“Because of work?”
“Yes, he works a great deal. If we lived in Boston or New York, it might be easier, but it’s awfully far. He and two other doctors opened an orthopedic practice in Washington, so he’s often on call.”
“Well, that sounds interesting.” He didn’t sound at all interested. In all these years, Oliver and Finn had never met. Maren suspected Finn wouldn’t like Oliver.
Finn fidgeted with a button on his jacket before looking at her again.
“If you don’t mind my saying, if I were your husband, I wouldn’t leave you alone here all summer long.” He kept his expression determinedly benign.
“Why? Because the sea otters might get me?” Maren smiled.
“It isn’t the sea otters I’d be worried about.”
This was more than Finn’s usual flattery, and she felt an old stirring, something she’d not experienced since those early, heady days with Oliver. The two men were so different. Oliver was attractive in his patrician way—an elegant dancer, good at golf and tennis. And brilliant, of course. But Finn was big and rugged, all muscle and power, with his strong face and sparkling eyes. Finn looked as if he could work a farm, in the unlikely event he ever had to.
Oliver couldn’t work a lawnmower, she thought mutinously.
She felt as if a long-hidden switch had been flipped. And with that, she realized, she needed to get out of this house. Immediately.
“Well, thank you again, Finn, for your help last night,” she said, rising. “If you change your mind, I’m more than happy to take the sculpture off your hands.”
“And keep it from the yacht club? You wouldn’t,” he replied as he walked her to the door. Finn put his hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it immediately. He looked at her closely and moved in her direction—only an inch, but it allowed for no mistake in his intentions.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky. She picked up a hint of cologne, sandalwood and spice, and the smell of the man underneath.
The most infinitesimal move toward him was all it would take.
If I don’t belong with Oliver, if I don’t belong on Haven Point, maybe …
Part of her wanted to succumb. She craved his touch, to be entwined with this man, so potent, so interested. She could almost convince herself it was right, that to give in to him was to reject the false courtly manners of Haven Point in favor of the truer chivalry and kindness Finn had shown her.
Almost.
She pushed the thought aside, looked down to break the eye contact, and made a subtle move, not toward him, but toward the door. Finn opened it. He was many things, but he was no bully.
“Good-bye, Finn. Thank you again.”
“Good-bye, Maren,” he said, with a look of gentle disappointment.
She started toward the side of the house, planning to walk along the beach, but turned and went to the road. She was flustered, alternating between thrill and repulsion at the reawakening of her power to attract. She craved fresh air and wanted to take the longer way back.
Finn’s implicit proposition did nothing to distract her from Oliver’s infidelity. In fact, it put the shambles of her marriage in sharp relief. That week she had thought as little as possible about what Oliver had actually done, choosing to focus on keeping up an appearance of cheer and normalcy.
Now Maren felt as if she had stood where Oliver had—right on the edge of the same bright line with someone beckoning her across. Someone more tempting than Khaki, surely. She had opportunity. She could even argue a rationalization, where Oliver could not (at least not one she could conceive of). And she had felt the attraction, the temptation.
She had not given in, though, and it had not really been a close call. Why had Oliver crossed that line? The question pressed on her like a vise. Part of her desperately wanted to ask, to pound her fists on his chest and demand he help her understand how he could have done what she never could.
But she had held her head up so far. The fiasco at the art show was a setback, but not of her creation. She still had her dignity, and she was ferociously determined to keep it.
* * *
When she returned to Fourwinds, it was to find a letter had come. She turned the envelope over in her hands. It was his stationery, the elegant Crane envelope with their name and address embossed on the back. It briefly crossed her mind to send it back, but she rejected the idea as an adolescent gesture out of a dramatic novel.
He had written her name and address in a hand more careful than his usual doctor’s scrawl. She saw the effort in that and hoped the letter might contain some answers.
Dear Maren,
I understand you do not want to speak with me. I cannot imagine how hurt and disappointed you must be. I had hoped you would read this and permit me to say what I tried to say in New York.
I recognize I have made the most terrible mistake. I love you more than I can possibly express, and I vow nothing like that will ever happen again. More than anything, I would like the chance to prove it to you.
Won’t you allow me to come to Maine? I don’t have to stay on Haven Point. I don’t know what would be best. Perhaps we could meet somewhere, maybe away from everyone and the children.
Please, consider it. Allow me to see you?
All my love,
Oliver
She felt confused, underwater again. She recognized a bit of Oliver’s old devotion, but something in the letter muddied the waters. Unable to put her finger on it at first, she read it over again.
It’s the promise, she thought. What good was a vow that “nothing like that will ever happen again”? Nothing she had ever known in Oliver explained what he had done. On this count, he might as well be a perfect stranger, and of what value was a vow from a stranger? She put the letter back in its envelope and tucked it into her bag.
A terrible inertia set in over the following days. She continued to avoid Oliver on the phone. She made her way around Haven Point, checking the boxes of her days with a determinedly cheerful exterior, while inside she felt numb and aimless.
They were meant to return to Washington in a few weeks, and she had no idea what she would do. More than once, she felt the urge to call her mother, but to what end? Her parents would say she belonged with her husband, to forgive him, and she could not.
