The Deep End (34 page)

At least it was something, Joanne supposes, studying the scenery along the highway. How green everything is, how beautiful in the early morning sunlight, although the weatherman on the car radio is gloomily predicting rain for later in the afternoon.

“Did you see your grandfather yesterday?” Paul is asking.

Joanne nods. “He slept the whole time.”

“And Eve? How is she?”

Joanne feels her body tense; her fingers curl forward into tight little fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. “I haven’t spoken to her all week,” she tells him, catching the look of surprise that fills his face.

“You’re kidding! How come? She and Brian finally get away somewhere?”

“No,” Joanne says, wanting to provide him with the details of what has been going on, but not sure what useful
purpose this would serve. “We’ve both been very busy this week.”

“Your job keeping you pretty occupied?”

“Never a dull moment,” she comments wryly, thinking how wonderful Paul looks. His face is deeply tanned against the open neck of his white shirt. His legs look lean and muscular as they stretch out from beneath white jeans that have been cut off above the knees. He has always looked good in shorts. “Are you still working out every day?” she asks.

A brief chuckle escapes his lips. “Not quite every day,” he admits sheepishly. “I tried. I was pretty good for a few weeks there, but I don’t know, I guess it’s true what they say about old dogs and new tricks. I just can’t seem to get into it the same way these younger guys can. Hell, that stuff hurts! I wake up in the morning, my legs are stiff, my arms are sore, my back is killing me, and I think, who needs it? Not that I’ve dropped the exercise program completely,” he adds, “but I find my enthusiasm is definitely on the wane. It’s too much work to have muscles. I’ve managed without them up to now.” He smiles. “Besides, my arms will never develop fully anyway … all those accidents as a kid …” He looks over at her slyly and they both laugh. “You look wonderful,” he tells her sincerely. “What have you done to yourself?”

“I put some streaks in my hair.”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that.”

“I lost a few pounds. I’ve been running around a lot lately …”

She feels his eyes on her legs. “And the tennis lessons?”

“I’ve stopped those.” She clears her throat nervously.

“Oh?”

“Too hard on the toes,” she tells him, her eyes following his as they travel the length of her bare legs to the tips of her sandaled feet. “I think the nails are about ready to fall off.”

He winces. “And then what happens?”

“Ron says that there are probably new ones under there already.”

“Ron?”

“Ron Gold, the doctor I work for. I told you. We went to school together.”

Paul shrugs, his eyes returning to the road ahead, but not before Joanne has caught a strange look passing across them. “Have I ever met him?” Paul asks, and Joanne recognizes in his tone the familiar sound of someone straining to sound casual. Familiar because it is a quality she associates with her own voice.

“I don’t think so,” she tells him.

“The name sounds familiar. What does he look like?”

Joanne has to suppress a smile. She can actually feel Paul’s discomfort. Is he jealous? “He’s not too tall,” she begins. “He has reddish-blond hair. Actually he looks the same as he did twenty-five years ago. He’s a nice-looking man,” she adds, not sure why.

“Married?”

“Yes.”

“You still planning to stop work at the end of the summer?”

“Yes,” Joanne replies after a pause.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Ron doesn’t want me to leave. He says he’ll be lost without me.” She laughs. “I think he’s right.”

“So you’re thinking of staying on?”

Joanne takes a minute to ponder the question seriously. “No, not really,” she says finally.

They drift into silence, the remainder of the journey passing with only a minimum of words between them, the easy-listening music on the radio providing a soothing backdrop for their individual reveries.

What is he thinking? Joanne wonders, curiously relaxed, the early morning tension dissipated. Or is it that it has been transferred from her body to his? Can it be that Paul is jealous? Probably not jealous, she corrects herself, but certainly curious, maybe a touch anxious. The thought that there could be another man in her life is something that has obviously not occurred to him. Up until this minute, he has been sure that she will do nothing to disturb the status quo, that she will remain available until he has decided her fate, confident that he has all the time in the world to reach a decision. Now he is not so sure. Are you thinking about me? she asks him silently, her eyes sneaking toward his.

He looks at her and smiles warmly. Surprisingly, she is the first to turn away, laying her head against the headrest, gradually allowing her heavy lids to close. Something is happening, she feels, though she is not sure what it is.

