15

AT HOME, John made his way down for a nap. His sleep was restful and he awoke with an erection. Not such a surprising occurrence, but it was accompanied by an urgent desire to see Ruth. The feeling was as welcome as it was intense, and so, disturbing.

Showered and dressed, he went up to the main house. The sky had clouded over and the late afternoon had come with a chill. He asked for keys to either of the cars.

“We’ll be eating soon,” Lisa said.

“I’ll grab something while I’m out,” he said and felt suddenly transparent. He regretted his words and faced away from his smiling son. “I’d just like to get out.”

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked.

“I’m going out,” he said.

“Well, pardon me,” she said.

“Here you go, Dad,” Elgin said, tossing over the keys to the MG.

“Thanks.”

He felt embarrassed and uncomfortable as he left the house and suddenly all of this seemed unwise. He reasoned that wisdom was for younger men; there was little he could lose to indiscretion.

Oliver was repairing his picket fence, nailing scattered slats into place. Lorraine sat behind him in her chair on the walk leading from the street to the house. John stopped the car and got out.

“Hello, there,” he said.

“Hi, tiger,” said Lorraine.

John sighed and shuffled to a halt at the gate, gave a chilly look Oliver’s way.

“Christ, John, I didn’t know it was a secret.”

John observed Lorraine’s wide grin, and although it was warm and friendly, he felt as if he were being berated.

“Oh, John,” she laughed. “Relax. I think it’s good.”

“I suppose.”

“She’s a nice girl.” Girl was the wrong word and Lorraine’s face showed she’d caught her slip.

“She is that.” John passed over the remark. “I’m off to pay her a visit now.” Saying it flat-out like that gave him some faith in himself. He felt stronger. “So, how’s the fence coming?”

“I’ll be a good neighbor soon,” Oliver said. “How was fishing?”

“I was the only catch.”

“That seems to be the prevalent thinking,” Lorraine said.

Oliver laughed and pounded a nail. “She swings a long, double-edged sword.”

John laughed also. “On that note…”

Ruth was in the yard with her dog. The animal ran to John. He took the spit-covered, tooth-dented Frisbee from Walter’s mouth and gave it a poor toss that caused it to hit the ground on edge and roll a curved path away from the dog. He wiped his hand on his pants as he walked toward Ruth. He wasn’t sure how this meeting should go, if he should embrace and kiss her right off or wait for something to develop. Ruth took care of it; she put her arms around his neck and placed her lips against his. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

“I should have called.”

“Don’t be silly.” She pointed at the clouds. “Looks like we might have a blow. Hungry?”

John nodded.

“Good. Let’s go down to town and grab a bite.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

Ruth laughed at the story of the day’s fishing trip. She ate heartily, but John poked at his meal.

“I really do love your laugh,” he said. Someone had switched on a radio. “Listen. That’s Dinah Washington.” He smiled to himself. “Singing ‘Back Water Blues.’ It’s been ages.” He realized that he’d lost Ruth. “Don’t you know Dinah Washington?”

She shook her head.

“I guess you wouldn’t. What sort of music do you listen to? Do you like jazz?”

“I like some of it.”

“What about Charlie Parker, Lester Young, Dizzy Gillespie?”

“I don’t really know them.”

He lit a cigarette, shook the match out, and dropped it in the ashtray.

“Relax,” she said. “We know different things by just being from different parts of the country. Think about it that way.”

He breathed easier. Her intelligence made him comfortable. He felt more confident, even when he noticed the couple about his age staring at him and Ruth. He smiled warmly at them. They harrumphed and focused their attention on each other. The rain started outside.

“You’ve hardly eaten,” Ruth said.

“I guess I wasn’t so hungry after all.” He pushed his plate away. Looking out the window, “I was going to suggest a walk on the beach.”

“Why don’t we just go home and have a drink?”

“I’d like that.”

“Let’s go then.”

The fire in the wood stove did more than take the edge off the night air. They opened a window and undressed, sat on the floor a few feet from the stove and nursed their drinks. The only light was from the small lamp in the corner.

John looked at the collection of bits on the wall. “Reminds me of some of the stuff you hear about these days,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“The bits. You know, the MS stuff, whips and chains.”

“SM.” She laughed.

“Whatever.” He lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling, listened to the fire pop. “I love the night.”

She dragged a fingernail lightly across his chest.

“You should see the skies we get in Virginia.”

“I’d love to.”

“Sometimes it’s this light purple, almost lavender. I can’t describe it.”

“I can see it,” she said. She moved her hand up and stroked his forehead. “Do you miss your wife?”

“Now and then. Not right now.” He was lying.