Cape May (24 page)

When she wasn’t planning or vacuuming the dirt and dust brought about by the workers and the work, she was baking and trying new recipes. The Cape May library became a second home to her. She read more books to expand her knowledge of Victoriana, and memorized dates of Cape May’s history, using homemade flash cards. She started interviewing employees and writing pieces for a blog to publicize the November opening of the house. The website she helped design already had traffic and inquiries.

Joanna appreciated that there was always something to do/learn/fix, knowing she was now officially an inn workaholic. After years of doing work she couldn’t care less about, the change was remarkable and welcome. The few moments she allowed herself to relax, she’d sit on her deck, with a partial view of the ocean. The sunsets and sunrises were beautiful and bittersweet.

Occasionally she’d stop in another bed and breakfast and introduce herself to the owners. Although her inn would be competition for the other inns, the innkeepers were unfailingly welcoming and helpful. They’d discuss their own additions, renovations, color choices, and landscaping ideas. She was beginning to make friends.

Waves of longing passed through her when she saw the outside of the arcade, or Morrow’s Nut House, neither one of which she’d set foot in since relocating. Life in New York City seemed so long ago. Knowing it was a drive away made it easier. She wanted to remain active in New York culture and also see friends who were still talking to her after what she did to Brian. Through the Internet, she kept in touch with them, ex-coworkers, and former neighbors. In fact, she’d reconnected with both childhood and college friends and used social networking to keep people up-to-date with the progress of the renovations. The Tea & Scones already had one-hundred seventy-five “friends.”

She wondered, had Brian begun to hate her less? He’d have to call and tell her because she’d never call him again. Had Michael moved on with his life? She missed him every day, but knew their relationship would never work. He could never trust her again. She did her best to put him out of her thoughts. Most of the time it didn’t work.

The next time Cynthia visited, after an outing with Rich she joined Joanna for a cup of coffee on the front porch. “Cape May is starting to feel like my second home. And not just because of my new boyfriend.”

“It’s entrancing here, isn’t it?”

“This house is like my niece or something. I look forward to visiting her and seeing how she’s changed. You’ve done a good job of raising her. I’m glad you’re happy here.”

“Happy?” Joanna said the word as if she’d never heard it before. “Yes, I guess I am.”

Cynthia said, “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

Joanna chose her words carefully. “I’m happy with the house. Ridiculously happy. I adore it. I belong here. Cape May is perfect for me.”

“But?”

“Not so much
but
. Maybe
and
.” Joanna paused. “You know I got my divorce papers a while ago?”

“You told me.”

“Took me a week to open the envelope and then three days to sign them.”

“You haven’t changed your mind about anything,
have you?”

“No. I signed them, and mailed them back. I’m officially
divorced.”

Cynthia said, “We’re both happy-go-lucky singles now, huh?”

“I’m certainly not feeling that. I feel guilty. Less than before, but still.”

“Life happens, Joanna. If it helps you at all, Brian’s not doing too bad. Even had a date last week.”

“Wow. Brian on a date. Good for him. Did I tell you I called him, to check in and apologize?”

“How’d he take it?”

“Very well. He told me to fuck myself and never call again.”

“Oh, that’s a start I guess.”

“But somehow I felt a little better. And I’m glad I called. If he’s embarking on the dating ship, he should know nothing was his fault.”

“Joanna, it wasn’t all your fault. Forget
fault
anyway. Brian wasn’t perfect. And he sure as hell wasn’t right for you. That you made it twenty years is amazing.”

“Sister, I think you might be right.”

Suddenly Cynthia walked over to Joanna and hugged her.

“What?”

“I’m proud of you, and I like the new and improved you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. You know, I’ve been self-examining, a lot. Seeing a therapist, too.”

“Good! I couldn’t live without mine.”

“I’d love to just blame everything on our parents.”

“They’re dead. Go ahead.”

“I do, partly. But I’m a grown up. It’s too late to throw everything at them. I suppose they did their best. I’ve been thinking, about everything. In the Too Late Department,
looking over my whole life, I regret most not having children.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely too late. I’m sorry.”

“This house, though, feels like the best of me. It feels like what I’ve heard mothers say about their children: that I’ve learned more from this house than this house could ever get from me. I know it’s a poor analogy, but I think you get me. Yes?”

Cynthia nodded. “I do get you. And as I’ve stated I’m proud of you. And I’m hungry.” She headed to the kitchen. “I’ll make us sandwiches.”

Joanna posted some new pictures of the house online, then stared out the window for a few minutes. She loved seeing the Victorians across the street. And the trees. She did love living here. She was, she realized, indeed happy.

Eventually she joined Cynthia in the kitchen. Cynthia said, “You’re out of milk. You want me to go?”

“I’d like to get out for some air.”

“Great. I’ll sit and read.”

Joanna walked out of the house and down the path, stopped, turned around and gazed up at her newly painted house. The colors were perfect. Exactly what she wanted, and the repairs inside and out were coming along nicely. It was her house, the realization of her dreams. She felt a surge of pride. The house would be finished soon, if the workers kept to her schedule, and they would.

Her phone buzzed, indicating an email. Joanna touched all the necessary icons to see that the Tea & Scones had its first reservation! Six people checking in the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, checking out on Sunday. Three rooms! She shrieked with joy…and immediately wanted to tell the good news to Michael. The rush of feeling was so overwhelming she rushed to the front steps to sit down before she
fell down.

With her head between her knees, somehow, suddenly right there, everything clicked into place for her. She breathed deeply. In. Out. Five full times. She paced on the path a few times, gathering her strength and thoughts for what she knew she had to do. She took out her cell phone and punched in Michael’s phone number. Hearing his recorded greeting flustered her and she almost hung up anonymously, but realized her number would appear under his “recent calls.” She started talking and then froze and then hung up. “Damn!”