She did not reply to Oliver’s letter. The more she thought about it, the cheaper it seemed. His promise had cost him nothing him more than the price of the stamp. She needed to know what was behind his betrayal, but to ask was to grovel, and that she could not bear.
A week later, Maren was on the porch when Maude came by, a black Lab on either side, like sentries. At Maren’s invitation, she sat heavily on a chair. She pointed to the ground and the dogs lay obediently at her feet.
“How are you, Maude?” Maren asked languidly.
“Oh, fine.” They chatted about nothing for a few minutes, though Maren could tell Maude had something particular to tell her.
“I’m afraid I’ve got more nonsense from Harriet to report,” she said finally.
“Good Lord, what now?”
Maude leaned over to pet one of the dogs, avoiding eye contact. “She’s telling people you’re cozy with Finn Donnelly.”
“Based on what?” Maren’s mind reeled, wondering where Harriet had gotten the idea.
“She said you were at his house.”
Maren exhaled, relieved. If Harriet knew she had hit on a kernel of truth, she would be dining out on it. She had scarcely looked at Maren since the horrible incident with Sassafras at the art show party. Harriet probably learned Maren had been to the Donnellys’, and had just extrapolated from there.
“Well, I’m not ‘cozy’ with Finn Donnelly. I went by his house, but only to offer to take that horrible sculpture off his hands.”
“I just wanted you to know.”
“I know, Maude. I appreciate it.”
Maude did not move to leave. She looked at Maren for a moment, almost curiously. �
�So, how are you?”
Maren paused and took a breath. “I’m not even sure.”
“Have you decided what you will do about Oliver?”
“I can’t seem to see past the nose on my face. I told him not to come up here, that it was too confusing right now.”
Maude looked out at the water, her expression concerned.
“What? Do you think I’ve done something wrong?”
“Maybe.” She looked at Maren again.
“Why?”
“I’ve seen this through the years, again and again. We think we have something special here on Haven Point. And it is special, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I think families sacrifice too much. Mothers here all summer, fathers away. It can wear on marriages. Little cracks can become canyons.”
“Well, that may be, Maude, but keep in mind, Oliver is the one who insists I come up all summer, and it was Oliver who betrayed me.”
Maren saw a flicker of surprise on Maude’s face and realized she had spoken hastily. In saying Oliver “insisted” she come up, she had revealed her ambivalence about Haven Point. Maude let it go without comment.
“You don’t have to convince me Oliver is wrong. He’s wrong, from stem to stern. But family work is women’s work, Maren. It always has been. Men are, well … men are what they are. If you think there’s a prayer for you and Oliver, I think you have to get yourselves under one roof again.”
“Thanks, Maude. I appreciate your concern. But I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
In some corner of her badly broken heart, Maren knew Maude had a point. But she could not imagine Oliver on Haven Point. In fact, she was considering asking him to move out of their house in D.C. before she and the kids returned.
* * *
A few days later, Maren returned to Fourwinds after a walk. Pauline had taken the kids to a junior tennis carnival at the country club and Irina had time off. From the moment she walked in the door, Maren sensed a shift in the atmosphere.
It was Oliver.
He stood by the window, looking out at a boat on the water. He spun around when he heard the door. His eyes were hollow. He had lost weight.
“Maren,” he said, his expression beseeching.
She could not look him in the eye. A thousand emotions warred inside her: anger, anxiety, confusion (and, to her surprise, the tiniest hint of relief).
“I know you said not to come, but I’m sorry. I felt I had to.”
“Did Maude call you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’ve taken a leave from the practice.”
“Oliver, I don’t have anything to say. I don’t want to talk. I can’t talk to you about this.” A part of her wanted to run to him, to believe he was in earnest, but her feet wouldn’t go. She made to leave the room.
“Okay, but before the kids get home, please let me say one thing. I love you and I will do whatever I can to fix this. I can’t do that when we’re apart.”
“I don’t think I am ready for this, Oliver. I wish you would leave before the children see you. It will be too late if they do.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said simply, almost apologetically.
“Fine.” She walked out of the room, and a dreadful standoff ensued.
Oliver slept in the blue room. In a moment of uncharacteristic curiosity, Pauline asked about it, but she seemed satisfied by Maren’s vague explanation about Oliver snoring. By tacit agreement, they behaved reasonably well when others were around. It wasn’t so different from how they’d been for ages, orbiting around each other, passing through the busyness of their days with little affection or interaction.
The act might have passed muster to outside observers, but Maren was a mess. She was not sure what was worse, her listlessness and malaise before his arrival or the gnawing, unsettled feeling since. She could not get comfortable.
It went on for four horrible days—Maren feeling like she was jumping out of her skin; Oliver watching her closely, helping more than usual.
Adding to Maren’s misery was Annie’s fretfulness. She found Maren on the porch one day and squeezed next to her on the wicker love seat.
“Why did Daddy come back to Maine?”
“Why, to see you all, of course.” Maren had been brooding, but she answered as normally as she could manage.
