And then one bone-chilling, wet morning in the winter of 1997, as the two men ate breakfast in companionable silence, Charles de la Croix put down his newspaper and said, “I don’t feel very well.” Danny took one look at his ashen face and dialed 911, but it was already too late. Charles slid off his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his kind heart suddenly – silently – exploding in his chest. The last words he spoke to Danny were, “You’ve given me great joy.”
The nightmare of the funeral was no match for the reading of Charles’ Will. Although his sisters and their children benefited just as he’d always intended, the codicil left his house, all its contents, and a very large sum of money to Philip Daniels. But the only thing Danny wanted was Charles, alive. He saw no point in anything else. Through his tears, he saw the disgust on the faces of those who professed to love Charles de la Croix. Before they could say, or do, anything to hurt him anymore than he was already hurting, Danny gave up everything and left New Orleans with little more than he’d arrived with.
He drifted across the southwestern part of the United States and into California, until he’d seen enough plains, deserts, and arid, brown hills to last a lifetime. He missed the lushness of Louisiana, but couldn’t go back. And so he made his way up the Pacific Coast. The closer he got to Washington, the more it pulled him, until he began to believe there was a reason he was returning to the one place where love had been a small part of his life.
Once in Tacoma, he’d found Ted Perry in the first phone book he’d looked in, gotten up his courage, and gone across the Narrows Bridge into Gig Harbor. But the house was empty. The trail had gone cold. And he returned to Tacoma with a terrible sadness and a vague childhood memory of a place called Salmon Beach – a place that seemed perfect for laying low for a while.
When the man who now calls himself Phil Madvick looks back on the loss of Charles de la Croix, he feels a strange sense of gratitude, because that loss has given him an enormous gain. He can’t help but think of the saying: When one door closes, another opens.
He has found his sister and, as far as he is concerned, he will never let her go again. Hers is the real love, of this he is certain. She will approve of him. She will find him acceptable. There will be no other substitute for the love he wants from Maddy.
Charles de la Croix helped him see – if only for a short time – he was worthy of some kind of love. But Maddy will give him the spiritual restoration he needs.
And the voice in his head – his father’s voice that Phil Madvick has claimed as his own – will finally be silenced.
Journal Entry
July 25
It hasn’t stopped raining for three days. I suppose we need it, but I always feel cheated when it does this. We have to put up with enough cold, wet days in the winter. Summer should mean endlessly clear, blue skies until at least mid-October. And if we have to have rain, then the night time is the right time. Like in Camelot.
And speaking of night time, Nick and I have been making the most of it. We’ve been together every night since Sunday. Either he comes over here, or I go there. However it happens, we end up in bed until morning. I love waking up with him next to me. He tends to drift off before I do, so I spend a lot of time watching him sleep. He’s so beautiful when his sleep is peaceful.
His nightmares tend to come in the early hours, and they’ve visited him every morning. I don’t think he knows he groans and mumbles through them. It’s heartbreaking to hear. But when he wakes up, he says he doesn’t remember them. I don’t really believe him. I think there’s some kind of male ego thing at work, preventing him from admitting he’s scared. But they scare me because I can’t do anything to help.
It’s strange that they’ve started up again since Nick found the burglar. I can’t see a connection. From what he’s told me, his dreams always deal with frustration and an inability to help the people he loves. How this Phil person could possibly affect Nick in that way isn’t clear to me. I wonder if Mary can shed any light.
The other night, though, Nick did open an odd topic. He asked me what I thought of Phil. Since I only met him that one time in Nick’s house – which gave me the willies, truth be told – I didn’t know what to tell him. Then he asked, “Well, as a woman, do you think he’s good-looking?” I made a small joke, and said, “If he were a woman, I’d have to say the beard makes him a little butch.”
Nick laughed, but it seemed forced. He said, “Come on, Maddy. You know what I mean.” I asked why it was important for him to know, and he just kinda nonchalantly shrugged, and said, “Rita and Susan think he’s worth looking at. I was just wondering what you thought.” I told him, nothing against Rita and Susan, but it was hard for me to picture them giving him a second look. And besides, I barely glanced at the man.
All this came up while we were lying in bed. We’d finished making love about ten minutes before. And I was a little surprised Nick was even alert enough to make conversation.
I think he feels threatened by this guy. And I can’t understand why. I almost teased him about being jealous, but good sense prevailed. Instead, I snuggled up next to him and told him discussing other men wasn’t my idea of great pillow talk. That he was the only male within a thousand-mile radius I was interested in. And he chuckled, much more like the Nick I’ve come to know, and said, “So, I’m safe as far as – about – Denver.”
I guess Phil is doing a pretty good job atoning for his sins. Since the rain’s started he’s been working indoors. He’s got a lot of jobs to do. I’ve heard rumors some have tried to pay him, but he won’t take any money. A lot of people on the beach have fallen under his spell.
