A Sea Change (27 page)

Charles de la Croix was a fourth-generation Orleanian with two younger sisters. Despite the old-money wealth of his family – or, maybe because of it – he’d chosen to follow his own path. A Master in Fine Arts gave him the tools and salary he needed to teach, and the freedom to do what he really loved – watercolors. He’d retired from the university two years ago, when his wife succumbed to the cancer she’d stoically borne, but he still enjoyed tutoring the students he handpicked for their enthusiasm and talent.

With no children to carry on his name, his sizable inheritance – which grew with each passing year – was destined to go to his nieces and nephews. For this reason, their mothers – his sisters – tolerated what they perceived as his eccentricities. Because he’d been quite happily married for 27 years, no one in the family saw him as anything more than widowed and lonely. If his father had even suspected Charles’ true sexual orientation his bank account wouldn’t be what it was today. Jean de la Croix would have cut him off the way a gardener prunes dead wood: with no second thoughts.

Charles had done what men raised in the Forties and Fifties were supposed to do, despite his true feelings. He’d married Marie Soulé – the friendship of the two families went back many years – and had been a good husband and provider. Charles stayed faithful to her, his own desires suppressed. His wife had no idea her husband would never wholly love her, although he did the best he could. They even had a child, but the baby boy whom they’d named Phillipe died in his first year. They didn’t try again.

When Charles lost Marie, his grief came from the loss of a friend and companion. It was the loss of the familiar he mourned. To begin again, at the age of fifty, was daunting. Although he was now free to pursue love the way it was meant to be for him, he found the idea overwhelming, and Charles put the idea away. Until he met the man named Philip Daniels.

Winter turned to spring, and their acquaintance turned to true friendship. By the summer, Charles had told Danny everything there was to know about his life. And Danny had tried to provide as much of the truth as he was comfortable telling. But what they both knew, by that time, was what they felt for one another.

Long before Charles de la Croix summoned up the courage to tell Danny he loved him, the younger man said it for him. They needed each other. They accepted each other. Both had come to terms with their sexuality at the same time, though at markedly different ages.

Danny Phillip’s past liaisons had been many, with no love involved. But Charles de la Croix had waited his entire adult life for this, and he had much to give. Danny finally experienced what it was to be loved unconditionally, although the childhood scars on his soul never let him completely return the emotion.

They lived together for nearly seven idyllic years, much to the outspoken dismay of Charles’ family, but he was too happy to care. Danny still thought about Maddy, but not as often. His life as Danny Phillips was the only thing he didn’t share with Charles, and a safety deposit box guarded Maddy’s photograph and the postcards he’d collected for her over the years. The sole reminder of her – and it didn’t really have any connection to his sister, but to his love for her – was a delicate figure of a mermaid he’d found on the island of Santorini. It would be his gift to Maddy, if he ever saw her again. He kept it on the nightstand on his side of the bed as a reminder to hope, and when Charles picked it up, Danny had simply said, “It’s my only souvenir from Greece.”

Charles’ only comment had been, “It’s very beautiful,” and left it at that. He was far from being a stupid man, and he knew there was more to Danny’s life. But he was content to take what this Philip Daniels was willing to give.

And then one bone-chilling, wet morning in the winter of 1997, as the two men ate breakfast in companionable silence, Charles de la Croix put down his newspaper and said, “I don’t feel very well.” Danny took one look at his ashen face and dialed 911, but it was already too late. Charles slid off his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his kind heart suddenly – silently – exploding in his chest. The last words he spoke to Danny were, “You’ve given me great joy.”

The nightmare of the funeral was no match for the reading of Charles’ Will. Although his sisters and their children benefited just as he’d always intended, the codicil left his house, all its contents, and a very large sum of money to Danny Phillips. But the only thing Danny wanted was Charles, alive. He saw no point in anything else. Through his tears, he saw the disgust on the faces of those who professed to love Charles de la Croix. Before they could say, or do, anything to hurt him anymore than he was already hurting, Danny gave up everything and left New Orleans with little more than he’d arrived with.

