Cape May (15 page)

The Fisherman’s Grill was a chic, understated restaurant. They sat at a small table and shared red wine, salads, mushroom risotto, coconut shrimp, and grilled chicken. Luckily Brian didn’t like to talk much at dinner, and what little was said was about his possible new accounting gig. The food was good, but Joanna couldn’t eat much. She somehow got through dinner. They drove back to the inn in silence.

She put on her pajamas in the bathroom, not wanting
to undress in front of Brian. She fixed herself a cup of herbal
tea and ate some homemade cookies that were left for them in the mini-kitchen, while they watched a not very passionate or funny romantic comedy Brian thought she’d enjoy. Why were most romantic comedies about twenty- and thirty-somethings? Probably because most people in their fifties or sixties were settled and boring. Who’d want to see a sixty year old woman fall in love with a sixty year old man? At this very moment, Joanna wished she had seen cinematic examples of how to behave if you’re an over-the-hill married woman who is brought to life by a complete stranger. But no one else would care, would they.

At last the movie was over and they went to bed. Luckily
Brian was exhausted, because Joanna couldn’t face cuddling
with him. It was one thing to lie there while they had sex, when he was obviously otherwise occupied. Having to cuddle, which she couldn’t fake, would be too awkward. He fell asleep and she stayed awake, for what felt like all night.

The pseudo gaslight from the street filtered into the bedroom through the lace curtains. All the events of the past two days montaged in her mind. Walking on the boardwalk with Michael. Laughing at that ridiculous owl made of shells. Just talking. Experiencing a strange and miraculous combination of pure comfort and physical excitement. Feeling like she’d known him forever. But it hadn’t been enough. She wanted to know more. She wanted to hear about his novel. She wanted to see pictures of him on his first bicycle. She wanted years with him. The rest of her life. She wanted to touch him and her body ached to be touched by him. Right now.

When she turned over, tears fell onto the hand she placed under her cheek. Eventually, she fell asleep.

When she woke up, Brian was in a Manor Rose robe, sitting at the little table, reading the
Wall Street Journal
, already showered and shaved. She watched him. He was still cute, and she did love him, didn’t she. It took only a second for her brain to conjure Michael. She felt so guilty now. Brian was such a good man. Oh, Joanna, stop thinking, just stop. “Good morning.”

“I was going to wake you in ten minutes, for breakfast. I’m hungry.” He modeled his B&B robe. “You like it?”

“Very attractive. You should buy one. They sell them downstairs.” Getting out of bed she said, “I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll be ready soon. I don’t want you to starve.”

She was half in the bathroom when she had an idea. “Brian, would you think I was crazy if I said I wanted to go home after breakfast?”

“We’re supposed to be here another night.”

“I know,” think fast, Joanna, and lie convincingly, “but if
we leave today I’ll be fresh for work tomorrow. We have status meetings on Mondays, and I can clear up the mess with the presentation. If I don’t do it one of my coworkers might get stuck with it. Also, I know you have a lot of work to do. And you’re taking your mom to see places on Wednesday, losing another work day.”

“What about looking at houses?”

“I found a house I adore. I can’t imagine ever liking another one more. We can drive past it on the way home, so you can see the outside at least. I have a lot of figuring out to do. I’ve got enough info for now.”

“I’m always ready to go home. You know me. Practically
a hermit.”

“Great. After breakfast, we’ll hit the road.” Joanna’s smile faded as soon as the bathroom door was shut. She
missed Michael. It was as simple—and as highly complicated
—as that.

Joanna somehow got through breakfast. Packing took only a few minutes. As they walked to their car, her eyes scanned the streets for a glimpse of Michael. The car stopped in front of the Tea & Scones. Brian didn’t even get out as he declared it “okay” and “livable.” He turned to her. She was barely looking at the house. He said, “You don’t seem that thrilled with it either.”

