By the time Greta and John found each other again, their lives had changed drastically. She was a widow. Martha was good at hiding her alcoholism from the world, but not from John. She became belligerent, even physically violent, when she was drunk. And she used anything and everything as an excuse, blaming John for all her unhappiness.
Greta sighed as she drove. She’d asked him the logical question: Why don’t you leave her?
In his mind, it wasn’t that simple. There were financial issues. Legal entanglements. His own guilt to wrestle with. “She’s the mother of our son,” he’d said. “She acts out, then she acts like it never happened. I don’t want her to fall off a cliff and find out weeks later. When Jeff left home, she fell apart. She needs help, but she won’t get it. The least I can do is keep her from really going off the rails.”
The least I can do is give him some happiness along the way, Greta thought. She didn’t like the situation, but she couldn’t fix it either. One day, perhaps they could be together all of the time but for now, she was grateful for what they had.
Greta reminded herself of her decision, years before, to give herself permission to enter into an intimate relationship with another woman’s husband. This wasn’t anything she’d been looking for. She’d had a tolerable relationship with her late husband and didn’t plan on remarrying, although she did miss that comfortable feeling of waking up with someone every morning. Her Jim had been a fine man. She hadn’t counted on falling in love again. For all Jim’s other good qualities, Greta had never been this deliriously happy.
She’d entered into the relationship with John with her eyes open. It wasn’t an affair, although she was sure that’s how others might categorize it. John was miserable in his marriage, and had tried everything he could to change things. Greta had asked him why he hadn’t left Martha, but she would never ask him to leave Martha. Her job wasn’t to pressure him or add to his already-stressful existence. She was his respite, his vacation, his joy.
The haunting strains at the beginning of Richard Rodgers “We Kiss in a Shadow” came over the speaker and Greta turned the volume up, singing along as tears streaked her face. Lovers forced to hide their love, meeting clandestinely in the shadows, hoping for a future together in the light – a song that was her life.
That is us in a nutshell. But one day, we can walk together in the sunlight. For now, the shadows must do. Greta wiped the tears away and turned off the CD. It was John she adored, not the need to be his wife. She would meet him in the shadows for as long as it took.
8
Happy Valentine’s Day
Carla walked up the stairs to the second floor. It was about nine, and as far as she could tell, guests were either in for the evening, or still out on the town. She hoped Deirdre and her beau were having a good time. Housekeeping wouldn’t be in until the next morning, and to take her mind off of things, she decided to turn 207 herself. She had started in the hospitality business as a housekeeper, after all. She had always enjoyed “putting a room to rights,” as her first trainer had called it.
Opening the door, however, she was surprised to see that everything in 207 was already in perfect order. She found the dirty linens with used towels in the shower, but when she turned back the comforter, there were clean sheets on the bed. Fresh amenities had been carefully placed on the sink.
Carla stood in the room shaking her head. This is crazy, she thought. Even if the maids were on duty tonight, no one knew the room was going to be empty. She sat down on the settee. And who in the world had put a vase of red roses on the bureau?
There was a light tap on the door, but before she could shake off her consternation enough to get up, Clark Gable was inside the room. I must be going crazy. “Nice trick,” she said dryly.
“I’ve had a lot of time to perfect it, Carla,” he said. Tonight he was dressed casually, more The Tall Men than Gone With the Wind. “I hope you don’t mind me getting the room in order. You’ll be needing it later.”
“Me?” she said with a surprised snicker. “I don’t think so.” She crossed her arms and decided to go with this, whatever it was. “My husband wants to sleep in separate bedrooms. Were you offering?”
Clark threw back his head and chuckled. “Don’t I wish! I’m afraid I’m not allowed funny business to that degree.”
“What degree, then? Scaring little old ladies in the hallway? Helping lovers rendezvous?”
Clark sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “You’re in pain, Carla. I can see that. And I understand.”
Carla shrugged with a frown. “I’ve decided I don’t care about the bedroom thing. I started moving my things this morning. What he wants, he gets.” She sighed. “It’s always been about him.”
When Clark smiled, his mustache wrinkled. “I didn’t mean the bedroom situation, actually. You lost someone, your daughter. Your husband’s hurting, too, you know.”
“How do you–”
“I know about loss. I lost my children too.” He looked up at Carla. “My son was born after I died, so I
