While my talks with Paul remained casual, the clear undertone of our conversations inferred if I gave him any encouragement, he would propose marriage. God, we hadn't even slept together yet our relationship was that serious. I didn't dare let on as much to Suzie. The romantic side of me reveled at the thought, but the practical side remained skeptical of the chance of success of any such permanency. But oh, how we talked and talked.
In a weak moment I related to Paul my husband's duplicity in forcing rent money from my sister without my knowledge. I knew it was a violation of our don't-trash-or-beatify-our-ex's philosophy, but I had to pour out my venom somewhere. Suzie had given me the name and account number of the Anchorage Bank where she deposited monthly payments, but I was at a loss how to follow up.
"Give me the information," Paul said. "I'll pass it to Thatcher Wright. He'll take care of." I should have declined the offer based on my moral commitment of independence, but I cheated and gave him the info. Besides, Thatcher owed me. Besides, I had sex on my mind.
I knew if I failed to give this relationship my utter best shot at making it work, I'd never forgive myself. When Paul hesitantly suggested a weekend in Vermont as soon as he returned from England, I willingly accepted. I spent the following week wondering if I'd made a sane decision. I was even more anxious than our last aborted tryst. Why? It was much more important to me now that our relationship work.
After boarding my plane in Washington, the weather deteriorated along with my spirits. First there was a missed connection in Baltimore, than a rerouting to Hartford, phone calls, airport paging, and a hundred mile bus trip to the closed Boston airport where Paul finally met me. A four-hour car ride north remained ahead, in weather that begged any sane person to stay off the highway. The late season April rain storm turned to ice the further north we drove. Tense and exhausted, we finally woke our host at Blackberry Hill, our country inn destination. It was one-thirty in the morning and we hadn't even paused for dinner.
Both of us were conspicuously nervous on the ride north. Gone was the easy telephone chatter, replaced by face to face faked drivel about any topic we could think of except what was about to happen, our first night together as lovers. When we were at last alone in our room, the atmosphere was as tense as a job interview or a trip to the principal's office. I gritted my teeth, excused myself and went to the bathroom where I changed to night clothes. When I came out, Paul had already dressed for bed. He saw me notice the condoms on the night stand and noted my negative reaction to seeing them.