The tide’s high, the wind strong from the east, the water lapping over the marsh grass and splashing onto the dirt road in front of my Toyota. The headlights, even on high beam, hardly penetrate the fog. Slow, I tell myself. Slow, and you’ll be fine.
At the edge of Tony’s property the metal gate seems to appear out of nowhere and I hit the brakes, shaken. He told you it would be locked, remember? When I finally get the combination to work and slip the chain off the lock, the wind catches the gate, sends it swinging away from me, screeching on its hinges.
Where’s the car that belongs to his ex-girlfriend? It’s gone. The house is dark. I grope for the key. I can hear the dogs barking on the other side of the door. “Hey, girls, calm down. It’s me.” I find the light switch in the hall. The dogs take turns licking my hands, dancing around me. I almost trip over Carmen. “Okay, okay. Settle down. Where’s Beatrice?” Her carrier’s not in its usual spot on the counter by the telephone.
The dogs follow me back to Tony’s bedroom. “Beatrice?” She’s not on the bed or the easy chair. “Beatrice?” Susie and Sheba bark at the sound of her name. Carmen presses her nose against the back of my knee, whimpers. I reach around, stroke her under her chin. The dogs follow me as I check the back porch, make another round through the bedrooms, the bathroom, even open the closets, just in case. My call to Tony goes to voice mail.
I’m about to dial the sheriff when I see the note on the refrigerator door, sharing a magnet with a photo of Tony’s son. Sally—Beatrice is okay. Call me, I’ll explain. Maureen. Tony’s receptionist hasn’t left a number, and of course the clinic’s closed. I try Tony again, leave another message.
The retrievers have settled down but Carmen’s whimpering. I sit for a minute at the kitchen table, stroking her under her chin. “I can’t stay, honey. Not tonight.” When I try to leave she lifts her head and howls—a desperate wailing that sounds almost human—and she won’t stop until I reach for her leash on the hook beside the front door. She holds her head still while I attach it to her collar, as if she knows I need all the help I can get.
* * *
The beagle and I share the elevator with a man I remember from the home owners’ party. He’s too young for this place, I had thought. Maybe he was thinking the same thing about me. I chose this place because it was quiet, blessedly devoid of college kids and their all-night parties, but the longer I live here the more it seems like a retirement home.
“I hope you found your mother!” He smiles. He’s handsome, black hair graying at the temples, dark eyes, skin a deep bronze. There’s a stethoscope around his neck. At the party he’d tried to start a conversation, but I was too busy looking for Mom.
“Yes. She didn’t go far.”
“Nice dog,” he says, nodding at Carmen. When the doors open he turns, doesn’t notice when the stethoscope falls to the floor. I call after him, “Wait, you dropped—”
“Thanks … Long day.” Then his eyes snap to attention. “Aren’t you … You’re the lawyer for the cat, right? I saw you on CNN.”
The doors close before I have a chance to answer.
* * *
What I need tonight is what I never have anymore—the apartment to myself. Even in those first few months after the divorce, when it felt strange not to see Joe’s face across the dinner table, I took guilty pleasure in my solitude, in eating whenever or whatever I wanted, savoring the hours before bedtime, reading a novel or, if I was too tired, mindlessly watching TV.
Maybe I’m unfit for anyone’s company but my own, I told Ellen then.
Don’t be ridiculous.
I mean it. I miss Joe, but I don’t miss having to—it’s hard to explain—negotiate over everything.
She laughed. I know what you mean. But Hank and I don’t do that much anymore. I have my sphere of influence, he has his. We’ve worked it out.
You’re a nicer person than I am.
I’m just realistic. Two people can’t occupy the same space without a lot of compromise. But if you find the right person, you can work it out.
But until Tony, I’ve never come close to cohabitation again. There was the sexy carpenter who built new cabinets for the condo. I’ll just leave my tools here until the job’s finished, he said. He’d pick up something for dinner and have it waiting for me when I got home from the office. He had a nice muscled chest and took pride in his work—both the carpentry and the lovemaking—but when he started hinting about moving in, I panicked. I couldn’t imagine living with him for the next year, much less the rest of my life. And by then I had my mother.
“Good heavens!” she says as I come in with the beagle. She only says ‘Good heavens’ when she’s trying to impress someone. Even “Good Lord!” is to be avoided in polite company—like Ed Shand, who’s sitting next to her on the sofa, his arm over her shoulder. The living room’s dark except for the TV. He jumps to attention, mumbling something about Humphrey Bogart. I flick on the ceiling light. Delores, who’s stretched out in Mom’s recliner, opens her eyes.
“Sorry I’m running late,” I say.
“We’ve been doing fine here,” says Ed. “Your mother just loves Casablanca.”
“Ed cooked dinner for us,” says Mom, patting the beagle’s head. “He’s such a splendid cook! Don’t you agree, Delores?”
“Spending the night?” says Delores, eyeing the dog.
But my mother misunderstands. “Oh, no,” she says, blushing. “We aren’t—”
“Not that I wouldn’t jump at any chance to spend more time with your lovely mother,” Ed says to me, “but I should be going. Looks like you have a full house tonight, anyway.” He kisses my mother’s hand. “Good night, Margaret. Thanks for the advice, Delores. Good night, Sally.”
“What advice?” I ask Delores when he’s gone.
“I told him he better be careful,” she says.
“Good.”
“Stop that!” she says to Carmen, who’s sniffing her shoes. “You go on, now, get away from me!”
“I’m sorry you had to stay late.” I tell her about the missing cat. “But she’s okay. Maureen—the vet’s receptionist—has her.”
“Good. We don’t need no cat around here. And not another dog, neither.”
I’m too tired to argue. “Have a good weekend, Delores. See you Monday.”
Before she goes, Delores whispers into my ear, “I told Mr. Ed Shand about your mama’s sickness, how her mind’s all messed up. I told him he best be careful, ’cause if he breaks her heart, I’m gonna break his skinny little neck.”
“You said that?”
“Not those exact words, but he got the message!”