The Beach House (24 page)

“I love you, Mom,” he mouths, and she smiles at him before sinking into a chair, taking a cigarette out of the pack and putting it to her lips for Michael to light.

Richard and Carrie are downstairs eating dinner. Jess is supposed to be sitting with them but she’s in her room, angry.

Her dad had said that he would take her to the amusement arcade today, and now, all of a sudden, he and Carrie have to build bookshelves and they have to go to Home Depot, so he doesn’t have time to take her. Maybe they’ll go tomorrow, he said.

This happens all the time. All the things they did before Carrie came along, he doesn’t have time for anymore. Sometimes he pawns her off on Carrie, and yes, it’s fun, going to the nail salon with Carrie, or going out for lunch, going shopping to one of the cute teen stores in town, but it’s not the same as being with her father.

This isn’t what she expected when she ran away from her mom’s and insisted on living with her dad. She thought it would be just like it was before Carrie came along—time with him, just the two of them, having fun. Sure, she knew things were different now, she couldn’t pretend that Carrie didn’t exist, but she still thought he’d make her the priority, and now it seemed that Carrie was the priority.

Sometimes she just feels so angry—like she explained it to Carrie—it’s as though a volcano is going to explode inside her.

She had to come upstairs, because otherwise she might have just stood on the kitchen table and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

She knows she says terrible things when she’s angry, and she’s trying to contain herself, trying to stay in her room, but it’s not much better in here except she’s just less likely to say something awful to her dad.

Taking a deep breath, Jess crawls over to the other side of the bed and reaches into her bedside drawer, pulling out the stuffed animals and the makeup. She doesn’t wear makeup, not usually, but this was so sparkly, and so inviting, why not? Maybe she should start. She has just lined the animals up on the pillow and opened the box of glittering eyeshadows, when she hears footsteps coming up the stairs.

Quickly she sweeps everything into the drawer and slams it firmly shut, crossing her arms and pouting as Richard knocks gently on the door.

Jess had been standing in Target with her friend Kayleigh when the urge came over her. She wasn’t even sure why she did it—she had twenty dollars in her pocket that Carrie had given her when she’d begged for money, but there were huge lines at the checkout, the lipgloss had been cheap, and who would ever miss it or care, she thought, as she slipped it up her sleeve.

“I’ve had enough,” she said quickly to Kayleigh, her heart pounding, her voice breathless and high with anxiety. “Let’s go.”

“I thought you wanted to see the bedroom stuff,” Kayleigh said.

“Not today. We’ll come back tomorrow,” Jess said, and walked out, not looking at anyone, guilt preventing her from catching anyone’s eye until she was safely in Kayleigh’s mom’s car, when the burst of adrenaline made her high and giggly.

“What’s the matter with you?” Kayleigh kept asking. “You’re crazy!” They had both giggled uncontrollably.

That had been a few days ago. Since then Jess has stolen more makeup, toiletries, a variety of Webkinz and some Polly Pocket toys. She doesn’t know why she is doing it, nor why she is drawn to those things—she doesn’t wear makeup or use toiletries, and she has long outgrown Webkinz and Polly Pockets, but she can’t help it and certainly can’t explain it.

Each time she leaves the store, something safely hidden under her sweatshirt, each time she manages to get home without getting caught, she feels happy in a way she hasn’t felt in months, not since before the divorce.

Every time she is in her room she gets her stuff out and looks at it. She opens the boxes and sets out her wares in lines, color-coded, moving them around in different arrangements, but she doesn’t use anything, doesn’t take the tags off the toys, doesn’t scrape off the stickers. She just likes to see what she’s got, although the buzz is short-lived. The first time, when it was just a lipgloss, she felt high all night, happy and giddy with excitement. Every time she opened the drawer and saw the shiny pink tube, she felt good again.

Already, after only a few days, the excitement isn’t as great, but still more than she usually gets in her boring old life. Maybe she should try somewhere else. Maybe next time she should go to Kool Klothes.

“So what do you want to talk to me about?” Bee is nervous, running her fingers around the top of her coffee cup in the Sconset Café. “I thought you wanted our lawyers to handle everything.” She can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice, nor the fear.

