ALMOST AS IF WE ARE ONE
JoAnn Baca
Part 4
Late that night, long after Catherine had left him and he was again alone in his chamber, Vincent sat staring blankly into the shadows surrounding him, confronting the bleak, black nothingness of a future...without her.
* * *
Shane Briscoe was a quietly persistent man. His persistence, some would say stubbornness, had at last been rewarded. He had never been able to identify the source of the urge which had compelled him to commit the pain of his longings to paper, to transform that pain into art. Call it muse, call it inspiration, call it haunting -- it had no discernable substance or pattern, but he thought of it as a feminine essence, a divine shape which one day he believed would take form. For all his adult life, he had been alone, willingly alone, because he had harbored this dream inside him. He had waited for her, hoped for her, even if not quite convinced she was real. Now, in his 35th year, that dream had finally achieved substance, and its quintessence was Catherine.
Every moment of those few precious weeks with her were engraved in
his heart. In retrospect, he realized that he had been lost the moment
he set eyes upon her; he had found his soul reaching out to her even then.
The telephone calls had been a godsend. As he shared himself with
her in those conversations, he felt the attachment between them grow deeper,
more intense. Yet so far, fear had
prevented him from declaring himself to her. How do you explain
to someone that she is absolutely essential to your next breath?
Now that the tour was over, he could not go back to life the way he had lived it. Phone calls, even the occasional visit, could not sustain him. He had to find the courage to reveal his feelings to her -- or at least to hint at them.
* * *
“Catherine, it’s Shane.”
Her infectious laugh filled his heart. “You don’t have to introduce yourself to me each time you call, Shane. I think I know your voice by now!”
Catherine settled back into the cushions of the couch, cradling the receiver against her shoulder. Briefly, Vincent’s comments about Shane flitted through her mind, but she dismissed them -- he just didn’t understand how this friendship between her and Shane worked. “Tell me, how does it feel to be home at last after all the bright lights and big cities?!”
“It’s good to be back in Albany, back to my familiar routine. But suddenly it all seems so...lonely, Catherine. It never did before.” He took a deep breath, then admitted, “I think it’s...because of you.”
She stiffened, then asked carefully, “Me? Why?”
His voice was hushed, his words at once hesitant and rushed, as if he felt he might run out of breath...or nerve...before he uttered them all. “I’ve come to a realization about...what has been missing in my life. Not just ‘what’... ‘who.’ You, Catherine. You. I miss you. I keep thinking about those days we shared, and all the conversations since, and...I don’t want this to end. Please, say it doesn’t have to end?”
“Shane...I don’t know what to say. Of course it doesn’t have to end.” Did he catch a slight wariness in her tone? “I’ve enjoyed all the time we’ve shared. And I feel that we are the best of friends, even though we’ve only known each other a short time. But...you’re not talking about just...friendship, are you?”
“No. I.... Oh, Catherine....” He closed his eyes tightly in an effort to control the panic rising within him. He was terrified by the uneasy tone of her question.
Before he could utter the words she thought he was about to say, she cut in. “Wait, Shane. Before you say any more, I should tell you...I’m...seeing someone.”
Her explanation sounded inadequate even to her own ears. She tried to rationalize her oversight, so unforgivable in retrospect. “I know I’ve never spoken of him, but...well, you never asked, and it didn’t seem important to tell you...until now.” Oh, God, this sounds awful. “I’m sorry. I see now I should have said something. I just never expected you would...well, I just never expected it to come up,” she finished lamely.
She had been outraged when Vincent had suggested that Shane wanted a “relationship” with her; now, she was chagrined that she hadn’t seen this coming. How could she have been so blind? But he had never given her the slightest inkling.... He had hardly even touched her, for God’s sake! She had just assumed that he wanted what she wanted -- friendship...only friendship. Yes, she found him very attractive, and yes, she wanted to spend time with him, but couldn’t someone feel that way and not want...more?
As Catherine went through her halting apology, Shane’s whole body began shaking. His stomach was a knot of pain, his heart was hammering, pounding his blood hard through his veins. When she finished, it was all he could do to hold his voice steady. “Is it...Vincent?”
Surprised, Catherine stammered, “Y-y-yes. How did you know? I’m sure I’ve never spoken about him.”
“He’s the one who introduced you to my work, remember? I sent him the first edition through you.” Shane thought of the inscription he’d written. What must the man have thought when he’d read it? Yet, he had obviously never told Catherine what the inscription clearly implied. Strange.
“Oh. Right.”
When she said nothing more, made no attempt to further clarify the nature of her relationship with Vincent, Shane was forced to ask, “So...are things...serious between the two of you?”
After a brief interval, she responded, “Yes. At least...I think so.” She sighed heavily, then confessed, “I...don’t...feel very comfortable talking about him with you, Shane. I’m sorry.”
Sensitive to her discomfort -- and ignoring his own -- he immediately said, “Of course, Catherine. But, maybe someday...you’ll feel more comfortable? I’d really like to know...if I even have a chance with you.”
He heard the tears in her voice, the slight tremor as she murmured, “What can I say to you, Shane? I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to do that.”
“I don’t think you would ever purposely hurt me, Catherine.” Then he forced a lightness into his voice that he did not feel. “Well, enough on that subject. Let me tell you what was waiting on my doorstep when I arrived home! ....”
* * *
When Shane replaced the receiver after that fateful conversation with Catherine, he felt his grip on reality loosen. Without even that small contact with her, how could he survive? He thought his heart might burst, shatter into a million shards. She loved...someone else! Why had he never asked? Never suspected? Had he not wanted to know? He had to admit that she had never given him any sign that she was interested in more than friendship, but they had become so close so quickly that he’d assumed.... He took a deep breath to steady himself. He wouldn’t give up what little hope might still remain.
