“I found Sequoia,” she told him.
Momentarily, he’d forgotten that she hadn’t been in on the details. Her quiet voice told him that the world had shifted. “You did?”
He needed to be the one to explain to her how their dogs had stayed together during the storm and had somehow found refuge in Ida Blue’s garage. How Sequoia and Karma had navigated Seven Oaks’ trails and worked as a team. He hoped the serendipity of the storm and their own united quest to find the dogs would make a romantic anecdote in years to come.
“I think she’s in good hands with the ‘pet psychic.’” Catherine put air quotes around the words, saying them weakly, as if they weren’t worth the effort.
Fred couldn’t imagine Catherine just running into Ida Blue, couldn’t picture the oversize dogsitter venturing to the park or the nature trail. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was losing Catherine. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was going to straighten things out this morning.”
“Were you?” She held a macramé key chain in her hands and fingered the frayed edges.
“Yes, of course I was.” He was going to tell her that his attraction to her was immediate and pure. How the last thing he imagined at his age was falling in love, but it seemed he’d caught a game-winning ball in the bottom of the ninth. He would tell her that if it didn’t storm that afternoon, they could take the dogs for a walk along the harbor. Karma and Sequoia might enjoy a ride in the golf cart and the heady smells of salt and sand. He imagined Karma chasing crabs down the long docks, Sequoia relaxing with him and Catherine at a picnic table. He’d pack a cooler of cheese and fruit, and sweet tea—maybe even new chew toys for the dogs. He could find out what Catherine liked to eat. What her favorite movie was. Who she was. He wanted to know every inch of her, as if exploring a beautiful beach for the first time.
Then she took off her sunglasses and Fred could see she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy and red, her eyelashes moist.
“Is it Ralph?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?” Had her husband learned of their encounter? Perhaps she’d felt compelled to tell him. “What’s going on?” He stepped forward to reach for her, hoping to pull her toward him, to comfort her as best he could, but she twisted away.
“Listen, Fred, I’m sorry. I’m married. I was so taken with you—but it was a lie. I was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“We weren’t thinking. That’s just it. We didn’t have to think.” The words came from a groundswell deep in his chest. “You see, we just followed our hearts. We let the afternoon carry us. Don’t you understand—”
She held up her hand, palm wide and fingers extended. Her wedding ring glinted in the sun. “I can’t and I won’t. And I’m sorry too.” Then she spun around, walked down the stairs, and started for her car.
Fred felt a push from behind and heard Lissa’s voice: Get her, you damn fool.
Without wasting a moment, he took the stairs two at a time, forgetting even to hold the rail or watch his bad hip. Once on the walkway he jogged to her car and put himself between her and the driver’s door. “I am so sorry.” He grabbed her forearm. “I don’t know about Ida Blue being psychic, but I do know she’s my neighbor and a wonderful petsitter. Sequoia adores her. And our dogs found their way to her, after all.”
Catherine shifted her gaze from the ground to his face. Her forehead creased, and he sensed she might cry.
Keep going, pal. You are losing her!
“I felt a connection between you and me. An understanding. Something beyond us both. I just want to know everything about you. About your childhood and dreams. I even want to get to know your sister.”
Catherine smiled briefly before shaking her head. And then the tears came, large clear pearls rolling down her cheek.
Fred thought about their drive together in the rain and how they kissed. For the first time in twenty years, he didn’t have to grasp for a word for his emotions but could have instead recited the dictionary: Affection. Exhilaration. Expectation. Hope. Longing. Reverie.
What, do you get paid by the hour around here?
He reached for Catherine and pulled her close so that her cheek rested against his button-down shirt. She didn’t resist, and her tears became hiccuping gulps. Though they were standing in his driveway, plain as day to any neighbor who might drive by, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care who saw. She was meant to be pressed against him, her forehead resting on his chest. They were meant to be together. And if there were time, he would tell her other things. That life is too short. That love is precious and dangerous and important. That things happen outside their control.
She broke away, and pushed his arms down. “I just wasn’t thinking,” she said, her soft hands now balled into fists as she thumped his chest several times. “And neither were you.”
And Fred thought of his own marriage. How Lissa had somehow veered off course a few years after their own wedding. But how, if love is strong enough, two people can work things out.
We can and we did and I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry. You know that.
And then, as if Catherine couldn’t hear him or the universal forces that wanted to pull them together, she spun around and departed, leaving an empty space inside him.
chapter 35
Catherine had thought she’d feel safe at Seven Oaks. She’d equated living in a gated community with being sheltered, protected from Colombian cartels, grifters, and door-to-door vacuum salesmen. But she’d been bamboozled by Fred, an attractive man who had simply shown her a bit of attention. Catherine knew about online dating scandals and identity theft. She was a sensible woman who didn’t use her social security number as a password, though her wedding anniversary as a garage security code seemed low-risk enough. So she felt foolish for believing Prince Charming would miraculously come into her life and fill her heart like a helium balloon at a fair. Every time she’d seen Fred she’d felt lighter, floating toward something real.
