Back In the Game (29 page)

Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

 

O that you would kiss me with the kisses of your mouth!

Chapter 66

“L
ast one in the water's a rotten egg!”

I laughed and darted past Bob into the waves. “Ha, ha, you lose!”

Bob splashed in after me. The midafternoon sun was warm but the Maine coastal water was not.

“Brrr! Remind me why we're doing this again?”

Bob grimaced. “Because we're idiots? Because we're thirty-and fortysomethings desperately trying to hold on to what's left of our youthful exuberance?”

“Ah, right. Idiots. Let's get out, now.”

Bob and I sloshed our way back to shore and our beach towels. A half hour later we were back at the Ogunquit house Richard and Bob had bought just that spring, warm, dry, and enjoying crab rolls, fruit salad, and cold beer for lunch.

Across from me sat Nell and Oscar, recently engaged. Bob sat to my right and Richard to my left. There was much laughter and good feeling. And if anyone had told me only three short years ago that I'd be sharing a pleasant meal with Nell, her fiancé, her ex-husband and his partner, I would have dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

But life is all about surprise, isn't it, both good and bad. She who bends, survives and all that.

Here's another tidbit I like, it's printed on T-shirts all around town: “Women who behave rarely make history.” I don't know who said that, a feminist leader or some savvy marketing guy, but I'm trying to adopt that as my motto and stop worrying about fitting into a created notion of who and what I should be.

Like, a respectable married woman.

Anyway, now that I'm over forty and still single, I'm considered a lost cause, aren't I? My chances of finding a man to marry are abysmally low; I'm more likely to be hit by a train or struck on the head by a passing Frisbee or something.

Oh, well.

Nick and I didn't stay together for long. He was serious about settling down and I began to wonder if it really mattered to him who he married. I wondered if he was in love with me or with the idea of me, a single, available woman.

So, we split, amicably, soon after Richard and Bob got married, and I haven't heard from him since. I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he's married, maybe even on his way to becoming a father. I wish him well.

Seth and I are still friendly, but since he started living with his age-appropriate girlfriend, I see him only occasionally. Our worlds are so different in some ways. He's really just starting out, and me? I'm entrenched. Plus, he's young and in love, and when you're young and in love, you don't need friends, or you think you don't.

And then the road gets bumpy and the first thing you do is look for those friends you misplaced and wonder why you misplaced them at all.

Lost friends.

I haven't seen Laura since Alex was born, but I hear about her from Nell. It's not my place to judge or even to comment on someone else's life. I'll let Nell do that. Suffice it to say, I feel sorry for them both, Laura and Matt, and though I'm the last person to suggest a divorce, in this case I can't help wondering if it isn't the right thing to do.

Divorce. You think you're not going to survive it and then, you do. And you survive largely thanks to the support of your friends. Really, without Nell and Grace—and even, on occasion, Laura—I don't know how I'd have come to this point of contentment.

Friends and my career. A research project I'd worked on for some time has become a book. It will be published by a small university press, which means the distribution will be low and the sales even lower. But you don't write this kind of book for the money; you write it for the professional recognition as well as—hopefully—for your own fulfillment.

I sent an advance copy to my parents, on some level always the dutiful daughter. I wasn't expecting either of them to be impressed, so I was pleasantly surprised when my father called me one evening to congratulate me warmly. My mother then got on the phone, reluctantly—I could hear her protests in the background—and after a mumbled acknowledgment of having received the book, she said, “You don't expect me to read it, do you?” I told her that no, of course I didn't expect her to read it. She replied, “Good. Do you want it back, then?”

I took a deep, steadying breath. It helped a little. And I said, “No, Mom, keep it. Use it as a coaster or something.” And I got off the phone as quickly as I could.

Some things never change.

Some things do, like the turning of the year and with it, the arrival of a new birthday.

