She rolls up her sleeve to show me a small tattoo near her elbow, resembling a blue knot wound into the shape of a triangle. “A Celtic knot,” she says. “Tristan and I got these matching tattoos on the Ave. Spur of the moment.”
She told me this before—how she feels about her son. “He’s at the University of Washington.”
“Finishing his freshman year.” She unrolls her sleeve, letting it fall loosely over her wrist.
“He was leaving last summer, when we visited. You were sad.”
“I’m getting used to it now,” she says. “But I was a little insane after he left. Even with Van around, the house felt empty. I missed Tristan so much, still do. I’m sure Van didn’t approve of the number of times I went over to visit. Tristan started getting sick of me, too.”
“I’m sure he loves seeing you,” I say.
“He’s the best son a mother could ever hope for. He was always sensitive, always a reader. He had intelligent questions from the time he could talk. He started speaking in complete sentences at the age of two.”
“That’s remarkable,” I say, a stirring of melancholy inside me.
“You and Jake were trying, you said.”
“We were.”
“In my case, it was the opposite. Van’s sperm barely blew in my direction, and I got pregnant. It was the last thing I wanted.”
“Yes, isn’t it ironic, the way things work out?” I sense an unseen river flowing beneath the surface of my marriage to Jacob. We were trying to get pregnant, but there was more to our story, just out of reach. I’m surprised to feel a tear sliding down my cheek.
Jacob and I arrive at the Whale Tale at dusk. The restaurant sits on a high bluff overlooking the sea. The dining room is small, only ten tables widely spaced for privacy. Another couple huddles together in a far corner. The sky is brushed with the last rosy shades of an October sunset. Jacob reaches across the table to take my hand. Our wedding rings glint in the candlelight. The flame flickers between us, accentuating the angles and shadows of his face. He’s clean-shaven, in a white button-down dress shirt.
“How did it go at the school?” he says.
“It went well. Speaking to the students felt natural. I guess it came back to me.”
“That’s good, right? You sound thoughtful.”
“Nancy and I went for a walk afterwards, too.”
“And? Did she ease your mind?”
“More than sufficiently. But . . . she told me other things.”
“Uh-oh, what? I told you to be careful of her.”
“I didn’t realize she and Van were pregnant before they got married. I remembered feeling sad when we were trying, maybe because we couldn’t?”
He reaches across the table to rest his comforting hand on mine. “It doesn’t mean we won’t be able to have children in the future.”
I slip my hand out of his, take a drink of water. “I don’t know if I want kids. It was just a feeling. Nothing specific came back to me.” This is a lie, and I’m not sure why I have this instinct to hold back the truth, but Sylvia said I should trust my instincts. I wish I could talk to her now, but in her answering machine message, she said she’s away for a few days. She didn’t tell me she would be gone.
“Does this place bring back anything?” Jacob says.
“It is romantic,” I say. “But no. Nothing.”
“Let me help you along. I could start with the pleasure points.”
My blood is rising again. I open the menu in front of my face, and he chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” I say.
“You’re cute,” he says. “Shy.”
“For all I know, you say the same thing to all your secret girlfriends.”
“Yeah, that’s me. I have secret girlfriends stashed all over the world.”
“Do you?” I look over the top of the menu.
“Do I what?”
“Have secret girlfriends stashed all over the world.” My stomach makes a strange turn.
“Hell yeah,” he says, opening his menu.
“Where are they, these girlfriends?”
He keeps looking at the menu. “I can’t keep track. France, Iceland, Canada . . .”
“Here on the island, too?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “She’s the only one I care about.”
“What’s she like?” I’m trying to focus on the appetizers. Feta cheese wrapped in grape leaves . . . corn masa cake.
“Wild hair, the kind you can get your fingers tangled in . . . gorgeous eyes.” He looks into my eyes, and I feel a stirring inside me.
“She sounds like quite something.” I focus on the main menu. Mediterranean salad. Shredded romaine and Napa cabbage tossed in lemon vinaigrette with fresh mint . . . “Should I be jealous of her?”
“Not at all.”
“Good evening, folks!” The young waitress trots over. Everything about her is bouncy, especially her ponytail. “What can I get for you two?”
I order the East Indian vegetarian platter. Chard leaves stuffed with a spiced potato–pine nut filling . . . served with red lentil dal . . . Jacob orders the pan-seared scallops with ginger sake, served with sesame scallion rice cakes and seasonal vegetables.
“Great choices!” The waitress bounces off and returns a moment later with the wine menu.
“No, thanks,” I say automatically.
Jacob grabs the menu. “Wait. You love sweet wines.”
“But I shouldn’t—”