Cape May (14 page)

A tourist in ugly Bermuda shorts asked, “What happened to the other six acres?”

Madeleine said, “In 1980 the property was divided and half sold off. The estate needed the money for renovations and back taxes.” As Madeleine ushered the group to the front door, she continued, “There is no smoking, eating, or gum chewing on this tour. There is a gift shop on your way out, so please browse, buy, or make a donation to the care and preservation of Woodline House.”

She turned her head again, and again her hair  swooshed perfectly.

Joanna’s resentment grew.

The tour began, as promised, in the hallway of the
house, with its heavy woodwork, ornate patterned wallpaper,
and high ceilings. A few original chairs lined the hall, the rope
across the seats barring anyone from sitting on the antiques. Joanna attempted to concentrate on Madeleine’s narration, but as her resolve dwindled, she’d glance in Michael’s direction. When she did, his sad eyes were on her. When she
could, she stayed next to Brian, keeping a human wall
between her and Michael.

The tour went on without incident, until the group
began an exploration of the bedrooms on the second floor. When Joanna was examining a shelf of first editions behind the glass of a Harvey Ellis bookcase, Brian walked into the next room. With some distance between the two of them and the rest of the group, Michael approached and said, “Any Stephen King?”

Joanna saw the real question in his eyes but couldn’t reply. She shook her head, and walked away, joining Brian. A little later, Madeleine herded the group into another room. As Michael passed her, she touched his back and then her hand slipped lower. Brian saw the movement and whispered to Joanna, “Hmm, maybe Michael doesn’t need to meet Cynthia after all, huh?”

The rest of the group moved ahead, and Michael and Joanna were momentarily alone again. She started to walk away and he gently took hold of her upper arm. From his innocent touch, Joanna’s body became alive and tense. Everything in her yearned to touch him back. He whispered in her ear, “Joanna, we have to talk.”

She said, “No!” much louder than she meant to.

The few people near the door turned to look at them, Brian and Madeleine included. Madeleine said, “Do you have a question, Joanna?”

After a beat, Michael said, “We can’t imagine having to clean a house this size.”

Everyone giggled, and Madeleine said, “This house,
in its heyday, would have employed at the very least a
butler, housekeeper, cook, lady’s maid, valet, footman, and chamber maid.”

Brian went over to Joanna. “I have to leave for my meeting.”

“I forgot. Where are you going?”

“I told you: to see an accountant. He’s old and wants to hand off some of his local clients to me. He’s going away for the weekend but fit me in. My reputation working wonders again.”

She nodded.

“You okay?” he touched her face and she brushed his hand away.

“It’s stuffy. Why don’t I go with you?”

“This is business, not a social call. Where should I meet you for lunch?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll call,” he said, waving goodbye and leaving her alone in the room.

Madeleine directed Brian to the acceptable exit route, clearly not pleased that he was leaving the tour early. Madeleine escorted the remaining people. Joanna brought up the rear and, when going up the stairs to the third floor
servants’ quarters, she almost tripped. The burgundy
carpeting under her feet felt rough through her shoes, but of course that wasn’t possible. At the turn in the landing, Joanna stopped to catch her breath. The air was still and hot and she felt light-headed.

As Madeleine described various servants’ duties to the rapt group, Michael said to Joanna, “You okay?” She nodded and walked away.

In the third floor hallway, Madeleine pointed to a deep frame on the wall. “Here’s something I think you’ll find interesting: the Victorians framed women’s hair.” The ornately arranged light brown hair and flowers were creepy enough to make Joanna want to throw up. She redirected her gaze to a calmer country landscape hanging by wire from the picture moldings. Madeleine stated: “Actually, the owners of the house would not have decorated a floor only servants would use. But the estate had some extra pieces
worth displaying and we ran out of space on the main floors.”

As the group headed to the next area of the tour, Joanna stayed a moment then suddenly realized she couldn’t stand being inside any longer.

She snuck back down the main staircase to the front hall, rules be damned. As oppressive as it had been crowded with the tour group, somehow it was worse empty. She ran to the front door and was startled by a glimpse of a stranger running beside her. It was her reflection in the large mirror. The front door opened easily, much to her surprise, as she felt trapped, and she didn’t stop running until she was at the front gate of the estate.

She rested against the gate, trying to catch her breath. Her face was damp, her heart was pounding. There were footsteps behind her. “Joanna!” In a moment Michael was by her side. She walked away from him. He followed. “Are we in a race?”

“No,” she said coldly.

He reached for her shoulder. “Joanna, talk to me.”

“No. And please don’t touch me.”

