The Summer of Good Intentions (14 page)

For a moment, she was seized by a fit of righteousness. She wasn't the only guilty party here. Tim had contributed to this whole mess that was now their lives.

“Um, work?” he countered. “Trying to provide for my family. You know, that whole business?”

“Hey, that's not fair. I work, too, you know.”

“Don't you,” he said, lifting a finger, “Tell.
Me
. About. Unfair.” He punctuated each word with a pointed finger, and his face pulled into an ugly sneer. Jess burst out crying.

“Honey, I'm so sorry. I never meant for anything to happen,” she said. “What about us? Can we get
us
back?”

She watched as his body seemed to almost physically deflate. She tried to think of the word to describe it. Then it came to her:
defeated
. Her husband appeared totally, utterly defeated.

He shook his head. “I don't know, Jess. I used to think so.”

It was a truthful answer. How had they gone from the couple who used to giggle at the ridiculous line “You complete me” in
Jerry Maguire
to the couple who no longer knew what the other person was thinking? Her stomach clenched and she thought she might be sick.

“Can we at least try?” she asked, swallowing the bile in her throat. She hated the tremor in her voice, the desperation.

But Tim was already heading downstairs.

Jess sucked in big breaths of air between sobs, trying to gain control. So, they'd done it, had it out. Finally. Had she irretrievably destroyed her marriage? She'd been such an idiot! She reached for a tissue, then stopped short when she thought she heard a noise coming from the hall. She got up and tiptoed toward the sound, like little mouse squeaks, down to the kids' bedroom. Behind the door, she found Gracie. Her dear sweet Grace, kneeling down, her head bent in her small hands.

“Gracie, honey?” Panic shot through Jess's heart. Had Grace heard them fighting?

Grace peered up at her, her cheeks wet with tears. “Mommy, are you and Daddy getting a divorce?” Her bottom lip quivered.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jess bent down to take her in her arms, welling up again herself. “Of course not. No.” She whispered “Shush” while she rocked her daughter and wiped her tears. How did a seven-year-old even know what divorce was? Then she remembered one of Grace's friends, Kelsey, had watched while her parents went through a bitter divorce. Kelsey had gone from an energetic five-year-old to a fragile seven-year-old. “We just had a little argument, like you and Teddy do sometimes.” She kissed Gracie's sweet-smelling hair.

“And you're going to make up?” Grace asked, her voice threaded with hope, her innocent hazel eyes framed by thick, wet lashes.

“Yes, we're going to make up,” Jess said and squeezed her tightly. “Of course we are. That's what moms and dads do. That's what families do. We always make up. It's all gonna be okay.” She whispered the last sentence over and over.

Over and over again, until Jess convinced herself that she was speaking the truth.

Jess lay on the beach, the
scent of coconut floating by anytime the wind decided to send a breeze her way. There wasn't a soul within a hundred yards. As soon as Gracie had stopped crying, Jess had poured her a glass of water, wiped her face with a cool cloth, and coaxed her back outside to play with her cousins. They were heading out on a bike ride, and soon enough, Gracie was back to her old self, goofing around and ready to go. Tim wouldn't look at her, though. Jess would tell him later, she decided, about what Gracie had said.

She lay looking up at the bright sky, a flotilla of misshapen clouds floating by, and considered how she would save her marriage. If there had ever been any doubt in her mind that she and Tim should stay together, it had dissipated the moment she saw Grace dissolve into tears. Jess realized with a racing heart that she'd done more damage to her family than she could have imagined. What had she been thinking? That Cole was just a lark, an easy shot in the arm of self-esteem? Other people—people she cared about deeply—had been hurt. She'd been selfish, foolhardy, all those things that mothers weren't supposed to be. Guilt as sharp as a blade cut through her.

It was Saturday, nearly a week since she'd texted Cole back.
Please leave me alone. I'm with my family. It's for the best.
She'd deleted all the texts he'd left before she blocked his number. She'd read each and every one of them, some twice, three times:
I miss you,
he wrote
. I can't sleep. My head's a mess. I know it's wrong but I can't help it. I'm in love with you.
The phrase
in love
jumped out at her, as if to underscore how ruthless she'd been to cast aside her marriage for someone who didn't even love her. Cole had a crush. She felt sad, guilty, tricked all at once.

