Same Beach, Next Year, Page 2
Dorothea Benton Frank
“Great,” Luke said. “I’m starving!”
“What else is new?” Max said and pushed water toward his brother’s face with the heel of his hand.
“Hey!” Luke said. “Stop!” He pushed a wave of water back toward his twin in retaliation.
“All right, you two. Out of the pool. Adult swim time. I’m going to do a few laps and then I’ll dry off too. Why don’t you boys gather up all your stuff and get a table for us? One with an umbrella.”
“Does that mean we can have our guns back?” Max said.
“Do you think y’all can use them responsibly?”
“Yes! Yes, sir!”
“Okay, then. But no shooting little dogs. Got it?”
They scampered away toward my lounger and I slipped back into the water.
God, this feels so good, I thought.
I turned on my back and began doing backstrokes. When I reached the end of the pool, I turned over and began doing breaststrokes toward the shallow end.
Swimming gives me time to ponder my life—you know, assess things. Lucky for me, I’m about as satisfied with my lot in life as any man I know. And not too terribly arrogant. I hate arrogance. And I don’t take anything for granted. But I think my male bravado and swagger is in the acceptable zone, and if I’m hiding some great mountain of hubris, no one has ever accused me of it. I’d say my friends and colleagues view me as a reliable, good-natured, well-mannered fellow. A man’s man. But most important, I’ve got the steadfast support and admiration of my father, Ted.
If I ever get a little free time I like to hunt birds and fish the rivers. I can swing a golf club and a tennis racket well enough to play nine holes or doubles. But I sure as hell will never be a club champion, because sustaining any level of success would be impossible if I spent my time chasing balls. Besides, I’m not all that competitive. And I’d say I’m a respectable golfer and tennis player nonetheless.
I swam a few more laps and continued thinking about life. I knew I wasn’t exactly curing a terrible disease when I built another shopping center or apartment complex, but you know what? I took a certain pride in the fact that the work I did had provided enough money at thirty-seven years of age to buy a large tract of land outside of Charleston and build a home there for my family that resembled Tara, but on a much smaller scale. And I loved my little family and our menagerie, which seemed to be growing all the time.
The problem with buying a property that came with a barn was that it called for animals. Before I knew it, we had horses, goats, and a brace of German Shorthaired Pointers that loved to flush out coveys of quail. Next came the peacocks and chickens, followed by a cat who we named Crank. And naturally all those mouths to feed needed supervision, so we hired a property manager, Mr. Proctor, who saw to the animals and did all the landscaping and house repairs as well. Mr. Proctor was the same age as my father—too old to really work full-time but too young to retire at sixty-eight. Crank and Rufus were house pets. Everyone else lived in the barn. Oh, Mr. Proctor.
He’s a good guy, I thought.
I swam to the deep end of the pool once more and stopped. Suddenly I had a sense of being watched. There were two feet in front of me at eye level, female feet with a pedicure that I seem to remember Eliza called French for some baffling reason. They were very pretty feet and they did not belong to my wife.
“Adam? Is that you?”
I looked up. The feet in question were connected to perfectly tanned, very long, beautiful legs. Above the legs was a turquoise tank suit and a super flat stomach below perky, if smallish, breasts. The sun was so bright that I could not make out the details of her face. But I knew that voice. It had haunted me for more than half my life.
“Eve?”
“Oh, my gosh! It is you. I remember you swimming laps like this when we were teenagers. I’d know those shoulders anywhere.”
You knew my shoulders, all right, I thought, and every other part of me too.
I climbed the ladder in the deep end and sucked in my stomach when I emerged from the water. Regrettably, my six-pack had morphed into a little paunch. I lifted myself out with a little swinging movement, hoping it would make me seem more fit and virile.
“Nice swimsuit,” she said and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter.
“Father’s Day gift. What are you doing here?” I said. Jesus, I thought, she’s still devastatingly beautiful. My heart was racing. Be cool, I told myself. I picked up my sunglasses and put them on. Joe Cool.
“Why, I’m on vacation with my family. You?”