He dropped his hands. His attempted levity—“I’ve never seen this kind of reaction to a tour before”—failed. She turned toward him. Her eyes were blazing, her face flushed. He said, “Can we sit someplace and talk?”

“No.” The dizziness hadn’t passed, and she supported herself on a tree. Michael rushed over to assist her. She said “No” again but minus the venom. They walked slowly to a bench half a block away in a little sequestered area of the estate.

Joanna said, “She was very touchy-feely, wasn’t she?”

“Who?”

“Madeleine.”

“Oh, I’ve known her for years.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes, even more now than when I met her, I think. She’s a resourceful Executive Director. Managed to keep the house intact when many others were being torn down.”

She glared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“I didn’t notice her touching the other tourists, or inviting them to sleep at her house.”

“Oh. I understand. About a year after her husband died,
Madeleine and I dated for about four months. It was good
for both of us and I enjoyed it very much. She’s been happily
married to Dan, husband number two, a cardiologist who adores her, for years. I was best man at their wedding here in Cape May. I play Scrabble with her and poker with him. I love them both. They had nieces visiting and no room for me. But the girls have left and tonight I’m staying at their tiny house. They have a blow-up mattress with my name on it. They feed me. Madeleine’s like a sister to me.”

“Sister, huh?”

He paused. “You know, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am jealous, and I shouldn’t be jealous…”

Two people walked past and stared, or was it just her imagination? Michael made a move towards her, about to say something, and she jumped in with “Michael, this has to end here.” She immediately could see the affect of her words. She had to look away.

“Oh, please don’t say that, Joanna,” he said.

They didn’t talk. The little park was serene, with perfectly manicured lawns and shrubs. Michael started to say something, but stopped. They were both still, and the only movement around them was some birds flying in and out of a feeder hanging on a tree limb nearby. Michael tried again to talk, and stopped again. Then, weighing his words carefully, “All I can say is, I haven’t felt this way…the way I feel about you…in a very long time. Actually, honestly? Never.” His pointer finger lightly stroked her hand resting on her thigh. “You and I have a connection. Something special. You feel it, too, or you wouldn’t be so upset.” He paused. “I can’t walk away from this without a fight.”

She shook her head, and slowly stood up.

He took her hand. “Was I wrong? Is it just me who feels it?”

“Michael,” her voice caught, and tears slid down her hot cheeks. She squeezed his hand, and whispered, “I feel it, but I can’t.”

And she walked out of the park and turned toward her B&B. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him still sitting slumped on the bench. She wanted desperately to run back to him but didn’t. She made a left at the corner, and didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 11

A safe distance away from Woodline, and the garden, and Michael’s dejected face, Joanna stopped to call Brian. Trying her best to sound casual, she told him Michael canceled lunch so he could spend time with Madeleine. When Brian made a comment about “lucky Michael getting laid tonight,” she almost lost it.

She sat on a bench. Even with the sun baking on her back she felt cold and lifeless. Lifeless. But what had happened? It was just a kiss. After twenty years of marriage, one kiss with a stranger was hardly adulterous. She’d never see Michael again, and she’d be buried with this semi-sinful memory. No need to confess all to her trusting husband just to make herself feel better.

As she sat there, the pain began to sink in. Would she really never see him again? Couldn’t they put aside their overblown, exaggerated romantic feelings—which couldn’t
possibly be real after knowing each other such a short time—
and just be friends? She really liked him. His positivity, his humor, and warmth.

Still she sat, unable to move. Eventually she looked at her watch. Over an hour had passed, and she was due to meet Brian. She stood up slowly and shakily, and began walking to the bed and breakfast. The sun hurt her eyes. She fished in her purse for sunglasses.

Where was she? She’d lost her bearings. A young couple,
laughing and walking arm-in-arm, strolled past. “Excuse me,” Joanna said.

“Yes?” the man turned around.

“Which way is Ocean Avenue?”

He pointed. “It’s three blocks that way.”

“And then which way to Columbia?”

The woman said, “Follow Ocean for a few blocks. Um, are you all right?”

Joanna was about to say, “I’m fine,” when tears trickled
down her face. She said, “Thanks,” and walked in the
direction they’d pointed.

Before turning the corner towards the Manor Rose, she stopped and cleaned herself up for Brian. She blew her nose and wiped the tears away, put on lip balm, and brushed her hair.

The last half block, Joanna breathed deeply and kept telling herself everything worked out for the best. She was going back to her husband, and things would get better and better between them.

The Manor Rose looked picture perfect with its windows open, the curtains flapping in the breeze. Marie was serving tea on the porch. Brian sat reading at one of the tiny wrought iron round tables. As soon as he saw her walking up the steps, he said, “You’re late.”

