Cape May (16 page)

“I know what you meant. It is awful. For me, too. It’s not like I want the moon moved an inch to the left, I just want to be with you without feeling like a criminal. But those two things now seem equally unlikely.”

It was time to go. They each left money on the table and stood up to leave. The tension increased as they walked to the exit through the hotel lobby. They looked at each other, thinking the same thing. Joanna willed herself away from the pull of the registration desk and the possibility of taking the next step. She walked outside, and he followed.

Waving her hand toward the hotel she said, “It’s not that I don’t…I do, but…”

“In degrees of difficulty I know this is a thousand times harder for you, because of him. It’s up to me to be understanding.”

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her head.

He put his hand on her upper arm, and moved closer to her. He whispered, “Let’s get you back to work.”

They walked east and all too quickly they were in front of her office building. They lingered, making up things to talk about, reluctant to separate.

She said, “How’s your book coming along?”

“Not bad. I’m channeling my misery into my art.”

“Don’t cut off any body parts.”

“No, I’d like to stay whole. Just in case.”

She smiled, about to reply, when her smile widened suddenly. “Hi,” she said, to a coworker entering the building. Then to Michael, “I can’t stand here with you. I feel like I’m wearing a blinking neon sign.”

“A scarlet ‘A’?” She nodded. He said, “Listen. Would you like to go out for coffee later, after work.” She shook her head. He whispered, “We need to talk, without whispering, without interruptions.”

“I can’t.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back to work. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

“Joanna…”

“I have to go,” and she opened the glass door into
the lobby.

He followed. “When can I see you again?” She couldn’t answer. “Will you call me?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” He looked so hurt. She whispered, leaning in closer to him, wishing she could touch him. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“I’ve got to go.” And she walked away from him. Again.

***

Michael walked through the door of his apartment, and just stood there, keys dangling from his hand. Although he’d always known that any control he had over his life was merely an illusion, this obvious, painful, total lack of control was unbearable. He didn’t try to or mean to but he fell in love—if not at first sight, then at second day. And he had even less control of the outcome. Joanna knew how he felt, and everything was in her hands now.

He changed into sweatpants and an old T-shirt and sat down to work on his book. Every word was like pulling teeth, every completed sentence inadequate. Why bother. Instead, he put on a Miles Davis CD, made some tea, and returned to a recently started project: cleaning out the junk in his apartment. Living alone, he’d let things get out of hand. Piles of newspapers and magazines stood atop his tiny kitchen table. Books were in swaying stacks on the floor. Now he was thinning out his library. The massive job was keeping him sane, and keeping his mind off the guilt. It clawed at his insides—the thought of possibly being responsible for breaking up someone’s marriage, and at the same time praying for it. His parents had been married forever. True, they didn’t like each other much, but due to their vows and inertia, they stuck it out until death did them part. His own marriage fell painfully apart, and he was at least half to blame.

Meeting Joanna, even this late in life, was akin to a miracle. Admittedly, the real woman of his dreams would be
available
, wouldn’t she? He loved Joanna. That was the miracle. Parts of him that had been closed and cynical even to the concept were suddenly, uncomfortably, wide open. The funny thing was, if he and Joanna had been set up, this all might not have happened. But as strangers without expectations, they were unguarded, and just themselves, and discovered each other. He knew she had strong feelings for him, but what she’d do with those feelings he really didn’t know. He found her, and it was more than likely he would lose her. She was a woman who wouldn’t want to hurt her husband. Michael needed to protect himself from further damage to his heart. But how? It was too late to shut back down.

Back in Cape May when she walked away from the Woodline estate and out of his life, he’d sat on the bench in the little park for what seemed like an eternity. Since then, he’d examined his feelings for her many times. Could he really be in love with her? Perhaps if she were available the excitement wouldn’t be there? But Michael wasn’t that kind of man. He never had been. As unsatisfying as his marriage had been, he would probably still be married to Donna if she hadn’t left him. (The realization of that unhealthy little fact landed him in therapy for a few years after the divorce.) He should’ve wanted a divorce as much as she did. But he was loyal and liked being in a relationship. Even an unsatisfying one.

Since leaving Cape May, he realized he’d never felt anything for any woman the way he did for Joanna. It made him contemplate calling his ex-wife and apologizing. How good a husband could he have been, never truly, fully loving her. Donna must’ve sensed it, and resented him all those years and been thrilled when she found someone who truly loved her…the way Michael now loved Joanna.

