Comfort and Joy

by Comfort

  Bobby turns to me. “Well?”

  “I love the beach,” I answer, looking at Daniel’s profile.

  “I knew it,” Bobby says, bouncing in his seat. “She loves the beach.”

  I feel lit up inside. I don’t know how else to put it. Daniel grabs his backpack and helps Bobby out of the car. The boy immediately runs on ahead, across the sand.

  “Not too close to the water, boyo,” Daniel calls out.

  I slip into place beside him.

  The beach is beautiful. A full, fiery sun hangs in the teal blue sky. Golden streamers light the waves. I have never seen so much driftwood on a beach before, and it is no ordinary collection of sticks. It is a heaping, jumbled mass of silvery logs, shorn of branches and polished to white perfection. Many of them are more than one hundred feet in length. The trees along the road have been sculpted by the wind. They look like giant bonsai.

  “Dad, my kite!” Bobby yells, running back at us.

  “Just a second,” Daniel answers, bending down to make a fire. Within moments, the small circle of wood and newspaper is aflame. I sit on a log by the fire, watching Daniel teach his son to fly a kite. By the time Bobby gets it, the afternoon is fading. Neon orange clouds streak across a midnight blue sky.

  “Look, Dad! Look, Joy! I’m flyin’ it!”

  “That you are. Run faster,” Daniel says, laughing as he sits down beside me. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of him beside me.

  “I wish I’d brought my camera,” I say.

  Bobby runs toward us, dragging the kite behind him. It flaps against the heavy sand. “Didja see me?”

  “I did,” I say. “It’s the best kite flying I’ve ever seen.”

  His smile is so bright it lights his dark eyes. He flops to sit on the sand beside us. Gradually, though, his smile fades.

  Silence falls, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the whooshing of the waves.

  “Have you got something on your mind, boyo?” Daniel asks.

  Bobby kicks at the sand before he finally looks up. “How will we have beach night in Boston?”

  “Ah. So that’s what you’re thinking about. Moving.”

  Bobby glances quickly at me. I nod encouragingly. He takes a deep breath and says: “I want to stay here, Dad.”

  “I know you do, Bobby.”

  “You were the one who picked it.”

  “Aye. Things were different then.”

  At that, the reminder of how their lives have changed, they fall silent. After a long pause, Bobby says, “Tell Joy how you found this place.”

  Daniel’s sigh threads the night, falls toward me. I’m pretty certain it’s a story he doesn’t want to tell. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his thighs. Shadows and firelight mark his face. “We were livin’ in Boston, in a house not two doors down from Nana and Papa. Your mom managed the makeup counter at Macy’s and I spent my days—and too many nights—on the thirtieth floor of the Beekman Building. I used to dream of towering trees and lakes that were full of fish. Mostly I dreamed of us being together all the time, instead of all going our separate ways. One day I read about this summer house for sale in Washington State. It was a bed and breakfast that had gone bankrupt.”

  “And we bought it. Just like that,” Bobby says, “Without seeing it even.”

  “Aye,” Daniel says, and this time I’m sure it’s wistfulness I hear in his voice. “We had our dreams, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah.”

  In the silence that follows, I know they’re thinking about how far apart they are. All I can see is how close they’ve become. It will only take the merest move by either one of them to find the middle ground.

  I twist around to face Daniel. We are so close now. I can see the tiny grains of sand and bits of ash that cling to his skin and hair. His green eyes look at me with an unnerving intensity. Behind me, I know Bobby is watching us. “I can see why you fell in love with this place. It’s magical.”

  “That’s what Mommy always said.” I can hear the sadness in Bobby’s voice. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Why do we have to move?”

  Daniel looks down at his hands, as if he’ll find the answer in his flesh and bone. “I want the best for you, Bobby.”

  “This is the best.”

  Daniel looks at his son. “How am I supposed to run this place all by myself? I don’t know anything about fishin’ or such.”

  This is a question I can answer. “There are dozens of books that can teach you. I’ve read a lot of them. If you take me to the local library, I’ll help you find them.”

