"The Oak and the Ash" (8/9) by Parda August 2004 CHAPTER 6 - EPIPHANY ===== PENNSYLVANIA ===== "What did Connor have to say, Alex?" her mother asked when Alex came back into the kitchen. "He said to tell you Merry Christmas," Alex answered brightly. She poured herself a cup of coffee and cut a piece of pumpkin pie. Breakfast was one of the best parts of Christmas Day. Mom waited until Alex sat down at the table to ask: "And?" Alex knew that tone of voice. It was the "I know that's not the whole story" voice. It was the "We're not done with this yet, young lady" voice. It was The Voice of Mom. Well, that was why she was here, wasn't it? "He said he wasn't having a good Christmas," she admitted. "Are you?" "No," she whispered. She pushed the pie aside. She wasn't hungry after all. "Alex," Mom began, "I've tried not to meddle in my children's marriages. Nobody likes a busybody mother-in-law--" "You've been great, Mom," Alex said immediately. "Both as a mother and as a mother-in-law. Connor's told me how much he likes you lots of times." "Thank you, dear, that's good to hear. But ... it's Christmas Day, and he's in Scotland, and your children are staying somewhere with friends, and you showed up on my doorstep at ten o'clock on Christmas Eve. What's wrong?" "I'm... He's..." Alex stabbed at her pie with a fork in frustration and tried again. "I'm not sure I want to be married to him anymore." "Well, that happens," Mom said philosophically. "To you?" "Oh, yes. A few times. And for your dad, too, I know. We just stuck it out through the dry times and waited for the rain." She smiled to herself, nodding her head a little. "And the rain always came. But Alex," she said, leaning forward earnestly, "rain won't help if you've ripped out a plant by the roots. You can't hurt each other too badly and still expect things to go back together." Alex nodded, wondering how much of their "plant" was left now, after the way she'd run out on him. But she just couldn't stay. In fact, she hadn't wanted to go home, not really. She could see that now. Staying until absolutely everything at the dig was packed, taking a slow train to Madrid, planning a shopping expedition in London on the way home, not even getting out her keys... It didn't take Freud to figure out that slip. "So, why aren't you sure you want to be married to him?" Mom asked. Alex opened her mouth to answer, thought about three different ways to explain it, and ended up with only a sigh. Mom's eyebrows drew down in concern, just the way Colin's did. "Alex, are you having an affair?" "No!" "Is Connor?" "No." "You're sure?" "Yes," she said firmly. "Connor would never do that." "Hmm," Mom said, and she didn't sound convinced. "I mean, some women do hit on him," Alex explained, "but he always says no. He's not the wandering kind." "What sort of women?" "Younger ones," Alex said before she could stop herself, or the bitterness in her tone. "Oh, Alex," her mother said in sympathy, and she sighed. "It's not fair, I know. People say men get 'distinguished' as they age, and women just get 'old.'" "Yeah," Alex said, still bitter. "I know." "It's just how it is. You know younger women often find older men attractive. You did." "Yes," she admitted. "But Russ wasn't married." "And Connor is, and you say he's not interested in anyone but you." She lifted all-white eyebrows, a perfect match to her all-white hair, and asked, once again doubting, "Right?" "Right," Alex said, once again firmly. The only woman she had to be jealous of was her own younger self. "Besides, you're not old, Alex," Mom continued. "And you look great! Other women your age would kill to have your figure." Other women her age didn't have her problems. They didn't have a husband who would never look old. And even if Mom thought she didn't "look her age" now, Alex knew she didn't look thirty anymore, either. She never would again. And it was just going to get worse as the years--the decades--went on. "What's wrong, Alex?" Mom asked again, obviously realizing that her little pep talk hadn't worked. Alex stared at the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, wondering how to explain. Mom didn't know about immortality; she didn't see Connor very often and they'd managed to hide it all these years. Alex wasn't sure how much longer that ruse could go on, but she didn't feel up to getting into it right now. "Just me, I guess," Alex had to say. "Honey..." Mom shook her head. "Alex, I know you're feeling confused right now, but if you want to keep even a chance of getting back together with Connor later on, you're going to have give him something." "I told him I loved him," Alex protested. "And he said he'd wait for