He couldn’t let himself think about Joanna’s husband. Brian. Why couldn’t Brian be an idiot or nasty? He seemed like a regular guy. And the pain Michael went through as a dumped husband, he might inflict on Brian.

That afternoon he made many trips to his building’s basement, filling the recycling bins with newspapers and magazines. He purged his desk drawers, throwing dried up pens, and pictures of his ex-wife, down the garbage chute. He found empty boxes in the laundry room and brought them upstairs to load for the thrift store. The living room seemed twice the size. Misery properly channeled was productive. His New Agey friends would say he was making
room for Joanna in his life, spiritually and physically.
That may have been true. Another truth was, if the worst happened, if he never saw Joanna again—an unbearable thought he could not dwell on—he would still have to find a way to live the rest of his life.

The clock on one of his bookshelves read 6:00. It was three hours earlier in San Francisco. He picked up the phone and called his son.

***

After leaving Michael in the lobby, Joanna walked back into her office, pining for privacy and time to think. But sitting there behind the desk, typing on the computer, was her sister Cynthia.

“What are you doing here?”

Cynthia continued typing. “Two weeks ago, we made a date for lunch today, which you obviously forgot. And I’ve been checking my email while deciding if I should forgive you for standing me up.” She looked up. “What’s wrong? Why are you all flushed and out of breath?”

“I-I guess in the back of my mind I knew you were here and I rushed.”

“You always were a lousy liar.”

Joanna shook her head, and she started crying, unable to move.

“Shush!” Cynthia shut the office door. “What’s going on?” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and handed it to Joanna, while maneuvering her down into a chair. “What?” Joanna just shook her head. “Okay, just cry. Do what you need to do.” Cynthia paused for a second, thinking. “Is this work-related?” Joanna shook her head. “You’re too old to be pregnant. Our parents are already dead. If you were fired you’d be happier.” Cynthia paused, going over every possible reason for her sister’s emotional outburst. “Archie has some cat disease.”

“No!”

“You have cancer?”

“No.”

“Brian has cancer?”

“No!”

“Neither of you is dying of anything?” Joanna shook her head. “Well that’s good news at least.” She kneeled next
to the chair, her hand on her sister’s. “Uh, oh. Brian is having an affair.”

Joanna reacted as if Cynthia had slapped her. “No. Stop!”

Cynthia paused, examining her sister’s guilty face, and gasped: “No. It’s
you
! You’re having an affair.”

Joanna was still as a stone.

“Well, are you?” Joanna shook her head a millimeter. Cynthia stated: “But you want to.” Joanna nodded. “Who is he?”

“I met him on the bus to Cape May.”

“Oh, my baby baby sister. What are you going to do?”

“Right now, nothing. I have to work.”

“But I want to know more. Tell me about him.”

“Cynthia, I’m holding on by a thread, not even a string, and I can’t talk about it.”

Cynthia stood up, and smoothed down the front of her expertly tailored beige pants. “Okay. If and when you need to talk, I’ll be here. I promise not to judge you, or I promise to try not to judge you, which is the best I can do.”

“You won’t say anything to Brian, right? Even though you’ve grown to think of him as a brother, I’m your actual sister and I need you to be quiet right now.”

“Yes, I’ll be quiet, which isn’t easy for me, as you know. Wow, this is big, Jo. Honestly, I would’ve bet a lot of money you would never stray. What’s his name?”

“Michael.”

“Tell me about him.” Joanna shook her head another millimeter. “Well, tell me why you’re about to cheat on Brian, then.”

“I’m not
about
to cheat on Brian.”

“What attracted you to Michael? Why him?”

“Why him? Because I can’t stop thinking about him. Because he makes me feel special and pretty and young. And when I’m with him the world spins. And he’s tender and handsome and so interesting, and funny, and smart. I feel like he knows me, the real me, and he needs me, too. And every moment away from him feels wasted.”

Cynthia slumped on the edge of the desk. “Oh, this is bad, Jo. I thought this was only a late-midlife crisis, making-up-for-lost-time, sex thing.” Joanna shook her head. “You sound like you’re in love.”

Joanna continued shaking her head and said, “No. I’m not. I can’t be.”

“Good luck having that much control over your emotions,
honey.” Cynthia stood up straight, the three-inch heels of her Manolo Blahniks adding to her already imposing figure. “Well, think at least twice before you wreck everything. I’ve been through a divorce and it’s not fun.” She opened the door, and the sounds of a busy office floated in. “Brian may not be Mr. Excitement, but he does love you and he’s been good to you. Be careful, Jo.”

