AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  She kept her eyes up, taking it all in. After a few steps, she was even with the sprawling corner house opposite the green, The Gardner House, now owned by a young dentist and serving as both home and office for his growing family and practice. It was on the National Historic Register. Les wondered how such a young man could afford to buy the place. The General Store was locked tight and dark, its white façade the only thing visible. As she came near, she turned onto the path entering the green. It was snow covered, but not so deep as the unplowed street. The trees caught some of the snow before it reached the ground. The path stretched out across the expanse in the direction of the Congregational Church with its bright red door and majestic steeple. As a child she’d been inside that church many times, its unadorned white walls and pews so different from the ornate woods and statues of her own Catholic church in Milford a few miles away. She stopped in the center of the green beneath two tall leafless maples. For a moment, she merely looked and listened. It was eleven p.m. on Christmas night, an eight-inch snowstorm just concluded. The families all around were nestled in their warm homes around a fire or preparing for bed. She could smell the smoke from the chimneys. No cars sullied the pastoral beauty. No sound, but the wind. It was heaven.

  Cindy parked with the lights on and the motor running as she tried to understand why one of the bungalows was occupied. There were no other cars in the lot. Maybe one of the Brits stayed behind. No, she’d talked with all of them at the party. Everyone returned to London. Jimmy went to Vermont. Sonny was in New York. Nigel left a week ago. Benson had his own place a few towns away. Who could it be? She shut the motor off.

  From behind Les heard the muffled sound of a car slowly making its way toward the carriage road. She turned to watch as it idled briefly at the General Store. She stood still, wondering who could be out on the snow-covered roads. Perhaps a family was returning home after a long day at the relatives. The car began to move, edging right then making a long, eerily quiet route along the snow-covered road encircling the green. Les watched, pivoting where she stood, curious. When the car hesitated and then swung onto the carriage road she felt an odd need to follow. The driver seemed unsure, looking for something. She trudged ahead, arching her boots into the snow up to her calf, quickening her pace, eyes following the vehicle as it moved in the direction of her parents’ home. As she crossed the lane in front of the Gardner House, the car came to a stop fifty yards ahead and pulled over to the side, engine idling with vapor rising into the air from its exhaust. She wondered who could be lost on Christmas Night in Amherst. Maybe it was just someone who needed directions. She came up behind the passenger side, approaching cautiously. She spotted the New York license plate half obscured by snow. The side windows of the Saab were frosted. There appeared to be only one occupant, a man behind the wheel. He didn’t seem to notice her as she came alongside. Should she tap on the window? Her heart beat fast, too fast for the circumstance. Why, she wondered, as she debated what to do. She moved closer. New York plates? Who? Her heart raced, wanting it to be him.

  Cindy’s tap on the door startled Miles. He was mildly embarrassed to be in his robe and slippers as he pulled the curtains ajar to look outside. The car was still there, but the lights were off. He couldn’t see inside. He had a feeling though. He let the curtain spring back into place, retied the knot of his robe and went to the door. He waited for another tap before opening. It came firmer this time. As he pulled the door wide the sight of Cindy made him shiver. Her eyes were dark, almost sad. They stared at one another.

  “Miles?” she asked, like she needed him to answer. He reached for her arm and pulled her gently inside, using the time to gather his thoughts, his defenses. He helped her off with her coat and placed it on a chair.

  “I saw the lights.” He looked down at his feet. She’d found him. He looked stupid, he felt unworthy.

  Cindy studied the room, ignoring him as she made note of the suitcases in the corner. She crossed the room and fingered his tumbler half filled with Jack Daniels. “I see you’re having a jolly time.” He didn’t answer, ashamed as he followed her into the kitchen. She glanced at the half prepared sandwich. “Excellent Christmas dinner, too.”

  “Just a snack,” he finally managed.

  She leaned back on the counter and faced him. “What’s going on?”

  “Cindy…”

  “What’s wrong, Miles?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I called your house. The phone’s disconnected. Where’s your car?”

  Miles shrugged. “It’s a temporary arrangement. Until things straighten out.”

  She processed his answer. “Is this why you’ve become so distant?”

  “No.” Miles shook his head, heart sinking.

  Cindy wavered between concern for Miles and fear of more rejection. She could not rationalize the two. In her confusion she was losing her grip. Not even Jimmy made her so distraught inside. She wanted to leave quickly before tears rose up and ruined her last remnants of dignity. She hurried back to the other room and grabbed her coat. But before she could reach the door, Miles had her by the arm. He turned her to him only to be met with a gush of tears that instantly broke his heart.

  “Please don’t,” he pleaded. “I’m glad you’re here.” He pulled her close, no longer able to fight the need that clamored for outlet.

  Jimmy watched through the rearview mirror as a figure approached. He suddenly realized that his unfamiliar car, bearing out of state plates, might seem odd. The last thing he wanted was to spook the neighborhood, but a familiar silhouette held him, hope.

  Les gathered her courage and tapped on the window. It rolled down automatically, but she couldn’t make out the face of the man inside. Abruptly, the driver’s side door flew open and the man jumped out. He turned to face her across the top of the car.