“I love the house,” she said. And she did. But to find what she’d dreamt of finding, and for it to no longer be her driving goal in life, and so intertwined with Michael, was all too confusing, and depressing. “I do. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

As they drove, she was no longer captivated by the Victorians, or the flowers, or the quaintness of Cape May. She just wanted to see him again, even for a split second.
Brian made the right onto Lafayette. On the left, the Visitors
Center, where—could it really be only a few days earlier?—she had arrived with Michael.

In the car, whenever Brian attempted conversation, Joanna couldn’t think of a thing to say. If she started saying something, she’d lose track of the subject before she got to the end of the sentence. Her brain hadn’t been this addled since menopause. She eventually asked if he’d mind if she closed her eyes. Brian put on the radio for company. Reclining in the car seat, Joanna tried desperately to think of anything other than her time in Cape May. But Michael’s face kept appearing before her. It was as if they had known each other for decades, for all the memories that were popping up. Michael’s newly-washed face, and how she’d brushed the wet lock off his forehead. Looking back, wasn’t it forward to touch this man she’d just met? It didn’t seem that way then. It didn’t seem to mean anything at the time, and now it was a beloved, and painful, and guilt-inducing recollection.

“My head is killing me. Do you mind if I sleep in the back?” she said to Brian, her voice raspy. “Maybe I’m getting sick. Summer colds, they’re the worst.” She fetal-positioned herself on the back seat, using Brian’s sweat jacket as a pillow.

He didn’t volunteer to turn off the radio, and she was grateful for the music, which overpowered some of the noise in her head. Eventually, exhausted, she fell asleep, and didn’t dream at all.

They cruised home, not even stopping for a bathroom break. The next thing she knew Brian was waking her as they pulled into the garage under their building. She had slept for two solid hours.

They were home. That word certainly didn’t have the warm and welcoming connotations it used to.

***

Earlier that morning at Madeleine and Dan’s breakfast table, Michael tried to write. His hosts knew something was wrong but couldn’t get him to talk. He leafed through his
research books, some from the library with dozens of stickies
poking out, and his own books filled with highlighted text, underlinings, and notes in the margins. Trying to envision his detective walking through the streets of Cape May, he instead saw Joanna. She
got
Cape May, in a way that even he had trouble verbalizing. The look of awe on her face as she gazed up at a house. Back to reality, he looked down at his notebook. His fountain pen had leaked, making a big splotch on the page.

It couldn’t be over, could it? How could he feel so much now, after feeling so little for such a long time? If she were single, he’d pursue her with everything he had. You don’t let someone get away, not when they make you feel that vital, alive, and simply happy.

Keep busy, don’t think.

Do what you came here to do. Move forward.

He wanted to visit the lighthouse. Madeleine was using their one car so Michael called another Cape May friend and asked to borrow his. This friend, who he’d known for years, would’ve listened to his troubles. Madeleine and Dan would’ve listened. Madeleine, no fool, knew something was up with Michael and Joanna, and knew Brian was in the picture. Michael knew Madeleine was on to him. Still, when she let him know she’d be there if he wanted to talk, Michael couldn’t imagine himself uttering the necessary words. If they came out of his mouth—
I’ve met someone, someone I could adore
. Really?
Yes!
How long have you known her?
Days.
Days?
Oh, also, she’s married and may never want to see me again
—how inane and unreal it would all sound. And what an idiot he’d seem.

Michael walked to his friend’s house, smiled, chatted, and borrowed the car, as if nothing were wrong. The car smelled of cigarette smoke, so he opened all the windows. And put the radio on. Loud. Even so, the wind rushing in and the music blasting didn’t stop his brain from producing images of her lovely face. All the houses he drove past made him think of Joanna, and how much she would enjoy them.

Stop.

The lighthouse.

Think about the lighthouse. Built in 1859. Outside wall three feet ten inches at the bottom, one foot six inches at the top. Inside cylinder eight and a half inches thick. Designed to withstand hurricanes.

