Back In the Game (27 page)

Jess shrugged. “Hey, it's someone to do the housework and bring in the groceries when you're an old and feeble has-been.”

“I think Simon's kind of yucky.”

I turned to Laura. “Yucky?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don't like that two-day-old beard thing. It seems so, I don't know, so—”

“Yucky.” Nell smirked. “Yes, we know.”

“Well,” Jess said, “be thankful then that you're with Matt. He's an expert shaver. He could teach that grooming master from the Fab Five a thing or two.”

“Is it pathetic that we're talking about facial hair?” I wondered. “At our age? Shouldn't we be talking about world events, local politics, something of substance?”

“I am mired in substance all day,” Jess replied. “When I'm with my friends, I want to float on fluff. As it were. Besides, not all of our conversations are so banal. You know, there's divorce and all the dreadful realities that go with it.”

Nell grinned. “Besides, if we talked about the current situation in the Middle East, my sister wouldn't be able to participate.”

“I would, too!” Laura protested. “I read the paper. Not every day but a few times a week.”

I sensed the evening coming to its natural end.

“Shall I get the check?” I said.

Jess immediately replied. “Yes, thanks, you shall.”

Chapter 61

“I
'm falling for you, Jess.”

We were at Nick's apartment in South Berwick. We'd just finished dinner and had moved into the living room and onto the couch. Nick wasn't a terribly creative cook, but he managed to make perfectly tasty simple dishes. That night he'd prepared homemade tomato sauce with mushrooms and poured it over fresh pasta. I'd brought in bread and wine.

A simple dinner, followed by a not-so-simple conversation.

Falling for me. What did that mean? Did it mean Nick was falling in love with me? Or just . . .

“Oh,” I said.

Nick traced his fingertip along the back of my hand.

“Does that upset you?”

Only a little, because here I was assuming we both viewed our dating as more of a summer fling than as a prelude to a serious relationship.

“Of course not,” I said. “No, it's great. Of course. It's just that . . .”

Just that what? I lowered my eyes as if the answer were to be found in my lap.

“Just that what?”

I looked up again at him. “I can't promise anything, Nick.” It was all I could think to say.

“Why not?” he asked. He took back his hand and rested it on his thigh.

Nick's thighs were one of his best physical features.

“Because I can't,” I repeated. “And if you need a more specific reason, let's just say I can't promise anything because I'm too soon out of a messy divorce.”

Nick's eyes trapped mine. His eyes were an interesting shade of green.

“But that's not the real reason?” he asked.

“It's a real reason,” I said. “It's just not the only one. Please, Nick, don't press me on this.”

Nick reached for my hand again. I let him take it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't mean to sound as if I'm rushing things. I just don't want to lose you so soon after finding you.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I said. But how could I be sure? Was it ever right to promise anything to anyone?

“I've never been married,” Nick said suddenly. “I'm the only one of my friends from college who didn't get married. The only reason I can come up with is that I was just too busy. I've always been too busy with work and with travel and with my own interests. It sounds insane, doesn't it?”

“I wouldn't call it insane,” I told him truthfully. “Too many people get married for the wrong reasons. Maybe it was better that you didn't make a commitment you might not have been able to keep.”

Listen to me. Talking like I knew what I was talking about.

Nick sighed. “Maybe. But I'm not a kid anymore, Jess. I know what's good for me when I see it—or when I see her. I feel I just don't have any more time to waste. Life's too short.”

I laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. “Nick, you're only forty-five. That's like the new thirty-five. Or so say the magazines.”

But Nick wasn't ready to lighten the mood. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I don't feel thirty-five. I don't remember having chronic back pain when I was thirty-five. I don't remember falling asleep every night by eleven o'clock when I was thirty-five.”

I wondered. Did Nick want a wife or a nurse?

“Eleven o'clock is pretty late,” I said.

“Do you know,” he said, ignoring my lame remark, “that two of my friends have already had heart attacks? One guy is only forty-eight. Okay, he isn't in the best shape of his life, but he doesn't smoke and doesn't drink much and still, wham, major heart attack.”

