Night Swimming (31 page)

“Now the Banking Commission is placing a temporary halt to all of Kelly’s doings as president till this mess is cleaned up,” Hobbs continued. “He might be doing jail time.”

“Ouch. He must be madder than a junkyard dog.”

“He’s mad, all right.”

“Well, we’ll have to see what they turn up. Meanwhile, call the Barzinis again. Maybe there’s some stone left unturned. MaryAnn worked at the bank. Find out what she knows.”

And so Hobbs called the Barzinis again.

“Mrs. Barzini? This is Officer Hobbs from the Gorham Police Department. I’m sorry to bother you again. I just need to ask you a few more questions regarding Charlotte Clapp.”

He leaned back in his leatherette chair, poised to take more notes. MaryAnn was always ready to talk about Charlotte Clapp and never seemed to run out of things to say.

CHAPTER 52

A
T THE LAST MINUTE
, Skip had to cancel the balloon trip. He had been all set to go, but something had come up.

“That’s okay,” Dolly said, “I have some errands to run anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Blossom exclaimed, “Oh, no. We’re going, Dolly.” “But wasn’t the whole idea to go with Skip?” “No, the whole idea was to go hot-air ballooning. And I’m as

happy to do it with you as I was to do it with all three of us.”

Dolly could see more clearly than ever that Blossom’s obsession had truly changed into something far more realistic. But she was still curious, and tested Blossom’s resolve.

“Are you sure, Blossom? I mean, you would certainly have more fun with Skip than with this old fart.”

“First of all, you’re not exactly what I’d call an old fart, Dolly, and second, yes, I’m sure. It would have been wonderful to have Skip come along, but I feel worse for him than I do for us. Look what he’s going to miss!”

“You could have made it for a different time.”

“Nah, I was already psyched. I think he was a little disappointed, though.”

That confirmed it: Her friend had truly blossomed. And for a split second, Dolly could actually envision Skip and Blossom together.

Two hours north of Los Angeles they passed a sign:
Hot Air Balloon Rides, one mile.
When they arrived, their balloon was just being filled with propane. It was strange to see these enormous swaths of silver cloth lying on the ground like a great gray elephant trying to stand up. The pilot asked if they wished to help, and both volunteered like excited schoolchildren.

Holding the edges of the balloon, they could see its lungs taking in more life. They laughed as this playful monster tugged them first one way, then another, until the balloon finally lifted up off the ground and swelled like a glorious chef’s hat above their heads.

“Ready, ladies?” the pilot asked.

At that moment a pickup came careening down the dirt road toward their launch pad. It skidded to a halt, and Skip came charging out, armed with champagne and glasses.

Something occurred to Blossom at that moment: When Skip had canceled, she had told him she’d be going anyway. And now here he was, after all. Was this that little dance of intimacy that men and women do? She certainly hadn’t done it on purpose, but she found it quite amusing that he had shown up. Did he sense that it didn’t seem to matter to her? Men!

“I postponed the business I needed to deal with regarding the damn divorce. When I thought about missing this, I said to myself, ‘What, are you crazy?’ So here I am.”

Dolly was delighted, while Blossom simply smiled and made room for Skip as he slipped over the edge of the basket.

“Expecting anyone else?” the pilot inquired.

“Nope. Up, up, and away,” Dolly declared.

“Wait, wait,” Skip insisted, pulling out a camera. “I have to get a shot of this.” And so he took a picture of Dolly and Blossom, standing in the basket rosy cheeked and ready like a couple of perfectly picked apples.

They went, higher and higher, until they were floating over the ragged hills and plains of Antelope Valley. Skip broke out the champagne and poured it into each glass. Blossom watched the bubbles float up in a giggle of effervescence. She felt a rush of clarity and happiness.

“Look!” Skip said, pointing to a bicycle race below. Wending its way along the road was a long kaleidoscope of color. The riders were dressed in bright neon blues and roaring reds, hot yellows, and fiery oranges. They lit the course as if throwing sparks off the backs of their wheels. The happy balloonists watched as hundreds made their way toward an underpass only to disappear beneath the belly of the bridge. From up in the sky, Blossom thought they looked like so many marbles spilling into a child’s dark jar.