Joanna put on her happy face and said, “I got a little lost.” She was grateful to be sitting outside, so she had an excuse to keep the sunglasses on.

“Have some tea.”

What she wanted was a great big scotch, or some other drink she usually wouldn’t have touched. No. What she really wanted was to curl up into a ball and go to sleep, with the covers over her head.

After a pause during which he looked at her with some scrutiny, Brian said, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“How was the tour?” The question sounded more like an accusation.

“Interesting.”

“And Michael?”

Just hearing Brian say his name made Joanna ache even more. She did her best to answer naturally, but the voice hitting her ears sounded forced. “Fine. I thanked him for both of us.”

“It’s miraculous you ‘discovered’ him, isn’t it?” Brian said, his voice forced, too.

“Miraculous? Hardly.” She couldn’t read his mood, and she usually could. “Too bad you left before the ghost.”

“What?”

“The guy who kept asking questions, the guy in the Bermuda shorts, swore he saw a ghost in one of the bedrooms.” A tear slid under the frame of her sunglasses. She wiped it, her hand knocking against the china plate in front of her.

Brian put his hand on hers, and she jumped. “Your hands are cold.”

“How was your meeting?”

“I liked the old guy. He’s me in ten years. Still happily working.”

“But he’s retiring?”

“Partly. I’ll tell you about it later. You don’t look good.”

“I feel a little sick.”

“You want to go inside?”

“No. The air feels good. I should eat something.”

What was Michael doing, right now? Was he eating? Would he go back to Madeleine’s house? Were they really just good friends? She hoped they were, so he wouldn’t be alone. Or would the attractive Madeleine comfort him? He’d said they were like siblings. Was that true? Or would
she invite him back into her bed? They play Scrabble
together, my ass.

“Jo?”

“What?” Joanna replied, a little too brightly.

“I thought maybe we could walk on the boardwalk.”

Marie brought out a three-tiered tray of tea sandwiches and desserts. “Here’s something I think you’ll enjoy!” She put the tray down and pointed to each as she spoke: “This is cucumber and cream cheese on white. This is salmon and
dill with butter.” Her bright and sunny attitude made Joanna
want to scream. “Here’s my personal favorite: egg salad on walnut bread with watercress. And last but certainly not least,” and here she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “and you don’t have to save them for dessert—my homemade scones, with either cranberries or chocolate chips. Savory or sweet!”

Brian said, “Great.”

Marie said to Joanna, “Are you all right, honey?”

“Yes,” Joanna said, attempting to smile.

“You don’t look too well. Can I get you some aspirin?”

“No, thank you.”

“Maybe you’re not used to being out in the sun. You have such pale skin.”

“I’m fine!” Joanna snapped back.

Marie got the message and walked away.

Brian paused before saying, “Wow. I’ve never seen you do that.”

“I feel sick because I haven’t eaten. And she’s probably right about the sun.”

They ate quietly for a few moments. Brian tried again, “Oh, I was saying, we could walk on the boardwalk at dusk. See the sun set.”

Joanna couldn’t bear the thought of covering the same territory with Brian that she and Michael shared. “Maybe. I don’t know. Do we have to talk about it now?”

He paused before saying, “What’s going on? You know you’re acting weird.”

She shrugged and picked up a sandwich and nibbled on it. Apparently her taste buds had stopped working, too.

“Does this have anything to do with Michael?”

“No!” Her head snapped up at him, her face unguarded.

Seeing the hurt look in Brian’s eyes made her gasp. “Something’s going on, Joanna. I know it’s Michael. Is he why you had to take the bus, instead of driving down with me? To be with him?”

“No, of course not. I never saw him before in my life.”
She had to lessen the pressure. “Brian, I was...kind of
attracted to him. But it’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she said, remembering the feel of Michael’s lips on hers. It was awful denying something that meant so much—everything—to her, but Brian’s feelings mattered more right now. She put her hand on his.

He sniffed. “Was he attracted to you, too?”

“No.” Joanna felt like her brain was pushing against her skull. “It was all silly and nothing happened.”

He was quiet, then said, “I suppose this is partly my fault.”

“No!”

“I’m getting dull maybe.”

“Stop it. I was just stupid. Let’s forget it, okay?”
She selected a tiny sandwich for him. “Here. Eat this. You love salmon.”

He took a bite. “It’s good.”

“See?” The little sandwiches, although probably delicious, held no appeal. But if they disappeared, and the plate was empty, lunch would be over and they could leave. She could go upstairs, get in bed, and try to stop the pain. She felt hopeless and lonely. All she could think about was Michael, and how sad he looked when she left. Was he missing her as much as she was already missing him? Yes. She knew for certain.

