It Happened on Maple Street

Her face fell. Good. Maybe now she knew how he’d felt when she went off bowling without him.

“So what was that Christmas card about?” he asked. They were still standing in her foyer. She seemed to be home alone.

She shrugged. “I was feeling sentimental. Thinking about you. I couldn’t let the holiday go by without saying Merry Christmas to you. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Why?”

“Because I care.”

“If you say so.” His way of letting her know she wasn’t going to hurt him again.

But then why was he there? All he’d had to do was ignore her card to let her know that he wasn’t open to her anymore.

“So Tara, how’re things down south? Sounds like you picked up a bit of an accent. Not turning into a briar like us Preble County folk, are you?” Why was he doing this?

She laughed. “You aren’t a briar, Tim Barney. Not even a little bit.”

She was killing him.

Why didn’t he just ask her what he’d come there to find out? She cared for him. Great. As a friend, or something more? Was there still hope for them as a couple?

“You signed your card, “Lots of love.” What did you mean by that?”

“It didn’t mean anything specific. I was thinking about you and when I think about you, lots of love comes to mind.”

What in the hell did that mean?

They moved into the kitchen. Sat down. He asked about her classes. She asked about his. He made the tennis team again and would be playing all spring. She told him about service projects.

“I didn’t see your car in the driveway. Is it at school?” It had always been parked in the roundabout out front.

“No, we sold it when I left f

or Armstrong.”

“Do you and Chum drive back and forth in his car?”

“Chum got married in September.”

“That was quick! He wasn’t even engaged!”

“I know. He just dropped it all on us in August. He married the girl he came home to see last March.”

He listened to her responses but couldn’t really focus on her answers. He wasn’t asking the questions he really wanted to ask. So he wasn’t getting the answers he needed.

But if he asked her if there was still a chance for them, she’d think that he needed her. That he wasn’t over her. She’d feel sorry for him. And send more mixed messages. And he’d never get on with his life.

He shouldn’t have come.

He stayed a couple of hours anyway. He and Tara probably talked more on that Christmas holiday night than they had in all the months they’d been together.

“It’s weird, you know,” she said at one point. “Everyone at Armstrong is always telling each other they love each other. It’s a love-in-Christ-type thing—you know, we’re all God’s children, all brothers and sisters in Christ, but they just come right out and say “I love you,” on a regular basis. My girlfriends tell me, even teachers will tell you, but I just can’t do that. I try. But I don’t tell anyone I love them except my family. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel the words, but I just . . . I don’t know . . .”

Her words trailed off and Tim, whose heart had just about come unhitched from his body, spent the rest of the evening cutting up with her to avoid making a complete and utter fool of himself. Tara was too nice to hurt him on purpose. If he asked her for hope, she’d give it to him just because she was so nice. He didn’t just want her to care about him. He wanted her to think there was no one on earth but him. And there was no way a girl like her, with her worldly future, would ever be content with someone like him. If she was as in love with him as he needed her to be, she’d have told him so when he’d asked what her card meant.

When he finally stood up to go she walked with him to the door.

“I have to ask you something,” she said, standing with him in the darkened foyer.