When the topic of marriage came up, and boy did it, all the Carols lined up behind it. There were so many reasons to do it. I was Carol’s first and only, she loved me, having the business together made sense, the thing with mom was done, she was a good person, and I genuinely liked her in and out of bed; I relented.
The first six months were fine, new beginnings, everything was fresh; we played house in the new place we bought about a half mile from The Inn Between. We took more responsibility for running the business…the three Carols and me – one big happy family.
The next six months were literally and figuratively the winter months; I didn’t feel warm anymore. When Christmas came we did the show that we always did at the inn. When they were younger, Mom and Aunt Carol sang in a group that performed locally, but when my dad died and Aunt Carol got divorced, it ended. They taught Carol and me to sing and we got a little ‘act’ together.
In addition to the usual jokes from the skiers at the inn about the Carols singing carols, I knew I was in bad shape when the Christmas songs we sang all got me depressed. I knew what I knew from the beginning, I wasn’t in love. I thought I could ‘Fix’ that, make it work, change her, change me, change the situation – stupid, stupid, stupid.
I thought about my mother all the time. Since we stopped playing the ‘game’ I wanted her even more. The experience we had together convinced me that she wanted me too. The summer months, when the inn was busiest were the worst. I saw her every day, I inhaled her fragrance; I wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to love her – and why did she have to wear those damned tank tops?
She never did anything or said anything to lead me on; she acted ‘normal,’ but I could see it in her eyes, in her body, as it unwillingly responded to me. I was sure that it was as much on her mind as it was on mine. Then there were the times I said something too nice, or came too close, or touched her arm too intimately. She was always aware and guarded; her eyes flashed, her body withdrew. Once she just said, “We can’t.”
Maybe if Carol and I had a child, I would have ridden it out, but we didn’t. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. My wife liked sex and I liked it with her. It may not have been adventurous, but it was fun and we wanted a baby. By the time we found out that she couldn’t conceive, and another year had passed, the disparity in our feelings became evident. It would have cruel to adopt at that point. She realized I didn’t love her as I should, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Thinking about the night I chose to tell her that it had to end, still makes me uncomfortable. I asked her to go for a ride and I told her in the car. When I said that we should separate and get a divorce, you would have thought it was all news to her. She said, “I know things haven’t been that good between us, but I thought we were doing better, I think we can work it out, I’ll try harder.”
I couldn’t bring myself to use the cliché that goes, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ – even though that was the truth of the situation, so I just said, “I’m sorry…I’m so fond of you, but I just can’t do it anymore.”