The Summer of Good Intentions (21 page)

“Tim, don't.” She rested her hand on his arm.
That must mean he cared, right?
Jess worked to be quiet, to let her husband talk.

“And I'm pissed with myself for not saying something sooner. I think I knew something was going on between you two—or that at the very least, it was
about
to go on. I should have spoken up. I didn't. That makes me a little bit of an idiot.”

She laughed softly. “Just a little bit?”

“Hey, I'm trying to apologize here. Don't push your luck.”

“That's ironic.” She was more than willing to extend the longest olive branch. “Because I'm the one who should be doing all the apologizing.”

“Maybe,” he said, dropping back into seriousness. “Probably. But, really, it takes two to create the mess we're in.”

Jess couldn't believe it. Her husband was speaking the very words she'd thought thousands of times in the past year. Perhaps some small kernel from their counseling sessions
had
registered.

“And, I don't know,” he continued. “But seeing everyone here at the summer house—all the generations, the kids, us, your parents—it kind of brings it home that we're all family, and well, it might not always be this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that we might not always be around. I look at Arthur, and he seems so
old
to me this year. Like he's aged ten years since last summer. I don't think he's fared well without Gloria. And then I look at Mac and Maggie, who seem so happy and perfect, and I think to myself, why not that for us? Why can't
we
have that? And then I watch the kids, and sometimes I want to cry they're so incredible—I can barely stand the thought of them growing up, of us growing up.”

Oh,
thought Jess with a surge of relief.
Okay, we're talking about growing old, not divorce
.
I can handle that
. She didn't think she'd heard Tim say so much at one time during their entire marriage.

“Sometimes, I'm running my hands through Grace's hair—have you ever noticed she has the softest hair?—and I'll think there is nothing better than being able to hold your little girl. Or, I'll be swinging Teddy around, and he'll be squealing, and I'll get a flash, like
this is it
. This is what it's all about.” He stopped. “I'm sorry. Am I making any sense at all?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes. Absolutely. I know what you mean, I think. We might be in the thick of our midlife crises.
Life is short. Enjoy it while you can
kind of thing.”

“Right.” He lifted her hand to his lips now and kissed it. “And I realized that what that means for me is enjoying it with you and the kids. Making a point to take
time
to enjoy it.”

Jess exhaled audibly. Her husband wanted to stay. He wanted to make things better. She would still have a family. She hadn't ruined their lives forever. She felt like she could breathe again, even though she was crying.

“Come on, don't cry.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. But Jess couldn't help herself. For four days, she'd been sick with worry over what she'd done, over what Tim would do. Now he was giving her absolution. He wanted to carry on with them, with her.

“I'm sorry,” she managed to get out finally. “I'm just”—she searched for the word—“so grateful. Grateful that you can forgive me.”

He kissed her, a soft, gentle kiss. “I love you, Jessie. That never changed.”

“Do you think we can start over?” she whispered.

Tim pulled his face back and studied her, as if considering. “Yeah, I do.”

Wouldn't it be strange, she thought, to be able to go back in time and gaze forward? If only she'd known then what beautiful, amazing children they'd have, she would have been giddy. She would have been delighted with a playbook that showed her, yes, one day you will marry this handsome man with green eyes. One day you will have two lovely children. She would have signed up for her future in a heartbeat, probably suspecting all the while that it was impossible. Good things always happened for her sisters, not Jess.

But what if the playbook revealed that there would also be sadness, some heartbreak, a pulling away by her husband, followed by a brief affair by her? Would she still sign up for this life, this man? She thought of Grace and Teddy. She thought of all the good days their family had shared, of all the love—
yes, love!—
that they'd had.

Yes,
Jess realized, even if the playbook had revealed all these things to her, she would have chosen this life, this man, most certainly her children. Life wasn't perfect. Why had she thought it might be, if only for a minute? The feeling began to sink in for her as she sat there, leaning against her husband. How naïve of her. How very spoiled of her to think that she might be spared life's vicissitudes, a lull in her husband's affections, in her own. She suddenly felt foolish, embarrassed, humbled. Tim was an adult. He'd bucked up under the circumstances, had done what needed doing, while she'd wallowed in self-pity, thinking there should be more.

It wasn't all her fault, she realized. But nor was it his. She wanted desperately to keep the love they had alive, stretching between them, like the woman and the man she'd seen in a photograph in an old book, standing on opposite sides of a bridge. The woman clasped a bouquet of red tulips. The man gazed at her from afar, his hand outstretched. The love, the palpable longing in that single picture, that moment. That was what she aspired to have in her own marriage. She hoped for the bouquet one day. For now, she took her husband's hand while her heart stretched inside of her.

Arthur wrapped his toes around the edge of the dock. He wasn't sure what he was doing out here at night. In the moonlight, he studied his feet, threaded with thick veins and speckled with age spots. His toes had turned knotty, arthritic, the nails slightly yellowed. How strange, he thought, to mark the passing of time by the way one's feet appeared on the dock each summer.

It was Thursday night. He couldn't honestly say that everything was right with his family, but he sensed that Jess and Tim had reached some kind of détente, making it bearable for them to be in the same room. He would talk to Virgie about sticking around next week for her specialist appointment; ask her what the hell she was thinking coming in late with Sal last night and crashing in the tent with the kids. She needed to take better care of herself! And Maggie, well, the poor girl was chasing around like a mother hen who'd just lost her chicks in a fox raid. Arthur felt bad for her. She only wanted the best for everyone, but her carefully orchestrated peace at Pilgrim Lane had been disastrously upended.

