A Sea Change (21 page)

A dim image began to emerge, growing darker with every gentle agitation Maddy provided, until it appeared fully formed.

“Hey! That’s Becky,” Nick exclaimed, as Maddy drained the print, then immersed it in the tray filled with stop bath. “This is awesome.”

“I told you so,” she said, putting the black and white version of Becky and the mermaid into the fixer. Before she knew what was happening, Nick pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. “What’s that for?” she asked.

“For thinking of me first.”

Turning on the overhead light, she said, “Don’t kid yourself, Nick. I just happen to think it’s the best of everything I’ve shot so far.” Even with her back to him, she could feel his knowing smile. “Looks like fifteen seconds is the best one,” she said, and snapped off the light.

“So, this one’s the keeper?”

“Hope so,” she replied, setting up again.

As Becky’s image came up in the developer, Nick said, “I see why you love this.”

“I can’t remember the last time I worked in a darkroom.”

“I can’t believe it wasn’t last week,” he said.

As he watched Maddy do what she loved best, Nick was once again taken with her confidence. Her skill was obvious, but what really came through was how at-home she felt in this environment. She was child-like in her enthusiasm, yet supremely professional. Her movements were choreographed, and he could actually see talent radiating from her. This was something he could relate to; something he’d felt while playing baseball – the joy of making your passion your life’s work.

Even more than his own talent, though, Nick had another – more valuable – gift. He had the ability to see the brilliance in others, especially on the playing field. Managers and coaches had recognized it, and sought him out. He’d nurtured, taught, and mentored so many young players, the list read like a Who’s Who of baseball. Even as a catcher, Nick wasn’t limited to pitchers. He could spot that perfect combination of talent, grit, humility, and teamwork in any position.

Now, as he watched Maddy, it all came back to him; and in the dark, a stunning thought: as easily as Maddy fell back into her gift, he could do the same.

“Nick? You still awake?”

She’d been talking to him. He saw she’d placed the eight-by-ten in the third tray, and was looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was someplace else. What did you say?”

“I said, let’s make one for Mary.”

He continued his study of her, then said, “You’re amazing. You know that?”

Maddy gave him a puzzled look. “You get I’m ‘amazing’ from, ‘let’s make one for Mary’?”

“Just say ‘thank you,’ and let’s leave it at that.”

“Okie dokie… Thanks, Nick.” She reached up to pull another sheet of paper out of the box. “Would you like to do it?”

He moved behind her, pulling her hips into his. His hands followed her curves until they converged where she converged. An insistent caress, and his husky, “Yeah, I want to do it,” brought forth a satisfying moan from Maddy. “Right here, right now.” He slipped a hand inside the waistband of her shorts.

She didn’t have time to think, let alone speak. His touch was enough to stop everything rational in her world. The paper fluttered to the floor. Her hands gripped the edge of the plywood counter. He was a narcotic rendering her muscles useless, and her head rolled back into his neck. Even in the hot confines of the shed, his breath on her ear caused her to shiver.

His thigh insinuated itself between hers. But Maddy didn’t need the incentive. She was more than willing to open her legs to allow him the freedom he needed – she needed. Slowly, one hand slid over her skin to cup her from behind. The other, from the front.

She was wet with wanting him. She was on fire.

Then he whispered, “I want to hear you come,” and she groaned, knowing there would be no stopping her.

In moments she felt a fullness that consumed her. Liquid heat seeped through her body, and her legs no longer held her up. He pushed against her, helping her to stand. As she gasped, his name and God’s were interchangeable.

And when he felt her climaxing, Nick’s mouth sought hers and covered it, her guttural words mixing with his. His tongue took them, swallowed them. Made them his own.

It was a revelation to them both how easily one passion had translated into another.

Jou
rnal Entry

July 11

We gave Mary her print this afternoon. This was after yet another trip to town together, this one to find a frame.

On Wednesday, Nick drove me to the public dock so I could pick up my car. I think he wanted to go to the photo supply store with  me, but had other obligations. So I went alone and bought paper and chemicals. Thursday, he spent the whole day helping me get the darkroom set up. He drove me to the storage unit, loaded up the boxes filled with my photo paraphernalia, and unloaded the truck at the beach. He must’ve made four trips up and down those steps, while I put everything away and hooked up equipment. It was like he was on a mission, and nothing would stop him once he’d started.

