Love Forever

By JoAnn

(The final chapter of The Doctor is “In”, First Kiss with Francisco, and Tonight I Will Show You How Much.)

I love him more than life itself. I always will. In fact, it’s my expert opinion that it would be impossible for anyone to be in the presence of my husband, Francisco Leal, and not love him. That’s probably my main problem. There was another who loved him, as I do. There was another whom he loved, before me. I try not to think about it, and I tell myself over and over that it does not matter, he is my husband now, and he loves me. But it does matter. The presence of Francisco’s first wife, Elena, is always there in my mind. Fiery, passionate, captivating, “devil may care” Elena...I knew that if she had not died, Francisco would still be with her, and he would have never spared me a single glance. It is hard, competing with a ghost…especially one like Elena, who was everything that I am not. I feel like a little sparrow next to the memory he must have of her, a wild, exotic bird of many colors. Francisco shows me in so many ways how devoted he is to me. He tells me he loves me, and I believe him. Yet I cannot shake the specter of Elena. Sometimes at night, when we are making love, I wonder if he wishes I were she…the pain of this is unbearable, and I do what I can to push these thoughts away. He will not speak of her, and that makes matters even worse. When I ask him about her in any way, he always says, “She is in the past, querida…let her remain so.” I can only draw from this that he misses her still, that it is too painful to even mention her name…the look on his face when the subject comes up tells me volumes. Her picture is still in his study, down the hall…a small one, a group shot with his family, but it’s there. I have to admit that I hate that picture. There she is, beautiful, glamorous, smiling…

Elena died in an automobile accident, about two years before I came to Chile. Jose told me how much Francisco suffered after her death, shutting himself up in his old room at his parent’s home, and refusing to talk to anyone, refusing to eat, refusing even to pray. He was desolate, Jose said. He would not even talk to Jose, whom he loves like himself. It was finally his mother who was able to get through to him, to allow her into his room to talk. After a few hours, Francisco emerged with her, and began the long trek back to the land of the living. The funeral was small and quiet, and Jose told me Elena was not mourned by many. A few friends from her work, her last remaining cousins, and a man whom no one else knew were the only people at her graveside, beside Francisco and his family. After her death, Francisco threw himself into his work with the Shadows with a passion. Jose felt Francisco was driven, like the hounds of hell were at his heels. He became fearless, and even reckless in his efforts, and Jose knew this would not only endanger Francisco, but the entire Shadows underground. At that point, Jose refused to allow Francisco to work any longer, until he agreed to spend time in counseling with the Cardinal. Jose had begun to worry…Francisco seemed to almost want the military government to catch him, to arrest him, to even…Jose would not say anything more to me about this time in Francisco’s life. The Cardinal and Francisco spent many hours together talking, and slowly, the old Francisco began to emerge. By the time I arrived in Chile, he was “ready for me”, Jose always said. I know that on the face of it, this is true. But there is a secret within Francisco, that no one has been able to uncover…and that he keeps others from knowing.

The one thing that keeps me sane, besides his love, is what is on my left hand right now. It’s catching the light, shooting tiny bright rays of reflection from the sunlight that is flowing in from the open window over the kitchen sink. It’s Francisco’s grandmother’s ring, the one he gave me the night he asked me to marry him. He did not give it to Elena; he gave it to me. I know it is petty to feel triumph in that, but I do. The mystery is why didn’t he give it to Elena? Just one more unanswered question. The ring fits perfectly next to my gold wedding band, and every time I see the pair of rings, I tell myself, “He loves me.” It’s my mantra, I suppose. I bent over and ducked my head down, to scrub the sink a little bit harder, trying to get out the stain from last night’s spaghetti sauce, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

”Oh, I love walking into a room and seeing you in that position,” Francisco said, running his hands over my hips teasingly. I laughed and tried to pull away, still scrubbing the porcelain sink. He reached over and took the sponge from my hand, turning me around to face him.

“I have other more enjoyable things you can do with your hands…in fact, that I can do with my hands, as well…are you interested, mi corazon?” he whispered, leaning in close and kissing the hollow of my throat. I could feel the fire begin to race through my veins at his touch, and I sighed contentedly, putting my arms around him.