She called again.

“Michael, it’s Joanna. I want to drive up to Manhattan to talk to you if, if you’re willing to see me. Please call me.”

She was filled with such nervous energy she started walking, quickly, down the block, and then back a few times. Her phone buzzed and she attacked it, thinking it was him. It was a text from Cynthia: “r u milking cow im hungry” with a smiley icon.

When Joanna returned to the Tea & Scones, her sister was dozing in a comfortable chair. Cynthia opened her eyes and said, “Something’s different. You look glowy.”

“I called him. I called Michael, and left a message, and now I’m terrified he won’t call me back. Oh, Cynthia,” she went over to her sister and hugged her, smiling and crying. “I know what I want.” She sat down and stood up again. “I called him.” She sat down. “I’m starving.”

Cynthia got up, saying, “I’ll make us tea and we can eat,” and went into the kitchen.

Joanna was left alone with her thoughts. She shook them out of her head and tried to answer some emails, but couldn’t concentrate.

After four hours of no phone calls, she tried again. “Michael, I understand if you hate me but please, I have to talk to you. I’m driving up to New York. I should be there by seven or eight, depending on the traffic.”

She ran up the stairs to where Cynthia was napping. She knocked on the bedroom door. “Cynthia, I need your help. I’m driving to Manhattan. I need you to stay here to get some deliveries and let the painter in. He’s stopping by soon but I can’t wait for him. Maybe he’ll be cute and you can start dating him, too.”

“Oh, aren’t we suddenly full of fun.”

“Fun? I’m terrified. Michael has every right to never speak to me again.”

“Good luck, Jo. Truly. Good luck.” They hugged and Joanna ran down the stairs. She was so invigorated she felt she might get to Manhattan faster if she walked. Still, she got in her car, turned the key, and her phone rang.

She answered it and heard, “Don’t bother driving to Manhattan.” It was Michael.

“Please. I’m in the car. Let me come and see you.”

“Then come to Henry’s. I’m here.”

***

He was in a booth, with three research books open in front of him. The first draft of his book was done and he was editing it. He’d come to Cape May for more research at the historical society. Although he tried to concentrate, every ounce of him wanted to look for her, to scan the patrons arriving at the restaurant. It had taken all his will power not to call her back immediately after her first phone call. But he had to protect himself from further hurt. Suddenly he felt very emotional and tears filled his eyes. Grown men aren’t supposed to cry in diners so he propped up the large menu in front of his face.

A moment later, he heard, “Lemonade?”

“No, I didn’t order…” he said, and looked up to see Joanna holding a large glass of lemonade with ice and two straws in it.

He didn’t offer, so she asked, “Can I sit down?” He didn’t reply, and instead slowly closed the books and notebooks, wiping his eyes as discreetly as possible.

She quickly put the lemonade down, some of it spilling on the table, and sat opposite him. He stared at her, still too
mad at her to speak. Mad at himself, too, that he was excited
to see her again. Mad that her frantic phone messages fanned that spark of hope that he couldn’t extinguish, as much as he stomped on it. His gaze was so penetrating she had to look away, grabbing some napkins to wipe up the little spill.

She spoke slowly, and carefully, not meeting those angry, hurt eyes again. “I can’t even begin to apologize, or explain that I was scared and overwhelmed, by us. Mostly I want to tell you that I’m sorry I hurt you by trying so hard not to hurt you.” She knew she was taking too long, and that any second he could jump up and leave her so she tried to hurry. “Michael, I wish…if I could…”

A waitress came over, saying, “What can I get youse?” and plopping down another menu for Joanna.

Joanna squeaked out, “Oh,” and picked up the menu. It shook in her hands. “Coffee.” The waitress walked away. Joanna looked into Michael’s searching eyes and tried to start again, “I wanted to…to…” but the interruption made her lose her nerve. “I…I…” and she froze.

He saw the fear in her eyes, “Go on.”

She looked down, and shook her head. “I can’t yet.”

“I’m not going anywhere. What was so important that you were going to drive to Manhattan for?”

She breathed deeply a few times. When she looked at him, his eyes were softer. It gave her the courage to say, “I’m sorry. I feel like that’s all I’ve been saying for months and
that it has no power to actually make anyone feel any better.”

The waitress put a cup of coffee on the table. Joanna took a sip, spilling some in the saucer when she put it down. She grabbed a napkin and folded it neatly under the cup. After a moment she said, “You’re partly to blame for all this, you know.”

“Me? How?”

“You were technically decades late. I gave up on the concept of Mr. Right a very long time ago. Then you show up. But Brian…I couldn’t… After that, I felt I…no, I
knew
I didn’t deserve you. That I’d ruin it somehow. That maybe even somehow I’d begin to think less of you because you loved…because you cared for me.”

“Who’s to say there’s a time schedule for anything in life. And if you think you don’t deserve me, that’s not real. That’s one of your demons talking. You can’t listen to it.”

“Maybe. But it’s been a scary loud demon for so long.”

They each took a few seconds. She sipped at the tasteless coffee, and he watched her. He continued, “What about me deserving you? I was willing to fight for you. Over and over again. Humiliating myself.”

“No, you didn’t. You were brave and wonderful and I admire you.” Her eyes were shining. “And I’d fight Satan, Hitler, and Klingons for you. Fighting my demons, though, that’s harder.”

He was still cautious. “You feeling stronger now?
To fight?”

She nodded. “I’ve grown. Pursuing my dream. Learning. I’m becoming someone I like.”

“You should. The house is glowing because of you.” She
looked at him quizzically. “I drive by it, when I’m down here.”