  “Mommy tole me you were smart,” Bobby says accusingly.

  Daniel smiles at that. “I like to think so.”

  “Then learn,” Bobby says.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Daniel says finally. “I’ll think about staying if you’ll think about leaving.”

  They look at each other, father and son, and in the fading sunlight and firelight, I am struck by how alike they are.

  “Okay,” Bobby says solemnly.

  “Okay,” Daniel agrees. “Now, how about some hot dogs and marshmallows before the sun leaves us for good?”

  For the next hour, as the sun slowly drops from the sky and the stars creep into the night, we roast hot dogs and make smores and walk along the darkened waterline. I am too full from my late lunch to eat anything, but a lack of appetite doesn’t keep me from enjoying the fire. A battery-operated radio, perched on a log behind the fire, cranks out one pretty song after another. Often, we sing along. Daniel’s voice is pure and true and sometimes renders me voiceless. We are packed up and ready to leave when a beautiful rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight” starts.

  By the way Daniel sings along, the harshness of his voice, I know the song means something to him.

  “You used to sing this song,” Bobby says.

  “Aye.”

  “Dance with Joy.”

  I catch my breath, surprised.

  “I don’t think so,” Daniel says, careful not to look at me.

  “Pleeease,” Bobby says, looking at us. “For me?”

  I am in the darkness just beyond the dying fire’s glow. Daniel is across from me. His face is all shadows and orange light. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s not smiling.

  “She’s right there, Daddy,” Bobby says, pointing at me. I know it’s not dark enough here to cloak me. I start to say, “No, that’s okay,” but my words grind to a halt.

  Daniel is moving toward me, his hand outstretched.

  I take his hand and move into the circle of his arms. The warmth of his touch makes me sigh; it is a sound I try to take back. In this darkness, it is too loud, too breathy.

  We move together awkwardly; I wonder if it has been as long for him as it has for me. “I was never much of a dancer,” I say by way of explanation. This is an understatement. Thom flat out refused to dance.

  I can feel Daniel’s gaze on me. “I can’t see your feet, but I’ll wager I’m steppin’ on ’em,” he says with a nervous laugh.

  I feel young in his arms, and safe. We find a rhythm easily, and move together as if we’ve danced for years.

  Overhead and to our right, a star tumbles through the sky in a streak of white. “Make a wish,” he whispers.

  My answer is you, but that’s ridiculous. I don’t think I could stand it if he laughed at me now, so I say, “I want to start over.”

  The music ends and Daniel releases me. It’s all I can do not to reach for him. I know I will think about this moment, his touch, all night.

  Behind us, Bobby flicks off the radio, plunges us all into the real world again. Now there is only the roar of the surf and the crackling of the fire. “I know my wish, Dad. What’s yours?”

  It’s a long time before Daniel answers. When he does, he’s looking at me. “Starting over would be nice.”

  I stare at Daniel, unable to look away, unable to stop thinking what if?

  What if I could fall in love again and start my life over? Wh
at if I could belong here?

  “Well, let’s get going,” he says at last. “We’ve lost our light.”

  At that, I think: Have we? Have we lost our light, or have we perhaps just glimpsed it for the first time? All I know is that, when I climb into the truck with this man and his son, I’m smiling.

  Suddenly, I know what I have been waiting for all these years, why I’ve been collecting brochures and books and snapping pictures of other places.

  I’ve been wanting to start over, dreaming of it.

  And now, finally, I know where I want to be when I begin this new part of my life.

  All that night, as I lie in my bed, I think of Daniel. Over and over in my mind, I replay our dancing. The way he looked at me, held me, whispered, “Make a wish.” As the night rolls toward dawn, it takes on the shiny patina of myth.

  I am just waking up when I hear a noise.

  Footsteps on the stairs.

  Daniel. I can tell by the sound.

  I throw my covers back and get out of bed. A quick run into my bathroom, and I’m dressed. Then, carefully, I peer out my door.

  A light is on in the lobby.

