Slow Dancing on Price's Pier (37 page)

But sometime near daybreak, before the sun appeared, his sleepy brain began to realize that he was not only dreaming of Thea's soft breathing and the feel of her body against his, he was with her. She still loved him. And he knew: the bliss of reality far outweighed the joy of his dreams.

On Harrison Avenue, the cramped streets of old colonial Newport gave way to rolling hills, bucolic estates, and a world famous golf course. With the sense that he was running out of time—that his life might explode into happiness or collapse into grief at any moment—Garret parked his car beside the chateauesque old country club. Inside, he waved to the girl at the front desk whose name he could never remember, then he searched for his mother.

She was reading a magazine in a large, sun-filled room when he found her. She sat alone on a toile chaise before an unlit fireplace. A dense bouquet of lilies glowed bleach white at her side.

“There you are,” he said.

She jumped, startled. “Oh! Garret!” He rushed toward her on long strides, and she turned her face for a kiss on the cheek.

“Dad still golfing?”

“He'll be a while,” she said, folding her magazine closed and setting it aside. “I had no idea you were in Newport today. I wish you would have told me you were coming. Your father and I already have plans . . .”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” he said. He sat down beside her on a settee that seemed so delicate he was nearly afraid he would break it.

“So what brings you here?” she asked, leaning on the armrest. If he hadn't known her so well, he might have missed the slight twitch of concern at the corner of her mouth.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

She stiffened visibly. “Go ahead.”

He leaned his elbows on his knees, looked at the dark flooring between his shoes. For most of his adult life, he'd dedicated himself to hating Thea. And yet, what he was about to say felt like the most right and true thing he'd said in a very long time. “Mom . . . I'm in love.”

“Oh Garret! That's wond—”

“I'm in love with Thea.”

Sue lifted her forearm from the armrest and clasped her fingers together in her lap. “All right,” she said. “Have you told Thea this?”

“I think she knows. And I think she feels the same way.”

Sue stood, went to the empty black fire grate and stared glassyeyed as if flames were burning there. “Did she have an affair with you? Is that why her marriage failed?”

“Good Lord, Mom. No. I wasn't even speaking to her until a few months ago. This would have never happened if she was still married.”

“I'm glad to hear that, anyway.” Sue's shoulders relaxed slightly. “All those years of posturing as if Thea was the devil herself . . . I suppose I knew better.”

Garret stood, took his mother's hands. He was only slightly taken aback that she'd seen through all his years of holding a grudge even when he himself had not. “So you understand. Thea and I are made for each other. We always were.”

Sue drew back. “Does Jonathan know?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I want to know what you think I should do.”

She moved away from him, walking aimlessly, her shoes clicking on the floor and echoing up to the skylights. “You want my blessing I suppose? My permission?”

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Too long. Her skin looked dull in the bright light, and the bags around her eyes told him that she was tired. He held his breath, waiting for her pronunciation. If Sue was behind him, his father would follow suit. And together they could help Jonathan to see that this was not a betrayal but the righting of a wrong.

“No,” she said.

The air rushed out of his lungs.

“I can't give you my blessing unless you get Jonathan's first.”

He crossed his arms. “I guess that's fair.”

“Do me this one favor,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Don't tell your father. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“I just don't want to cause any more waves than necessary. But
do
tell Jonathan. If you love her enough that you'd risk breaking up this family for her a second time—if you're sure about this, then you need to tell your brother the truth. And you need to do it now. The longer you wait, the worse it will get.”

From down the hall, Garret heard his father's booming laughter carrying through the corridors. He walked toward her, kissed her. Her skin was cool. “I'll go see him today.”

“Today?”

He smiled sadly. “I can't wait another minute. It's been fifteen years too long.”

Thea was tired, physically exhausted, all through the morning shift. And yet, beneath the fatigue from a long night of lovemaking, she'd never felt more energized in her life. Some flame was burning deep within her, keeping her going, despite the outward tiredness. She thought, if she had to give a name to the energy driving her, it would be
hope
.

