Yet, moments later, Jim began to breathe easier. On his left, he passed one of his old favorites, the Sevens Pub.
He must move back to Boston. It was too early to break it off with Maureen. He had to move back to give her one final chance. The distance had become unbearable to her. To stay on the Cape, he would lose his girlfriend, and then he would be left employed by her father. How awkward.
He vowed he would keep pushing through. Perhaps she would love him more after he made the move back. He could just ignore her comments and her recent lack of affection. Following the move, he could judge her in a new light.
At least he could be with his Boston friends. That much was sure.
Resuming life in Boston, he would still see the Commodore and Kathleen. He would sail quite often. He just needed to unwind, to enjoy this evening and night in the city.
As he lumbered up the townhouse steps, Jim swore to abstain from argument or decisions. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. After ten seconds, steps approached on the foyer's creaky hardwood boards. The locks were unbolted. The door jerked open.
Maureen let it swing wide as she stepped back and caught the door in her hand. "There you are."
At least she smiled.
"Don't just stand out there looking at me. Let's make some of that cocoa."
Jim stepped into the cool dimness of the foyer. Maureen grabbed the box from his hand. He shut the door behind them and followed her through the hallway. There was no kiss or hug. He still felt unsettled from her remarks thirty minutes before about his tardiness, and his frustration in turn had irritated her. She started down the hall and he followed her. Ah, he thought, she simply had to be unjustly irritated at his justified irritation…
"So, how are you feeling?" Jim grabbed her left elbow and spun her like a top into his arms. Her eyes widened in surprise as he jerked her toward him with one hand on her elbow and the other pressing the flat of her upper back. Jim kissed her flush on the lips, tasting their strawberry balm.
Maureen shook her head and sighed, but her eyebrows rose as if she were impressed over his acrobatic display of passion. "Guess I forgot to kiss, huh?" she said as he looked down at her.
"You did! What did I do wrong?"
Smiling, she turned and broke from him, storming down the hallway toward the kitchen. "I'm absolutely craving some cocoa."
"All right then," he plodded behind her with a tired gait. "I could use a cup, no lie."
He collapsed in one of the kitchen's high-backed wooden chairs. Jim stretched out his legs and groaned. It wasn't exactly a recliner.
"What was that for?" Maureen poured water into each mug and placed them in the microwave. She set the time and then turned toward Jim.
"Just needin' ta stretch out those legs!"
"Miss me?" she came around behind his chair and put her hands on his shoulders. "Jim?"
"What do you think, sweetness?"
"Just checking, sailor." She laid her cheek against his as she hugged him.
"I've been doin' some hard thinking. I've gotta move back up to the city."
A moment of odd silence rose and filled every square inch of the kitchen.
"Are you serious?" she swung around in front of him. She looked down at him, her lips parted. Her eyes and white smile widened by the second.
"You are moving back?" she whispered. "When?"
Maureen seemed partially elated, her mouth opening into a smile, and peculiarly, somewhat flustered, her nostrils flaring and her brow furrowing. She pulled out a chair from the table, dragged it within feet of his to face him, and sank into it. "What prompted this decision?"
Jim allowed his gaze to drift along the crown molding. "What really precipitated this was… over lunch yesterday, your father flat-out permitted me to cut out of work early and come see you."
"I love him," she said. "Oh, Daddy."
"He's open to me moving back to the city. He said he'd foot the bill, the moving costs, all that. He's sincerely worried about you."
Her eyebrows lifted with excitement. "So… what did you say?"
"I told him I'd consider it. Actually, I was in shock. I also felt awkward, because I was turning beet-ass red in that colonial inn and he just caught me off—"
"Colonial inn? In Osterville, downtown on Main?" Her excitement faded as her face turned downcast with a cloud of worry, almost horror. "The Bartley Inn?"
"That a bad thing?"
"Did you meet an ancient woman there? And her son, who runs the place?"
"Indeed I did."
"Shippey," she mumbled, her eyes staring past him into the wall.
