From Comfortable Distances (5 page)

She had woken up before
sunrise Saturday morning and without giving much thought to all the things she
had to catch up on after the work week—food shopping, house cleaning, laundry—Tess
had put on a pair of black stretchy exercise pants, a t-shirt, and a zip-up
hooded jacket over it, and gone outside to take a walk around the neighborhood.
It was something she always wanted to get to, but there never seemed to be time
to do in the routine of her life. The Friday evening candle-lit yoga class had
left her feeling delicious and made her sleep sweeter than she had remembered
in a long time. Later in the day, she would drive into the city and take a late
afternoon yoga class. It amazed her how much she enjoyed the classes, how much
she couldn’t wait to get back to the stillness of the yoga room. Michael would
point out her addictive personality if she’d let him know that she had been
back a few times since she first went to the studio with him. Tess smiled in
the cool, early morning air and a slight chill—something like excitement,
anticipation—filled her. The spring always made Tess feel unhinged, as if a
part of her was about to melt away and she had to work hard and fast to secure
the parts of herself that she didn’t want to lose.

She walked through the
gates of the Bergen Beach Yacht Club across from her house and followed the
gravel path onto the wrap-around wooden dock. Most of the boats on the private
docks were still covered with canvas. Tess imagined it was too cold out on the
water for any of the boats to set sail just yet. Beyond the wraparound dock
were backyards, each of which had stairs leading down to the sand where the
wraparound deck could be accessed. The waters of Jamaica Bay glistened green
with slimy algae. And yet it was nice to be by the water—sometimes it didn’t
seem possible to her that behind all of the houses there was that body of sand
and water.  She had worried years back if the houses could float away in a
storm, but it hadn’t happened in the last 30 years. When Prakash was a toddler,
they used to sit by the shore, Prakash tossing pebbles, mesmerized by the
splash. Staring into the water now, Tess felt as if she were moving towards
something. The tide drifted in, slowly, surely, and drifted away. Tess tossed a
stone in the water and saw her selves in the rippled effect. So many different
Tess’s in her image. The surface resounded as she tossed another stone, then
another. She didn’t know what she was sending away from her, but with each
toss, she became lighter, freer. Circles opened where the stones had vanished,
like little black holes.

“Are you trying to wake
up the fish?”

Tess turned toward the
voice.

“Neal.” Tess smoothed her
hair; in the cool early-morning dew, her curls were frizzy and tight.

“It’s nice to see you out
so early. I was beginning to think I was the only one in this neighborhood who
was up early.”

“I didn’t think anyone
came out here,” Tess said.

“The sea gulls were
circling above; I came to see what the commotion was about.”

A flock of sea gulls,
gawking and moving round and round, as if in a whirlpool, were overhead. Tess
hadn’t heard them until now. As quickly as she noticed them, they flew off.

“There they go,” Neal
said.

The early morning mist
was rising off of the water like a curtain between pulled up. In a few moments,
the sun would rise.

“It’s a beautiful morning
to be out walking,” Tess said.

“There’s something to
being out before the world comes alive that’s always appealed to me. I’ve never
seen you out here,” Neal said.

“I can’t remember the
last time I was out walking in the morning. Probably over 30 years ago. I’m
usually busy,” Tess said.

“What made today
different?”

He wore a white thermal
long sleeved top just tight enough so that she was able to make out the outline
of his muscles in his chest and arms. He was in good shape.

“I’m not sure. I just
felt like I needed to be outside,” Tess said.

Neal bowed his head. “I’ll
leave you to enjoy your morning.”

“No. I mean, you’re
company isn’t bothering me. I was on my way to walk.”

Now that he was there
with her, Tess realized that somehow she had wanted to see him again. Neal
started to walk and she fell in line beside him, the two of them making their
way from the dock and back onto 66
^th
street.

“I drive around this
neighborhood so much, but walking it is a whole different thing. There are so
many things you don’t notice while you’re driving,” Tess said.

They moved beside one
another in silence. Every now and then Neal glanced behind him, as if he was
worried they were being followed. Tess glanced behind her as well: no one in
sight.

“Everything okay?” she
asked.

“Fine,” Neal said. “Everything
is fine.”

Spring had already begun
to transform the neighborhood: tulips were coming into bloom in the gardens in
vibrant hot pinks and pale yellows and reds. The shrubs were rich and full in
deep emerald green. It was magical the way everything came back to life with
spring.

“How long do you plan to
be visiting Mill Basin?” Tess asked.

“Why?”

“Just asking,” Tess said.
She pursed her lips. Nosy, that’s what Michael had called her at times.