She flipped over onto her stomach, resting her head on her arms, and felt the tears start again. How could she fix this? She'd never done anything so wrongheaded, so self-centered in her entire life. Tim had every right to be furious. Even if he wasn't the most helpful husband. Even if they hardly talked. Just because they'd had a rough year did not justify her kissing another man.

Of course, Jess hadn't meant to fall for Cole Wakefield. One night, she'd been working long hours at school, finishing up grant proposals and trying to keep her most troubled juniors on track for college. That evening, when she pulled into the driveway praying that she was home early enough to read the kids a story and tuck them in, Cole introduced himself. Actually, it was Gretzky, Cole's golden retriever, who introduced himself, racing over to the car and leaping on her as soon as she stepped out.

“Whoa, boy! Gretzky, get back here!” Cole shouted from the sidewalk.

Jess was momentarily stunned and dropped her briefcase, but she quickly regained her composure.

“I'm really sorry.” Cole walked over to hook Gretzky's leash on his collar and jerked him away. “Usually he's better behaved.”

“No worries,” she said, laughing. “I think that's one of the best welcome-homes I've ever gotten. My kids might be right about us needing a dog.” She picked up her briefcase and brushed off her suit. It was an unseasonably warm April evening, and Cole, dressed in tan shorts and a yellow-and-white striped polo shirt, looked as if he'd just stepped off the golf course.

She knew him well enough to say hello at the corner store. Unlike Maggie's neighborhood, where acres of rambling green grass separated the neighbors, in Jess's neighborhood, triple-deckers abutted other triple-decker homes. When they'd moved in, Tim had joked that he could reach out the kitchen window and touch their neighbors' house, which wasn't far from the truth.

Jess considered Cole to be friendly, hardworking, a diligent taker-out of trash. All valuable traits in a neighbor. Once in a while she would catch him sharing a glass of wine with a young woman on his front porch, and Jess would wave a quick hello, returning home from the corner market with a gallon of milk. The women appeared to rotate in quick succession.

Sometimes she would fantasize about Cole's life. Did he go out to the bars every weekend? Did he sleep with a different woman each night? Or was he as lonely as she had been before she met Tim and they'd started a family? She pondered such things when she was soaking in the tub late at night, the kids in bed and Tim watching sports on the television downstairs.

The night that Gretzky ambushed her, something made her invite Cole in for a beer. She realized they'd never asked him over for dinner, despite the fact that they'd lived on the same block for a few years. She suddenly felt unneighborly. She had no idea what he did for a living. When the kids saw the dog, they ran downstairs in their pajamas. Tim shot her a look from the top, as if to say,
What are you doing? I was just getting them into bed!
But she didn't care. She'd been hoping the kids would be awake.

After tuck-ins and kisses, she stepped out onto front porch, where the men were enjoying the lingering warmth of the day. The azaleas that framed the porch on either side exploded with purple, star-shaped blooms. Cole and Tim were engaged in easy conversation, cool drinks in hand, and Jess hesitated to interrupt, glad to see that her husband's initial icy welcome had melted into cordiality. Gretzky lay at Cole's feet. She went inside to pour herself a glass of wine and rejoined them.

It was then that she learned Cole worked with special needs children at the local elementary school. It was challenging work, he said, but rewarding. It shocked her that this young, handsome man was devoting himself to something as noble as helping children. She'd assumed he worked in finance or real estate, like so many of the other young professionals in the neighborhood. From that night forward, an easygoing friendship evolved. Cole would join the family for an occasional barbecue, ribbing the kids about when they were going to get a dog. Grace was a little in love with him, Jess thought. But when she considered Cole's kind face, his ruffled sandy blond hair, his easy grin, she was proud that her daughter had such good taste in men. She hoped that one day Grace would marry a guy as solid as Cole.

