The Second Wave

  “This is an interesting choice of a drink.” Leslie smiled as she sipped the organic pomegranate-blueberry acai juice Alice had brought for dinner in lieu of wine.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Alice said. “When I checked my credit card and got a load of how many stops I’ve made at liquor stores since I came back to Connecticut, I figured I was due for a cleanse.”

  “Not at all. It’s delicious and complements my teriyaki grilled chicken so well.”

  “So how is therapy going?”

  “Good. I’m down to twice a week now, but I’m still doing my exercises at home every day.”

  “You look like you’re getting around much better.”

  “I am,” Leslie said. “I take the walker if I have to be out for any length of time because I still tire easily, but I’m really good at not using it around the house.”

  Alice smiled as she enjoyed Leslie’s satisfaction with her progress and the meal Leslie had made.

  “And my doctor says I should be able to drive again soon.”

  “That’s fantastic. You must’ve been so relieved to hear that news.”

  Leslie beamed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to drive to Boston on my own, but maybe we could meet halfway once in a while—if you wanted.”

  “If my plan to sell my house goes through, you wouldn’t have to drive farther than across a town or two.”

  “You’re moving back to Connecticut?”

  “After giving it serious thought, I realized I have a lot of good friends up in Boston, but Maureen was my family. Now that she’s gone, my family’s here.”

  “You have a lot of good friends here, too.”

  She was right. Alice’s recent lunch date with Cynthia and Kathy was all the evidence she’d needed. But what about Leslie? Was she including herself in that mix, or did she feel she belonged in a category all her own? Alice could no longer bear the tension.

  “Why didn’t you ever fight for me?” she asked.

  “What? What do you mean?” Poor Leslie. Blindsided yet again when she’d thought she and Alice were having a perfectly friendly conversation. “Do you know the risks I took to be with you that year we were together?”

  “Yes, you took risks then, but when you came to Boston in ’87 claiming you were ready to divorce Bill, why didn’t you fight for me then?”

  “Don’t you get it, Alice? By that point I felt like I’d already asked too much of you. You were moving in with Maureen and seemed happy. I didn’t have the audacity to interfere.”

  Alice looked away, trying to keep her emotions in check.

  “What would you have done if I had?” Leslie asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Gee, I thought you were going to say you would’ve told me to go to hell and moved in with Maureen anyway.”

  “I thought I would have said that, too.” Alice smirked. “Damn it if your effect on me still isn’t as unpredictable as…”

  “The path of a tornado?” Leslie offered.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Leslie smiled. “That’s not much of a compliment, is it?”

  “On the contrary. Only you’ve ever had the power to sweep me up and carry me away like that.”

  “What if I told you it was the same for me—that you’ve always been my tornado?”

  Alice smiled. “I’d say a devastating natural disaster is the ideal analogy for our love story. Just enough to bring us to our begging knees without killing us.”

  “And after it’s gone,” Leslie said dreamily, “you spend so much time rebuilding the leveled parts of your life. But even when you think the job is done, you find that things will never be the same as they were before it struck.”

  “Hey, you’re pretty good at this metaphor stuff.”

  Leslie smiled. “In addition to the anti-depressants my therapist prescribed back then, she also suggested I try journaling about my feelings to come to terms with them. I said to her, how do you expect me to write down my thoughts about my extramarital affair when I still live with my husband?”

  “Good point,” Alice said, fascinated.

  “She gave me a collection of poetry and said I could learn to use extended metaphors to express what I’m feeling, like a storm or a war or even death.”

  “Was it helpful?”

  “Very. It gave me an outlet and a sense of purpose beyond my limitations, something to fill the hole left by your absence.”

  “I’d love to read them sometime, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Leslie examined her nail polish for a moment, suddenly bashful. “I have a collection of twenty-four now, on all sorts of subjects, not just my shattered heart.”

  “How do you manage it?”

  “Poetry?”

  “How do you always manage to amaze me with a new side of yourself?”

  “It’s just poems.”

  “Tell that to Maya Angelou.”

  “Didn’t she die?”

  “Yes, she did, and that’s not the point.”

  Leslie giggled at Alice’s mock sternness. Alice wasn’t buttering her up when she said she was amazing. They’d both suffered the same heartache back then, but while Alice was careening her car into guardrails and neighbors’ garbage cans after closing time, Leslie was cultivating herself into a poet.

  “How is your heart now?” Alice asked.

  “It’s been experiencing a renaissance.”

  “One of those ‘snatched from the jaws of death’ type deals that give you a brand-new outlook on life?”

  Leslie’s eyebrow arch was provocative. “Do you mind if we go into the living room? I can’t sit too long on these kitchen chairs. I’ve worked too hard at rehab to lose feeling in my side again.”

  “Of course,” Alice said. She helped her up, placed a hand around her waist, and guided her to the sofa in the living room.

  “I told you I didn’t need help walking across the room anymore.” Leslie gazed at her, reclaiming her heart with those soulful blue eyes.

  “Really? Gee, I don’t recall.” Alice winked and sat next to her on the sofa.