When she opens her eyes, their car is off the main highway, traveling slowly down a different road.

“We’re almost there,” he tells her, and she sits up, searching for the camp gates. “Just another couple of miles,” he says. “How was your sleep?”

“Terrific,” she says, amazed that she dropped off so easily. Last night she was sure she’d never get through the day, and now she’s already slept through part of it. It
should all be this easy, she thinks as the gates of Camp Danbee come into view. “What time is it?” she asks, noticing for the first time that they are in a long lineup of cars.

“Just after ten. We’re right on time.”

“Do you see them?” she asks, looking through the crowd gathered just inside the camp gate.

“Not yet.”

Paul maneuvers the car into the campgrounds to the designated parking area. Joanne looks eagerly around for a glimpse of her daughters, her previous anxieties returning full force. Will Robin be here to greet them? Will she be receptive or standoffish? What will the day be like? What will the drive home be like? Will they ever be a real family again?

The car comes to a stop and Paul pulls the keys out of the ignition. With deliberate slowness, he reaches over and takes her hand in his.

“It’ll be all right,” he tells her softly, reading her thoughts, his fingers lingering on hers. Then quietly he adds, “I love you, Joanne.”

Joanne’s heart lurches. The lushness of the surrounding scenery vanishes; the noisy crowd of some three hundred girls grows silent. Joanne is aware only of Paul, of the touch of his fingers, the sound of his voice.

“Mom!” she hears from somewhere outside the car window and turns to see Lulu banging rapturously at the glass beside her head. How long has she been standing there?

“Sweetie!” Joanne cries, opening the car door and immediately encircling her younger daughter in her arms. “Let me look at you. I think you’ve grown a foot since you left.” She pushes the hair out of her daughter’s
eyes. “And your eyes have gotten bigger!” She laughs.

“It just looks that way because the rest of me is wasting away,” Lulu says. “Did you bring food?”

“Yes, we brought food,” Paul laughs, joining them. “You look wonderful. Are you having a good time?”

“It’s great. Only this one kid in the cabin is a real pain, but everybody else is great, and the counsellors are terrific. You’ll meet them.” She throws her arms around their waists, pulling them toward one another with surprising force. “I missed you. You both look terrific.” Reluctantly she releases her grip and pulls back, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

“Where’s Robin?” Paul asks, a question Joanne has been afraid to voice.

“She’s at the waterfront,” Lulu tells them. “She’s in the sailing exhibition. It starts in a couple of minutes. I’m supposed to take you there if you want to watch her sail.”

“Of course we want to watch her sail,” Joanne says, her arm tightly around her daughter. “Point us in the right direction.”

“What about the food?”

“We’ll get it later,” Paul tells her, moving to Lulu’s other side.

They proceed to the waterfront, arms tightly interlocked. Joanne feels happy, confident, even peaceful. Something has changed between herself and Paul. They will be a family again, she thinks as the water comes into view and a panorama of white sails greets their smiling eyes.

“So then I go, just trying to be nice, I go, ‘Do you know you have your sweatshirt on inside out?’ and she goes, real snooty, ‘Of course I know it’s inside out. It’s supposed to
be inside out. That’s how everybody wears them,’ and I go, ‘I’ve never seen anybody wear them inside out before,’ and she goes,
‘Everybody
at Brown wears them that way,’ like
she
goes to Brown University, not her older brother. And I go, ‘Oh, really. Tell me about it.’”

Joanne is listening to Lulu but watching Robin, who has said very little all morning. The family of four is sitting on a large red-and-blue quilt that once belonged to Joanne’s mother, eating the barbequed hamburgers and drinking the soft drinks that are the regular staples of the camp’s annual outdoor picnic. The parents have been privy to a sailing exhibition, an archery display, and a baseball game. They are now being treated to lunch and a chance to get reacquainted with their children. Lulu has been chattering nonstop since they sat down; Robin has volunteered almost no information since their polite, but reserved, greeting at the waterfront. Her letter was more effusive, Joanne thinks, not sure how to handle the situation, deciding between mouthfuls of well-done chopped chuck not to handle it at all. Things have a way of working out, she hears her mother say.