Joanna wiped away the tears still on her cheeks, and nodded as Cynthia walked out of the office.

CHAPTER 13

After Cynthia left, Joanna couldn’t think, sit still, or work for more than a minute at a time. She left at 5:30, and walked home, stopping whenever she could. Never a shopper, she now browsed any store that caught her eye, to delay having to walk through her own front door. If only she could be in the apartment alone, with some time to think, but Brian was there working. At a bookshop she bought a magazine, got a coffee and biscotti, and sat for an hour. Finally she couldn’t kill any more time and went home.

That weekend was unbearable. She didn’t want to be with Brian, who seemed to be watching her all the time, but didn’t want to see people or be alone either. In a way, alone was worst of all, because time went especially slowly even though she read, cleaned, cooked meals for the week, went for walks, anything to keep her mind busy. Still, he was in every thought.

Saturday night she and Brian went to dinner with Fred and his boyfriend. When one of them asked how Cape May was, Joanna talked about the Manor Rose and the Tea & Scones, and how much she loved the town. They asked questions, she answered. Was she such a good actress that they couldn’t tell she was dying inside?

On Sunday Brian asked if she wanted to play Scrabble. They played for half an hour and she pretended to get sick, because she couldn’t stand it any more. She thanked heaven that tomorrow started another week of work, and she could throw herself into something other than her life.

***

Monday morning it all began again. That week at work, every day felt like two, perhaps because she got there so early and left so late. Occasionally she’d go online to see if the Tea & Scones was officially listed yet. She couldn’t bear to lose that house, truly her dream house. She didn’t want to lose sight of her goals, but couldn’t help it right now.

Then, somehow, another Friday arrived, when she wished he’d call her again. He didn’t. At the end of a long day, she had no choice but to go home. She had to be with Brian. She had to put her life back on track.

“Hi,” she said, walking through the door of their apartment with a bag of groceries they didn’t really need.

“Another long day, huh?” Brian said, walking out of his tiny office holding his now ever-present cup of coffee.

She attempted a smile. “I hope that’s decaf or you’ll never sleep tonight.”

He walked over to her. She could see he’d been jangled by exposure to her, this stranger he’d been living with for two weeks. He took the bag from her.

“I bought rolls and eggs. Thought I’d make an omelet.”

They spent the evening together in awkward silence. She tried to think of things to say to him, but they all got stuck in her throat.

He tried also: “How’re you feeling about moving to Cape May?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to go see a movie?”

“If you want to.”

“Or watch one we DVR’d?”

“Sure.”

After what felt like 50 hours, it was a legitimate time to go to bed and Joanna did, without even saying goodnight to Brian. When he crawled into bed an hour later, she was still awake, but pretending to be sleep, her back turned to him.

Saturday rolled around and Brian was up at his usual 7:30, making coffee and expecting Joanna to join him by 8:30 at the latest. By 9:30 he checked in on her. Even in sleep she looked troubled. He didn’t wake her. She slept until 10:30, something she hadn’t done in a decade, but still had trouble getting out of bed. A shower helped a little. Wearing her oversized blue terry cloth robe, her hair wet, she entered the kitchen.

Brian said, “Morning.”

“Morning.”

He watched her as she made coffee, then couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she snapped, and immediately sat down at the table, as if her legs wouldn’t hold her any more. The apartment was deadly quiet. Archie rubbed against her legs but she didn’t pick him up.

“Joanna, even the cat knows something’s wrong.”
Silence. “You come home late every night. And then you’re not really here.” More uncomfortable silence. “This has nothing to do with work.”

“I have been working late. I swear. You can call my boss and ask him.”

“You’ve never cared about any job this much. You’re acting weird. At dinner last week, when you went to the bathroom, Fred asked me what was wrong with you, what was going on.”

“He did?”

“You’re having an affair, aren’t you?”

She was silent.

“Joanna, I’m not blind or stupid.” The tension grew as he paused. “You’ve been like this since Cape May.” He paused again. “What’s going on with you? Is it Michael?” She tried to leave the kitchen but he caught her arm. “It is Michael, isn’t it. You’re sleeping with him.”

“No!”

“Oh, come on Jo! At least be honest.”

“I am! I mean I’m not…having an affair.”

“Then tell me what the hell is going on,” he said. She shook her head. “Jo, you owe me this much.”

