Brian said, “Great.”
Marie said to Joanna, “Are you all right, honey?”
“Yes,” Joanna said, attempting to smile.
“You don’t look too well. Can I get you some aspirin?”
“No, thank you.”
“Maybe you’re not used to being out in the sun. You have such pale skin.”
“I’m fine!” Joanna snapped back.
Marie got the message and walked away.
Brian paused before saying, “Wow. I’ve never seen you do that.”
“I feel sick because I haven’t eaten. And she’s probably right about the sun.”
They ate quietly for a few moments. Brian tried again, “Oh, I was saying, we could walk on the boardwalk at dusk. See the sun set.”
Joanna couldn’t bear the thought of covering the same territory with Brian that she and Michael shared. “Maybe. I don’t know. Do we have to talk about it now?”
He paused before saying, “What’s going on? You know you’re acting weird.”
She shrugged and picked up a sandwich and nibbled on it. Apparently her taste buds had stopped working, too.
“Does this have anything to do with Michael?”
“No!” Her head snapped up at him, her face unguarded.
Seeing the hurt look in Brian’s eyes made her gasp. “Something’s going on, Joanna. I know it’s Michael. Is he why you had to take the bus, instead of driving down with me? To be with him?”
“No, of course not. I never saw him before in my life.” She had to lessen the pressure. “Brian, I was...kind of attracted to him. But it’s nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” she said, remembering the feel of Michael’s lips on hers. It was awful denying something that meant so much—everything—to her, but Brian’s feelings mattered more right now. She put her hand on his.
He sniffed. “Was he attracted to you, too?”
“No.” Joanna felt like her brain was pushing against her skull. “It was all silly and nothing happened.”
He was quiet, then said, “I suppose this is partly my fault.”
“No!”
“I’m getting dull maybe.”
“Stop it. I was just stupid. Let’s forget it, okay?” She selected a tiny sandwich for him. “Here. Eat this. You love salmon.”
He took a bite. “It’s good.”
“See?” The little sandwiches, although probably delicious, held no appeal. But if they disappeared, and the plate was empty, lunch would be over and they could leave. She could go upstairs, get in bed, and try to stop the pain. She felt hopeless and lonely. All she could think about was Michael, and how sad he looked when she left. Was he missing her as much as she was already missing him? Yes. She knew for certain.
Forcing down another little sandwich and drinking the rest of her tea, she said, “I’m going upstairs. I think I need a nap.” She stood up and Brian did, too.
They walked up the stairs to their room and Joanna sat on the bed, filled with apprehension, and more tired than she had ever been in her life. Brian paced, then said, “How worried should I be?”
“Brian!”
“You sure there’s nothing more about Michael I should know?”
“I said there’s nothing more.”
“You seem pretty rattled over nothing.”
She stood up, wanting to get away. In the doorway of the bathroom, she turned to him, her eyes finally meeting his. She calmed herself. “I’m a married woman who for one day after twenty years imagined what it would be like to be single and attracted to someone for the first time. That was it.” Her eyes dared him to disagree.
“Was he imagining too?”
“He’d have no idea what we’re talking about. He’s been a perfect gentleman. And he probably dates thirty-five year olds.”
He stood up and said, “Jo,” and took a step toward her. She walked over to him and hugged him.
She said, “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.”
Brian said, as if reading from a script: “You’re human. It’s that old you’re married, not dead thing. You didn’t act on it.” After a pause, he continued, “Let’s go to Fisherman’s Grill. That restaurant I told you about. Four stars, just ten minutes from here. Frank the foodie said it was great.”
Joanna couldn’t face an evening at a table for two in a romantic restaurant. “Couldn’t we just bring something in here? Watch a movie in bed? We never do that at home.”
He said, his voice colorless, “Okay.”
She walked towards the bathroom.
“Hey, aren’t we supposed to see that house you liked?”