How could this information be used in his book? Maybe in a vision the psychic sees the lighthouse being sabotaged.
Maybe the detective risks his reputation believing her,
because he’s fallen in love. Perhaps the politician is going to tour the landmark and…Michael tried to plot and analyze the relationships and emotions of the people in his book, but his thoughts filled with Joanna instead. Joanna, whom he might never see or hear from again.

He drove to the Cape May Point State Park and stopped the car. In front of him was the lighthouse, painstakingly restored, painted white with a red top. The sky behind it was so blue it looked unreal. The temperature was in the mid-seventies. A perfect day.

A newspaper in 1897 said that “one of the interesting features to Cape May summer visitors is a journey to the top of the lighthouse” but Michael couldn’t even get out of the car.

CHAPTER 12

After an uncomfortable Sunday evening unpacking, pretending to read, making pasta for dinner, and going to bed early, Joanna left for work at seven the next morning. Brian thought it was due to work problems, but the real reason would’ve broken his heart. She missed Michael so much it was making her hate her husband. Everything he said and did irritated her.

And it wasn’t just Brian. She couldn’t concentrate, and kept dropping things. Manhattan, too, was annoying and
unpleasant. The train took too long to arrive and was overly
air-conditioned when it did. When her assistant Susan
arrived at the office and said, “Welcome back! How was your trip?” Joanna barked, “Fine,” hoping her tone would
discourage further conversation. But young and sweet Susan
said, “Did you take a lot of pictures?”

“No, come to think of it. Anything I need to know about Dr. Harvey?”

“Yes, there’s been a bunch of emails. You were copied on everything. I updated the slide decks based on his changes. You don’t look good, Joanna. Is everything…”

“I’m fine. Thanks for your help.”

Susan tried one more time. “Can I get you a cup of tea or something?”

“No, thank you.” Joanna’s head bent over the research materials on her desk. “Can you shut the door, please?”

The instant Susan was gone, Joanna plunged into work, trying to ignore her very real pain. An awful combination of emotional and physical pain. She’d never been in this much pain in her life. Never. Not even after the abortion. Not when her parents screamed at her or each other. Or when they divorced. Or when her mother died or she had to watch her father die slowly of alcoholism. The pain from those events stopped, eventually. This would have to stop, too. She’d just have to wait a few more days and it would stop. She was married to a man who loved her. Their future was promising. None of this lessened the longing of wanting to see Michael again. To look into his blue eyes. To touch the stubble on his jaw. To feel his soft lips on hers. More than anything she wanted to hear his voice and his laugh.

STOP. This wasn’t the way to get over him. She worked, and worked, and worked. Somehow, that first day ended and she left the office. Once outside in the fresh air, it all came crashing in on her again. She couldn’t go home yet, and called Brian and left a message: “I’ve been sitting all day and I need to walk. I’ll see you when I get home. Pizza for dinner? Bye.”

She walked slowly, killing time and getting home as late as possible. She still got there too early to go to bed, which was all she wanted to do. Fortunately she’d planned ahead and had taken out some documentaries from the library to watch with Brian. Anything so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She felt guilty for being distant with him, and angry at him for keeping her from Michael. Pain, guilt, anger. Repeat.

When she did go to bed, she slept poorly. The inside of
her eyelids became a screen for her brain’s projections
of Michael. Her memories of him were even more vivid
at night.

On Tuesday morning, Joanna again left at seven. She didn’t leave the office that night until eight, digging up extra things to do. When she got home, she retreated to her computer to do research about real estate and running an inn. At least that’s what she told Brian. What she was actually doing was embarrassing. She was looking for information
about Michael. She read reviews of his
mysteries and found a
skimpy paragraph about him in a magazine. When a
picture of him popped up after she clicked on a link, tears pricked her eyes. Brian walked in and she switched to her email with the speed of a teen getting off a porn site.