She had said “At least...I think so.” What did that mean? That didn’t sound absolute. And why had this Vincent not revealed to her what the author of the book had written to him? It must have been clear to him, even back then, that Shane was interested...more than interested...in the woman he loved. Why had he not insisted that Catherine tell him she was involved? Was it pride? Arrogance? Did he really love her as much as Catherine thought he did?
Shane made up his mind that he wouldn’t despair until he could look into her eyes and hear it from her own mouth. He would cling to the tattered remnants of his hope until all hope was well and truly lost. But...how could he bear it if she would not be his?
* * *
“And...what did you say to Shane...when he...asked you about our...relationship?” Vincent felt as if the walls of the threshold beneath Catherine’s apartment building were closing in on him. He struggled to breathe. He struggled harder not to let his terror infect their Bond.
Catherine faithfully reported the gist of her conversation, unaware of Vincent’s growing anxiety. “I...I told him that I felt uncomfortable talking about you with him. I also told him that things were...serious between us. Are they, Vincent?” Her heart surged with hope. Surely at this moment, with all that was at stake, he would declare himself to her?
Her question struck deep into his soul. With all that he was, he loved her. Because of all that he was, he could not answer her. It was she who must choose. Grimly, he held his emotions in check and asked, “What do you think?”
Frustrated tears sprang into Catherine’s eyes, but she impatiently blinked them away. “Oh, Vincent, please don’t play cat-and-mouse with me! This is too important! I need to know! I know how I feel -- I love you with everything I am, and I want to be with you so much, more than anything.” She pleaded with him, her voice low and trembling with emotion. “But...you never tell me how you feel, never let me in. Can’t you let down your guard for once and say the words? Why can’t you ever do that for me? Don’t you think I deserve to hear them?”
Vincent’s heart was dying. He had no right to take her from her life Above, from all she deserved to have. What could he give her which could replace all that? He had nothing to offer but himself and his severely limited existence. Above bestowed open skies and sunlight, opportunity and a universe of experiences; Below held claustrophobic, shadowy tunnels, few options and fewer freedoms. How could he speak the words which would force her to make such a choice? No, he must not.
His eyes searched hers urgently, willing her to understand. “I...should not have to say the words, Catherine. Words mean nothing.”
But she was adamant, deaf to the silent utterance of his heart. Just this once, she required...more.
“These words have power, Vincent. They have the power to change our future. Just once, tell me how you really feel about me, about us! And don’t couch it in terms of ‘our dream.’ That’s just a way to avoid the here and now!”
She grabbed his arms and shook him, demanding that he accede to her, desperate to convince him how crucial his next words were. “I am begging you, Vincent! Tell me what I need to know! Just this once, I do need the words. Please.”
Vincent stared into her face for a long moment, then he shook his head in bleak resignation and took a step back, pulling his arms from her grasp. “I...cannot. I cannot, Catherine. If you must hear words, they cannot come from me. I am sorry. There is too much I could never say to you, so much I could never express. Go to Shane, Catherine. He has the words. He longs to speak them to you. Hear them from him, Catherine, please.”
She jerked back as if physically struck, dismay and alarm in every line of her body. “Do you realize what you’re doing to us? Do you know what you’re asking of me?” Tears, which had been threatening as he denied her, flowed unheeded now.
He tore his anguished blue eyes from her pleading green ones. He could not look at her and say what must be said. “I know that you need someone who can give you...everything, Catherine. I am not he. I cannot even give you...words.”
“Vincent!” Supplication and terror in equal parts flooded their Bond. Brutally, he cut that precious connection off.
He raised his arms in a gesture of protest. “No, Catherine. Enough. This has gone on long enough. I cannot allow you to continue to waste your life in loving me. It brings you too much pain. Things seem fine for a while, then inevitably.... Understand me, Catherine. Please.”
Through the tears flooding from her eyes, she stared in horror at him. All she could manage was a raspy whisper as she gasped, “No! I can’t believe that!”
Sadly, compassionately, he shook his head. “You must believe, Catherine. And...you must go.”
“Vincent, I...”
“I know, Catherine. But you must go.”
He turned and walked away as she stood bereft in the light cast from Above.
* * *
“No, Jen, I can’t explain. Just trust me, OK? I’m taking a few days off and going to Albany to see Shane, so if anything comes up, that’s where you’ll find me.” Absorbed in her plans, she was hoping her friend would accept this information and allow her to wrap up the call.
But Jenny was intensely interested in this piece of news. She inquired eagerly, “Did he invite you up?”
“No, he doesn’t even know I’m coming.” Catherine hesitated, then confided, “Look, it’s not what you think. I just need a friend right now.”
“Oh, and I’m not a friend?” Jenny’s wisecrack broke through Catherine’s pensive mood, and she gave a little laugh. As she started to reply, Jenny cut her off. “Don’t worry, pal. I’m not offended. I understand the difference between friends and friends!”
Mildly exasperated, Catherine began, “Jen, it’s not....”
“I know, I know. ‘It’s not what you think.’ Sometimes I don’t know what to think about you and your mysteries, Cath! It’s OK, though. If it’s not what I think, then I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Don’t worry, I promise not to do the twenty questions routine. Just...be careful, OK?”
“I will, Jen. Thanks.” She paused, then asked, “Jen...about the ‘twenty questions’ thing...can we shelve it permanently? I mean, as far as Shane’s concerned? I...I just don’t want to talk about him. Can I ask that favor?”
Surprised by the request, her friend nevertheless submitted with good grace. “OK. But if you ever need to talk....”
“I know. You’ll be the one I call. But if I don’t....”
“It’ll kill me, but...I promise, I won’t ask again.”
I know you don’t understand...but thanks, Jen. ‘Bye.”