Cape May (23 page)

“Damn my timing,” Cynthia said, putting down a tray
with three tea cups, saucers, and plates. “Michael. Would you
like a piece of Jo’s strawberry rhubarb pie? She’s become quite the baker.”

“Absolutely. Thanks. I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on.”

Cynthia said, “Good luck with that.” Michael nodded and attempted a smile. Cynthia left the room. He walked over to the wall Joanna had returned to and started peeling paper off, too.

They each kept their eyes on the work in front of them. He said, “Joanna, I know you have,
had
strong feelings for me. But it’s not…it wasn’t just about Brian, was it? There’s something else that I’m not getting?” She said nothing, and he was getting mad. “I drove all the way down here, you can at least answer me.”

She turned to him, snapping, “You’re here for Madeleine.”

“I lied. She’s fine. I had to see you.”

Joanna couldn’t bear looking into his hurt, eager face. She turned away from him and walked over to open the
window. The breeze brought the smell of flowers, but Joanna
didn’t notice it. “I’d ruin your life, Michael. I can’t be trusted. Every major decision I’ve ever made has been wrong.”

“I don’t know if that’s true. But
this
decision is wrong.”

“I’m sure I’d hurt you.”

“Worse than this? Impossible.” He walked around the messy room, trying to gather his thoughts, to say the right thing to convince her. Settling on a sheet-covered chair, he tried to speak as rationally and unemotionally as possible, but didn’t manage it for long. “You left me to go back to Brian. It killed me, but I understood. You didn’t want to break up your marriage. That made a kind of sense. Now we’re apart and it hurts like hell and the worst part is I don’t understand why.”

She sat on a stool. “It’s too…it was too much. Too quick. Too late.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m getting older.”

“Me too. And everyone else on earth.”

“You’re not a woman.”

“That’s true.”

“I’m getting saggier, and more wrinkly, and grayer
every day.”

“Me too. So what?”

“You’ll look boyishly handsome when you’re ninety-five.”

“Let’s see if that turns out to be true, together.” He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “Joanna, I’m still obviously not understanding something. Are you worried I’m one of those idiots who’ll run off with a twenty-five year old? I wasn’t interested in twenty-five year olds when I was twenty-five.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”

“You said that, but it’s not true. It’s never too late. Our future could be wonderful.”

“But our future will involve illness and doctors and
dying,” she got up and paced.

“Wow that came out of nowhere. Is climate change your next excuse?”

“Michael you know what I’m talking about. People get older, and their health…”

“You shouldn’t run your life like that.” Hammering started upstairs, and he looked in the direction of the noise. It took him a moment to refocus. “None of us knows how long we’ll be here.”

“But to have found you and maybe lose you…”

“That almost sounds like you love me, Joanna.”

“Stop.”

“You’re losing me now, definitely, this way.”

“Before we’re in too deep.”

“Oh it
is
too late for that. We were in too deep probably before we got off that bus.” He paused. “What we have is a gift, whether from God or Cape May ghosts, or just a roll of the dice, it’s a gift.”

She didn’t reply. Just shook her head.

“Joanna, this doesn’t make sense!”

“It makes sense to me. This is my life now. I can’t risk it. I’m not rocking this little boat. I’ve found a kind of peace here.”

“Peace at any price?”

“Anything to help quiet my inner demons.”

“Don’t appease them. Fight them. For yourself. Fight them for me.”

“I’m just not strong enough.”

She didn’t say anything else, and he slowly turned and started to leave as Cynthia was coming in with the pie and a pot of tea. “Michael? Stay.”

It was as if he didn’t hear her. He stood shaking his head, glaring at Joanna. “I should be mad at you. Believe me, I was. You really proved to me that the line between love and hate is razor thin. But now I’m only sorry for you. You don’t trust us.” He ripped a piece of wallpaper down. “I hope you’ll be happy here. And I hope it’ll be enough.” He opened the front door but couldn’t leave yet. He cleared his throat and continued, in a low and raspy voice: “Maybe
we
scared you. Stirred up those demons of yours. But I’d fight, risk anything, rock any boat, to kiss you on the beach again, and beat you at Scrabble and skee ball. Go to bed with you every night, and have coffee with you every morning. Whether it’s for the next ten months or ten years.” There were tears in his eyes. “Maybe I’m just an idiot and you didn’t…don’t feel about me the way I feel about you. I don’t know anything any more.”