Jim studied her. She held her chin in one hand, pondering with deep solemnity. Her eyes carried a look of surprise, fused with a sort of discontent.
"What is it? Can I help?" he said.
"Behold one of our family secrets."
He paused.
Maureen jerked up from her chair and walked around the kitchen island. She carried the mugs from the microwave over to the table. After she set one on the placemat beside Jim, Maureen sat again in the chair feet across from him, cradled her mug in her hands, gazing down at her feet.
"Tom Shippey. My half-brother. When Daddy was still in the Naval Academy… he… he slept with this Osterville firecracker by the name of Gwen Shippey. She was quite a looker back in the day. Anyway, I think she set Daddy up. He could've ignored her. But he sent them money every month, from his navy pay—even from his own father."
"Does the whole town of Osterville know? And the guys in the shop?"
Maureen placed her cocoa on the table and placed her reddening face in her hands. "Most of them do know, yes. Daddy used to see Ms. Shippey, or Gwen, as he calls her, during the summers and on holidays home from Annapolis. One night, after a dance on the Cape, she just flat out seduced him. Daddy always assumed Tom was his kid, even though I guess technically back then one couldn't know for sure."
"Oh," Jim said.
Maureen was still sunk into the same stance at the table, her elbows on her kneecaps, her chair turned to face him. Her eyelids grew heavy, came down. She looked as if the subject at hand had already exhausted her.
"Tom Shippey really is his son. You can even see the resemblance. After Daddy retired from the Navy, he settled here in the East. He took over his father's trading firm, spent quality time with Tom, and met and married my mother. He also loans books to Tom. They go sailing and grab lunch."
"Walter gave that book to Tom at the inn, after lunch," Jim said.
"They have a kind of book club. They'll recommend books to each other, see a movie together at the cinema, stuff like that. Daddy feels guilty for not being there much when Tom was young, and later when he was at BC. He wants to make up for lost time."
"That's why the Commodore has that Boston College pennant in his garage?"
"Many of Dad's siblings and cousins were Eagles."
"So how do you feel about their friendship?" Jim leaned forward in his chair, sipping the hot chocolate.
"I should mention how much you really sound like a shrink, Jim." Maureen looked up from her kneecaps into his eyes. Then she reached over and seized her mug of hot cocoa, causing it to slosh a bit over the rim.
"Sorry, Maur," Jim mumbled.
"Actually, it's kind of complicated. I feel above all very happy he didn't just desert the boy, he supported him all along. So many men these days would do far less. But I don't think I can ever completely like Gwen Shippey. She was just a young hussy then, but still. And at the same time, it is quite strange, the whole thing. I mean, that's my father. I always used to feel uneasy, even angry. Like first Gwen tricked him. And that her son had a kind of emotional access to Daddy that… well, it just feels kind of awkward that my dad has an 'other family life.' As if having a very old father wasn't really different already."
"I understand completely." Jim leaned forward out of his seat and draped his arms around her.
"You can't understand."
Jim leaned back.
He threaded the fingers of his hands together, prayer-like, and looked at his feet. "So, Maureen, why didn't you tell me all this earlier?"
"It's not easy to disclose. And I never dated a guy long enough to tell him. Anyway, Daddy really nurtures Tom's intellectual life. He visits Tom's kids from time to time as well. I think Mom always trusted that Daddy wouldn't mess around since Ms. Shippey was married for much of her life—and so old—and Mom was so young and beautiful and Daddy just doesn't do infidelity."
"Crazy story. But glad you told me," Jim said. He leaned forward and took her in his arms. He tried to kiss her mouth but she turned her head at the last second.
"What is it?" he laughed.
"Lemme go!" she shot back.
"Why've you been doing that lately, Maur? Just lost that lovin' feelin'?" He stood, shook his head, and walked over to the kitchen's bay window which overlooked the small yet elegant courtyard with its ivy-covered walls and its statue of a cherub bearing a platter.
"I wish I knew what was wrong with me," she said.
He walked back around the table toward her. Maureen paused for a second, rose to her feet and stepped boldly toward him.