“What do you think?” the pilot asked.

“It’s amazing. And you know what else is amazing? I have a fear of flying.”

“You do?” all inquired, surprised by Blossom’s confession.

“Wow! It took some gazumbas to try this,” Skip said.

“Maybe, but I had to. It was on my list.”

Blossom settled back to revel in this new sensation, which was truly glorious but strangely familiar. It felt like...like...And suddenly, she knew: She felt as if she were swimming in the endlessly blue sky that lay before her like a celestial pool. Back and forth they went, back and forth. It was as close to heaven as Blossom had ever felt.

CHAPTER 53

T
HE WATER WAS WARMER
than usual when Blossom lowered herself into it and began her nightly meditation. She wondered when she would know it was time to say good-bye. Every time she didn’t feel well, she worried it was the beginning of the small breakdowns her body would begin to suffer. All terminal illnesses started with a first twinge of something. Hadn’t her mother’s?
Stay positive
was the mantra she tried to reiterate in her head. Stay with the hope of beating it.
Because I can, because I can, because I can...

Whom would she be leaving behind? Not only Skip and Dolly, but all the others... People and places flashed like electric memories, reconnecting her to the past. The townspeople of Gorham might have said good-bye to her months ago, but she hadn’t said her final good-byes to anyone yet in her own mind.

MaryAnn, standing at the altar with Tom, making her vows under the flowery canopy. There had been three hundred people fanning themselves on that hot, sunny June afternoon, to witness their nuptials. And during it all, Charlotte’s heart was breaking into tiny pieces like a fragile porcelain plate dropped without care to the floor. She held her own, repressed the tears, flashed the obligatory smiles, as if she’d built a dam around herself.

Now, under the pull of the moon, she drew hard with every stroke, forgiving them both. She forgave MaryAnn for Tom, and she forgave Tom for his own betrayals. She needed to forgive them as much as she needed to forgive herself. She had conjured up so much anger toward them for so long, it exhausted her. The amount of energy she had expended could light up whole cities.

She had to forgive in order to go on. If she didn’t, she would die with anger and regret. And that was far too high a price to pay. She relinquished both MaryAnn and Tom from the hurt that bound her to them, and whispered a long-awaited good-bye with every new breath she took. And in the close and tender night, she recited a little eulogy to the friendship they once had:

Go now, MaryAnn. I cannot bear to be held down by the sadness anymore. We were once good friends, you and I. I choose to remember only our youth, our age of innocence. I forgive you for what happened and, by doing so, free myself from anger. I am tired of anger. So very, very tired, so I’m letting go, MaryAnn, letting go and making more room for love.

She apologized for stealing the money, which she knew was wrong. It had been a moment when the lines between reality and fantasy blurred, when sanity and craziness merged. She did it, and now in the waters that seemed to cleanse her conscience, she forgave herself. She forgave herself for that fateful night with Trevor James. She wished she could turn back time and have it all end differently, but the simple act of forgiveness removed the armor that had been welded to her body for years. She became more buoyant as she forgave.

It was nearing the end of Blossom’s season. She had fooled death, kept it from nipping at her heels so she could finish her unfinished business. But she wouldn’t kid herself. Hadn’t her mother thought she could beat it? And when she couldn’t, she had pumped herself full of false hope in the form of chemo. Blossom would not do that. But at least she had time to forgive. At least she had time to do the most important thing of all before the end came. She had time to love.

As she made her way from one end of the pool to the other, a comforting resignation filled her entire being. It wasn’t fatigue or giving up or inevitability; it was a feeling of coming home, of belonging somewhere, of finally having a place in the heart.

She swam for several more hours and did not tire. It was as if her own well-being kept company with her, lap after lap. How on earth, she wondered, could she remain so invigorated, so alive? Back and forth, back and forth she swam, cradled in the watery arms of the happy night, rocked to and fro in some hypnotic and infinite rhythm. And still she did not tire.

When she finally lifted herself out of the pool and lay down on the cold grass, she understood. It was love that brought her here. Love that brought her the gift to forgive. How could she have tired? How do you tire of love?

