Cape May (5 page)

“I have some,” said Michael, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Here. I never travel without them.”

She pulled a mirror out of her handbag. “I hope I look better than I feel.”

Michael turned to survey her. He squinted and nodded. “I think you look fine. However, you may want to pat down that little hill of hair.”

She reached up. “In the back? I’ve had that since I was a kid. Hard-to-manage hair spot.”

He was about to reply but instead stuck his fingers in his
ears when the bus driver made another announcement.
Joanna did the same.

“Here we are, folks: the Alanic Cidee bus terminal. When da bus comes to a complete stop, please gadda ya belongins. Check unda ya seat…”

Joanna interjected, “for runaway earplugs.”

“…and in da overhead racks. For thosaya makin a
knecshin to da bus fuh Wildwood and Cape May, there’ill be infamation posted on da boards. If ya need asitans ax someone in a monagram jackit. Thank ya fuh traveling wid us.”

The announcement over, Joanna released her ears, and saw that Michael was doing the same. She said, “Is it because we’re older, and our ears are worn out and overly sensitive?”

“No, I think all these kids have damaged their ears and are partly deaf. They need everything loud.”

Michael stood up, knees bent so his head wouldn’t smash into the overhead rack. Joanna maneuvered herself into the aisle to give him room. She said, “You’d better come out of there. You look like Quasimodo.”

There was very little space between them. She looked up at him. “You’re tall!”

He put his hand flat on his head. “Six-one and a half, ma’am,” he said in his best John Wayne voice. “You’re five-six?” he asked, moving his hand down from his head to the top of hers.

“Almost. Five-five and a half inches of soon-to-be screaming woman if I don’t get off this bus
now
. My claustrophobia is kicking in. I thought I should warn you as your ear is so close to my mouth.”

When there was room for them to move, he got his backpack down from the rack, and she grabbed her overnight bag. They walked down the aisle to the front, where she grabbed the sweater still on her original seat.

They stepped down off the bus and both took big deep breaths of ‘fresh’ air. When they saw each other, they burst out laughing. Other passengers, standing by the side of the bus and waiting for the bus driver to pull out luggage, turned to look at the source of the sudden noise.

“Yeah, that’s just what we need,” Michael said. “Nice, fresh exhaust fumes in our lungs.”

“Please tell me Cape May smells better than this.”

“I promise it does,” he said, holding up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “Did  you bring a suitcase?”

“No. My husband is bringing it tomorrow with the car.”

They walked towards the terminal. He said, “It feels good to stretch. I think my aging knees are telling me it’s time to start renting a car for this trip.” Once inside the waiting room, Michael said, “I’ll see if the bus is on time.”

Joanna grabbed some Cape May brochures (the few she didn’t already have) from a rack. Michael came back and said, “Right on time. It’ll be leaving in about half an hour.”

“Good.” There was an awkward moment as they stood there. She said, “I think I’ll sit and read these. Make the time go faster.”

They each found seats next to other waiting passengers. Michael jotted down notes for upcoming chapters of his novel. Joanna read the brochures and continued listing things to do, ask, and research while in Cape May. Some information was available on the internet, such as average monthly temperatures, taxes, crime rates. What research and all the brochures in the world couldn’t tell her was how she’d feel away from a big city, with a depleted nest egg, and none of her friends nearby. She wasn’t the first in her group to be leaving expensive New York, though. In the past few years, three had relocated to warmer climates and two had moved to be closer to grandchildren, which, unfortunately, wasn’t a move Joanna would ever get to make. Yet another friend, her best friend in Queens when she was growing up, had made that much farther move into the great beyond, from which no traveler returns.