The Tea & Scones flashed into her mind, with Michael gazing at her from the porch. “Tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” She went into the bathroom and shut the door. When she stripped off her damp shirt, pulling it over her head, her eyes met their dead reflection in the mirror. The spark she had seen, the spark brought on Michael, was gone. Her face was older and grayer. She turned away, her throat tight.
As she finished undressing, she heard Brian knock. “Do you want me to get some DVDs from downstairs?”
“Sure.”
“And I’ll bring up some take-out menus.”
He left their room. With him out of earshot, she let go and cried over her loss, knowing she didn’t have a lot of time before he came back. She kept trying to convince herself that she barely knew Michael, and he couldn’t mean that much to her, but she just kept crying. Finally, she splashed cold water on her face and shocked herself out of it. She and Michael had touched something in each other; strangers passing in the night. Saying goodbye was hard, but she had done the right thing. You can’t throw away twenty years of marriage over a kiss.
Knowing she probably had ten minutes before Brian came back to the room—he was a methodical DVD chooser —she poured herself a large glass of wine from a bottle Brian had bought on the trip down. Even as she sipped the wine, trying to numb her pain and stop thinking about Michael, she wondered if Brian had bought the bottle at the liquor store Michael pointed out on the bus ride.
All too soon Brian came back with a selection of DVDs. Joanna was standing by the window, gazing out. The room was uncomfortably quiet, especially in contrast with the noises from outside of people laughing and talking. Joanna felt a million miles away from everything, lonely and sad, and old.
Brian stood in back of her and embraced her. “You know, being in a place like this gives me ideas.” He not-so-subtly pressed his erection into her hip. Joanna’s body decided this had to happen, right now. Anything to stop her brain from thinking. Anything to feel connected and alive again. She faced him and they kissed gently. When she closed her eyes, Michael’s face appeared. She gasped, and forced her eyes open.
“You okay?” he asked. She nodded and embraced Brian again, trying to push away her memories of the beach.
They made love, or rather he made love to her, and she tried not to think about another man. She tried to get into it, to really feel something, but couldn’t. At least Brian was happy, as they hadn’t had sex in so long. It was very quick, and when he was done, he yawned and said, “You?”
She shook her head.
“Y’sure?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Okay. Just a little nap then, before dinner. I want to go to that restaurant. Frank said good things about the food. We can watch something when we get back,” and he turned over and fell sound asleep.
With the distraction of sex over, the grief began to overwhelm her again. Fortunately she was so exhausted, she conked out. They slept for almost two hours, woke up, and were silent for the next half hour while they got ready for dinner.
The ten minute drive to the restaurant was quiet, too. Neither of them had anything to say. Joanna caught friezes of Cape May life framed in the windows. She longed to see women in elegant dresses with their hair up, men with mustaches and ties, life a hundred years ago. It all seemed idyllic. On the outside. Beautiful. Elegant. Life w
as no picnic back then, of course, but she wasn’t finding the twenty-first century very easy either.
The Fisherman’s Grill was a chic, understated restaurant. They sat at a small table and shared red wine, salads, mushroom risotto, coconut shrimp, and grilled chicken. Luckily Brian didn’t like to talk much at dinner, and what little was said was about his possible new accounting gig. The food was good, but Joanna couldn’t eat much. She somehow got through dinner. They drove back to the inn in silence.
She put on her pajamas in the bathroom, not wanting to undress in front of Brian. She fixed herself a cup of herbal tea and ate some homemade cookies that were left for them in the mini-kitchen, while they watched a not very passionate or funny romantic comedy Brian thought she’d enjoy. Why were most romantic comedies about twenty- and thirty-somethings? Probably because most people in their fifties or sixties were settled and boring. Who’d want to see a sixty year old woman fall in love with a sixty year old man? At this very moment, Joanna wished she had seen cinematic examples of how to behave if you’re an over-the-hill married woman who is brought to life by a complete stranger. But no one else would care, would they.
At last the movie was over and they went to bed. Luckily Brian was exhausted, because Joanna couldn’t face cuddling with him. It was one thing to lie there while they had sex, when he was obviously otherwise occupied. Having to cuddle, which she couldn’t fake, would be too awkward. He fell asleep and she stayed awake, for what felt like all night.