“Yeah, me too. You have a family?” What a stupid thing to say, I thought.
“I sure do.” She turned and pointed to the little girl in the kiddie pool. “That little angel is mine.”
I looked and there she was. She was around the twins’ age, with blond, blond hair and no doubt blue eyes like her mother’s. I sighed. Of course she had a child! Why wouldn’t she? The daughter that, in a different life, could’ve been ours.
“She’s beautiful,” I said. “Like you.”
“Oh, Adam. Go on now. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
All I could manage was “Thanks.” But then I finally found my voice and said, “Why don’t y’all come over for a glass of wine around six? That’s our condo right there.”
“Sure. I’d like that. It’ll be fun to catch up!” She kissed my cheek and turned to go back to her daughter. “Can I bring my husband?”
“What kind of a question is that? Of course! I have to meet the guy that stole my girl!”
Yeah, I thought, that son of a bitch. Let’s see what he’s got.
“I thought I’d never see you again. What a coincidence,” she said.
There are no coincidences, I thought.
“See ya later!” I said cheerily.
I felt like a young man of eighteen then. Adrenaline rushed through me and I was energized and excited. I could run a marathon! By God, I could!
What were the odds on this serendipitous meeting? But if I didn’t believe in coincidence, what was the meaning of seeing her again?
Across the terraced area, I spotted Eliza setting the table with our lunch. She was hairy-eyeballing me with grave suspicion.
Eliza’s probably not going to like this, I thought.
chapter 2
meet eliza
“You did what?” I said.
“I invited her over for a glass of wine. With her husband, of course,” Adam said as he surveyed his lunch. “Wow, this looks great, sweetheart. Thanks!”
I detached the straws and pushed them through the tiny openings on pouches of Capri Sun for the boys. Then I poured iced tea from a covered plastic pitcher for Adam and myself. The boys scraped the heavy metal chairs across the cement closer to their food and then climbed over the arms to sit. The enormous patio umbrella was situated to keep us all in the shade. If need be, we could reposition it as the sun traveled across the sky.
“Well, that’s fine, but who are they?” I asked.
“She’s a girl I knew in high school. No big deal. You’ll like her.”
I smelled a rat. I had been standing right there watching Adam preen and hold in his stomach.
“What makes you think I’ll like her? She’s nine feet tall, skinny as a stick, and blond. She’s going to wonder what in the world you ever saw in the likes of me!”
“No, she won’t! She’s going to know in less than a minute that I married the most glamorous, fabulous woman in the world! Isn’t that right, boys?”
Luke and Max, who were almost completely self-absorbed, were totally oblivious to the fact that I was feeling a little insecure. They didn’t understand the word or the concept. Thus far, their young lives had been a succession of brass rings. As far as we knew they had yet to experience even a playground bully.
“Uh-huh,” Luke said. “Pass the ketchup, please.”
“Yep,” Max said. “More potato chips?”
“Say the magic word,” I said.
Anything new and different was okay with Max.
“Good, sweetheart.” I passed the platter to him and said, “Save some for your father.”
“Thank you,” Adam said, “but I think I should start watching my weight.”
“Really? Thirty minutes ago, it was okay for me to hang over a pot of boiling oil to make them for you.”
“Oh, okaaaaay. I’ll have a few.” He took a handful and dropped them on his plate.
I scrutinized Adam as he sucked in his stomach muscles again and could see that his mood had changed. He was considerably more lighthearted than he had been in the morning when he was offering me diamonds in exchange for cottage fries. He hadn’t stopped smirking since we sat down for lunch. I hated smirkers. Who was this woman, anyway? And what had she meant to him? Did he sleep with her? Was I really supposed to be nice to a woman who’d slept with my husband? Was Adam losing his mind to invite her over? Did he think he could will away his gut by the cocktail hour?
Men are so stupid, I thought. And vain.
“What’s her name?” I said.
“Eve. She was Eve Church . . . I don’t know her last name now. She’s got a husband. It will be very interesting to see who she married.”
