Good Harbor (21 page)

Kathleen glanced up to see Joyce looking at her, waiting, nodding. Oh, why not. “August
is hard for me. Because my son died in August.”

Joyce’s mouth opened and closed. After a moment she asked, “You had three?”

“Danny. The middle one,” Kathleen said quietly. “He died on August fourteenth.”

“Danny.”

“He was three years old. Hal was four. Nearly five.” Kathleen straightened her shoulders
and looked right at Joyce, who reached over and put her hand on top of Kathleen’s.

“They were playing in the front yard on their bicycles. Danny was on Hal’s old tricycle.
Hal had a new two-wheeler with training wheels. The phone rang.” Kathleen stopped.

“I went inside to get it.” It had been so long since she had told this story, the
words seemed small and far away in her mouth.

“The driver was an old man. Too old to be driving. He lost control of the car. He
wasn’t even speeding, really. I think he was going thirty miles an hour, if that.

“But he drove up onto the lawn and into the driveway and . . . He didn’t even know
what he’d done. When he got out of the car, he . . . Well, he shouldn’t have been
driving. I couldn’t blame him. I blamed his daughter. He probably had Alzheimer’s,
though I don’t know if we called it that then.

“That was on August eighth,” Kathleen said with a catch in her throat. “At first,
we thought he had a chance. Pat came that night. Did I tell you that she was a nurse?
She slept with us in the hospital. She talked to every doctor, every specialist. The
nurses were wonderful. He had the best care because of Pat.

“But there was too much damage. To his brain.

“We let him go on the fourteenth.” Kathleen paused and her shoulders drooped. She
pulled her hand gently from under Joyce’s and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Oh, God,” Joyce whispered.

“I was pregnant with Jack then. I didn’t know it yet. I knew in September, but not
in August.”

Kathleen looked out toward the horizon. “Every year, from the middle of July there’s
some part of me that’s waiting. I’m never fully aware of it, and after all these years,
it still sneaks up on me. First, I wait for it to be August, then for it to be the
eighth, then for the fourteenth. At some point I look at the calendar and I remember.
Oh. I’m waiting for Danny to die.”

Joyce hadn’t taken her eyes off Kathleen’s face, which had relaxed a little after
the tension of telling. She stood up, held her hand out to Joyce, and said, “Let’s
walk.”

It was a noisy day at Good Harbor. The surf chuffed into shore, where crowds of children
squealed and teased and laughed. Three little girls, up to their thighs in the water,
held hands and leapt up shrieking whenever a wave slapped up onto their convex bellies.
A young mother dunked her giggling baby’s feet into the waves. A group of three women
chatted, their arms crossed over their stomachs while their boys roughhoused in the
surf.

Joyce winced at all the mother-and-child tableaux, which now seemed like a series
of coldhearted insults to Kathleen’s loss. “There are so few men here during the week,”
Joyce said.

“There are more women even on weekends,” said Kathleen, pleased that Joyce, too, had
noticed. “Why do you think that is?”

“More moms are home with kids? More moms take care of kids than dads?”

“Yes,” said Kathleen. “But you see lots of women without kids, too, walking and talking.
You and I aren’t the only ones here without children to entertain. Why, do you suppose?”

“Women are smarter than men?”

“I’m not sure about that.” Kathleen shook her head. “Though we do seem to take advantage
of the opportunity to talk. And this is such a perfect setting.”

The tide put an end to the beach just past the red motel. They turned and started
back.

“Kathleen, I’m sorry if you don’t want to talk about it anymore, but I have to ask
you something. The story about Danny, and August, and all. Don’t you think that your
symptoms, your fatigue, has something to do with him? How many years is it?”

Kathleen felt her throat tighten. It was twenty-five years, but she wouldn’t say that.
Not even to Joyce. That would make it all a simple equation: Poor Kathleen; of course
she’s suffering. After all, it’s twenty-five years. She wasn’t having any “Poor Kathleen.”

