Good Harbor (22 page)

LIKE KATHLEEN
, Joyce had fallen asleep after their walk in the heat. She’d collapsed on Nina’s
bed and woke at sunset, disoriented, hungry, and crazy to see Patrick. He was gone
on another three-day run, to northern Maine this time. And then it would be the weekend,
so there was no chance of seeing him for five days.

He never called on Saturday or Sunday. On the morning they’d met, Joyce had made it
sound as if Frank spent weekends in Gloucester, and she’d never got around to correcting
the story. After all, there was the possibility that Frank might actually appear some
weekend.

And what would that be like? she wondered as she walked through the house, cranking
the windows all the way open. Would one look at his familiar face make her comprehend
the terrible error of her wanton ways? She knew that Patrick was just a fling, or
at least, she knew it in her head. Her body was a different story. Joyce was unsure
about her heart; she was in lust, in longing, in heat, even. In love? Maybe a little.
Oh, definitely a little. But probably not enough to do anything drastic — Patrick
had certainly not given any indication of wanting anything more from her than their
afternoons. “My lifeline,” he called her. “The cure for loneliness.”

“I suppose I could say the same for him,” Joyce murmured, then opened the refrigerator
and groaned. “I can’t face a bowl of cereal,” she announced to the empty kitchen.

The air, heavy and still, absorbed the sound of her voice like a sponge. She grabbed
car keys and considered the options as she started the car: she could go to the supermarket
and take out a healthy meal or get a slice of pizza down the street.

She drove past the pizzeria and the Star Market and found herself on the road to Rockport.
The scene of my crime, she thought. She would buy an ice cream cone and sit out on
Bear Skin Neck. On a night like this, the tourist strip on the little peninsula by
the harbor would be great for people-watching. Besides, she needed a few more postcards
for Nina.

But as she pulled into town, Joyce decided she’d rather have a tuna sandwich. As she
passed the sub shop looking for a parking spot, she saw that the lights were on upstairs,
in Patrick’s room. A shadow moved behind the shade. Her mouth went dry. It took her
five minutes to find parking, a dozen blocks away. She counted them, hands in her
pockets, head down, walking as fast as she could.

From a bench across the street, Joyce sat and watched Patrick pace. His gait, his
profile, his hold on the cigarette. He was on the telephone.

But there was no phone in his apartment. He couldn’t afford a cell phone. He called
her from the pay phone downstairs.

He was lying to her.

And she was lying to everyone in her life.

Maybe the job had fallen through. Maybe he was just talking to his business partner.
Maybe he was talking to his mother, in Ireland. Maybe he was sweet-talking another
woman.

But where did the phone come from? And why hadn’t he called her?

Don’t ask him, Joyce, she drilled herself. Don’t ever ask.

He lit another cigarette, his back to the window.

She stared until her eyes ached. Leave, she told herself. Leave now. Finally, she
took her own advice and drove home.

The streetlight on the corner had burned out, and she’d forgotten to turn on the porch
light. The Madonna was deep in shadow, but Joyce saw something moving behind it. That’s
way too big to be a raccoon, she thought.

“Mrs. Lupo?” Joyce said softly.

There was no answer.

“Mrs. Lupo, it’s okay.”

A tiny, white-haired woman hurried out of the yard up the street.

“Theresa?” Joyce called, and then stopped. What could she say to Theresa Lupo? The
adulteress and the acolyte. Sounds like a romance novel, she thought, or an X-rated
movie.

The phone rang as she walked into the house. Sure it was Frank, she listened as the
machine picked up. There was a long pause and a hang-up. Frank would never do that.

Maybe it was Patrick. Maybe he wanted her to come to him.

“Shit,” she screamed. The sound in the empty house shocked her.

The phone rang again and she lunged at it.

“Joyce!” Kathleen said. “I hope it’s not too late to call. Would you mind including
an extra person on the beach tomorrow? I’d like you to meet my son Hal.”

KATHLEEN TRIED HARD
to appear calm. She tucked her hands under her thighs, breathed slowly, and kept
her eyes on Hal’s face as he drove her to lunch. Thank goodness the trip was short,
she thought, getting out of the car, and thank goodness he hadn’t noticed anything.

“Look at this place,” Hal said as they walked into Traveler’s. “Hanging plants? I’ll
bet they serve raspberry iced tea. You sure this is still Gloucester?”

“Don’t be such a snob.”

“I just don’t want it to get glitzy.”

“Don’t worry. There was a good little French restaurant down the street that folded
after a few months. But all the bars are doing fine.”

As they sat down, she heard a voice behind them: “Mrs. Levine?”

Kathleen turned to see the rabbi getting up from another table.

“Hello, Rabbi Hertz. Let me introduce my son Hal. He surprised me by showing up from
San Francisco last night.”

Hal stood up to shake her hand. “How long have you been the rabbi?”

“I started in the fall.”

“How do you like it here?”

