“Are you coming back to us, John?” she asks simply.
Susannah is always direct, he came here knowing that. He can’t fault her. He also knows that everything he says will be reported back to his family. Close families have that implicit understanding, so he chooses his words carefully.
“I am trying.” He answers as honestly as he can.
“Can we do anything to make this easier for you? I’d find a way to walk to the moon, if it would help you come back to us.” Her green eyes watch him closely.
He shakes his head but knows he needs to use more words. “I’m trying to get my shit together. I don’t want to go back fucked up. I wouldn’t be any good for her like that.”
“How fucked up have you been, John?” She glances at his wrists. Sometimes these things are contagious. His wrists are clear.
“Pretty fucked up. I don’t think you want details.” He smiles joylessly.
“Let’s make a deal. You give me three adjectives and I’ll keep them to myself. I feel an obligation to understand. I need to know if the men in white coats waiting in the lobby should come in or not.” She doesn’t smile at her joke.
Susannah has no children of her own. In her generation, lesbians hid or faked straight and got married. Susannah didn’t hide, but she didn’t have babies either. John and Brian are the children she didn’t mother.
“Three adjectives?” he asks.
She nods.
“Just between us?”
“Yes, but you have to be honest.” She waits patiently while he gathers his thoughts. Church bells toll in the distance.
“Okay. Drunk. Suicidal. Alone.”
She closes her eyes at suicidal and catches her breath before responding. “Judging by the coffee, you are managing the drinking?” She asks and he nods.
“Since you are still alive after these eighteen months, you aren’t going to kill yourself?” she asks and he nods again. She releases the breath she was holding.
“And Anna.” She doesn’t ask.
“Is there a question there?” He asks her.
“No. I’m going to leave that alone. I’m just glad you aren’t alone.” She looks relieved but not very.
“I think you are smart to get your legs under you before you come back. But don’t wait too long. You have the house for the summer?”
“Through Labor Day,” he says, internally calculating how much time is left.
“That is enough.” She gives him a firm deadline. He traces the wood grains in the table under his index finger.
Liberating those three adjectives changed their power over the conversation. There is no hiding with Susannah. “I am happy to see you,” he says and now he does mean it.
“Enough serious talk,” she says. “Can we have some fun together? I want to go on a carriage tour and Meredith is deathly allergic to horses. You’ll take me and we can play tourist, then I’ll buy you an ice cream. Okay?”
That simple honesty lightened his load. He pays the bill and they walk to the stables arm in arm.
John finds Anna on the beach later. He wears slacks and a buttoned shirt with a belt. Not his usual Osprey Island attire.
“My god, you are good looking,” she says.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, leaning in for the offered kiss before sitting in the chair at her side.
She is filling out a small pink bikini, losing the hollowed look she had just a week ago. Color fills her face. She wears her hair in a loose braid, lying over her shoulder. He holds her thigh, just feeling her skin.
“How was Charleston?” she asks.
“It’s a beautiful city.” He dodges. Unless she is asking him specifically about his visit with his aunt, he isn’t sharing.
“I’m not sure how to tread here?” she says.
“How do you want to?” he asks. He’d like a conversation, but he doesn’t want to be the one getting needy.
“I don’t want to make your day more complicated.” Anna holds his hand that is holding her thigh.
He takes his hand back, dropping the conversation that isn’t getting anywhere. “Did you have a chance to bake?”
An electronic bell sounds when he enters Lynn’s empty, overly air conditioned office. He sets the basket on the counter and waits. Within seconds she comes through a door from a back office.
“John?” She appears confused, looking from him to the basket, and back again.
“Hi Lynn.” He can see her in there now. Young Lynn is just below the surface. He doesn’t know how he missed her there before.
“What can I do for you? Is everything alright at 516?” She asks with a face of concern.
“Oh yeah, the house is great,” he says. “This is more of a social call.”
Her eyebrows rise sharply in confusion, almost in a panic.
“I brought you muffins. I wanted to say thank you.” He pushes the basket across the counter in her direction. She is silent, but does put a hand on either side of the basket. He decides to wait her out, a little like a witness. He is an attorney and very patient. She takes a long time.
“This is somewhat surprising,” she finally says.
“The muffins or the basket with the big blue bow. I tied that bow, by the way.” He smiles his most charming smile, determined to warm her chilly exterior and get a conversation out of her one of these days.
“Both. Thank you for what?” she asks.
“I think you have been watching out for me. I want you to know that I appreciate it.” She holds his eye contact this time. That is improvement.
“How is Ms. Hinton?” she asks.
“She is a great neighbor and a good friend.” Friend is a strange choice of words, but it is appropriate for this conversation.
“Good. I’m glad. Did you call your parents, John?” she challenges him.
“Nope. I did not. But I saw my aunt today in Charleston. That is something isn’t it?” Strangely he wants her approval on this.
“That is something John. How is Susannah? Still living in Sarasota?” Lynn asks.
“That she is. We had a good visit. She is still with Meredith.” He is happy with this back and forth. “Lynn, you know everything, don’t you?”
“Just my job John,” she smiles finally and seems to relax. “I’ve known your family, feels like forever.” She shrugs at her peculiar speech patterns and he shrugs back. This is his second good visit of the day.
