Fools Rush In

“You told me they hadn’t been happy for a long time….”

“Well, what if this is their big chance? What if you’re messing that up?”

“I don’t know.” My throat thickened at the misery on Danny’s face.

We were silent for a minute, the only noise from the crows croaking in the trees. “Aunt Millie,” Danny began slowly, concentrating on peeling another slice of wood from the fence, “what if I asked you, as a favor to me?” He looked up, sadness and confusion making him look about six years old again.

“Asked me what exactly, Danny?” I wanted to push his hair out of his eyes, but I had a feeling those days were gone.

“Asked you to step aside and leave my dad alone. For me. To give me the chance to have parents who were happy together. Would you do it?”

My heart sat like a cold stone in my chest as I regarded my nephew. “I guess I would. Yes.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you more than anything else in the world, Danny. And you don’t deserve to be involved in this mess. So, yes, if you asked, I’d step aside. I wouldn’t do it for your mother, but for you, the answer stands.”

Danny looked at me for a long time, and I met his gaze steadily, even if my eyes were wet.

“Well, f**k it,” Danny said quietly. “I won’t ask you, then.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “Thanks.”

“You guys are like a soap opera,” he muttered dejectedly.

“I know.” I whispered. “I’m sorry, Danny. I…I love you, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He slid off the fence. “I gotta go.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you.”

“See you, Dan.”

The tears spilled over as I watched my nephew walk slowly back into the gym. He looked like an adult, shoulders sagging, feet heavy. Not like a kid anymore. We grown-ups had taken care of that.

WHEN I GOT HOME, THERE WAS a message on my machine.

“Millie, it’s Sam. Look—” Pause. “We need to talk. I—” Pause. Deep breath. “I stopped by about a half hour ago, but you weren’t home. I’ll call you later.”

I sank into a chair as my legs went rubbery. That did not sound heartening. No, not at all. We need to talk never bodes well.

For one afternoon, I’d had a glimpse of what love could really be like. What loving Sam could be like, and for that afternoon, I had been truly, deeply happy to the very roots of my soul. I’d been with the man I loved, and he’d loved me, and we were on the verge of the rest of our lives.

Tears spilled out of my eyes and onto my cheeks, but my face felt carved from stone. God, I was so damn tired of crying. And waiting. I’d been waiting for years now for my life, my real life, to begin. Waited for things to happen, for people to notice, to call, to invite, to love.

We need to talk.

If Trish got Sam back, there was no justice in the world. But I knew Sam, and as Curtis had said, he was true blue. Faithful, loyal, dependable. If his ex-wife, who had left him just over a year ago, begged him to forgive her and take her back so they could be a family again, what would Sam do? If Danny asked him to give Trish another chance, wouldn’t Sam do exactly that? Wouldn’t it be easier to turn his back on one afternoon with me instead of a lifetime—Danny’s lifetime—with Trish?

I didn’t move out of the chair for hours. I barely even blinked. My ass grew numb, my stomach growled, but I sat there still. Digger put his head on my lap and I stroked his silky head automatically. The sun began to set, the room grew dim, but I didn’t bother to turn on a light.

The phone rang. My heart immediately began pounding with sickening intensity. Without consciously thinking about it, I answered.

“It’s Curtis.” His voice was low, and I could hear the murmur of voices in the background, some music.

“Hi.”

“Mitchell and I are at the Forge,” Curtis said, naming a charming restaurant in Wellfleet. “It’s the tenth anniversary of our first date and—”

“Curtis, that’s great, but I’ve got a lot going on here. I can’t really talk.”

“Princess, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this…” The sympathy and hesitation in his voice caused a wave of dread to wash over me, and my hands grew clammy.

“What is it, Curtis?”

“They’re here,” he whispered. “Sam and your sister. They have a table near the window. They’re in a very heavy tête-à-tête.”

My stomach cramped. “Oh.”