Jim let himself sink into the cool cerulean blue irises of her eyes. Deep inside was something he had not seen before, neither love nor lust. But he was in no mood for conjecture or speculation. When she leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulder blades, and pulled him toward her, and when she thrust her hot mouth onto his, there was suddenly something more interesting. There was an odd shyness, a timid apprehension, as if she had never kissed him before. But it was almost as if there was an anger there.
They began to kiss passionately. In seconds they had torn their clothes off and collapsed together in a panting, writhing mass onto the kitchen floor. Minutes later they lay together on the cold marble tiles, sweating and in the nude, their breath gradually slowing.
Maureen raised her chin from his chest, and her eyes met his. Once again that peculiar expression filled her gaze. Inside, there was something… dead. "Tonight I think I want to sleep alone."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Wednesday morning arrived with a fierce rainstorm out of the east. Jim sat in his office, perusing the file on the John Paul Jones. He did not sip, but instead quaffed his morning coffee, as he struggled to pull himself fully from slumber.
Raindrops pelted the metal roof of the warehouse. Despite the closed door, hammering and men's voices down by the schooner reached his ears. He raised the mug once more to his lips. Three knocks rapped at the door. Jim nearly spilled his coffee. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and set the mug down on the roll top desk.
"Come in," Jim said.
"Open sesame," said a familiar voice. In stepped Walter, his face and shirt damp from the rain. He carried an umbrella and a raincoat.
"Hey, Commodore!"
"Lemme hang these babies up." The old man walked toward the clothing rack on the opposite wall.
He draped them over the hooks and turned toward Jim with an energetic grin. "How's my man doing this morning?" Walter eased into the chair a few feet from him. "Long drive last night, eh? You look a bit haggard, son."
Jim leaned back in his chair, his limbs feeling heavier than normal.
"The drive wasn't for the faint of heart. But it was worth it, seeing Maureen."
"Let me guess. She wanted you all to take the taxi around?"
"Not quite," Jim mumbled, shaking his head, chuckling, while giving one slow blink.
"Anyway, I wanted to pop in, chat a minute."
The old man stared hard at the ceiling. "Have you given any thought to whether you'll stay on here at Melville or head back to my Boston brokerage? We haven't yet hired your replacement. So I thought I'd check on you. If you haven't decided, I understand."
"I've arrived at a decision."
"Oh, yes?" Walter raised an eyebrow.
"I... I've gotta move back, sir," Jim shook his head, placing his hands, prayer-like, over his lips. He stared at the gray carpet beneath Walter's boat shoes. "I just have to. To keep Maureen, I've got to make the move. Another instance where I didn't finish what I started. But at least I will finish the schooner and get her in the water before I move."
Could I have finished the task under the supervising eye of my own father? Jim thought. Perhaps not. The irony of it! Perhaps blood was not always thicker than water. If only his father were more like Walter: encouraging, flexible, understanding.
"You're doing what you have to do, Jimmy. I'd do the same thing. But that doesn't mean this old captain won't miss his best lieutenant." Walter gave a wink and a quick nod.
Jim caught the sadness in the old man's eyes.
"Ya know, Jimmy, I woulda liked to have taught you more about the sea, about boats. We were just getting started."
"I loved it. It doesn't have to be the end."
"I hope ya make it down here some weekends to brave the waters again."
"Of course, I will," Jim said as he felt the pang in his gut. Would his phobia always be with him?
"We can sail out to the Vineyard. And Nantucket. Anyway, lest I forget, when this boat's done, we're gonna flood the drydock, ensure she's seaworthy, get her inspected by the Coast Guard, dock her in Hyannis. Best dock for this old dame is really over there. While I'm doing all this, look into an apartment in the city. I promised you I'd pay the deposit and first month's rent."
"Why, Walter, thanks again, you—"
"I conceived the idea to bring you down here into all this. Maureen was a big part of it, too. We gotta do what's right for her, and for you guys as a couple."
"Walter… I really, really appreciate that."