me." "Well, that's good," Mom said slowly. "And I know you said he's not the wandering kind, but, Alex, you've been away from him for three months. If you're not there with him, he doesn't even have to leave home." ===== NEW YORK CITY ===== "Alex, it's so good to see you!" Rachel exclaimed. They exchanged a hug made awkward by Alex's suitcase and purse, and then another hug after Alex had taken off her coat and set down her things near the elevator. It had taken the place of the stairs of the four-story brownstone more than a decade ago, soon after Rachel's knee replacement surgery. "I was so surprised to get your call this morning," Rachel said, leading the way into her sparsely furnished living room. Rachel and Mitzi preferred Swedish modern to the point of minimalism, saying it didn't take long to dust. Except for some greeting cards on the windowsills, the only seasonal decoration was a large, glass menorah with five candles on the bookshelves. "I didn't even know you were in the States," Rachel continued, sitting down on one of the two birch chairs near the fireplace. "It was an unplanned trip," Alex explained, pulling the other chair closer to the warmth of the gas flames before sitting down. "And Connor is fine," Rachel said, seeking the same reassurance she had sought earlier during their phone call. "It has nothing to do with an Immortal," Alex repeated, knowing very well why Rachel was asking this twice. Connor had sent his family away for safety before. "I just ... I wanted to see my mom over Christmas, and since I'm over here, I'd thought I'd visit you." She smiled, hoping to hide the deception inherent in that explanation, because she wasn't ready to talk about it, not yet, but Rachel was no fool. "Connor didn't want to come with you?" she asked, her surprise becoming confusion. "Didn't you just get back from Spain?" "Yes, but--" Alex didn't know how to finish that one. Yes, but I didn't want him to come with me? Yes, but I'm afraid to see him? Yes, but my marriage is falling apart, and I don't know what I want, and when I got home I panicked and ran? "You left him alone, over Christmas?" Rachel asked incredulously, and Alex bit her lip as she nodded, afraid to meet Rachel's eyes. "Alex," Rachel said, the very softness of her voice a warning, "what are you doing?" That one, Alex could answer. "Coming to you for help," she managed, and then she started to cry. ~~~~~ "So," Rachel said, refilling Alex's glass from the margarita pitcher as they sat at the kitchen table, "what's the problem?" Death. But that wasn't a problem to be solved, it was a reality to be faced. And it wasn't death so much, anyway. It was all the dying you had to do to get there. Years of it, maybe. "I don't want to get old," Alex said. "Nobody does, Alex. But that's not why you're hiding from Connor." Hiding. Not just running--hiding. Rachel had picked exactly the right word. Alex had been hiding from Connor for a long time, and when the hair dye and the makeup had stopped working, she had run. "I don't want him to see me get old," Alex said, finally putting into words the dread that had been haunting her for years. Rachel nodded slowly and sipped at her margarita. "Why?" "Why?" Alex repeated. "Because ..." She knew why, but she couldn't bring herself to put it into words. "Because you're afraid he won't love you anymore," Rachel finished for her, and Alex had to nod. Rachel, however, shook her head and asked, sounding incredulous, "You think he won't love you because of the way you look?" Put that way, it did sound silly, but it was true. Alex had to nod again. Rachel tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. "He's not that shallow, and I don't think you're that vain. What's the real problem, Alex?" "I'm tired, OK?" she said, and she didn't much care that it came out whiny and rude. "I'm tired of working at this so damn hard and not having it work. I'm tired of the hair dye--for both of us--and I'm tired of the funny looks we get in public, and I'm tired of Sara's girlfriends hitting on him, and I'm tired of people assuming he's Sara's boyfriend instead of her father. I'm tired of pretending, and I'm tired of all the lies, and I'm just damn tired. OK?" "OK." Rachel seemed almost pleased. "There's your problem, and there's your solution." "Where?" Alex demanded, because she sure as hell didn't see either one. "You're tired of trying to be what you're not. And what you need is a make-over." "Oh, God, not more make-up," Alex said in disgust. "And a haircut and a new outfit can't fix this." "I said make-over, not make-up," Rachel corrected tartly. "And I'm not talking about just making over the outer woman, but the inner