“You don't know anything about me.” She stood, facing him, as the waiters watched politely from the distance, and the diners nearby pretended not to listen. “You don't know what it's like, giving up everything you've ever dreamed of. You've got it all, a career, a family, a wife waiting for you at home like a faithful little dog, waiting to bring you the newspaper and fetch your slippers. Well, what about me, God damn it! When do I get mine? When do I get to do what I want to do? When you're dead, when the kids are gone, when I'm ninety? Well, I'm not going to wait that long. I want it now, before I'm too old to do anything worthwhile, before I'm too old to give a damn anymore, or enjoy it. I'm not going to sit around and wait until you start calling our children because you can't figure out whether I got lost when I went shopping, or I was so goddamn tired of my life I just decided not to come home again. I'm not waiting for that, Oliver Watson!” A woman at a nearby table wanted to stand up and cheer, she had four children and had given up the dream of medical school to marry a man who had cheated on her for twenty years and took her totally for granted. But Oliver stalked out of the restaurant, and Sarah picked up her coat and bag and walked out behind him. They were in the parking lot before he spoke to her again and there were tears in his eyes this time, but she wasn't sure if they were from the cold or hurt and anger. It was hard to tell. But what she didn't understand was that she was destroying everything he believed in. He had been good to her, he loved her, he loved their kids, he had never wanted her to work, because he wanted to take care of her, to love, honor, cherish, and protect her. And now she hated him for it and wanted to go back to school, but worse than that, if she went back to Harvard, she would have to leave them. It wasn't school he objected to, it was where it was, and what she would have to do to them to get there.
“Are you telling me you're leaving me? Is that what this is about? Are you walking out on us? And just exactly how long have you known that?”
“I only got the letter of acceptance this afternoon, Oliver. I haven't even absorbed it yet myself. And no, I'm not leaving you.” She tried to calm down. “I can come home for vacations and weekends.”
“Oh for chrissake … and what are we supposed to do? What about Mel and Sam?”
“They have Agnes.” They stood in the snow, shouting at each other, and Sarah wished with all her heart that she had waited to tell him. She hadn't even sorted it out herself yet.
“And what about me? I have Agnes too? She'll be thrilled to hear it.”
Sarah smiled at him. Even in anguish, he was decent and funny. “Come on, Ollie … let's just let this thing cool down. We both need to think about it.”
“No, we don't.” His face was suddenly more serious than she had ever seen it. “There should be absolutely nothing to think about. You're a married woman with a husband and three kids. There's no way you can go to a school almost two hundred miles away, unless you walk out on us, plain and simple.”
“It's not that simple. Don't make it that simple, Ol-lie. What if I really need to do this?”
“You're being self-indulgent.” He unlocked the car, yanked open the door, and slid behind the wheel, and when she got in, he stared at her, with fresh questions. “How exactly do you intend to pay for this, or are you expecting me to put you and Benjamin through Harvard?” It was going to be something of a strain on them having one child in college, let alone two when Mel went. And adding Sarah to their burdens seemed even more absurd, but she had long since figured that out, in case she was ever accepted.
“I still have the money my grandmother left me. With the exception of the new roof we put on the house, I've never touched it.”
“I thought that money was earmarked for the kids. We agreed that money was sacred.”
“Maybe it'll mean more to them to have a mother who does something worthwhile with her life, like writing something that might mean something to them one day, or getting a job that does someone some good, or doing something useful.”
“It's a lovely thought, but frankly I think your children would rather have a mother than a literary example.” He sounded bitter as he drove the short distance to the house, and then sat huddled in the car, outside the house in the driveway. “You've already made up your mind, haven't you? You're going to do it, aren't you, Sarrie?” He sounded so sad, and this time when he turned to look at her, she knew that the tears in his eyes weren't from the wind, they were from what she had told him.
Her eyes were damp too as she hesitated, looking out at the snow, and then she turned to face him. “I think maybe I have to, Ollie … I don't know if I can ever explain it … but I have to. It won't be for long, I promise … I'll work as hard as I can, as fast as I can.” But she wasn't kidding anyone. They both knew it was an intense two-year program.
“How can you do this?” He wanted to say “to me,” but it sounded too selfish.
“I have to.” Her voice was a whisper as a car pulled up behind them, and the lights from the headlights behind them lit up their faces. She could see tears rolling down his cheeks and all she wanted to do was hold him. “I'm so sorry … I didn't want to tell you now … I wanted to tell you after Christmas.”
“What difference does it make?” He glanced behind them at Benjamin and Melissa getting out of the other car, and then back at his wife, the wife he was about to lose, who was leaving them to go back to school, and might never come back, no matter what she said. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They both did. “What are you going to tell them?”
The kids waited for them to get out, watching them, and chatting in the cold night air, as Sarah glanced at them, with a stone in her heart. “I don't know yet. Let's get through the holiday first.” Oliver nodded, and opened the door, wiping the tears from his cheeks hurriedly so his children wouldn't see them.
“Hi, Dad. How was dinner?” Benjamin appeared to be in high spirits, and Melissa, all legs and long blond hair, was smiling. She still had her stage makeup on. It had been a dress rehearsal for the play, and she'd loved it.
“It was fun,” Sarah answered quickly for him, smiling brightly. “It's a cute place.” Oliver glanced at her, wondering how she could do it, how she could talk to them at all, how she could pretend, how she could face them. Maybe there were things about her he didn't know, had never known, and maybe didn't want to.
He walked into the house, said good night to the kids, and walked slowly upstairs, feeling old and tired, and disillusioned, and he watched her as she quietly closed their bedroom door and faced him. “I'm sorry, Ollie … I really am.”
“So am I.” He still didn't believe it. Maybe she'd change her mind. Maybe it was change of life. Or a brain tumor. Or a sign of a major depression. Maybe she was crazy, maybe she always had been. But he didn't care what she was. She was his wife and he loved her. He wanted her to stay, to take back the things she had said, to tell him she couldn't leave him for anything … him … not just the children … him … but as she stood watching him with somber eyes, he knew she wouldn't do it. She meant what she had said. She was going back to Harvard. She was leaving them. And as the realization cut through to his heart like a knife, he wondered what he would do without her. He wanted to cry just thinking about it, he wanted to die as he lay in bed that night, next to her, feeling her warmth beside him. But it was as though she was already gone. He lay next to her, aching for her, longing for the years that had flown past, and wanting her more than he ever had, but he rolled slowly on his side, away from her so she wouldn't see him cry, and never touched her.