Miracle Beach (29 page)

Macy lifted up her right butt cheek and pulled out the envelope. She slipped a finger inside as if testing bathwater, and her finger hit on something she hadn’t noticed before. It was a check from Nash Allen Photography made out to Katherine Gibson for two thousand dollars.

Macy balled the check in her hand until it was the size of a small rock and almost as hard. She heard that same voice she had heard on the phone saying, “Hello, handsome,” its breathiness coating Macy’s thoughts like a film all these years, haunting her. She thought of all that she had assumed. All that she had been too afraid to ask, to know. All that she had been too afraid to tell Nash. What might have happened if she had?

She hadn’t needed to tell him all of it, or not at once. She could have started with her grandmother steering her car off the St. George’s Bridge into the Bow River, with the beloved family dog in the backseat and her month-old daughter in a crib at home.

Or she could have skipped straight to her mom: how one day in second grade Macy had opened up her My Little Pony lunch pail to find a tiara and a wand made out of a chopstick and a piece of purple streamer where a ham sandwich, applesauce, and a Ho Ho should have been. She could have told him how, even then, it had struck her that normal people didn’t do such things.

She could have told him about that Christmas Eve afternoon when Macy’s mother decided to draw a bath, climb into it, and open each wrist with the rotary cutter she used for sewing projects, while Macy, her father, and her sister drove around exchanging gifts with family friends. She could have told him that all she could see of that day now was her red-mittened hand waving back at her dad as he parked the car before she ran up the front walk. How she could still taste the metallic warmth on her lips as they pressed tight against the gash in her mother’s wrist, sealing it from spilling into the pomegranate red water, still as sleep.

Or she could have simply said that crazy was a sort of family heirloom with them. That she wanted, more than anything, to see the combination of them, her and Nash, in one tiny little being, and to wonder whether it would have her dark hair, his freckles, her pinkie fingers that seemed to be shifted down a joint on each hand, or his laugh that sounded more like a windup to a sneeze. But that passing along the crazy that had attached itself to her family tree, that flowed swiftly through her own veins and that would surely find a home in any baby of hers, terrified her more than anything else in the entire world.

Maybe if she had told Nash everything, he might have understood. He might have loved her anyway.

She should have. But she hadn’t. And now, it seemed, she and Nash were more or less even on secret keeping.

MAGDA HAD A PLAN.

The first step involved taking herself out for lunch, alone, with the exception of a book. Then it was off to the travel agent to book her first world adventure: a cruise through the Greek islands. After that, it was to the store to get a cordless phone so she could draw a bath and relax in it while talking to Jack. He had asked if he could call that evening, and she was almost looking forward to it—both to get it out of the way so they could start moving forward and because she had genuinely missed talking to him in the past weeks. Even if they were different people who wanted different things, Magda was still fond of Jack. He might not spark flutters within her, but in a very basic way, human being to human being, she did love him.

What did cause flutters within her was pulling into Van Dyn Hoven Travel and the thought of what she was about to do, the leap she was about to take. She had always dreamed of Greece. She never thought she’d actually get there. “The good Lord works in mysterious ways,” Magda’s mother used to say.
He sure does
, Magda thought.
He sure does.

The receptionist greeted Magda and asked whether she had an appointment. She didn’t. So the receptionist wondered whether she wouldn’t like to please have a seat and someone would be right with her. She would, and did.

Magda lowered herself to the very small, uncomfortable-looking couch. She surveyed the magazines spread before her on the coffee table, and it was a virtual cornucopia:
Travel + Leisure, Condé Nast Traveler, Afar, National Geographic Traveler—
all of the magazines to which Magda had always longed to subscribe but wouldn’t allow herself. Because it hadn’t ever been enough for her to simply look. To window shop. And if she was resigned to looking, she would just as well rather not know all these fabulous places were even out there. She would just as well put her blinders on and focus on her little life in Wisconsin.

Magda took in the pictures and framed posters on the wall: Egypt, Thailand, Venice, Iceland, Russia, Australia. Each of them distinctly beautiful. Each of them now open to her. She was surrounded by possibility, and it was exhilarating.

“Magda Allen?” An older woman who looked as though she should perhaps be holding down a bridge table at the senior center, or at her quilting guild meeting, held out a hand to Magda. “I’m Pauline. Follow me. Let’s go see if we can get you going on a trip here.”

Magda followed Pauline back to her office.

“So, what were you thinking of today?” Pauline asked Magda, motioning for her to sit.

“Booking a cruise to Greece,” Magda said. She arranged her purse on her knees, and clasped her hands on top of the purse.

“Oh!” Pauline exclaimed, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, you are going to absolutely, positively
love
this trip, Magda. It doesn’t get any better than Greece. And cruising through the islands is simply the only way to go.”

They discussed durations of trips and ports of departure and ports of call. The whole while, Pauline plucked away at her keyboard. Every now and then she’d emit a “hmmm” or an “ooooh” and Magda would lean forward in her chair as if that would help her better interpret Pauline’s sounds in response to whatever had popped up on her screen.

Finally, Pauline leaned back and clapped her hands together. “Okay, I have it! Seventeen days, which will cover the islands of Aegina, Poros, and Hydra, and a few others. You’ll fly in and out of Barcelona, and all transfers are included. How does that sound?”

Magda nodded excitedly. “Perfect!” she said. She could hardly believe this was happening. She could see in her mind’s eye the whitewashed buildings against the bluest of blue skies. She could nearly taste the olives, the dolmathes.

“You have your choice of an interior, ocean view, or veranda suite,” Pauline said.

“Whichever one has a balcony,” Magda said.

“Veranda it is, then.” Pauline smiled and nodded approvingly. “So many people don’t think a balcony is worth it, but it truly is.”