Joanna lived in Queens for the first seventeen years of her life. From the time she was nine, she and her mother or sister traveled into Manhattan half a dozen times a year, to see theater (when they could afford it) and museums, go to the Central Park Zoo, shop, or just walk around. She still loved it, but Manhattan was more overrun with tourists
every year, and becoming less nonmillionaire friendly.
Joanna loved the brownstone apartments on the quiet tree-lined streets—who didn’t?—but they were affordable only to the very rich. Not that she should complain: she and Brian were comfortable, and whether they stayed in New York or moved to Cape May, they’d always have a roof over their heads.

New York was exhausting her. Work, too, and commuting on the subway. When there was time she preferred to walk at least part of the way. In the summer the descent into
New York’s underbelly was accompanied by the increasingly
powerful smell of urine and sweat, and overflowing garbage cans. It wasn’t New York’s fault. Unlike transportation systems in other major cities, which closed a few hours every night for maintenance, New York’s ran 24/7. The tunnels and trains were actually relatively clean, but she was less tolerant. One upside to commuting was people watching,
which was always entertaining. On crowded platforms waiting for the train there was a fascinating variety of humans.
The people, even just at her subway stop, represented every ethnicity, age, height, weight, style, and economic status, including no status at all. That diversity was the best thing about Manhattan. Well, that and theater. And museums. And restaurants. And—“
STOP it, Joanna
,” she mentally yelled at herself, “
or you’ll never leave New York.
”

She took out her cell phone and called Brian.

He answered after a few rings. “You on the bus?” with his mouth obviously full of food. How did he manage to stay slim while she had to watch every bite?

“No, the Atlantic City bus terminal. The Cape May bus should be here in half an hour. You meeting Frank soon?”

“Nah, I had to cancel. This client is very demanding, and work’s going slow. I’ve been waiting for an e-fax from California for two hours.”

“Oh, I know you were looking forward to dinner.”

“It’s more important that I keep this client happy. If you insist on moving me to God-forsaken Cape May, I’ll need my work to keep me sane.”

***

Michael only sat for a moment, electing instead to walk around the transportation center. In Manhattan whenever he got stuck writing, he’d go for a walk, any hour of the day or night. It helped him think. He was thinking now that the working title of his book wasn’t working.
Assassination: Cape May
was too contemporary. He wanted his readers immediately immersed, starting with the title. Immersed in the time period, the people, the town. He wanted to convey his own fascination with Cape May. As a kid, he’d fallen in love with the town, the gingerbread houses, proximity to the beach, the climate, everything.

He knew his memories of Cape May were prejudiced by the fact that his parents, when the three of them vacationed there, were happy and relaxed. Those were adjectives rarely attached to his mother or father. They saved all year for a week at the shore away from the small grocery store they owned. The other fifty-one weeks his parents worked long hours, and money was tight. Michael was often left alone to fend for himself. That helped fuel his incredible imagination. From an early age he loved to write. Though he was a C student in math and history in his earlier years, it was always A all the way in his English classes. By the time he was ready for college, history had equaled writing in the subjects about which he was passionate, and his overall grades were good enough to get him into almost any school. His parents wanted him to be a doctor. Feeling he owed them something (especially because they were paying), he tried it, wasting two years studying science and medicine before transferring to a “regular” college. After graduating, he earned a living at various nonwriting jobs, but wrote before work, at lunchtime, and after work, until he completed his first book. It was about two unhappy shop owners and their disappointing misfit son. They say write what you know. Miraculously, it was published. He didn’t make much money from it, but the prestige of a published book got him a teaching position at a small community college. There, he met his future wife, who was working as the Dean’s assistant. They got married, had a son, and his creativity moved to the back burner. Living with Donna wasn’t easy. Attempting to keep her content took a lot of his energy, but he was determined to have a happier married life than his parents. When their son was thirteen, Donna went back to school to get her masters in psychology. She was a dedicated student and her few moments of free time were devoted to their teenager. The time apart didn’t help an already strained marriage. She didn’t miss Michael and he didn’t miss her. Donna met another man, fell in love, and asked Michael for a divorce. He had no real reason to contest it.

