Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [112]
“What would you like Jennifer to be when she grows up, Cary?” I asked.
“A highly evolved, kindhearted woman,” Cary answered softly. “Someone who got the best from each of her parents.”
“That’s a perfect answer,” I said. We sat for a few seconds in serene silence. “Is that how you think of me, Cary?”
“Of course I do, dear girl,” he said, taking a gulp of his drink and reaching for my remaining egg roll.
“Cary, wait. Is that how you really think of me? What was it you said? ‘Evolved’? Do you think I’m evolved, Cary?”
Cary leaned forward and pinned me with his gaze.
“Listen to me, Dyan. Each of us creates our own reality. And if we get stuck in a certain reality, it’s up to us to get out of it. Transformation is possible for everyone.” Something about the way he spoke made me feel like I was being addressed by the village wise man.
“How do you transform, then?”
“First, you have to be open to change.”
This was starting to sound all too familiar.
“Do you think you need to change, Cary?”
“I have changed. I was stuck inside a mask that people recognized as Cary Grant, and I was suffocating. Dyan, I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t breathe! But you can breathe again!”
“I never had trouble breathing before I met you, Cary,” I said.
“That’s because you . . .”
“Because I what?”
“Well, you’re . . . complacent. Just not as alert to the possibilities as you can be.”
I felt blood rush hot to my cheeks, but somehow I stayed calm. I didn’t know the answer to any of this, but all of a sudden, for the first time, I knew the question. Now, after all of this confusion, it seemed so obvious.
“Cary, I have a question. A simple question for you.”
“Go ahead, shoot.”
“Do you love me—”
“Oh, Dyan, don’t be silly. You know—”
“Stop. Hold it. Please. Just let me finish. You keep asking me to change. I get that. And I’ve tried. Honestly, I have. But, Cary, right here, right now, do you love me—me—just the way I am? Right now?”
Cary seemed stunned by the question, as if it had never occurred to him. He looked at me blankly.
“Well?” I asked.
Cary was at a loss for words.
I held my breath and gazed at him.
His face was blank.
Nothing.
Then I took his hand gently in mine and kissed it.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Cary.”
Still nothing.
“I have to go,” I said.
I took my purse and left the table, but as I started to exit onto the street, I realized there was one more thing that had to be said. I went back to the table where he sat, looking rather stunned.
“Cary, I want you to be clear on this,” I told him. “I do love you. I love you, Cary. Right here, right now, just the way you are.” I paused. “I’m not leaving you because I don’t love you. I’m leaving you to save my life.”
It was the last time I would ever be alone with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Grant vs. Grant
“But I don’t want it to get ugly,” I told my attorney, who was giving me the lowdown on divorce law. The lowdown was lower down than I could have imagined.
“For a couple to be granted a divorce, one of them has to be at fault,” he told me. “That’s the way it is with fault-based divorce law. One party has to sue the other for some kind of wrongdoing to prove they should be allowed a divorce. It’s backward, it’s offensive, and one day it’ll change, but right now it’s the law.”
“What if both of them are at fault?”
“You’re the one suing for divorce, so you have to prove Cary is at fault, and that means making your case.”
“We can’t get along. Isn’t that enough?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Grounds for divorce include physical abuse, adultery, and mental and emotional cruelty. The latter is the least injurious to the accused and the easiest to prove.”
“So what should I say? That he was mean