Daniel takes a deep breath and tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

“What is it, Daniel?” Bee looks at him closely. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Daniel shakes his head then looks at her. “Bee, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Horror floods into her eyes as a thought comes into her head. “You were having an affair,” she whispers, her breath catching in her throat. Not a question, a statement.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I would never do that to you. I swear to you, Bee, I’ve never been unfaithful to you.”

Her relief is palpable. “So what is it? What could be so terrible that you can’t tell me?”

“I don’t know how to tell you.” His face is white, his breath short and shallow. “This is something I’ve known for a long time, but something I didn’t want to face. I thought I could just deny it, but I can’t do that anymore . . .”

“You’re gay.” Bee spits the words out, a reflex, she doesn’t think about what she’s saying and expects Daniel to rebuff her, to laugh or tell her she’s being ridiculous, but she also knows, as soon as the words are out, that they are true, and when Daniel looks down, unable to meet her eye, it’s confirmed.

“Oh Jesus!” Bee shakes her head and laughs bitterly as she looks up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Daniel doesn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing he can manage.

“
You’re
sorry?” She attempts a laugh again, still bitter, mirthless. "
I’m
sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to all my friends before we got married. Everyone told me they thought you were gay and I told them they were ridiculous, you were just sensitive, in touch with your feminine side. I can’t believe how stupid I was.”

“You weren’t stupid. I didn’t even know myself.” Daniel doesn’t know what to say. He had expected many things, but not this bitter derision, not this anger.

“Oh my God!” Bee says again. “No wonder! No wonder you never wanted to sleep with me. I thought it was
me,
that you didn’t fancy
me,
that I was somehow deficient, not sexy enough, not thin enough, not curvy enough, whatever . . . It
was
me, but not in the way I thought.”

Daniel shrugs uncomfortably and looks away.

“You
swear
you never slept with anyone else?” she says suddenly. “You swear on your life?”

“I swear.”

“I mean—God, the health risks. You swear . . .” She pauses, then says something she never thought she’d hear herself say. “You swear on the children’s lives?”

“I do.” Daniel is shocked, but at least he is able to answer truthfully. “I swear on the children’s lives I have never been unfaithful. Bee, honestly, this is new to me too. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I did have AIDS tests when I was pregnant,” Bee spits, “so at least I know we’re all fine.”

“Jesus, Bee.” Daniel shakes his head in disbelief. “Is that all you have to say? That you’re relieved you haven’t got AIDS?”

“I don’t know, Daniel. What do you want me to say? That I’m thrilled? That now I know it wasn’t me and there is nothing I could have done to save our marriage? Do you want me to welcome you into my life as my new gay best friend? Should we hang out together and gossip, perhaps? Or maybe you want to come into my closet and tell me which clothes I should keep and which I should chuck. Come to think of it, you always were pretty good at that.”

“Jesus, Bee. Do you have to be so goddamned bitchy?”

“You know what, Daniel?” Tears start to fall as Bee stands up abruptly from the table. “Yes. Yes, I fucking do. My husband of nearly six years has just announced that our entire marriage was a sham, that everything I ever believed to be true was a lie—and you don’t think it’s okay to be bitchy? I don’t even know what to say to you.” Bee shakes her head and holds up her hand to stop Daniel saying anything in return. “I can’t, Daniel. I can’t talk to you anymore. Not tonight.”

And with that, she’s gone, and Daniel sits there with his cold coffee for over an hour, unable to think. Unable to move.

“Are you okay?” Daff’s sitting on the porch, sketching, as Daniel walks down the driveway. “You look terrible.”

“I’ve been better,” he says and sighs.

“What is it?” Daff puts her notebook down and gestures for Daniel to sit.

“I just told Bee.”

Daff’s eyes widen. “You mean, you just
told
her?” Daniel nods. “Oh God,” she says, wanting to put her arms around him to hug him but not quite sure if that would be appropriate, given that this is someone she barely knows. “How did she take it?”