Brian accepted her level of busy the first few days without asking too many questions. She did catch him studying her out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, he had a lot of things on his mind. Not only projects with deadlines, but
also family matters. That Wednesday he was up early,
preparing to leave for New Jersey to have breakfast with his sister and mother before visiting assisted living facilities. While he was shaving, Joanna pretended to get ready for work. The minute he left she went back to bed. From there, she left her boss a message that she’d be in by noon.

She slept for another two hours, which she needed after spending nights staring at the bedroom ceiling. Having some time in the apartment alone took pressure off. It was a luxury to be in bed and not worry what she’d do if Brian got playful. When it was time to get ready for work, she showered. In the stream of hot water she masturbated, trying to quiet her body. It had been screaming at her, begging all night to be touched. It wasn’t erotic, it was more like finally getting out a sneeze.

After another long, break-free day at the office, she went home. Brian was on the couch reading brochures from the assisted living places he’d visited with his mom. It had been a hard day for him, and Joanna hated herself for not being able to do more than pretend to comfort him. She tried to participate in Brian’s “What should we do when we’re old?” discussion. She listened and nodded but wished he would just shut up so she could collapse into bed. Pain, guilt, anger, and now self-loathing.

Thursday was a dull blur. By Friday morning, Joanna was dreading the upcoming weekend, knowing she wouldn’t have work as a fallback excuse for her antisocial behavior. They had a few plans but would be alone together a lot of the weekend.

At work she opened an email from Ruth, the realtor in Cape May: Was Joanna still interested in any of the houses she had seen, including the Tea & Scones? Joanna wondered the same thing. The phone rang.

“This is Joanna Matthews.”

“Joanna.”

She knew instantly who it was. How could she not? His voice had been in her head all week. If she were stronger she would’ve hung up. “Michael.”

“How are you?” he said, wishing he’d been stronger and not called.

“Fine. How are you?”

“Not fine. I’m in the neighborhood. Any chance you’re free for lunch?”

“No, I can’t,” she said.

“Please. We need to talk.”

Susan walked past the open door. Joanna said,
“I’m working.”

He didn’t say anything. Then, “I know you like your
food. You gotta eat, right? That’s why God invented
lunchtime.”

Her heart was pounding. “I’ll meet you in the lobby
at noon.”

Emails needed answering, but she was filling them with typos and gave up trying. She grabbed her purse and went to the ladies room. In the mirror she looked alive. Miserable yes, but excited and alive. Her heart was still pounding, and she couldn’t wait to see him. It was only 11:45, but she was useless now anyway. On the way to the elevator she told Susan, “I’m going to lunch. Might be awhile.”

To any observer, she probably looked like every other office worker heading out to lunch. They couldn’t feel her legs longing to run, or hear her breath coming too fast. A second after pushing the down button for the elevator, she pushed it again. When the elevator did come she entered it sideways, like a crab, before the doors were fully open. As the doors were closing, she saw Susan smiling a little smile at her, not knowing what she had done to make Joanna distant. Joanna waved. As the elevator inched its way down to the lobby, Joanna’s body was so full of adrenaline she wondered if she was damaging herself somehow.

The elevator doors opened and she was in the lobby. He wasn’t there yet. Wait, pacing just outside the glass doors, there he was. She watched him a moment, her heart aching. He suddenly stopped and turned towards her, and he gave her a little smile. Had things been even slightly different, they would’ve run into each other’s arms. He opened a big glass door and walked towards her as she walked towards him. They stood for a moment a foot apart, smiling goofily
at each other, the yearning palpable between them.

“Hi,” she said, holding out her hand, needing to touch him.

He took it and held it longer than socially necessary, obviously feeling the same way. “Joanna.”

Her face was hot. “Lunch?”

“Sure,” he said. “Is there anywhere quiet where we
can talk?”

“Hard to find midtown. Wait, what about the Excelsior?
They have a pretty quiet restaurant.”