He drifted across the southwestern part of the United States and into California, until he’d seen enough plains, deserts, and arid, brown hills to last a lifetime. He missed the lushness of Louisiana, but couldn’t go back. And so he made his way up the Pacific Coast. The closer he got to Washington, the more it pulled him, until he began to believe there was a reason he was returning to the one place where love had been a small part of his life.

Once in Tacoma, he’d found Ted Perry in the first phone book he’d looked in, gotten up his courage, and gone across the Narrows Bridge into Gig Harbor. But the house was empty. The trail had gone cold. And he returned to Tacoma with a terrible sadness and a vague childhood memory of a place called Salmon Beach – a place that seemed perfect for laying low for a while.

When the man who now calls himself Phil Madvick looks back on the loss of Charles de la Croix, he feels a strange sense of gratitude, because that loss has given him an enormous gain. He can’t help but think of the saying: When one door closes, another opens.

He has found his sister and, as far as he is concerned, he will never let her go again. Hers is the real love, of this he is certain. She will approve of him. She will find him acceptable. There will be no other substitute for the love he wants from Maddy.

Charles de la Croix helped him see – if only for a short time – he was worthy of some kind of love. But Maddy will give him the spiritual restoration he needs.

And the voice in his head – his father’s voice that Phil Madvick has claimed as his own – will finally be silenced.

Journal Entr
y

July 25

It hasn’t stopped raining for three days. I suppose we need it, but I always feel cheated when it does this. We have to put up with enough cold, wet days in the winter. Summer should mean endlessly clear, blue skies until at least mid-October. And if we have to have rain, then the night time is the right time. Like in Camelot.

And speaking of night time, Nick and I have been making the most of it. We’ve been together every night since Sunday. Either he comes over here, or I go there. However it happens, we end up in bed until morning. I love waking up with him next to me. He tends to drift off before I do, so I spend a lot of time watching him sleep. He’s so beautiful when his sleep is peaceful.

His nightmares tend to come in the early hours, and they’ve visited him every morning. I don’t think he knows he groans and mumbles through them. It’s heartbreaking to hear. But when he wakes up, he says he doesn’t remember them. I don’t really believe him. I think there’s some kind of male ego thing at work, preventing him from admitting he’s scared. But they scare me because I can’t do anything to help.

It’s strange that they’ve started up again since Nick found the burglar. I can’t see a connection. From what he’s told me, his dreams always deal with frustration and an inability to help the people he loves. How this Phil person could possibly affect Nick in that way isn’t clear to me. I wonder if Mary can shed any light.

The other night, though, Nick
did
open an odd topic. He asked me what I thought of Phil. Since I only met him that one time in Nick’s house – which gave me the willies, truth be told – I didn’t know what to tell him. Then he asked, “Well, as a woman, do you think he’s good-looking?” I made a small joke, and said, “If he were a woman, I’d have to say the beard makes him a little butch.”

Nick laughed, but it seemed forced. He said, “Come on, Maddy. You know what I mean.” I asked why it was important for him to know, and he just kinda nonchalantly shrugged, and said, “Rita and Susan think he’s worth looking at. I was just wondering what you thought.” I told him, nothing against Rita and Susan, but it was hard for me to picture them giving him a second look. And besides, I barely glanced at the man.

All this came up while we were lying in bed. We’d finished making love about ten minutes before. And I was a little surprised Nick was even alert enough to make conversation.

I think he feels threatened by this guy. And I can’t understand why. I almost teased him about being jealous, but good sense prevailed. Instead, I snuggled up next to him and told him discussing other men wasn’t my idea of great pillow talk. That he was the only male within a thousand-mile radius I was interested in. And he chuckled, much more like the Nick I’ve come to know, and said, “So, I’m safe as far as – about – Denver.”

I guess Phil is doing a pretty good job atoning for his sins. Since the rain’s started he’s been working indoors. He’s got a lot of jobs to do. I’ve heard rumors some have tried to pay him, but he won’t take any money. A lot of people on the beach have fallen under his spell.