When I turned forty, Nell wanted to give me a party but, not being much of a party person, I said no, thanks. Instead, I suggested Nell, Grace, and I spend a weekend in Paris. We did and it was a seminal time for us, not one fight over who paid for what or what museum to go to before lunch, just three good friends enjoying each other's company in the City of Lights.

Of course, I thought once or twice of my honeymoon with Matt, but the memories were no longer painful or poignant. Some were downright amusing, like the look on Matt's face when I ordered escargot one night at dinner. He didn't know that escargot meant snails; I don't know what he thought they were, but when I told him, his face turned green, absolutely green.

“Plans for the afternoon?” Nell asked the group gathered on the flagstone patio behind Richard and Bob's lovely new home.

“No more swimming,” Bob said with a laugh. “But I'd like to walk the beach for exercise.”

Nell looked to Oscar. “Is it a terrible thing,” she asked, “to forgo the beauties of nature for a quick trip down to the outlets in Kittery? Say, ‘No, dear, it's a wonderful choice.'”

“No, dear,” Oscar repeated, “it's a wonderful choice. Personally, I see a nap in my immediate future.”

“I'll join Bob for a walk.” Richard looked to me. “Jess? How about you?”

I smiled. “If no one minds, I'm going to sit right here with a good book, and when I'm not reading, I'm going to watch the wind in the trees and admire the lovely garden.”

“That's what this place is for,” Bob said. “A place where friends and family can gather and feel entirely comfortable doing what they please. Unless, of course, doing what they please involves paintball tournaments.”

Lunch broke up soon after that. I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. When Nell had driven off, Oscar had retreated to their room, and Richard and Bob had walked down to the beach, I settled on a lounge chair, book in hand. Truth be told, I felt too lazy to read, but not too lazy to appreciate all I had in my life: generous, loving friends; a fulfilling career; and when the mood struck, romance.

It's enough for now.

Chapter 67

Nell

“No, you can't have more money and I will not put your father on. Clara, you're over twenty-one, legally an adult, and it was your choice to move to Seattle without a job, not mine.”

I rolled my eyes at Richard. He put out his hand for the phone, but I shook my head.

“Yes, that's terrible, Clara, it's a terrible shame that you can't afford to spend the weekend at the spa with your friends, but I'm sure you'll survive.”

Richard was starting to look pained.

“I'm going now, Clara. Yes, I'm a horrible person. Good-bye.”

I ended the call.

“Would it be so terrible if I sent her the money?” Richard asked. “She deserves a little fun, and I know she's working hard at those temp jobs.”

Poor Richard. Wrapped nice and tightly around his daughter's little finger.

“Richard,” I said, “we've been through this a million times. If you keep giving in to her, she'll never learn how to be responsible for her own well-being.”

Behind Richard, Bob nodded at me. Poor Bob. Forced as a stepparent to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.

“Would anyone care for a cocktail?” Bob said.

I smiled warmly at the man. “Yes, thanks, that would be wonderful.”

“Did I hear the offer of a cocktail?”

Oscar appeared in the door to the kitchen. He was tan and fit and wearing the white linen shirt I'd given him for his birthday.

“You're like Nick Charles,” I said, laughing. “You hear the sound of a cocktail shaker a mile away.”

Richard joined Bob at the concrete counter. “What'll it be, everyone?”

So, Oscar had asked me to marry him and, with little hesitation, I said yes. He gave me a cushion-cut diamond in an antique platinum setting, and I absolutely love it. More, I absolutely love Oscar. I don't know how it happened, but it did. Who says a man won't respect a woman who sleeps with him on the first date?

It won't be a marriage like the one I had with Richard. It will be different and in some ways, it will be far better because now I'm aware, now I know things I didn't know at nineteen, now my expectations are more reasonable and yet, more precise. I know what I need and what I want and I know what I can give and what I can't.

I would never call my marriage to Richard a trial run; that would trivialize the most important years of my life to date. But it did turn out to be a good training ground for this second phase of my life.