Illness happens, I thought. And the possibility of it happening increases with time. Thanks, Nick, I thought, for further darkening the mood.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

Nick shrugged. “He survived, if that's what you mean, but Jess, his life will never be the same. It was a major wake-up call. He's been reevaluating everything: his career, his marriage. I guess I don't want to wait until a crisis forces me to focus on the rest of my life. I want to start making choices and changes now.”

I wondered if Nick was also thinking about starting a family. He certainly wasn't too old to be a father. But if he was considering children as part of his future, then he definitely had set his sights on the wrong woman.

“I understand,” I said. I did understand. I just didn't share Nick's urgency to seize his life and shake it into place.

But maybe I was wrong not to be thinking of my future.

Nick was a good man, a decent man, a man now with a mission. Was I insane to resist the love of such a man?

I thought then about Matt, also a good and decent man, and about how I'd said yes to his proposal of marriage, and about how it had turned out to be a very, very bad decision.

There are times when it's far more important to act from one's heart, rather than from one's head.

“Do you really understand, Jess?” Nick pressed.

I wanted to leap off the couch and run for my life.

I nodded. “I admire your determination to live a fulfilled life,” I said carefully. “But as I told you before, I just can't make any commitments right now. I'm sorry, Nick.”

Why is it so terrible when a man looks hurt? It wounds me to see a man wounded.

“Do you care about me at all, Jess?” Nick asked, his voice somehow changed.

I shifted a bit closer to him on the couch.

“I like you, Nick,” I said. “I like you a lot. That's all I can say right now.”

Nick tried to smile. “I guess it will have to be enough. For now.”

“A relationship grows and changes,” I said, for lack of anything more consoling to say. “You can't force it to be something it's not. Let's just wait and see what happens down the line. Okay?”

Nick shifted away. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Your choice.”

 

I stayed with Nick that night instead of driving back to Boston as I'd planned. It felt somehow wrong to leave him after our conversation earlier that evening. It seemed somehow cruel.

But by staying with him, was I leading him on? Would Nick consider my earlier protestations about a serious relationship minor female skittishness? Maybe he'd think I wanted him to press harder, to work to win me over, to buy me expensive jewelry and dinners.

Somehow, it seems, I'd gotten myself into a relationship.

I left for Boston around ten the next morning, hoping to avoid the heaviest traffic. Nick had been gone since nine; he had a showing in Wells at nine-thirty. Before he headed out, he had kissed me on the lips and hugged me hard.

“When will I see you again?” he asked.

“I'll look at my schedule and call you.”

“Promise?”

I pulled away just enough to look him in the eye.

“Promise,” I said.

Some things, I thought, you can promise. The small things, like a phone call; you can promise and deliver a phone call.

But anything larger?

I was glad to get to my desk that day.

Chapter 62

“I
want to vet the guy you next decide to marry. I want to do a background check and ask him his intentions.”

Poor Richard. So old-fashioned. So protective of the women in his life.

“Well, this might come as a shock to you, Mr. Marrying Kind,” I said, “but I'm not getting married again.”

“You don't know that, Nellie. You're a wonderful woman. You're smart and beautiful and—”

“Stop it, Richard,” I said. “I know I'm a wonderful woman; I don't need you to tell me that. It's just that I don't want to settle down again, for a long time, maybe ever. I'm having fun. I'm having sex, Richard.” I lowered my voice and whispered, “Sex. It's not just for gay men anymore, you know.”

Richard, my fastidious ex-husband, and I were having dinner at Tristan's. Now, he cringed. “You are being careful, I hope.”

“Of course! Clara asked me the same thing. What do you two think of me?”

“I think the world of you, Nellie,” Richard said earnestly. “And so do our children.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Just don't be such a worrywart, okay?”

“I'll try but I can't promise anything.”

I wondered: Who can promise anything and mean it?

Richard's face took on a funny look. I'd seen it before.

“What?” I said. “You look like there's something you want to say.”

