Fools Rush In

Legs wobbling, I sat down on the exam table.

Jennifer Bianco. Her grandmother lived in my parents’ neighborhood. I had a vague memory of the night she’d mentioned, and now I remembered something else. Joe had fixed Mrs. Bianco’s back porch steps a few months ago. Apparently, while he’d been doing his good deed, he’d been doing Jennifer as well.

I knew I could, if I tried, rationalize this. I could find a way to justify Joe’s behavior. I could tell myself how different he was with me, because he was different. But somehow I couldn’t summon the energy. Seeing Jennifer in the flesh was different from thinking about Joe’s many past girlfriends.

When I got home that night, I called Joe and asked him to come over. He happily agreed. I made dinner, a simple pasta dish with vegetables that I had perfected, and we ate on the back deck. We didn’t talk much. Was it my imagination, I wondered as I picked at my dinner, or did we never really talk? We held hands, we flirted, we went out, we slept together, but did we talk? Weren’t soul mates supposed to talk? It seemed like Digger and I talked more than Joe and I.

“Joe,” I began cautiously. “Why do you think we’re, um, doing so well together?”

Joe looked at me, surprised. “I don’t know. I like you.” He grinned. “A lot.”

I gave a small smile. “I like you, too, obviously. But, well, you know, you’ve dated a lot, haven’t you? And you told me this was the longest you’d been in a relationship. Why do you think that is?”

Joe took a swig of his beer and looked out at the darkening sky. Digger came over and put his nose on Joe’s leg, and Joe scratched his head idly. “I don’t know, Millie. I guess I feel like you’re different.”

“In what way?” I asked.

“Oh, shit, Millie, I’m not really good at talking about stuff like this. Are you mad at me or something?”

I reached for his hand across the table. “No, Joe, I’m not mad. I’ve just been thinking about the two of us, that’s all. And we don’t really talk about stuff like this….”

“Talking can be overrated.” He gave me a crooked grin.

“Sometimes, definitely.” I smiled back but didn’t drop my gaze.

He sighed, then kissed my hand. “Okay, I’ll try. I guess I like how you don’t chase after me, Millie. I mean, we’ve known each other forever, but you were always just kind of friendly and normal to me. A lot of girls, you know, they kind of…throw themselves at me. And you didn’t. You weren’t out to get me, and you didn’t go crazy picking out wedding dresses when we started seeing each other. You have a great job and friends and you’ve got this funky little house and your dog…you just seem, I don’t know…happy with yourself. There, how’s that?”

“Great,” I answered, my heart sinking. Because of course, all of the above was exactly what I wanted him to think. While that had been the whole point, I nonetheless felt deceitful. To cover my dismay, I made a kissing noise at Digger, who happily left Joe to nuzzle my crotch. “No, no, Digger. Sit. Good boy.”

“Why are you with me?” Joe asked.

“Huh? Oh, well, lots of reasons.” I scratched Digger’s tummy, causing my dog to collapse in joy.

“Go ahead.” Joe smiled in the semidarkness, his perfect teeth gleaming.

“Well, you’re cute, there’s no denying that. But you’re also, uh, hardworking, and nice. You know, kindhearted. And you’re cheerful. I mean, happy. Which is good.” That sounded a little feeble, but he laughed a little.

“Yeah, well, you can’t take life too seriously, right?” He leaned back in his chair and took another swallow of beer.

Digger curled up in a tight circle beside my chair, resting his chin on my foot. The silence stretched on, the wind soughing in the leaves of the locust trees. It should have been a lovely moment. “Joe?” I asked. “Do you remember the time our class went to Plymouth Plantation?”

Joe frowned in concentration. “Um…not really.”

“Sure, you do. All the people were dressed in period clothes and stuff? The blacksmith, the guy who was Miles Standish?”

“Oh, yeah! That was pretty cool.” He paused. “You want to go back or something?”