  “Les?”

  Miles could not help himself. As their bodies merged he squeezed tighter, unable to hold back his longing. Gone was the hopelessness that kept him from believing she could accept his desire, but only in that fervent embrace. He knew once he let go all would return to the frustrated inhibition that blocked him from action. He stroked her hair, running his other hand along her back, not seeking passion, but in a soothing attempt to calm her and to protect himself from the guilt her tears evoked in his heart. It could never be. He was too old and she was too beautiful. Yet, in this one embrace his anguish at the prospect of never having her did not matter. He simply could not bear to see her cry.

  As recognition instantly registered, Jimmy and Les raced around the car and came into each other’s arms. He brushed his lips along her cheek, squeezing her body so tight that he was afraid he might be crushing the breath from her lungs. He couldn’t stop himself. But she clung even tighter, pressing her face to his shoulder with no hint of letting go. “I wanted it to be you!” she said, excitedly. “I saw you at the Beacon!”

  “You mustn’t let me make you cry.” Miles dabbed at the tears on her cheeks with his fingers. I’ll tell you everything.” Cindy raised her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face to his chest.

  “Miles, I don’t understand. Is it something I’ve done?” He held her shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could look into her eyes.

  “No, it could never be you. You only make me happy.” He decided to end the embrace before he made a fool of himself. He would tell her. He had to tell someone. The burden of his decision was too great. Blossom Records was on the brink. In a flash of ego he’d risked everything. Now, he didn’t know if he could pull it off. He could lose the biggest gamble of his life. Everyone who trusted him could lose as well.

  Cindy refused to let him go. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, the kiss she had dreamt of for months. When he tried to pull away she held his face tighter and kissed harder until he relented, returning her yearning with his own. Her coat fell to the floor as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  “I’m too old for you,” he whi
spered, as he laid her down on the bed. Cindy pulled him down, kissing him more passionately than before.

  They held each other for what seemed like forever. Neither Jimmy nor Les felt the cold. Their embrace was all they understood, all they recognized in the shimmering white shadows of a winter night. He felt a dam of desire burst in his heart as all doubt was cast aside by her touch. She needed him as much as he needed her. Words were uncalled for. The months of obsessive longing were ended. The vast ocean between them would not block their love. He would find a way. He would never let her go.

  The house was quiet when they entered. Les’ parents were upstairs sleeping. She held Jimmy’s hand as she ushered him down the hall to the kitchen. She beckoned him to sit at the table, but before he obeyed he took her in his arms and kissed her. The warmth of his lips made her shudder with passion. Her reason failed her as she clung tightly to his neck. All she knew, all she understood was blurred by the consummate joy of having him near. They had not spoken since their moment of recognition. In time, she reluctantly released herself from his embrace.

  ‘I’m so happy you’re here,” she said, as she went to the refrigerator.

  Jimmy sucked in his breath as he sat down at the table and watched her bring out leftovers from the day’s feast. He couldn’t take his eyes away, watching her every move. He knew he was as captivated as any man could be. It felt new and exciting, a fresh zest for life that opened a brand new world of excitement and anticipation. Nothing else mattered. He had no worries, no other place to be. He only wanted to be with her in that wonderful moment on Christmas night in New Hampshire, forever.

  They talked for hours. She wanted to know everything that had happened to him since their parting in Melbourne. He wanted to know everything about her from the moment she was born. At times, the conversation grew serious as he explained the sordid details of his drunken years and the six months of introspection that followed. Other times, they laughed. He demanded, playfully, that she tell him about her first love, Stephen, who gave her the Claddagh ring she still wore. They held hands across the table, sometimes coming close for a kiss like teenagers. The performance at the Beacon Theatre came up. Eventually their individual accounts came around to the unusual sense they each felt at different times during the evening.

  “I was in the upper balcony, far right.”

  “By the side door that opens from the stairway?”

  “There was a side door, yes. A man and woman used it to just before the concert began.”

  “I took Kate, Rebellion’s lead singer, up there to calm her nerves. We hustled back down when the lights blinked.”

  “Yes, I turned to look. I can’t say I knew it was you, but I’m sure I felt something.”

  Jimmy nodded agreement. “At the end of the performance something made me search the audience. Most of the time I was looking up at the third balcony.”

  “You knew I was there?”

  “Something caused me to look.”

  Miles made sandwiches as he began his story. Cindy, wearing one of his shirts and little else, leaned on the counter. She was only half listening as the meaning of what had just taken place took hold. Old or not, he was the one.

  “I liquidated everything I own to buy the company. I did it without thinking about the consequences. Now, I have two-hundred dollars to my name and nothing else.” She watched him, hands shaking slightly, as he placed cheese on two slices of bread. “The cash flow looks like it won’t cover the debt payments. I’m screwed.”

  “But, the albums are selling well.”

  “I factored that in. My projections showed Jimmy going platinum. All of a sudden sales are beginning to dip.”

  “The tour?”

  “I’m still short.”

  “MacGregor’s album is ready to go.”

  “I don’t have the money to release it.”

  “Miles, there has to be an upside. I’m hearing Jimmy might be nominated for a Grammy.”