Colin and Clara like Oscar well enough, though they've met him only a few times. Last Christmastime we four had dinner together at my apartment. It was only minimally awkward for me; Colin was his usual reticent but polite self; Clara bombarded Oscar with questions but not in a belligerent way. Oscar made it out alive and ready for another round, which came the following spring when he scored prime tickets to a Red Sox vs. Yankees game at Fenway. Neither of my kids is particularly into sports, but every Boston-area person has a soft spot for the Red Sox. Oscar, I learned, is one of those loud, enthusiastic fans. It was very amusing to watch him shout and leap from his seat whenever a batter hit a ball or someone completed a good play. That day Colin and Clara saw a side of Oscar they'd not seen before, and I think it further endeared him to them.

As for Oscar's children? Honestly, his is not a particularly close family, which I suppose will make it easier for me in the long run. I met them all twice, once at a small dinner party at Oscar's apartment, once at a symphony concert. His two sons, Malcolm and Oscar, Jr., work in the technology field; what, exactly, they do is a mystery to me, though Oscar gamely tried to explain it all to me. His daughter, Sara, has followed in her father's footsteps and is an attorney. I know Oscar hopes that someday she'll join him in his firm but, not wanting to pressure Sara, he keeps that hope to himself.

Anyway, all three adult children were perfectly pleasant to me and to each other and later, they received the news of our engagement with nary a ripple of emotion. Sara sent a card with a brief personal note to the effect of, “I wish you happiness in the future.” Malcolm and Oscar, Jr., actually called their father to congratulate him. Oscar heard nothing from his ex-wife, but that was to be expected.

“Has Colin called?” Richard asked.

Speaking of communication! I laughed. “Who? Do I know someone named Colin?”

Bob shook his head. “Even when he does call, he hardly says more than hello and good-bye.”

“Colin has always been a man of few words.” Richard came around the counter and handed a martini to me and one to Oscar.

It's true; Colin was always better with numbers and equations and graphs than he was with words, written or spoken. Currently, he's in graduate school for a degree involving computers. As with Oscar's sons, I have no idea what it is Colin studies; I suppose he got his mathematical talent from someone in Richard's family because he certainly didn't get it from anyone in the Keats clan.

“Is there any left for me?”

Jess came into the spacious kitchen in a pair of chinos and a fitted tiny T-shirt. Lately she's been dressing less conservatively than she had been for years, and I think it suits her.

“Of course,” Richard said. “Name your poison.”

“I'll have whatever it is the rest of you are having.”

Richard reached for the bottle of vodka. “A dry martini it is.”

Jess leaned a hip against the counter and smiled. “Trina should have been with Bob and me on the beach this morning,” she said. “The number of men wearing those thonglike swimsuits was astonishing.”

“They're called banana hammocks, dear,” I pointed out helpfully.

Jess cringed. “Ugh, that's a horrible term! Still, I must say, many of these men were quite fit. And some of them weren't kids, either. And then again—”

“Then again,” Bob cut in, “some of the men in those skimpy suits were just disgusting. You've got to know your body type. The mirror doesn't lie.”

“Yes,” I said, “but people do, especially to themselves.”

And then again, I thought, some people are brutally honest with themselves, people like Trina.

I haven't seen as much of her since Oscar and I have deepened our commitment, but we still try to get together once a month. She remains amusing even when life throws her a curveball, as it did just after her divorce from Miles was final.

Trina had fully expected to marry the New York tax attorney. Imagine her surprise then when he ended their affair—one could hardly call it a relationship—and announced he was marrying a twenty-five-year-old Ukranian model. But ever the survivor, ever the optimist, Trina forged on and within four months or so had found herself husband number five, a real-estate bigwig named Kent Caroll. Oscar and I attended their wedding. It was hard to sit there and listen to Trina pledging her eternal love when I knew full well she meant no such thing, that she wasn't even going to try to make the marriage work, that before the honeymoon was over, she would be plotting her escape and her next happy landing.