Mary was pleased with our gift. But I got the feeling she was even more pleased that Nick and I worked on it together. I’d call her Yentl the Matchmaker except for the fact she’s never done this sort of thing before.

Curiosity made me ask around, and the answers I got from Emily DeMille and Rita Anders jived. Both told me Mary doesn’t meddle in peoples’ love lives and only gives advice when asked – and even then is reluctant to hold forth. So, why she’s taken this inordinate interest in the two of us is beyond me. Anyway, she seems a little healthier; stronger now. I’m glad for that.

I’m still completely stunned by the events of the past few days, starting with the boat ride back to the beach. I couldn’t even have begun to imagine what had happened with Nick and his wife. I guess I just figured it was the usual: she found someone else and they divorced. But when his story unfolded it sounded like something vaguely Wagnerian.

Why are people so cruel to each other? And why does it seem that the good ones suffer the most?

It doesn’t look to me that Janet has suffered at all. She’s with the man she wanted. She’s driving a luxury car, so the new hubby must do okay. I know she doesn’t have a job. And she’s got Becky. God only knows how much she took Nick for. He didn’t mention that part of it. But he’s renting a tiny place on Salmon Beach, driving a fairly old truck, working as a handyman – so I can only surmise she cleaned him out.

Anyway, we get home from this somewhat emotional outing, and it’s late, so I figure he’ll want to go back to his place, and I’ll go to mine. But, no. He takes my hand and practically drags me down the path, stops in front of this little shed outside his house, and tells me to close my eyes.

I said, “It’s already dark, Nick,” but he insisted, so I finally did it. I could hear him opening the lock and the door. Then he took my hand again and led me up a couple of steps. Told me to open my eyes. I couldn’t see anything, and when he switched on the light, I still wasn’t sure what I was looking at. “I hope you like it,” he says, and I’m thinking, ‘What is it?’ But then he says, “I know it’s probably not what you’re used to, but it’s lightproof, and it has running water…” And that’s when it hit me.

I’m pretty sure I said, “Oh my God” about twelve times, with my hands covering my mouth. I threw myself at him and would’ve knocked him down except for the cramped space we were in. He was pretty embarrassed by the whole display, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t believe he’d done all that for me.

He put so much work into it. Counters, shelves, extra plugs, a ceiling vent. He even attached a fan to the wall and added a lock on the inside, so no one would walk in on me. It was so professional-looking, I wondered how he’d known what to do. He said he’d consulted a book on photography. Then he took me back outside and shut the door. He reached behind a piece of leftover plywood and pulled out a little wooden sign. There was a hook on the door, and he hung it there. It read,
M.V.P. – Photographer.
And that’s when I choked up – almost started crying.

“Why did you do this, Nick?” I asked.

“Because you deserve it,” he answered.

I was so moved by his kindness, his sweetness. Even more, I was astounded that he’d done something so personal and so obviously intimate for me. Something’s changing between us.

I know it’s time to tell Nick everything. I want someone else to hear about Danny, so I can finally set him free. He’s part of the past, too, and I need to forget it and start living in the present. Easier said than done, I know, but I have to make a stab at it. It’ll be tough having to admit I lied to Nick, but I think he’s ready to accept me as I am. And if he’s ever going to completely trust me I need to let him see the real Maddy Phillips. I guess I’m beginning to understand what Mary was talking about, because now I don’t want to keep anything from him. I want to give him all of myself. I hope he can do the same.

That night we came much closer to actually making love. Up till then we’d hardly known each other.

The first couple of times – as good as it was – we were merely fucking. Later, I’d have to call it friendly, recreational sex. But in the past few days we’ve become intimate. It’s been quite wonderful.

And then there’s the moment in the darkroom. I don’t think a man’s ever given me an orgasm without expecting his own in return. It was an incredible, yet oddly guilt-inducing, feeling.

But, oh God, how I’d love to be able to come with him inside me. Or even as he watches. But I can’t seem to lose that need for anonymity. I need the dark. I need my back to him. I can’t let him see me. I don’t know why…

But I love watching him. Such a powerful feeling to know I can give him that much pleasure.

And speaking of pleasure: Nick’s certainly given me more than my share, in so many ways, and in so short a time. Working in the darkroom again is such a rush. It was like I’d never been away from it. Everything fell into place. I had all my old rhythms back. It felt so right. To think I gave it all up for someone like Ted.

I did everything Ted wanted, and Ted wanted me with him, and I thought that was good enough. But here’s Nick wanting me with him, helping me to do what I love.