A tear slid down Joanna’s face but she didn’t move, or say anything.

Michael held up his hand saying goodbye to Cynthia.

“Michael,” Cynthia called to him as he closed the front door behind him.

Joanna’s head snapped in the direction of the closed door. She slowly sat down. Both women were silent. Cynthia sipped the tea.

“Joanna, I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough.” Joanna got up to leave but Cynthia said, “I’ll be quick, and you’ll listen. You owe me that. I’ve put thousands of miles on my car, and neglected my shop and my own life for you. I’ve helped you emotionally, financially, everything.” Joanna sat down again, the drop cloth billowing underneath her. “You’ve got this great place, and a new fulfilling life, thanks to your hard work. Your pursuit of your dream. Put some of that effort into your relationship with Michael. He’s willing to forgive you and move on with you. Why aren’t you?”

The hammering upstairs stopped.

After another sip of tea, Cynthia continued. “I’ll tell you something. I’ve had lots of men in my life. Enough that if I never have another it’ll be fine. Even relaxing. There’s nothing wrong with being alone. However, if I do get the chance for love or just good old meaningless sex, I’ll grab it with both hands.”

“Well, that’s good to know!” Rich stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding his tool box. Both sisters looked at him. He walked over to Cynthia, handing her one of his business cards. “Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee?”

She smiled and said, “Why not.”

“Half an hour? Joe’s Café?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Ms. Matthews, er, Joanna, I’ll be back tomorrow morning by 10,” He looked at Cynthia. “Maybe later. Bye.”

He left and Joanna was instantly on her way up the stairs. Cynthia said, “Wait, Jo. One more thing. I guess our parents’ divorce affected you more than it did me. And our crazy controlling mother. And you were hurt in college, like everyone gets hurt in college, but you put up walls. You married Brian knowing nothing would be demanded of you, so there was no real risk. Now you’ve been given this miracle, this lovely man who adores you, and you’re sabotaging yourself. You’re just plain scared.”

“No, it’s…”

“Shut up! I’m not done! Yes, you hurt Brian, and maybe broke his heart. Breaking Michael’s and yours, too, won’t make Brian feel any better.”

Joanna looked at her sister, to see her crying—
something she’d never seen Cynthia do, even as a child when her pet died, or later when they buried their parents. “Cynthia.”

“You and Michael? On the steps outside…in here…I’ve never had that…that chemistry…hell,
I
felt it. And a man willing to open himself like that, to come here for you. Do you think that’s gonna ever happen again? You’re throwing it away. That feels sinful to me.”

Silence from her sister. Cynthia continued. “I’ll never say another word about any of this. I’m done. And now I’m going to get treated to a cup of coffee by a hunky guy at least fifteen years younger than I am.” She opened the door, turned back to Joanna and said, “I might be home very late…or tomorrow.”

***

Michael left the Tea & Scones totally dejected. At some point, in the distant future, he might be proud of himself that he tried, he did everything he could, to get her back. Right now he could barely stand the walk to Henry’s. Although he couldn’t face a crowded restaurant, he couldn’t face being alone more, knowing he’d be alone the rest of his life, missing her.

He sat at a table at Henry’s outside in the back. In a few weeks it would be chillier, and the owner would close off this section of the restaurant. A little death. He sat there, the menu a blur in front of him, and he suddenly realized he felt old. For the first time. The coming autumn didn’t offer any attractions either. Before everything went wrong, he looked forward to walking amongst Central Park’s changing trees, with Joanna. Or going to the village for hot chocolate on
MacDougal Street, with Joanna. Or cuddling with her
under blankets in front of a fireplace at the Tea & Scones.

It was all his fault. He fell too fast. That had never happened to him before. He loved her, he always would, but her barriers were up, and he couldn’t get past them. And maybe she didn’t really love him? Could he have been that wrong? Now he felt old and lonely. Even after Donna left him, after his son went to college, after boring dates, he never felt alone. Joanna was perfect for him, but it wasn’t going to happen…that made him alone. He also knew he’d never date again. What would be the point?

