“Wait a second.” Jake put his hands to his head. The voice of the news anchor on television rose in the background, citing gasoline prices, and almost drowned him out. “This is huge! When were you planning to inform me about all this? At the reception?”
“I had a hell of a night, Jake.”
“Oh, my God. I know what this is. That’s why you came to see me today. You never just show up without warning unless you’re on the warpath. You’re actually thinking about trying to find her again, aren’t you?” Jake pointed a finger accusingly at Peter. “That was, what, twenty years ago? Do you remember how much time you wasted looking for her? Every time you had another lead you put everything on hold. You almost flunked out of college. Dude, you were a wreck.”
Peter frowned. “There’s only so much you could do without the proper sources in those days. I’m not doing that again.”
“You are going to look for her.”
They stared at each other.
“I just know I have to do something, Jake. I met some reporters at the Mayor’s office today, and I asked if they knew anything about research or how to track the whereabouts of someone. They said they’d help me out.”
Jake pulled out his wallet and put a twenty-dollar bill on the table. He stood and put on his coat, pitching his voice over the sudden television commercial in the background. “Let me just say this—although knowing how you are, you’re not going to listen. Here’s a newsflash: what if Tara’s the only chance you get at happiness? What if she’s it for you? Have you thought about that?”
“You’re saying I should settle?” Peter stood and pushed his chair in. “Continue with this charade and pretend I’m happy when I’m really lost?”
“I can’t believe this. You never told me you felt lost. I mean, did you only realize this after you got the shoebox?” Jake’s voice became even louder. “Am I to blame for calling you about that thing?”
“No one’s to blame. I’m to blame. The shoebox just brought things to the surface. When you throw a bottle in the ocean it disappears before it resurfaces. It might take an hour, a day, or years, but it will resurface.” Peter picked up his coat and followed Jake to the door of the restaurant. “I was under the delusion I was over this. Jake, I’m not. I never have been.”
“Well, here’s another theory: what if you’re living in the past? Maybe you’ve been thinking about the way things should have been instead of focusing on the way things are.”
“Jake, I’ve never felt clearer than I do at this moment.” Peter put his hand on Jake’s arm, squeezing it. “When I first walked in your office, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to you, but after talking about it I know I’m right.”
“I love you, you know that, but I can’t be a part of this.” Jake shook his head. “You’re making a whopper here. I’m amazed you can’t see that for yourself.”
“No, I can’t see that.” Peter moved in closer and lowered his voice. “And do you know why? Because I’m not with the love of my life like you are. But you know what the real sad part of all this is, the truly devastating part? I had it. I had her. Maddy was it for me. I am not in love with Tara, and the greatest sex in the world isn’t going to change that. There. I finally said it.”
Jake stood speechless and watched as Peter put his coat on and wended his way through tables to the door. Jake followed, and they stood together outside in the sudden rush of traffic noise. “Oh, man. You’re in deep shit.”
“I realize that.”
“What now?”
“I have to tell Tara.”
“It’s going to wipe her out.”
“It’s going to upset her, I know, but it’s not going to wipe her out. Tara’s a strong woman. My deepest desire is not to hurt her, but Jake, you must see it—living a lie would be the worst thing I could do to both of us now.”
Chapter 4
Personal
When Peter arrived at his apartment that evening, he found Tara in the kitchen cooking dinner. She made a habit of coming over two or three times a week, often spending the night.
“Hey.” He removed his key from the front door.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took it kind of personal.”
“Took what?” Peter looked up.
“The fact that you haven’t returned any of my calls. I checked the machine. They’re still on it. Did I do something wrong?” Tara came close to him, clutched his shirt, and stared into his eyes. Her thick mascara had left spots on her eyelids, and her perfume was overwhelming. He’d never noticed that before. “I was so scared. My mother said I probably was being too bossy and focused on the wedding details. She said, ‘That turns a man off.’ I don’t want to turn you off. Have I? Turned you off?”
“No, you haven’t.” Peter laid his hand gently on her shoulder and stepped around her. As she leaned in to kiss him, he saw the shoebox on the kitchen table, and his blood pressure rose. Tara was still speaking as he inspected the box, setting the lid back on carefully. It wasn’t the fact that she had gone into his bedroom that bothered him, because she often borrowed a shirt. What made the hair rise on the back of his neck was that she had touched items Maddy had touched. Even Jake had known to leave the shoebox alone.
“Do you want to tell me about that?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Peter stood over the box, rubbing his neck. “Jake found it at his house. It was a long time ago.”
“An old girlfriend?” Tara raised an eyebrow.
“Madeline,” he said with a slight smile.
“Madeline,” she repeated.
The very sound of her name on her lips made him feel ill. “Tara, why don’t we sit down?”
“Really, Peter.” Tara crossed her arms. “Get a grip. I’m not one of those wimpy women that can’t handle an ex-girlfriend or two. I know what I want, and I know what I got. Other women do not intimidate me. Other women are intimidated by me.”