He led the way, veering
them off of 66
^th
street, the main road, down Dakota Place to Basset
Avenue. When Neal led her through Ohio Walk, she marveled over the fact that
she hadn’t been down that lane in at least 30 years—not since she had wheeled
Prakash in a baby carriage.  Neal bent down to pick up a damp yellow-green leaf
on the ground, twirling it in his fingers by its stem.

They passed the houses
she was selling on Mayfair Drive South and she began to fuss with her hair,
check her lips to feel if she had lipstick on. It was still strange for her to
see Best Realty signs on the front lawns with her picture on them, as if she
was a politician. She was a private person at heart. How did her face end up on
people’s lawns? Neal seemed to be in a trance of his own. She would need to
tell her folks to clean up the evergreen trees on the lawn of one of her
houses, which reminded her that she needed to check her work voice mail to see
if one of her agents had closed the deal last night on the one-family house in
Bergen Beach.

Neal stopped mid-block so
that Tess almost stumbled into him.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Oh,” Tess said. She
pulled down on her sweatshirt and felt the hint of perspiration in her armpits.
“Sure.”

He held out the leaf to
her. “When summer comes, perhaps you’ll look back at this leaf and think of
this spring morning.”

Tess nodded. “I will,”
she said, and with that Neal bowed his head and began to jog away from her and
then all out run toward the end of the block, so that in moments he was gone
from her view. She couldn’t quite remember the last time a man had sprinted
away from her. Strange. She put the leaf to her nose: it was a faded yellow—the
color of in-between. She wondered where Neal had suddenly vanished. He must
have a wife. Or maybe he was on the run? He didn’t strike her as a criminal,
but nowadays who knew? It was creepy, but she didn’t feel afraid. They had been
alone on the beach and she hadn’t felt threatened. And he had been at the
church. Unlikely that a criminal was visiting with God. Unless he sought
repentance? She kept moving towards the end of the block, which would intersect
with 66
^th
street, from where she would be able to turn around and
make her way back to her house, her life.

Tess saw the
curtains—were they velvet? Maroon velvet? —of the house she was approaching,
the third house from the corner, sway, as if someone were behind them, looking
out.  Shrubs and trees covered the lower level of the house, with the exception
of the front room windows. If Tess were to sell this house, she would get those
shrubs cleared away immediately. Privacy was one thing, but this house looked
as if it belonged in the middle of the wilderness. Right then Tess got a
glimpse of a woman peeking out from behind the curtains—she was older, short
hair, in a house dress. Or a robe. The house was situated differently than
Tess’s house, so that she wasn’t sure if the room the woman looked out from was
a den or a living room. She lingered, bending down to tie her sneaker, trying
to get a better glance at the woman. Something was certainly strange here. Was
the woman watching her or scanning the street? 56 Barlow Drive. Tess must have
driven past this house countless times without noticing it. When Tess stood
back up, she saw the woman dart from the window, as if someone inside the house
had called to her.

Michael shuffled through
the Best Realty papers in front of him. He put his feet up on Tess’s glass
octagon-shaped kitchen table and glanced over at Tess by the stove as she
grilled French toast. She glared back at him.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“What?”

“We don’t put our feet up
on the table where we are going to eat,” she said.

Michael took his feet
down and shook his head.

“Really, Michael. I can
see that living alone has destroyed your social skills.”

 “Will you get off my
case?”

“In my house, we still
obey basic social skills.”

“In your house.”

“Yes, my house.”

“Once upon a time this
was
our
house.”

“Once upon a time is not
now,” Tess said.

“I thought all the yoga
was lightening you up.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t
give up on it after one class, it would help you, too.”

“I don’t need help, Tess,”
Michael said.

“Oh, got it. You’re just
perfect, Michael.”

“I’m glad you can admit it.
What are you putting on the French Toast?”

“Blueberries,” Tess said.

“Frozen blueberries on
French Toast. Yum.”

“When I’m done cooking
them, they won’t be frozen,” Tess said.

 “I’m sure it will be
delicious.”

“I have better things to
do than cook you dinner,” Tess said.

“Like what?” Michael
said.

“Like live my life.”

“We could have gone out
for dinner,” Michael said.

“You’re the one who
showed up here—be grateful I invited you to eat over.”

 “Sunday dinner just like
momma used to make it,” he said.

Tess turned the French
toast over in the pan and pressed it down with a spatula so that the olive oil
hissed. In her free hand, she dipped a fresh slice of 7-grain bread in the mix
of egg whites, cinnamon and cardamom, letting it soak the mixture in.

“Are the papers you need
there?” Tess said.