Somehow she managed to push out the words: “In Cape May, on the beach. Michael and I…kissed.”

Silence.

He said, “And…”

More silence.

He tried to hold in his anger. “Have you been seeing him every night? When you were supposedly working late?”

She couldn’t look at him. “No, I hadn’t seen him since Cape May. Then last Friday he called me at work. We had lunch.”

“Lunch? Just lunch. I’m supposed to believe that?”

“We went out to lunch. That was it. I swear.”

Brian paused. “Are you going to see him again?”

She shrugged.

“You want to see him again?”

She met his eyes and said, “Please don’t ask me.” He stared at her, unblinking. With the oppressive quiet in their apartment, sounds of Manhattan came in through the open window. Cars driving by, a distant siren, a dog barking. She said, “I miss you being my best friend, like in the old days. You’re the person I’d most want to talk to, about something like this.”

He took a deep breath. “So tell me. Like when I was your best friend.”

“What?”

“Pretend I’m still your best friend. For the next couple of minutes. Talk to me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I give you full permission to tell me what’s going on.”

“Are you a masochist?”

“At least I’d be in some control of my pain. I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on, or where you are, or what you’re doing.”

“I…”

“So, Joanna,” he said. “How was your trip to Cape May?
”

“Brian, this is ridiculous!”

“For the next two minutes I’m willing to forget I’m your husband and just be your friend. What happened in Cape May?” She couldn’t reply. “Jo, two minutes. That’s it. Start talking.”

“I keep thinking about him. I try not to, but I can’t help it.”

“Did you sleep with him?” She shook her head. “Do you want to?” She didn’t answer or move but Brian paced, then looked out the window, then poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He drank it, thought a minute, and spat out: “You didn’t sow many wild oats in your youth,
you know.”

“You mean, maybe this is my body saying,
hey, honey, you’re not getting any younger
?”

“Maybe.”

“Brian, before last weekend I never even looked at
another man. Well, I had the occasional fantasy about that
guy in the bookstore with the great beard. But I’m old
enough to be his mother.”

He attempted a smile. It came out a grimace. “Like me with the gorgeous Shaniqua at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“She knows you like her. She always gives you free Munchkins.”

“Joanna, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing, of course.”

“You gonna get back to normal?” She shrugged. “I can’t live like this. These two weeks have been hell.”

“I’m not sure how…or what…”

He suddenly spat out, “You know, you’re right. I can’t do this. I don’t want to know anything more. Figure things out. Get this out of your system. One way or another.” He got up, went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

***

Joanna kept busy over the next few hours. One benefit from all this inner turmoil: the apartment had never been cleaner. She changed the sheets, did two loads of laundry, emptied the wastebaskets, cleaned the kitchen, brushed the cat, and watered the plants.

Brian sequestered himself in the bedroom or office. In the few seconds he spent going from one room to the other, she said, “Chicken okay for tonight?” and he said, “Sure.” Getting more than two syllables out of him was impossible. She could hardly blame him.

By 2:00 she needed to leave the apartment and the oppression. When Brian was in the kitchen with the radio
on she went into their bedroom and called Michael. When he answered the phone she couldn’t talk, her throat was so dry.

“Hello?” he said again.

She sipped some water from a bottle on her night table. “It’s Joanna.”

“Joanna. Hello.”

“Michael, I want to see you.”

“Yes. You tell me when and where.”

“Want to take a walk in the park?”

“Yes.”

“Want to meet on the northeast corner of Amsterdam and Eightieth?”

“Yes.”

Even his monosyllables made her skin tingle. She couldn’t help but smile. “What if I’d said the southwest corner of Columbus and Seventy-Ninth?”

“Oh, no. That would’ve been out of the question.”

“Are you always going to be this difficult?” she said.

“I’ll try not to be,” he said, and she could hear that he was smiling.

“In an hour?”

“I’ll be there. And Joanna?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you called.”

After forty minutes, during which she changed her shirt four times and almost canceled on Michael three times (even picking up the phone once), she walked into the living room on her way out. Brian was napping on the couch with the TV on and Archie on his lap. Her heart wrenched, and she felt like both a horrible human being and a fool for possibly jeopardizing this version of a happy home.

She wrote Brian a note: “
Out for a walk. See you later. J
,”
and because the omission would be noticed, she drew a heart as she always did on her notes to him. Tiptoeing, she left the apartment, shut the door, and headed for Michael.