“Well I know you are busy, so I’ll get out of your hair.” He says it even though he would like to stay and learn more about her. What happened? He is getting tired of mysteries. “Can I come back and see you again, Lynn?”
“Why?” The question isn’t meant to be rude. She just doesn’t understand.
“I want to be your friend. We have known each other for twenty-five years. That means something.”
She looks at him considering. “On certain Sundays I sometimes sit at the cemetery.”
This explains her formal Sunday attire. Even the churches here are very casual. He waits for it.
“Do you want to visit with me next week?” she asks.
“I would like that very much,” he says with no judgment at her unusual invitation.
She writes an address on a piece of paper. “I go at seven thirty.”
“I’ll be there.” He walks to the door and turns back. “Thank you Lynn. Thank you so much.”
“You are welcome John.” She lifts the cloth covering the basket, breaking off a piece of still warm muffin.
Days later John and Anna take a late afternoon walk on the beach. They walk miles from their street, occasionally stopping to pick up shells or snails. John hums and whispers a song under his breath unconsciously. He sings like he knows how.
"John, do you sing?" she asks. "You have a lovely singing voice."
He ponders her question. "Childhood still fair game?" he asks and she nods. "Yeah, I sang and played guitar. We had a band a million years ago in high school. We have a lot of music in Austin."
"We were The Lone Stars of course. Young boys with a lot of Texas pride but not much in the way of imagination. We played covers, U2, Pearl Jam, of course some Skynard, Stevie Ray Vaughn, stuff like that. We wrote a tune or two. We weren't half bad," he smiles remembering. "It's been a long time."
"Oh my god your face, in a band, with a guitar. I could positively melt. What was your hair like then? Very Eddie Vedder?"
"No no. I was a clean cut kid. Very straight laced," he laughs sarcastically. "The longer hair, the beard are more recent. Should I cut it?" he asks running his hand through his hair, then his beard.
"Hell no!" she says, "I love it," and jumps onto his back. He carries her down the beach. She adds musical talents to the growing list of attributes he could pass on to her child. He is a dream donor. She has been considering Googling him. She saw his last name on the check-in literature lying on a desk in his kitchen. Halloway. What a lovely name. Anna Hinton Halloway. No, just Anna Halloway. She actually shakes her head to rid herself of that thought, not understanding how it infiltrated her carefully constructed psyche.
"Will you play for me sometime?" she asks and then lays her head on his shoulder, feeling his skin under her hands. My god he is magnificent, she thinks.
"Yeah sure. I will. There is an old Fender around somewhere. Okay your turn. Give me something."
She realizes if there is an old Fender at his house, then he is not a renter. His house is twice the size of hers or larger. She has still managed to keep to the first floor, no bedrooms.
She won’t Google him yet, she knows what she needs to know. If she discovers what has caused him so much pain, she will never be able to maintain her emotional detachment. They will connect on an entirely different level and she will love him. She is not falling in love and getting married and having a baby with another man, only to be a part of another failure. She can’t trust herself to make those decisions and she certainly can’t trust John.
"Are we still quid pro quo then?" she asks, putting on a happy smile despite her conflicting thoughts. She is good at that.
"We are."
"Alright then. Let me think a moment," she considers. "After college, there was this little pub nearby to where I lived in Baltimore. It was a rather smallish place, a sports bar called PJs Pub. They had ten-cent wing specials and dollar beers and no one had any money so we went there a lot. I had a good group of friends in Baltimore, lots of great people. Anyway, one night they decided to try karaoke. Some friends and I were compelled through dollar beers and coercive boyfriends to sing. By the way, I am not much of a singer, just boarding school chorus, that kind of thing. Anyway, I have always loved music. And I was well lubricated. We ended up with Madonna’s Like a Prayer and Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana. I fucking loved it! I loved every bloody second of our screeching these poor songs to death. It is a wonderful memory laughing with those girls, sweaty, stinky with beer, singing our hearts out. I was so young. That wasn't really childhood since I was of legal drinking age. Good enough though?"
Anna suspects John would like to share their lives on a deeper level. But this is as much for his good as it is for her. What they have is temporary. She works to convince herself that she is helping him and it is a fair trade for a baby, even though she knows in her heart it is not.
She keeps their conversation light, as always. “John, as a Texan shouldn’t you be a country music fanatic? Isn’t that a rule or something?” she asks.
“Yes, it is sacrosanct. I didn’t comply which is why I had to leave Texas,” he jokes. “I saw U2 when I was just a kid. It ruined me for country. I was young, maybe ten. I loved it.”
As they return to their street, they hear the cries of a young girl nearby. They have seen her on the beach, flying kites or splashing in the surf with her parents. Her cries become shrieks and Anna moves forward to help. She has stepped on a large piece of glass and her tiny foot is cut deeply. There are no lifeguards at this end of the beach. Her father reaches to pull it out, but Anna stops him.
"So sorry darling. Oh no, just look at this. That does hurt now doesn't it? Let's leave that alone for just now."
She whispers to the father. "It's a little too deep. Let's call 911 so they can make sure it isn't near an artery."
