Morning Glory

by Sarah Jio

  It’s four thirty, and I haven’t even dressed yet. I should be ironing my red dress, the one with the deep V-shaped neckline and stitching around the waist. It flatters me in all the right places, and I’ve imagined wearing it to see Frank Sinatra. I’ve planned it for days now. Dex would come home, see me in the dress, and wrap his arms around my waist like he always has. He’d whisper in my ear, “You look stunning.”

  I wonder if I’m hallucinating when Dex walks in the door an hour later and sets his hat on the counter. He looks terrible. He hasn’t shaved in days; his cheeks are gaunt. Dark shadows linger beneath his eyes.

  “Hi,” he says, sitting in the chair by the windows. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t ask why I’m propped up on the couch with pillows. He just stares at the lake.

  “I called your studio today,” I say. My words are tense, tinged with hurt. My voice reverberates in the air, but Dex doesn’t seem to notice or care.

  He shakes his head. I can smell the stale, sweet smell of alcohol on his breath, even from across the room. “I don’t understand it,” he says.

  “What?” I ask, sitting up.

  He still doesn’t look at me. “It was perfect,” he says. “It was my masterpiece, and they . . .” He buries his head in his hands.

  “Oh, Dex,” I say soothingly, rushing to his side. I wonder why it’s so easy to assume this role with him, so easy for him to keep taking and for me to keep giving. “Tell me what happened.” I remember the series of paintings he’s been working on for months. “Was the installation today?”

  “The curator hated them,” he says, staring ahead.

  I sit on the arm of the chair and rub my hand along his rough cheek, then kiss his head. His hair is unwashed, and I breathe in the scent of his scalp. I don’t ask him about the woman on the phone at the studio. It doesn’t matter anymore. Dex is here. He came home to me. “Tonight’s the concert,” I say cheerfully. “We’ll go out and take your mind off things.”

  He shakes his head quickly. “I can’t. I have to go back to the studio. I have to work on the replacement. I only came home to get a few clean shirts.”

  “Oh,” I say, stiffening.

  He walks to the hallway and selects four or five shirts that I ironed last week. He wads them up and tucks them under his arm.

  “Penn, I’m sorry,” he says. “I know how much you wanted to go to that concert.” He walks toward me as if seeing me for the first time, as if he’s just noticed that I have feelings too.

  He touches my waist, but I push his hand away.

  “You could still go,” he says.

  “By myself?”

  “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

  I shake my head. “She hates Frank Sinatra.”

  He scratches his head. “How about the boat maker, what’s-his-name . . .”

  “Collin,” I say. “His name is Collin.” I don’t tell him that he saved my life. That he is kind and thoughtful, so much more than a boat maker.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Why don’t you see if he wants to go?” He shrugs. “I paid a fortune for those tickets. You ought to use them.”

  “Right,” I say. “You’d better go.” My voice is flat and mechanical.

  “Penn,” he says, pulling me toward him. “You’re not mad at me, are you? Because I couldn’t handle that. Not after this day.”

  I force a smile. I know he needs me to be strong.

  “That’s my girl,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I’ll call you soon.”

  I nod as the door clicks closed, then walk to the chair Dex was sitting in. The air still smells like him, sweet and musky. I sit there until it dissipates, then disappears entirely. Sometime later, I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say. I don’t have the energy to get up.

  It’s Collin. “Hi,” he says, looking at his watch. “You’d better get dressed. Aren’t you going to the Sinatra concert tonight?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going.”

  “Not going? Why not?”

  I turn to face him, and the tears finally come. They spill out over my eyelids and stream down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them now. I can’t. Collin rushes to my side and kneels down by me. He takes my hands in his. They’re large and warm, and encircle my small fingers. “What can I do?” he asks, handing me a handkerchief from his shirt pocket.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “What happened?”

  I look away, then let my eyes meet his again. “Dex isn’t going with me to the concert.”

  “Why not?”

  “He has to work.”

  Collin nods to himself. “Then I’ll take you.”

  In spite of Dex’s offhand suggestion, I’d never think of asking Collin. It seems forward, somehow. But now that he’s mentioned it, now that he’s kneeling here in front of me holding my hands, I want nothing else. “Would you?”

  He nods, then stands up. “Now, let’s get you dressed.” He walks to the hallway closet and sees the red dress I left on the hook. “This one?”

  I nod.

  “It’s perfect,” he says, pulling the ironing board out and plugging the cord into the wall. I didn’t know men could iron. Dex always acts as if he’s allergic to housework. I watch with fascination as Collin spreads the red fabric over the ironing board and smooths the pleats beneath his fingers. His motions are gentle but determined, the way he sands the planks of the sailboat. I think of his hands touching my dress and my cheeks flush.

  “There,” he says a moment later, holding up the dress on a hanger.

  “How did you learn to iron?” I ask.

  He grins as if I’ve just asked him how he learned to read. “My mother raised me to know these things.”

  I vow to myself right then that if I ever have a son, I’ll raise him to be thoughtful like Collin. I’ll teach him to iron a dress and to make icing for cookies and to mend a hole in a pair of trousers. “Well,” I say. “Your mother did a good job.” I take the dress from Collin and eye it on the hanger. Somehow it seems more daring now. I wonder if I ought to have chosen something more conservative. “I’ll just go get changed.”

