Happy All the Time (24 page)

“Just looking at you makes my teeth chatter,” said Maria Teresa Warner on Friday morning. “What's your story?”

“I'm going fishing,” said Misty.

“Why has that made you so impossible?” said Maria Teresa. “I wish I were going fishing.”

“Then you go,” snarled Misty.

“Now, now,” said Maria Teresa. “Is that any way to treat a little ray of sunshine like myself?”

“Why don't you get out of here?” said Misty. “Or sit down.”

“I hate a gloomy person who lashes out,” said Maria Teresa. “Who are you going fishing with?”

“Vincent, Guido, Holly, and Holly's cousin Gem.”

“Ah,” said Maria Teresa. “Gem. I've never heard that name before. Is it Gem who's putting you into such a foul mood? I see it is. What's
her
story?”

“Gem is every girl Vincent ever fell in love with rolled into one,” said Misty.

“And so you see them all as a nice tidy picture with no place for you, right?” said Maria Teresa.

“How do you know that?” said Misty.

“Vincent told me once that you have an expression called ‘the only Jew at the dinner table,'” said Maria Teresa. “You ought to try being Irish Catholic if you want to feel left out. I went to a dinner party the other night and everyone started fighting with me about transsubstantiation.”

“It's not the same.”

“Oh, it is too. And it doesn't make any difference. Everyone is not supposed to fit. St. Teresa says that God saw to it that she was always treated kindly everywhere although the only service she ever rendered him was to be what she was.”

“So what?”

“So, God loves you more than you love yourself,” said Maria Teresa. “A nun told me that in high school, and she was right.”

“And God loves the poor because he made so many of them,” said Misty. “So what?”

“So, you are not counting your blessings. You are having scruples, which is a very bad thing. Vincent loves you. You love him. Holly has a cousin and you're all going fishing.”

“You don't understand,” said Misty.

“I don't,” said Maria Teresa. “Are you honestly jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Well, gee whiz. You jealous. It's probably good for you. Did you ever discuss this with Holly? She knows her cousin and she knows Vincent.”

“Friendship is not possible between two women one of whom is very well dressed,” said Misty.

“Very true,” said Maria Teresa. “Now let's change the subject. I am now getting a letter a week in Latin from your cousin Stanley. Would you please tell him that the only Latin I remember is the Paternoster?”

“You tell him,” said Misty. “I'm very glad he writes to you. It keeps him away from that horrible little Sybel.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Maria Teresa. “I'm getting out of here. You can be gloomy by yourself. Remember what St. Teresa said: ‘Never compare one person to another.' Comparisons are odious. That goes for you and Gem. But just think. If this Gem is hateful and you're going fishing, you can always drown her.”

They drove out to Salt Harbor early Friday evening. Gem and her companion were to meet them at Scott's Fisherman's Inn for dinner. In the car, they tried to figure out the name of Gem's companion. Holly remembered it as Raymond. Guido remembered it as Deering although he thought he also remembered Gem calling him Perkins.

With the exception of Misty, they were all in high spirits. Vincent had had a difficult week and was glad it was over. Guido had solved two pressing Foundation problems and Holly said that she felt strangely light-headed.

“This is the first time I've been away from Juliana since she was born,” she said. “Suddenly, I feel very young and strange. I'm going to end up calling home every five minutes.”

“The mothers-in-law have landed, I assume,” said Vincent.

“In force. With large numbers of packages. Trillions of toys,” said Guido. “Juliana will be a spoiled brat when we get back. You should have seen her. Holly thought she would cry when we left but the only one who cried was Holly. Juliana looked like a little girl Buddha, only thinner. Our two mothers were practically prostrate before her.”

The car sped across the dark highway. Misty fell asleep against Vincent's shoulder. When she woke up, she saw stars against the black sky.

“We'll be there in half an hour,” said Vincent. “Roll down the window, Guido. I want some salt air.”

At dinner, the name of Gem's companion was not revealed. Gem called him Raymond, Deering, and Perkins alternately and he responded to all. He was a large man with a bulky frame, spindly legs, and lank, almost greenish-yellow hair.

