Matecumbe (23 page)

The following afternoon, as soon as Joe arrived in Florida, he and Melissa made furious, passionate love to one another.

Their coupling was accented by stronger than usual embraces, as if the power of their feelings was being expressed by heavy arms clutching warm bodies—bodies that now held carefree, unburdened hearts.

“Making love to someone who cares for me as much as I care for him is the greatest feeling in the world,” Melissa realized. “In some ways, Joe is like the guardian angel who has been sitting next to me for all of my life. Suddenly, I’m able to reach out and communicate, physically, with that angel.”

Afterwards, they headed for the sunny outdoors to catch the rays alongside the reflected warmth of the Seascaper pool.

As sunset neared, and they saw that the last of the other guests had gone, they entered the glistening waters. And while submerged neckhigh in the blue-clear water, they slipped out of their swimsuits to continue their frolic in ultra-cool surroundings.

Feeling Joe’s strength as she watched those sun-colored waters rippling in concert with the motion of their bodies succeeded in lifting Melissa to a new plane of physical and mental satisfaction.

By the end of their mini-vacation, she and Joe had completed three full days in Islamorada, days when they did nothing except soak up the sun—and each other.

Their one excursion out of town during this period provided a strange interlude. They were boat passengers on a brief nighttime frogging expedition among a group of mangrove islands and swamps that border the northern edge of Key Largo.

The trip was taken on the insistence of Moira O’Grady, the friendly, ebullient woman who ran the Islamorada Chamber of Commerce office.

“Mrs. O’Grady’s husband has been giving these frogging tours for almost twenty years now,” Joe told Melissa. “Both of them have been egging me on to take one for a long time now.”

And, overall, Melissa wasn’t disappointed, calling her escorted search for frogs the “spookiest and most insane evening” she’d ever spent outdoors.

“The frogs make such a deep, foreboding sound, amplified by the water’s surface,” she noted. “In the complete darkness, they can easily be mistaken for unseen monsters hundreds of times their size.”

Melissa was relieved, also, to find that the frogs weren’t captured with the intent that their legs become entrées in local restaurants. All of them, even the biggest—at a length of about a foot—were released after spending scant seconds aboard the boat.

On their final night in Islamorada, Melissa and Joe decided to dine at the Whale House Restaurant, which featured a décor of hanging wooden plaques that bore memorable mottoes and recognizable literary quotes.

Appropriately, on the island full of whistling palm fronds, their table was situated just to the left of John Masefield’s line, “where the wind’s like a whetted knife” and directly below Longfellow’s famous description of “ships that pass in the night.”

“We passed each other in the air, didn’t we?” Melissa offered.

“Never again,” Joe toasted, hoisting a glass of Chablis. “As of this day, our independence is equal, but our hearts, and our souls, will always fly together.”

“I’m going to miss being a part of this town,” Mary Ann commented, as she and Paul watched the movers hustling in and out of her apartment. “Pottstown will always seem like home to me, especially at this time of year. I love the summer smell of barbecues, the walks along the creek, and watching the kids still playing on the sunlit streets long after suppertime.”

“Do you remember much of anything,” Paul offered, “about when you moved into this place?”

“Oh, we rented a truck and did it ourselves,” Mary Ann noted, “like most people do, I guess, when they have to watch their money. After we got all of the big furniture in the truck, we piled our clothes on top of everything. Then we hoped the truck would start. It really wasn’t so bad, but I’m not sure I have the energy to undertake a move like that again.”

“Well, as long as I have something to say about it, you won’t have to ever move like that again,” Paul commented while squeezing Mary Ann around the shoulders.

The new house that Mary Ann and Paul had selected was a spacious colonial that contained four bedrooms and a recreation area—extra living space that would require more furniture. It also had a two-car garage.

“I know how you love to shop,” Paul laughed. “So it shouldn’t take us too long to fill up all the rooms.”

Paul noticed that Mary Ann was carrying her small, fish-shaped pillow with her during the move.

“Some things you just don’t trust to the movers,” she explained. “I go to sleep hugging this pillow every night. ‘Rainbow’ is almost as dear to me as the cats.

“I am worried about one other thing, though. With all the traveling I’ve been doing back and forth to work, I’ve been lucky to lose a few pounds. I hope I don’t put the weight back on now since I have only a twenty-minute drive. If I edge up over 140 again, it’ll be up to you, Paul, to cut off my ice cream supply.

“And I suppose I am relieved that this isn’t a big, cross-country move. I’ll still be close enough if I want to visit my old friends.

“Anyhow, when you still have stuff on layaway at three different department stores, you just can’t move too far, can you?”

When Paul was taking out a handful of $100 bills to pay the moving men, Mary Ann uttered what had become one of her standard, joking comments.

“Whenever I see a roll of money like that, I get more and more convinced that you and those cats have a secret printing press in a basement somewhere.”

One of the features of the new house that caught Paul’s eye was the fact that it was situated less than two miles from an amusement park.

“You like roller coasters and carousels almost as much as the girls do,” Paul commented. And Mary Ann’s quick smile told him he was right.

Soon after they’d arrived at their new house—before they’d even started to unpack—Mary Ann, Paul, and the girls drove over to the amusement park to check out the rides.