“I can see their table. Our friend Bart is a waiter here. You met him last Halloween, he was dressed like Barbra Streisand, remember? Anyway, he’s helping us. I’m sitting at the bar with Bart. Mitch is two tables away from Sam and Trish with his back to them and he’s called Bart on his cell, and Bart is right here…what? What did she say?”

“No. Curtis, don’t. I don’t want to know. I’m not spying anymore. Please don’t.”

“Shh!”

“Curtis, no! Please stop.” The idea that the guys were going to relay Sam and Trish’s conversation made me nauseous.

“You don’t want to know what they’re saying?”

“No! It’s private. Please don’t.”

Curtis paused. “Oh. Oh, all right. It’s okay, Bart, she doesn’t want us to.” My friend sighed, irked with my lack of cooperation. “Well, Millie, do you at least want to know what they’re doing? It is a public place and all. It’s not like we need binoculars or anything.”

I hesitated and pressed my palm against my aching forehead. Sam was with Trish at a beautiful, expensive, romantic restaurant. Yesterday, you were in bed with me, Sam. You loved me yesterday. How can you be with Trish now? “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Great. Let me take a peek. Well, they haven’t eaten much. Trish is talking…. She’s wearing a yellow dress, some chunky topaz jewelry, very nice shoes, I think they’re Jimmy Choo…. She’s leaning forward, very intense, talking, not smiling—Hi, Mitch, hon, no, Millie pulled the plug, but thanks, you make a great spy—okay, now Sam is talking.” Curtis’s voice grew softer. “He’s taking her hand. Now he’s…okay, she’s crying, is she laughing a little, too?”

I felt as hollow as an abandoned mine shaft, echoing, empty, dark. “Curtis, that’s enough—”

“He’s kissing her hand. Now she’s really crying. He’s going around to her side of the table, got his arm around her. Oh. Oh.” Curtis drew a sharp breath. “He kissed her, Millie.”

“I think that’s enough,” I whispered.

“Yes. Right.”

My chest was tight and my head throbbed with every beat of my heart. I kept the phone to my ear, listening to the restaurant where Sam and Trish had made up.

Trish would be living on the Cape again. I would see them all the time. And now, unlike just thirty-six hours ago, everyone knew. I loved Sam, and he, Trish, my parents, Danny, everyone knew. Things with my nephew would never be the same. I’d have to smile at Sam at Thanksgiving and buy him a sweater at Christmas. Maybe they’d have another baby.

“Millie? Are you still there, honey?” Curtis’s voice was horribly gentle.

“Do you think I can come up and stay with you guys for a couple of days? Before I start work?”

“Sure! Of course. Stay as long as you like. You can even bring your dog.”

“I’ll just throw a few things together….”

“Fantastic. And Millie…I’m so sorry.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CURTIS AND MITCH GREETED ME as if I were a delicate cancer patient, holding my arms gently, talking in hushed voices.

“You can stay for as long as you like,” Curtis said staunchly.

“Thanks, bud, but I think it’ll just be for a couple of days at the most. I just…I just wanted to be somewhere else.”

“Of course! And what about dinner, Millie? Would you care for something to eat?” Mitch asked kindly. I tried to remember the last meal I’d eaten and couldn’t, but my stomach seemed to have a bocce ball in it.

“I think maybe I’ll just go to bed. I’m sorry I ruined your anniversary.”

“No, don’t be silly! It’s just the anniversary of our first date! We’ll celebrate our real anniversary next month. Don’t worry.”

They carried my bag upstairs and, like the innkeepers they were, showed me the amenities of Dry Dock, my suite. It was hard to pay attention. Sam and Trish. Trish and Sam. Their names had been linked together for so long that they still sounded normal. Now, Sam and Millie…that just sounded dumb.

My large suite had lavender-scented sheets, a huge arrangement of bright flowers on the bureau and a view of the water. I made a quick call to Katie, as I hadn’t wanted to talk to my parents, and told her briefly what had happened and where I was. Then, so tired I ached, I climbed into bed without even washing up. Digger came over for a little reassurance, and I petted him weakly until he gave up and went to lie before the fireplace. The only sound was the wind and the slap of the small bayside waves. Alone in the dark, my misery curled up with me, and a heavy weight seemed to press me into the mattress.