“All here,” he said.

“It’s a good deal, no?”
Tess said.

Tess put a plate down in
front of Michael, steam rising off of it. She took the strawberry preserves and
butter out of the refrigerator and placed them down in front of him.

“So gourmet, Tessie,” he
said looking into her eyes and winking.

“The deal—what do you
think about it?” she said, back at the stove making herself two slices of
French toast.

“There’s a nice
commission for you. It looks good. There shouldn’t be a problem closing it.” He
leaned down to the plate and examined the bread.

“What are the black dots
in the bread?”

“Flax seed.”

“Now you’re into bird
bread? I leave you alone and you fall apart, Tess.”

Tess put silverware down
beside him and draped a napkin across his lap before she sat down with her own
plate.

“Do you have any idea how
many houses you closed last month?” Michael said.

Tess shook her head.

“About a dozen,” he said.

“Not too shabby,” Tess
said.

She spread the preserves
across her French toast.

“Do you realize how much
money you’re making?”

“Do you realize how much
I have to pay out for my business?”

Michael cut the toast in
half and put one half in his mouth. Tess shook her head at him.

“I’m a growing boy,” he
said. “Give me a break; it’s a piece of toast.”

“Anyway, I met the new
neighborhood freak up close the other night.  He’s quite interesting.”

Michael held his fork and
knife frozen over his toast and watched her take a bite.

“Oh Michael, get over
yourself.  I’m talking about the guy I mentioned to you the other morning—the
one that was walking in the middle of the street.”

“You met him the other
night?”

“And, then I ran into him
yesterday morning while I was out walking.”

“You were out walking?
Since when do you go out walking?”

“Since I felt like going
out for a walk yesterday,” Tess said.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“Anyway, we were walking
along and then he had to go and darted off. Literally.”

“Did he dart off with
your wallet and keys?” Michael said.

“You think he’s a
criminal?” Tess said.

“How old is this guy?”

“In his forties, I guess,”
Tess said.

“Do we know if he even
lives in Mill Basin? He could be sleeping on a bench in Lindower Park,” Michael
said.

“He seems clean,” Tess
said. “He did tell me that he grew up here and that he’s writing a book now. He
was in Canada for a long time. He seems harmless.”

“So do most serial
killers from what they say,” Michael said. “Canada? A great place to run from
the law. And writing a book? Prison pastime if there ever was one.”

Tess jutted her chin up
at the ceiling with her eyes closed—what Michael had called her God-to- the-rescue
expression before she glanced at Michael and hesitated, pursing her lips.

“Say it,” Michael said. “Say
what you’re thinking.”

“There was something odd.
When I was making my way down Basset Drive, after he darted away, a woman
seemed to be watching me from behind the curtains. Could have just been my
imagination, but—”

“Either his wife or the
woman he’s kidnapped trying to get your attention to help her. You know how to
pick ‘em, Tess.”

“Oh, Michael, he’s just a
nice guy; the woman probably had nothing to do with him—I don’t even know why I
mention these things to you.”

“Or she could be his
accomplice or his sex slave. Next time you see him be sure to check for
tattoos.”

Tess choked on her
mouthful so that she had to clear her throat.

“Tattoos?”

“If he’s a convict, he’ll
have tattoos. And nice pumped up muscles—those convicts seem to have plenty of
time to hit the gym.”

 “I’ll be sure to scan
him for tattoos.
Excuse me, Neal, can you take off your shirt so that I can
check your flesh?
Charming.”

“If I didn’t know any
better, I’d say you like him.”

Tess rolled her eyes and
shook her head.

“Michael, how in the
world do you deduce that I like this man? He’s weird. I’m telling you about him
like I’d tell you about…about an unusual house.”

“My dear Tessie, you
forget how well I know you. You like mystery. If you ask me, I’d say that you
saw him out walking yesterday morning, decided to go out for a walk yourself so
that you could conveniently run into him, and then you had a little tête-à-tête
with him while you walked.”

“You know me, Michael.
Out stalking men whenever I can.”

“Oh, right, I
forget—you’ve decided that you’re done with relationships in your old age.”

“I resent that,” Tess
said.

“Excuse me. In your
middle age,” he said.

“That’s not what I was
talking about.”

“Should I start going out
for walks in the morning now? Would that make you more interested in me?”
Michael said.

“Will you stop?” Tess
said.

“Did you ask him for a
date?”

“I didn’t mention that I
asked him to have sex? He didn’t have condoms, so it was a no go,” Tess said.

Michael laughed and
focused on his French toast, piling blueberries up at the tip of his fork.