And Cole was sweet to them, bringing the kids little gifts of candy, playing baseball in the yard, roughhousing with Teddy. Sometimes she imagined what it would be like if Grace and Teddy had a father like Cole. Tim would rather that the kids entertain themselves. When Grace was just five and Teddy two, Tim had told her he was relieved that they had each other to play with now. Jess supposed it was true enough, but it made her a little sad that her husband felt this way, as if he'd been sprung from the shackles of parenthood.

But then, as the days grew warmer, the tilt of their friendship shifted. Cole began dropping by more frequently, bringing with him the first harvest of cherry tomatoes from the small plot of land that doubled as his garden and backyard. At first Jess thought nothing of it. When May came and the school year began to wind down, she enjoyed his company on the nights when Tim worked late, reviewing accounts at his office. She would get the kids into bed, and then she and Cole would talk on the front porch till Tim's headlights danced in the driveway.

Occasionally, Cole would bring over a bottle of wine, coaching her on the importance of letting a red wine breathe in a wide-rimmed glass, and other things. She did not know, for instance, that Chardonnay was the name for the actual white grape used to make the wine. Wasn't aware that Viognier, a dry, floral-scented white wine, came from Virginia's official state grape. Such were the things that Cole taught her. It made her feel sophisticated. She thought he was cute, good-hearted, knowledgeable for someone so young. Eventually she began to look forward to his drop-bys, the anticipation sneaking up on her like a slumbering bat startled awake in an attic.

One night she'd been cleaning up the kids' dinner dishes when Cole leaned across the sink and kissed her, his lips still sweet from a sip of Cabernet. She hesitated at first, surprised. But then she kissed him back. She couldn't blame it on the few sips of wine she'd had. She wanted him. He drew her into his arms and kissed her some more, light little butterfly kisses around her ear, down her neck. Jess felt a stab of surprise; she hadn't known that kisses could be so intimate. Somehow, Tim's kisses always felt perfunctory. Cole worked his way back up her neck, to her lips.

When he pulled away, she brought her fingers to her lips. They tingled and felt swollen, as if from tiny bee stings.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “I couldn't help myself.”

She was torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to kiss him again. She backed away. His face clouded and he took a step back.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Did I misread the signals?”

She laughed.
Signals?
Did Jess even know what those were anymore? Did she know how to send one?

“Sorry. I wasn't aware I was sending them.”

“Oh, shit. I feel like such an idiot.” He started to turn, but she grabbed his hand in hers, still soapy with dish bubbles.

“No, wait. You just caught me off guard.” He raised his eyebrows, which were thick and dark like caterpillars. He waited. She stepped toward him and leaned in. “I liked it,” she whispered before pressing her lips against his.

Was it possible to fall in love in the span of three months? She didn't think so. And, if it
was
love, then she was intent on making herself fall out of love again. Her practical side told her that she could.
I miss you,
Cole had texted again and again.

It's over, Cole,
she thought.
Please go.

When she woke, bright pink bands
circled her arms, delineating where a curtain of hair had fallen. Her hands, hidden by her hair while she slept, were pale by comparison.

“Oh, shoot!” She quickly sat up and pulled on her cover-up. She dug her watch out of her bag: 4:00. Asleep for almost two hours! Her head felt groggy and thick with the threads of half dreams, her face puffy from crying. She folded up her towel and began the trip back to the beach house. Would she be able to face her family again?

When she got to the house, Tim, Mac, and the kids were sitting on the deck playing Uno, as if nothing had happened. Arthur stepped out of the house and made his way to a wicker chair with a glass of iced tea. “Ouch,” he said when he caught sight of her. “Looks like someone got a little sun today.”

Everyone turned to look when she crossed the deck. “I fell asleep,” she explained.

“It looks good, Mom,” Grace said.

“Thanks, honey.” Jess walked over and raked her fingers through her daughter's hair, a long tumble of snarls and knots. She would have never guessed that a few hours ago Grace was huddled in a corner, worrying about divorce. “Did you guys have a fun bike ride?”