He wouldn’t pursue her any more. He’d done everything he could. It was humiliating and hurt too much. It was over. It was over before when she chose Brian, but he was too stupid to accept it. He already missed her so desperately that he couldn’t stand it.

He was an idiot. Allowing himself to go through all this yet again. It wasn’t bad enough that she rejected him in New York. He had to come all the way down to Cape May to beg her to hurt him again, to get beaten down again. There are words for people who inflict pain on themselves.
Masochist was too elegant. He was a plain old fucking moron.

There were no more buses back to Manhattan that
night, and he didn’t have a car, so he couldn’t escape
Cape May until tomorrow. Tonight he’d have dinner with Madeleine and Dan, and this time he would need their friendship, their wisdom, their sympathy. And many glasses of their finest $20 bottle of red wine.

CHAPTER 20

Of the furniture left by the ex-owners of the Tea & Scones, Joanna kept what she felt belonged in the house, Cynthia took some for her shop, and the rest was sold or given away. The owner’s quarters were fully painted, a new half-size refrigerator, mini-washer/dryer, and dishwasher delivered, and Joanna moved in.

Cynthia spent the first night in the house, too, to keep her sister company. True to her word she brought the drugged Archie. Joanna was ridiculously happy to see him and waited patiently while his sedative for the long car ride wore off. She petted him, fed him, and showed him his two litter boxes. In no time at all, the enviably adaptable cat set off to explore his large new home. She didn’t see him for hours. At 11:30 that night, Joanna almost cried when she heard his pawsteps enter her room. She slept better then she had in a long time, with the warm cat cradled in her arms.

The next morning, it was time for Cynthia to go back to New York. On the porch of the Tea & Scones, Cynthia hugged her sister goodbye, a little too vehemently. “I can’t keep visiting this often, but I’m worried about you.”

“I’m doing okay. Go back to your regular life. I’m fine, really.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t talk about anything other than this house.”

“I love this house and I’m devoting myself to it. That’s a good thing.”

“And you’re okay being alone?”

“Alone? There are workers in and out every day.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I’d better get used to it. I may be alone the rest of my life.”

“That’s your choice, Joanna. Maybe I’ve coddled you too much.”

“If you did, thanks. It helped having you here.”

“Will you promise to call if you need me? Anytime, day or night?”

Joanna nodded and Cynthia hugged her again. Halfway down the path to her car, Cynthia turned around and looked up. “It’s a great house, Jo, but I wish I could get the image of you as Miss Havisham out of my mind.”

“I’m too busy to sit and rot. I’ll keep in touch. Go have a life. I need you to keep earning money so I can borrow it.”

“It’s good to know you need me for something.”
Cynthia drove off, waving before she turned the corner.

Joanna stood on the street for a few moments. Despite her show of bravado for her sister, she was suddenly engulfed in loneliness. She deserved it, after the pain she’d caused everyone. But life had to go on. She turned around and gazed at her house. She imagined how it would look after the paint job was finished next week—it was going to be warm and welcoming, and she’d have to be, too. A book on B&Bs said, “The owner sets the tone.” If she was miserable and bitter, it would be reflected in the house, too, and no one would want to stay there. Luckily, she had some time before the inn would be up and running.

The first few days and nights in the house, alone, felt odd, but she persevered. It became more comfortable, more like her home as time went on. As busy as she was, she was easily derailed by memories of what she now thought of as her “old life.” Something silly or minor—like a neon sign for coffee or a pile of newspapers—would remind her of Brian and she’d feel crippling remorse. The little things…she couldn’t look at a row of DVD spines without thinking
“What would Brian pick?” At the grocery store she had to stop picking out food Brian liked but she didn’t. (There might never be a box of Oreos on her kitchen counter again).

She often had trouble sleeping, and lay on her back staring at the ceiling, listening to the old house creak. After all those years of marriage it was strange sleeping in a big bed alone. What she missed, more than the actual Brian, was the sound of another person breathing next to her. And it took her a long time to force herself to move to the center of the bed.

