she said. Jack gave her an odd look that made Veronica uneasy. She immediately spun a strand of hair around a finger.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
“No, nothing’s the matter.” Jack seemed suddenly too serious. Veronica’s word games had upset him, made him think of the Sanders Brown letter. She knew he was thinking about something, read it in his face. She asked again, more seriously, about Love and Honesty.
“You do see us like that, don’t you? We love each other; we’re honest with each other. That’s all I meant.” Veronica worried. Provoked by her entreating eyes, Jack wanted to allay her concern.
“Veronica, I couldn’t love anyone more,” he said fervidly That remark uplifted her. She held his hand tightly and they walked on. Veronica talked some more about Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne.
“Your aunt and uncle prove you don’t need that much to be happy.”
“They’ve got a lot,” Jack said.
“They’ve got the right things. We could learn from them, don’t you think?” Veronica wasn’t suggesting anything. She was merely stating her belief. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack loved her and was honest with her. But Jack’s guilt added to Veronica’s words an element of moral instruction that wasn’t intended.
He became quiet. Again, he thought about having left Veronica out of the loop concerning something important to both of them. It didn’t matter that he’d torn up the Sanders Brown letter, at least partly, to spare Veronica the burden of his indecision. Tearing the letter up made things easier for them is what he’d thought. It removed the conflict. He’d thought that, too. But then he wondered about the wisdom of avoiding conflict. Difficult things had to be shared perhaps more than happy ones in a relationship. He knew that. Perhaps by tearing the letter up, all he’d done was bury the conflict. Perhaps it would return to torment him. He felt that, in some way, it already had. It would have been better to get it out in the open, to decide things together. And here was Veronica, holding up his aunt and uncle’s life as a model. When she said, we are like them, because he felt badly what he heard is, we need to be like them. He heard admonishment when none was given.
He felt remorseful and ashamed. He watched Veronica as she moved. She was innocent, faultless, undeserving of the backlash his compunction returned for not confiding in her. He checked his mood and saw through her eyes, the sweet wisdom she’d intended.
“V, I hear what you’re saying about Uncle Browne and Aunt Millicent. They lead a good life.”
They walked back up the stairs. At the top, looking over the bluff down to the water and then up at the moon, Jack paused and put his arm around Veronica. He appeared somewhat burdened.
“I just don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always been sure about things and now I’m not. I’m sure about you. I’m sure about us. But about the rest . . . I just don’t know.”
Veronica heard Jack’s torment. “Let’s go enjoy the celebration,” she said. “Let’s not worry right now.”
Across the road, the paths of a wide field were filled with people. They walked in lines, many two by two, quietly, almost reverently, toward the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle was beyond the field behind a row of houses, nestled in a space all by itself. The field was well lit both from moonlight and the glow of lanterns hung on porches all around.
The houses around the field looked like giant gingerbread houses. All wore their Illumination Night decorations lanterns hung from their spacious porches-throwing off light like beacons. Lanterns made of paper shades, hung from porch ceilings-strung up, spread out, wrapped around in spectacular radiance, like glowing necklaces. Paper shades of myriad colors casting myriad colored light: blue, green, lemon yellow, salmon, teal and pink, a panoply of magical, enchanting light that touched the field from every direction. People moved out of darkness in streams of light into color. Then they passed again into darkness and were lost, headed toward the Tabernacle. They moved like ghostly pilgrims toward the Tabernacle, like shadows seeking light. One by one and two by two, people moved as shadows first, then in illuminated jubilance.
At one point all paths in the field converged and everyone coming out of the field had to use the same path to exit and pass on toward the Tabernacle. In this milling procession, Jack lost Veronica. She’d gone ahead. He walked off the path into an unlit area of field. He was just at the edge of the road that came after the field and before the houses around the field. But he could not tell where he was. He could not see in the dark. He could not see with the light from the nearby lanterns flooding his vision. At last, he exited the field only to pass into a profusion of orange light.
A grand Victorian house immediately in front of him had its huge porch bedecked with ten globes of light-all orange. At first, in the dark and not being able to see, Jack felt lost. Now, engulfed by orange light, he felt blind. In each instance, it was too much of the same thing, too much darkness, and then too much orange light. He felt twice lost. Orange, orange, all around—it was too much orange light. It surrounded him, entrapped him. Everything glowed orange, even his own skin glowed orange. No shapes were discernible, no borders could be made out, and nothing was defined. Only orange light, incessant.
Jack yearned for certainty: shape, one choice, Veronica. She defined the colors. His confusion gave way to agitation. He wanted to get out of the excess of light to where light was defined. He wanted the shadow that brought form and the form that made color real. Above all else, he wanted Veronica. With her, I am more than just my father’s son. I am more than just my uncle’s nephew. I am more than just one color, one choice, one way. With her, I will have all the choices I will ever need. I will live fully. I am not a score. Not one moment, one way, one preconceived notion. I am more than just my father’s son. And then he thought about Wall Street and about what Uncle Browne had said about time.
He wanted desperately to see Veronica. When he finally groped his way out of the lanterns flame, Veronica was next to him.
“I found you,” she said.
“Veronica,” Jack said. He pulled her to him and held her tightly. He smelled her hair and held her as if she were what gave him life.
They walked on to the Tabernacle and met Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne. Aunt Millicent sang loudly, her voice going forward. Jack and Veronica sang softly. Their voices stayed back. Uncle Browne’s voice, increasingly distinct, reached up toward his wife’s and they sang together. Eventually, they all sang together. When the singing was over, they went home to Uncle Browne’s.
Jack and Veronica took a walk after Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne went to bed. The moon, still bright, lit the wooden catwalk in the woods. They took the walkway toward the cove. It was cool in the woods. There were hushed sounds of wind stirred leaves. Crickets sang. They heard the lapping of the waves on the shore at the cove. They reached the sand and walked along the sand to the lush sea grass. Tenderly, Jack took Veronica’s hand.
They lay down in the soft grasses. Jack held Veronica’s hand as he kissed her. He kissed her hand, too. He opened her mouth with his and they kissed deeply. Her lips were soft on his and he felt her lips and their moisture with his own. He kissed her lips, separately and together. He held her close to him, tightly. He combed back her midnight hair with a gentle hand and slipped a band from off her hair so that it could drop down over him and onto her shoulders. Her shoulders were bare and her soft hair fell over them. In his arms, he folded her and in his arms Veronica felt his love. His love held her closely. And it was as if in holding her, all love was held for all time. The moon was lower in the sky now. It cast a soft light on them and in the background the only sound besides the
