Breakwater Beach (9 page)

“No, you mustn’t come back to London. It’s too dangerous.” She threw herself against him and clung like a wet sail. “You must take me with you. How can I stay behind now that I’ve had a taste of freedom, of happiness?”

“You will carry on as you have before. It will only be for a short time.” The pleasant feeling of her body against his suddenly felt stifling, restricting. He needed time to breathe, to plan, to collect himself.

Elisabeth backed away, perhaps sensing the disruption in their new, fragile intimacy. “Very well. Katherine and her sister Sara will have to come with me. When my father finds out, the least he’ll do is discharge them. Their mama died a few years ago, and the two of them have been like my own siblings. I owe them that for their loyalty.”

Now two more women to provide passage for, as well as a place to live and salaries! This was far more pampering and indulgence than necessary. Best not to say anything now, else he’d loose the demon of her anguish anew.

“Of course then, Elisabeth. Once I’ve got everything ready I’ll send for my wife, and her maids.” He kissed her again, grabbed his bag, and took the stairs without looking back, unable to bear seeing her cry.

He stopped at the desk and fumbled in his pockets. Damn! Katherine still had his key. “I seem to have left my key in the room.”

“We’ll retrieve it, sir. Here is your bill.” The clerk passed it to him.

His hand shaking, Edward peeled off the money. The relief that there was enough vanished at the sound of Elisabeth’s voice.

“Can you help me, please, sir?” She clutched two satchels and struggled down the stairs holding up her skirts. Her wedding attire, no less.

Both the bellman and Edward dashed to her. If anyone discovered the truth now . . .

“I’ve got them, sir, madam.” The bellman took the luggage to his desk, leaving Edward at Elisabeth’s side.

“I’m going with you,” she whispered. The expression on her face was one of a scared animal. Elisabeth reached for his arm.

He backed away, and her hand fell limply to her side. His heart sagged in his chest as the tears welled in her eyes. Edward looked around to see if anyone was witnessing the scene. His feet itched to run, to get as far away as fast as he could before their scheme was discovered.

Tongue-tied, he hissed like a snake hiding under a barrel that had just been moved. “This is madness. There won’t be enough room in my cabin for us and your baggage, and no doubt you’re leaving most of your things behind.” He was as mad as she to have even considered this ruse.

Elisabeth started toward him again, then thought better of it. “I’ll leave it all behind if need be. I’m going with you.”

He didn’t have time to respond. Katherine came down carrying yet another small black bag, an exasperated expression on her face. She placed it at Elisabeth’s feet. “My lady.”

The Countess of Sandringham rushed out of the dining room. She’d likely seen the entire affair. “Wherever are you going at this early hour, and dressed like that Lady Elisabeth?”

“I, I still don’t feel well and want to get an early start home.” She didn’t dare look at him now, but defeat stole the glimmer from her eyes.

“Do you need further assistance, my lady?” Edward moved toward the door. He had to get away now.

The countess didn’t give Elisabeth a chance to answer and glowered at him. “No, sir. The hotel staff will attend to Her Ladyship's needs.”

“Good day then.” He bowed and forced himself to look at his wife. His wife! This was insanity. He was running off like she was some tart he’d picked up by the docks.

“Good day, Captain.” She glared and bit her trembling lip.

The countess stared at Elisabeth. Edward could almost see the cogs turning as she tried to figure out what was wrong with his wife. His wife, the one he was leaving after just three days of marriage. The one he wouldn’t see again for a year or more. The one whose traveling bag was now amidst his.

Mortified, he picked up his things—and hers. If intercepted, he’d be charged with theft.

The dowager led Elisabeth to the stairs. “Katherine, While Lady Elisabeth joins me for breakfast, please pack her things and have them brought down.”

“Very well. Come, my lady.” Katherine put her arm around Elisabeth’s waist and they went up. The maid turned to him and nodded her chin as if, on behalf of her mistress, to chide him for his behavior and insist that he take it along.

Elisabeth didn’t dare look back, but he could hear her soft sobs, see her back heave. Each of her gasps squeezed his heart a little tighter until he could barely catch his breath. The countess looked askance at him, watched until the women were out of sight, shook her head, and retreated to the dining room.

Edward slung his bag over one shoulder and concealed the lady’s satchel beneath his coat. Morning mist swirled in the deserted streets, tendrils of guilt wound around his legs. He stumbled and regained his footing, taking the opportunity to glance back up at their room.

Elisabeth waited at the window, watching him leave her behind. He raised his hand to his lips and blew her a kiss. She didn’t respond. Perhaps she couldn’t see him. Perhaps she wondered if he would ever return. Perhaps she hated him.

He was abandoning her like a coward. How could he feel relief? Were the contents of that bag deliberately placed by his feet to haunt him, and drive him mad until he could send for her?

Just give me some time, Elisabeth
. He turned the corner and rushed toward the docks as sun broke through the haze.

Chapter 10

June 2009

New York City and Boston

The one-year anniversary of Gerry’s diagnosis hovered like a dark cloud over the opulent Crystal Room at Tavern on the Green. Not even the myriad of glittering, jewel-toned chandeliers succeeded in banishing the gloom.