Peter laughed. “Amanda isn’t intimidated by you.”
“Yes, well—I mean other women. I’m not going to bicker with you about my little sister.” She re-crossed her arms and looked at him.
“Tara, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” He loosened his tie.
“Why all the drama suddenly, Peter?”
“There isn’t any drama—” He was having trouble with the knot.
“I thought you were going to take a shower.” Tara threw up her hands. “So take it. We can talk later. I have to watch my sauce.” She went around the counter to the stove and began adding meatballs. “Dinner will be in an hour. Do you want wine? I’m opening a bottle.”
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and went into the bathroom without replying.
As he took off his clothes and stepped into the shower, he thought about the shoebox. Why did it upset him so much? He wondered if Tara had tried on the necklace, pressed the little heart of tiny diamonds against her neck in front of a mirror. A shiver ran down his spine.
Steam clouded the glass shower door creating fog, and he stood under the hot water remembering something he hadn’t thought about in twenty years, a tiny mole on Maddy’s neck. He jerked away from the shower as the image of Maddy’s naked body swam into focus.
He shook his head, soapy water in his eyes. When he opened the shower door, Tara was holding a towel for him.
“Are you all right? You’ve been in there half an hour.”
“Half an hour? I just got in.” He took the towel and wiped his eyes.
Tara was staring down at his body. “Peter?” She reached for him, her hands on his wet backside.
“You’re going to get all wet.”
“I don’t care. Peter, look at me!” Her voice was sharp. “Maybe I love you more than you love me, but I don’t care.”
“Don’t say that.” He stood naked before her.
“S
hh! Listen. It makes no difference what’s in that box. If you’re still hung up on the past, and you’re worried you haven’t completely gotten into this relationship—don’t be. You’re a grown man. All I care about is our future. It may not seem clear to you right now, at this moment, but it will someday. You’ll be sitting somewhere or driving to someplace, and it’s going to hit you like a ton of bricks, that the life I want makes you happy.”
Peter tried to speak, but Tara put her hand on his lips.
“Shut up and kiss me.” She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him roughly to her.
Peter closed his eyes, and when he lost his footing they fell together to the bathroom floor. He groaned as she touched him, kissing his face and neck. As much as he wanted to move her hand away he couldn’t, and before he could catch his breath they were making love there on the cold, hard tiles.
It was freeing in a way. He was mentally exhausted. The past few days had been stressful, and he longed for a moment in which he simply didn’t have to make decisions. Jake was right. This was a good thing, perhaps even invigorating. He could love Tara if he tried. Maybe she was the one he needed.
As he walked toward the bedroom afterward, drying his hair with a towel, he noticed something shiny on the table—Maddy’s silver necklace dangling out of the shoebox.
Chapter 5
Details
Piles of paperwork from Mayor Fleming’s office waited for Peter when he arrived at work the next morning. The Mayor’s Committee had agreed to consider his plans while allowing him a temporary window to talk to the Zoning Commission, but in addition they required a 250-word Statement of Intent on how his firm would add to the historical flare while keeping the original architectural vocabulary of the site.
Peter’s partner, Rob Rowland, congratulated him when he called the office from out in the field.
“I don’t know, Rob. It’s like a test. I feel like I’m back in college.”
“It is a test, Peter. These people know you’re qualified. That’s not what they’re trying to find out. They know every one of those architects who made submissions is entirely capable of taking on such a project. What they want to know is who cares the most, whose overall vision is for the good of Boston, keeping the original flare and feel of the past. That’s what you have to show them. You should be brushing up on the era and background and all about the original architect and building. What they want is to be swept away by your ideas. You can do it! Stick to the original budget plans. Although they submitted recent ones, they always have to refer to the originals, and if there was more square footage then, believe me, it’s there to work with.”
“I do know what they want. Everywhere you look, another high-rise is going up or another building breaking into the skyline. You taught me to be passionate for detail and keep what’s important. Even my mother always told me God is in the details.”
“Then that’s what you have to write. Let them hear that when they read your words. Let them envision it through your language. We’re visionaries. That’s what architects are. Well, masochistic dreamers, to be exact.”
Peter laughed, shaking his head at his partner’s familiar tone. Rob had always been a great mentor.
As soon as Peter hung up he looked at his watch and dialed again, and as he waited he smiled involuntarily. “Hi, Mom. Did you get my message yesterday? I must have called you guys three times.”
“Honey, I’m so glad you called.” Sheila Michaels’ voice was quick and light. “I was just going to call you. I was at the store making the arrangements for the party. Tara told you, didn’t she? Your father and I want to throw an engagement party for you two. Is that okay? I know that it’s a bit late. We should have done it before.”
“Mom, you don’t have to do that.”
“Now, son.” Richard was on the other line. “If you don’t let your mother do this, she is going to be all holy heck to live with.”