However, when they pulled into the lot near the front gate, a sudden thunderstorm prevented them from leaving the car.

“Look, Paul,” Mary Ann pointed, as they stared through the windshield into dark clouds and a horizon splattered with lightning. “It’s starting to hail. The hail is bouncing off the kids’ water slides, making a pinging sound. It looks like God is cooking popcorn. It even sounds like it.”

“I hope this rain on our first day at the new house isn’t a bad sign,” Paul offered, forlornly.

“Nope, this place is perfect,” Mary Ann countered. “When I was walking in the backyard a few minutes ago, I found this . . .”

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out what looked to Paul like a small, green weed.

“It is,” Mary Ann smiled, confidently, “a four-leaf clover.”

For Joe Carlton, it wasn’t one of the easiest chores in the world to say good-bye to Islamorada.

True, for the rest of his life he wouldn’t have to contend with southern Florida’s innumerable hurricane threats—and the fears of being swallowed by tidal waves or hoisted into the air by one-hundred-mile-per-hour winds.

But he had made a host of friends and acquaintances on this small tropical island, and for Joe, the loss of sympathetic companionship would always be painful.

His co-workers in the police department with whom he had served, side-by-side, and the cheerful island residents whom he had grown to know on a first-name basis were all saddened by the news of his impending relocation to Philadelphia.

Most typical of the feelings expressed locally were the words of Jack Fidati, the service station operator in town who was always ready with a kind word and a cup of hot coffee when Joe would drive in to say hello during his rounds.

“Islamorada will be losing a good person and a good cop,” Fidati told Joe, shaking his hand warmly “But since this little town is such a fantastic place to visit, we know you’ll be back for the spectacular sunshine and the friends you’ve made here.”

Joe’s buddies on the police force all wished him the best of luck and offered to provide whatever job references and letters of recommendation he might need in order to find new work.

“I guess the one thing I’ll miss the most about Islamorada,” Joe reflected, “is waking up with my bedroom window open and experiencing a warm and cozy feeling. The blessings of the weather made going to work every day so much easier.

“It was nice—it was very nice here. But now, like the tides that have come and gone at my doorstep, it is time I moved on.

“Melissa and I are definitely coming back, perhaps on a regular basis, chasing our sacrament of sea and sun,” he announced—to just about everyone. “For we realize that this island will always be an important part of us.”

Melissa enjoyed having Joe as a permanent house guest in Philadelphia.

Aside from the love that they shared every day and the contentment that Melissa always experienced while in his company, their living arrangement also had its practical benefits.

No longer did Melissa have to throw together those hastily designed, freezer-fresh dinners—for herself and her most finicky critic, Coke.

Since Joe genuinely enjoyed preparing food, he spent every weekday afternoon as the cook-in-residence in Melissa’s ample kitchen.

And on those mornings when he had no scheduled job interviews, he would tackle the various housecleaning chores and the shopping.

In essence, and to Melissa’s delight, he was the consummate “house husband.”

Meanwhile, on that heretofore frustrating employment front, Joe was starting to receive a great amount of positive feedback—especially from his job hunting in Atlantic City.

“All told now, four casinos have interviewed me,” Joe told Melissa, some two weeks after they had started living together.

“In every case I felt well-accepted, as if they appreciated the time I took to apply. I’ve talked with personnel administrators as well as with heads of security departments. And I don’t think I’m boasting when I say that everyone seemed impressed with my background and abilities.

“Of course, it could be that some of those people were just fooling me with plastic kindness, but I don’t think so. I believe I really came across effectively.

“And you know, it feels good to be respected for what I’ve accomplished so far in my life. My self-esteem is higher now than ever before.”

Regarding her wedding preparations, everything that Melissa did— from phone calls, to shopping, to the writing of the invitations—seemed to maintain her bubbly feeling of constant joy.

Despite the fact that Joe, as of yet, had no firm employment commitment, the two of them were proceeding steadily with their nuptial plans, oblivious to any possible monetary problems that might materialize in the future.

“I feel like I’m living my youth all over again,” Melissa beamed, while relaxing at home on the sofa one evening, talking to an audience composed of Joe, who had fallen asleep during a television game show, and Coke, who was sitting on top of the stereo, saying nothing.

“The excitement of contracting for the photographer, figuring out the seating chart, and talking with the minister—the whole thing is like an infusion of caffeine. It’s all quite time-consuming, but I’m loving every minute.

“Now I know,” she smirked, “why some women enjoy getting married over and over again. The anticipation is truly exhilarating. It’s the same way I felt back in high school when I was getting ready for my first prom—daydreaming and getting high on music with every twirl of my hairbrush.

“I’m in such a positive frame of mind now that I wouldn’t be surprised at all if the gray follicles on my head started going in reverse, turning me absolutely brown again.”

As to future living arrangements, Melissa and Joe were sticking to their original plan, which consisted of finding a place that was equidistant between their job locations.

Of course, with Atlantic City now the likely area of Joe’s employment, they were targeting a move to one of the towns in southern New Jersey—about halfway between Melissa’s library and Joe’s casino.

Just as Melissa had speculated long ago in their relationship, a locale somewhere near Uncle Steve’s house would be ideal.