And he grinned, pleased, it seemed, that I had caught him up, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Are you happy, Anna?” he asked me over coffee. And I could honestly tell him I was.
“I married a good man,” I said, and he nodded as if that fact gave him tremendous comfort.
“You know,” he started, then stopped for a second but pushed on. “I still feel guilty—”
“No,” I cut him off.
“Because I should have told you sooner.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference.” I said this unequivocally.
“I think about that a lot. I should have, but I don’t know if I could have. I wanted—”
“The same thing I wanted. To love you.”
He nodded. “Yes. To love you.”
And there it was, out on the table. I didn’t blame him. I had no regrets. I loved him still and he saw it. He saw it all. It was easy for me to ask then, “Are you with someone?”
“Yes. Matt. For several years now. He’s from Texas,” and Owen grinned at me.
“Aha, the Texas connection. And is he good to you?”
“Yes.”
“With no drama?”
He looked at me quizzically.
“The last time I saw you Tony was ripping plants out of your garden.”
He shook his head remembering, then smiled gently at me. “Much less drama, but, Anna, there’s something else.” And that’s when his eyes left my face and fell to the table, where his beautiful hands played with the silverware. I waited. He kept shaking his head as if he couldn’t or shouldn’t say what he had come to say.
He took my hand finally and looked up. “Matt is very sick.…”
Oh no, I thought, please don’t …
“And I needed to tell you.… He wasn’t when I met him.… At least we didn’t know enough six years ago to know.… And because we’ve been together … I’m sick as well, Anna.…”
He’s going to die. In those early days of the AIDS epidemic there was no hope. He was going to die.
“No!” I heard myself say. It was a groan and I put my hands over my face and began to sob. I had no control over the sounds that came from me. Something split apart and a cataract of grief I had yet to know in my young and sheltered life rose up and poured out of me.
“Please, Anna,” he said, but I couldn’t stop. I had a husband I loved and a daughter who was the world to me, but at that moment the fact that Owen was dying overwhelmed it all.
“Anna,” he said, “don’t. We’ve been so lucky.”
And I looked up at him finally, at this person who was as dear to me as anyone I had ever known, and knew in my soul what Owen had given me. Only Owen would say we were lucky. Only Owen would be so grateful in the face of what was to come.
Acknowledgments
Without the encouragement and wisdom of my two first readers, Karin Costello and the mysterious Jenny Wolkind, these stories would never have been written. They know they have all my love and profound gratitude.
Lynn Pleshette has supported my writing for over thirty years, and Marly Rusoff grabbed hold with no lifeline and had the courage to go forth. Thank you both for believing in my work against all odds.
And Nan Talese opened her heart to me and my stories and made this book a reality. There is no way to convey my overwhelming appreciation.
A Note About the Author
Deena Goldstone is a screenwriter who has worked in feature films and television movies. She lives in Pasadena, California, with her family.