“The beach; it stopped raining.” I stood and waited for her. We held hands as we walked out of the dining room, but feeling a bit self-conscious about it, we let go and walked to my car. It was a pleasant drive. When we got to the beach road, she took my hand. I turned and smiled, feeling a surge of confidence.

We walked near the water, letting the waves kiss our ankles. Still holding hands, we talked about our days as students at South Carolina when we were a couple.

“You were very intense, as I recall,” she said. “You loved those crazy frat parties and I hated it when you danced with another girl.” She laughed to let me know it seemed silly now, given what happened.

“I remember. I was trying to make you jealous. If you were, you never gave me the satisfaction of showing it, though.”

“I cried a lot. You never saw that. When I decided to spend that summer in France, I was sure you’d forget me. On my first day in Nice, I met Charles. I was quite smitten and he was attentive to me in a way you were not.”

I shook my head. “Our lives worked out, Mary. The way they were supposed to, I guess.” I hesitated. “I was going to ask you to marry me. While you were gone, I realized how much in love with you I was. I counted the hours and the days until you’d be home.”

“It was a confusing time for both of us,” she said.

I noticed she had tears in her eyes. I stopped and we faced the ocean together, arm in arm now. As if we were making a movie and the director was shouting instructions through a bullhorn, we turned to face each other and kissed. We both remembered something we’d long ago forgotten, or maybe tucked away so we could get on with our lives.

Two days later, Tom called me. “Hey buddy, are you alright? You didn’t shoot her and run away to Cuba, did you?”

Mary and I were sitting on the swing on her lanai. We kissed and I handed her the phone. “Say hello to Tom.” We were clear eyed and wiser now, but nevertheless, we’d rediscovered something precious. I couldn’t help noticing her eyes light up when she spoke with Tom.  I thought about what I’d said to him about avoiding thoughts about the future. I was wrong. The future looked promising.