  “Do you want me to come back?” Collin asks, rubbing his head nervously.

  “Stay here,” I say, smiling. “It’s OK. I’ll just run upstairs.”

  I climb the ladder to the loft bedroom and peel off my dress, then sit on the bed in my slip. The night air is warm and sultry on my skin. Downstairs, just a few feet below me, Collin is fiddling with the record player.

  “I saw a Sinatra record on the table,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought it could get us in the mood for the concert.”

  “I could use a lift,” I say, letting my slip fall to the floor. It glides over my budy effortlessly. I hear the crackle of the record player, and then the deep, smooth sound of Sinatra’s voice. I sway to the melody as I unclasp my bra. I select another, white lace, from the drawer and put it on, then reach for a fresh pair of lace panties. The music is sweet and beckoning. I could just say his name. “Collin. Could you come up here, please? Could you help me with the window? The hinge is stuck.” My heart beats faster when I imagine what would happen next, when I imagine his strong hands holding me. I hear his footsteps downstairs. I open my mouth to say his name, and then close it quickly. I think of Dex. I can’t.

  I put on my stockings, then slip into my dress and heels. I fasten my hair back with a clip and swipe red lipstick over my lips. I fiddle with the zipper, tugging it halfway up my back, but it sticks. I try again, but I’m worried I’ll tear the dress. Timidly, I climb down the stairs, where Collin is waiting. He’s beaming at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “Wow,” he says. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m sorry, but do you think I could talk you into zipping me up?” I turn around, and without saying anything, he walks toward me. I feel his warm hands on my back as he rights the path of the zipper. It relents instantly, and a tingly sensation erupts on my skin as
he pulls it up to the nape of my neck.

  “There,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders to turn me around. “Perfect.”

  We arrive at the theater and take our seats near the stage. A waitress appears to take our cocktail orders, then returns with two martinis. After taking a sip, I eat the olives from the toothpick in my glass.

  “Here,” Collin says, handing me an olive from his glass.

  “Thanks,” I say, popping it in my mouth. Dex never gives me his olives.

  The waitress returns with another round of martinis, and by the time the lights dim, the crowd is applauding and I feel light and happy, like I could float away. Frank Sinatra takes the stage, and everyone stands, cheering. He’s handsome, with mature, chiseled features like Dex’s. The band begins to play and I hear the opening melody to “How Deep Is the Ocean,” and I sway beside Collin until the band preludes into a soft ballad. A couple in front of us begins to dance, and then another. Collin looks at me, and I don’t hesitate. I lean into his arms and press my cheek against the lapel of his jacket.

  The cab drops us off on Fairview Avenue. I know I’ve had too much to drink, because my legs aren’t cooperating and my face feels numb. “Take my hand,” Collin says softly, helping me out of the cab. I stumble a little, but he steadies me. “Let me carry you.”

  He doesn’t wait for my reply before lifting me into his arms effortlessly. I feel as light as a feather. He steps onto the dock, and we pass the neighbors’ houseboats. The old lady near the stairs must be asleep, because her house is dark. I realize I have no idea what time it is. Or what day it is. I see the potted flowers in front of Naomi and Gene’s house and detect the ruffle of a curtain in the window, but I don’t care. Let them all see me. Let them all think what they want.

  Collin stops suddenly, and I look up. I recognize the front door of my houseboat. He sets me down, and I lean back against the door. His eyes sparkle under the house lights, and I feel dizzy looking into them. I think about going back inside my houseboat, alone. “I don’t want this night to end,” I whisper.

  “Me either,” he says. His arms are at his sides, but I wish he’d wrap them around me, press me against the door, and kiss me. I wish he’d carry me over the threshold like Dex did on the day of our wedding.

  Without thinking, I lean toward him so that my lips are close to his. I feel the warmth of his skin as I close my eyes. I can hear music, the sound of waves lapping against the houseboat. I hear my future. Laughter. Children’s voices. Music. Happiness. But Collin pulls away suddenly and lets go of my hands.

  I look down. “Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry, I . . .” I search his eyes. “Why can’t you kiss me? Do you not want to?”

  “I do,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “More than you could ever know.” He shakes his head. “Listen, it’s late. I should say good night.”

  He turns to the dock, and in a moment he’s gone.

  Inside the house, I sink into the couch. My dress falls all around me like a heap of red velvet frosting, and I lean back against the cushion. My heart is beating wildly. There’s a half-drunk bottle of wine on the counter. I uncork it and pour some into a glass. I stare at the phone and think of Dex. I dial the number to his studio and take another sip of wine as the phone rings.

  “Hello?” It’s the same voice. The same young woman. I look at the clock—after midnight—then slam the phone down.

  I slip off my heels and run outside to the deck, then climb into the canoe, forgetting my life vest. It doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. I paddle across the little channel and tie the rope to the cleat hurriedly. I don’t care if it floats away. I don’t care about anything but falling into Collin’s arms.