  When Leslie lifted her leg onto the coffee table, Alice slipped a throw pillow under Leslie’s foot, then began gently massaging it.

  “You’d make an excellent therapist,” Leslie said.

  Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the back of the sofa. Alice continued massaging with both hands to work deep into the tissue in her foot and lower leg.

  “This feels so good,” Leslie whispered, and then a groan, sexy as hell, escaped through her parted lips.

  Alice withdrew her hands as though Leslie’s feet were a toaster tumbling into a bathtub. “Is your air conditioning on?”

  “Yes,” Leslie said innocently. “I thought it was a little chilly in here, but I can turn it down a bit more if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Alice said, flapping her arms to dispel the moisture under her shirt. “I think I just need a cool drink.” She stood, fearing that if she hadn’t, the foot massage would’ve devolved into the kind that prompted massage-parlor raids.

  “Get some water from the fridge,” Leslie said.

  Alice plucked out two bottled waters and pressed one of them against her forehead. Even libidos long-thought dead and buried could be revived under the right set of circumstances.

  She returned from the kitchen and allowed an appropriate amount of interpersonal space between them when she sat. “So tell me more about these poems. When can I read them?”

  “I’ve got one more to finish, and then I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it? That’s not fair.” Alice feigned a pout. “If I inspired one or two of them, shouldn’t I be allowed to read them?”

  “You’ve inspired more than one or two.” Leslie swiveled her position on the sofa to face Alice. “How about the next time you come for a visit, I’ll let you read a few?”

  “If you’re going to keep me in suspense all that time, how about you read them to
me?”

  “That could get interesting,” Leslie said with a grin.

  “So could foot massages,” Alice replied, seeing Leslie’s flirtation and raising it a notch or three.

  “It almost did.” Leslie took a drink of her water and folded her legs Indian style. “I mean before your hot flash.”

  Alice blushed. “Hey, in my defense, it’s been an unusually hot summer.”

  “It’s been a ridiculously unusual summer, and the heat has had nothing to do with it.”

  “Right-on, sister,” Alice said, raising her water bottle in a toast. “What’s the poem you’re working on about?”

  “Unfinished business. It’s been my most challenging and the one I’ve worked on the longest.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Alice asked.

  “I think I’m still hoping to finish the business.”

  Leslie’s sparkling eyes were weapons of Alice’s destruction. Staring into them, she no longer cared about consequences. She leaned over to Leslie, lured by those moist lips that seemed to be already anticipating hers. As her mouth brushed across the delicate sweetness, the doorbell rang and the door opened simultaneously.

  Alice seemed spring-loaded as she launched herself toward the arm of the sofa.

  “Hey, Mom,” Rebecca said, helping Jake carry in his overnight bag and several Star Wars action figures.

  Propped at opposite ends of the sofa, Leslie and Alice were as pale as a pair of pickpockets on the “T” apprehended mid-pick.

  “Hey, Alice,” Rebecca said, still oblivious. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

  “Well, uh, no, uh. What are you guys doing here?” Leslie said.

  “What do you mean? You said to let Jake sleep over so he won’t have to get up early to come over tomorrow. Remember?” She lowered her voice and spoke through the side of her mouth. “Sage and I have our appointment at eight a.m.”

  “Oh,” Leslie said, dragging out the vowel sound. “I, uh, yes, it would appear that I did forget.” She glanced at Alice, appearing mortified and contrite.

  “It’s okay,” Alice said. “I was just leaving.” Suddenly, Alice was queasy from the haunting familiarity of the situation.

  “Really?” Leslie said. “It’s only eight thirty.”

  “Please don’t feel like you have to entertain Jake,” Rebecca said.

  “It’s not that. It’s um, well, I’m getting an early start home tomorrow to beat the traffic.” She gave Leslie wistful eyes and a two-finger salute off her forehead. “Les, it’s been a hoot.”

  Leslie stood and watched Alice walk out the door.

  “Alice, wait.”

  Barely at the driveway, Alice stopped and whirled around to Rebecca. “Yes?”

  “I interrupted something, didn’t I?”

  “And not a moment too soon.” Alice moved toward her car.

  “Alice.”

  “What?” she said tersely.

  “Whatever it was, please give my mother a rain check.”

  “I’m really not a gambling woman, Rebecca. I learned a long time ago, the house always wins.”

  “If you learned that from her, it’s not the same game anymore. The rules have changed.”

  “Have they?” Alice was skeptical.

  “Yes,” she said excitedly. “I mean I really think so. Talk about it with her, at a time and place where you won’t be interrupted.”

  Alice jangled her car keys as she stared pensively into the fire-orange sky. “Rebecca, I don’t know. When you messaged me to tell me your mom was in ICU, I got in my car and flew down here out of instinct with no plan, no expectations other than I wanted her to wake up and be okay. That’s it. I mean I was still grieving for Maureen—at least I thought I was.

  “And then by the grace of God, she woke up okay. We started talking, laughing, reminiscing, and it was the most uplifting surprise. But I don’t know if I can go through th…” She stopped short of fully incriminating herself by finishing the sentence with that again.

