Don't Explain (4 page)

She could see that Michael was clenching his teeth, which accentuated his
strong, rigid jaw line. She wondered why he was tense. He probably didn't
actually want to be here but was doing it out of a sense of duty. He had always
pitied her, and that was why he had hung around in college but was quick to cut
ties with her as soon as he could justify it. In the end, that’s why she
couldn’t actually love him or be with him. She couldn’t have been sure if he
was just with her because he thought she end up some old cat lady if left to
her own devices. Minus the cats. She hated cats, and he knew it.

Caitlyn wanted to end this charade, go back to her small cottage, and crawl
into bed early. A lack of courage to break the silence stopped her. She instead
turned to the window and peered out into the night.

The trees were backlit by the moon, creating tall, rigid silhouettes. Its
bright rays and the headlights gave the only light on the nearly abandoned
street. She could feel the cool night air through a small draft in the window,
and this sensation helped to calm her nerves a little.

Caitlyn silently prayed that she would not allow her lurid thoughts of
him to surface as they had this morning and throughout the day, but just
thinking of suppressing these thoughts sent a shiver through her body. She was
only left with the hope that the night would end quickly. Every glimpse of him
reminded her of the feelings she once had, and his scent from across the car
made her lightheaded.

Michael pulled into the parking lot of De Luca's. The engine diminuendoed
from a low rumble to silence as Michael slid out of the car. Caitlyn opened her
door and started to lift herself from the seat, but Michael rushed over and
offered his hand to help her out of the passenger's side. She smoothed out her
black dress coat, restored any hairs that had escaped from their rightful
place, and drifted toward the door. Just as she was about to open it, Michael
glided past her and grabbed the door handle. He looked down at her and pleadingly,
but kindly, whispered, “Allow me to be a gentleman tonight, please.” She
quivered imperceptibly and then moved quickly in to the foyer.  

The delectable scent of fresh herbs and baking bread filled the small
restaurant; the room was warm from the wood-fire ovens crackling in the
kitchen. A small, wide-eyed woman greeted them at the door. Her dark hair was
pulled up into a twist revealing a few grey strands. “Welcome. Do you have a
reservation this evening?”

“Yes,” replied Michael, his voice trailing after the first word and then
abruptly finishing with, “under Fitzgerald.”

“Ah, yes. Here you are. We have a beautiful table for you. May I take
your jackets?” Caitlyn hummed affirmatively and began unbuttoning her coat as
she looked around. All of the ten or so tables seemed quite similar, and she
wondered what made one table more beautiful than the next.

The woman moved herself behind Caitlyn to help her slip the jacket off
her bare shoulders, revealing a sleeveless black dress that embraced her
natural curves and then softly flared out from her waist to her knees. A
necklace of onyx beads of various sizes encircled her neck twice.

She turned to Michael who was staring at her indiscreetly. She smiled at
him with a hint of uneasiness. He smiled back humbly without removing his eyes
from her freckled skin. She was happy to be noticed at least for a moment, but
the moment was interrupted by the small woman who asked them, with menus in
hand, to follow her lead.

Caitlyn followed obediently as the woman sauntered through the labyrinth
of small tables scattered mindfully around the room. The table chosen for them
was next to a window that, in the daytime, would have had a spectacular view of
a lake, but at night all that was visible were a few ripples of water beneath
the luminance of the moon and the lights of cottages spread around the shore. A
small, round, black lantern illuminated the perfectly placed silverware and smoothed
tablecloth, and, next to it, a small vase of pink and orange flowers sat
forlornly near the wall. The lights were dim, making it difficult to see anyone
except one's dining companion. This intimidated Caitlyn immensely. She reached
for her water; she figured if she had something in her mouth it would be
difficult to say something she would later regret. With her other hand, she took
a loose strand of her hair and twisted it tightly around her finger until the fingertip
turned bright red and tingled.

When Caitlyn realized what she was doing, she imagined that she looked
childish, so she moved her hands to her thighs and rolled the hem of her dress
in her fingertips. She tried to pass the time and avoid noticing the
uncomfortable peace.

Eventually she couldn't stand to avoid looking at him, and she held the
menu up, hiding herself from his gaze and allowing herself to relax a little
bit. She thought back to college and how she revealed almost everything to him.
How by now they would have been laughing so hard that she would have had flush
cheeks and wide eyes for disturbing the entire restaurant. She peeked over the
top of the menu and noticed that Michael was also staring intently at the
offerings. When the waiter came over to take their order, neither party had any
idea of what was on the menu, much less what they wanted to eat. Caitlyn had
been so anxious thinking about what to say that she hadn't even considered reading
the pages before her. They fumbled out a few uhms and ahhs, but after a moment's
glance, Michael placed an order of calamari with the seemingly patient waiter
and then asked for a bit more time.

Both immediately set to work to find something to order for the waiter's
next round, and both set their menus down too soon. Caitlyn searched for
something to say, but Michael interrupted her indecision by initiating the
small talk.

“So, tell me now…why open a coffee shop?”

She warily set down her water, which she had again picked up as a
distraction. “Last spring I was at my desk with a large stack of freshman
composition papers in front of me, and I realized that I hated my job. I hated
it and had at least twenty-five more years before I could retire. My degree
doesn’t qualify me for anything else, and I felt trapped.

“So, I pushed the papers aside, pulled out a notebook, and made a list of
all the things that I love to try to show myself the good things in life. The
list was coffee, tea, jazz, and gossiping in the teacher’s lounge. That was the
whole list. Pathetic, right?” She didn’t want to know the answer so she kept
talking.

