“She’s a beach dog if I ever saw one,” Dad says. “It’ll be tough for her to exchange the sand for the city streets again, won’t it?”
I should have known he’d bring up my moving back, as if it’s inevitable just because he wants it to happen.
“I can’t get over your view!” he says. “I love Lake Michigan so much that I don’t really think about the ocean. But she sure is something, isn’t she?”
“I thought maybe I’d get tired of it, but I never do. Sometimes I think I could stay here forever,” I say.
I can’t help messing with him, taunting him a little. I never could resist. It’s probably small of me and immature, but I can’t help trying to throw him off center.
“Your place looks so clean,” he says. “Katie would be proud to see how well you’re doing. I know I am.”
I am tempted to remind him that I’m not a three-year-old learning to use the potty by myself. Or thirteen, mowing the lawn on a Saturday afternoon without being hounded to death first. I’m thirty, for Christ’s sake.
I silently and slowly count to ten before I speak. Another tidbit of advice I learned from one of Dad’s psych magazines left in the bathroom during my childhood. A lot of the stuff seemed like voodoo or nonsense to me, more so as I grew older, but that one works when I remember to use it.
“Thanks, Dad,” I make myself say.
“We’ll have to do this again when your mom and Marty can be here,” he suggests, as if that is a reasonable idea. His mild expression makes him look like he just had his brain removed, but has already forgiven the negligent surgeon.
“Not happening,” I say.
“If you really think about it, buddy, you’ll agree it’s a good idea. We can break the ice as a family, then you and Martin can spend some one-on-one time.”
I’ve always thought my dad would’ve made a great preacher’s assistant. He couldn’t yell in a fire-and-brimstone way, but he’d be perfect for all the insinuating, ingratiating, fly-on-the-wall ministrations.
“It’s definitely not happening, Dad.”
“Martin really needs your forgiveness, buddy.”
“Is that right?” I ask, like he just gave me a minor stock tip or a trick for getting water stains off a coffee table. “Interesting.”
“You can pretend you don’t care. I know that’s a defense mechanism you often employ. I’m not blaming you for it or trying to make you ashamed of how you cope. I’m only saying what’s best for you.”
“Really? I thought you were saying what was best for Martin.”
I should have counted to ten, twenty, to three hundred if I’d had to. I’m out of practice with my dad. I should have known better than to engage him.
“It’s all one and the same, Jack,” he says, leaning back in his desk chair and getting comfortable for a long, one-sided discussion.
“Got to go, Dad. I hear my doorbell!”
Yesterday I must have missed Merry’s delivery because I couldn’t hear the bell over the vacuum cleaner, which I ran for hours on end. Today I disconnect from my dad and race down to catch her.
She hasn’t even made it to the bottom of the stairs after placing my food in the cooler when I open the door.
“Hey!”
She turns around and smiles. It makes my knees go weak.
“I could kiss you,” I say. I don’t know where the hell that came from, but it’s true.
“You already did,” she says in her smooth, slow accent.
“I wish I could remember it better,” I confess.
She surprises me by coming back up the stairs and kissing me quickly on the mouth.
“There. Now why are y’all in such a good mood today?”
“Come in and I’ll tell you.”
She looks at her watch and hesitates. “I can’t stay long. Are you sure it’s safe to go inside?”
I open the door wide for her to pass in ahead of me.
“Wow!” she says, looking all around. “Once you put your mind to something, I guess you go all out.”
“That’s true,” I admit. From both a positive and a negative standpoint, that fact has always been true. Whatever I do, I do it all the way.
“I was horrified to realize you’d seen the state of the house. When I found that you’d cleaned the kitchen, I was ashamed enough to segue that into a full housecleaning. The place obviously needed it. I needed it.”
“Just because it was needed didn’t mean it would get done. Good for you!” she says. Her eyes actually sparkle. Her wind-tousled hair and pink cheeks are magazine-cover gorgeous.
“You gave me a good incentive by promising that if I did, you’d come back on Friday. Do you still plan to?”
“Yes, sir! Any requests on what I should make?”
“Come here for a drink first, then we’ll go out to dinner. You can take the night off.”
“Really? Are y’all sick of my meals? Don’t tell me this is a good news/bad news thing, and you’re firing me…”
“Don’t even joke about that. I love your cooking.”
She pets Chaser. I do, too, until my hand touches hers and I hold onto it. I look down at our hands together, and at the empty, fading line where my wedding band used to be. I suddenly feel very uncertain.
“This is a little strange for me,” I say.
“Because of your wife?” Merry asks.
“I still have trouble believing she’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry. I can tell that you loved her very much.”
I nod. I know that I’m giving the impression of a happy marriage. I don’t want to be dishonest, but I don’t want to be a revisionist historian either. I really believed that Katie’s and my marriage was as perfect as a marriage could be. “It’s just so complicated,” I say.
Merry squeezes my hand a bit. “Show me something worthwhile that isn’t.”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I kiss her. Gently, not like last time. Slow and short, but with meaning. And she was right: it was incredibly complicated.