Ted wanted a maid he could take to bed, although I didn’t see that at the time. I was too in love with the idea of a man in my life; One who seemed to need me like I needed him.

But I can’t let myself go there anymore. What would be the point? In the here and now, I’m working again and it still gives me such joy.

If what they say is true – when one door closes, another opens – then I’ve picked Door Number 3 with the big prize behind it, and Monty Hall is
still
telling me what I’ve won.

I feel lucky. I feel alive. But best of all, I feel happy.

Ch
apter Twenty-Two

Maddy climbed to the top tier of the bleachers. A few parents, mostly mothers, smiled at her as she struggled with her camera bag, cooler, and tote. Some gave her frosty looks, while others simply watched, and – as she passed – whispered to their companions. The men kept their faces forward, but their eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, followed her progress appreciatively.

All these little dramas escaped Maddy. She finally reached the last seat, gratefully dumped the bags, and rubbed the side of her neck. The sun was brutal, and it made the bleachers sizzle. The whole Little League field was surrounded by alders and firs but, in their infinite wisdom, the city planners had stuck the grandstand in the one open area.

Pulling a beach towel out of the tote bag, Maddy spread it on the seat and plopped her shorts-clad bottom on it. She stretched tanned legs out in front of her and leaned back against the guard rail. Her “Ow – shit!” as she discovered how well aluminum conducted heat, brought more glances, and she shrugged apologetically.

Maddy looked down at the nearest dugout in search of Nick, and couldn’t believe she’d let herself be talked into coming. She felt so out of place that she half-expected all the moms, dads, kids, and wide variety of siblings, grandparents, and school chums to bodily remove her for the intruder that she was.

But as she spotted Nick helping Becky with her catcher’s gear, Maddy knew exactly why she’d come. He was the best-looking dad in this sea of pale legs, thinning hair, and baggy shorts. She suddenly wondered how old he was. Forty loomed on the too-close-for-comfort horizon, a milestone she didn’t look forward to. Maddy didn’t think she looked her age, but what if he didn’t look his, either? As she compared Nick to the other parents, he seemed much younger. And Becky was only eight. What if he was barely thirty? What then?

Nick stood, said something to Becky, and they turned their faces toward the bleachers. Nick saw her first, pointed, then they both waved at Maddy. Several heads swiveled to see who the recipient of their attention was, but Maddy didn’t notice. She waved back and gave Becky a thumbs-up. And it hit her that his age was an absurd thing to worry about. For some reason her subconscious kept dredging up anxieties to focus on, as if she somehow didn’t deserve to be happy.

As she watched Nick and fanned herself with a leaflet proclaiming “Lose 10 Pounds in 10 Days!” two young mothers had come up the other side and perched on the bench two rows below Maddy. Her eyes were on her favorite subject, but she couldn’t help glancing at them.

Cut from the same upper-middle class cloth, they both wore khaki shorts – the Eddie Bauer label prominent on their backsides – and sleeveless tops. One wore loafers with no socks, the other a pair of white Keds. Gold and diamonds were evident in every form: rings, bangles, earrings, necklaces. The too-perfect highlights in their blonde hair glinted in the sun. More gold.

“The Eastside Elite” was her friend Karen’s term for them. Jaed’s was somewhat longer, and more descriptive.

Maddy didn’t really give them much thought, they were so far-removed from her way of life.

She took out her camera. As the two women talked, their gestures were identical. And when they both raised their right hands in the Royal Wave to their respective daughters, Maddy snapped the shutter. It would be a good study in contrasts to her Salmon Beach residents.

Setting the camera down, Maddy reached into her bag for the tube of tanning lotion and began smoothing it on her legs. No SPF 30 for her. Maddy’s Greek blood afforded her the small luxury of a deep tan without too many of the dire consequences doctor’s warned about. A tan that took most people a week in Hawaii to achieve, Maddy got in a few hours. It was one of her few vanities.

As Maddy began covering her arms with the cream, the women’s conversation drifted up, intruding on her own thoughts.

“…and the ink isn’t even dry on their divorce papers,” the blonde in the pale pink top was saying.

“Maybe he’s afraid she’ll change her mind about marrying him,” blonde number two replied. “He
is
, like fifteen years older than she is.”

“More like twenty…”

Maddy tuned them out until a familiar name reached her ears.

“That’s Janet Kingston’s ex. I met him at the school once.”