“I didn’t even have a context for imagining it.”
“What can I do?”
“Cook me breakfast?”
He laughs. “I can make toast.”
We get up and slip into clothes, and carry blankets out with us to the deck, wrapping ourselves together as we watch the seabirds look for breakfast. Neither of us speaks, but I feel the wondering beneath our silence. “So, do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, lightly, tapping his toe with mine.
“No,” he says. “I haven’t had for a long time. You?”
“No girlfriend or boyfriend.”
“Girlfriend? Did you have girlfriends?”
I lift my shoulders. “Sometimes.” I sip my oolong, thick with milk. “Dmitri was the main person in my life. He was a good guy.”
“The director, right?”
“Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a while. “Did you want kids?”
An ancient pain runs up my midsection. “No. That was a pretty brutal experience.”
He bends and kisses my shoulder. “It was. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Neither of us had any power. What could we do?”
“I know.” He hugs me and kisses my head. “But still.”
“Anyway.”
“Anyway,” he echoes. “I’m going into Seaside to find some electronics and I’ll be back later to install them.”
“An alarm?”
“And a Ring camera, maybe cameras for some other spots around the house, too. You really need better security.”
“I have great security at the LA house, and look what it got me. I never needed it here.”
“Why didn’t you bring a bodyguard with you?”
I sigh. “I mean, it gets old, having people in your house all the time. Like, all the time. I’m kind of a loner. I like to be alone.”
“Funny career choice, then.”
“Fair enough. I think you can be both an introvert and an extrovert at the same time. Be a loner and also like people. You can be more than one thing.”
He studies my face for a moment, which gives me a chance to do the same to his. His mouth is wide and turns down slightly at the corners, and his neck shows the years of sun exposure. It makes my midsection pinch ever so slightly, that I have missed all the years between the long-ago days and now. “That’s true.” He takes my hand across the table. “I am so glad this happened. And I’m really sure it was a terrible idea.”
A sting of tears makes me blink. “Are you sorry?”
“No, no, no!” He brings my hand to his mouth. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“What, then?”
Instead of answering, he stands and draws me up so he can press me into his chest. I can hear his heart beating and his arms are fierce and tender. “It feels like six minutes have gone by since those days. It feels the same.” His voice is low. “And I also know that we live in really different worlds.”
It’s true. There’s really no way around it. “I know.”
“What will you do today?”
I look at the water. “Maybe go back over some scripts my agent sent.”
It’s subtle, but I feel him move ever so slightly away from me. “Huh. That must be kind of fun.”
“Maybe. Depends.” I sigh. “I’m not going back to the series. I’m tired of the long hours and the early calls and . . . all of it.”
He watches me carefully with those big dark eyes, and I remember again how well he could listen. “It’s a pretty big show, though, right?”
“Yeah. And really, I just don’t care.”
For long moments, he drinks his coffee and stares at the sea. “Not to overstep, but sometimes not caring can be a sign of depression.”
“I’ve thought of that,” I answer. “My therapist has suggested the same thing. But honestly, between the pandemic and the attack, I started thinking about what I want for the next stage of my life. It’s not that.”
“What do you want?”
I shake my head slowly. “That’s the question. I have absolutely no idea.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
I smile. “I’m sure. Thank you.” He drains his coffee and I ask, “Do you want another cup?”
“Much as I’d love to sit here with you, I really do have to get my day started.”
“Okay.” I walk him to the door and stand with my arms crossed as he gathers his coat. “You are coming back, right?”
He pauses. Stands in the middle of his redwood stillness and says, “I’m coming back.”
THEN
THE TRACKS OF MY TEARS
Phoebe
Suze had been at the Magdalene Home for Unwed Mothers for nearly a month before I could convince my dad to drive me there. My mother had moved to LA as planned, leaving my dad and me to deal with the mess of her departure, including putting the house up for sale and figuring out where we were going to move. My parents had agreed to let me stay with my dad in Portland rather than going to LA with my mom. My dad had so much on his mind that I felt bad asking, but Suze called a bunch of times and it was strange and awkward. She was so furious with everyone that she was like the hero who turns into a villain. When I tried to make her feel better or cheer her up, she lashed out at me.
And I kept thinking of her having sex with Joel. Actual sex, with his naked body, his beautiful lips. If that was even true. But who else? I asked and she told me it was Victor. Who told me himself he was gay. At least that’s what I thought he meant when he said he was a fairy.
It all made me feel sick to my stomach. I missed my mother more than I thought I would, but if I thought she’d warm up after the divorce, I was wrong. I cried at night sometimes, feeling like my entire world had been trashed, like some giant hand of fate had upended my box of toys and flung them all over the room.
And the one person I would have poured my heart out to had way bigger problems. A couple of times I tried to tell her how sad I was, and I could tell she thought I was an idiot.
But just because you don’t have the worst problem in the world doesn’t mean it isn’t a real problem to you.
So I was reluctant to go see her. How could I make any of it better? Her dad, the fire, the beating. I was afraid to see her with her shaved head.
It was Amma who shamed me into it, appalled that I hadn’t been there to support her. It made me mad, honestly. Suze had problems, but so did I! My parents were getting divorced and I was losing the only house I’d ever lived in, and nobody seemed to care!
Why did it always have to be about Suze?
The home was a long way across town, too far for me to be able to take a bus. My dad finally agreed to drive me there after he finished classes on a Thursday afternoon.
Rain fell hard that day, and the neighborhood was not the greatest. The house was a tall Victorian with a big porch that hadn’t been painted in a long time. My dad peered at it. “This is where they sent her?” He swore under his breath.
“I guess. This is the address, right?”
“Yes.” He smoothed his beard between his fingers. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
A part of me was really afraid of going up those steps, into that world, but I shook my head. “No.”
“I’ll come back in . . . what? An hour? An hour and a half?”
“Hour and a half. I haven’t seen her in months.”
“Take your time. I’ll be right out here.”
I dashed to the porch and up the steps, feeling like a girl in a gothic story. The screen door was extra wide and the door behind was open. I knocked, and a girl who looked younger than me appeared. She was enormously pregnant, her belly like a ball stuck on her body. “Yeah?”
“I’m here to visit Suze Ogden?”
“She know you’re coming?”
“Yes.”
She pushed the door open and I slid inside, dashing water off my hair. “She’s in room seven. Two flights up on the right.”
“Thanks.”