“The sink can wait,” I said, and he laughed, lifting me up into his arms and carrying me up to our bedroom at the top of the stairs. It was always like this between us…the honeymoon seemed to be unending, even though a year had passed since that night we first made love in Mario’s guest room, the night I first discovered what our life working in the Shadows could mean. I was never without caution after that, but I did not let it stop me. Our work together was too important, and neither of us was going to give in to our fears. Jose told me Elena hated their work, and therefore, they kept most of their activities a secret from her, which used to cause great rows between her and Francisco. “Which they probably resolved in the bedroom,” I said to myself sullenly. The thought of this made my blood cool for a moment, but Francisco’s breath in my ear as he lowered me onto the bed with him erased all thought, leaving only love and desire for him in it’s place.

Later that afternoon, we lay like two lazy seagulls on the beach, sprawled across the white satin sheets of our bed, bathed in sunlight, at ease with our own nakedness, and aroused by each other’s. It was deliciously decadent. The bottle of champagne and the bread and cheese Francisco had brought up earlier, obviously pre-planning an afternoon of unbridled hedonism, was perfect. I had never felt more loved, content, sexual, and secure in my life.

Which was probably why the subject of Elena was bound to come up.

“So, Dr. Leal, how many women have you plied with champagne at two o’clock in the afternoon?” I said, teasingly, popping a piece of cheese into my mouth. Francisco was uncharacteristically relaxed, as if his guard was down within himself. He lay on his back, his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face. I was amazed again at how beautiful he was…his dark hair curling around his forehead, his lips curved and sensuous, the cheekbones waiting to be caressed. It’s not easy for a wife when her husband is more beautiful than she is, but it was a burden I was definitely willing to bear.

“How many other women…let’s see…um…well, just one…” He still had his eyes closed, and seemed to not realize what he had said. I closed my own eyes, not in pleasure, but in pain, and swallowed the cheese whole.

“Elena.” I said, in a dull tone that brought his eyes open in a flash. He seemed shocked to have been caught even saying something about her, and he closed his eyes again, throwing his forearm over his face as if to hide. The brightness of our day seemed to duck behind a cloud, and I realized with sudden anger that I was tired of living in her shadow, tired of her casting her presence between us in any way. I got up on my knees, and looked down at Francisco.

“Yes, Elena, go ahead and say it, Francisco,” I said, no longer caring if it upset him. “Elena, Elena, Elena, the woman who lives in our house, lives in our kitchen, lives in…lives in our bed,” I said, my anger making me rash and reckless. Francisco sat up, his eyes now showing his own anger.

“What do you mean, lives in our bed? In our house? Elena is dead, dead and gone…she isn’t a part of our lives, Joanna.”

I looked at Francisco, anger and love and passion all mixing in me, making me feel crazed. “She’s a part of YOUR life, Francisco…and she still is. You hold her there, like a shell you found on the beach, that you have tucked away in your special box, to take out to admire whenever you feel like it. Oh, and you do admire it, don’t you…especially when you compare her to me, like comparing a swan with a sparrow. How often do you wish it were her who is with you, Francisco? How often?” I could barely see Francisco anymore, my eyes were so full of tears. I refused to shed them, as if denying myself the weakness of tears. I was tired of feeling this way. I wanted…I didn’t know what I wanted. I wanted Elena to stop haunting us, haunting me. I wanted it to stop.

Francisco lay down on his back, his body very tense and still. I had no idea what was going on in his mind. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing deep, for several minutes. I just sat there, not moving. I didn’t know if my outburst had created a crisis in our marriage that I couldn’t repair…I didn’t know, I only knew that this had to happen. Finally, he opened his eyes, and sat up, facing me. He reached out and took my hand, and began to speak.

“I know I should have talked about Elena, a long time ago. I didn’t want to, Joanna…out of guilt.”

“Guilt?” I said, putting my other hand on top of his. He lifted our joined hands up and kissed the back of my hand, then lay his cheek on it, as if to console himself as well as me. Then he set our hands down in front of us and drew a deep breath. I could feel the anger drain out of me, as I observed the seriousness and pain of his expression.

“Yes, guilt. I feel a lot of guilt when I think about Elena. Our marriage, Joanna…it was a whirlwind. We got married only three weeks after we met, when she came to my office under the guise of a patient, in order to meet me. She had a little obsession with me, and I loved it. It made me feel wonderful, virile, sexy, and I needed that at the time. Jose refused to marry us, he said we had not known each other long enough. But we went to the local civil authorities and got married anyway. Oh, Mama and Pop were pretty mad, Mama for marrying outside the Church, and Pop for marrying for…for…”

“Go on, Francisco, I want to know everything,” I said quietly, ready to hear whatever he had to say.