“Excuse me, I’m listening!”
“You know I’m joking, dear. You’re still my sweet honey. What’s the latest with the project, Peter?”
“Problems with the budget. I went over-budget due to an oversight with the original site plans. They also want me to write a Statement of Intent, two hundred and fifty words on ‘original architectural vocabulary.’”
“Did you talk to Rob? What did he say?”
“To stick with my gut feeling and stay true to my designs.”
“Listen to him. You’re talented, and you’re not afraid of taking risks. Don’t you worry. Boston needs more people like you.”
“About this party—is Saturday okay?” His mother’s voice was distracted.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay with Tara.”
“It will be tasteful and beautiful, and Tara will love it. How do you feel about lavender? Never you mind. I love you.”
Peter heard the click of the phone.
Richard cleared his throat. “You know, that woman can talk me into anything. And I see she has the same effect on you.”
“I know.” Peter laughed.
“Hey, your sister has a new boyfriend. Are you ready for this? A chiropractor.”
“That’s great! A doctor.”
“All they do is squeeze a bit, press on your back, and bill you. The prices are insane! Oh, now Sheila wants me. It is probably about the menu for your party. You two should elope.”
“Richard, don’t you tell him that!” Sheila called from the other room.
“I’m kidding, honey. Got to go, son. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Peter sighed as he hung up. The few minutes on the phone weren’t enough. The sound of his parents’ voices had only made him homesick.
Peter missed Chatham. He missed its ghost stories, lighthouses, and old Indian legends. He had grown up in a lovely Cape Cod home overlooking the Sound right across from Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, with the Michaels’ own dock and a small two-seater sailboat. It was nothing compared to their seafaring neighbors, but it was good enough for an evening sail on a lazy summer night. Peter liked to sit with his father and sister Amy on Saturdays and fish right from his own boat by the dock. What he loved was the peace, spending an entire day at sea with no itinerary, no schedule to follow, just the sounds of the ocean and gulls, the wind and his breath.
He knew Tara would love Chatham too, but for all the wrong reasons—the glamour of the Vineyard, the money in Nantucket, the celebrities who vacationed there, and, of course, the Kennedy family. Everything the natives detested.
“Stop it, you nitpicker. Tara’s a good woman,” Peter whispered to himself as he tried to focus on his notes for the budget and essay ideas. He made a phone call and spoke to Bill Torres, who kindly directed him to a friend on the Zoning Commission, who said he’d have a word with the Zoning Adjustor and messenger Peter a new set of the original plans. Peter stood over his blueprints and searched for ways to use the space provided in the proposal, but he realized it would involve restructuring everything. He would have to start from scratch.
He had been standing in the same spot for what seemed like hours when he glanced up and saw Jake by the door. “What did you do to yourself?” Peter nodded at Jake’s hair, laughing.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Turn around.”
Jake smiled, turning. “Before you say anything—it was Amanda’s idea.”
“A mullet? Are you kidding me? Since when do you need a mullet to excite Amanda?”
“I didn’t say I needed it. We went to see St. Elmo’s Fire last night, and Rob Lowe had one.”
Peter laughed out loud. He kept walking around Jake and touching his hair. “It looks like something’s living back there.”
“It’s the latest thing. The girl who did it said it was righteous.”
Peter shook his head affection
ately. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Thanks for shooting from the hip, man. It’s nice to know your friends won’t spare your feelings. Was this a bad idea, coming here? I thought you might want to do lunch.”
“No, sorry. I’m swamped.” Peter went back to his desk, running his hands through his hair. “Besides work, my mother is throwing us an engagement party.”
“I know. Tara called Amanda. Amanda called me, and that’s why I shot over here. Thought you might want to vent.”
“Vent!” Peter clutched his hair in both hands. “It’s more like choke! Jake, I don’t have time for this—I have this budget to work on. I have to worry about restructuring, a zoning adjustment, and now a Statement of Intent to write! You had to see these guys. I had them at first. I thought, ‘No problem, I got this meeting.’ My plans were clearly what Mayor Fleming wanted; everybody loved them, even that Ryan guy who was in Architectural Digest and the Times. Then I messed up on the budget. They were waiting for me to tell them how I had calculated it, and I couldn’t.”
“Dude.” Jake was patting his mullet, trying to see his reflection in the glass wall. “You’ll work it out.”
“How is it everyone is so sure of me except me?” Peter turned to pace. “I’ve managed to mess up everything else. Why should this be any different?”
Jake paused. “You’re talking about Tara?”
“Truthfully—” Peter stopped to pick up the New Year’s Eve photo on his desk. “That’s the last thing I want to talk about right now.”
“Fine. I can see you’re upset. I just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch—”
There was a knock, and Peter crossed the office to sign a messenger’s sheet. He tore open the package. “I apologize, Jake. This is really important. It’s just the wrong time.”
The Shoebox Page 4