She adopted the European way of food shopping. What do I want for dinner tonight? Almost every day she stopped in the local grocery store. They knew her by name and asked if there was anything special she’d like them to stock for her. One day, half way to that grocery store, to get supplies for dinner, Joanna suddenly stopped, sat down on a bench, took a deep breath and called Brian.

He picked up the phone. “Jo.”

“Hi, Brian.” The other end was silent. “How are you doing?”

“Surviving,” he said.

“How’s work?”

“Quiet, this time of year.”

“Good.” Silence. “Has your mom moved to the assisted living place yet? I’ve lost track of time.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll visit her when I can. She never liked me much anyway.”

“She’d still like a visit, even from you, I’m sure.” Seconds
passed. “You wanted to say something?”

“Brian, I’m sure it’s too soon, but I wanted to call you, to apologize, for everything.”

His voice was affectless. “Supposedly it takes two to mess up a marriage. And it doesn’t get more messed up than divorced.”

“You didn’t do anything. I guess there was just something missing in me.”

“Or missing in me for you.”

“Stop it. I take full blame for this.”

His voice was hard. “It’s not your fault that you couldn’t really commit, that our experiment didn’t work. Well, it worked for me…” He paused a long time. She didn’t know what to say. When he did talk again he was louder. “If we had kids you probably wouldn’t have left me. We would’ve been more bound together. Forever. I should’ve let you adopt a kid.”

“Having kids doesn’t keep people together. Certainly didn’t help my parents. Who knows.”

“I wasn’t enough for you.”

“It wasn’t that. I was wrong for you.”

“No. You weren’t, Jo.”

“Brian…”

“I suppose you think you’re right for
him
?”

She paused. “No. It’s over.”

Brian shouted, “I thought you left me for him! What’s the matter with you?”

“I think I’m better alone.”

“Wow, wrong again. I thought he’d last at least six months before it all came crashing down on you.”

“Brian…”

“Have you given up on the house yet? Let me guess. Too much work? Town’s too small? Too close to the water? The sand is too sandy.”

She wanted to scream at him to stop, but felt he, as the injured party, had the right to bitch. She took another deep breath. “Brian, I called you to apologize.”

“Fuck you and your apology.”

She expected him to hang up. She wished he’d hang up.

“Joanna, you just want to make yourself feel better.”

“That’s probably true, but I really am truly sorry. I hope someday you can start to forgive me.”

He tossed off a “Whatever.”

“Just please know I never meant any of this to happen.”

“Uh huh.”

“And thanks for letting Cynthia bring Archie to me.”

“He always liked you more.”

“I’ve discovered, in ways you don’t want to hear, that he’s a good mouser.” There was a pause. She continued, “How’s work?”

He said, “You already asked me.”

“Oh.”

“Joanna?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t call me again.” And he hung up.

Joanna stayed on the bench for half an hour, thinking. Wanting to understand why things had gone so wrong, she self-analyzed. Question number one: “Why did I marry Brian?” Pathetic answer: “He asked me.” Brian was nice, and
there
. And she was way past the age of meeting even Mr. Almost Right. She had felt
something
for him, maybe it was some form of love. A need to be needed. Not alone. Looking back, of course it was a mistake. But if she hadn’t met Michael, she’d probably still be with Brian, either in Cape May or that cramped apartment, with white walls. They probably would’ve been married until one of them died.

The grocery shopping would have to wait. She turned around and headed home. Scrambled eggs and toast on her deck, watching the sunset, would do her fine.

***

“I’ll be in Cape May by noon on Saturday,” said Cynthia
over the phone.

Joanna was in the garden pulling weeds. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Jo, you do know what Saturday is, don’t you?”

“It’s not every day I turn sixty. Thank God.”

“No big deal. Been there, done that, moved on. You’re so lucky to be the younger sister, and have the advantage of my wisdom.”

“I say that to myself every day.”

“Pick the nicest restaurant in town and make a reservation. Let’s make this very special. Let’s dress up.”

“That sounds really nice.”

“I kind of wanted to throw you a surprise party, there or in Manhattan, but...”

