Cape May (18 page)

“But that’s not his fault. I’m the one who’s been…withholding. It’s funny. I’m just now realizing it.”

“How much does he know?”

“He guessed about us, because I’ve been hell to live with. He told me I’d better see you and figure things out. That’s why I called you today.”

“You came here because of him? Because he told you to?” he said, his voice heavy on the pronouns. He tensed, and she felt it.

“No. Well, sort of. I came here because I couldn’t
not
come here. I fall asleep thinking about you. I wake up thinking about you.” She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “Even as, as unaware as he can be, he figured things out. Said he can’t live like this.”

“But you could?”

“No.” She could feel him starting to slip away. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and making her more frazzled and upset. “It’s just, Brian thinks he knows me, and my history. I have a terrible track record with men, back to high school. I’m sure he thinks this is something that will go away.”

“So to prove him wrong you came here to take me out for a test drive?” He sat up, and pulled on his underwear.

“No! It’s not like that. Oh, I’m messing this up. Michael, this happened so fast and is so big. I don’t know what’s happening or what I’m doing. I don’t know if I can toss away everything I’ve known for decades for…”

“
Just
me?” He stood up, put on the rest of his clothes, and left the bedroom, leaving the door open. She quickly dressed, keeping an eye on him in the kitchen. The way he opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of water, his shoulders hunched, was breaking her heart. She was hurting him, and it was killing her.

She walked over to him, and put her hand on his back, saying gently, “Michael, don’t turn around, so I can say this: you…arouse me so much I’m afraid I’m thinking with my vagina instead of my head and it might not be the best judge of how I should run my life.”

He turned around. “Stop it, Joanna. You know this isn’t just about sex.”

“Don’t you see that if it isn’t…my life is going to blow up. Michael, I can’t…I care about…I feel more for you than I’ve ever felt for anyone. But I don’t want to say anything or do anything without being one-hundred percent sure. I’ve had,
have
, the emotional maturity of an awkward teenager, and it has to end here. I have to figure
things out. I don’t have the right to ask you, but I’m going to. Can you please, please be patient? Just give me some time.”

He nodded, and stood up straight. “I’ll try. But it’s not easy. I don’t need to make excuses, because I have no doubts. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh, Michael.”

“But I’ll keep my mouth shut now.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for her purse and jacket. “I have to go.”

He walked her to the door. He sounded testy when he asked, “Am I allowed to call you? I don’t know the rules.”

“Yes call.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he said, opening the door, “knowing you’re sleeping in the same bed as Brian.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be on the couch.” She passed by him, exiting.

“Good.” He whispered in her ear, “Meet me for lunch on Monday?” She nodded. “The Excelsior? At noon.” She nodded again. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day,” he said.

And she left, walking down the hall as he watched her. She pushed for the elevator and they looked at each other until it came. When it did, she waved to him and got in, and started her journey home.

CHAPTER 16

Joanna walked home from Michael’s with scrambled emotions. She might not have the courage to say it out loud, but she was in love. For the first time in her life. At almost sixty years of age. What did it say about her that she had married and spent twenty years with someone she wasn’t in love with. Now she saw clearly she’d been stunted emotionally. She married Brian to avoid being alone, to try to be like everyone else, and thought Brian felt the same way. She finally admitted to herself what she’d ignored for years, possibly decades: Brian loved her. And now she was in love with someone else.

All too soon she was in front of her apartment building. Dreading entering, she stood there. The doorman did his duty, so her inertia was short-lived. Once inside the lobby, her nerves got the better of her. Would Brian question her? If he did, what could she say? There was a bench in the lobby and she sat for a few minutes before heading upstairs.

“Brian?” The place was silent. Archie greeted her with a meow, and rubbed against her leg. She bent down to pick him up. “Hello, darling. Where’s daddy?” Brian wasn’t home and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She took a shower and stayed in, cocooned in the warmth. As the bar of soap traced the paths of Michael’s hands, she felt such an overpowering, dizzying rush of happiness and love that she had to sit on the edge of the tub.
It was a fine line to try and walk—treasuring this awakening,
but not hoping too much, and not feeling too guilty—and she wasn’t doing a good job of it at all. When she got out and was drying off, she heard movement in the apartment. He was home. She wrapped herself in her robe, and left the bathroom. Brian was in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags. She wondered if he’d be able to tell where she’d been and what she’d been doing. She was reminded of being a teen and returning home after her first make-out session, wondering if her mother could see the tell-tale signs. After an afternoon with Michael, would Brian? How could she not look and seem different?

“Hi,” she said.

He stopped, with cans of tomato sauce in his hands, and faced her. “Hi. I…obviously went shopping. Couldn’t just sit here, waiting. Thought I’d make turkey meat sauce for dinner. You hungry?”