  I walk quietly down the carpeted hallway. In the lobby, I find no one. It takes me a second to notice that the door is open.

  In the purple mist of early morning, I see him standing in the front yard. This time, I don’t even think about hanging back. I am starting over now; this is my new beginning.

  I am almost beside him when I see Bobby out on the end of the dock. He is talking to the air. Even from this distance, I can see that he is crying and yelling.

  Daniel makes a sound. In this foggy morning the sound is distorted, drawn out until it sounds like a sob.

  I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m here,” I say.

  He shivers at my touch, but doesn’t turn to look at me. “God . . . how long will this go on?”

  The truth is forever and not long. “He’ll talk to her until he doesn’t need to anymore.”

  We stand there, side by side. Out on the dock, Bobby is yelling for his mommy.

  “He’ll be okay,” I say quietly. “He has a father who loves him. That would have made a difference to me. When my mom died, I mean. All I had was my sister.”

  Suddenly I’m thinking about Mom’s funeral and how I’d fallen apart completely. Stacey was the glue that put me back together, held me together. She was my strength during Mom’s long illness.

  Stacey.

  For the first time, I don’t wince at the thought of her. The memory doesn’t hurt: rather, it takes on the ache of longing. I have missed my sister; this is one of the many truths from which I’ve been running.

  Bobby hurtles toward us.

  Daniel immediately kneels. “I’m here, boyo.”

  Bobby skids to a stop. His cheeks are wet with tears, his eyes are bloodshot. “She didn’t come. I yelled and yelled.”

  “Oh, Bobby,” Daniel says, wiping his son’s tears. I can see him struggling for the right words of comfort. We both know that Bobby needs to let go of his imaginary mother, but the letting go will hurt.

  Daniel pulls Bobby into his arms and holds him tightly, whispering words in a lilting, song-like language I don’t understand.

  Bobby looks at him. “But I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Forgetting her,” Bobby says in a quiet, miserable way.

  Daniel closes his eyes for a moment, and in this reaction I see how hurt he is by his son’s revelation. When he opens his eyes, I can see the sheen of tears. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he says.

  “What?”

  Daniel scoops Bobby into his arms and carries him into the house. “Wait here,” he says, depositing his son on the sofa. He runs up the stairs.

  Bobby looks so small, sitting there on the sofa, with his glistening cheeks and missing front tooth. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks me.

  I sit down on the hearth across from him. I don’t sit beside him because I want him to hear me. To listen. “Tell me about her.”

  “Mommy?” His voice breaks, but I can see how a smile wants to start. I wonder how long he has waited for someone to ask.

  “She liked pink. And she talked really fast.”

  I smile at that. It reminds me of my own mom, who snorted when she laughed. Once, when I was little, she laughed so hard milk came out of her nose. It is a memory I thought I’d lost until just now. “My mom used to kiss my forehead to see if I had a fever. I loved that.”

  “My mommy used to wear butterflies in her hair when she got dressed up.”

  I lean forward. “You won’t forget her, Bobby. I promise.”

  “You’ll leave me, too, won’t you? Just like her.”

  The question—and the sad resignation in his voice—is hard to hear. I know I shouldn’t promise him anything—my life is in upheaval right now and the things I want may well exceed my grasp, but I can’t just sit here and say nothing. “I have another life in California.”

  “You’ll say good-bye, right? You won’t just disappear.”

  My life might be mixed up, but this vow is easy to make. I’d never leave without saying good-bye. “I promise.”

  Daniel comes down the stairs, carrying a big brown photo album and a shoebox.

  I stand, feeling shaky on my feet. This is a private moment. I don’t belong here. “I should go. I’ve . . .”

  “Don’t go,” Bobby says. “Tell her, Daddy. Tell Joy to stay.”

  “Please, Joy,” he says, pulling Bobby close against him. “Don’t go.”

  It is the way he says please that traps me; that, and the knowledge that Bobby is fragile now. I cross around the makeshift coffee table and sit down next to Daniel.