“No,” I said, a little exasperated. “I just—Do you remember on the bus ride home, when I threw up?”

Joe grimaced. “Yuck.”

I took a quick breath, then pasted a smile on my face so I wouldn’t seem like a nag. “Do you remember, Joe?”

“No, not really.”

My smile dropped off my face like a rock. “You don’t?”

“Nope. Why?”

“You were so sweet to me. The other kids were laughing and you told them to shut up.” My voice took on a whining note.

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

I forced myself to close my mouth. It doesn’t mean anything, Millie. Joe does that kind of thing automatically. It doesn’t matter if he can’t remember.

But it did matter. That moment was arguably the most important moment of my adolescence. It represented every good quality I ever thought Joe Carpenter had. That moment had sustained me through some awful times, reminded me why other men didn’t measure up to Joe Carpenter. And he didn’t remember.

I BEGAN TO ANALYZE Joe’s every word, action and gesture. We’d been together for more than a month now, and everything was great. Except for my brain. I was driving myself crazy with the analysis, but I couldn’t help it.

I loved Joe. I did. Right? Aside from his charm and beauty, though, what did I love? He did work hard. And he was kindhearted. Sort of. Except that some of the examples that had previously thrilled my heart were not exactly what I’d thought.

“Katie, what do you think about Joe?” I asked one day when we had brought the boys to Wiley Park. They were splashing about happily at the edge of Great Pond, digging to their hearts’ content.

Katie looked at me sharply. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just…well, why do you think something happened?”

“Because,” she said, digging her toes into the coarse sand, “you’ve never wondered about Joe in the past. Ever.”

I sighed. “Well, I can’t really go into it, but I ran into someone who used to date Joe, and it made me think.”

“Well, hell, Millie, if you swing a cat around here, you’re going to hit someone who used to sleep with Joe. You know that, right?” She rummaged around in the cooler and handed me a Snapple.

“Thanks. Yeah, of course I know. It’s just…” I shifted in my beach chair.

“What are you worried about, exactly?” Katie asked.

“About…I don’t know. Do you think we’re good together?”

Katie studied the her sons. “Michael, honey, don’t dump sand on your brother’s head. Thank you. Listen, Millie,” she said, “I think you know enough about Joe to make up your own mind.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

“Yup. Sorry.” She smiled apologetically.

“Okay, well, answer me this, then, o mighty sphinx. How do you know if you really love someone?”

“Ooh, great question. I have no idea.”

“Katie! Come on. Play with me.”

She laughed. “Okay, okay. Not that I’ve had true love, mind you. I’ve only had Elliott.” She thought for a minute, then said, “Okay. Real love would be when no matter how happy you were at any given moment, it would be better with the person you love. Like having that person there would make it perfect.”

“That was good,” I said. “‘You complete me’ and all that.”

“Sure.” She smiled and scooped up her long blond hair under her Red Sox hat. “And when you’re with that person, you’re showing your best self. Not faking, just at your best.”

My smile faltered. Was I faking with Joe? No, impossible. I loved him. I was my best self. I just wished it wasn’t so much effort…. To change the subject, I asked, “Don’t you ever want to experience that? Some day in the far distant future, I mean?”

“I feel that way all the time,” she answered, pointing to her boys. “The best moments of my life are right there.”

“I mean with another grown-up, Katie. As you well know.”

She smiled, started to say something, then paused. “Well…if you try fixing me up again, Millie, I will kill you.” I smiled back. “The answer is maybe,” she continued. “Not Sam, okay? He’s not for me. But lately, things haven’t been so exhausting, you know? And so I suppose that yeah, I would be open to the possibility of someday, someone. Just not right now.”

“You and Sam—” I began.

“Millie, were you listening to me? Not Sam! Corey, Mike, you need more sunscreen, guys.” The boys hopped up and ran toward us.

“I was just going to say, my sensitive little friend, that you and Sam are alike. You both put your kids first, yourselves second,” I said, squeezing some sunscreen onto my palm and slathering some on Corey’s back.

