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I Am Kloot
He'd thought naively that remembering would fix everything. That he would no longer have to wander in perpetual bewilderment, clinging to every fleeting feeling in case it held a clue to solving his puzzle. That he would finally know his place in the world.
He couldn't have been more wrong. It hadn't helped a thing. Worse, it had only served to accentuate his confusion. The memories were there, but the emotions attached to them were hollow. It was like watching a movie; he could emphasize with the characters and root for them to get their happy ending, but only to a point. There was a distance between him and them that just couldn't be crossed.
It was particularly true regarding his relationship with Kathryn. Of all the things he remembered about their life together, the dinner dates in fancy restaurants, the upscale vacations, even their honeymoon in Paris -none of it felt like something he'd want for himself. He was drawn to simpler things.
He'd told her so, before his memory had returned. When he feared the accident had cost him not just his past, but his whole identity. That he'd woken up a different person, one who had no true attachment to the world.
"You used to tease me all the time about my being a snob," she'd said with a sad smile. "That is, until you grew to enjoy a little luxury yourself."
The daughter of a very affluent businessman, Kathryn was used to nice things, as she put it. David's upbringing has been much more modest. They'd made it work with many concessions on both parts, which had been easier said than done.
From what he now remembered, most of their frequent arguments had taken root in that inextricable difference in perception. He'd reproach her for being wasteful and irresponsible, she'd blame him for being unable to appreciate her and what she had to offer him.
Nowadays, though, they never fought. Not outwardly, in any case.
Kathryn wasn't blind, nor was she stupid. She'd never asked him point blank what exactly had made him leave her so suddenly after his coming home party, or why he'd been so remote, but he could tell that she didn't need to. When he had come back to Kathryn, he'd promised he would try with all his might to honor his vows and do right by her. Ever since that day, he'd been fighting a raging battle against himself.
A glimpse of Mary Margaret, the sound of her laughter over the endless chatter of Granny's patrons, or just the memory of her unspeakable sweetness gave him a scorching need to be with her, anyway and anyhow, as well as a boundless ache for what couldn't be. When she wasn't near, he yearned for her all the same.
In his dreams, she was an amazon, a woman of the woods, hair wild and assertive, with a vulnerability so expertly concealed that he was the only one to recognize it.
And he craved her just as much.
The best moment in David's day usually was the stop to Granny's for take-away coffee on his way to driving Kathryn to work. She was the head of PR for her dad's company, a position that came with disturbingly long hours and a fair amount of stress. Kathryn took her morning coffee very seriously.
Incidentally, it was also David's best chance to catch a sight of Mary Margaret. On most days, he refrained from stopping by her table to say hello. As innocent as it seemed, it was a weakness that always caused him a pinch of guilt afterwards. Kathryn had demanded in veiled terms that he severe his relationship with her and he intended to comply.
A single nod, a smile, a greeting here and there didn't amount to a relationship in his book. However, he knew that the longing he felt when she was away constituted a much more serious offense. But that was the compromise he'd come to allow himself, until the morning he found her sitting with a man he recognized as Dr. Whale.
David didn't appreciate the doctor much. From what he'd witnessed during his recovery, Dr. Whale was rather self-absorbed and inconsiderate with the nurses and subordinates, which, in David's opinion, was a good indicator of a person's character. He was surprised that Mary Margaret met with him socially. Were they friends? He hadn't gotten that vibe on the rare occasions during which he'd seen them interact at the hospital.
As he looked on in puzzlement, Dr. Whale leaned over the table to whisper something to Mary Margaret's ear. Closely. Intimately.
She didn't push him back, didn't even look offended. Her pale cheeks flushed bright pink, confirming David's suspicion that whatever Whale had said was salacious in nature. Suddenly, inexplicably, Mary Margaret's eyes met with David's. She looked guilt-stricken.
David felt his blood reach boiling point as gut-wrenching visions of the two of them intertwined intruded in his head.
She wasn't his. She didn't owe him a thing. And since he couldn't be hers, he had no place expecting anything from her, much less that she kept away from other men. But he couldn't bear the thought, nor could he endure the images unfolding in his mind, brewing an explosive blend of fury and pain.
Outside, David shoved both coffee cups in Kathryn's hand, slammed the driver's door behind him, and went on to stare idly through the windshield. He needed a moment to gather himself, to stifle the urge to go back and yell at them both, to wrench them apart, or punch Whale in the face repeatedly. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding.
"What's wrong?" Kathryn asked, alarmed. "You look upset."
Everything. Everything's wrong. I can't keep living like this.
"Nothing," he muttered through his teeth before conjuring a forced smile. "I'm fine. We'd better go before you run late for work." It was going to be a long, long day.
That night, Dinner at the Nolans was a tense and deafeningly silent affair. David had been running in circles all day, trying to sort out all sorts of contradictory feelings, and, by nighttime, he was about ready to explode. At the table, nothing could be heard other than the clicking of silverware against porcelain.
"What's wrong with you today?" Kathryn asked with a sigh. "You've been restless all evening."
"You know what? I need some air," he said abruptly, giving up on all pretenses. "I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up, okay?"
"Why does this feel like déjà vu?" she asked, her eyes already filling with tears.
"It's not like that," he said, his voice softening. "I just need to think. You don't need to worry."
He kissed the top of her head before going to grab his coat, hoping to appease her. The muffled sob he heard as he walked out the door wrenched at his heart, adding another layer of guilt to his overflowing emotions.
On his way to Mary Margaret's, his temper rose anew, mixing with his disappointment in his own weaknesses. He debated turning on his heels, walking straight back home to comfort the woman he'd just hurt again, but the memory of the exchange he'd witnessed in the morning urged him on. Before he had a chance to lose his nerve again, he knocked urgently on her door.
"David?" Mary Margaret frowned as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"
He was trying to come up with a valid answer to that very question when he noticed she was wearing a robe and slippers. His frenzied mind instantly short-circuited.
"Is he here?" he demanded to know.
"What? Who do you-"
"Whale," he seethed. "Is he here?" David tried taking a peek over her shoulder, but she joined him on the doorstep, shutting the door behind her.
"I can't believe you," she told him, crossing her arms against her chest.
"Were you seeing him before?" he continued feverishly. "When you came to meet me at the toll bridge, where you sleeping with him then?"
"You are way out of line!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, horrified.
"So, what if I am! Do you have any idea-"
"Yes, actually," she cut, arduously retaining her calm, "I do have a fairly good idea, so I suggest you stop before you finish that sentence."
"I've tried...everything. I'm miserable. My wife's miserable because she can see how much I-"
"Don't! Don't do that," she implored, "you know we can't do that."
"Can't we?"
"You made a decision," she reminded him. "An honorable decision. I respect you for it. Very much."
"Would you respect me less if I told you how much I'm coming to regret it?"
As Mary Margaret's face fell in sorrow, David felt a powerful wave of shame. How had it gotten to this? How had he managed to cause so much pain around him?
"You need to sort out your life, David," she said, brushing his cheek gently, finding moisture there. "You ought to take a step back and think things through. Take a road trip. Go camping in the woods. Do whatever you need to do... But until you're done mulling it over, you shouldn't come here again. We shouldn't see each other at all. Please."
Her pleading made him come undone. Not trusting himself to speak, David nodded, resolving to do exactly as he'd been told. Wordlessly, they made their goodbyes. When Mary Margaret shut the door softly, David shook his head to clear it before he headed home to pack. Again.
To be continued.
Thanks a lot to my reviewers, especially the unlogged readers whom I couldn't reply to!