They sat eating clam chowder and fried flounder in the dining room of Scott's Fisherman's Inn while Gem and her companion conversed.

“I moved into that house,” she said. “That little carriage house. It's perfect, isn't it, Raymond?”

“Right-o.”

“And I'm having Bucky shipped up to the Central Park Stables, aren't I, Deering?”

“Absolutely.”

“Who's Bucky?” said Vincent.

“My horse,” said Gem. “My new one. My old one died. My little hunter, Gretchen. She was my horse when I was a teenager. She was my oldest friend. I took her out for a ride to celebrate getting my divorce, and when I went to bed her down that night, she was dead. Dead marriage, dead horse, I said to myself. I cried and cried and when Lou Petroldi's Dead Stock Service came and took her away and I saw them hoist her onto the truck, I said: ‘That's the end of my childhood.'”

“You ought to write that, Gem,” said Gem's companion.

“I put it in my journal,” Gem said.

At the end of dinner, plans were made. The next morning at ten o'clock they were to meet at the dock and board the boat that would take them fishing in the tidal rip.

“Right-o,” said Gem's friend. “Four bells, got it? I've got to rattle the bushes for some extra lures.” He took Gem's arm and escorted her out into the night.

Vincent flopped down on the double bed and sighed.

“Horizontal at last,” he said. “What does ‘rattle the bushes' mean, I wonder? What does ‘ginormous' mean? He said the striped bass were ginormous.”

“It obviously means big,” said Misty.

“I feel like a fish,” said Vincent. “I feel like a big, ginormous fish too exhausted to move a flipper. I am now going to rattle this pillow and go to sleep.” He threw off his clothes and got into bed, rolling the blankets up under his chin.

“It's cold in here,” he said. “Would you please hop in here immediately? A person could freeze waiting for his wife to keep him warm.”

The next morning, Misty was up when the light woke her. It was seven o'clock. The sky was a bright gray and the water was dark blue. Under the covers, Vincent smiled as he slept. He claimed to have a recurrent dream about a computer—a very complicated dream full of jokes. He found sleep very entertaining for this reason. Misty had often heard him chuckling in the morning, but when he got up, he could never remember any of the particulars.

Misty wrapped herself in her coat and walked down to the water. The beach curved, like a cup. The tide was low. She walked with her hands in her pockets, thinking about Vincent.

The big surprise that marriage to Vincent had sprung on her was contentment. She had moments of desolation and moments of great joy, but underneath was some steady current of feeling. Misty's propensity toward pessimism and Vincent's toward optimism really did complement. Vincent was no less cheerful, and Misty was only slightly less judgmental, but they seemed to have formed a third person who smoothed out their edges and made life together possible and profitable. Misty excepted Vincent from the rest of human kind. He had his faults, but he was genuinely kind and true. He played fair and was generous. The difference between them was that Vincent really did believe that things worked out for the best and Misty did not. In Misty's world, the happy, comfortable, intelligent wife is left by a good, well-intentioned dummy who goes off with a woman whose childhood was ended by a dead horse.

On the far side of the beach, a speck of red appeared. It drew closer. It was Gem's companion dressed in bright red foul weather gear.

“What ho!” he shouted.

Misty was not certain how this greeting was properly answered. She said good morning. They began to walk together.

“What's your name, anyway?” she said.

“John,” said the man.

“Gem doesn't call you that,” said Misty.

“Gem likes to call a person by all his names. My name is John Raymond Deering Perkins.”

“That certainly explains it,” said Misty.

“Gem doesn't introduce,” said John Perkins. “Ripping day, what?”

“What?”

“Bloody gorgeous out, no?”

“Yes,” said Misty.

“Say what?” said John Perkins. “Are you married to that one or the other one?”

“The other one,” said Misty.

“Difficult to know. Gem doesn't introduce.”

“Have you known Gem a long time?”

“No, I haven't actually. Knew her husband, Clifford van Allen. Ingenious fellow that. Raced cars and horses. Does international finance now, whatever that means anymore.”

