Together Alone (18 page)

There were six men on her list. Three of the six had given phone numbers for her to call—the marathoner, the veterinarian, and the twenty-five-year-old. Area codes told her that the marathoner was from eastern Massachusetts, the vet from Vermont, and the boy from upstate New York. The others had given post office boxes, one at the magazine, two at what she assumed to be home. If that assumption was correct, zip codes told her that the doctor was from Maryland and the widower from Connecticut.

She had no idea where the architect was from, but the added mystery made her all the more intrigued.

On her simplest white stationery, she jotted brief notes to the three with post office boxes. In each case she revealed little more than that she lived in western Massachusetts and was interested in meeting centrally for either lunch or an afternoon drink.

That was innocent enough, safe enough. John wouldn’t panic.

As she finished each note, she gave it a light spray with cologne before sealing it up and setting it aside for a morning mailing. When the three were done it was after eleven, and while she might have liked to have phoned one of the others, now that she had gotten an okay of sorts from Emily and Kay, she was hesitant. The marathoner was forever in training. He would be asleep. Same with the veterinarian, if he put in as busy a day as she imagined a Vermont animal doctor might do. That left the twenty-five-year-old.

The boy. She had to smile. Kay was scandalized by that one, for sure. Not that Celeste was seriously interested in him. She wasn’t sure how much she would have to say to a twenty-five-year-old. Still, it was flattering to think that she could interest one. And she had to admit to curiosity about the sex. He was young. His body would be fresh, his energy boundless. And he was an expert at shooting the rapids. Talk about undulation.

While she had her money on the architect as the best of the batch, the twenty-five-year-old was a teaser.

She reread his letter—SWM, six-four, a writer. She had never been whitewater rafting, herself. She had never sat by a campfire and made love under the stars, as he said he liked to do. Jackson wouldn’t have dreamed of those things. He hadn’t been a spontaneous sort.

So why had she married him? At the time, she had been twenty-two and coming off four years of spontaneity to the extreme. She had managed to graduate from college, but barely, and hadn’t the slightest inkling of where to go and what to do. Parentless and lost, she had needed a stabilizing force in her life. Jackson fit the bill.

He was a computer genius who programmed every aspect of his life, and he had stabilized hers, and then some. By the time Dawn was born, she’d had it with his directives. It was one thing for her to be organized to the
n
th degree in her own life, but with a baby? She couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to try. She’d had it with facing tests she was destined to fail.

In a hail of ugly words, no doubt exacerbated by postpartum depression, she had kicked him out—and he went. That had been his single greatest sin.

She had been defiant enough to stick with the decision.

Defiant still, she picked up the phone and punched out the telephone number the twenty-five-year-old had given. It rang twice before a voice on the tenor side said, “Hello?”

For a split second, she was tongue-tied. He sounded young, indeed. Then she steadied herself. “Uh, hi,” she said with what she hoped was a certain nonchalance. “This is GC403.” She kept her finger on the phone, ready to disconnect in an instant if this wasn’t her man. He was tall. She had expected a deeper voice.

But it was a nice voice. “Hi, GC403,” it said.

“Am I calling too late?”

“For me? No.” She heard a smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d call at all.”

His frankness was welcome. She relaxed a little. “Neither was I. I’m still not sure I should be.” Frankness deserved frankness. “It’s possible you have a serious hang-up.”

He laughed. “I don’t.”

“Then why did you answer my ad?”

“Because I was curious. I’ve dated women my own age. Now I want to try something different.”

“Ahh. The adventurer.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“In a fashion,” she said, though the age differential wasn’t what she had initially had in mind. “I know that you’re a rafter and a writer. Tell me more.”

“I grew up in Schenectady. My parents still live there.”

“Are you in love with your mother?”

He laughed again. “I’m the youngest of six. My mother was forty-one when I was born. That makes her a lot older than you are, nearly another generation. I love her, but she doesn’t give me the hots. So, no, I wouldn’t be thinking of her if you and I were to date.”

“Well, that’s good to know. How’d you train to be a writer?”

“I have a degree. Two, actually. BA and MA.”

“In journalism?”

“English. Journalism is what pays the bills while I write the great American novel.”