  There’s a light on inside, and I run to his back door and knock quietly but persistently. There are tears in my eyes and anticipation in my heart. Collin appears a moment later. He’s changed into Levi’s and his shirt is unbuttoned. I don’t say anything; neither does he. We speak a language all our own. He lifts me up to him, and I wrap my legs and arms around his body. I look into his eyes and feel his breath on my skin. Our lips are close now, and this time, he kisses me.

  Chapter 18

  ADA

  I don’t see Alex the next day, or the day after. I feel bad about rushing out of the restaurant the way I did, and yet, after what I heard him say on the phone, how could I not? How could I trust him with my fragile heart when his is already in the possession of someone else? And then, on a quiet Saturday morning on the dock while I water the flowers outside my deck, our eyes meet.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi,” I reply timidly.

  “Can I come over?”

  I nod.

  He jumps in his kayak and crosses the little channel before attaching the craft to the cleat beside my deck. It’s a warm day, and he’s wearing a navy T-shirt and cargo shorts.

  “Do you want to sit?” I ask.

  “That would be nice.”

  At first, we don’t say anything. We just watch the sailboats stream by, and then Alex turns to me.

  “What did I say? What did I do to make you leave the other night? Did I say too much? Did I frighten you? I’m so sorry if I did.” There’s a tinge of desperation.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Alex. It was silly for me to think you were ready for a new relationship—that I was ready for a new relationship.”

  He shifts his chair so that he’s facing me, not the view. “Oh, Ada, but I am ready for a new relationship. I only told you about my past so you’d know the truth about me. I hoped you wouldn’t be frightened by it, but I guess I should have expected that.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not frightened by it. But I know you still love your ex.” I can’t bring myself to say her name. “And as long as you still care about her, well, I don’t want to come between that.”

  He looks confused. “What do you mean that I ‘still love’ my ex?”

  “I heard you talking on the phone to her,” I say. “I understand.”

  “At the restaurant?”

  I nod.

  “Yes, it was Kellie who called, but she put my daughter on the phone. You must have heard me talking to Gracie.”

  I shake my head silently as my eyes well up with tears. I think of Ella then, her dark hair, her smile with a missing front tooth. “You have a daughter?”

  “Yes,” he says softly. “It’s what I was trying to tell you, before the phone rang, before you left.”

  I tuck my hand into his. “Oh, Alex.”

  “Kellie was pregnant when she left me,” he says. “She didn’t tell me about Gracie until she was three. I suppose in some ways I didn’t deserve to be a father then. I had to work through my issues, and I did. Kellie finally introduced me to Gracie, though, a few weeks after her fourth birthday, and it was love at first sight. Part of me will never forgive her for keeping my daughter from me for so many years. It kills me to think of how much of her life I missed. But another part of me understands her reasons. And I guess all that matters is that I’m a part of her life now. My relationship with Kellie is rocky. We don’t always agree on parenting decisions, but we’re trying. We both love our daughter very much, and we’re committed to being the best parents to Gracie.” He takes a deep breath. “Ada, you’d love her. She’s eight years old, and the spunkiest little thing you’ll ever meet. She loves animals and anything pink, and won’t leave the house without her Dora the Explorer backpack.”

  I wipe away a tear. “I can’t wait to meet her. That is, if you want me to.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I do,” he says. “Very much.”

  I take a deep breath and think of my precious little girl and her adoring father. I think of the perfect life that I lost, and I realize that Alex and I have more in common than I could have ever anticipated.

  Chapter 19

  PENNY

  I’m relieved when I don’t see Dex’s shoes by the front door the next morning. I slip into the house and shower. I lather the soap over my body
, caressing my skin the way Collin did last night. I feel guilty, and yet I feel cherished in a way I haven’t been in so long. I hear the sound of the front door opening and freeze. Is it Dex? Collin? I wipe away the fog on the shower door when I see the bathroom door opening.

  “Oh, there you are,” Dex says.

  “You’re home,” I say flatly. “I didn’t think you’d be back for a while.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  I turn off the water and reach for the towel on the hook. I wrap it around myself and step out. Dexter pulls me to him and kisses me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to the concert last night,” he says. “Did you go?”

  I nod. “Collin took me.”

  “Oh, good,” he says. “I’ll have to thank him. But first, I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh,” I say, feigning interest. I imagine he’s bought me a gift. Something cashmere. A bracelet from Tiffany, maybe. It’s his pattern. Disappointment, then pretty present tied up with a ribbon, repeat. But there is no box in his hand.

  “We’re going on a trip,” he says.

  “A trip?”

  “Yes. To California.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought we needed a little getaway,” he says. “See some palm trees. Stay in a five-star hotel. Feel the sand between our toes.”

  “I suppose this was your psychiatrist’s idea,” I say, making no attempt to hide the annoyance in my voice.

  He looks startled for a moment, then the smile returns to his face. “No, it was actually my idea,” he says, taking my hands in his. “Pack your bags. Our plane leaves this afternoon.”

  At first I feel irritated. How dare he just waltz back here and tell me to pack my bags? And then the guilt sets in. I remember where I was last night, how Collin made me feel. I look at the floor, and Dex lifts my chin up to face him. “Let me make it up to you. Please?”