I’ve been getting a lot of work done: for Jaed and for myself. The darkroom has been especially wonderful on these wet days. I lose track of time in there, and the stuff I’ve been turning out looks good to me. I’m putting together a booklet of my Salmon Beach photos for Mom and Dad. When I showed it to Mary she suggested I make it a little more professional – add captions, data, a title – with Jaed’s desktop publisher. She said once the residents see it they’ll all want a copy. So, once I’m done with the one for the folks, I’m going to work on a prototype, and I’m going to ask Mary to help me with it. This has got me very excited, and every time I think about it, I start visualizing better ways to do it. It’s hard to imagine putting a price on my work, but I’ve begun to believe in my talent in a way I never have before.
I’m a little worried about Mary. There’s something bothering her, but whenever I ask, she just shakes her head and says it’s nothing. Sometimes we’ll be talking and she’ll stop and look at me the way people do when they’ve thought of something they want to say. You know – that expectant, “Oh, I nearly forgot” look? And their mouths actually open to speak, but then they just clam up.
I told Nick about it, and he said he’s noticed the same thing. He thinks cabin fever may be setting in, and he’s come up with a great plan. We’re going to take her up to Victoria, B.C. on her birthday. We’ll spend the night, so it won’t be too tiring for her. And we’re going to do it up right. High tea at the Empress Hotel. A tour of Butchart Gardens. And we’ll be staying at The New Britain Inn, a gorgeous old Tudor-revival hotel in the suburbs. I’ve never been there, but Mary has mentioned it several times, and claims it’s where she first discovered her favorite tea. Her Darjeeling Blend is the number one reason for the whole trip.
We haven’t said anything to her yet, because we’re waiting for confirmation on our reservation. This is the high season and there was only one room available, but Jaed is pulling some strings for us. Apparently (and why am I not surprised), she once had a “very hot fling” with the current owner when he was still single, and she’s managed to not only remain friends with him, but Jaed and his wife email each other on a semi-regular basis. I should know something by the beginning of next week.
In the meantime, Nick and I have been working out the details. What I thought would be the toughest one – getting Mary o
ff the beach – turns out to be fairly easy. North of Salmon Beach there’s another, shorter set of stairs. I’d guess there are maybe 30 or 40 steps. They connect with a wide path with a couple of switchbacks and that path leads to another parking area. There are a few storage sheds there, along with maintenance buildings. I’ve never used that particular path down to the beach because it’s so far from Jaed’s house, but it’ll work perfectly for getting Mary up to the car.
She’ll probably be mortified by what we’ve come up with, but it speaks volumes about how people down here feel about her. We’re renting a wheelchair and Nick and three other young studs are going to carry the chair up the shorter stairway. She’ll look like the Queen of the Nile. I can’t wait to document the whole thing on film.
Finally, I’ve come to what I’ve been dying to write.
Nick phoned me Tuesday morning. He’d just left about half an hour before. When I answered, he said, “Are you doing anything Saturday night?”
I told him, aside from having wild animal sex with him, I didn’t have any plans.
“So, how about dinner and a movie?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I mean, would you like to go out with me?” he said.
I still wasn’t getting it, and I said, “That’s okay. I’m sure I can come up with something here, and I think there’s an M’s game on.”
Nick kind of sighed, and said, “Maddy, I’m asking you out.”
“You mean, like a date?” I was stunned.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“But we’ve never gone out.”
“I know. Don’t you think it’s about time?”
So, I actually have a date. And on a Saturday night! What is the world coming to?
I’ll end this here. Nick will be turning up on my doorstep soon. He called about an hour ago. Said he had something for me. I thanked him for playing straight-man, and – in the worst Mae West imitation ever attempted – said, “Bring it over here, big boy. I can’t wait to unwrap it.”
He said, “But it’s not wrapped.”
And I replied, “Well, tie a ribbon around it, honey. I need to do something with my hands.”
I’m sorry, but I just have to say this again…I have a date!
Chapter Thirty
Nervously twisting a strand of hair into a corkscrew curl, she stood in front of the bed. Her eyes darted from the scoop-necked floral sheath, to the emerald green, raw silk mini-skirt, to the black linen pants and camisole in fuchsia, then back to the floral sheath.
Make a decision, Maddy.
She tentatively picked up the camisole, set it down again, and finally snatched up the mini-skirt and hung it on the doorknob. She stepped back and eyed it.
Okay, that’s good. Now pick out a top, and let’s get on with it.
The closet didn’t yield anything worthwhile, and she pawed through a drawer until she found a black spandex tank-top. She held it up to the skirt.
“I guess this means we’re going for the ‘fuck-me’ look…” she said.
Maddy dug out the only black lace garter belt she’d ever owned, sheer black stockings, and found her three-inch black heels. She’d be uncomfortable as hell, but at least she’d look good.
A flock of butterflies did loops through her stomach, and she dropped onto the bed. God, this was high school all over again. At sixteen or thirty-nine, it didn’t matter, she had a love/hate relationship with the ritual known as ‘dating.’ The anticipation was exciting and nauseating, sometimes with fairly gruesome results.
Maddy rubbed her abdomen and took deep breaths, trying to hold on to what little lunch she’d eaten. Sitting on the bed, then flopping onto her back, she closed her eyes and counted backwards from twenty. “Maddy,” she said. “You’re going out with Nick. You’ve seen each other naked, for chrissakes.”