Though it seemed unlikely, part of her wondered if she’d been just one of several women seduced by Fred’s charm. She felt like a fool, a willing spectator at a magic show who is called up to the stage after shouting “Me! Me! Me!” only to have both legs sawed off. She considered reporting the matter to security but realized that was ridiculous. What would she do? Fill out an incident report and admit that she’d been duped by Fred’s kind smile, a friendly dog, and a few glasses of French wine?
She knew Fred had tried to call her several times. She answered the phone once and heard his hopeful voice. “Hello? Catherine? Is that you?” She clicked the phone off before he could say anything else. When Ralph answered the home phone calls he’d say, “Hello? Hello? If you can hear me, take us off your goddamned telemarketing list!”
Then there was the matter of her marriage vows. Of course she felt guilty. How could she not? But she didn’t feel the need to confess anything to Ralph. What she needed was advice. Experience. Someone who knew her. She decided to phone Amity. When her voice mail clicked on, Catherine suggested meeting amid the art students at one of the organic beaneries downtown.
There was only one other person whom she could trust and who knew a thing or two about the vagaries of romance. Her sister.
“I met someone special.”
“Wait, what?”
“I met a man.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Catherine heard Martha’s sudden intake of breath, as if she’d been hit by a toaster oven. “And why shouldn’t I?”
“It’s just, I thought you were happily married.”
“Really?”
“I’m kidding!” Her sister snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Catherine heard voices in the background. “Where are you?”
“Waiting to play bocce. League semifinals. Team Boccelism versus Barack O’Bocce. So what happened?”
“I thought I was in love,” Catherine said.
“No way. Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
/>
And she didn’t. Was Fred a charlatan after her money? His house was as big as her own, so that hardly made sense. But she didn’t understand the intricacies of penny stock frauds or Ponzi schemes, and the closest she’d come to money laundering was collecting Ralph’s pocket change from the washing machine.
“So how did you meet him?”
“Our dogs ran off together during a storm. One thing led to another.”
“You mean he seduced you?”
“Hook, line, and sucker.”
“Is he hot?”
Hotter than a solar flare, she thought. “Let’s just say if he lived at the Villages there’d be an entire club devoted to him.”
“And younger I trust.”
“Older.”
“On average, women live five years longer than men, Catherine. Do the math.”
There were other things Catherine might have told Martha, if they hadn’t sounded so pathetic. That her afternoon with Fred was the highlight not just of her week, but of her last thirty years. That in the few days she’d spent with Fred, she could imagine a lifetime with him.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, what do you and Ralph really have in common?” Martha asked.
It’s something Catherine had asked herself a hundred times in the last week. We have only each other in common, she thought. A shared past of dinners eaten and addresses lived. A lifetime of sitting side by side on a couch watching the same TV shows.
Then Martha added gently: “You know, just because it’s old doesn’t always mean it’s worth saving. A rusted car in the backyard doesn’t necessarily become a classic. Sometimes it’s just a motel for stray cats.”
“Maybe Ralph and I just ran out of gas.”
“Could be. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Catherine sensed an unfamiliar wistfulness in her sister’s voice, something akin to regret, but it was gone as soon as she’d identified it.
“So what’s next? Do I hear divorce?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”
“Trust me. If you do divorce, you’ll get the shaft. Been there. Done that.”
Catherine hadn’t considered not reaching an amicable financial settlement. Ralph would be generous, wouldn’t he?
“You could work,” Martha said.
“The last job I had was in a library with card catalogs and hand-crank pencil sharpeners.”
“Teach?”
“Learn CPR? Get vaccinated for HPV?” Just saying HPV made Catherine think of the Villages’ hot tubs.
“Does Ralph know?”
“No, but he suspects I’m unhappy. In the last week he’s been trying a little harder.”
“How so?”
“I came home yesterday afternoon and found all the spices arranged alphabetically: allspice, basil, cinnamon, dill.” She might have mentioned the other things too. The folded bath towels and reorganized dog toys. All the pencils in the kitchen sharpened, points facing up. He’d even taken out the garbage without being asked, but she felt her sister slipping away. “I mean, it’s not the most romantic gesture ever, but maybe it’s a start.”
“Listen,” Martha said before she hung up to get back to the bocce party. “Enjoy yourself, make sure this dude isn’t married, and find out if he has a kid brother for me.”
chapter 36
As Fred waited outside and watched the cars circle the Portland terminal, he felt like a suitcase abandoned in baggage claim. Finally he saw Danielle’s gray minivan. She pulled up to the curb, got out, and came around to him.
“Sorry. Traffic.” They hugged awkwardly as his shoulder bag fell between them. “Welcome to Maine,” she said. Fred wheeled his suitcase to the rear door but his daughter took it from him. “Don’t hurt yourself.” Then using just one hand she flung it into the backseat.
“Where’s Tommy?” he asked.
“Soccer practice. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”
“Oh.” Fred opened the front passenger door and moved a pair of sneakers and a Superman figure from the seat.
“I thought I told you.”