  The dejection contorting Rebecca’s face only made Alice’s attempt to extricate herself from the conversation more agonizing. She walked over to her and hugged her tight. “Take care, Rebecca, and good luck with Sage.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, Alice,” she said as they separated. “I know how to find you.”

  Alice drove away wearing a smile, wondering if the ancient river of tears that had always flowed for Leslie had finally run dry. Once at a safe distance from Leslie’s house, she relaxed enough to recall the last time she’d had the chance to give Leslie a rain check and what it would’ve cost her if she had.

  May 1987

  Alice grabbed the handle of the entrance to Ronaldo’s and stopped suddenly. This was the dumbest idea she’d ever consented to. What made her think she could approach this reunion like it was simply lunch with an old friend? Every other time she’d given in to her compulsion to be in Leslie’s presence, she’d left feeling like a mouse that survived a trap. Sure, she’d gotten a taste of the cheese before the wire snapped, but who could be satisfied with just a taste of something that good?

  She walked inside and spotted Leslie right away, sitting at a table for two by a window in a sunny corner. Her hair was different—shorter, blond-frosted highlights, but there was no mistaking that radiance. Maybe they were right about life beginning at forty.

  “Betty,” Leslie said as she rose from her chair and embraced Alice.

  “Hi, Bella. I can’t believe you remember that,” Alice said, still clinging to her.

  “Some things you don’t forget.”

  “Truer words…” Alice muttered as she sat. “You look lovely, as always. I love your hair.”

  “Thanks,” Leslie said, touching it. “I’ve worn it like this for a while. I’m thinking of going shorter.”

  “I’m sure that’ll look terrific on you, too.”

  “Thank you.” Leslie broke a moment of intense eye contact with the menu. “Everything here sounds delicious. I hope you can recommend something.”

  “Actually, I’ve never been here, but from what I’ve heard and read, you can’t make a wrong choice.” Alice shifted in her seat from the small talk. “So how are the kids?” That one was particularly painful.

  “Growing up too fast. Billy is a junior at the University of Rhode Island, and Rebecca’s graduating high school next year.”

  “Ah, the proverbial empty-nest syndrome.”

  “I didn’t know I was raising them so they could fly so far away.”

  “It’s a great experience for them, and I’m sure they’ll both be back when they graduate.”

  “Not Rebecca,” Leslie said. “Once the flash of the city gets hold of her, she’ll stay right in the thick of it. She’s interested in computer programming. That’s becoming a big thing now, I understand. I think all the job opportunities are in big cities, anyway.”

  “Speaking of jobs, did you ever go back to work?”

  “Are you kidding?” Leslie said like the classic harried housewife. “As soon as Rebecca started junior high, I said to Bill, ‘That’s it. I can’t stand staying home any longer. I’m getting a job.’”

  “How did that go over?”

  “He didn’t mind at all. Billy had just gotten his learner’s permit, so there wasn’t such a dire need for me to be around every minute. And not a moment too soon, either,” Leslie added. “I really think I was starting to lose my mind. I’d been on anti-depressants long enough.”

  “Why did you need anti-depressants?”

  Leslie’s sunny disposition was suddenly overshadowed. She sipped her water and gazed out the window.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Alice said. “I had a period of medicating, too—three years of self-medicating. With Jack Daniels.”

  “Oh, dear. Did you have to go to rehab?”

  “Luckily, no,” Alice said. “My DUI arrest was the only rehab I needed. I stopped haunting the bars and moved up to Boston to start business school. I became an actuary and g
ot a job with Metropolitan Insurance.”

  “I always wondered why you left Connecticut. After I heard, I felt pretty bad for a while thinking it was because of me.”

  Alice was tempted to shout, It was because of you, fool, but such bluntness clashed with the restaurant’s elegant decor. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d probably still be Engle’s lackey at First American if it weren’t for you. So thank you for driving me over the edge and into a career I love.”

  Leslie scowled.

  “I’m kidding, Les. Just trying to keep it light while we play this little game.”

  “What game?”

  “That we’re old pals catching up over lunch portions of fettuccini Alfredo and white-wine spritzers. Are we really pulling it off?”

  Leslie stared like a toddler not understanding why she’d been scolded.

  “I’m sorry.” Alice reached out and then retracted her hand. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I must be more anxious than I realized.”

  “No, you’re right, Alice. I’ve had to repress my feelings for the past nine years. When I’m with you, I shouldn’t have to.”

  Alice relaxed into a smile. “Listen, before this gets too heavy, let’s put in a food and drink order.”

  “Sure. White-wine spritzers?”

  “Definitely,” Alice said as the waiter appeared at their table.

  They did their best to keep the conversation as light as possible, nursing two spritzers each as they picked on their meals. A mild tension lingered throughout lunch, though, and the length of each round of eye contact lasted proportionately longer with each sip of their drinks.

  Her face flush, Leslie polished off the last drop of her second spritzer and waved her hand in front of her like a Southern belle with a case of the vapors. “Whew. I should’ve suggested we meet for dinner. Then I’d feel better about being this buzzed.”