The next morning Blossom relaxed in the garden, reading poetry. Hidden under her big-brimmed straw hat, its silk tie blowing back in the breeze, she was surrounded by books: Theodore Roethke, Philip Levine, Maya Angelou, John Berryman, Graham Greene, John O’Hara, Ralph Waldo Emerson. She looked like something out of a Merchant Ivory film. The air was cool and silver, and the petaled tongues of the roses were drunk with morning dew.

Wrapped in a towel, she leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking about nothing at all. It was so nice to be able to do that from time to time. She must have fallen asleep, because when she awoke, the sun had shifted in the sky. She didn’t even realize Skip was late for work until he showed up at noon.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Are you just arriving?”

“Yeah. I had an appointment. Guess what?”

“What?

“I think I figured out what I’m going to do with my life.”

“That’s all?” She laughed. “Tell me.”

“Well, remember a long time ago, when we first met, I told you my dad and my grandfather were in construction?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“My fondest memory of my childhood was going with my father to the various sites and watching them move these giant blocks around like Legos. It seemed, out of nothing, something wonderful was emerging.”

Blossom listened intently.

“Did you know my grandfather helped build the new Pru and the Boston Public Library?”

“No.”

“And he worked on some other very impressive buildings. I realized that’s what truly interests me: architecture, construction, creating something wonderful where there once was nothing. Hell, it’s why I’m on the Protection and Betterment Committee in Venice. Venice is always going through some sort of structural change. It was so obvious, Blossom. It was right in front of my face for years and years. I don’t know why I didn’t see it.”

Blossom thought about how Skip had viewed Jeannie. How something could be right in front of your eyes but you don’t see it. And then she thought about herself. How many times had she done the same thing?

“So, I met with some old friends from Yale who have this very successful architecture firm. I’ve decided to go back to school and study architecture, Blossom. And you know what?” Skip continued excitedly. “I called my dad last night and told him. I had no idea what his reaction was going to be.”

“What did he say?”

“He cried; he said if my grandfather were still alive, he’d be as proud as my dad felt at that moment. And you know what else he said, which completely hit me from left of center?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘I never saw you doing that lawyer thing anyway.’ God, I had to laugh.”

Blossom laughed, too. “I’m so happy for you, Skip.”

“And this firm has offices all over the U.S. and Europe. It might give me a chance to start fresh, get away from California, Jeannie, all the stuff that’s happened to me this year. I gotta tell you, Blossom, I feel like I’ve had heavy iron chains unlocked from my ankles.”

“Destiny, Skip. This is your destiny. I am so happy for you.” Blossom was tempted to tell him right then and there to look at the note she had tucked away in the secret compartment of the box. But she worried it was too soon.

“When would you go?” she asked, barely able to contain her envy.

“I don’t know. I have to apply to a couple of schools first. But that being said, I guess I would shoot for August. Either way, staying or going, August seems like a good time. It sets you up for September. No matter where I decide to go, I’d have time to find an apartment, get straightened out for fall enrollment. The firm is willing to pay me as I learn, sort of like an internship of sorts. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to survive.”

She could clearly sense his new buoyancy. He floated just like Saturday’s balloon, light and happy and ready to take to the sky. August. It was July. That gave them a little time.

“Let’s celebrate!” Skip exclaimed.

“Absolutely.”

“Tonight I’ll take you out.”

“Perfect.”

He turned, making his way to the garden shed.

“You see, Skip, everyone has a destiny, and you have found yours.”

“I just might have, Blossom. I just might have.”

Blossom picked up the book she’d been reading before she fell asleep. There was a poem that had accompanied her well into her dreams, and was still with her when she woke up, hovering just above her conversation with Skip. It reverberated with such a sense of truth. Caught in the inevitable passing of time, I must find my fate by not being afraid to find it. In short, “I learn by going where I have to go.”

She had indeed felt her fate by overcoming the many fears that ran her down so many days and nights, and she had learned by going wherever her new life took her. She pondered this notion over and over till the small black letters of the poem floated off the page like birds lifting off a wire to begin their migration. Some birds would fly over four thousand miles to go where they had to go.
We learn by going where we have to go. Me, Dolly, Skip, even the migrating birds. They, too, must find their way home season after season. Yes, if we’re lucky, we learn, and if we’re brave, we go.