“I shouldn't.”

I laughed. “After all we've been through together, you're getting shy now? Come on, Richard.”

Our waiter appeared with cocktails: a vodka tonic for Richard and a scotch on the rocks for me.

“Okay,” Richard said when he'd gone off. “I know I probably have no right to say this . . . But I have to admit it makes me uncomfortable to know you're having sex with other men.”

“You're right,” I said, a bit surprised. “You have no right. But I'm curious. What exactly about the situation offends you? Besides the possibility of my catching an STD, of course. And wait a minute. You tried to set me up with one of Bob's friends. You seemed pretty comfortable with doing that.”

“I don't know why I did that,” Richard admitted. “Maybe because I knew the guy and trusted him. Still, I was glad when you said no.” Richard hesitated. “I know you'll think I'm crazy, Nellie,” he said finally, “but the reason I don't like the idea of you having sex with other men is that you're the mother of my children. Our children. And you're the first woman, the only woman, I've ever loved. I'm sorry, Nellie. You know I want a wonderful life for you, I really do, and I do hope that life includes love.”

“Just not sex?”

Richard shrugged. “What can I say? I'm an old-fashioned guy.”

“I know. I remember when Clara brought home her first boyfriend. You went into a deep depression.”

“I know men, Nellie. I know what we're like. We're a trouble-making bunch.”

I laughed. It felt good to be laughing with Richard. “Don't I know it!”

“Speaking of trouble,” Richard asked, “how's Laura? Has she forgiven me, just a little? Or does she still think I'm the Devil?”

“Oh, you're still the Devil. Laura is—”

“What she is,” Richard said definitely. “And she is loyal to her sister.”

“I know,” I said. “And yet I give her a hard time about pretty much everything. She's so—unconscious—and she's getting worse as time goes by. I guess I should ease up on her, but when I see her making ridiculous decisions, I just can't control myself.”

“Maybe Matt will be good for her in the end,” Richard said. “I remember him as a pretty stable guy, no?”

“Duncan was a stable guy, too,” I reminded him. “But his stability didn't seem to rub off on Laura.”

“Your parents' deaths hit her hard. We have to keep that in mind.”

“It unhinged her,” I said, “but she won't admit it, least of all to herself.”

Richard nodded. “I guess you never really know how the death of a loved one will affect you. Remember when my parents died? I hardly felt a thing.”

I remembered. I'd felt so bad for Richard.

“But that wasn't a surprise, was it?” I asked. “You were never close to them. Frankly, they hardly noticed you. They hardly noticed anyone but themselves.”

“That's true,” Richard admitted. “Still, I always thought that when they died, I'd experience some sort of, I don't know, catharsis. I thought I'd realize I'd always loved them. I thought I'd miss them, even a little. I never expected to feel—nothing.”

I leaned across the table and took Richard's hand.

“Some people aren't cut out to be parents. I don't know how you wound up becoming such a good and normal person growing up with such self-centered people.”

“I could be gooder,” Richard joked. “But thanks.”

“You're welcome.” I released his hand and sat back in my chair.

“Do you think your sister is one of those people who shouldn't have kids?” Richard asked.

I thought about that for a moment. “I don't really know,” I admitted. “I do know that you were—that you are—a great father. You're a natural, Richard.”

Richard gave me a funny look. “You're just full of compliments tonight. Okay, Nellie, what do you want? I already told you I'm picking up the check.”

“Nothing! Really, I'm just so happy I don't hate you anymore. I feel like I want to tell you over and over how I recognize the fact that you're not a demon. All those months just after I found out about Bob, I treated you with such anger, such disdain.”

“I had it coming, Nellie,” Richard said. “I think your reaction was justified. I'm surprised you didn't shoot me in the back.”

“I was tempted, believe me! Well, not really. I didn't want you to die because then you wouldn't be around for me to yell at.”

Richard raised his glass. I raised mine.

“Here's to being alive,” he said.

“To being alive.”

Life, I thought, could be pretty okay.