Free Love Has The Best Intentions by Christine Arness Page B

had not
yielded any close friends among my neighbors.
    Interrupted in a bout of self-pity by a knock
on the door, I staggered out to find Andrew on my doorstep
clutching a bag of oranges and grapefruit, a plush pink teddy bear
in tribute to my nickname for him, and a bouquet of glorious
daffodils. Bursting into tears of relief, he tucked me back into
bed and dosed me with fresh citrus fruit and penicillin. Andrew
then straightened up the apartment and washed a load of sheets and
towels. Undeterred by my cough, red nose and streaming eyes, he had
remained to sit by the bed and offer comfort and companionship.
    My turn to repay his kindness had come when
his father was stricken with a fatal heart attack. I drove Andrew
to the airport on a Sunday evening, listening quietly to his
rambling discourse on his relationship with his father and the
agonized self-examination as to why he hadn’t been there when it
happened. Just before boarding the plane, Andrew turned back and
enfolded me in a close embrace, squeezing my breath out with the
strength of his feelings.
    I could never forget the good times: picnics,
rides in the country, sitting by the fire watching the light play
on his reddish hair, exploring our differing views and opinions
with a passion. We had sipped together from the mixture of the joy
and pain which made up the potion of love, both ingredients
inexorably intertwined. We had a powerful bond between us—one that
was mysterious, priceless, timeless. Why then was I still
afraid?
    “Case of Chapin v. Chapin,” the clarion voice
of the bailiff jerked me back to the present and the cold
somberness of the courtroom. I became aware that Mrs. Chapin was
gripping the back of the seat in front of them with white knuckled
hands. Mr. Chapin and Andrew emerged from the crowd with
deliberation and took their places at the neighboring counsel
table, Mr. Chapin regarding his wife with sad resignation.
    The judge rubbed the bridge of his nose
wearily before replacing his glasses and picking up the court
file.
    “Is counsel ready?” He glanced wistfully at
the clock in the rear of the courtroom as he spoke, hoping that it
was time to adjourn.
    As attorney for the petitioner, it was up to
me to start the proceedings. Before I could speak, however, a sob
burst from Dorothea Chapin, the pent-up emotions breaking
through.
    “No! I’ve changed my mind! I don’t want a
divorce!”
    The murmur of conversation from the
spectators and attorneys present in the courtroom stilled as the
echoes of a woman’s passionate declaration hung quivering in the
air.
    Andrew and I remained frozen in disbelief, my
weakening knees forcing me to grip the edge of the counsel table
for support. Mr. Chapin dodged around the massive form of his
attorney and hurried to his spouse, words tumbling out in a rush of
excitement.
    “Do you mean it, Dorothea? If you’ll come
back to me, I promise I’ll try to give you the happiness you
deserve. I love you! If you want to take classes at the University,
get a job, do more entertaining or travel, it’s all right with me.
I’m lost without you, darling—I can’t find a matched pair of socks
or figure how to work the dishwasher. I’m so lonely, Dorothea. I
want our marriage to stay intact!”
    “I do love you, darling, but you’ve been so
cold and indifferent lately. I don’t want expensive presents—I want
you! You’ve been working these extra hours and I didn’t feel like I
was important any more...”
    A man of action, Mr. Chapin cut this tearful
disclosure short by seizing his wife and pulling her against his
chest in a might embrace.
    The judge raised silver brows, bemused by the
tender scene being enacted before the bench. The wooden countenance
of the bailiff, however, never changed expression as he inquired as
to whether I wished to dismiss the case?
    Half an hour later, the newly reunited Mr.
and Mrs. Chapin departed the scene without a backwards glance or a
word of farewell. Andrew and I took