He supposed when you lived to a certain age, you were bound to see a certain amount of heartache. Divorce, a child's thorny marriage, various ailments. Why he'd assumed he would be impervious to such hardships, he didn't know. But he found himself surprised by the circumstances that surrounded him this summer. And for once, he was at a loss for words of advice to parcel out. It felt as if the Herington clan, while making the best of things, was falling a little bit apart.

He still wasn't accustomed to thinking of his wife as his
ex
-wife. Even if Gloria called out of obligation, they had continued their conversations about the girls and the grandkids, like a scarf they'd started knitting long ago and added to each month.
Knit one, purl two
. Last night at Grouchy Ted's, he'd felt like his old self again. After watching Gloria and Gio fox-trot like teenagers on the dance floor, he'd joined them, inserting himself into their circle like an extra stitch. His feet had fallen into the cadence of the music, which had turned from rock 'n' roll to bluesy melodies. When the DJ played “At Last” by Etta James, he gripped Gloria's hand and led her away from Gio to a corner where he twirled her on his hand as he had on their wedding day so many years ago.

And then Gloria had tiptoed downstairs last night and found her way to his bed. She sat down and rubbed his back, knowing just the places that cried out for extra kneading, as she used to. When he rolled over and whispered, “Gloria?” in confusion, she shushed him and kept massaging.

“I've missed you, Arthur,” she said. “I didn't realize how much until tonight. I'd forgotten how much fun we used to have together.”

“Yes, we did, didn't we?” he asked.

It was quiet for a few minutes while they both swam in their thoughts. “What about Gio? Are you two serious?” He was afraid to ask but was more afraid that he'd lose the nerve to ask later.

She gave a small laugh. “Oh, I suppose we are. As serious as you can get when you're a sixty-five-year-old broad. But we're not in love, if that's what you're wondering.”

Arthur found her answer perplexing. They were serious but not in love? What did that mean, exactly?

“Oh,” he said while she continued kneading.

“Do you think the girls are okay?” she asked. “I'm worried about Virgie. And Jess. Even Maggie seems a bit off.”

Arthur agreed. Something was going on with their family. He was tempted to cast blame, to say everything had been fine with the Heringtons until Gloria decided to leave. But he knew that would be unfair. The girls were grown-up now. They carried a certain amount of responsibility themselves for how they led their lives. “I know,” offered Arthur. “It's a little crazy. What about Jess and Tim, huh?” Maggie had sketched out the details for him.

“They've been having their problems. But nothing they can't work out, I'd imagine.” Her fingers pressed firm little circles into his back. “I hope Virgie will slow down. She's literally working herself sick.”

“Yes,” he said. And it struck him: no matter what, he and Gloria would always share the bond of parenthood with their three incredible girls. The bond of being grandparents to their grandchildren. It was a comforting thought.

And then she'd gone back upstairs. To Gio.

Now Arthur stood on the dock watching the stars blink on in the night sky. The moon was just shy of full, and a soft breeze tumbled off the water. Behind him, the house shone like a tiny cathedral, a handful of lights flickering downstairs. He was trying to remember what had brought him out to the pier in the first place when there was a large splash and holler about ten feet away, causing him to jump. He was close enough to the edge that he lost his balance and fell straight into the bracing cold. The dark water engulfed him, shooting into his ears and mouth, and when he came up gasping for air, he spotted Gloria—hooting and laughing—out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry, Arthur. Didn't mean to scare you!” she shouted.

Arthur coughed and coughed, treading water till he got his bearings. It wasn't deep where he'd fallen, and now he remembered to lower his feet, which blessedly touched the bottom. His toes searched for a foothold in the squishy sand. He banged on his chest, cleared his throat, and wiped the water from his eyes. His T-shirt was soaked, his shorts waterlogged.
Ah, right.
He remembered now: Gloria had invited him for a late-night swim.

When he peered in Gloria's direction, however, he caught two silhouettes.
Gio.
The two swam over as Arthur made his way closer to shore. When he glanced back, they were both standing in waist-high water. It was then that Arthur realized neither one wore a bathing suit.

“Good Lord, Gloria! Where are your clothes?” he asked.

Gloria put her hands on her hips and said, “What? You see something you don't like?”

He was speechless. Of course, he liked it. What he didn't like was the picture of Gio standing next to her, naked as a jaybird.

“Come on, Arthur. Lighten up. It wouldn't kill you to take your clothes off once in a while!” she shouted, as if he weren't standing just a few feet away from her. He watched mesmerized, while the moonbeams danced across her chest, her breasts like two pale melons laid out on a fabulous table. He knew those breasts well. Gio, on the other hand, was covered in chest hair, lots of dark, spiraling hair. How odd that Gloria was attracted to such a hirsute man, Arthur thought. Arthur's chest was practically hairless. Gloria had always admired his smooth, unblemished skin.

Even in the dark, he could feel his face flushing. “Wow, you two kids have fun.” He suddenly felt a hundred years old. He felt himself shriveling. Yes, he'd gone skinny-dipping with Gloria at the summer house when the kids were little and tucked into their beds. But that was light-years ago. Now their daughters were grown and quite possibly watching them out their bedroom windows. He backed out of the water, unable to turn away as much as he wanted to. “I'm going to go in and dry off.”

“Suit yourself, Arthur,” Gio said and slapped at the water. Arthur thought he detected an edge of bravado in Gio's curt dismissal.
As if Arthur weren't man enough to skinny-dip!
For a brief moment, he was tempted to charge back in, leap on top of Gloria, and claim her as his own.