The Secret of Joy (12 page)

Rebecca picked up her cell phone and called the hotel that Joy and the group were in. She asked for Joy’s room, then almost hung up when she realized it was midnight. But she knew Joy would be awake, with much more than Rebecca on her mind.

“Hello?” came the voice, as wide awake as Rebecca expected.

“Joy, it’s Rebecca. I just want you to know that I get it, that I understand. I just read one of his letters to you and I don’t think he gets it at all. He’s explaining himself, but the explanation sucks.”

“Of course it does,” she said.

Rebecca closed her eyes and held her breath. “Can I come back tomorrow morning? Not to talk about him, not to try and explain anything. Just because we are sort of sisters—lousy, weak connection, and all. I just … want to understand something, but I don’t know what.”

Joy named a restaurant on Commercial Street and a time, then hung up.

So Theo was right. Time works. Sometimes in hours.

Her shoulders relaxed with the
in
Joy had given her, with the somewhere-to-go, and she headed inside with the idea to take a bubble bath before crawling into that inviting bed. Her cell phone rang. Joy rescinding already?

No. It was Michael. Her heart flip-flopped at his name appearing on the tiny screen.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She imagined him lying barefoot on the black leather sofa, three case files on the coffee table.

“So? Does she have two heads? Eight dirty children? A criminal record?”

Rebecca smiled despite herself. Despite him. “I’m sure you already vetted her, Michael.”

“Of course I did. If there had been something even slightly off in her background, I would have come after you.”

He would have, of that Rebecca was sure.

“She’s … nice,” she said. “A little prickly. Understandable given the circumstances. I was a total surprise.”

“When are you coming home?” he asked.

She was due back at the office on Monday. But she couldn’t imagine leaving on Sunday. “A few more days, I think. I just need some more time here.”

Silence. “So you’re just not coming to work?” he said. “Rebecca, you do have responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities I suck at.”

“You’ll take the refresher course—”

No, I won’t
. “Michael, I’ve been a paralegal for six years.” Were they really talking about this right now?

“Becs, honey, listen—forget that right now. I shouldn’t have
even brought it up. You’ve been through a lot this past week. I understand that you want to stay up there in this other universe. But you have a life here and you’re needed here.”

I don’t want to go home
. The thought inched up. She
didn’t
want to go home. Not yet. Not until something with Joy was … what? Settled? Figured out?

“I’m not ready to leave here, Michael. Please understand, okay?”

There was a sigh. Then nothing. Then: “Rebecca, I shouldn’t tell you this, not now, but I feel like I have to. That maybe drastic times call for drastic measures, you know?”

She waited, the silence scaring her.

“Things have been kind of off between us for a while now,” he said. “And we’ve both coasted with it.”

That was true. “I know,” she said softly. “I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“I’m not sure, either,” he said. “But I need you to know that I do have a new friend—just a friend, someone I met at the gym last month, and there’s a real connection there.”

Her stomach churned and she got up, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “And?”

“And, you could swing it either way, Becs. You could come home and we could work on things between us. Try and figure out what’s there. Or … not,” he added.

She closed her eyes and said, “I don’t know what to say to all that right now, Michael,” then hung up like Joy had.

She imagined Joy sitting on her bed with a brick in her chest like Rebecca had right now. Overwhelmed with everything and nothing.

seven

Ellie was flirting with the waiter when Rebecca arrived at Wharf’s Diner at 9:00 a.m. Her poker-straight dark hair was in a low ponytail, and her intense green eyes were made up in a smoky, nighttime way. Victoria and Victor were deep in conversation, their chairs turned toward each other. Victor kept twirling his hand through the ends of Victoria’s pretty long red waves, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her face. And Maggie, also a bit heavily made up, her delicate features in too much mascara and pinky-brown lipstick, appeared to be stewing, holding her coffee mug tightly. She and Clinton the Marlboro Man were
not
sitting next to each other—and they’d been dancing pelvis to pelvis the last time Rebecca had seen them. Clinton, in a cowboy hat, was absorbed in the menu. And Joy, her blond hair off her face with a red suede headband, not a shred of makeup on her pretty face, was looking over a map of the Old Port.