"And I want you to know, Jim." The old man's face elongated with growing solemnity. "You've really been struggling. You are far away from your family. You've had to uproot yourself, make new friends, a new career. You've had a trying time with Maureen. She's put herself through a rough time with the distance and all. And son, you and I… we both bear the scars of battle. Me from Korea and 'Nam. You from that freakish hurricane. I can see it in ya. Among other things, the thousand yard stare. I know that look. I can only imagine how what you lived through down there shook you up. With the old musician, your friend, on your roof. Just know the Henrettys are your family. You're like a son to me."
The old man's sincerity had reached the very depths of Jim's heart. In a way it was embarrassing: it was so sincere and rare and heartfelt, so much and so quickly.
Jim cleared his throat. "Thanks for all this, Walter." He stood, but Walter was already standing, grinning proudly, his hand outstretched. Jim gave it a firm shake, and then pulled closer to the old man, giving him a warm embrace.
"Don't mention it, son." The old man clapped a hand on his shoulder, then turned and walked toward the wall. He collected his umbrella and raincoat and then stopped at the door and turned. "Jack Spaulding's throwing one of his famous cocktail parties tonight. I'm heading there myself with Kathleen. His place at 7:30 in Chatham. Jack specifically mentioned that I invite you. I can give you the directions, or you could ride with us."
"If I have to work late, I'll take my truck. I'll keep you posted."
"Good luck today. And we'll talk soon to solidify moving plans." The old man clicked his tongue once in his teeth, opened the office door, and closed it behind him.
For most of the last few minutes, Jim hoped the old man would cease his sentimental talk, yet now that he had departed, Jim felt guilt, as he had neglected to fully disclose his appreciation for all Walter had done. Jim had lacked the immediacy and perhaps the bravery of living in the moment, to thoroughly thank the man who had laid bare his fatherly concern and love.
It was not the first time he had failed to live fully in the present and to give proper thanks. His own father, as intense as he could be, and Freddy—they were now out of his reach—and Jim had never truly shown them the right gratitude, had never truly lived as fully as he could have when he was in their presence…<
br />
Jim swiveled in his chair until he regained his previous position at the roll top desk. He looked down at the open file, lost in thought. Spaulding's party would undoubtedly be a good time. The lavish parties at the young man's seaside Chatham mansion had been the talk of the Cape for years, according to Kathleen and Walter. Maureen would probably regret foregoing this one. Jim hoped Natasha wouldn't bait him again.
Jim stood, stretched his limbs, and ambled down the stairwell into the shop. This time, the men were playing the Allman Brothers. "Gents, I thought you'd have on some more local music, maybe Aerosmith."
Bill squinted at him. "I guess I started ta wax sentimental you weren't here."
"Sure," Jim said. "Ohh sweet Mel-liss-saa!"
"I saw these guys perform in Cambridge when I was a young squirt." Bill tossed his long, straight blond hair across his forehead. "Never will forget that night. Skydog Duane was with 'em, ya know."
"That's when they were at their peak," Jim said. "Bill, I'm movin' back to Beantown."
"Ya just started here! You were learnin' so much about all of this! You were havin' a great time, right?"
"Ol' Commodore said the very same thing up there in the office a few minutes ago."
"So you dropped the bomb on him just now, eh?" A concerned, almost flustered look had spread across Bill's face.
"Walter offered me my old gig at the securities brokerage. Maureen's been taking all this distance pretty hard. It was a bold move, coming down here, but she found it was too much. If I want to keep her… well, I have to move back. Luckily, I get my old job back."
Bill peered sharply at him, skepticism emitting from the beady, sun-closed, light blue eyes. "But are ya sure you're ready to get back into that line of work, Jimmy? Wasn't that exactly what you were tryin' to get away from? And the city life and the whole Boston 'harshness' thing, as you call it?"
With that statement, Jim's breath quickened as he shuffled from foot to foot. "I moved here because she helped me land this position, but now I've got to sacrifice. Maureen thought she'd be able to endure the distance."
Water Lessons Page 20