Jay pushed the food around his plate. Liz tried to shake off the mother’s worries: bad neighborhoods, subways, drinking, girls. But the quiet young man seated across the table seemed older than his years. He reminded Liz of a young Gerry, both in physical appearance and temperament. She resisted the temptation to run through a list of cautions.

“Is everything all right, sir?” The white-gloved waiter seemed to take Jay’s lack of appetite personally.

“Yes, it’s fine.” Jay focused his attention back on the eggs, buttermilk biscuit, and hash browns with caramelized onions.

Liz sipped her Mimosa and nibbled on vanilla buttermilk brioche French toast, dreading the moment she’d have to say goodbye, get back in the car, and drive home to the house she’d left in pre-moving turmoil.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Jay? I remember coming here with Dad and feeling like a princess in her palace with all this sparkling crystal.”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s pretty. I’m glad to be in New York early to get settled and find a job, but now I feel bad that I can’t help you move.”

“I’ll be fine. Marianne Hartley took care of all the real estate transactions. All I had to do was sign and FedEx the documents. I’ll officially own the house one day this week. The broker will arrange for the utilities to be turned on in the house and let the men in to deliver the mattresses and appliances. Betty even found a cleaning service. I’m moving on June twenty-fifth.”

“How are you going to live up there while all that construction is going on?”

“I’ll manage. It’s summer, and I can spend time outside. At least the new owners of our house were kind enough to let me stay until the school year ended.”

A shiver ran down Liz’s spine when an entourage of hunters on horseback, dressed in red jackets, tan jodhpurs, and black riding boots stopped their mounts outside the glass enclosure. The backdrop—a lush, green Central Park—could have tricked anyone into thinking they were at a country estate. The restaurant had to have engineered the riding club’s arrival for the benefit of the touristy crowd. Waiters rushed out with trays laden with carrots still sporting drooping greens for the horses and flutes filled with champagne for the riders. Cameras clicked at the picturesque tableau.

“Would you look at that? Come on, Mom.” Jay ran outside for a close-up.

Liz tagged after him, transfixed. The horses crunched carrots and salivated with delight; greens and spittle dangled from the sides of their mouths. The riders clinked flutes of bubbly and bantered with each other and the patrons. Car horns and bus engines roared down Central Park West.

“New York City is always full of surprises.” Jay clicked through the photos in his phone’s viewfinder.

“Yes, it is,” Liz answered, unsure why the sight, albeit unusual, triggered such melancholy in her. At least Jay has one pleasant remembrance of the day.
I’ve always wanted a horse, and there’s a barn at my new house . . .

“Stand over there, Mom. I want a picture of you with the horses in the background.”

Jay hadn’t been this animated in a year. One year ago this week Gerry got the terrible news. A whole year. Only a year?

No, not today. Today is to go forward making happy memories, like Gerry would have wanted.
Liz wandered over to the low stone wall surrounding the garden.
I wish he could be here.
A wave of weakness flowed from her head to her toes, her mind as numb as her lips. She shook her head to clear it.

The rider astride a big bay smiled and approached. “You can pat him, he’s very gentle.”

Liz’s thoughts drifted to the lady’s saddle she’d been oiling and restoring as she rubbed the animal’s muzzle. His lips curled in delight as the waiter brought her a carrot and she allowed him to nibble it from the pointy tip until the greens disappeared into his mouth.
Yes, I’ll get a horse.
The animal shook his head in approval, his warm, moist snort like blowing a kiss.

The leader of the group tooted a tiny horn, and they trotted off.

“Mom?” Jay touched her arm. “You’re a million miles away.”

“Yes.” Liz laughed to cover up her disquiet.

They wandered back inside, and she went to wash her hands, reapply some lipstick, and arrange her hair. She barely noticed the
maître d
behind her holding the chair as she sank into her seat. Jay attacked his plate with renewed vigor.

The waiter sported an approving smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Coffee, and the check,” Liz said. “That mimosa went right to my head.”

He poured the fragrant brew from a silver pot, and Liz diluted it with heavy cream and sugar. The caffeine and carb jolt failed to alleviate her distraction. She studied the check and tried to figure out the gratuities. “The waiter, the captain, and the
maître d
? For God’s sake do we really have to tip them all?”

“Let me do it, Mom.” Jay calculated in his head and filled out the credit slip. “Just sign here,
madame
.” He continued to mimic the waiter’s highbrow voice and mannerisms on the way to the car.

Liz drove uptown, swerving to avoid broadsiding a cab that traversed two lanes at West 96th Street to pick up a fare. “The traffic is as bad as in Boston, but the taxi drivers are crazier. You’ll be better off without a car, Jay.”

“Ah-ha.” He nodded and continued texting.

The golden age elegance of the Upper West Side faded into the bronzed patina of West Harlem. She circled a few times, gave up, and double-parked outside Jay’s building on West 115th Street.

“We were lucky to get a spot earlier to unpack.” They would never again live together in his childhood home, never be together as a family. This was the end of life as they both had known it. How could she not even go with him into his new apartment?

