Serenity

Mark smiled at Trudy who sat across from him with her chin propped up on her hand gazing at him as if in a trance. He was used to women staring at him, even before Patty died. It annoyed him, but oddly enough not when Trudy did it.  It was different with Trudy as it had been with Patty. Perhaps it was because it gave him ample opportunity to stare right back at her. Her enormous baby-blue eyes were hypnotizing and the rest of her extremely enticing.

He realized anybody watching them just then would assume they were totally nuts just staring at each other.... nuts or in love.

“And so, that’s how you barbeque a spleen. You can then feed it to Tiffle the Troll.  He’d like that, don’t you think?” he joked. She didn’t hear a thing he said. His grin broadened and he passed a hand in front of her face saying, “Am I boring you, Trudy?”

Her eyes widened and she lifted her chin off her hand. “Bored? Why would you say that? I love your stories. You tell them so well,” she answered adamantly. Of course, she was lying.  She had blanked out for a minute. He could have been talking about the latest surgical procedure or the score of the Cowboys-Giants game. She had no clue, though, she thought she heard him say something about her Tiffle the Troll character. She seized on this.

“Are you making fun of me and Tiffle?” she asked petulantly, a slight pout to her lips making her look doubly adorable.

He chuckled. “I like that troll. He’s quite the rebel,” he countered grinning.

“Too bad Mrs. Tannenbaum doesn’t agree. She thinks I’m corrupting the morals of minors every time I tell my stories to the kids at the library,” she said.

“I’ll bet she thinks the same of Dr. Seuss and J.K. Rowling. Did you hear the latest? Dumbledore’s gay! That ought to have her panties in a bunch,” he said gleefully.

Her eyes widened again. “Actually she does. How in the world did you....?”

“A not-so-wild guess,” he countered casually. He drained his wine glass and looking pensive remarked,  “You’re so good with kids. Why didn’t you and Charlie ever have any?”

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.  He saw with distress, that quick change in her expression. Her eyes were filled with a sadness so complete he felt it as his own. Mark automatically placed his hand over hers.   “I’m sorry, Trudy, I didn’t mean to pry.”

She stared down at his hand, so strong and warm, smooth and soothing. She got the sudden urge to lift it and press it  to her cheek. She had done that countless times with Charlie, her silent way of saying “comfort me”.

“It’s fine, Mark,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixed on his hand.  “We did have a little boy. Taylor died 3 months short of his second birthday. The last operation...it didn’t work.”

Mark’s heart constricted painfully. He squeezed her hand.  “Trudy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She nodded, looked up and smiled. “Taylor was so sweet. My beautiful angel. Would you like to see a picture?”  Before getting an answer she slipped her hand from Mark’s grip and pulled out her wallet. She opened it and placed it on the table.

Mark looked down at the two pictures. A slight, frail-looking little toddler sitting on Trudy’s lap smiled up at him and in the other Charlie, cheek to cheek with Taylor, beamed an identical smile with his son. Emotion filled his chest. It took a minute before he could speak.
 
“He’s adorable. He looks just like Charlie but he has your eyes.”

“Charlie must finally be happy,” she said softly as she took the wallet back. She caressed the pictures with her finger tips. “He and Taylor are together again. He was devastated when Taylor died, worse than I was. Taylor was the only one I could carry to term...well, almost. He was five weeks premature. He was our miracle baby. The others barely made it to five months.”  She gazed at the pictures for one more second, sighed wistfully then  replaced it in her purse.

Mark recaptured her hand and tentatively asked,  “How many others?”

“Six. Taylor was lucky number seven. He just couldn’t stay long,” she whispered, gazing at Mark’s hand over hers. He squeezed her hand again. “They just spontaneously aborted. Don’t know why.  Better than having them still born, I suppose.”

 She shook her head a bit. That was more than she ever talked about that painful time in her life, even with Charlie. He never talked about it. There was something about Mark that loosened her tongue, made her feel comfortable talking. Perhaps it was because he spoke so openly himself.

“Why didn’t you adopt?” Mark asked gently.

“We were too distraught to think of it after Taylor died. We figured God simply didn’t want us to be parents.  Maybe he knew we’d be horrible at it,” she replied.

“Nonsense,” Mark said. “I see you with those munchkins  at the library. They love you. And Charlie was wonderful with Cindy’s kids. You would have been fantastic parents.”

She looked up smiling, the most serene expression Mark ever witnessed. It made his soul warm instantly.  “Then God did know what he was doing. Instead of giving me one child to devote myself to he gave me dozens and dozens. Good trade I think,” she said brightly.

He stared at her completely in awe. Six miscarriages, one dead son and a devoted husband, her soul mate snatched cruelly from her and still she could smile so sweetly. How could any one person live through all that and not be consumed with bitterness? And he thought he was tough seeing the constant struggle for life and death every day.

It was this aura of serenity that was pulling him in, making him crave to see Trudy again and again. He made up excuses for stopping by the library when he could get anything he wanted, and much easier, too, on-line. She filled a void he didn’t know he had. He could use some serenity of his own. He wondered fleetingly if he could borrow some of hers. Perhaps hers would rub off on him. Or maybe it already had.