The fact that Adam thought meeting Eve’s husband would be very interesting, not merely interesting, told me that Eve had been more than a fling.
“Her name is Eve? Really? Like Adam and Eve? You’re kidding, right?”
There sat my husband, giddy with excitement, mouth full of sandwich, looking pretty silly in his giddiness and excitement. He was smiling even as he chewed. “Yeah. Eve. Isn’t that funny? Anyway, that August we went off to different colleges and I never saw her again,” Adam said as a nearly tangible air of gloom descended around him.
I knew there was no way he would be this animated if that woman meant nothing to him. Plus, he had never mentioned her name before today. And I knew the name of every single girl he had ever dated. Why? Because boys like to kiss and tell.
If I were in his shoes, I’d never let on that I was that excited to see an old flame. Not in a million years. Why didn’t he even have the good sense to mask this tsunami of rapturous glee?
Because he had been in love with her, that’s why. Men!
I waited for a moment and watched his face as he stared off into space, wistful and remembering. “So, she broke your heart, did she?”
“What? No, no, no. That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Anyway, it was high school, for heaven’s sake! Ancient history! They’re just coming for a glass of wine. No big deal.”
I could tell by his sudden change in expression that Eve had, in fact, broken his heart. Suddenly, instead of feeling insecure, I was annoyed. Who was this Eve person who had hurt the man I loved? I’d show her what she had walked away from! Who did this Eve think she was? Why, she was a fool! A damn fool!
“What time are they coming?”
“I think I told her six.”
“I’ll be ready,” I said and thought, six o’clock can’t get here fast enough.
As we ate our lunch, a warm breeze began to swirl, enveloping us in thick, salty air. Adam and I sighed deeply and fell under a mischievous Lowcountry spell. Our shoulders relaxed and we smiled for no reason. Gulls squawked all around. The rhythm and the incessant movement of the rolling tide was like a beautiful Strauss waltz. We looked at each other, beaming really, with an inexplicable happiness.
It was a satisfying moment for me. My boys were sitting politely and using nice table manners. And Adam seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his sandwich and gulping down copious amounts of iced tea. An old girlfriend? Who cares?
I was so happy we were all together and I ticked off a list of all the things I felt grateful for. I had beautiful children and a wonderful husband. I was just thirty-seven and I felt very much like an adult. Technically I knew I was a wife and mother, of course, but the realization that I wasn’t ever going to be that hot young babe again had taken a while to adjust to. But if the trade-off was to be Adam’s wife and the mother of our two scallywags, it wasn’t so bad. Who cared about stupid Eve Church?
All I had to do was look at Adam to see that he was having similar thoughts. He was very proud that he was able to give us a nice vacation. Everyone knew he adored his boys, and yes, it always seemed as though he was crazy about me. But at that particular moment, it seemed like he was feeling much younger than his years, macho in fact, anticipating the evening to come. If we hadn’t come to Wild Dunes for this vacation he might never have run into Eve again for the rest of his life. I knew my husband, and right about now he was feeling a twitch in his personal Lowcountry and was trying to redirect his thoughts to something benign, like throwing a Frisbee with his boys.
“This was delicious, Mom,” Max said.
“It was great, Eliza. Just hit the spot. Thanks! You boys want to build sand castles this afternoon? Maybe throw the Frisbee around”
What did I just say?
“Yeah!” Max said, and Luke bobbed his head.
“Y’all are welcome! Okay, boys. Give me a hand cleaning up lunch and I’ll take you to Baskin-Robbins,” I said. “I want to see what looks good at the Pig for dinner.”
The Piggly Wiggly was my favorite grocery store.
“Baskin-Robbins! Yay!”
Ice cream? On a blazing hot day? The boys were understandably jubilant. They quickly gathered up the paper plates and the collapsed juice pouches and rushed toward the public garbage cans.
“We’ll play with you when we get back, Dad,” Max said.
“Okay,” Adam said.
“Let’s go, Mom! Let’s go!”
They were literally jumping up and down in place.