Forcing down another little sandwich and drinking the rest of her tea, she said, “I’m going upstairs. I think I need a nap.” She stood up and Brian did, too.

They walked up the stairs to their room and Joanna sat on the bed, filled with apprehension, and more tired than she had ever been in her life. Brian paced, then said, “How worried should I be?”

“Brian!”

“You sure there’s nothing more about Michael I should know?”

“I said there’s nothing more.”

“You seem pretty rattled over
nothing
.”

She stood up, wanting to get away. In the doorway of the bathroom, she turned to him, her eyes finally meeting his. She calmed herself. “I’m a married woman who for one day after twenty years imagined what it would be like to be single and attracted to someone for the first time. That was it.” Her eyes dared him to disagree.

“Was he imagining too?”

“He’d have no idea what we’re talking about. He’s been a perfect gentleman. And he probably dates thirty-five year olds.”

He stood up and said, “Jo,” and took a step toward her. She walked over to him and hugged him.

She said, “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.”

Brian said, as if reading from a script: “You’re human.
It’s that old
you’re married, not dead
thing. You didn’t act on it.” After a pause, he continued, “Let’s go to Fisherman’s Grill.
That restaurant I told you about. Four stars, just ten minutes from here. Frank the foodie said it was great.”

Joanna couldn’t face an evening at a table for two in a romantic restaurant. “Couldn’t we just bring something in here? Watch a movie in bed? We never do that at home.”

He said, his voice colorless, “Okay.”

She walked towards the bathroom.

“Hey, aren’t we supposed to see that house you liked?”

The Tea & Scones flashed into her mind, with Michael gazing at her from the porch. “Tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” She went into the bathroom and shut the door. When she stripped off her damp shirt, pulling it over her head, her eyes met their dead reflection in the mirror. The spark she had seen, the spark brought on Michael, was gone. Her face was older and grayer. She turned away, her throat tight.

As she finished undressing, she heard Brian knock. “Do you want me to get some DVDs from downstairs?”

“Sure.”

“And I’ll bring up some take-out menus.”

He left their room. With him out of earshot, she let go and cried over her loss, knowing she didn’t have a lot of time before he came back. She kept trying to convince herself that she barely knew Michael, and he couldn’t mean that much to her, but she just kept crying. Finally, she splashed cold water on her face and shocked herself out of it. She and Michael had touched something in each other; strangers passing in the night. Saying goodbye was hard, but she had done the right thing. You can’t throw away twenty years of marriage over a kiss.

Knowing she probably had ten minutes before Brian
came back to the room—he was a methodical DVD chooser
—she poured herself a large glass of wine from a bottle Brian had bought on the trip down. Even as she sipped the wine, trying to numb her pain and stop thinking about Michael, she wondered if Brian had bought the bottle
at the liquor store Michael pointed out on the bus ride.

All too soon Brian came back with a selection of DVDs. Joanna was standing by the window, gazing out. The room was uncomfortably quiet, especially in contrast with the noises from outside of people laughing and talking. Joanna felt a million miles away from everything, lonely and sad, and old.

Brian stood in back of her and embraced her. “You know, being in a place like this gives me ideas.” He not-so-subtly pressed his erection into her hip. Joanna’s body decided this had to happen, right now. Anything to stop her brain from thinking. Anything to feel connected and alive again. She faced him and they kissed gently. When she closed her eyes, Michael’s face appeared. She gasped, and forced her eyes open.

“You okay?” he asked. She nodded and embraced Brian
again, trying to push away her memories of the beach.

They made love, or rather he made love to her, and she tried not to think about another man. She tried to get into it, to really feel something, but couldn’t. At least Brian was happy, as they hadn’t had sex in so long. It was very quick, and when he was done, he yawned and said, “You?”

She shook her head.

“Y’sure?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Okay. Just a little nap then, before dinner. I want to go to that restaurant. Frank said good things about the food. We can watch something when we get back,” and he turned over and fell sound asleep.

With the distraction of sex over, the grief began to overwhelm her again. Fortunately she was so exhausted, she conked out. They slept for almost two hours, woke up, and were silent for the next half hour while they got ready for dinner.

The ten minute drive to the restaurant was quiet, too. Neither of them had anything to say. Joanna caught friezes of Cape May life framed in the windows. She longed to see women in elegant dresses with their hair up, men with mustaches and ties, life a hundred years ago. It all seemed
idyllic. On the outside. Beautiful. Elegant. Life was no picnic
back then, of course, but she wasn’t finding the twenty-first century very easy either.