Chapter Eighteen
IN WHICH JACK TALKS AND THEN CLAMS UP
As told by Merry, who listens while she can
Jack is handsome in that manly way that makes it easy for me to imagine him chopping wood, or carrying a child on his shoulders, or setting up a tent without breaking a sweat or a nail.
I know that Jack’s in mourning. I also know that he drank too much the other night, and that’s a red flag. But I’m partly to blame there; I could tell he was wound tight, and I figured that if he wanted to let off steam, I’d be there to drive him home afterward. I didn’t tell the waitress to stop bringing him beer when it seemed like maybe he’d gone tipsy. But I promise you I didn’t realize he was all-out drunk until we danced.
I don’t think I ever talked about myself so much in one night. Or even in my entire relationship with Phil, and I’ve known him forever and a day. Jack asked good questions, and he seemed interested in everything I said. I suppose that was a new and fresh experience for me. I found out I really like being listened to!
But I can’t let thoughts of Jack distract me from focusing on the tasks ahead. No, sir.
I wish Fritz would at least give me a hint about my mom’s secret so I’d know where to start looking. I’d ask Uncle Max if he has any bright ideas, but his bronchitis has gotten worse, and now he’s on new medicine that makes him nap even more than usual. He and Fritz had seemed to be getting on one another’s nerves something awful for a while there, but lately they’re nicer to each other. I’ve been working out of the house a lot, getting home with only enough time to serve them dinner and reward myself for a day well spent by taking a long walk on the beach.
I love the ocean so much! Even more than I dreamed I would.
I’ve begun to fantasize sometimes about how amazing it would be to spend the rest of my days in this house. I know, that’s really getting the cart before the horse, right? But a girl can dream.
Even if I did earn the house, I know I�
�d have to sell it off and get something smaller that I could afford to keep up. Fritz is right that a business like mine won’t earn me enough to live in a five-bedroom house on the Atlantic Ocean. Unless maybe I managed the stipend smartly…but I don’t know if that’s a nickel or a million dollars, and none of it is mine yet anyway. And it won’t ever be if I just sit here dreaming.
I do know one thing: I want to stay on this island, no matter what happens. Maybe I’ll find a small place across the street with a nice, bright kitchen, where I might still be able to see the dolphins through binoculars from a window or two, and the pelicans flying over. The island is a pretty lonely place in the winter, but I hear it really gets busy in the other seasons. That’s good for me since I like people, and it should be good for business, too.
If I do get my inheritance, my first priority will be to help out my mom and grandma and Aunt Betty (though she’s a loon). Thinking of folks back in Peaksy Falls, I also can’t help but think of Phil.
I got a message from Amy Jo yesterday. It was just about as sweet as pie, as I’d expect from her, but I could also tell she was sad about having to tell me that Phil’s former girlfriend is going to take my old job. I’ll bet Sarah will make the dishes on the menu just the way Phil likes them. She’ll probably never try to swap Dijon mustard for regular or anything that got me in trouble from time to time.
Friday is finally here, and I’m looking forward to tonight. Though I love it, it’ll be sort of nice to have a night off from cooking. Fritz and Uncle Max are having pizza—which Max grumbled about until I promised him an extra slice of chocolate cake.
I don’t know where Jack plans to take me. I’m glad he’s not making dinner himself. The only guys I ever dated were good in the kitchen. Jack is so different from the others, and I suppose I want him to stay that way. Plus he’s older, and more experienced, and very successful with his business and all. I think it’s good that I’m better than he is at something.
I put on a nice outfit and spend extra time on my makeup. I put some mousse in my ultra-short hairdo, which I made time to get touched up a few days ago after Fritz pointed out that my roots were fixing to show. I love my hair! It always looks better after a beach walk, which seems just about perfect for me. I put on some lipstick and really go for broke with the mascara.
When I get to Jack’s house, he has to let Chaser out, so I join him on the deck. The ocean is in a jumble. The night that I met Jack was wild like this, and he’d actually been out in it. I look at the churning, forceful waves and shiver at the thought. “I’m glad you’ll be having dinner with me instead of surfing,” I say.
“I might have if you weren’t here.”
He looks into my eyes. His gaze is intense. He pulls me into a hug and we stand that way, our hair and clothes blowing in the wind.
Jack pours me a glass of wine once we’re inside, but he has to take a call, so I sip alone. He goes into another room and soon I can hear him speaking loudly. He sounds upset. I hear him curse out someone named Martin.
“Who’s Martin?” I ask when he rejoins me.
“An old friend.”
“I suppose there’s more to the story?”
He sighs and takes my hand. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s the abridged version: Martin had an affair with my wife. They were together the night she died. She had just left his place when she pulled in front of a semi without its lights on. She was broadsided.”
“Oh my God. So why were you talking to him?” I ask.
“We’re business partners.”
“Wow.” I mean wow. I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder and feel how incredibly tense he is.