Daniel snorts. “Let’s just say not well.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I suppose I had this romantic vision of her accepting it and appreciating my honesty, and of us being able to walk away from this as friends.”

“That could still happen,” Daff says gently. “It will just take some time for all of it to sink in, I imagine. And she’s bound to be upset in the beginning. This is something you’ve presumably lived with, on some level, for years, but it’s got to be an enormous shock to her.”

“It wasn’t that she was upset that was so difficult. It was her anger.” Daniel sighs again. “I just didn’t expect the force of her anger.”

“It must have been so hard.”

He nods. “Hey, thanks for listening.” Daniel turns to Daff and this time she just opens her arms and gives him a hug, and he holds her gratefully before letting go.

“Nan? There’s something wrong with the bedroom window in my room.” Daff coughs discreetly as a wave of smoke from Nan’s cigarette wafts gently up her nose. “I can’t open it.”

“Michael will take a look,” Nan says. “He went into town a little while ago, but he said he’d be back before lunch. I’ll send him up as soon as he gets in. Have you any sort of breeze in there? Windermere gets stifling so quickly without the windows open.”

“A little. I opened the bathroom window, but it’s not great. Still, better than air-conditioning any day.”

“I quite agree.” Nan smiles before breaking into a coughing fit.

Daff shifts uncomfortably. “Nan, I know it’s none of my business but do you think the smoking might be making you ill?”

“Why, because of this cough? I’ve had this for years!” Nan says. “The cigarettes have nothing to do with it, and even if they did I’m an old dog and utterly unwilling to learn new tricks.”

“I worry about you,” Daff says. “I just don’t think they’re good for you.”

“Of course they’re not good for you.” Nan chuckles. “Nothing that’s fun ever is, and I’d rather live a happy shorter life than a dull long one.”

“Why do I doubt that anything in your life has ever been dull?” Daff grins.

“It was all terribly exciting when I was young,” Nan says, and smiles. “Lately it did get a bit dull, although now I feel more alive than I have done in years.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Daff says. “Daniel’s chicken soup clearly did the trick.”

“Oh look,” Nan says. “Here comes Michael. Michael, darling? Daff’s window’s sticking. Can you go up with her and take a look?”

It shouldn’t feel intimate, standing in her bedroom with the landlord’s son, but Daff unexpectedly feels slightly awkward. If this were in her home, or in a kitchen, she could offer him a coffee, do something with her hands, but standing here, next to the bed, she is suddenly very aware of her proximity to Michael, and suddenly aware of his masculinity, something she really hasn’t noticed before.

As he leans up to examine the window jamb, his T-shirt—a faded old Nantucket red T-shirt, fraying at the edges—rises up and exposes his stomach. Daff shouldn’t look, doesn’t know why she is looking, and she is embarrassed to feel a flush rising on her face. She only looked for a second, but enough to see an expanse of flat, tanned stomach, the line of muscle, faint hair disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.

“I see what the problem is.” Michael cranes his neck and Daff notices the breadth of his shoulders, his strong hands helping him to balance as he looks up. “We need some oil and we’ll be fine. It’s just sticking a bit.” He looks down at Daff and smiles, and she blushes, turning quickly to hide it.

“I’ll go and ask Nan,” she says, hurrying out through the door, pausing only when she is safely outside the bedroom.

Good God, she thinks, leaning against the wall. I know this feeling. I remember this feeling from another lifetime, one I haven’t even thought about in years. This feeling, this heart-quickening, surging, faint-making feeling is lust!

She giggles to herself. She hasn’t thought about a man, any man other than Richard, for years. And Richard was her husband, the feelings he elicited in her were entirely different from the feelings she is feeling right at this very second.

She had lusted after Richard in the beginning, but after Jess was born desire had all but disappeared, coming back in odd spurts at awkward times.

Sometimes she would walk upstairs thinking she was looking forward to making love, and then she’d have a hot bath, as she did every night, and she’d climb into her long white flannel nightgown, as she did every night, then slip between the cool sheets with her book, and by the time Richard had finished watching television, or reading the paper, or doing whatever he was doing and came to bed, reaching for her, the only thing she ever wanted to do was sleep.