A free man once again, Michael threw himself into writing. He wrote, and sold, mysteries for the adolescent set. He also moved into a friend’s house in Cape May. Various part-time jobs later, supplementing his frequently fickle income, he returned to his small Manhattan apartment and started corporate writing. It cut time for his own writing but made bill paying easy. To salve his soul, he visited Cape May twice a year.

Now he was working on his fiction again. Writing about Cape May again. This trip was about research and getting color for the book. Trying to see the town a little differently.

CHAPTER 4

“The 5:47 bus to Wildwood and Cape May is ready for boarding.” The announcement broke through the music playing over the speakers.

Joanna quickly put away her things and stood up, looking around for Michael. He was no longer sitting on the bench. What if he missed the bus? Something jumped in her chest.

She slowly walked outside to the waiting bus, its door open and engine running, and scanned the area for him. One foot on the first step, she told the driver, “Someone else is coming. He should be here in a minute.”

The bus driver eyed her a moment. “Anything for you, pretty lady.”

The gambling crowd was gone and only five other people were scattered throughout the bus, including the young man with the green earbuds still in his ears. She sat down by the window in the second row, looking out towards the terminal entrance. There he was, rushing towards the door. She was relieved. In one leap he was in the bus, eyes searching for then landing on hers. He smiled back at her, as he said hello to the driver.

He sat down in an aisle seat across from her. “I had to take a call. Possible freelance work. Couldn’t get the guy off the phone.”

“I bet it’s a long walk to Cape May,” she said.

“I’da made it in a week or two.”

The driver shut the doors and headed back to the Garden
State Parkway. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are on our way further south in New Jersey. First stop Wildwood, then Cape May. If I drove any further, you’d need a wet suit.” A few giggles from the passengers. “
Settle back and enjoy the ride.” This bus driver seemed friendly, his laid-back vibe permeating the bus.

Joanna relaxed, sinking back into the comfortably padded bus seat. Michael opened his book.

The bus driver looked at Joanna in his mirror and said to her, “You’re the Queen of the Bus.”

“As I’m the only woman on the bus, that’s not saying much.”

She opened her notebook again, but her eyes kept drifting to the window. The Garden State Parkway was lined with fully blossomed trees, in more shades of green than even an Impressionist could capture. Despite being in the confines of the bus, Joanna could sense the fresh air outside. It was a picture perfect day. When she and Brian took walks in Central Park, she tried to breathe in extra hard, to fill her lungs with new, fresh air, to replace the exhalations of the millions of people on the streets and in the subways. Again her thoughts seesawed between her longing to move someplace with sweeter air, a little slower pace, a lot less crowded, and more aging-friendly, or stay in a city that never slept, where every moment seemed alive and important and youthful. Did everyone have such a love/hate relationship with Manhattan?

The bus drove on and on, and eventually the trees and grass of the parkway gave way to
Wildwood
signs. After a brief stop to let two multipierced teenagers disembark for the boardwalk and rides of Wildwood, the bus was back on the parkway. Soon Joanna saw “End of Parkway” and “Cape May Courthouse” signs, renewing her excitement about visiting the place where she might spend the rest of her life. She had not been this hopeful about any other inn hunting expedition.

Michael saw her gathering her things. “We still have awhile, Joanna.”

“I’m so ready to get off this bus,” she said, smiling.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He slid his longs legs into the aisle, for comfort and to face her, making it easier to talk. “You’ll see to the right the Court House entrance. There’s a liquor store, too, that’s very popular. Most of the restaurants here are bring-your-own-booze. When I drive down I usually stop in. Nice selection of local wines.”

Michael pointed to the left, “There’s the Lobster Hideaway. You can eat inside, or out by the boats, on huge wooden reels turned on their sides. Self-service, plastic utensils. Sometimes it’s crowded, but the food’s pretty good and not too expensive. Though there’s always the possibility that a sea gull might drop a gift on your plate.”