The pseudo gaslight from the street filtered into the bedroom through the lace curtains. All the events of the past two days montaged in her mind. Walking on the boardwalk with Michael. Laughing at that ridiculous owl made of shells. Just talking. Experiencing a strange and miraculous combination of pure comfort and physical excitement. Feeling like she’d known him forever. But it hadn’t been enough. She wanted to know more. She wanted to hear about his novel. She wanted to see pictures of him on his first bicycle. She wanted years with him. The rest of her life. She wanted to touch him and her body ached to be touched by him. Right now.
When she turned over, tears fell onto the hand she placed under her cheek. Eventually, she fell asleep.
When she woke up, Brian was in a Manor Rose robe, sitting at the little table, reading the Wall Street Journal, already showered and shaved. She watched him. He was still cute, and she did love him, didn’t she. It took only a second for her brain to conjure Michael. She felt so guilty now. Brian was such a good man. Oh, Joanna, stop thinking, just stop. “Good morning.”
“I was going to wake you in ten minutes, for breakfast. I’m hungry.” He modeled his B&B robe. “You like it?”
“Very attractive. You should buy one. They sell them downstairs.” Getting out of bed she said, “I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll be ready soon. I don’t want you to starve.”
She was half in the bathroom when she had an idea. “Brian, would you think I was crazy if I said I wanted to go home after breakfast?”
“We’re supposed to be here another night.”
“I know,” think fast, Joanna, and lie convincingly, “but if we leave today I’ll be fresh for work tomorrow. We have status meetings on Mondays, and I can clear up the mess with the presentation. If I don’t do it one of my coworkers might get stuck with it. Also, I know you have a lot of work to do. And you’re taking your mom to see places on Wednesday, losing another work day.”
“What about looking at houses?”
“I found a house I adore. I can’t imagine ever liking another one more. We can drive past it on the way home, so you can see the outside at least. I have a lot of figuring out to do. I’ve got enough info for now.”
“I’m always ready to go home. You know me. Practically a hermit.”
“Great. After breakfast, we’ll hit the road.” Joanna’s smile faded as soon as the bathroom door was shut. She missed Michael. It was as simple—and as highly complicated —as that.
Joanna somehow got through breakfast. Packing took only a few minutes. As they walked to their car, her eyes scanned the streets for a glimpse of Michael. The car stopped in front of the Tea & Scones. Brian didn’t even get out as he declared it “okay” and “livable.” He turned to her. She was barely looking at the house. He said, “You don’t seem that thrilled with it either.”
“I love the house,” she said. And she did. But to find what she’d dreamt of finding, and for it to no longer be her driving goal in life, and so intertwined with Michael, was all too confusing, and depressing. “I do. I have a lot of thinking to do.”
As they drove, she was no longer captivated by the Victorians, or the flowers, or the quaintness of Cape May. She just wanted to see him again, even for a split second. Brian made the right onto Lafayette. On the left, the Visitors Center, where—could it really be only a few days earlier?—she had arrived with Michael.
In the car, whenever Brian attempted conversation, Joanna couldn’t think of a thing to say. If she started saying something, she’d lose track of the subject before she got to the end of the sentence. Her brain hadn’t been this addled since menopause. She eventually asked if he’d mind if she closed her eyes. Brian put on the radio for company. Reclining in the car seat, Joanna tried desperately to think of anything other than her time in Cape May. But Michael’s face kept appearing before her. It was as if they had known each other for decades, for all the memories that were popping up. Michael’s newly-washed face, and how she’d brushed the wet lock off his forehead. Looking back, wasn’t it forward to touch this man she’d just met? It didn’t seem that way then. It didn’t seem to mean anything at the time, and now it was a beloved, and painful, and guilt-inducing recollection.
“My head is killing me. Do you mind if I sleep in the back?” she said to Brian, her voice raspy. “Maybe I’m getting sick. Summer colds, they’re the worst.” She fetal-positioned herself on the back seat, using Brian’s sweat jacket as a pillow.