The doorbell rang, interrupting her soliloquy. Her eyes sprang open in panic, and she looked at the clock. But it was only four-fifteen. A huge sigh escaped her lungs, and she struggled off the bed.
Phil Madvick was the last person she expected to see standing in her doorway, and the expression on her face made that clear.
“If you’re looking for Nick, he isn’t here,” she said.
He smiled, but Maddy’s eyes looked off beyond his left shoulder as she began closing the door.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you,” he said.
“I’m pretty busy right now.”
“You might want to hear what I’ve got to say, Maddy.”
Something about the way he said her name got Maddy’s attention. A ripple of unease went through her, raising gooseflesh on her arms. Maddy didn’t have premonitions, but the feeling something had changed hit her, and she said, “Is Nick all right?”
“As far as I know,” Phil replied. “May I come in?”
Maddy didn’t move. “Where is he?”
“He said he was going into town.” He paused, understanding he’d frightened her. “Look, this isn’t about Nick.”
Maddy didn’t know Phil Madvick at all, but still, something was different about him. She concentrated, then realized his accent was all but gone. She stared at him, eyes narrowed, and asked, “Then what is this about?”
He’d grown uncomfortable with her obvious misgivings, and Phil pleaded, “Maddy, please?”
She’d had enough. Why was he talking to her as if they mattered to each other? Her fingers still gripped the doorknob and Maddy attempted to close the gap between them, again saying, “I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”
Phil put his hand out to stop the door’s progress. He quickly checked behind him. The path was clear. When he turned back, Phil tried to engage her eyes, saw there was no hope of that, and finally said, “Maddy, it’s me.” She looked at him at last. “It’s Danny.”
Maddy’s world tilted. She lost focus and the screen went from color to gray. She could feel herself slowly falling into some other place, safer than the one she was in now.
The man who said he was Danny had stepped forward. She could just make out the look of concern on his face. And before everything went black, Maddy’s only thought was, ‘Why is he playing this terrible joke on me?’
She came to on the couch. The stranger sat beside her, holding a cool washcloth to her forehead. When her eyes opened, he pulled it away, and said, “Maddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to tell you.”
He was too close to her, and Maddy crammed her body into the back of the sofa to gain some distance. When she spoke, her words came out in a hoarse whisper. “Get away from me.”
He picked up a glass of water and held it out to her, but she pushed his hand away and the water spilled.
“Get away.”
Phil let his knees slide to the floor. As he knelt in front of her, his voice begged her to listen. “Maddy, just look at me. I know I look different, but it’s really me…Number One Son. Remember?”
Maddy’s head jerked around, and she stared at him with sudden belief. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God…Danny?!” Tears flooded her eyes. “Danny!”
He reached out to her, but she didn’t need coaxing. They were in each other’s arms. Their sobs filled the room.
“Maddy, Maddy – I’ve missed you so much.”
She pulled away from him and held his face with shaking hands. “I can’t believe it’s really you.” But Maddy could see the remnants of the eighteen-year-old boy he’d once been, and her body began to tremble with the realization that he was here and alive.
He’s here…and alive.
An unexpected burst of anger shot through her at the thought and, without warning, Maddy pushed him away. The hand which – seconds ago – cradled his face, slapped it.
“Maddy?! What?...”
She stood, tears streaming down her cheeks, pummeling him with ineffective blows. She raged at him with her fists, and he took the physical punishment, but his heart was where he felt the pain.<
br />
Exhausted, Maddy kept on, until she sank to the floor and cried, “How could you do this to me?!”
His eyes wide with what he’d been fearing, he said, “Maddy, it’s not my fault.”
“What do you mean, it’s not your fault?” she screamed. “You left me! You ran away. You’ve been gone for nineteen fucking years!”
“Maddy, I’m begging you to listen…”
“Nineteen years! Without a single word…” Using the coffee table for support, she got to her feet and stumbled. He put out his hand to steady her, but she shoved it away and ran from the room.
He followed her into the bathroom, where he found her bending over the sink, sobbing harshly.
“Get out,” she spat.
“Maddy, I love you. Don’t do this.”
She whirled to face him. “You love me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don’t even know me.”
“But I’m your brother.”
“I’ve had to pretend I didn’t have a brother for nearly half of my life.”
Her words tore at him. He didn’t know how to stop what he’d started. He wanted to make her understand the truth of his exile and was terrified because he could see she wasn’t going to listen.
“Maddy, please. You don’t know my side of the story.”
She swiped at her running nose with the back of her hand. “I know what you did, and it was selfish and shitty,” she said, through a fresh spate of tears. “I loved you so much, Danny. You knew that, but you never once contacted me.”
“I tried! Maddy, if you’d just give me a chance to tell you. There were reasons I couldn’t…”
She pushed past him and into the bedroom, but there was nowhere to hide from this. She saw the skirt hanging on the doorknob, her clothes carefully arranged on the bed, and Maddy remembered how splendidly the day had started. Nick would be here soon, and he would be her oasis on this desert island of misery she’d suddenly found herself stranded on.
Maddy felt Danny’s presence behind her. He said, “I found you in Santa Barbara. I went to your apartment.”
A Sea Change Page 23