“Oh, Sam,” I whispered, and the endless spring of tears spilled over again. How would I do this? I asked myself. How could I handle this incredible sense of loss? That time with Sam was like a cruel trick. It was bad enough to love him, but to have heard those words from him, to have felt the way we felt, to have that incredible rightness taken away, was unbearable.

In the morning, Curtis and Mitch made me a huge breakfast. I ate the food, but chewing was such an effort. The boys tried to distract me by chatting about the Peacock. They were getting ready to close for the winter and had to do a final cleaning of all the guest rooms, paint a few rooms, make some repairs and the like. They would spend the winter tucked away on the third floor, happy and cozy and together. Not that I begrudged them that…it was just hard to see the contrast between their happy couplehood and my solitude.

Digger and I took a long walk out to the very end of Provincetown, where the huge rocks of the breakwater stretched into the choppy bay. Digger trotted along happily, sniffing at crab shells between the crevices, returning to nudge my hand with his nose. I felt dead inside, as flat and lifeless as week-old roadkill, my eyes barely seeing the lovely houses of Commercial Street, hardly noting the raucous calls of the gulls as they wheeled and glided above me.

The boys cooked lunch and dragged out an old game of Trivial Pursuit and even took Digger to the dog spa for a little pet pampering. And while I knew I couldn’t hide out here forever, I was glad for this little reprieve. Instead of waiting around for other people to decide how my life was going to turn out, I had at least taken action.

That night, as I lay listening to the sounds of the ocean, I tried to make peace with my situation. Digger crept onto the bed and licked my tears as I sobbed quietly for the love that I’d very nearly had, for the humiliation I felt, for the empty, hollow days that were waiting for me back home.

Somewhere in the night I resolved to go back to Eastham and face things. Sam would probably come over to break the news to me, and I’d have to be dignified and strong and somehow let him know that I would be just fine with everything. I’d start work and engross myself there. And someday, I’d find someone else.

But for now, I gave myself one more cry in the dark over Sam Nickerson.

THE NEXT DAY, THE BOYS PUT ME to work. In the morning, we draped and taped the salon, which was a vast room featuring a Steinway grand piano and a wall of French doors that led to the small beach. The boys had decided to go from hunter-green to royal-blue, and we donned our painting clothes and set to work. Actually, their painting clothes were on par with my best stuff, but that was just their way.

It was good to be focused on something as mundane as painting. It didn’t take a great deal of mental effort, but I had to pay attention, too. The guys gossiped about friends I didn’t know, taking great pains to tell me the whole background story so I wouldn’t feel left out. Dipping the brush in the pure white paint I was using for the trim, I wished my whole life could be repainted the pure, empty color.

“You know, princess, sometimes things really do happen for the best,” Curtis said rather abruptly, interrupting Mitch’s dialogue on a friend’s terrible taste in men. He gave Mitch a meaningful look.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mitch replied blithely. “Millie, don’t you agree?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” I asked, dragging my brush along the baseboard.

“Maybe you and Sam weren’t meant to be,” Curtis said rather smugly.

“I guess,” I said, my chest aching dully.

“He wasn’t good enough for you, anyway, dearest,” Mitch murmured gently.

I gave a choked laugh. “Not good enough for me? Sam—”

“He broke your heart, after all,” Curtis put in.

“He’s a good man,” I said, my throat closing up on the words. “Very, very good.” I dipped my brush back into the bucket and swallowed.

“Oh, I don’t know. I always thought he was a little dull,” Curtis said.

“No, he—” I started to break in.

“Yes, rather unremarkable in conversation. You’re right, darling,” Mitch agreed lovingly. “He may have looked good in uniform, but aside from that, he was rather ordinary.”