“For sex, mostly. Pop said passion was wonderful, but without love, it will die quickly. I refused to believe him, I was convinced I loved Elena.” Francisco looked down, and I felt a great compassion for him rise in my heart. “But Pop was right, Joanna…I didn’t love Elena. Oh, I wanted her. We must have made love 6 times a day at first. But once the passion began to fade, there was nothing between us. We were like strangers. I resigned myself to living like that, but I felt terrible, because she was as unhappy as I was, and we had both trapped each other in this situation, because…because we had fire, and once the fire consumed the fuel, all that was left was ashes. I felt responsible, I should have seen it all coming, I should have stopped it…I was the psychiatrist, how could I have missed something so important…”

“Francisco,” I said, laying my hand on his cheek gently. “No one is perfect. You were blinded by passion…you were not the first, my love, to ever have that happen.”

Francisco smiled, and looked up at me. But then a shadow crossed his face, and he looked away suddenly. I knew the hardest part of what he had to tell me still remained. I squeezed his hand, and he continued.

“The night Elena died…we had a fight to end all fights. She told me she had had enough of our marriage, that there were other men out there who were more exciting and fun than I was, and she was going to go out and find one. I accused her of already having an affair...just to hurt her. That was when she admitted she was having one, with a man she had met who worked at a restaurant near her work. I wanted to hit her, shake sense into her, but instead, I told her I didn’t care what she did, and I left, and went to Jose’s. She left right after that in her car, angry and full of fire, and wasn’t looking where she was going. She hit…she hit a tree on the road, on the way to the house of the man she was having the affair with. She died instantly. I saw him at the funeral, but no one else knew who he was. I did. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost…” Francisco sighed shakily, then went on. “After Elena died, I blamed myself for what happened…if I hadn’t married her, if I hadn’t said what I did that night, and for a thousand other things. I didn’t want to live, I wanted to die, and to atone for what I felt were my sins. Jose stopped me, and the Cardinal helped me. Then...you came into my life, querida.”

I ran my hand through Francisco’s curls, a tear slowly running down my cheek as he leaned forward to kiss me lightly on the lips. He leaned his forehead on mine, still looking down, and said, “It was really you that saved me. The first moment I saw you, all full of enthusiasm and youth and joy, I felt the darkness in my heart begin to lift. There, right in front of me, was someone who still believed. I started to think I could believe again, too. As time went by, I knew I was falling in love with you, but it scared me. I made such a mistake with Elena. I was afraid to try again, afraid to make another mistake. But you got through to me, mi amor, and I couldn’t help myself. I fell for you, and I never stopped.”

He brought up my chin, and looked deeply into my eyes. “Elena is not a part of our lives…or of mine, anymore. I mourn the loss of her life, and the unhappiness we brought to each other in the end. But I never truly loved her, Joanna. I have only loved one woman in my life. Only one woman. Joanna Leal. The only woman who will ever wear Abuelita’s ring. The only woman destined to wear it again…a woman of the same beauty, courage, passion, and love, as the one who first owned it. You are not a sparrow, mi amor…you are a dove, full of strength and peace, that you give to me every day of our lives. Only you…my wife, and my love.”

I sat there for a moment, unable to speak. I just stared at Francisco, overwhelmed by all he had just said to me. With a cry of both sorrow and joy, I threw my arms around him. He had exorcised the ghosts, from himself as well as from me. I felt sorrow for Elena, for the joy she could have had with Francisco, and had denied herself. But even more, I felt joy for myself and for Francisco, for the love we had that was true and real. I no longer felt Elena’s specter over me…I only felt the presence of Francisco, and of our love together.

“I love you, Joanna,” Francisco said, taking me in his arms and easing me back onto the bed. “Solamente tu, para siempre.” Only you, for always. He kissed me, and drew me closer as he showed me with his body the truth of his words.

“Love forever” is the way he always signs his letters to me. I know now, these are not just words to Francisco. Love is not an art to him…love is life to him. I am his life. I am his love. Love forever…and to eternity.

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