Now, she sat in Irina's room on the blue carpet, listening to church bells clang from far corners of the city. Around her, Irina's toys, clothes, and books were piled haphazardly, wreckage that reminded Thea of a debris-strewn beach after a hurricane. Jonathan had dropped Irina off at the house, but Irina had only been home for a few minutes before she pleaded to go watch a movie at the neighbors' house. Thea might have tried to persuade her to stay if she wasn't so tired, and if she hadn't been in need of some time alone.

For a week Thea had been threatening:
If you don't clean this room, I'm going to clean it for you
. And yet now that the day had come, Thea didn't hate the task at all. She moved through the room methodically, dolls going in one crate, books sliding into their places on a shelf, tiny metal cars collected in the pouch she'd made with the bottom of her shirt, then poured into a plastic basket and tucked away. Her daughter's messiness was a new phenomenon; Thea couldn't be sure if the disorganization was a kind of rebellion against her parents' separation or simply a result of being nearly eleven years old. She guessed it was both.

Her body was sore as she worked—her breasts abraded by the movement of her T-shirt, the muscles tender when she sat down. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but each new sensation reminded her of Garret: after their rushed coupling in the kitchen, they had spent the whole night making love, sleep alternating with tired but insurmountable desire. Garret had said he loved her. He was going to talk to his mother to see what they should do. Thea agreed.

Now, arranging her daughter's collection of stuffed animals on the net that Thea had strung on the wall, she wondered what Irina would think if her mother started dating again. How much should Thea go into detail with her daughter? How much would Irina understand? And if she did understand, would she approve?

Irina and Garret got along perfectly—almost better than Irina and Jonathan. They were cut of the same cloth, the two of them—both lovers of soccer and Saturday morning cartoons, of the occasional argument and adrenaline. But how would Irina feel once she learned that Thea and Garret were . . .
dating
wasn't the right word . . . were in love?

She reached under Irina's bed to refold the extra blankets that had been stored there, and when she pulled out the afghans that Thea's mother had made, she found a little stash of Irina's treasures too. They were in a small shoebox that lacked a lid. At first the collection seemed sweet: a picture of her father from when he was in high school, a ticket stub to a New England Revolution game, a bracelet made of fake pearls, a bell. But there were other items too that Thea hadn't seen before, more telling items: a small Swiss army knife (where had she gotten it?). A panty liner that had been opened, then closed again. An empty pack of cigarettes. A book of matches, just two inside. Was her daughter smoking? At ten years old?

Thea sat back on her knees, horrified but willing herself not to jump to conclusions. It wasn't out of the ordinary for a girl Irina's age to want to have secret things—adult things—for her own. Thea herself had kept a romance novel under her bed when she was twelve, and she'd been petrified that Garret or Jonathan or her parents might find out. But what Irina was keeping here was not so innocent as a novel.

She put the items back and got to her feet, her knees aching with the effort. Since Jonathan had moved out at the beginning of summer, Irina had been getting increasingly ill-behaved. The progression was so subtle, it might have been invisible to an outsider, but Thea was tuned in to even the slightest changes in her daughter's demeanor. At first, there had been nothing more than innocent back talk. Then there was the occasional blowup—a pushed-over cup, a broken toy. A few weeks ago they'd learned Irina had destroyed her textbook. And now—a knife. Matches. And if her daughter was smoking, Thea needed to know.

On the way down the stairs, Thea's muscles reminded her once again of the pleasure of last night. It struck her now how surreal, how dreamlike the whole thing had been, a pristine moment when she could think of nothing, feel nothing but the enormity and sweet trauma of so much bliss, all at once, after so much time. But as she made her way to find where she'd left the telephone, she had the sense that her night of ecstasy was boxed in by reality on all sides. In the kitchen, she did the only thing she could do. She called Jonathan.

 

 

Garret rarely second-guessed himself. But standing at the door of Jonathan's apartment on Sunday evening, his heart pounded with nerves and his palms were sweaty. It was the same brand of nervousness he'd felt the day he'd tried his first case alone. But there was much more at stake now.

“Hey, Gare!” Jonathan was bright-eyed when the door swung open. “C'mon in.”