They walked, slowly and closely together. She said, “How are you?”

“Honestly?”

“Maybe not.”

“Then I’m fine. Great. Dandy.”

“Me, too.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d even see me.”

“I didn’t want to, I mean, I know I shouldn’t. I’ve missed you, though.” She stopped walking and looked at him. “A lot.” People streamed past them, some jostling them but they didn’t care.

He said, “There’s so much I wanted to talk with you about, and now none of it seems worth it.” They continued walking.

“No,” she said. “Please. Talk about anything.” She wanted more of his voice, live and in-person, instead of in her constantly replayed scenes of Cape May.

“Well,” he said, trying to make it light, “this has been the worst week of my life.”

“Me, too.”

They arrived at the Excelsior in the mid-Forties off Sixth Avenue. The popular hotel also had a restaurant and a bar. Joanna and Michael were sat a table for two and the waiter welcomed them.

Michael said, “Coffee please,” and Joanna nodded in
agreement. They fleetingly looked over the menu while
they talked.

She said, “When did you leave Cape May?”

“I took the bus on Sunday. I was supposed to stay a few more days but couldn’t face being there after you, after…”

“I’m sorry about the way I left things, but I didn’t know how to…what else to do. I still don’t.”

“I know.”

“We don’t even really know each other.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?” he said. She shook her head. The waiter brought coffees and they ordered, although neither was hungry. “How’s work?”

“I’m spending all my time there, and now my boss is starting to like me. He’s got an obsessed employee, mornings and evenings.”

He paused. “Things hard at home?”

She nodded. “It’s…yes. Hard.”

“Brian seems like an okay guy. I wish he wasn’t.”

After a long, painful pause, Joanna tried making small talk. “Did you finish
Time and Again
?”

“Yes, on the bus home from Cape May, although my thoughts might’ve been elsewhere.”

“You have to read the sequel now.”

“Sure. Will do. And you? Are you still thinking of moving?”

“Well,” and she looked at him wistfully, “my life is a little confusing at the moment.”

The waiter brought their salads, and they settled in to eat. They talked of movies, politics, even the weather. Conversation flowed easily, comfortably, perhaps because it helped them avoid discussing what was uppermost in their minds.

She said, “How are things with your son?”

“Not great.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Yes, actually. I’d like to talk to you about him, or anything else, really. Rob lives in San Francisco and works with computers. I don’t understand half of what he does, but he makes a lot of money and is happy. We have a…tenuous relationship. Even though his mother left me, I somehow became the bad guy. No, that’s not fair, there’s a lot more to the story, and I’m not proud of my behavior.”

“I’ve heard rumors that parenting can be hard.”

“Not like you think. He’s a great guy, but, I mean
and
he’s gay. Donna accepted it with no hesitation and it took me a while. Is taking me a while, still.”

“I see.”

“In December he and his partner are getting married, and he wants me to fly out there. And I don’t know what to do. You think I’m wrong?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

“Look, I have, and love, my gay friends, but it hit me differently when my one and only kid turned out to be gay, like I had failed in some way as a male influence or something. That, because of me, he had a tougher time in life.”

She didn’t say anything.

He said, “Say something. Really, go ahead.”

“I don’t have children but…”

“You can just say it.”

“It’s not about anything you did. It’s not about you. Kids should be loved unconditionally. And go to his wed
ding and be proud he found someone to love who loves
him back.”

He stared at her. “You’re wonderful, you know.”

“I don’t know how you jumped to that conclusion.”

A busboy refilled their water glasses.

“That house,” Michael said, “the Tea & Scones. It would be a good investment, you know. It’s a good price, and I could see you running it.”

“Me, too. I felt right at home there, but…”

“What?”

“Well, how can I plan anything when I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s awful.”

“Thanks,” he said, moving the salad around with his fork.

“I didn’t mean…” she put her hand on his wrist.