East Hope (9 page)

When Will had had his back problem in the tenth grade, his dad had told him not to give up. “Son, you can't play football like Rusty, but there are other sports.” Following in his brother's footsteps, varsity quarterback, might have been impossible anyway, but Will had discovered running, a sport he enjoyed to this day. “Look on the bright side.” “Don't give up.” “Try harder.” These were the maxims of his growing up.

He and Mary Beth had been so happy in Maine. The details of their honeymoon were sharp and real in his mind; he could still see it like a movie running in his head: mornings spent with Mary Beth, cuddled in bed, no hurry to get up, the thick fog that settled over them. He never forgot that place.

Mary Beth and Will had married over Labor Day weekend, a small family affair at Mary Beth's home in New Jersey. She and her mother had planned the entire wedding, and he had been happy to leave it to them. He said he'd take charge of the weeklong honeymoon, before he started his teaching job in Pennsylvania. When he told Mary Beth about his idea for Maine, he thought he saw the slightest flicker of disappointment in her face. She had been hinting for Bermuda or the Bahamas. She grew more enthusiastic when he described the cottage on the cove, lobster suppers, and cozy nights by the fire. They'd driven up the New England coast to the small home owned by his college roommate's family.

One morning three or four days into the trip, the fog that had stayed all week remained draped over them; the dampness seemed to seep through the walls. Will got up first and pulled on jeans and a flannel shirt.

“I'll go light the fire.”

“Umm.” Mary Beth didn't move. He pulled the covers up around her pale skin, loving the way her body almost disappeared into the white sheets and the contrast of her hair, a shock of darkness on the rumpled bed. She had a neat, well-proportioned figure, though her breasts were large for her small frame. Will had stared down at her. He could barely pull himself away.

The living room of the cottage was plain, almost austere. The owners of these old summer cottages were secure in the knowledge that they had far grander houses elsewhere; this simplicity was part of the message—the occupants had no need to show off to the world. The living room had a sensible clutter of mismatched furniture, two butterfly chairs, a wicker love seat that creaked when you sat, and a collection of wooden side chairs, two pulled up to a card table next to a shelf of jigsaw puzzles. Floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with books gave the room a papery, library-like smell. The book covers were muted and looked like novels from the fifties or earlier. Will had finished reading the books he had brought with him and planned to take some time today to see what was there.

He knelt and made balls of newspaper from a stack on the floor, then layered three logs on top. He found matches on the mantel and the paper easily ignited. Watching to see if the logs would catch fire, he shivered and listened to the soft hiss of burning newsprint and was gratified a few minutes later by a cat's tail of smoke curling up the chimney.

Next he went to run a bath for Mary Beth. The only bathroom, a large square room at the top of the stairs, had no shower, only a claw-foot tub sitting under the window like a genial animal.

“The tub's ready,” he called out. This had become their morning routine.

Mary Beth shuffled into the bathroom and Will pulled off her robe. “I can see my breath in here,” she said. “Did you turn up the heat?”

He kissed her shoulder. “I got the fire going.”

“Thanks,” she said, now more awake. She smiled.

There were only two radiators on the first floor, designed to remove the damp rather than heat the house. Once they left, the pipes would be drained and the house closed up for the winter. “It'll be warmer by the time you get downstairs.” Will sat on the floor opposite the tub, his back against the wall. The old-fashioned bathroom was Spartan. Besides the toilet, the tub, and a wide-lipped pedestal sink, there was a white-painted chest of drawers and two freestanding wooden towel racks. Mary Beth had said she'd seen ones like them for eighty dollars in an antique store. She lowered herself into the tub, her skin turning pink in the steaming water.

On their first morning in the cottage he had joined her in the bath. After a few minutes of them fumbling and splashing, the water had cooled quickly, and Will had had to get out and mop the floor. Knowing that there would be days and days of her, a lifetime of Mary Beth, he was content to watch her bathe; it was like having a good book that would never end, an infinite number of pages.

“What would you like to do today?” he asked.

“Well, as we can't see a thing, I guess it's going to be another day by the fire. You can work on your novel.”

“I'll start writing when we get home,” he said. “Why don't we go to Chauncey Point and walk on the pebble beach?”

“You don't think it's too cold?”

“I promise I'll keep you warm.”

“You always do, Will.” She blew him a kiss and then eased her head under the water, surfaced, and reached for the bottle of shampoo. Will closed the door after himself and went down to survey the day.

He didn't mind the fog. He didn't mind the feeling of being wrapped up, away from the rest of civilization, having Mary Beth all to himself. A delicious secrecy filled these days spent alone in this impermeable world. It was like dropping off the face of the earth into a mysterious land that was theirs alone.

During that week in Maine, Will imagined that his senses had become more acute. Everything inside the house took on the clarity of a Vermeer painting. He could practically feel the weight of the silence blanketing them. In the morning the acrid wetness of the chimney awakened his nostrils like a jab, and the warmth of Mary Beth's skin was like a drug. In the evenings when they came home from dinner, they sipped wine by the fire while he read aloud to her from a tattered copy of
Ethan Frome
. When the crackling flames dwindled to embers, they climbed the stairs, arm in arm, up to bed.

On the final day of their visit the sun came out. The water in the cove sparkled and bounced in jeweled radiance. Will scanned the horizon with amazement. They'd been living in paradise without knowing it. They sat on the lawn below the cottage and looked out over the harbor. The air had warmed up. A small lobster boat chugged its way out the neck of the harbor. Several sailboats had unfurled their sails in readiness for a day spent on the bay. Will squinted into the sun. The pristine blue water was punctuated with islands, mysterious and beckoning.