  “Make room for her, Dad.”

  Daniels scoots toward his son.

  “I have plenty of room,” I say.

  Bobby looks up at his dad. “Joy says I’ll always remember things about Mommy. Like the butterfly clips she wore. And the way she gave me fish kisses at naptime.”

  “Fish kisses,” Daniel says, his voice gruff. I know he’s remembering her now, too.

  “She always got the words wrong in the Winnie-the-Pooh song.” Bobby’s voice is stronger now, less uncertain.

  “Her nighttime prayers went on forever,” Daniel says, smiling now. “She blessed everyone she’d ever met.” He looks down at Bobby. “And she loved you, boyo.”

  “You, too.”

  “Aye.”

  Daniel opens the photo album on his lap. There, in black and white is a series of pictures: a boy playing kick-the-can on dirty streets, and riding his rusty bike, and standing by a stone stacked fence, with a kite. The boy has jet black hair that needs a cut. Daniel.

  There’s another shot of a dirty street and a pub called the Pig-and-Whistle.

  “That’s Nana and Papa,” Bobby says, pointing to the couple standing at the pub’s wooden door. “They live in Boston now.”

  “Still spend their time hanging around the pubs,” Daniel says, laughing as he turns the page.

  Maggie.

  Her face looks up at us, wreathed in bridal lace. She looks young and bright and gloriously happy. Her smile could light up Staples Center.

  I can’t help thinking of my own wedding album, tucked deep in an upstairs bookcase, gathering the dust of lost years. I wonder if I’d even recognize my younger self, or would I look through the images of my own life like an archeologist, studying artifacts of an extinct race?

  And what of Stacey? Can I really stay away from her wedding, her big moment? We have always been the witnesses of each other’s lives. Isn’t that what family is? Even broken and betrayed and bleeding, we are connected.

  I push the thoughts aside and focus on the photographs in Daniel’s album.

  The next few pages contain dozens of wedding shots. Daniel goes through them without comment; I hear his relieved sigh when he comes to the end of them.

  “There’s me,” Bobby says, pointing at the f
irst photo of a baby so tiny his face looks like a pink quarter.

  “Aye. That’s the day we brought you home from the hospital.”

  “But Mommy’s crying.”

  “That’s because she loved you so much.”

  From there on, as Daniel turns the pages, he talks, telling the story of their family in that musical brogue of his, and with every passing moment, every syllable that sounds like a song lyric, I can see them moving closer together, this boy with a broken heart and the man who loves him.

  “That’s your first friend, your cousin Sean . . . your first birthday party . . . the day you said ‘Mama.’”

  In time, I begin to notice that there are fewer pictures of him and none of him and Maggie. The whole album is Bobby.

  I know how a thing like this happens. Not all at once, but day by day. You stop wanting to record every minute of an unhappy life. In Bakersfield, I have a drawer of similar albums, where the oldest versions are of Thom and me, and the newest ones are mostly scenery.

  By the time Daniel reaches the last page, Bobby is asleep, tucked in close to his father. Daniel says softly, “Joy?”

  At my name, whispered as it is in the quiet between us, he sighs and smiles.

  “I’m here,” I say, waiting for more.

  When he says nothing, I decide to be bold. I lean toward him, say, “Maybe you and I . . .” I don’t know how to finish, how to ask for what I want, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve gone too far, revealed too much. Daniel shakes his head and pulls away from me.

  “I’m losing my mind,” he says without looking at me. Then, he gets up from the sofa and carries Bobby to the stairs.

  What was I thinking to say “you and I” with the photographs of his lost wife between us?

  As always, I am a master at timing.

  Once again, I am alone.

  SEVEN

  I try to fall back asleep, but after the predawn show, it’s impossible. Somewhere around seven o’clock, I give up and take a shower. I am in the kitchen, looking for coffee when I hear footsteps on the stairs, then in the hallway. I turn just in time to see Daniel coming in to the room. He looks haggard, worn down. The lines around his eyes are so deep and dark they appear to be drawn in charcoal.