Rebecca felt her heart surge in her chest at the sight of Joy, at the new familiarity of her.

She’d read somewhere that twins separated at birth were later found to have much in common, from, say, choosing the same brand of shampoo to both not liking lobster. Rebecca wondered if Joy used Pantene and loved tuna fish sandwiches with cucumber slices, if red were her favorite color, if she cried at corny scenes in movies. If she was the only other person besides Rebecca who loved the movie
Hope Floats
.

If she would have told Michael something different on the phone.

But Rebecca and Joy weren’t twins and they were
half
sisters at that. And Rebecca took after her mother.

“Look who’s back!” Victoria announced at the sight of Rebecca. There was actually a round of applause, and Rebecca felt her slumped shoulders perk up a bit. Apparently, Joy had told everyone that Rebecca had volunteered to drive the nervous Jed home last night instead of making him drive alone.

Victor jumped up and slid over a chair from the next table, squeezing Rebecca in between the upset Maggie and Joy.

Maggie whispered, “Jerk in the fake Stetson told me, with my dress bunched up around my waist, that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, that he liked me enough to tell me that. Asshat.”

Ah. “I’m sorry,” Rebecca whispered.

Maggie leaned even closer. “Though part of me wanted to knock on his door last night and tell him, ‘You know what, jerk, I’m not, either. My ex-husband is getting married in twelve hours and I’m a wreck and just want some good hard sex.’”

Rebecca squeezed her hand.

“But I would have felt worse, right?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

Rebecca nodded and whispered, “Very likely. It’s not him so much as it is the
meaning
you’re looking for right now, assurances and comfort. You’re not looking for someone else to tell you his heart isn’t in it.”

“That’s exactly it!” she said, brightening some. “I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset over a slick dick like Clinton.” She slid her gaze across to the far end of table, where Clinton was asking the waiter for details on hollandaise sauce. “I mean, I know his type. Everyone does. But I was crying my eyes out last night.”

“It wasn’t him,” Rebecca said. The waiter appeared between her and Maggie, and Rebecca ordered a Swiss cheese omelet. “And coffee,
two
cups, please.” As Maggie ordered, Rebecca whispered to Joy, “Thanks for having me back.”

Joy nodded and mentioned that another single had opened up in the bed-and-breakfast, so she’d booked it for Rebecca, and then she launched into the morning’s itinerary, which included wandering around the Old Port and visiting Portland’s other neighborhoods, such as Munjoy Hill and the West End.

So much for talking late into the night in their shared single room. Rebecca had envisioned them sitting cross-legged on their twin beds, facing each other, going back and forth about what they liked, what they didn’t. There would be a constant refrain of “Me too!” And then Joy would ask a question about the father they shared.

Time
, she reminded herself, Theo Granger’s face, those deep brown eyes, that one dimple coming to mind.

As they headed outside, Rebecca breathed in the fresh, fresh air, marveling at the size of the seagulls swooping over the bobbing boats that lined the harbor.

“Wish I could push that asshat in the water,” Maggie whispered to Rebecca as Clinton’s gaze followed a shapely woman down Commercial Street.

“He’ll probably fall in all on his own,” Rebecca said as Clinton got perilously close to the edge while staring at another woman’s large breasts.

Joy handed out brochures for the Portland Observatory and maps of the various neighborhoods. Clinton asked Victor if he wanted to see about getting tickets to a Sea Dogs game, but Victor tightened his arm around Victoria’s and said he was booked for the day, then added, “Maybe for the rest of my life.” Victoria practically purred next to him as they headed down the pier.

“Meet back in the lobby of the hotel at 1:00 p.m. if you want to join us for lunch,” Joy called after the lovebirds.

Clinton then turned to Ellie and tried to wrap his arm around hers with a “Shall we, milady,” but Ellie slugged him, and Clinton countered with a whispered, “Your loss, babe.”

“You’re overconfident, Clinton,” Ellie shot back.

“Can we just get
going
?” Maggie muttered.

“Clinton, we’ll meet back in the lobby of the hotel at one, okay?” Joy said. Meaning
Beat it, jerk
.

Clinton raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going off to devise ways to murder me, are you?” he asked, then laughed.