Mary Beth sipped her coffee. “God, it's gorgeous,” she said.

Will draped his arm across her shoulder. They'd made love that morning and she had a lingering sweetness about her. She seemed as unspoiled as the landscape before them. “I'm so happy,” he said.

“I love you, Will.” She leaned into him. “Too bad the good weather came on the last day.”

“Let's stay an extra day.”

“Will . . .”

“We could drive home all in one day instead of two.”

“Will, I don't want to be in the car for fourteen hours straight.”

“I'll drive the whole way.”

“I start my job on Monday. I have a lot to do to get ready.” She reached up and put her finger to his lips. “You need to be at the college. It's not just me who has to get back.”

He knew she was right. He took her finger in his mouth and bit it gently.

“Will.” She pulled back and he moved closer, knocking her mug aside.

“I don't want this to end.” He eased on top of her and kissed her lips. She tasted of coffee. “I'm the fog,” he said. “I'm covering you, every last bit, every last place.” He slid his hand under her sweater. He imagined the warm sun on his back reaching all the way through to her in one powerful ray.

“Let's never leave,” he said, and rose up on his elbows. “Let's give it all up and stay here forever.”

“You're crazy.” She laughed.

He kissed her eyes. His lips filled one socket and then the next. “I'm the fog,” he whispered again. “I'm everywhere.”

Mary Beth softened beneath him. She returned his kiss, then gently pushed him away. “Come on. Let's enjoy today.” She sat up and smoothed down her sweater. “Maybe one day we'll come back.” She stood up and tried to pull him to his feet.

Will didn't want to get up. He wished that nothing would change: the sun, the sky, the water, and most of all, this moment with Mary Beth.

Now, ten years later, Will considered his idea for a trip. He flipped through the pages of the magazine, looking at the ads for inns, hotels, and B and Bs. He wanted something nice, a room overlooking the water for sure. Mary Beth was busy, but she had vacation days coming to her. Maybe early September, around the time of their anniversary.

At the very back of the magazine a photograph caught his eye. It was of a yellow clapboard building with black shutters and a wooden sign saying, TAUNTON'S USED BOOKS. Below, the caption said,
Summer manager wanted, free apartment, water views.

The phone had started to ring inside the house. Maybe it was the lawyer to set the date for the walk-through. The house deal was moving quickly. Will turned back the page of the magazine and went inside.

It was Jack Mathews. Will fought an urge to hang up. His jaw clenched.

“How's it going, buddy?” Jack said with forced joviality.

“Have you hired my replacement yet?”

“Shit, Will,” Jack said, his tone suddenly deflated. “You know this has been hell for me too. It's no picnic to lose the best English professor you've got, maybe one of the finest this college has ever seen.”

“The best at Habliston. Now there's a compliment.” Will had not returned Jack's earlier calls, voice messages expressing regret and explaining that he wanted to do what he could to help. Beyond being Will's boss, Jack was an old friend. Will knew that none of this was really Jack's fault.

“Sorry, Jack. You didn't deserve that.” Embarrassed, Will tried to muster some goodwill. “Alice Field could teach American lit; she'd be really good. You could hire someone new for freshman comp. Plenty of adjunct English teachers out there,” he added flatly.

“We're hiring no one. I need to get rid of another position too. Orders from above. No funds.
Nada.
”

“Lucky I had the run-in with the Whitely girl.” Will hated the sarcasm in his voice. He couldn't stop himself. “Easy way to thin the staff.”

“Jesus, Will.” Jack let out his breath.

“Sorry. I'm feeling overwhelmed. On top of everything, Mary Beth's still gone.” He sighed deeply and explained, “I'm doing all the packing. God, it's depressing as hell. It's like my life around here never counted. She wants me to move to New York right away.”

“I've already written your recommendations. You should get started on the job search. Full-time will be tough. You know the market.”

“Mary Beth doesn't care if I teach. She thinks I'll be happy sitting in the apartment all summer writing my novel.”

“You told me that commuting was getting to be a problem for her,” Jack said. “You can start on the interviews and have some time together.”

“Yeah, right. Except Mary Beth's hardly going to be there.” Will explained that she had already taken a trip to Tokyo, and was working on a new project that required her presence in Los Angeles for most of the summer.

It felt good to talk about what had been festering inside him over the last few weeks. “What really burns me up is that we're giving up our whole lives here. Ten years, the house, our future. My career is over and she acts like it's of no consequence.”

“Your career isn't over. I'm going to help you with the job. Alice is a huge fan of yours. She'll write you great recs, too.”

“It's not just coming up with another job.” Will no longer tried to hide his anger. “I don't want to sit sealed up in an apartment all summer while my executive wife supports me. Like I'm some kind of gigolo.”

“You're a damn good teacher, Will,” Jack said, changing the subject. “Don't forget that.”

In the next few minutes Jack shared his own worries for the college. The financial picture was worse than ever. Even if the board voted to go coed, it might take years to rebuild the enrollment. Will listened to his friend, though his mind kept going back to images of Maine. He remembered the landscape: rocks, trees, water, sky. All so clean and elemental. He thought of the quality of the light, the ribbons of fog, nothing to interrupt the pure simplicity of the place.

“Don't worry,” Jack said. “Things will work out with Mary Beth.”