She nodded. “A little. I had lunch at the Met. Saw some paintings.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you work?”

“A little. It was hard to concentrate, you know?”

She nodded. He stood there awkwardly, looking at her for so long she had to do something and grabbed items from the grocery bag to put away. He seemed about to say something, so she detoured, “Can I help with dinner? Cut up something?”

He handed her two onions and some garlic. “Parsley’s in the fridge.”

While she cut up onions (relieved to be shedding tears only because of the vegetable), he cleaned off the table.
When she sniffled, he was beside her, again his eyes searching
hers. She couldn’t look into them for more than a second, nauseated by guilt.

He said, “Wanna listen to
Prairie Home Companion
?”

“Sure, whatever.”

He clicked on the radio. “Oh, my mother called after…after you went out.”

“How is she?”

“She’s decided on an assisted living place. Even made a deposit.”

“How’s she feeling about moving?”

“Mixed,” he said. “She’d rather live at home, of course, but she’s eighty-four and her eyesight is getting worse.”

“Eighty-four and still going strong. Do you realize
only a century ago, you and I at our age would practically be dead?”

With painfully penetrating eyes he pinned her and
stated: “Joanna, we’ve got a lot of years ahead of us. Let’s make them good ones, okay?”

Joanna saw tears in his eyes and went over to give him a hug. She meant it in a sympathetic, apologetic way, but Brian took it as more. He held her tight, his hands wandering, and she jerked away.

Brian grabbed the cutting board and threw the diced onions into pot. The sizzling as they hit the hot oil startled Joanna and she winced. He stirred them once, then threw the wooden spoon down on the stove and stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him. Even with the radio on, and the sounds of cooking, the kitchen became oppressively still.

When the pasta was al dente, she knocked on the office door to tell Brian dinner was ready. They dished out plates for themselves. Brian sat at the tiny table and spread a newspaper out to read, essentially uninviting her to dinner. She sat on the couch with a magazine, reading the same paragraph over and over.

Her cell phone buzzed indicating a text message: “Looking forward to lunch on Monday.” Her heart jumped,
and her face flushed. She also admired Michael’s diplomacy.

Somehow they made it to bedtime, after she loaded the dishwasher and they tiptoed around one another, the small apartment never feeling smaller. Then came the moment she was dreading: she went to the closet and pulled out sheets and a blanket. Brian stared at her. She said, “I’m…
I thought I’d…sleep on the couch.”

He went into their bedroom and closed the door, as close as he could get to a slam without actually slamming it.

Later, on the couch, Joanna tried to get comfortable. Her pillow was in the bedroom and she couldn’t face Brian again, so she made do with a not very comfortable couch pillow. She tried to sleep but her mind kept racing. Part of her wanted to comfort Brian but knew he wouldn’t let her, and knew she shouldn’t try. She wanted to be his friend. He wanted her to be his wife. He wouldn’t want to be comforted by the person who just inflicted the biggest pain he’d ever experienced, not if the comfort was a bandage soon to be ripped off. She wanted to call Michael but felt too guilty to allow herself the luxury of his voice. She needed to experience this pain, as if somehow it would lessen Brian’s.

Eventually she passed out, with Archie curled asleep in back of her knees. She didn’t hear Brian leave the apartment early the next morning. He left her a note: “
I’ll be back late afternoon.
”

Waking up, her first thought was to call Michael, which made her already soaring level of self-hatred even higher. Maybe a bath would lessen how skuzzy she felt. Soaking in the hot water did make her feel a little better. When she got out, and glimpsed the clock, she was shocked to see almost an hour had passed. First thing she did was check her cell phone. There was a text message from Michael: “I miss you already.” She missed him, too, with all her heart and soul, but she didn’t text or call him back. She called her sister.

***

They met at a coffee shop around the corner from Joanna’s
apartment. Cynthia walked in to see her sister nursing a cup of coffee, hands cradling it as if for warmth even though it was a hot day. Joanna looked up, so pathetic and forlorn, Cynthia bent down to give her a hug. “God. You
look awful, Jo.” Cynthia ordered an iced coffee at the counter
and brought it over to the table. “What’s going on?”

“Brian…knows about Michael. He’s so hurt and angry and it’s all my fault.”

“Wow. What are you going to do?”

Joanna snapped, “I don’t know!” and a few patrons turned towards them. More gently then, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

After a pause during which they both sipped their drinks, Cynthia said, “Have you entered the fully unfaithful stage?” Joanna nodded. “And?”

“And what?”

