"The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(22/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for headers, archive info, etc.




~~~~~

As Daniel Saw It

~~~~~

"So the nun gives the guy a blow job, and it's great, but a few
minutes later, he's crying his eyes out," Bob was saying. "The nun
says, 'My dear child, why are you crying?' The guy says, 'Forgive me,
sister, but I have sinned. I lied: I'm not Catholic and single, Iīm
married and Jewish.' The nun says, "Thatīs okay, I'm Kevin and Iīm on
my way to a Halloween party.'"

And the laughter burst out again.

Everyone was having a hell of a good time on Saturday night despite
the cold --the temperature had dropped into the low 30s already, and
it looked as though it might get colder yet. In June, for Christ's
sake.

But the campfire was blazing and the wine was flowing and the jokes
were getting more and more risque. Too bad I was so damn miserable and
couldn't enjoy it. 

Don't get me wrong: I was having a hell of a good time overall. Fox
was in a good mood, and we'd had lots of time to be together, way more
than we usually have, and with the absolute freedom to be ourselves. I
could sit with him, hold his hand, put my arm around him, even kiss
him, and it just didn't matter to anyone -- except us, I mean. It
mattered a lot to us. The food was good, the company was pleasant, the
weather was clear and beautiful even if it was cold, and the hikes
were a hell of a lot of fun. There's some beautiful country in
Maryland, and I so seldom have the time to enjoy it. 

I was even feeling pretty useful, having been called upon already to
treat a sprained ankle and a lacerated hand -- a bagel cut, actually.
That's the injury you get when you hold a bagel in your hand to slice
it and the knife slips. You see it a lot. I'm not a hand specialist,
of course, but this cut was relatively superficial and I didn't have
any qualms about suturing it.

I have to admit, too, it was a bit of an ego boost to be the doctor
everyone was calling for out of the four doctors present, especially
with that Cameron guy around. 

If anybody needs chemo, we'll call you, okay, bud?

Okay, you got me. I didn't like him, and for no good reason except
that he was spending a hell of a lot of time with Jill. I had no right
to object to that, of course, but that didn't stop me from wanting to
clobber him every time he passed by me.

So I got some satisfaction out of breaking up their little tete-a-tete
at breakfast Saturday morning to ask Jill to assist me with Bagel Boy.
Rick --that's his name, Rick Cameron -- offered to assist, but I told
him I thought I could manage with Jill's help.

I think he picked up on some hostility there. Jill did, too, and she
didn't say very much to me other than what she had to while she was
assisting.

When we were finished and Bagel Boy was off to find an English muffin,
she just looked at me and said, "Seems as though you could have
handled that by yourself, Daniel," and then she walked away.

Back to Dr. Straight Man.

Okay, you got me: I'm jealous. What did you expect? I've never had to
see Jill with someone else. I never really thought I would. 

Hell, I don't know what I thought. 

I know it's hypocritical as hell. I cheated on Jill, and she's had to
see me with someone else, and she's been gracious about it. So why
can't I be?

I don't know. I just know I can't.

And I never would have believed I could be so petty.

"Oh!" someone called out from the campfire. "I've got one. Another
great thing about being gay is you know that being called a cheap slut
isnīt necessarily an insult -- and being called 'sweetie' isn't
necessarily a compliment."

More laughter. Even I had to laugh at that one.

"Well, let's see," someone said. "You have a workout at the gym and
afterward you feel like a new man, and there he is, right there in the
shower next to you."

"Yeah, and if he turns his back on you, that's just an opportunity,"
someone else said.

More laughter. A lot more.

"Ooh, and you know that somewhere out there, there's a married man
who's terrified that he's going to run into you at the supermarket,"
another voice said.

Everyone else laughed, but I felt as though I was having a heart
attack. That was just too damn true to be funny. 

I got up and left.

I decided I'd head back to the cabin. Fox wasn't there -- he'd gone
for a short walk with Dana -- but I figured that was as good a place
to wait for him as any, and I sure didn't feel like hanging around and
putting a damper on everyone else's good time.

But when I got there, I found Jill sitting on the front steps,
shivering.

"Jill, for God's sake, what are you doing out here in the cold?" I
said.

She reached an ice-cold hand up to mine and I helped her to her feet.

"I wanted to talk to you," she said, but her teeth were chattering.

"Come on inside, I'll light the heater," I said, opening the door and
ushering her in. I got her a blanket, gave her some hot cider from my
Thermos and then knelt down to work on the space heater while she
wrapped her pale hands around the enameled cup and began drinking..

"What did you want to talk about?" I said, trying to remain casual
while I fiddled with the ignition.

"About you and me," she said, between sips of the hot drink.