“Yeah, well, thanks for brunch. I’ll email you the pictures. This one of you with the horses is gorgeous. The colors will be even nicer when it’s printed.” Jay lingered longer than she expected.

Liz struggled to find words. She spotted a couple strolling arm-in-arm that reminded her of a much younger version of her and Gerry.

“Are you going to be okay, Mom?” He patted her leg and leaned forward in the seat to stare into her eyes.

I am not going to be okay, but he can’t know that
. “I’m moving in a couple of weeks and have plenty to keep me busy. Be careful. Remember, this is New York City, not Boston.”

“I’ll call you every day, until you get sick of hearing from me.” He released the lock and rested his hand on the handle, seemingly unable to open the door.

Liz laughed to keep from crying. Jay hugged her and patted her back gently. The door clicked open, he grabbed his backpack, and pushed it closed with his behind. After an over-the-shoulder wave, he disappeared into the building.

The fog never lifted. For the next week, Liz pretended Jay was in his room so the house wouldn’t feel as empty. With each black plastic bag she dumped at the curb, or piled in a corner for charity pick-up, another memory attached to a gadget or decorative accent disappeared from sight, and hopefully her mind. The thrift shop was thrilled to get her size-six petite Talbot’s clothes and Gerry’s designer suits.

On the last day of work, her co-workers and friends threw a huge party. She piled housewarming gifts into the trunk of her car: a toaster, coffee maker, linens, and towels. The beautiful diamond pendant and basket full of pretty lingerie and scented bath and body lotions made her feel like a bride. She’d never had a shower, and it seemed odd to celebrate a beginning when everything she’d ever known was ending.

On her last night as a Bostonian, Liz curled up as usual on the loveseat looking forward to the move, yet dreading it at the same time. The dream lover’s seduction began as always. He slid next to her and ran his hands over her body while kissing her neck and murmuring her name. But this time, he entered her with urgency and thrust forcefully.

There was no fear, no revulsion. His touch was firm, yet gentle. He knew what she liked, what she wanted. She ran her hands over his body, traced the muscles in his arms, the curve of his lower back, his firm buttocks. Liz shuddered, climaxed, and awoke, with him still inside her. The lovemaking had never concluded with consummation, and as he faded from her awareness, a physical sense of his presence still tingled on her skin.

That dream analysis book she’d borrowed from the library led her to believe this expressed her desire for a new relationship. She and Gerry had made love almost every night. She couldn’t expect to give up being a woman just because she became a widow.
Tomorrow, I’ll be in my new house, starting over fresh.
She turned on the light to keep him from coming back and tried to fall asleep.

At five a.m., she gave up, showered, and dressed, trying to forget that this was the last time she’d be in the house. A donut shop was all she could find open, and she ate at a small table in the corner along with workers heading off for the day. The streets were quiet. For most, it was a typical Saturday to be passed doing errands and taking in an afternoon movie or nice dinner. But by tonight, she would be a ghostly memory in the neighborhood. Would anyone even notice she was gone?

She went up the front stairs of the Beacon Hill row house for the last time. Unlocked the door for the last time. Stepped into the hallway for the last time. The living room looked the same as it had for years. The new owners bought the house with most of the furnishings and ghosts from happier times. All her belongings, a few lamps, and boxes of things she couldn’t part with now fit in the BMW 525i Gerry insisted she buy. The thing of most value was the tin of ashes and his picture tucked into her purse.

The kitchen was spotless, no crumbs, no jars for home-baked cookies. The refrigerator contained an old box of baking soda, the freezer a congealed mass of ice cubes. Soon they would all have departed from here. Gerry to whatever afterlife existed, and Jay to a new adventure. The shell of the woman once known as Elizabeth Mulcahey Levine would be the last to leave, hoping to start over or at least move forward. She meandered through every room to say goodbye, savoring memories of birthday and holiday celebrations.

A voice echoed deep inside her head.
It will be all right.

There’s no choice, Gerry. I can’t go back now.
The easiest thing was to lock the door, drop the key into the mail slot, remember the house full of life and love, and walk away. She descended the front steps and didn’t look back. The car door thudded shut. An instrumental, new age CD clicked on and soothed her. Anything with lyrics full of love or loss would send her into a crying fit so intense she’d need a box of tissues to mop up her nose.

Going to the Cape as a summer renter was much different than beginning a new life. She remembered Gerry complaining how the car was so full of junk they might as well move their whole house up there. Today, she was alone except for a silver container of dust sitting on the seat where Gerry should have been.

Liz maneuvered the local streets she knew so well. Happy specters from the past swirled around in her mind: The Back Bay, where she’d grown up. College days in Cambridge, across the glimmering Charles River. Her parents and grandmother. Gerry and their hangouts.

She snaked through the jam on I-93. Government Center and the North End slipped by. The urban decay of Roxbury and Dorchester, where she had taught, faded. The traffic eased, Liz stepped on the accelerator and escaped for the Cape, leaving Boston and her whole life behind. For good.