Misty detected a slight drawl in his voice.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Eastern Shore,” he said. “Maryland, what. Have you had breakfast? Let's go to the inn for a jolt of java.”

He took her arm and led her up the steps to the inn. Misty cursed the day that she had stopped carrying a pencil and paper. She wanted to keep him talking but was not sure how to do it. It turned out he didn't need much prompting.

“Ghastly road that Harbor highway,” he said. “Wizard prangs all over the place. Ices in winter, fogs in summer. Still, fabulous fishing out in the rip. Ginormous stripers. Come sit down.”

They sat at a little table and Misty ordered coffee.

“What, no breakfast?” he said. “Why, you've got to grease the gullet.”

“I don't eat breakfast.”

“Most sensible thing, probably. Nasty habit, breakfast. Can't function on an empty stomach.”

While he waited for his eggs, he began to discuss Gem's ex-husband, Clifford van Allen.

“After the bust-up, poor Cliff just lay doggo,” he said. Misty kept perfectly still. As he spoke, her lips almost moved, memorizing. Even the most metaphysical linguist perks up as a new language is invented.

“Just lay doggo,” he continued. “Terrible thing, a man so bruised. Used to soak, you know, but he got over that. Then he ran around. Then he pulled himself up.” He leaned across the table as if concluding a shady business dealing. “You women. Stronger than us. Hardier. Take the cold better. Run the marathon better. Live longer. Stand stress better.”

He ate his eggs in three large gulps.

“You shouldn't bolt your food,” said Misty.

“Do bolt. Always have. Awful for you, but there you are. Right-o. Must jump. Got to wake Gem and get this dog-and-pony show together. See you at the docks. Cheery-bye.”

Misty dashed off down the beach. This meeting had lifted her spirits in spite of herself. She ran back to the inn, where she found Vincent wrapped in a blanket, half awake.

“Where were you?” he said. “I woke up in this strange room and you weren't here. I thought my whole life was a dream and that I had never met you. Get over here.”

He covered her with blankets and kissed her.

“You've been drinking coffee,” he said. “Where did you get coffee? Where's mine?”

“I had coffee with Gem's friend.”

“Oh, yeah? While I was asleep?”

“Vincent, he speaks a different language.”

“He looks too dumb to speak any language.”

“Well, he does. He says ‘wizard prang,' ‘cheery-bye,' ‘lay doggo,' and ‘bloody gorgeous.' I've got to write this all down.”

“Does this mean I have to listen to this lingo all afternoon?”

“I hope so,” said Misty. “You have to listen close and tonight we compare notes.”

“Well, cheery-bye,” said Vincent. “I'm going to take a shower.” He wrapped a towel around his middle and walked off to the bathroom.

The boat held five with a skipper. Someone, it was clear, would have to stay behind.

“I'll stay,” said Misty. She felt tears in the back of her eyes, tears of pure self-pity. Wasn't it right that she should stay back and let that happy, homogeneous party float off without her?

“I'll stay with Misty,” said Vincent.

“I'll stay,” said Guido. “I don't like jigging. I'm a fly-casting man.”

“No,” said Holly. “I'll stay. I hate fishing. If Misty hates fishing too, we'll stay together.”

They stood together on the dock and watched the boat pull out.

“Let's go have breakfast,” said Holly. “Then we'll have to go into town. Our room has cooking facilities and I thought if the boys get lucky we'd have a feast.”

They walked down the beach toward the inn.

“Is something wrong with you and Vincent?” Holly asked.

Misty had always kept up an elegant defense around Holly. It was necessary that they get along, but not necessary that they be friends. The fondness between them was based on acceptance, Misty felt. Holly had never asked her such a question before.

“I realize that we've never had a really personal conversation,” said Holly. “It's just that you looked so stricken at dinner the other night and were so silent in the car and at dinner last night. That isn't like you.”

Misty wrapped her coat more firmly around her. There was a lump in her throat. Holly slipped her arm through Misty's. This gesture undid Misty entirely. She stopped walking and began to cry.

“Gracious,” said Holly. “You are upset. Sit right down.”