“You should see your face
right now—all smug. You like this man,” Michael said.

“Haven’t we been through
this? You know I’m done with all that. I’m focusing on my career, remember?”

“I don’t know, Lady Tess,”
Michael said.

“You said it—you
don’t
know.”

“Don’t get annoyed at
me—with all your marriages, you’re the one who created the drama around you.”

Outside the kitchen window,
the cherry orchids’ petals swayed in the wind. It was beginning to drizzle.
Raindrops swam down the window, and for a moment, Tess felt something in her
sinking, too. She ate the blueberries on her plate one by one.

“What’s on your agenda
this Sunday night, Tess?”

“Oh, maybe I’ll bake a
cake.”

“With your expert cooking
skills, I’m sure it would be super.”

“If you’re going to
insult my French toast, I won’t hear it.”

The rain came down harder
now, so that it sounded as if someone were throwing gravel at the window.

“Look. Rain,” Michael
said. “It’s your lucky night, Tess.”

When Tess had first told
Michael that she loved the rain, how being out in the rain when she had nowhere
to go, letting it soak her, she felt recharged, Michael had laughed. “I just
feel wet,” he had said. That was years ago, when they were married to other
people. They were always better friends than they were lovers.

Michael glanced at his
watch and wiped his lips with his napkin.

“I need to get going,” he
said.

“Where do you need to get
going to?”

“I have a conference call
at 8:30.”

“You’re working tonight?”
Tess said.

“That’s how it goes when
you have a boss that’s a slave driver.”

“Don’t blame your
workaholic ways on me.”

“You once told me to
blame my workaholic ways on you, remember? That was when I was married and we
were having an affair, I believe,” Michael said.

“That’s senility for you,”
Tess said.

“What was the address on
Basset Drive where the stalker woman lives?”

“56,” Tess said. “What
are you going to do? Ring her bell?

“Just see who owns the
house,” Michael said.

 “You’re terrible,” Tess
said.

“You didn’t have to tell
me the address. Peace,” he said.

“Goodbye Michael,” she
said, and then he was gathering up the papers he needed, kissed her forehead
and she followed him down the stairs to let him out. He beeped twice and waved
as he pulled away.

The rain had subsided to
a slight drizzle again. Spring. Her old fogey neighbor who lived in the house
to the left of her was out on her driveway in a poncho and was scrubbing the
bricks with what looked like some sort of broom. Probably to save money on
using water, Tess supposed. Cheapskate. Who scrubbed their driveway in the
rain? Once, the “cleaning lady” as Tess had nicknamed her with Michael, had
been married to a dentist and her grown son, also a dentist, had lived with
her. Since her husband died and her son had moved out and gotten married, she
had become an obsessive cleaner. She would walk out of her house each evening
with bags of garbage wearing a do-rag and old ragged clothes and rubber gloves
on her hands. She and Tess were on nodding terms.

Tess walked outside and
stood behind the evergreen tree that shaded her porch. She sensed that the
cleaning lady heard her walk out on porch, but she didn’t look in her direction.
Tess used to stand or sit in this spot when she craved being outdoors and
didn’t want anyone to see her. Everything inside of her was moving fast; there
was something about Michael’s presence that managed to make her feel uneasy,
restless. She inhaled the damp tree: its piney mint aroma filled her. Sometimes
she wished that she could live in her own planet, far away from everyone, if
only to be able to hear herself, feel what she felt for a few minutes without
anyone imposing their thoughts on her. Michael did know her in many respects,
she couldn’t deny that, and yet the way he summarized her frustrated her, or
maybe it was that he was able to remind her about versions of herself that she
wanted to let go of, bury. 

And so what if she did
like Neal? Not that she did, but she didn’t want to have to justify herself to
anyone, let alone her ex-husband. Was it so bad, though, to be curious about
someone, to want to know more about them? She wanted to know what Neal had been
doing all those years when he wasn’t in Brooklyn. She wanted to know if he was
divorced, if he had children, if he was a long-standing bachelor. The rain
started to fall again, softly and quietly, and Tess closed her eyes, looking up
toward the sky, letting the drops stream her face. When she was a young girl,
she used to sit up on her rooftop in Woodstock and let the drops swim her face
until touching them midstream, they felt to her like her own teardrops. In a
moment, the rain stopped and Tess smiled up at the heavens. The unpredictable-ness
of life was a constant. Her mother had promised her that much; she had
instructed her to accept that the only certainty in life was uncertainty. She
had fought her mother over that, insisting that there were certainties—one of
which was that Tess was not going to live the life of a Buddhist tucked away in
Woodstock.