one, too. You're not a thirty-year-old woman anymore; you're a fifty-year-old woman." "Fifty-four," Alex corrected, even more tartly, and reached for her drink. "Fifty-four then," Rachel agreed, with a quick wave of one hand. "So act like one. No, better yet, be one. Be a fifty-four-year-old woman, Alex. Be who you really are, and you won't have to pretend." Alex was shaking her head. "It can't be that simple." She would have seen it before. "Yes, it is just that simple," Rachel contradicted. "When was the last time you felt comfortable with yourself?" "At the dig," she answered immediately. When Connor wasn't around. When she wasn't trying to pretend. And *that* was why she hadn't wanted to go back home. She didn't want to go back to a life of lies. Then Rachel asked bluntly, "Which do you dislike most, Alex? Your looks? Or yourself?" After a moment of glaring at the other woman, Alex muttered "Damn it" and faced up to the real unwanted truth. It wasn't a "life of lies" she was running from. It was herself. She didn't like herself. And that went a lot deeper than not liking how she looked. "God damn it," she muttered this time, angry and disgusted with herself. It couldn't be that simple. Could it? "That's why you haven't trusted Connor when he tells you he loves you, isn't it?" Rachel asked, more gently now. "You don't love yourself." Alex swallowed hard and blinked back tears, then picked up her margarita again. She drank too much of it too fast and had to suck in air to ease the ache in her teeth from the ice. When she could breathe normally again, she finally looked up and met Rachel's eyes. "You know," Alex began, taking a shaky breath and trying to smile, "right before I left for Spain, I told Connor to see me the way I really was, to *really* look. So he did, and I hated every second of it, even though I was the one who asked him to do it. Then he said that looks didn't matter to him, and he would always love me." She did smile then, a little, remembering that, even as her tears started to fall. She had to swallow again before she could say, "But I knew he had only seen the outside of me, not the inside, and that was the part that was truly ugly. That was the part that no one could ever love." "It is very hard to love hate," Rachel agreed. "But, Alex, the inside of us is the part that never gets old. It doesn't matter what color your hair is or how many wrinkles you have or how many teeth are left. Inside of you can always be beautiful--if you want it to be." "So all I need is an 'attitude adjustment'?" Alex asked sardonically. It sounded too good to be true. "That'll help, but you really need a haircut, too," Rachel told her. Alex laughed aloud, even as she wiped away the traces of her tears. "Right," she agreed. "A make-over it is then." She lifted her margarita in a toast, and she and Rachel clinked glasses before they drained them dry. The next day, they went to see Francine. "I usually hire her for brides who want a new look for their wedding," Mitzi had explained at dinner, "but Francine's main clientele is women who want a new look after their divorce--or for their new boyfriend." After the haircut (and a massage, a manicure, a pedicure, and a facial), Rachel and Alex went shopping. "Lovely," Rachel said in approval when Alex emerged from the dressing room in a sapphire blue sweater and white pants. Alex had to look in the mirror before she could accept the compliment, and even though she probably would have used the word "Nice" instead of "Lovely", looking at herself wasn't painful anymore. Maybe that was because she felt like she was looking at someone else. But that's what a make-over was for, wasn't it? The woman in the mirror actually looked ... good. Not young, and not drop-dead gorgeously sexy, but trim and well-groomed. Attractive, even. "I suppose," Alex said to Rachel. "It's lovely, and so are you," Rachel said firmly, and Alex managed a smile. That was easier than it used to be, too. When they stopped for Godiva chocolate and a cup of tea, Rachel asked, "Feeling better?" "Yes, I am. A lot." Not great, maybe a four out of ten, but four was still a lot better than zero, which is where she'd been for days. "Thank you! The haircut is great, and the clothes are wonderful, and it's fun just to be out with you, but ... I guess I'm still thinking: It can't be this easy." "No," Rachel agreed softly. "The solution is simple, but it's not easy. And it's going to get harder as the years go on. Every day you'll have to make the choice: to stay with him or to go, and every day you'll have to answer the question: Do you trust Connor enough to let him love you until the day you die?" ===== (concluded in part 9)