“Anybody for another hamburger?” Paul asks.

“Me!” Lulu shouts immediately.

“Anybody else?”

“No thanks,” Joanne tells him. Robin shakes her head.

“Mustard and relish and a pickle on mine,” Lulu orders quickly as her father stands up. “And a tomato,” she adds as he is about to turn away.

“Maybe you’d better come with me,” Paul says, his eyes on Joanne as Lulu grabs hold of his outstretched hand.

He’s giving us this time alone together, Joanne understands, acknowledging his gesture with a nod of her
head. She looks at Robin, who looks back at her expectantly. Clearly, Joanne thinks, she is waiting for me to say something.

“So,” she begins reluctantly, “are you having a good time?”

“It’s all right,” Robin shrugs.

“We were very impressed with your sailing.”

Robin acknowledges the compliment but says nothing.

“Your counsellors seem very nice.”

“They are.”

The conversation grinds to a halt. Joanne searches through the large crowd of picnickers hoping to overhear snatches of dialogue that will provide her with a new topic for discussion. She hears nothing.

“What are the boys at Mackanac like this year?” she asks finally, hoping that this is a safe enough topic, that she doesn’t appear to be prying.

“They’re okay.”

“Just okay?” Joanne immediately regrets this additional query, wishes she could take it back. She’s gone too far—her question will be misinterpreted.

Robin looks into her lap. “There’s one guy who’s kind of cute,” she says.

Joanne says nothing.

“His name’s Ron,” her daughter continues.

“Oh? The same as my boss.”

Something almost approaching a smile appears on Robin’s lips, then disappears. “How’s your job?” she asks.

“Great,” Joanne replies enthusiastically.

Robin stares off in the direction of the waterfront though the water is not visible from the picnic area. “How are things between you and Dad?” she asks quietly.

“Better,” Joanne answers.

Robin brushes an imaginary bug off the red-and-blue quilt. “Camp is good,” she says softly, nodding her head, looking back in the direction of the water, careful to avoid her mother’s eyes. “It was good that I came. You were right,” she adds, almost inaudibly. “Not just about camp …”

Should I take her in my arms? Joanne wonders, wanting to, afraid to. This is my child, and I’m afraid to put my arms around her, afraid to overstep my bounds, to misread the signals. What happens to children when they reach a certain age? she wonders, then answers her own question—they become adults.

“Joanne!” comes the voice from somewhere up above.

Joanne lifts her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun, noticing the clouds that are gathering overhead. “I thought it was you,” the woman is saying as Joanne strains to make out who she is. “Ellie,” the woman tells her, “Ellie Carlson. You probably don’t recognize me because I’ve lost so much weight,” she adds hopefully.

“My God, you’re right,” Joanne admits, getting to her feet. “You must have lost fifty pounds.”

“Sixty,” Ellie Carlson says proudly. “Then I went into the hospital,” she whispers, “and had a tummy tuck.”

“Well, you look wonderful.” Joanne is not sure what else to say. She knows nothing about this woman except that their daughters were once bunkmates. “How many kids do you have here now?” she asks when she can think of nothing else.

“Just one, my baby.” Ellie Carlson’s entire face frowns. “We’re having trouble with the two older ones,” she confides. “They refused to go to camp this summer. They’re
hanging out at the local shopping mall wearing Salvation Army rejects and shaved heads. It seems that they want the one thing we can’t give them.”

“Which is?”

“Poverty.”

Joanne laughs out loud as the woman gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and makes her way through the crowd to the hamburger table.

“That’s Carol Carlson’s mother?” Robin asks in disbelief as Joanne sits back down beside her.

“She’s lost sixty pounds and had a tummy tuck,” Joanne tells her, fighting the strange urge to laugh. “I often wonder,” she hears herself say, “what happens to these women who have tightened themselves all up if they put the weight back on. Do you think they explode?”

“Mom!” Robin gasps, then starts to laugh. “That’s really gross.”

There is a sudden loud noise from somewhere on the campgrounds, a car backfiring perhaps, or a balloon popping. “Listen,” Joanne squeals, “there goes one of them now.”