The bus slowed, driving on the one lane south and close to the cars on the one lane north. He said, “This is Lafayette Street.”

Joanna flashed forward to Monday, when she’d be sitting in the passenger seat with Brian driving home on that north lane. Would their decision be made? Would they know they wanted to move to Cape May, start a whole new life, with new work, climate, scenery, or would they realize that New York City was still the place for them? It was such a monumental decision, it seemed impossible that in a few days she might know. Was moving a foolish thing to do at this stage of her life? Too daring? Her first and pretty much last daring act, marrying Brian, all too quickly became normal and rote. Maybe everything that begins unconventionally, adventurously even, somehow rapidly becomes routine. Maybe transporting their life to Cape May was just what they needed.

As the bus headed deeper into Cape May, glimpses of the occasional Victorian house, intermingled with regular
houses, snapped Joanna out of her thoughts. The gingerbread and multicolors made them stand out next to aluminum
-sided or stucco or brick houses. Many of the Victorians even on the outskirts of Cape May were bed and breakfasts, and inviting, despite the further distance to the coveted beach. These inns would be competition for Joanna
and Brian’s possible future inn. The bus passed an especially
enticing house, like the witch’s in Hansel and Gretel, but without the danger, and she
ooh
ed and
aah
ed.

Michael said, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

The bus driver abandoned his microphone to shout out the simple announcement to the few people left on the bus: “Lady and gentlemen, in a moment, our final destination: the Cape May Transportation Center.” Michael glanced at Joanna, who was almost jumping out of her seat. Her excitement was infectious. The bus turned right into a small driveway and stopped in front of what looked like a 1950’s train station. The driver continued, “You can get a cab, information, use the restrooms, grab a map or whatever
you need. Thank you for traveling with us. Have a wonderful
time here in Cape May. Looks like we’ve conjured up a fine-looking evening for you.”

Joanna stood and made her way out of the bus. She said to the driver, “Have a nice evening.”

“You, too,” he said, and winked at her.

Finally on solid, Cape May ground, Joanna put her overnight bag down and did a standing forward bend.

Michael was standing over to the side. He said, “You do that like a professional.”

“Yoga classes. I haven’t gone in years, but I’ve kept up
with this one stretch. All I do at work is sit. I refuse to become
one of those hunched over old women who look like they’re hunting for quarters.”

“That explains your excellent posture.”

“Not too soldierly, I hope.”

“Not at all.”

She pulled a map out of her bag and unfolded it. “Guess I better get my bearings.” She looked back up at him. “Um, I guess this is goodbye, too?” She stuck out her hand. “Well, thank you for making the ride so much more pleasant. That Scrabble game saved what’s left of my sanity.” Their eyes stayed on each other’s a moment.

He took her hand but didn’t shake it. “Listen, Joanna, do you know where you’re going? I can walk you to your B&B. The Manor Rose is that way,” he said, pointing.

Joanna felt a little jolt. “I couldn’t…”

“Oh, I see. You think I’m a Scrabble shark
and
an ax murderer.”

“They so often go hand-in-hand, don’t they.”

“I practically have to pass your street to get to mine. Oh, wait. I’m an idiot! Maybe you want to be alone.”

“No, I like your company,” she said. “I have to call my husband first, to tell him the bus didn’t crash or anything.” She took out her cell phone and hit redial. Brian picked up. She said, “Hi. I’m in Cape May.”

“Great. You like it?”

“I’m still at the bus terminal, about to walk into town with this nice man I met on the bus.”

“Picking up strangers again? I thought I broke you of that habit.”

Joanna looked at Michael and shook her head. Into the phone she said, “This one is not that strange.” Michael produced a comical sinister look, which made her laugh. “Well, he’s pretty strange, but also a self-proclaimed Cape May expert and could provide us with a wealth of information.”

Brian said, “Good.”

Joanna said, “How’s work?”

“Don’t ask. See you tomorrow around noon, okay?”

“Bye, Brian. Good luck.”