“I’m sorry to lay that all on you,” he says. “We better get going or we’ll be late for our reservation.”
“How is your project going?” he asks me on the drive.
“Are you sure you want to hear me babble on about it?”
“Positive. Please distract me,” he says. He reaches over and pats my leg.
“All right. Well, I’m supposed to figure out what secret my mom has been keeping. And I can’t imagine her ever having had a single secret.”
“No?” he asks.
“She makes all her own clothes. Did I tell you that?”
He actually laughs a little. It sounds like the purest sugar. “Yes, I believe that you did.”
“I know, right?” I shake my head and laugh a little, too. “But honestly, I don’t have any idea where to start. I called her to see if I could find out anything, but she acted like she didn’t understand my question at all.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing helpful, that’s for sure. I asked, ‘Are there any secrets you’re hiding, ma’am, because you know I love you and I don’t care about any skeletons in your closet; I just want to help you drag them out.’ And she replied, I kid you not, ‘Oh, Grandma is doing just fine. The crocuses are up. The weather lately couldn’t be any nicer.’”
He chuckles. “Is that really true?”
I put my hand across my heart. “I swear.”
The restaurant is off the island, on the outskirts of the city. I have passed by it several times, and it always makes me think of the Mountainside. Of course it’s not on a mountain, and it isn’t made of logs or surrounded by acres upon acres of trees. I suppose the only way that Cascade is like the Mountainside is that it seems to belong right where it is.
Inside there’s a much more chic and elegant feel than anyplace else I’ve been around here. I wish I could sample everything on the menu. My mouth waters at a few of the descriptions, and others have me just plain curious. I suspect somebody in the kitchen really knows what she’s doing.
I order the house red, and Jack orders a soda.
“I don’t want you to get the idea that I drink too much,” he tells me.
“Good,” I say.
I dated one excessive drinker in my life, and it was more than enough, thank you very much. I take a sip of my wine. “It’s your turn to talk tonight,” I remind him.
For a minute I’m afraid he’s going to shut down and I’ll have to fill the quiet air.
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“Everything,” I say. “Start at the beginning.”
And to my surprise, he does.
According to Jack, his parents had waited a long time for a baby. They had wanted one so much that when he was born, neither of them could hardly believe their luck. They loved him near to death.
He told me this like it was a hardship somehow. I said I couldn’t help wondering how great it must’ve been to have a mom and dad, both of whom were madly in love with me. It almost seemed too good to imagine.
He said he knew he was lucky.
I was tempted to say that I didn’t think he really knew, but I held my tongue. It was my turn to listen, and probably I’d said some things when I told my life story that made him raise his eyebrows, but he still let me have my say. To Jack, having both a mom and dad that loved him was just the way it was.
Martin showed up pretty early in Jack’s story.
One time soon after they met, Jack said the two of them brought Martin’s muddy bike into Martin’s house to wash it, brought it right on into the shower. Martin’s parents nearly had heart attacks! Martin spent the rest of the weekend at Jack’s to let them cool down, and Jack said that was the beginning.
Jack told the story like he knew it was supposed to be funny and remembered that it had always been funny, but he didn’t quite think it was funny anymore.
Then he was quiet for a while.
But after he ate his salad, he seemed ready to start in again.
I suppose it might have been kinder of me to stop him. I could tell it wasn’t the most comfortable thing for him to do, to sit there and tell me about his life. But I asked questions and listened because it seemed sort of helpful for him to talk things through.
The first few stories he told appear
ed to be well-rehearsed, like he’d told them at parties over the years and had polished them to a shine. He knew when to pause for effect, to make a face, or laugh.
Then he seemed to go off the script of his history and to stop telling it to me the way he had always told it to people. He became more matter-of-fact.
He seemed to take a step back and describe his life as if it had all happened to somebody else, though he still used “me” and “I” language. He talked about meeting his wife, falling in love, and what their marriage was like. He talked about their careers, their home, and friends. It seemed like he was trying to relay the facts only.
I know that Jack is an emotional man. Already, I have seen him wear his emotions out in the open. Already, I know they run deep and forceful.
He just seemed steely determined to get through the important facts tonight, to lay all of them out for me. Because I’d done the same for him, and because he said he would.
“I think those are the basics. That’s my full disclosure,” he says during dessert. He has gotten us up to the here and now, having talked every spare second he wasn’t chewing.
“I think you forgot to say your favorite color,” I tease.
“What would you call the color of your hair?”
I feel my face turn warm.
“No,” he says, “the color of your cheeks, right now. That’s my favorite.”
I shake my head.
“So there you have my history: the good, the bad, and the tragic. If you want to hightail it back to your ex-boyfriend, I won’t blame you.”
“We’re through for good,” I say, like I’m not too brokenhearted about it. And I’m not.
“Good. Well, if you want to go back to putting my food in a cooler and never see me again, I guess I’ll understand.”
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “From the very first day, I hoped that you’d ask me in.”
He takes my hand in his and looks into my eyes. “Well, you’re in now.”
Help Yourself Page 18