Still. Trina is a friend, if an unusual one, and I applauded along with everyone else when the minister announced Trina and Kent husband and wife.

And who knows? Maybe this one will stick. Maybe Trina will get tired of the game she's been playing for most of her adult life and settle into a version of domestic contentment.

Ah, yes, talk of domestic contentment leads me to give you the update on my sister.

Laura is a mess. I don't think she ever really recovered from the death of her infant daughter, Alice, and just as the deaths of our parents unhinged her, this tragedy has led her to some very strange behavior. Sure, she saw a therapist and was put on an anti-depressant, and though that combination probably saved her life at the time, it didn't provide any lasting solutions; it didn't give her the skills she'd need to cope with the years ahead, with troubling things.

Like Matt having an affair.

Okay, I have no proof, but I just know it's true. The signs are all there; I've seen them clearly, but my sister has no idea at all. I've been tempted to talk to her about my suspicions, tempted to shake her into reality, but thus far I've held my tongue. I suppose I'm a bit afraid of what might happen should Laura have to deal with another emotional trauma.

And, there's Alex to consider. Though Laura pretty much smothers the poor little boy with affection, and he'll probably need serious therapy later in his life, hopefully before he becomes an axe-wielding, woman-hating serial killer, he is well cared for. Laura might be letting herself go to rack and ruin, but Alex is thriving. Should something happen to Laura, should she break down again, what will happen to Alex? Well, of course I'd take him if Matt wanted me to; he doesn't seem to care all that much about his son. Don't get me started on that topic, men who still think children are the sole province of women.

I'm very concerned about my sister's health. She's not even forty, but at the rate she's going, she's not going to make it to fifty. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating. I've been known to exaggerate, seeking dramatic effect. Still, Laura has gained an enormous amount of weight and is very sedentary. It's heartbreaking to see, especially when I look at pictures of her when she was a little girl and then a happily married woman, when Duncan was in her life, before my parents' car accident.

I ran into Duncan a while back. He's remarried and his wife was pregnant; if all went well, she's had the baby by now. And Duncan was in the process of officially adopting Anne's little girl from a previous marriage. He seemed very happy, content. He asked me to give his best to Laura. I said that I would, but I didn't. I didn't think my sister needed to hear about her ex-husband's joyful new life.

“I almost forgot!” Richard's usually placid face was suddenly animated. “I heard fantastic news yesterday, just before leaving Boston to come north.”

“Well,” I said, “don't keep us in suspense. What is it?”

But Richard was enjoying his role as keeper of a coveted bit of information. “Remember our friend Brian Kennedy?”

Oscar put his hand on my shoulder. Jess scowled. Bob blurted, “You heard something about that pig and didn't tell me?”

“Richard,” I said, “if you don't tell us right this minute I'll—”

“He's been arrested on charges of attempted rape.”

A collective shout went up in Richard's glossy new kitchen.

“Trina must have succeeded after all in rallying the victims,” Jess said. “I think we should toast her.”

Richard grinned. “Actually, it was a new victim who turned him in, one of the young social set. It seems you don't mess with the twenty-year-olds of today. Anyway, once word is out, I wouldn't at all be surprised if the women Brian succeeded in intimidating come forward.”

“Man,” Bob said, “I'd hate to be his defense attorney.”

Oscar squeezed my shoulder. I reached up and put my hand over his. “The problem is,” he said, “that Kennedy's got more than enough money to buy the best representation.”

“I won't believe he'll be acquitted,” I said. “I can't allow myself to believe that. And, yes, I know how I can help. I'll come forward. I'll testify. God.”

Jess nodded. “That's very brave, Nell. I admire you.”

“We all do.”

I smiled up at Oscar, the man soon to be my husband. And then I looked to Jess, my dear friend, and to Richard, the father of my children and my first love. Finally, I looked to Bob, a sweet man and a friend to my family.

“If I'm in the least bit brave,” I said, “it's all because of you.”