“I don’t know what I want, Joe. I want so much, I’m afraid I can’t have any of it.”
“What do you want?” His voice cracked.
“I want a friend. I want someone strong enough to take care of himself and me sometimes, but strong enough to let me take care of myself. I want to love someone who loves me. I want to be loved. I need to be loved.” His face and her face were wet with tears. She whispered, “I want you, Joe, but I’m no good for you.”
“The hell you are. You’re my friend. I’ve never had one of those.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“But you’ve had girlfriends and I don’t...I never... What if I’m not what you need, Joe?”
He stared at her. “How could you think that?”
“I don’t know.”
She tried to pull her hands away, but he didn’t want to let go. “Please don’t touch me, Joe.” She sounded as hurt as she looked and he inhaled deeply, withdrawing his hands. “I hurt when you touch me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you Wendy.”
She held herself. “I hurt because I want you so much. I’m scared, Joe. I never thought about anyone so much. I never wanted to be with anyone like I want to be with you. Mostly I’ve just wanted to crawl in a hole and die.”
“Come here.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
She cried. “I can’t.”
He went around the bar to her and she froze waiting for his touch. “I’m just as scared as you are, Wendy. I hurt just as much and this time I’m hurting for the both of us. I don’t want you to feel this way. I want you to be happy.”
“I am. If it makes any sense at all, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and yet I feel like I’ve done something wrong and don’t deserve it.”
He cupped her chin with his hand and caressed her cheek. He hushed her softly. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about myself. What have I done to deserve someone like you?” His dark eyes remained steady on hers through their tears. “I never had a chance to hide anything from you, Wendy. You found me out from the beginning and you made up your mind about me anyway.”
She nodded. “That’s why the doctor will think I’m sick.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. You didn’t judge me.”
“But I did, Joe. I was very angry when I found you. I have little sympathy for anyone who would do that to himself.”
“But you helped me.”
“You’re a human being. I had to help you.”
“Why do you want me, Wendy?”
A tear rolled down her cheek and wet his thumb. “There’s more to you than drinking, Joe. I can see that. There’s a whole wonderful person in there that I’m attracted to. But that night all I could see was hurt. You were hurting on that kitchen floor, and hurting in bed with that fever. You were hurting when your sister accused you. I wanted to help you.”
“You did help me.” He made her look at him by lifting her chin.
She closed her eyes because the truth hurt too much. “I wanted to help Nana, too, but she wouldn’t let me,” she whispered. “Nothing I did made her happy. Everything could have been done just a little better. Staying only reminded her of Trish and that made her miserable and leaving would have only caused her to become more ill. If she had lived twenty more years I would have stayed with her, hating her and myself and always trying to make her happy.”
“Wendy, look at me.” She opened her eyes. “I’m not your grandmother.”
“But you’re an alcoholic.” The desire to convict herself overwhelmed her. She looked at Joe, desperately. “I killed her. I know it sounds stupid, and I know I didn’t really kill her, not physically, not with my hands, but I wanted her dead. I wished it.” There, she’d finally confessed it. “I killed her, Joe, and I don’t want to end up wishing you dead, too.”
He held her. “You didn’t kill her, Wendy. You were dealing with an on-going tough situation the best way you could.”
“Was that what it was like for you, Joe? Did you ever wish your father dead?”
His throat went dry. “I must have wanted it on some level.” He would have torn his father apart if he could’ve gotten the car door open that night.
“Do you ever feel guilty about it?”
Joe sighed. When in his life had he not felt responsible? He’d tried to make himself perfect, a saint, but even that couldn’t change things. Worse, the saints were more human than he, they felt things like real remorse, or joy and love. He felt nothing, save guilt, so he gave up the idea of a religious vocation. He turned his back on heaven and pursued hell—all this, his interior drama.
“Wendy, I’m not your grandmother.” He made her look at him. “I don’t expect you to make my life any better.” He smiled. “That’s just a natural consequence of our friendship.”
She stared at him. “What do you expect?”
How many times had he wondered about his father’s expectations? “I don’t expect anything but honesty, Wendy. Keep being honest with me. If we can settle these issues and you find out that we really are good for each other, will you marry me?” The words came so naturally, so easily, as if he were meant to speak them at that very moment since the beginning of time. To hell with convention, he waited on the brink for her answer. He wanted this friendship to grow and last forever.