Magda could smell the salt water. She could feel the ocean spray on her face, blowing through her hair.

“Okay, we’re looking at $6,647, including transfers but not airfare. How does that sound?”

Magda winced. That was more than she had bargained for. And she hadn’t yet checked into what flying there and back would cost. Maybe she should check with Jack. Though Jack hadn’t exactly checked with her on his trip to Vancouver Island. There was a bit of a difference in price, but the principle of the thing was the same, wasn’t it?

Pauline was looking at Magda expectantly.

“Is there anything a little cheaper?” Magda asked.

“Well, remember,” Pauline said, “this is all based on double occupancy. So, that’s a little under three thousand dollars a person. It’s a pretty good rate. All food included.”

“But I don’t have another person,” Magda said. Storm clouds started moving in on her sun-washed, salt-sprayed visions of the Greek isles. “It’s just me.”

“Oh,” Pauline said. “Oh. Well, I should have asked that up front. I’m sorry; I just assumed. We can look at some singles cruises if you’d like.” Her tone was unreasonably cheery.

Magda’s visions of touring the Acropolis and the Parthenon blurred and faded. In their place were imaginings of a boat full of single people all running from their singleness as fast and hard as they could, probably with a stiff drink or two in hand. It would be the adult version of Baba Louies, the local college meat market where the St. Norbert College kids went to solidify their drunkenness and then sloppily pair off for the evening. The thought made her shudder. She wasn’t running from her single status. She wanted to embrace it. Relish it.

“No,” Magda said. “I’d rather do a regular cruise, just with a single room. Or rate. Or however you have to do it.”

Pauline nodded. “Absolutely. We can do that. It’s just that all rates are based on double occupancy. You’ll have to pay a bit of an up charge if you’re traveling alone. Or maybe you can find a travel companion to go with you?”

Magda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was being penalized for traveling solo! It was completely ridiculous. Surely Pauline was mistaken.

Pauline assured Magda that she wasn’t. Magda also discovered how mistaken Pauline wasn’t after she stopped at Fox World Travel and Journeys Unlimited later that afternoon, thinking that the last company should probably change its name to Journeys Limited, or Journeys Unlimited as Long as You Can Afford to Travel Alone.

Magda thought that Ginny might like to go. She didn’t anticipate having to dance around the fact that she was divorcing Jack when she called Ginny, whom Magda hadn’t yet told about her developing . . . situation. Or that Ginny would say no.

“I’ll have to talk to Frank about it,” Ginny said. “But I can’t imagine he won’t be on board. We’ve been talking about doing a big vacation this year, and he just loves going with Jack. I swear, those two, starting their beer drinking and cribbage playing at noon! But I suppose who knows if we’d even be able to keep track of what time zone—”

“No, Ginny,” Magda said. “It would be just me and you. Just the girls! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Oh,” Ginny said. Her voice had fallen. “I don’t know, Magda. I can’t go without Frank.”

“Sure you can!”

“I don’t think so,” Ginny said. “I mean, I
can
, but I don’t know if I want to. Or, rather, I want to. You know I do, Magda. But if I go with you, then Frank and I can’t take a big vacation together like we were planning. I won’t have enough vacation days left, and that’s not really fair to him.”

After Ginny, Magda called Susan Forster, Millie Gunn, Martha Vanderwagen, and Sandy Walters. Each of them repeated to her what Ginny had said, slight riffs on the exact same words.

At the end of that litany of phone calls, Magda checked her watch. It was nearly four o’clock: almost time for Jack to call.

They hadn’t talked often since Jack had ventured to Vancouver Island nearly nine weeks ago. Neither of them was big on phone calls, and the two of them together weren’t prone to long, rambling conversations either. Even in the dawn of their relationship, time spent on the phone was purely utilitarian and rarely exceeded a handful of minutes. And with Jack gone, they had settled easily and comfortably into not calling each other for days at a time. More recently, those days had ebbed into a week’s span or more. So when Magda had sent Jack the divorce papers, she had hoped he would have called sooner, but the fact that he hadn’t didn’t alarm her. Jack needed time to process new developments. Always had. But Magda didn’t know what to expect on the other end, and the not-knowing made her nervous. Would he keep his composure? Magda figured he would, because Jack always did, and because he had had time to think it all through. Would he argue with her? Maybe. Beg her? Magda hoped not. She hoped she could make him see her side.

To do that, Magda knew she’d have to be calm, rational, and in control. She couldn’t let herself get caught up in Jack’s protests, in the emotion of the situation. And so she had thought well in advance of how to put herself in the most relaxed mood possible and had decided that soaking in a hot bath during their conversation would be just the thing.

Earlier that week, when she had decided to finally pony up thirty-five dollars for a cordless phone to enable the bath part of the plan, it had all nearly unraveled. She announced to the boy in the electronics department that she needed a mobile phone, and he responded by showing her a cabinet of cell phones. “No,” Magda had told him. “I want a phone I can walk around my house with,” to which he responded that these could go all around the house and that they needed only to be plugged in for charging. “I’m not an idiot,” Magda had said. “I know how they work. But I don’t want one of these. I want a mobile one.” Eventually, a passerby overheard their exchange and informed the salesboy that Magda wanted a
cordless
phone, successfully solving the impasse they had come to. “Yes!” Magda said. “That’s what I meant!” She had been so thrilled that she had even ignored the boy when he muttered under his breath, “Then that’s what you should have said, lady.”

Magda grabbed the new
cordless
phone, poured herself three fingers of white zinfandel, and headed upstairs, where she drew a hot bath and lit a candle. She had even dug bath salts out of the bottom reaches of a drawer for the occasion, which she now sprinkled generously over the water.