Oh, God. 

"What about you and me?" I said. The pilot flame caught, and I turned
the gas down to a safe level, then went to sit on the bunk next to
Jill.

"Maybe it's not just you and me," Jill said, taking another sip of the
cider. "Maybe it's you and me and all the other people who have come
into our lives."

"I'm listening," I said. "Other people as in ... who?"

"Rick Cameron," she said, calmly, looking me straight in the eye.

"Is there something there to talk about?" I said, feeling my pulse
speed up.

"There could be," Jill said. "It's a distinct possibility. And Daniel,
I think you know that and I think it makes you very unhappy."

I didn't answer her right away. I guess I thought about lying and
telling her I was just fine with it, but Jill knows me better than
that.

"I don't think unhappy is the right word," I said, finally, looking
toward the window, which was rattling in the cold wind "I think ...
scared, maybe, is a lot closer to the truth."

"What are you afraid of, Danny?" Jill said, softly. "I know what I'm
afraid of. I'm afraid of opening up to anyone again. I'm afraid of
getting involved with another doctor. I'm afraid that I'm in my mid-
thirties and not very attractive anymore. I'm afraid ..."

Her voice choked off there, and she stopped for a minute, then she
looked up at me with tears in her sweet, gentle eyes.

"I'm very, very afraid of being with someone else," she said, quietly.
"You're the only man I've ever been with, Daniel. I can't even imagine
being with someone else."

"But you want to be?" I said, even though it hurt to think it, let
alone say it.


"Maybe," she said, with a slight nod. "I don't know. All I know is
that for me, all my life, sex has come down to one thing, one person:
You. There was no one before you -- but you knew that, of course --
and there hasn't been anyone since. The thought of being with someone
else scares the hell out of me, and for a very strange reason."

"What reason?" I said, my own voice getting a little hoarse. It was
hard to hear this, hard to have to think yet again about how much I'd
messed up Jill's life by deceiving her the way I did, even though I
always loved her. I did, and I do.

"I'm afraid that if there ever is anyone else," she said, very softly,
"that somehow, that's going to break the last bond between you and me.
You won't be the only one anymore. I know I'm not the only one for
you. I wasn't even your first, was I?"

"In a way," I said, reluctantly. "In a way, you were the first and the
only."

"The only woman, you mean," Jill said, but not accusingly. She was
just stating a fact, and I nodded.

I took the empty cup from her hands and took her hands in mine, both
to warm them and because I needed to touch her.

"Jill," I said, "I never really felt like I was lying to you when I
said you were the first. I was trying to make everything else that had
happened into something that didn't exist, that didn't matter."

"But there was someone before me," she said, still very calmly.
"Someone ... male?"

"More than one," I said, feeling deeply ashamed. "I know I should have
told you..."

"Daniel, you did what you could," Jill said, compassionately. "I don't
want to reopen all the old wounds, but I knew your father. I know how
hard he used to come down on you -- you, more than the others, because
he always expected more from you and he expected too much. He expected
you to be the man of the house, and that wasn't possible. You couldn't
take his place when he was at sea. You were a child. Everyone seemed
to know that except you and your parents."

"Jill, there's no reason to bring all that up again," I said, but she
interrupted me.

"Yes, there is," she said, in that same soft tone. "Daniel, you never
did know how to deal with failure. The price was too high. Danny, I
knew what was happening when you came to school looking pale and
tired. I knew he'd taken a strap to you again -- and half the time, it
was because you'd taken the blame for something Grace or Jimmy or Hope
had done."

"Jill," I said, a bit harshly, perhaps. I let go of her hands. "I mean
it. I don't want to get into that, all right?"

"I know you don't," she said, very gently. "And I wouldn't, except
that I want you to know that I understand why you can't deal with
failure. The price of failure was always so high that you couldn't pay
it, so you just did everything you could to make sure you never
failed. But no one can keep that up forever, Danny. No one. You've
never learned to accept that,and you've never learned how to forgive
yourself when you did fail. I'm here tonight because we both need to
forgive and to move on. I want that for you, and I want it for me."

"Is this coming from Rick Cameron?" I said, and instantly regretted
it.

Jill's eyes narrowed just slightly, but then she shook her head
impatiently and went on.

"No," she said. "It does not come from Rick -- although I will tell
you that he's told me an awful lot of things in the past 24 hours,
things that I've needed to hear for a long, long time."

"I'm sorry," I said, quietly. "That was out of line. I'm glad you've
found someone you can talk to."

"You are such a liar," she said, but with warmth and even a hint of
amusement. "Daniel Anthony, whatever am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know," I said, and I looked up at her again and tried to
smile. "Love me, I hope."