Michael said, “Ready?”

“You know, before I see Cape May and it sees me, I would
be happier if I could wash off some of the bus grime.”

“You look pretty grime-free to me, but the bathroom’s in there. Meet you by that bench in a few minutes.”

In the ladies room, Joanna brushed her teeth and fluffed her hair. She was pleased with how it looked. Never one for make-up and beautifying, her one vanity was having her gray roots touched up every eight weeks. The gray had made her feel like her own grandmother. She’d spent many hours and even more dollars at a salon restoring the original brown and, in the past year at the suggestion of her stylist, adding red highlights. It wasn’t up there with other midlife crisis Band-Aids, like buying a sports car, but it did make mirror gazing less painful. And right now, despite the bathroom’s harsh lighting, even with the wrinkles she’d never get used to, she thought she looked happy, and pretty. Subtracting the stress of Manhattan and work and adding a minivacation was apparently equaling relaxation. Her eyes were sparkling. She smiled at herself, put the brushes away and left the room.

Michael was already waiting outside. He, too, had cleaned
himself up a bit and washed his face. Some wet hair clung to
his forehead. She reached up to brush the locks aside.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away.

He paused before saying, “I don’t mind.”

She’d once read a book in which the hero’s eyes were described as hooded. She’d never been quite sure how that looked until she saw Michael’s hooded eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said.

He pointed and said, “This way.” As they walked, he dug his baseball hat out of his backpack and pulled it on.

They left the Visitor Center parking lot and walked across the two lanes of Lafayette Street. Joanna said, “The weather couldn’t be more accommodating.”

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

“And the air is…soft and tranquil?”

“It’s that lazy southern air. We’re as far south as parts
of Virginia and Kentucky.” They continued walking,
past a strip mall and parking lot. “Over there on your left is
a grocery store. There’s also an Asian restaurant with good dumplings. Light. There’s a pizza place, deli, and lots of tourist shops. One sells painted hermit crabs.
The perfect Manhattan studio pet. Of course they’ll be dead
in a few days.”

“That’s very sad.”

“That’s true. Many a child’s heart has been broken by the death of little Harry or Harriet Hermit Crab.”

They walked through the parking lot to Ocean Avenue. On the corner was an old stone church, cast in a traditional Medieval revival style. “That’s quite a church.”

Michael put on his best tour guide voice: “That’s the Star of the Sea, built in 1911. There’s a stained glass window of Mary ascending to heaven. It’s worth seeing.” He dropped the voice. “Although honestly I haven’t been in there in five years.”

“Not a
regular
church goer, are you?”

“No! I’d rather have root canal. Oh, are you a…religious type person?” he asked.

“No, I’m not. I was born to nonreligious parents. Never went to church. I do consider myself to be, for lack of a better word, spiritual. I believe in…something?” She looked up to see him smiling at her. “I know, I sound ridiculously indecisive for a middle-aged person.”

“No, I’m smiling because I feel exactly the same way. Except I would never admit to being middle-aged.”

“Ugh. Age. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Please let’s talk about anything else. Tell me more about Cape May.”

He pointed to the right. “This is a pedestrian-only shopping mall, closed to cars in 1971. Full of restaurants and shops where you can buy anything from post cards to
diamonds, fudge to books, T-shirts to, well, you get the idea.”

They continued walking slowly in the evening summer sun. Joanna sighed.

“What?” said Michael.

“If I walked like this on Forty-Second Street I’d be arrested, or trampled. It’s kind of nice, just strolling. I’m feeling, I think the word is relaked? Relassed? I read it somewhere.”

“Sounds like you’ve been working too hard.”

“Yes, but I really have to stop complaining about it. In this economy, at my age, I’m glad to be employed.”

“I hear you. I’m grateful for every boring job that pays the bills so I can write.”

“See, you’re doing something you love.”

“Most of the time.”

“I want to do something I love. I’m determined to follow my dream.”