“It’s a lot of years.”

Joyce heard the hesitation in Kathleen’s answer and they walked most of the way back
in silence. Below the mansion, children with nets squatted near the edge of the tidal
river. One small girl wearing a yellow swimsuit sat on the wet sand with a red bucket
between her legs.

Kathleen walked toward her. “What have you got there?”

“Fishies,” she said seriously.

Kathleen looked inside and nodded.

She must be about three, Joyce thought.

Kathleen leaned in and said, “You can catch little crabs around here, too.”

“Do they bite you?” asked the girl.

“Oh, no.”

It would have killed me to lose Nina at the age of three, Joyce thought. I would have
walked into the ocean.

Kathleen said good-bye to the little girl, returned to Joyce, and answered her unspoken
question. “Hal kept me alive. Cooking his meals, taking him to the playground. When
I realized I was pregnant, I didn’t want a new baby. I only wanted Danny back. But
then Jack was born, and he was the happiest, most joyful little guy. And I fell in
love with him.”

Joyce nodded. “There is nothing I can say, is there?”

“No. There is nothing to say. But it’s good that you know.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Kathleen dozed off almost as soon as they got into the car. Joyce pulled into Kathleen’s
driveway slowly and kept the engine going.

Joyce watched her friend sleep and remembered Kathleen’s questions about Frank. She
hadn’t known how to answer her. She didn’t have anything to say about Frank. She didn’t
think about her husband from his morning phone call to his evening phone call. She
went for hours without even wondering what Nina was up to. She thought only of Patrick.
Patrick’s fingers, Patrick’s lips. She had dreams about him, dreams set in a boat
on the ocean. The owl and the pussycat.

What
could
she say about Frank? She could have shared a couple of half-truths. It’s always nonstop
when you work on a startup. He was probably even enjoying it, staying up all night,
drinking beer, eating pizza. But the other times, he’d had Nina to come home to, and
Joyce, too. She wasn’t home anymore.

Kathleen moaned softly in her sleep.

Frank and I have had long dry spells before, Joyce reminded herself again, picking
at her cuticles. Of course, I wasn’t having an affair before. And I am having an affair,
even if we haven’t technically consummated. For a while, Joyce had talked herself
into believing that stopping short of penetration made a difference. But that was
bullshit. It would be easier if Frank were having an affair. That would let her off
the hook.

Kathleen startled and sat up. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were only out for a few minutes. And you needed the sleep. So here’s the deal,
Miss Kathleen. From now on, we will walk on Good Harbor beach every afternoon, but
I think later would be better, when the sun isn’t so strong. I’ll call tomorrow morning
to set it up. This is not an invitation, by the way. It’s a prescription from Dr.
Joyce.”

Kathleen leaned over and gave her a long hug. The smell of lavender lingered on Joyce’s
cheek as she drove away.

Thank God for Kathleen. I don’t have to be just an adulterous fraud anymore, Joyce
thought. I can be a friend — a good enough friend to be trusted with what happened
to Danny. God, poor Kathleen.

I wonder if she’d still be my friend if she knew about Patrick.

Oh, well. Nina will be home in a few more weeks, and Frank will show up eventually,
and everything will change, but not yet.

Not just yet.

K
ATHLEEN
lifted her head from the pillow: 5:50
P.M.
Buddy would be home from work soon. She closed her eyes again and stretched. She
and Joyce had done the length of the beach twice that day, resulting in a wonderful,
long nap. Maybe their walks would help ease the panic that had spilled over from the
car into the rest of her life.

She wasn’t driving at all anymore. Buddy took her to and from the clinic in the morning,
and Joyce picked her up for a walk at three-thirty, plenty of contact to diffuse suspicions
about her mental health. But Kathleen had developed several other odd, secret habits
that were less obvious.