  “That’s what Mike Winfield thinks. He wants to talk next week.”

  “Put the groups out on tour again.”

  “There’s no money. I can’t borrow another dime.”

  “You’re overwrought. Promoters will be throwing cash at you if Jimmy gets nominated.”

  “That’s my only hope. I can’t sleep worrying.”

  “The music business is tough, but you’ve shown what you can do.”

  “I’ve always had things under control. Now, I’m at the mercy of the bank.” The conversation went on for an hour. Gradually, he felt better. Just getting things off his chest calmed his nerves.

  “You sold your house?”

  “Yes.” He was embarrassed.

  “Nowhere else to go?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then you’re coming home with me.”

  “Cindy I can’t…”

  “That is, if what happened tonight meant as much to you as it meant to me.”

  “You deserve a younger man. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Miles stop. I’m a big girl. I know how I feel.”

  “When people ask questions? Laugh behind your back?”

  “Is that all you care about?”

  “I care about you, your reputation.”

  “Tell me what I want to hear. I won’t beg.”

  “That you make me feel better than I’ve felt in years? That you’re the only woman I’ve ever been interested in since I met my wife thirty-five years ago?”

  “Getting warm.”

  He squirmed. “That I think I’m in love with you?”

  It was two o’clock in the morning when Jimmy sat back in his chair and tried to summon the courage to ask what was on his mind. Finally, he blurted it out. “How can we make this work?”

  Les hesitated for a moment, the will to hold her desire crumbling. “I don’t know.”

  “Here or my house? We have to be together. It’s only twenty miles away.”

  She shook her head. “Not here, my parents are old-fashioned. They won’t understand.”

  “Then come with me to Chillingham.”

  “We need to take it slow.”

  “Slow? We haven’t seen each other for months. You sent me away, remember?”

  She took his hand. “I was afraid. I still am. I saw how the people adored you in New York. I don’t know how I can fit into your life. The distance, we’ll always be apart.”

  “You can quit your job, stay in New York with me.”

  “You have no right to say that!” She took her hand away. He grabbed it back quickly.

  “No. I’m sorry. When do you go back to Melbourne?”

  “After New Years Day.”

  He was relieved. They had a week. “Then we have some time.”

  “Yes,” she answered, hopefully. “Do you ski?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  “Pick me up in the morning. We’ll go to Waterville Valley.”

  “What time?”

  ***

  Nigel mounted a wave and deftly guided his board into the curl, letting it carry him perilously close to the rocky shore where the froth rose up. In the distance, Illa watched from the front seat of his Ute. He had wondered and worried for several months after Whitehurst suddenly disappeared from his surf shop down the road. Now, he was back. Illa was determined to keep him in sight. After he rediscovered the big man that hot day in Warrnambool, Illa had climbed up to the precipice above the twelve apostles. He retraced the steps he took as a boy with his father to the spot where tribal legend said the first Whitehurst met his end. The big man with the strange, but beautiful songs who lived with his ancestors long ago. The exact spot was beneath the cliffs, half way up the sharp incline and away from the newly cut National Park trail. A large boulder marked it, placed there by his great grandfather. Further down, far off the dirt path that veered into the bush from the Great Ocean Road, he’d gone to check on the old pickup truck, now rusted and all but invisible among the vines and bush that grew around t
he vehicle’s fenders. Its one-time owner was Illa’s part of the legend, the father of the man he shadowed today.

  As he waited for a good wave, Nigel thought about his visit with Sister Marie on Christmas Day. She was overjoyed at his unexpected return to Melbourne and pleased that he was making progress with his singing.

  “I’ll go back after the New Year,” he told her. “Missed the hot weather and surfing at Christmas. Had to come home.”

  “Your singing is going well?”

  “I’m making progress. They’re letting me do it my way.”

  She knew it had to be. Nigel always chafed under the precise direction of Saint Malachy’s choir director. The stubborn streak was part of his nature. Perhaps doing it his way was best.

  They ate Christmas dinner in the dining hall. Nigel joined Sister Marie and the other nuns at the head table. The boys took their customary spots at other long tables all around. For Nigel it was comfortable. He had not been back for Christmas in years, but this was how he remembered it. The boys were loud and full of typical holiday excitement. It made conversation at the head table difficult. Eventually, he stopped trying to talk. He took it all in, enjoying the occasion and remembering the ones from his own youth in that same room.

  They took a glass of port together outside in the warm dusk, overlooking the football field. For a while they sat together silent. Then Nigel spoke, still looking out at the field. “You never told me about my father.”

  Sister Marie hid her surprise. “I always wait for the boys to ask. Most of them do. Only a few don’t seem to care. How old are you now, twenty nine?”

  Nigel nodded. “In another month.”

  “He was a big man, even bigger than you, a farmer, I believe. He had one arm.”

  “Did he tell you why he abandoned me?”

  “It wasn’t like that. Never think that.”

  “That’s what he did.”

  “He cried. He said he’d come back if he could. I believed him. I’m sure he wasn’t a bad man. Sometimes, circumstances can’t be helped.”

  “Did he tell you about my mother?”