The Eighties: I Married Into a Respectable College Family

I had blood on my cuff when the postman handed me the envelope. "Looks official," Mr. Bell said, leaning across the clinic's reception counter. Rain ticked against the windows behind him. He kept one hand on his canvas mailbag and the other on the envelope, as if I might not recognize the blue-and-white crest without his help. I took it from him. "It's addressed to Eli." "I figured. Still, you can tell a big day when you see one." The return address read Alder Medical College, Fairhaven, North Vale. My thumb rested on the flap. For three years, I had watched Eli apply, wait, and come home with a polite rejection. The first letter had arrived while we were still newlyweds. The second had come after he'd spent a winter studying at our kitchen table until the lamp smoked. The third had landed during a heat wave, when he'd sat on the back steps with it open in his hands and said nothing until supper. This was the fourth envelope. Mr. Bell studied my face. "Well?" "I haven't opened it." "Your husband's been waiting long enough. Seems a shame to make him wait another minute." "I'm at work." "I can carry it to the house." His eagerness irritated me more than it should have. I slipped the letter into my apron pocket. "Thank you," I said. "I'll give it to him tonight." Mr. Bell gave me a look that was halfway between pity and a warning. "Of course, June. You take care." He had the expression people wore when they knew a storm was coming and assumed the woman in front of them had forgotten to shut a window. I finished checking in two patients and changed the dressing on Mr. Dwyer's hand. The letter pressed against my hip every time I bent. By five, word had reached the diner, the hardware store, and my sister-in-law's hairdresser. I knew because Alma Pike called the clinic to ask if I needed a casserole. "Why would I need a casserole?" I asked. There was a pause. "I just thought you might appreciate a little kindness." "For what?" "Oh, June. Don't make me say it." She didn't have to. In Mill Creek, everybody understood what happened when a bright man finally got his way. He left. His wife stayed behind with the furniture, the unpaid bills, and the memory of all the dinners she had served while he studied. Eli and I had been married six years. We had no children, no debts beyond the mortgage, and a house with a porch that leaned toward the road. He had grown up in a family of teachers. His mother, Miriam, had taught literature at the high school, and his father, Robert, taught biology. Their living room held more books than chairs, and their arguments were more likely to be about a poem than politics. They had never made me feel stupid. That was why it took me so long to understand that being treated kindly did not mean I would be included in every decision. Eli came to collect me after his shift at the mill office. He worked part-time there to cover our bills while I worked at the clinic. I had just washed my hands when he stepped through the door, tall and narrow-shouldered in his brown jacket. "Did anything come?" he asked. I dried my hands. "One envelope." He stopped moving. I took it from my apron and held it out. "It's from Alder." He looked at the return address, then at me. "You didn't open it?" "It's yours." He ran a finger under the flap, but stopped before tearing it. "What if it's another no?" "Then it's another no." His mouth pulled tight. For a moment, I thought he might ask me to read it for him. Instead, he opened it. I watched his eyes move down the page. Then he let out a breath that shook. "I got in," he said. I put my arms around him. He held me with the letter crumpled between our chests. Outside, the rain had stopped. Through the window, I saw Mr. Bell standing by his truck, pretending to rearrange the mailbag. He had come back to watch. Eli kissed my hair. "June, I got in." "I heard you." "We did it." I wanted to say yes. I wanted to let the word be simple. Instead, I looked past his shoulder at the envelope, and at the narrow strip of paper showing from its fold. The acceptance was real. So was the distance between Mill Creek and Fairhaven.