After settling in, Fred leaned forward and grabbed a plastic candy wrapper stuck to his loafer. He was going to raise it up and ask, You won’t be needing this, will you? Or Melts on your feet, not in your hands. But he didn’t.
Before he could congratulate himself on his discretion, she breathed deeply, as if lifting a heavy weight. “Please don’t start,” she said.
Traffic was light as they headed north on I-95 and toward Yarmouth. Fred tried to think of something neutral. A common thread that would pull them together, a pleasant conversation they might enjoy if they were polite strangers on a bus. But she spoke first. “So, how was your flight?”
“Long, of course.” As soon as he said it he had a vague recollection of an argument years ago, maybe when she’d first followed her boyfriend to Maine. About how far away Lewiston was and why she couldn’t just settle in Atlanta.
“Security is the worst.” Danielle imitated the deep voice of a TSA officer: “Take off your shoes. Take off your belt.”
And then without conscious effort to stop it, he imagined Catherine whispering: Take off your pants. During the flight he’d tried to distract himself from Catherine with the airline magazine—a half-completed crossword puzzle and an article about cruising alone—but his thoughts kept coming back to her. He felt devastated not only that he’d deeply hurt her, but also, selfishly, that he might have lost his last chance for love.
They drove mostly in silence. Occasionally Danielle mentioned something about a recital or a meeting at Tommy’s school, but they didn’t discuss Lissa or how empty the car felt without her. Fred promised himself he wouldn’t take the role of lawyer by asking whether she was receiving her child support promptly. So he tried to focus on things outside his heart and was struck by the many signs indicating recreational areas and the heady abundance of pine trees, several shades darker than Catherine’s eyes.
As they turned off the expressway Fred heard a thud in the backseat. “What’s that?”
“A soccer ball. Sometimes we stop and practice.”
“I see,” he said, though he didn’t really. Weren’t they taking this a bit too seriously? Had he missed the announcement that his grandson had been recruited for the 2028 Olympic team? It was one thing to enjoy a hobby. It was quite another to focus obsessively on a sport that involved head butting. What happened to giving Tommy tennis or golf lessons? Learning to swing a racket or a driver was more fun than running laps and wearing knee socks.
Don’t meddle in their lives, he heard Lissa say.
Fred and Danielle arrived at her house a little after six. She took the suitcase from the back and he grabbed the shoulder bag. They entered through the back door into a narrow hallway. Lightweight jackets, shin guards, and backpacks cluttered the built-in shelves, while sneakers and cleats lay scattered across the floor.
Fred wondered whom she’d gotten it from. Both he and Lissa were reasonable, prudent people who understood the importance of a clean home. They made beds and swept floors and wiped counters. They tried to teach their daughter that a clean house translated into a clean mind. This looked like the handiwork of a madwoman.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Danielle said when she saw he had stopped. “This is my version of organized.”
Entering the kitchen, Fred smelled garlic and sausage. Aglio e olio. Right away he recognized it as Lissa’s recipe. For years she would serve the dish on Sunday nights when the three of them sat down together as a family. No friends. No boyfriends. No neighbors. They’d review the upcoming week and sometimes take a drive to the Tybee Island lighthouse or just get hot fudge sundaes at Leopold’s. He wished Lissa were here now, holding up a yellow penalty card when the play became rough.
And what makes you think I’m not? He heard her as plainly as if she were right beside him. You are doing fine. Just don’t be a nudge.
A nudge?
You kno
w, don’t push her. She’s angry. She’s grieving. Just like you.
I’m not angry.
Okay, you’re not angry. You’ve gotten over it.
It was a long, long time ago.
He remembered the living room from their last visit, sitting with Lissa on the L-shaped couch and listening to Tommy muddle through “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on the upright piano. Back then Danielle had a photo of the four of them on the narrow wooden top. Now it was a virtual shrine to his wife. With flowers and votive candles and photos. Lissa as a schoolgirl in pigtails and pinafore. Lissa as a college graduate. Lissa holding Danielle while they sat on a haystack at a county fair.
Then a small voice interrupted him. “Hi, Grandpa.”
Fred turned and saw Tommy standing shyly, wearing athletic shorts that appeared to be three sizes too big for him. His red curls were pressed against his forehead and dirt stippled his white shirt. “Why if it isn’t Pelé!” Fred shouted a little too loudly.
“Who’s Pelé?”
“Never mind.” He went over and bent down to give the boy a hug. Fred felt his knees creak and wondered if he could get back up again. “My, my, you’ve grown.”
And then he heard Danielle’s stage whisper from the kitchen: “If you ever logged onto Facebook you might know what he looks like.”
AFTER DROPPING TOMMY at school the next day Fred and Danielle passed the Lewiston town library and pulled into a shopping center that Fred recognized from their last visit. They’d taken Tommy for ice cream just south of here. His grandson had wanted praline marshmallow swirl but Danielle had steered him toward vanilla.
“See that?” Danielle pointed to a new building in the distance. Several hulking bulldozers leveled the gray earth, and a line of traffic cones indicated future sidewalks. “This is going to be Maine’s newest retirement community.”
Good Karma Page 21