“It’s a great community. People have been very welcoming.”

“Really?” Hal asked. “It used to be kind of a tough place for newcomers.”

“Well, so far so good,” she said, smiling.

Hal smiled back. “Do you do a Torah study session on Saturday morning? I’ve been going
lately. Not services so much, but the study sessions before.”

“You have?” said Kathleen.

“It was Josh’s doing. Josh and Sarah,” Hal said to his mother, then explained to the
rabbi, “That’s my roommate and his fiancée. Sarah isn’t Jewish, but the two of them
took an Introduction to Judaism class together. I went with them once because they
were raving about one of the rabbis who taught there. Now I go to her shul, sometimes.”

Michelle Hertz, it turned out, knew the California rabbi, who had been two years ahead
of her in school. “Did Debra ever cut her hair?” she asked.

“No.”

“Wow. We used to call her ‘Cousin It,’ and that was years ago.”

“Behind her back, I hope,” Hal said.

They laughed as Kathleen looked on. There was a pause in the conversation.

“San Francisco is almost as beautiful as Gloucester,” Michelle said finally.

“Yeah,” Hal agreed. “I’ve been there for nearly six years. At first, I thought I’d
stay, but the fact that I never got rid of my winter clothes was probably a sign.
It’s a drag being so far away from your family, and since my mom’s, um, well, I’m
thinking about coming back East.”

“You are?” Kathleen said.

“I was going to talk to you about it over lunch.”

“I’d better let you two catch up,” Michelle said. “And we do have a Torah discussion
group on Saturday morning. Nine o’clock. I’d love it if you could come. Both of you.”

Kathleen watched Hal’s eyes follow Michelle out the door. When he turned back to her,
she waited for him to say something and finally asked, “Are you really moving home?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually. The Bay Area is way too expensive.
Josh and Sarah will probably move to L.A. Besides, I thought you’d want me near you,”
he teased.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Hal squeezed her hand. “Can I get a good fish sandwich here?”

During lunch he entertained her with details of Josh and Sarah’s wedding plans. Then
he asked how she’d met Joyce. Kathleen recalled the scene, and Hal smiled. “At temple,
eh? Aren’t we all becoming
frimme yidden
.”

“Translation, please?”

“It’s Yiddish for ‘religious Jews.’”

“Do you go to temple every week?”

“Almost. I like the Torah study. I like knowing that at least once a week I’ll have
a conversation that’s about something important.”

“Like about God?”

“Sometimes God. Not always. Sometimes ethics, sometimes politics, sometimes family
dynamics. It depends who shows up that Saturday — and on the
parashah
, the portion for the week, you know.”

“I know what a
parashah
is,” Kathleen said. “I was there for your bar mitzvah, if you remember.”

“Yes, you were.” Hal kissed her hand. “And I appreciate it.” After they ordered he
said, “When we’re done here, I’ll drive you over to Good Harbor, but I wonder if you’d
mind my just saying hello to Joyce and then maybe she could drive you home? I have
something I need to do.”

“Sounds like you’re not going to tell me why, right?”

“You’ll know everything soon enough,” he said, hinting at big news. “Just not today.”

When they arrived at the beach, Hal and Kathleen leaned on the hood of the car and
shared the view until Joyce arrived.

“Here he is,” Kathleen said triumphantly.

Kathleen watched as Hal and Joyce exchanged hellos and sized each other up. Then Hal
kissed his mother on the cheek, made a formal little bow to Joyce, and left.

“Wow,” Joyce said. “He’s a hunk.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Kathleen threaded her arm through Joyce’s. The sand burned the
soles of their bare feet, so they rushed toward the water’s edge.

“I have so much to tell you,” Kathleen said, and described Hal’s arrival, what seemed
like a flirtation with the rabbi before her very eyes, his announcement about moving
East. She let it spill right out . . . like a pile of blessings, she thought, and
stopped in mid-sentence.

Suddenly she was aware of the heat rising from the sand, the heaviness in the air,
the sweat trickling down from under her hat-band, the thumping in her chest. The panic
from the car had followed her, even here.

“I think I need to go back.”

“Sure,” Joyce said, alarmed at the change in Kathleen’s voice and posture. “It’s way
too hot out here.”

“WILL YOU MISS US?”
Rachel asked as Kathleen got up from the table.

“You’re going to have to let me know about the baby,” Kathleen said.

“You’re already on the mailing list,” Rachel said, patting her belly, which now pushed
against the buttons of her blue smock.

Buddy reached over for Kathleen’s hand as they crossed the bridge on their way home.
“Last Friday,” he said.

“What?”

“This is our last Friday. Next week you can start sleeping in.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, thinking only that next week she wouldn’t have
to ride over the damn bridge twice a day.

At the house, Hal relayed phone messages from Brigid, who was mailing something to
Kathleen, and from Michelle, who had told him about the temple library project.

“I’m planning to go to services tonight, Mom. Want to come?”