“Thanks for knowing that’s exactly what I don’
t want.”

“At my apartment, next time you come for a visit, I’ll have a brunch for you.”

“I’d love it. Thanks, Cynthia. You’ve been a rock for me, you know.”

“I know.”

When Cynthia arrived on Saturday, Joanna showed her all the updates in the house. Some bedrooms upstairs still needed painting, but the main floor was almost finished.

“I’m stunned. Jo, it’s all beautiful. Elegant yet comfy. Spotless. Welcoming. Hell I want to stay here.”

“You know you are always welcome. I couldn’t’ve bought the house without you. And tell all your rich New York friends that the Tea & Scones is the place to stay when visiting Cape May. That’s one of my many rejected tag lines for the inn, by the way.”

“Good. It’s awful. The house deserves better.”

“Seriously, though, take a bunch of cards and brochures and chat up the inn to your patrons. The more money I make the faster I can pay you back.”

That night, the sisters put on dresses and heels and took a cab to a restaurant about ten miles outside of town. The May was a sophisticated, quiet restaurant with an excellent wine list (hence the cab) and reportedly the best lobster in the northeast.

The waiter uncorked and poured the wine. Cynthia okayed it, waited until it was fully poured and the waiter gone, then held up the glass: “Joanna Marie Matthews, approximately fifty-nine years and three-hundred and sixty days ago, I wanted to kill you.”

“I did not know that.”

“It’s true. Shari Freilicher, down the street, was my best friend…”

“I remember her.”

“…until her mom had another baby. Then
Shari
became
the biggest bitch any single-digit human could aspire to be. One day, when she was smacking me, she paused and told me her life was hell now because her new little baby sister cried too much, and smelled, and their mother didn’t read to her at bedtime any more.”

“Shari was a very aware seven year old.”

“Oh, she was almost nine.”

“Well, that explains it.”

“She said you would be as annoying, and life wrecking, as her sister was.”

“Proper assumption, I’d say. And how long is this toast going to be? Can I take a little sip…”

“Lord knows we’ve had our differences, and I frequently
don’t understand you. I was a grown up at twelve and you may be an Olympic level late bloomer, but you have bloomed, beautifully. After those initial death threats, I’ve loved you every decade of our lives together. But I love you now,
like
you, and admire you more than ever. It’s nice when your sister is also your best friend.”

Joanna lowered her eyes and her glass. “Don’t make me cry here in public.”

“I’ll just say, then, happy birthday. I hope it’s a great year for you and the Tea & Scones!”

They clinked the glasses and sipped the dry wine as the appetizers arrived.

After an incredible, and incredibly expensive meal—which Cynthia waved off with a flourish of her American Express Gold card and a tossed off “I bought an antique today so it’s all tax deductible”—the sisters staggered to their cab for the quick ride back to the inn.

Feeling full and tipsy, Joanna said goodnight to Cynthia,
who was staying in an almost finished room on the second floor, and walked upstairs to her haven, with Archie steps in front of her.

Nights were hard, even after full, lovely days like this one had been. In bed, instantly, the quiet and the dark were a terrible combination. When she closed her eyes, Michael was there, across a table, or at the end of the hall at his apartment door, looking at her longingly, making her feel more desirable than Helen of Troy. Her body awoke in a way it never did with Brian, or any other man. Eventually she passed out, but sleep, this night like many before it, was hardly restorative. Her dreams were unsettling, overly sexual, and she’d wake up with clenched thighs.

***

By now Joanna knew every inch of the Tea & Scones,
from the low-ceilinged basement to the creepy, claustrophobic
attic crawl space. (Months ago she reluctantly gave up watching or reading scary stories.) She learned to kill bugs without screaming for Brian first. She tried hands-on
repairs, little things. In Manhattan she would have thrown away a broken lamp and bought one at a thrift store. Now, she attempted rewiring one, and succeeded. When the painters and other workers were in her house she made them coffee and sandwiches, and watched them work, trying to learn. It shocked her to realize, after many many days, that two different guys were flirting with her. When it was obvious that one nice guy was about to ask her out, she made herself scarce. There would never be another love in her life. Of that she was sure.