She was avoiding the mirror altogether, but at least her hair had grown so long she
could pull it up into a ponytail without looking. She used a washcloth in the shower
so she wouldn’t have to touch her own skin. She stayed out of the kitchen as much
as possible and ate only when Buddy was around. She avoided the front door. Kathleen
knew that she was acting peculiar, but she told herself she’d be back to normal as
soon as the radiation was over. She was counting on it.

A car door slammed. Kathleen rolled to her side and tasted sea salt on her lips. She
wondered what Buddy had brought home for supper.

“Mom?”

Kathleen was up in an instant. “Hal?”

He was hugging her before she could get to her feet.

“Surprised?”

“Completely.”

“You are way too thin, Mom.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?”

“Isn’t the doctor concerned?”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Hal frowned.

“Let me get a look at you,” she said.

I’m going bald.”

“Impossible!”

“See for yourself.” He tipped his head forward.

“Oh, dear. That makes me feel ancient. I have a balding son.”

Kathleen was perpetually surprised at how her genes and Buddy’s had yielded two such
distinct replicas: Jack was a McCormack — a compactly built Irishman — while Hal was
a Levine, cut out of the same large, sandy cloth as Irv and Buddy. “Too bad you didn’t
inherit the Levine hair, though even bald, you are one handsome man.”

“Not that you’re in the least bit prejudiced,” Hal said.

They walked into the kitchen just as Buddy arrived, carrying two bags of groceries.

“Surprise!” he said, beaming.

“You knew? You sneak.”

“I got tuna steaks to grill.” He deposited a six-pack of beer on the counter.

They settled on the deck while Buddy started the fire and Hal tried to get Kathleen
to talk about her treatment.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m
in and out so fast. The girls, the techs, are nice kids. The best thing is that it’s
almost over.”

“No side effects?”

“Not really.”

Buddy frowned at her.

“What? Oh, my fatigue? Yes, I’m tired, but that will pass.”

Kathleen could tell that Hal didn’t quite buy her version of the summer, and she walked
into the kitchen to fetch place mats and napkins.

When she returned to the deck, Hal was telling Buddy about work.

“It’s fine,” said Hal. “I’m making great money, but . . .”

“Great money is great,” said Buddy.

“But what?” asked Kathleen.

“It’s just a job.” Hal shrugged. “I’m not interested in what I do all day, and when
I go home, I have nothing to talk about.”

“So you’re thinking about making a change?” Buddy asked.

“Change is in the air in my house.” Hal proceeded with news about his many roommates:
Tom, the cycling nut, had bought an insanely expensive bike and entered a big race;
Ruthie, the nursing student, had decided to specialize in pediatric oncology; Leona
was burned-out from teaching city kids and was looking for a job in the suburbs.

“And what about Josh?” Kathleen asked. Josh had been Hal’s roommate at Michigan and
had moved to California with him.

“I was saving this for last. Josh is getting married.”

“Married?” Buddy asked.

“Yup.”

“To whom?” Kathleen asked.

“Sarah Bley.”

“Do we know her?”

“You met her last time you were out. She’s the big blonde from Los Angeles.”

“The one who was visiting Ruthie?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah. That’s when they met.”

Buddy raised his eyebrows at Kathleen, and she realized Buddy had also guessed that
Josh and Hal were lovers.

After dinner, Hal pulled a thin bottle from the refrigerator. “My newest discovery.
Dessert wine.” He poured the gold-colored liquor and Kathleen wet her lips. “It’s
sweet!” she said. “I love it.”

“I knew you would. And I brought you a few books I think you’ll like.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said, beaming. Hal may look like Buddy, she thought, but he
took after her in temperament and interests.

As Buddy started on the dishes, Hal suggested a walk, and he and Kathleen set out
down the block.

Kathleen told Hal about Joyce, and how much she wanted them to meet. “She’s been so
great through all this.”

It was the first time she had volunteered any information about her illness or treatment
to Hal. “Your father has been wonderful, too,” she added quickly.

“I know. But some things are easier to talk to friends about.”