“Daddy doesn’t ever come up in August, except on weekends, and you aren’t being nice to him,” Annie said, her tone accusatory.
Unsure how to respond, Maren gently pulled Annie down so her head was in her lap. Annie’s legs were so long now, they hung off the edge of the love seat. Even curled up, she couldn’t fit next to Maren. She had so rarely done that anyway; only when she was sick, which was almost never.
“Why do you say I’m not being nice to Daddy?” Maren stroked Annie’s silky hair.
“You don’t seem happy he’s here.”
“I don’t? Oh dear. Sometimes grown-ups get so busy they don’t make time to be kind. That’s not right, is it?”
“No.”
“Well, thank you for telling me. I will have to do better,” Maren said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. Annie seemed to relax a little on her lap, and a minute later she bounced up.
“I’m going to the beach.”
Maren was relieved, but she knew the reprieve was temporary. Annie was too plugged in. They could not keep this up for long.
The house was empty for the first time in days, and Oliver seized the opportunity. Soon after the screen door banged, signaling Annie’s departure, he found Maren and took the seat their daughter had vacated. Chastened by Annie’s accusations, Maren didn’t move. Something had to break the stalemate.
“What can I do or say, Maren?”
She looked back at him and remembered Maude’s words. Family work is women’s work. She took a deep breath and finally, after all the wretched days of resistance, let slip the question that had so oppressed her.
“Just tell me why.”
He was silent for a moment, and she braced herself. Would he try to call Khaki a temptress? Would he say Maren had done something wrong?
Oliver merely looked defeated. It was as if she’d asked the one question he couldn’t answer, the only one she thought he should be able to. Surely, he had known this would come.
“I don’t know. It was just some madness, some temporary madness.”
“How do I know you won’t have ‘temporary madness’ again?” she asked, the anger returning.
“I swear I won’t. You’re the most important thing to me in the world.”
“What does that mean? You said the same thing in your letter. What is my guarantee, if I don’t even know why you did this? And, God, Oliver … with Khaki, of all people.” Her voice caught, but she took a breath. She would not cry. “I won’t go through this again, and you are offering me no reason to trust you.”
“I felt lonely, I guess.…”
“You were lonely? You? You wanted me up here all summer. You insisted we couldn’t go to the Delaware shore, like I suggested, or somewhere else closer to home. And you were lonely? That’s rich, Oliver, and what’s more, I don’t believe it. I just think it’s all you can come up with.”
He looked down at his hands, his long surgeon’s fingers that did such precise, miraculous things. She knew in her bones his explanation had been a false gambit. She rose to go inside, too tired to be insulted, unable to be with him another moment.
Not fifteen minutes later he found her again in her bedroom, and her body tensed. Did he plan to chase her around until she submitted? In order to be reassured, she needed to understand. She had even summoned the humility to ask, but he had offered nothing.
“I don’t know what to say, Maren. How can I make you believe this won’t happen again?”
“How indeed?” Maren replied icily. “How do I know you won’t see Khaki again, or find another woman—maybe someone else from Haven Point, someone who really belongs here?”
“What do you mean?” He looked gen
uinely confused.
“I need to understand why you did this, Oliver, and all you’re doing is placating me. You’ll say anything, and it means nothing.”
“What if I don’t know?” He looked ashamed and desperate.
“Then we’re at square one. I think you should find an apartment, Oliver. I can’t live with this. I can’t live with you,” Maren said. She stood and left the room.
She could not have imagined feeling any more miserable until she reached the landing and saw Annie sitting halfway down the staircase, back hunched, arms hugging her legs. She had heard.
“Annie … Oh Annie…”
Without a backward glance, Annie unfolded herself and darted down the stairs and out the front door.
Maren’s knees were weak. She made her way to the door with the vague idea of going after Annie, but there was no catching her now. Ever, really. She turned to the living room, slumped in a chair, put her hands over her face, and cried silent tears. She felt as defeated as she ever had in her life.
“Was that Annie?” Oliver asked from the bottom of the stairs.
Maren nodded. She removed her hands from her face and looked at him, eyes wet. Oliver entered the room and sat in another chair.
“Do you know how much she heard?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
“I’m sorry, Maren. I don’t know what to say. I wish to God I did.” He looked wrecked.
“I just can’t get over the hideous irony. You stick me up here with your mother, your angry father, friends who think I’m an interloper, and then this.”
When he said nothing, Khaki’s words again came into her head.
“Tell me the truth. Is it what Khaki said? That I don’t belong here, or belong with you, that I’m not one of them?” She swept her arm toward the front door, toward the rest of Haven Point. A vision flashed in her mind of Finn Donnelly referring to “them” days before as he made a similar sweeping gesture, over the rocky barrier between his home and Haven Point.
“Oh my God, no, Maren.” Oliver looked horrified. He paused, closed his eyes, and took a breath, searching for words.
“Maren,” he said, finally and forcefully. “I married you because I loved you like I’d never loved anyone. I still do, though I know it is impossible for you to believe right now. I didn’t marry for blood, but if I had chosen to, what better could I have done for my family than to marry a Larsen?”
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