“I see. Then this—our conversation—any possible relationship—is research.”

“No. It’s life.”

Celeste’s phone clicked. “Hold on a second?”

“Sure.”

She flipped into call waiting. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Dawn.”
Not
who she wanted to hear from just then. “Good God, you’re calling late.”

“I just talked with Jill. She’s worried about her mom. Is Emily okay?”

“She’s fine. But I’m exhausted.” And otherwise occupied, sweetie.

“Jill was really upset. I was thinking it’d be cool if I went down to Boston to see her this weekend. Can I take the car?”

“No, you cannot. I need it. Besides, you’ll be seeing her next weekend.”

“But if I can help her now, isn’t that what friends are about? She’s always been there for me. It’s only right that I be there for her. Besides, there is
nothing
going on here this weekend.”

“No parties? I’d have thought the place would be hopping the weekend before fall break.”

Dawn made a disparaging sound. “Everyone’s studying for midterms.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I will. I’ll bring books with me.”

“You won’t get any decent studying done that way. No, Dawn. You can’t go.”

“But I told Jill—”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Jill said—”

“I can’t stay on the phone now, Dawn.”

“But Mom—”

“Call me tomorrow. Good night.” She clicked back to the twenty-five-year-old. “Still there?” she asked, wondering if he had given up.

“Still here,” he said in his higher-than-expected voice. It struck her then, with the echo of Dawn’s eighteen-year-old voice in her ear, that he was probably more suited to her daughter than to her. The thought was discomfitting.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, suddenly needing a breather. “I have to pick up the other line. Can we talk more another time?”

“It’s your call,” he said with the kind of ease that suggested he didn’t care deeply one way or the other, and that annoyed her. She wanted a man of conviction, not a wimp. She wanted a man who wouldn’t leave, like Jackson had, without a fight. She wanted a strong man.
That
was adventure.

“Sure thing,” she said and hung up the phone. It
was
her call. She would send out her notes in the morning and phone the other two within the next few days. With any luck, by the time fall break was done and Dawn returned to school, her calendar would be filled with dates.

Emily was looking forward to fall break with both excitement and dread. She was dying to have Jill back home, but not quite sure how Doug would be. Oh, he would be fine toward Jill. She didn’t doubt that for a minute. But if he showed as much disinterest in Emily as he had been showing of late, Jill would notice. Emily didn’t want that.

Her solution, reached after much silent debate, was to keep the weekend moving steadily along with events planned before, preferably with Doug’s help, certainly with his approval. She intended to take care of that while he was home this weekend.

On Wednesday morning he called to say that he wanted to get ahead by working through the weekend, so he wouldn’t be home until Jill was.

Emily didn’t plead. She didn’t argue. She didn’t say a word in complaint, though one part of her wanted to ask what was wrong with her that he didn’t want to be with her. The other part was relieved. Weekends with Doug had become increasingly tense. Her stomach was always jangling, her heart thudding, her hopes and needs seesawing.

Okay. He would be home with Jill. This weekend was Emily’s.

She took a long, deep, relaxing breath. She wrote up a short piece that Rod wanted on the coffeehouse that was opening at the church, and drove it to the newspaper office, then went out to lunch with Alice Baker, who was the copyeditor for the
Sun.
Halfway through, they were joined by Alice’s sister, who worked at the library and insisted Emily return there to see several new books. By the time Emily was back home, most of the afternoon was gone.

Wandering into the yard, she climbed onto the rocks overlooking the pond, lay back, and basked in the sun. Its summertime heyday was done, its shaft lower and weaker, its pale light more precious. Come November, the mornings would be iced, the trees bare, the pond murky. Today, though, there was a lingering warmth enriching the scent of moist earth and crisp leaves.

As precarious as other things might be, her marriage most immediately, nature never changed. It was a comforting thought.

She lost track of time as she lay there. Her mind whisked over the pieces of her life without dwelling on a one, but, rather, focusing on the breeze that rose to kiss her face and finger her hair. She stretched and settled, and suddenly new thoughts entered her mind.

She was forty and in her prime. Her major responsibility was no longer a major responsibility. She had easily as many years ahead as behind. And she was female.