“I suppose,” she said, wishing it weren’t quite so true, wishing she could ask Hal
about his life in a way that wouldn’t seem like prying. Instead she said, “I’m glad
you’re here.”

“Me, too.”

They stopped at the spot overlooking the water, between the Craddocks’ and the Longs’
houses. Kathleen realized it was the same spot where she had stood early in the morning
before her first appointment with Dr. Truman. That felt like years ago, but it had
been only fifteen weeks.

Hal watched his mother’s face as she counted the weeks. “Mom, I think you’re depressed.”

Kathleen patted his arm.

“I mean clinically. I think you should see someone.”

“Oh, Hal, it’s not that bad.”

“No, really. It’s important. It’s all connected to what’s going on with you physically.
I go.”

“You go where?”

“To see a therapist. It’s been very good for me.”

Kathleen stared.

“Mom? You knew about the therapy, didn’t you?”

“Why would I know?”

“Well, I assumed Dad told you.”

“He didn’t say anything to me.” She didn’t know anything about her son anymore. Or
about her husband.

“It’s helped me work out a lot of issues, not only about work, but about, you know,
the family and” — he paused, choosing his words — “how, uh, losing someone sets you
apart, especially as a child.”

Kathleen said nothing.

“Mom?”

She was stunned, not so much by Hal’s revelation, but by the sudden rush of shame
it called up in her. What had he told his therapist? Why was her grandmother’s disapproving
voice so loud inside her head? And how could she begin to talk to him about Danny
now? They had never had a real conversation about what had happened. Hal was still
hurting. And she was still unable to comfort him.

“Mom?”

“Hal, I need to go back. I’m tired. And no more medical advice from you. Please.”

Hal lowered his head — just the way Buddy did when he was angry — and turned back,
starting at a pace that was a little too fast for her. He relented after a few steps,
and she took his arm, squeezing it gratefully.

“Nice walk?” Buddy asked as they walked into the kitchen. Hal made a beeline for the
bathroom.

“Lovely,” said Kathleen.

When Hal returned, he and Buddy squabbled over who would drive Kathleen to the clinic
in the morning, but she settled it quickly; it was her time with Buddy. The last thing
she wanted was for Hal to discuss her weight or state of mind with Marcy. Hal insisted
on taking his mother to lunch afterward. “My pleasure,” Kathleen agreed.

In the car the next morning, Buddy seemed to choose his words carefully. “Well, what
do you know about Josh, huh? Hal’s going to be best man. He says we’re going to be
invited.”

Kathleen struggled hard against the rising terror she felt as the car climbed the
bridge. She sighed, trying to disguise her labored breathing. Thank heaven Buddy always
kept his eyes on the road.

Once they reached the mainland, Buddy asked again. “So what do you think about Josh’s
news?”

“I thought he might be gay,” Kathleen said softly. “And you did, too, didn’t you?”

Now it was Buddy’s turn to be silent. He signaled and pulled into the passing lane
before answering. “Yes.”

“We never talked about it,” Kathleen said, sounding a little angrier than she intended.
And now we don’t have to, she thought.

“It was okay with me,” said Buddy.

“What?”

“It took me a long time to get used to the idea, but I would have told him that it
was all right. That he was my son. That I loved him. Hell, I love Josh, too.” Buddy
let out a hoarse laugh. “I love Josh even more now!”

Kathleen tried to smile.

“You thought I’d be some kind of Neanderthal about it, didn’t you?” he said, eyes
straight ahead.

“I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“You should know. For crying out loud, Kathleen! After all this time, you should know.”

“I’m sorry, Buddy.” She squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the kaleidoscope of
passing cars and rushing trees, trying to hold on through the panic.

He glanced over. “It’s okay, Kath. You just take it easy. It’s only four more days
and we’re done, right?”

She nodded and stared at the door handle. Four more days. She counted them out as
they drove the rest of the way: today, tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday.

On the way home, she changed the mantra: tomorrow and Monday and Tuesday. And then
it would be August 8.