I’ve been getting a lot of work done: for Jaed and for myself. The darkroom has been especially wonderful on these wet days. I lose track of time in there, and the stuff I’ve been turning out looks good to me. I’m putting together a booklet of my Salmon Beach photos for Mom and Dad. When I showed it to Mary she suggested I make it a little more professional – add captions, data, a title – with Jaed’s desktop publisher. She said once the residents see it they’ll all want a copy. So, once I’m done with the one for the folks, I’m going to work on a prototype, and I’m going to ask Mary to help me with it. This has got me very excited, and every time I think about it, I start visualizing better ways to do it. It’s hard to imagine putting a price on my work, but I’ve begun to believe in my talent in a way I never have before.

I’m a little worried about Mary. There’s something bothering her, but whenever I ask, she just shakes her head and says it’s nothing. Sometimes we’ll be talking and she’ll stop and look at me the way people do when they’ve thought of something they want to say. You know – that expectant, “Oh, I nearly forgot” look? And their mouths actually open to speak, but then they just clam up.

I told Nick about it, and he said he’s noticed the same thing. He thinks cabin fever may be setting in, and he’s come up with a great plan. We’re going to take her up to Victoria, B.C. on her birthday. We’ll spend the night, so it won’t be too tiring for her. And we’re going to do it up right. High tea at the Empress Hotel. A tour of Butchart Gardens. And we’ll be staying at The New Britain Inn, a gorgeous old Tudor-revival hotel in the suburbs. I’ve never been there, but Mary has mentioned it several times, and claims it’s where she first discovered her favorite tea. Her Darjeeling Blend is the number one reason for the whole trip.

We haven’t said anything to her yet, because we’re waiting for confirmation on our reservation. This is the high season and there was only one room available, but Jaed is pulling some strings for us. Apparently (and why am I not surprised), she once had a “very hot fling” with the current owner when he was still single, and she’s managed to not only remain friends with him, but Jaed and his wife email each other on a semi-regular basis. I should know something by the beginning of next week.

In the meantime, Nick and I have been working out the details. What I thought would be the toughest one – getting Mary off the beach – turns out to be fairly easy. North of Salmon Beach there’s another, shorter set of stairs. I’d guess there are maybe 30 or 40 steps. They connect with a wide path with a couple of switchbacks and that path leads to another parking area. There are a few storage sheds there, along with maintenance buildings. I’ve never used that particular path down to the beach because it’s so far from Jaed’s house, but it’ll work perfectly for getting Mary up to the car.

She’ll probably be mortified by what we’ve come up with, but it speaks volumes about how people down here feel about her. We’re renting a wheelchair and Nick and three other young studs are going to carry the chair up the shorter stairway. She’ll look like the Queen of the Nile. I can’t wait to document the whole thing on film.

Finally, I’ve come to what I’ve been dying to write.

Nick phoned me Tuesday morning. He’d just left about half an hour before. When I answered, he said, “Are you doing anything Saturday night?”

I told him, aside from having wild animal sex with him, I didn’t have any plans.

“So, how about dinner and a movie?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“I mean, would you like to go out with me?” he said.

I still wasn’t getting it, and I said, “That’s okay. I’m sure I can come up with something here, and I think there’s an M’s game on.”

Nick kind of sighed, and said, “Maddy, I’m asking you out.”

“You mean, like a date?” I was stunned.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“But we’ve never gone out.”

“I know. Don’t you think it’s about time?”

So, I actually have a date. And on a Saturday night! What
is
the world coming to?

I’ll end this here. Nick will be turning up on my doorstep soon. He called about an hour ago. Said he had something for me. I thanked him for playing straight-man, and – in the worst Mae West imitation ever attempted – said, “Bring it over here, big boy. I can’t wait to unwrap it.”

He said, “But it’s not wrapped.”

And I replied, “Well, tie a ribbon around it, honey. I need to do
something
with my hands.”

I’m sorry, but I just have to say this again…I have a date!