“Of course we do. You will, too, once you and Joe hatch one.” Katie kissed the boys loudly and they ran back to their excavation.

“So you think Joe and I are good together?” I asked, returning to our original subject.

“Honey, do you?”

“Can’t you just answer, Dr. Freud?”

“Only you can do that, pal. Mike, do not put that in your mouth. Do not!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ONE OF OUR ADORABLE TRADITIONS here in August was to have an end-of-summer bash for the high-school juniors and seniors, as well as the Nauset High graduates from the past spring. Lighthouse Day was a day-long carnival held at the school grounds, followed by a semiformal dance that night. It was a way to say goodbye to the kids who’d graduated in June and to usher in the coming academic year for the upperclassmen. The dance rivaled the prom in social import, and Danny and his girlfriend, Sarah, had been talking about it for weeks.

I rode my new bike over to Sam’s the Sunday before Lighthouse Day to see how my guys were. I’d spent the morning at the senior center, checking in on Dr. Whitaker’s patients, and I could use a little fresh air after being inside for three hours. I cruised easily down the level bike path, savoring the deep blue of the kettle ponds and gulping in the fragrance of bayberry, pine and the sharp scent of the salt marsh. Feeling cheerful and energized, I steered my bike down Sam’s road. I hadn’t been over since my birthday bash, and his yard, as always, was magnificent, bursting with color and fragrance. Sam was out in the yard, dripping with sweat as he reinforced a retaining wall under a cascade of pink clematis.

“Now that Trish doesn’t live here, you can let this all go to seed, you know,” I suggested, sitting on the steps next to him.

“Trish, nothing. This is all my doing. How are you, Millie?”

“Oh, good enough. How about you?”

“Fine and dandy.” He wiped his brow and grinned.

“Still seeing that nice Carol?” I asked.

Sam grimaced. “Actually, no. We kind of dropped it.”

“Oh, no!” I blurted, torn between sympathy and guilty delight. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really. We just kind of hit a wall of pleasantry and didn’t seem to want to go any further.”

“Summer lovin’, had me a bla-ast,” I sang. Sam had been in the chorus of Grease in high school…my sister, of course, had been Sandy.

“Summer lovin’, happened so fast,” he sang back obligingly.

I watched admiringly as Sam wrestled another rock into place. His T-shirt was dark with sweat, his hair sticking up in odd places, and he was tan and smiling…. All in all, not too sad about the breakup with Carol. Neither was I, for that matter. “Maybe Carol just didn’t like you,” I suggested.

“Watch yourself, doc.”

“In fact, she said something to me along those lines. ‘Millie,’ she said, ‘I just don’t like Sam. He’s such a stiff.’”

Sam laughed and swatted me on the leg. “Well, Joe said something to me. ‘Sam,’ he said, ‘That Millie is a real pain in the ass.’”

“Plus, Carol also said, ‘That Sam can’t play baseball for shit.’”

“Well, Joe asked me if I had ever seen you running, and if so, what was wrong with you.”

“Carol also said, ‘That Sam is much too sweaty.’”

“Joe told me…oh, forget it. You win, kiddo.” He smiled and grabbed another rock.

“Hey, guys!” my nephew said, leaping down the steps and flopping on the grass. “What’s up?”

“The sky is up,” I said thoughtfully.

“Gosh, you’re funny, Aunt Mil. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. We need chaperones for the Lighthouse Dance, and I thought it would be cool if you and Joe came.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“You flatter me, darling. Of course we’ll come. It will be fun.”

Sam stopped his macho pursuits and wiped his forehead with his arm. “I didn’t know you needed chaperones, Dan. I could do it, too.”

Danny winced. “Well, Dad, here’s the thing.”

“You’re just not cool enough,” I offered.

“Shut up, Millie, or I’m giving you a big sweaty hug. What’s the thing, Danny?”