“Well, after examining these items closely, I decided that if I loved
those things I would love owning a coffee shop in my small town. It was
farfetched, but I briefly looked at some properties, which is when I found the
schoolhouse. It was perfect and cheap. Before I could stop myself, I passed on
my contract for the next school year, wrote up a business plan, blew my savings
on the real estate, and spent my summer fixing the place up. So, now I own a
coffee shop.”

She spoke quickly, and she realized that she had mostly rambled through
her statement, never once looking directly across the table.

“That's great,” he said, attempting a smile.  

 She forced herself to quit the rambling and answered briefly. “It
certainly could be better.”

 This was painful for her. She would almost rather be at a bar with
Alexis.

She glanced around hoping the waiter would come back over and stall the
awkwardness. There was a persistent speechlessness that both attempted to fight
against; both were losing. Caitlyn searched her mind desperately for
interesting talking points, but what came out was, “How's the medical field?”

“Good. I have been trying to open my own practice, but it just hasn't
happened yet. I am currently working at a hospital.” His answer was flat and
called for no additional response. It didn’t sound like the Michael she knew.
The go-getter.

The waiter came over and took their order, and Caitlyn let out a quiet
sigh of relief. He didn't stay very long, and they sat silently until after the
wine was poured.

Finally, Caitlyn came up with a question that she thought would spark
good conversation, and she asked, “So is there a reason that you decided you
needed a vacation or were you just worn out?”

“Worn out,” he looked up and into her eyes. “Oh, and my fiancée left me,”
he stated bluntly.

Sympathy embraced her. “You must be devastated.”

“Ah, well you know me.” He looked down. Caitlyn knew she that she had hit
a nerve and regretted her attempt at innocent conversation. “I had to get out
of town to keep my mind off of it. Maybe if I’m gone long enough, maybe I can
avoid it all together. If she gets her stuff out of my house while I’m gone, it’ll
be like our relationship never happened.” His jaw became tight.

 For the rest of the meal, they only occasionally commented on the
various courses and their flavors. Caitlyn couldn’t think of anything else to
say without bringing up sensitive topics.

After the waiter cleared the plates, Michael asked, “I know that you’re
probably sick of coffee, but do you want to share a tiramisu?”

Caitlyn raised her gaze to his, her eyes smiling, “Sure.”

The dessert lightened the mood, and Caitlyn began relaxing. It was almost
like a weight had been lifted off her aching chest.

 A few bites in Michael asked, “So who’s that girl that was in your
coffee shop after closing?” Caitlyn gripped her fork tightly. The weight
returned. This always happened. Alexis always got noticed, and she was always
ignored.

“That’s my best friend. Want her number?” Caitlyn clenched her teeth and
held her breath.

“No. I just want to know about your life.” He smiled and took a bite
before leaning back in his chair.

“Her name is Alexis. She’s a flirt, a writer, and has a boat load of
money.”

“How’d you meet?” Caitlyn took a deep breath and felt the tension leave
her shoulders. This was the Michael she remembered. She looked into his blue
eyes and smiled.

 “About four years after I moved to Maple Field, Alexis built a house a
few lots down from me. Around that time I joined a co-ed flag football team to
relieve some stress and to try and be a little friendlier with the neighbors. I
normally avoid stuff like that because I’m pretty much the only unmarried
person over twenty-five or under sixty-five in town. But I had one of those
kicks where I felt like I had to go out and be nice and make friends.”

Michael leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the table. “I remember
that about you. Remember when you made cookies for the whole dorm?”  

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “All I remember is setting off the fire alarms,
and you standing in the street in just a towel.” She would never live that day
down.

“
Anyway
,” she narrowed her eyes at him to show she was serious
about dropping that subject. “During the first game I was passed the ball, but
before I could turn to run down field, Alexis shoved me in the back, and I fell
to my hands and knees.”

Michael gave a short chuckle, but didn’t say anything.  

“I was furious, and screamed at Alexis, ‘We’re on the same team!’ Then I
may have said a few other things that weren’t very nice. We were both kicked
out of the game.

“I started to walk back to my car, covered in mud, when Alexis came up to
me apologizing. Apparently the only thing she had learned from watching the
Patriots play was that you tackle the person with the ball.”

Michael laughed. “You really know how to choose friends. Do you remember
the day we met?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget a half-naked man showing up at my dorm room
asking for dish soap.” Caitlyn leaned back and crossed her arms under her
breasts.

“It was laundry day. That’s all.”

“You were doing dishes without a shirt on. I like you, but you’re weird.”

Michael threw his hands up, feigning offense. “I didn’t want to get my
shirt wet. I highly recommend the method.”

Caitlyn laughed at him. They were finally returning to a sense of
normalcy, and she stopped worrying about saying the wrong thing and focused on
the moment before her. She was suddenly in no rush for the evening to end.

They were still laughing when Michael opened the car door for her.
Michael drove, following Caitlyn's directions, to her cottage.

For a few moments, they sat there silently and looked into the darkness
ahead. Caitlyn glanced over at Michael. His jaw had become tight again, and his
eyes were fixed on the road. She looked out the passenger-side window and twirled
the hem of her dress in her fingers.

“Seven months ago I met Margaret.” His tone had become somber, and the
mood quickly followed his lead.

Caitlyn didn't know what to say, so she kept quiet while Michael
collected his thoughts.

“My sister came to visit me. I was working, so she came to the hospital
to meet me. I was in the ER, and she went to the front desk to have them page
me. But the volunteer at the front desk didn’t know sign language and couldn’t
understand her, so there was a huge to-do. I don’t know much about it, but I
know Sarah was angry. Anyway, a volunteer in the children’s hospital came by
and translated for her and got them to page me.