“Go put on a T-shirt and put something on your feet!” I turned to Adam and said, “I wish they still took naps.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll wear them out this afternoon when you get back.”
“Well, behave yourself until I do, okay, Mr. Romeo?”
“Eliza? You know I only love you.”
I pointed my finger at him and shot him some stink eye. We both laughed. I laughed to let him know I was onto him. And Adam laughed to try to make me believe there was nothing to this unexpected meeting with an old friend. We both knew better.
I withstood the bombardment of the highly elevated level of testosterone emanating from Adam, and I was reasonably certain that a trip to the grocery store would not wreck my marriage. He wasn’t going to run over to Eve’s condo and throw her in the sack. The worst that could happen was that he might spend an hour doing sit-ups and flossing. I could leave home with some level of confidence.
I loved shopping at the Piggly Wiggly. They always had a wide variety of Lowcountry specialty foods and condiments, including especially Mrs. Sassard’s artichoke relish and okra pickles. As I gleaned the aisles, I thought we might stop at the vegetable stand on Highway 17 to pick up tomatoes and cucumbers. And maybe we’d pop into Simmons Seafood to check out their daily catch.
By four o’clock that afternoon the boys were back on the beach with Adam, having eaten double scoops of rocky road and pralines and cream ice cream. I watched from the window as they sat on an old palmetto log, working on a large slice of watermelon. In accordance with the Lowcountry traditions of Adam’s childhood, he drew a line in the sand and they had a contest to see who could spit the seeds the farthest. To Max’s chagrin, it looked as though Luke won every single time. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was missing a front tooth. Finally, Adam whispered something in Luke’s ear, and when the very next round of seeds went flying, Luke’s came up short. Max was so relieved to have won at least one round. And Luke had learned the first of many lessons he would learn about sportsmanship: sometimes it was better to be gracious than to pound your opponent into humiliation. I loved Adam then.
When the seeds ran out they had races to see who was the fastest.
Next came practice for a running broad jump. Now that the boys were sticky and salty, Adam threw them into the pool and made them race the length of it over and over. Adam was true to his word. The boys would sleep very well that night. He was a great father.
Meanwhile I was in the kitchen, making hors d’oeuvres I hoped would impress my husband’s old lover and whoever her stupid husband was, who probably didn’t realize he had married a slut. (Yes, my imagination was in overdrive.) Miniature crab cakes would be topped with frizzled leeks and red pepper jelly. Fresh-caught shrimp, deveined and made into ceviche, marinated in scallions, cilantro, lemon zest, and a citrus vinaigrette, would be offered with toothpicks. Sweet sausage baked golden brown in puffed pastry rings would be served with a piquant honey mustard laced with traces of horseradish. And of course, I was making a tray of tiny pigs in blankets, which the boys loved. I seldom worked so hard in the kitchen while on vacation, but the prospect of an old flame dropping by for a glass of vino demanded extra effort. When our guests left I’d just put some burgers on the grill for the boys’ supper if they were still hungry. Depending on his behavior, I might or might not feed my husband, especially since I knew he was feeding me some massive bull.
Don’t screw with my intuition, Mr. Stanley, I thought. And then I laughed out loud.
Once I had the kitchen under control and a bar set up, I went to our bedroom closet to see what to wear. I try to be stylish in my wardrobe choices and in every area of my life. I chose my clothes carefully, looking for flattering silhouettes, generally in solid colors, and then accessorized accordingly. The truth was that my body had betrayed me by failing to return to its normal size after I delivered the twins. It didn’t matter how much jogging I did or how many hours I spent in exercise classes. I’d never have a tiny waist again. Other assets seemed to be traveling south as well. But there was nothing to be gained by fretting over things that I could not change. So I continued doing aerobics and hoped for the best. I placed several sundresses out on the bed and stood back. One was a long white tank dress with a deep V-neck. It showcased the girls. The other two were black. Black was too serious. The white dress would look better on me with my tan. So I showered, moisturized from one end to the other, and piled my crazy hair into a knot at the nape of my neck.
