Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Fourteen

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Love, hate, love, hate. Sometimes they're one in the same.

"How's your ankle, Denny?"

"Fine, Ma. I'm okay."

Denny was at the end of his official recuperation period after the stage mishap. Things had settled down. He even felt a bit sheepish for thinking the fallen lights had been anything but an accident.

He and Hannah had stayed away from each other. It'd been a month since he'd been in New York, and longer since they were together. His mind strayed to arbitrary thoughts of her—curls hanging over her forehead, her rich laugh as he kissed her neck, the fire in her blazing green eyes.

"Son? Did you hear me?"

"Huh? Sorry, Ma, no. I was daydreaming. What'd you say?" Denny forced himself to focus on his mother, who was desperately trying to get him to talk. After all, this call was her dime, so to speak. He should pay attention.

"Never mind, I didn't say anything important. I'm only glad you're better."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Going back to work after this weekend. We cancelled a whole line of concerts, as you know. I'm anxious to start again. Getting antsy."

"Denny?"

"Yeah?"

His mother sighed. "She must be special. I only hope this won't all turn to hurt, for you or for her."

Denny took in a sharp breath. So his mother knew. He hadn't said anything about Hannah to her. She had figured things out on her own.

His words were quiet, soft. A denial would be useless at this point. "If you only knew, Ma, if you only knew. No, this won't be easy. It isn't easy. There will surely be more hurt before we get everything figured out." He heard his voice slip into a deep "Brooklynese," which always happened when he talked to his mother. "I sometimes wonder if we can keep doing this to each other and survive. But you know what?"

"What?"

"There's no way we can't. Call this fate, or God, but someone, or something, brought us together. A good someone or something. Hannah and I are in the middle of the down side of a wild roller coaster ride. No stopping us now."

After he hung up, Denny thought about what he'd said. He hadn't told his mother Hannah wasn't Jewish. He'd leave that out until he couldn't hide it any longer. But what he'd said about their relationship was true. He and Hannah could no more leave each other alone now than they could chart the course of all eternity. Even if he knew how much heartache they had yet to face, he would continue to pursue her.

He shook his head. There was something else which had to happen. Today, as a matter of fact. This evening he would leave New York on his way to Washington, D. C. for his first show since what he'd come to call "the power trip." He'd never liked Washington. Too many people there who thought they were all-important.

Before he left town, though, he had to deal with Elaine. This was the beginning of the last time.

She was on her way to his place now. He wanted to do this on his turf, and he'd asked her to come see him to discuss a separation. He'd put everything on the line right there on the phone, wanting no more time wasted on misunderstandings.

The bell rang. He wiped his hands on his pants and opened the door. "Hi, Elaine, come in." He wore no cologne.

She didn't speak, didn't smile. She walked past him and sat primly on the edge of his sofa.

"Would you like something to drink? Soda, coffee?"

"No, thank you."

Denny groaned inwardly. She had every intention of making this difficult. Well, he chided himself, what'd you expect? That she should happily say, here, let's split up ten years of our lives together like this, this, and this? And thank you very much, Denny, it was nice knowing you ... in a Biblical sense, anyway. Bye, have a nice forever-after.