“How was it?” Joanna couldn’t answer, but color filled her cheeks. Cynthia said, “I see. I’m happy for you, sort of. But are you sure this isn’t just about being with someone new?” Joanna nodded. “You’ve been married to Brian a long time. You can’t maintain that early excitement forever. That
if I don’t see him soon I’ll die
feeling like at the beginning of a relationship.”

“I never felt that way with Brian.”

“I know! I told you not to marry him, remember?”

“I’ve never felt that way about anyone before.”

“Never? Are you talking about love or sex? ”

Joanna shook her head. “I’m not sure I can split those things apart.”

“Don’t kid yourself that you need love for great sex. In fact sometimes it’s just the opposite.”

“Well, they came wrapped together in a package for me.”

“I guess you’ve made your decision then.”

“No! I haven’t. I can’t. Brian and I have been together so long. We went into this whole thing as a team. We knew what we were getting into. We made a pact.”

“They say one out of two pacts end in divorce.”

“He used to go to the store and buy tampons for me, for Christ’s sake!” Joanna said, standing up to bring her cup to the counter.

Cynthia rose, too, and followed her sister. Outside they walked slowly. “But you don’t need tampons any more, Jo.”

Joanna smiled despite everything. Her sister was nothing if not practical. “You know what I mean.”

“What if Brian had fallen in love with someone and wanted to leave you.”

“I can’t play the What If game right now.”

“The important thing is being happy. You just get one life. And it’s pretty short.”

“But isn’t that selfish?”

“If you don’t think of you, who will?” Cynthia thought for a few moments. “Can’t you keep seeing Michael and live with Brian, and give it all some time? You might change your mind.”

“No, we’re not French or in the Bloomsbury group.
Oh, this is so ridiculous! Me dealing with two men.
I couldn’t get a date for the high school prom. You had boys practically killing themselves over you and I couldn’t give my virginity away.”

“You coulda been a great nun.”

“I almost wish I could move to Cape May and forget about Brian and Michael. It’s too much, to have two hearts in my hands, knowing I’m going to drop one.”

“What about your heart?”

“It’s already broken, either way.”

***

The apartment was once again empty. Even though nothing had been resolved, Joanna felt a little better after talking with her sister. As the younger sister of a pushy know-it-all, Joanna secretly wished Cynthia would simply take control. Then she wouldn’t have to think any more.

She looked around the apartment. There was nothing left for her to put away, dust, vacuum, clean out, or bring to a donation center. All her official work had been completed in overtime the week before. It was too early to put chicken in the oven for dinner. After standing motionless for a long minute trying to remember how to spend a Sunday at home,
she gave up and went into the bedroom to take a nap. Seeing
the bed, with her side untouched and Brian’s pillow all the way on the left side, it hit her again how hard this must be for him. No, they had never had a deeply physical relationship, but they were a couple. Until Michael came along, she would’ve said that she was satisfied enough. Now it seemed like the past forty years were just a waste of time until she met him. How could she give that up?

Unable to sleep in that bed, she grabbed her pillow and sat on the couch with one of her books about managing a bed and breakfast. Maybe if she could move on with other
frontiers, this broken part of her life would magically fix itself.

The phone rang. Joanna didn’t recognize the caller ID so she let the machine answer it. “Hi, Ms. Matthews this is Ruth Halemayer from Cape May Realty. I wanted to talk to you about one of the houses you saw.”

The Tea & Scones. It all seemed a lifetime ago. Astonishing how much things can change in such a short time. Joanna blanked out and missed some of the message. “…eager to sell and has an offer I think you’d like to hear.”

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep or read anyway, Joanna returned the phone call. “Hi, Ruth, I just got your message. What’s happening?”

“Remember the Tea & Scones? With the stained glass in the front door? The owners are cutting the price by
$25,000. And they’re willing to include most of the furniture,
minus a handful of family pieces, in the selling price.”

“Really? Do you know why?”

“They’re older and want to move closer to their grand
children on the west coast. I know you had some reservations
about the place.” Joanna smiled, remembering Michael advising her to curb her enthusiasm. She instantly saw him in the Tea & Scones surrounded by Victoriana, the color of his shirt, his eyes, everything. Even sitting here in her own living room she could smell him, hear his voice, feel the touch of his hand. A lump formed in her throat, as painful as if real thumbs were pressing against her esophagus. “Ms. Matthews?” she heard. “Ms. Matthews, are you still there?”

Joanna swallowed painfully. “Yes.”

“I was saying, I wondered if you and your husband are still interested.”

“I am, but things are kind of up in the air right now.” Joanna rolled her eyes at her own understatement. “Can I call you in the next few days?”

“Of course. But I should tell you someone else is seeing the house on Wednesday. Call me sooner rather than later, if you’re really interested, okay?”

“Thanks. Bye.”