He didn’t volunteer to turn off the radio, and she was grateful for the music, which overpowered some of the noise in her head. Eventually, exhausted, she fell asleep, and didn’t dream at all.
They cruised home, not even stopping for a bathroom break. The next thing she knew Brian was waking her as they pulled into the garage under their building. She had slept for two solid hours.
They were home. That word certainly didn’t have the warm and welcoming connotations it used to.
***
Earlier that morning at Madeleine and Dan’s breakfast table, Michael tried to write. His hosts knew something was wrong but couldn’t get him to talk. He leafed through his research books, some from the library with dozens of stickies poking out, and his own books filled with highlighted text, underlinings, and notes in the margins. Trying to envision his detective walking through the streets of Cape May, he instead saw Joanna. She got Cape May, in a way that even he had trouble verbalizing. The look of awe on her face as she gazed up at a house. Back to reality, he looked down at his notebook. His fountain pen had leaked, making a big splotch on the page.
It couldn’t be over, could it? How could he feel so much now, after feeling so little for such a long time? If she were single, he’d pursue her with everything he had. You don’t let someone get away, not when they make you feel that vital, alive, and simply happy.
Keep busy, don’t think.
Do what you came here to do. Move forward.
He wanted to visit the lighthouse. Madeleine was using their one car so Michael called another Cape May friend and asked to borrow his. This friend, who he’d known for years, would’ve listened to his troubles. Madeleine and Dan would’ve listened. Madeleine, no fool, knew something was up with Michael and Joanna, and knew Brian was in the picture. Michael knew Madeleine was on to him. Still, when she let him know she’d be there if he wanted to talk, Michael couldn’t imagine himself uttering the necessary words. If they came out of his mouth—I’ve met someone, someone I could adore. Really? Yes! How long have you known her? Days. Days? O
h, also, she’s married and may never want to see me again—how inane and unreal it would all sound. And what an idiot he’d seem.
Michael walked to his friend’s house, smiled, chatted, and borrowed the car, as if nothing were wrong. The car smelled of cigarette smoke, so he opened all the windows. And put the radio on. Loud. Even so, the wind rushing in and the music blasting didn’t stop his brain from producing images of her lovely face. All the houses he drove past made him think of Joanna, and how much she would enjoy them.
Stop.
The lighthouse.
Think about the lighthouse. Built in 1859. Outside wall three feet ten inches at the bottom, one foot six inches at the top. Inside cylinder eight and a half inches thick. Designed to withstand hurricanes.
How could this information be used in his book? Maybe in a vision the psychic sees the lighthouse being sabotaged. Maybe the detective risks his reputation believing her, because he’s fallen in love. Perhaps the politician is going to tour the landmark and…Michael tried to plot and analyze the relationships and emotions of the people in his book, but his thoughts filled with Joanna instead. Joanna, whom he might never see or hear from again.
He drove to the Cape May Point State Park and stopped the car. In front of him was the lighthouse, painstakingly restored, painted white with a red top. The sky behind it was so blue it looked unreal. The temperature was in the mid-seventies. A perfect day.
A newspaper in 1897 said that “one of the interesting features to Cape May summer visitors is a journey to the top of the lighthouse” but Michael couldn’t even get out of the car.
CHAPTER 12
After an uncomfortable Sunday evening unpacking, pretending to read, making pasta for dinner, and going to bed early, Joanna left for work at seven the next morning. Brian thought it was due to work problems, but the real reason would’ve broken his heart. She missed Michael so much it was making her hate her husband. Everything he said and did irritated her.
And it wasn’t just Brian. She couldn’t concentrate, and kept dropping things. Manhattan, too, was annoying and unpleasant. The train took too long to arrive and was overly air-conditioned when it did. When her assistant Susan arrived at the office and said, “Welcome back! How was your trip?” Joanna barked, “Fine,” hoping her tone would discourage further conversation. But young and sweet Susan said, “Did you take a lot of pictures?”
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