"Always," she said softly, and gave me a kiss. 

"So tell me why you're here, Jill," I said. "I have the feeling
there's something you still haven't said."

"One thing," she said. "Dana said Fox asked you to marry him and you
said no."

"Shit," I said, and I stood up. "I didn't know he'd told her about
that."

"I think he tells her just about everything that's important to him,
Daniel, and you're important to him," Jill said, coming to stand by
me. "So he did ask you?"

"Yes, he did, and I told him it was a bad idea, and that's the end of
that story," I said, putting my hands on my hips. "I don't feel any
need to discuss it further, with him or with anyone else, all right?"

"No, it's not all right," Jill said, laying a hand on my arm. "I'm
sorry, Danny, but after I talked to Dana, I went and talked to Fox. He
told me what you'd said -- that you'd broken your vows once and you
didn't want to try it again. Is that about it?"

"That's part of it," I said, irritably. "Jill, look, I am really not
comfortable talking to you about this ..."

"Too damn bad, D. Anthony," she said, and I had to smile. Jill is more
than a foot shorter than I am, and that joke got started when she used
to stand next to me and threaten to make me behave "by physical force,
if necessary, D. Anthony."

It was funny then, and it's still funny now.

"Too damn bad, huh?" I said, and I put my hand under her chin and
tipped her face up to mine. "So I have to tell you or ..."

"Or I'm going to beat the crap out of you," she said, firmly. "Don't
think I won't."

"As always, I'll never put you to that test," I said, and I kissed
her. I took her hand and we sat back down.

"So tell me," she said, scooting closer to me. "Is that the reason?
You feel that you broke your vows to me and you don't have the right
to make those promises again?"

"In essence, yes," I said. "That is how I feel."

"You're wrong," she said.

I stared at her. "I beg your pardon?" I said. "Jill, not to overstate
the obvious, but I think I'd know if I broke my marital vows."

"Which ones?" she said. 

"What?" I said. 

"Which ones?" she repeated. "Which vows did you break, Danny? The part
about for richer, for poorer? You never let money make any difference
in our lives, then or now. In sickness and in health? No. I came to
you in the hospital knowing full well that you'd do the same for me."

"Jill, you know the one I'm talking about," I said.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Forsaking all others. You didn't do so well on
that one. But when it came to 'to love and to cherish until death us
do part,' you did all right, Daniel. Or am I mistaken in thinking that
you still love me?"

For a moment, I couldn't answer her. I was getting too damn choked up
-- a feeling that I'd been having a lot more than I'd like in the
recent past.

"No," I said, finally, and my voice was thick as hell. "You're not
mistaken. I do love you, Jill. I always have, and I always will love
you."

"As long as we both shall live?" she said, softly.

"Yes," I said, fighting not to break down. "That long."

"Then you haven't broken the vow that meant the most to me, Danny,"
she said, and she laid her head on my shoulder. "And I have a very
strong feeling that you won't break that vow when you make it to Fox,
either."

God, I wanted to answer her, but I couldn't. I just didn't have it in
me to go through another crying spell yet.

So I put my arms around her and held her so tightly I don't know how
she could breathe, and she wrapped her arms around my waist and held
me just as closely.

We stayed like that for ... God, I don't know, 10 or 15 minutes, not
talking, just holding each other and exchanging a kiss now and then.
Finally, though, Jill let go of me and straightened up.

"I have to go, honey," she said, and kissed me again "Rick's waiting
for me."

"He is?" I said, trying to smile. "Then I guess you'd better go."

"Just do one thing for me, please?" Jill said.

"Anything," I said. 

"Take this," she said, and she stood up and reached into her pocket,
pulled something out and placed it in my open hand. It was warm and
heavy for its size, and I knew right away what it was. I had left it
sitting on my dresser at our home the day I left.

"It's my wedding ring," I said. "You kept it?"

"I kept it," she said. "I also kept mine, and I'm going to go on
keeping it. But I want you to have yours now, because I finally got it
engraved. I had planned to give it to you this weekend. I just didn't
know how appropriate it was going to be."

I looked inside, squinting in the dim light of the lamp. I could just
barely make out the letters that were freshly etched onto the smooth
metal.

Ego te absolvo, it said.

I absolve you.

"Jill," I said, and then I shook my head. "I'm ... I don't know what
to say."

"Don't say anything to me," she said, softly, and she stroked my hair
lovingly, the way she used to. "Go find Fox, and say something to
him."

"What do you want me to say to Fox?" I said, puzzled.

"Just one word," she said, and she kissed me, a soft, slow kiss. "Tell
him, 'yes.'"




END "The Eighth Side of the Triangle"(22/?) by Susan Jameson
(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)