“Someone got hurt here,” Joy whispered to Clinton.

He eyed Maggie for a moment, then took off his hat and
held it in his hand. “Maggie, listen, I was just trying to be honest. Before anything happened, before we went too far. You know?”

Maggie bit her lip and stared at the cobblestones.

“Should I have made love to you and then left in the middle of the night? Told you in the morning that it wasn’t like the sex meant anything?”

“We didn’t
have
sex,” she muttered. “Oh, just forget it.”

“I don’t get why you’re so mad at me,” he said. “Why am I the bad guy for being honest? I told you at just the
right
moment that you shouldn’t have expectations.”

“The right moment would have been while we were still in the bar,” Maggie explained, her voice rising. “When you were telling me how beautiful I was. How you couldn’t understand why my husband let me get away.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Or better yet, when you told me you could look into my eyes forever. Maybe that would have been the
right
time.”

“Honey, I had three margaritas,” Clinton said, doing a ministagger.

Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes and she turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. Rebecca put an arm around her shoulder. For the past two years, Rebecca had not missed dating. She’d forgotten what it could be like: this.

Joy walked over to Clinton and pulled him aside to talk. After a few moments, they both walked back to the rest of the group.

“Joy’s right,” he said to Maggie. “Someone did get hurt, and that’s what matters. I
am
sorry your feelings got hurt, Maggie. I don’t know. Maybe you’re just not my type or you just come off as too desperate or something.”

Maggie took off her shoe and flung it at Clinton.

“What are you, crazy?” he said, jumping back. “Did you see that?” he said to Joy. “Jesus, I think I’ve earned a ten percent discount.”

Joy retrieved Maggie’s shoe and handed it back to her. “Okay, no shoe throwing. No name-calling. There was a moment between you two, and it didn’t work out. Let’s just leave it there, okay?”

“I already left it,” Maggie snapped, her gaze narrowed on Clinton.

Clinton rolled his eyes and said, “Women,” then ambled off.

“Does this happen a lot?” Ellie asked. “This is my first Love Bus tour,” she added to Rebecca.

Joy pulled off her headband and ran her hands through her blond hair. “Sometimes. Dating might be even harder than marriage.”

“Maybe I should have dated Tim longer than three months before getting married,” Ellie said.

And just like that, there were actual guffaws and belly laughs and comparisons of how long everyone’s courtship and engagement had been, which led to a discussion of worst wedding gift. Maggie won. Her new in-laws had given her a handwritten list of how to be a good wife to their dear boy, including how to cook his steak and with what side dishes—he liked a green vegetable
and
a root vegetable with his evening meal
and
those dorky dinner rolls—and he preferred the classic tightie-whities, not those boxer briefs you saw on the billboards these days. Maggie should take care not to starch them.

Maggie snorted. “My ex wore those with his beer gut hanging out. Sex-y.”

Ellie was laughing so hard she tripped and fell on her butt. “And did you cook his steak just so?” she asked as Rebecca helped her up.

Maggie beamed. “I burned it, usually. And shrunk his tightie-whities on purpose, too.”

Maggie entertaining them from the list, and Joy looking very relieved, the women headed to Exchange Street, which was lined with boutiques and other interesting shops. After the reading of her father’s will, Rebecca knew she had—or would soon have—a bank account full of money and ridiculous investments whose interest alone would cover her monthly expenses and then some. But she’d done so much shopping in Freeport that she ended up just buying two sticks of jasmine-scented incense and a little ceramic holder.

In a pricey boutique, Maggie tried on a slinky sleeveless black wrap dress and high-heeled peep-toe pumps and brought both up to the counter to pay. “I can’t afford either, but I just want to show that fake cowboy what he’s not getting,” Maggie said, taking out her wallet. “Jerk. Asshole. Stupid asshole!”

“You okay?” Joy asked, rubbing Maggie’s shoulder.

“I guess,” Maggie said. “But why is it all so hard? You like someone, they like you, then it …” She let out a breath. “I know he was honest. I know he could have totally used me and then been a bigger jerk in the morning. But why does it hurt so much?” She dissolved into tears and told the saleswoman that she didn’t even like the “stupid dress,” and the three women led her out of the store.