The last thought came from nowhere, startling her, but she didn’t chase it away. It wasn’t unpleasant, given her mood. She felt sensitized, as she lay supine on her rock in the slanting rays of the late-day sun.

She heard the Jeep pull into the driveway, heard a door slam, then Brian’s, “Hey, you! Where are you going? Come back here, you minx!”

Emily smiled at the sound of an explosive giggle and turned her head on the rock to see Julia barreling toward her, curls bobbing, arms waving. Brian caught her halfway and tossed her over his shoulder, prompting another round of giggles, before setting her down again. She hit the ground running, heading for the pond this time. Emily slid down the rock and headed her off.

“Oh, no, you don’t” Wrapping her arms around the child, she bent over her from behind. “That water is cold and wet and too deep for a monkey like you.”

“Laloo,” Julia said, pointing at the pond.

Emily glanced at Brian, who had come up from behind.

“Water,” he interpreted.

“Ahhh. Laloo. How did I miss that?” To Julia, she said, “Want to take a closer look?” She walked her to the water’s edge, picked up a pebble, and tossed it in. “Look. See the circles it makes?”

“Laloo,” Julia said.

Emily tossed another pebble, let Julia watch the ripples, then offered her a pebble. “Want to try?”

Julia closed her fist around the tiny stone, but when she raised her hand and tossed it toward the water, her timing was off. She didn’t open her fist until the toss was done. The pebble fell to the ground by her sneaker.

“Ooops,” Emily said and picked up another. “Here we go. Let’s try again.” It was two more tries before things clicked, and then Emily clapped Julia’s hands together. “That was a good one! Good for Julia!”

Julia took over the clapping, grinning triumphantly at Emily, then at Brian. Emily sat beside her and gave her a hug. “Incredible, how they need our approval,” she said to Brian. “Can you imagine a parent who doesn’t give it?”

He was hunkering down nearby. “I’ve seen them. Their kids try most everything to get their attention. When they can’t do it by fair means, they try foul, and even then the message doesn’t always get across. Some parents don’t want to hear.”

“So what happens?”

“The kids spend time in detention. They mix with other troubled kids and hear about bigger and better stuff, and before they know it, they’ve forgotten about their parents and are wanting the approval of their new friends. It’s a lousy cycle.”

“How do you break it?”

“Beats me. Boot camps aren’t the panacea some people hoped they’d be. You can give a kid a new self-image in a new environment, but put him back in the old environment, and the old self-image is back right along with the bad influences. So there’s your answer. You don’t put him back in the old environment. Unfortunately, in a democracy, you can’t tell him where to go once he’s done his time.”

“That must be frustrating for you.”

“Very. One of the biggest battles a cop fights is with his own cynicism. That’s why changes are good sometimes. Like my moving here. I miss the action, but I don’t miss the tension that goes with it. I’m sleeping better.”

“The apartment is comfortable?”

“It’s perfect.”

He smiled at her then, making her feel feminine indeed. “When’s Doug due back?”

Emily enunciated each word. “One week from tomorrow.”

“Not this weekend?”

“He wants to get ahead, to make up for next week.” When Brian looked disappointed for her, she said, “It’s okay. Makes things easier, in a way.” Feeling guilty and sorry and even, in that instant, angry at Doug, she took a quick breath. “I was thinking I’d do something special.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten past something special.”

“Julia and I are going exploring. We’re heading north, letting the road lead us where it will. Want to come?”

She liked the idea. She liked it a lot. “That sounds nice, but maybe you and Julia should be alone.”

“We’re alone every night. I think she’d like the change. I sure would.”

Emily went. They set off Saturday morning heading north, had lunch in Hanover, New Hampshire, and walked around the town, then headed east toward the lakes of south-central Maine. They stopped there to let Julia run over paths strewn with pine needles, and then, because she was sleeping soundly in the backseat, and because they couldn’t think of any good reason to turn back, they drove on. By nightfall, they reached the coast. They ate fresh boiled lobster in a rustic shack, with a fire going in the hearth to ward off the evening chill, and when the headlands were too tempting to miss at dawn, they took rooms at a nearby motel.