"John run and grab my first aid kit in the kitchen, under the sink." John is motionless, eyes wide staring at the blood.
"John," she says louder, "Please go!"
Anna turns to the girl, "sorry darling, what's your name?"
"Isabella," she whispers.
"Okay Isabella. Would you like to go for a quick ride in an ambulance? They are very nice."
Anna calls 911 while the father tries to quiet his very teary daughter. John returns and Anna loosely wraps the foot in gauze. "There. There. That will hold until the nice paramedics arrive," she speaks soothingly to Isabella, her accent heavier than usual. Everyone is calmed by a good English accent.
John walks away backwards. "I'll flag them down."
Within minutes paramedics arrive and take over. The cut is dangerously close to an artery. They need to take Isabella back to the medical center. The father carries her to the ambulance thanking Anna, looking terrified.
After they go, Anna finds John near the walkways.
"She okay?" he asks, pacing.
"She'll be fine.” She puts her hands on his shoulders to still him. “John, these things happen. All part of growing up, bumps and bruises and such. The doctors can manage it," she says in the same comforting tone she used with Isabella.
"Anna, are you a veteran?" He says suddenly, breaking all of their rules.
"Me a vet? I am honored you would ask. But no. Why do you think I'm a vet?"
He shrugs, pale and shaken.
"It all worked out. I'm not a vet," she smooth’s his hair away from his worried face. She considers wrapping her arms around him to help him calm but doesn’t. He needs to calm himself.
"I’m going back to look for more glass. It was a beer bottle. Fucking kids," he says in disgust.
“Let’s get some shoes,” she says, but he ignores her, picking a broken bucket out of the trash bin and walking onto the sand. She follows him shoeless.
They find a pile of glass where someone smashed a beer bottle against a small rock. John pulls the larger pieces of glass from the sand and then combs the grains with his fingers for the smaller ones. John runs his fingers through the sand for a long time.
Later Anna sips from a cup of Earl Grey tea while answering an email from Pemberley. Anna is looking forward to Pemberley’s visit over July 4th. Before Anna can finish the email, she is startled by a knock at the door. She wonders if something is wrong with John. He was so unnerved on the beach earlier. Either it was the sight of the blood or seeing a child in pain, but he was unraveled.
She opens the door to Isabella's father holding a large bouquet of flowers. "Hello,” she says surprised, “How is Isabella?"
"Fine thanks to you,” he seems to let out a breath he has been holding in for way too long. “It was a lot worse than I thought. I can’t believe I almost pulled that glass out. Thank god you stopped me."
He is pale, stressed and visibly exhausted. "I'm Joe by the way. My wife is Barbara. We live two doors down," He points to the house past John’s. "We are indebted to you. Thank you." With that he hugs Anna and hands her the flowers. "Are you a doctor?" he asks.
"No," she feels she owes him some explanation. "I have traveled into war zones quite a bit. You can't help but pick things up unfortunately. I am so happy Isabella is alright."
"Please thank your friend too. John?"
"I certainly will."
"Will you join us for a drink one day? Or dinner?" Sounds lovely but complicated, she thinks.
"We'd like that Joe. Thank you and thanks to Barbara too," she says holding up the flowers. Anna goes inside, relieved to hear Isabella is okay, anxious to tell John. She arranges flowers into her new orange vase from Charlesto
n and slides the glass door open to place the vase on the table. From 516 she hears the distant tentative strumming of fingers on strings. She tiptoes to his back deck for a better listen and after a few minutes a melody takes shape. He plays slow, and soon slow and sure, eventually adding words to the melody. He sings the anthem of the lost, Message in a Bottle, lending it a bluegrass rhythm, picking the notes on his strings, singing softly. She will tell him the good news about Isabella later.
On Sunday morning at seven thirty sharp, John meets Lynn in the parking lot of The Daniels Family Cemetery. He wears slacks and a button down, in place of his usual Sunday morning sweats. She hands him a Starbucks and keeps one for herself. She has a paper bag full of small American flags. He doesn’t ask.
“Black,” she announces instead of asking.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I saw you in The Pancake House on your second day. I was at the counter. Black coffee.” She doesn’t gloat over her powers of observation and recall, but he is moved by her quiet willingness to engage with him.
They sit on a bench and drink. A breeze rustles the leaves in the tall trees surrounding the cemetery.
“Is this your family’s place?” he asks pointing to the sign. She leans back onto the bench and crosses her legs. She seems more relaxed here than in town. Her language is unaffected. He thinks Lynn is getting used to him.
“It is. The Daniels have been on Osprey Island for over a hundred years. Daniels are buried over there. She points to the western side. They bought the surrounding land and opened it to the public in the forties.” She speaks proudly of her family’s history.
John decides to risk a more personal question since she doesn’t seem to be avoiding conversation. “Is Gerry buried here?” he asks, referring to her fiancé.
“No, he is in Maine. After the accident, his parents took him back home for the burial.” She speaks more calmly than he would have expected. She wears her hair loose today, just a clip holding it from her face.
“I was so sorry about that Lynn,” he says. “I don’t think I ever let you know that.”
Circling The Shadows Page 7