Authors: Annette Reynolds
Jou
rnal Entry
June 29
Nicholas Patrick. Nice name. I told him he has two first names, kinda like me. Later, out of the blue, while we were watching the game, he asked my middle name. When I told him, he said, “Madeleine Victoria Phillips, M.V.P. That fits.” It took me a minute to realize he meant Most Valuable Player, but I’m still not sure if he was referring to the fact I like baseball, or something more intimate. I’d like to think it was the latter.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
What I really want to start with is this: What is it about him that makes me throw any semblance of resolve out the window? I told myself ‘no physical contact.’ I was only going to go over to his place to ask if he wanted to share dinner and the Mariners game. But when I saw him this morning all I could think about was how much I wanted to feel his skin next to mine. It was ludicrous. There we were, in broad daylight, on hormone overload like a couple of teenagers. If it weren’t for the shadows under the house we’d have given new meaning to the phrase “Public Display of Affection.”
I think the conversation with Mom had something to do with what happened with Nick. I let myself get caught up in those old tapes of hers. I grew up hearing the “do everything to please your man” talk from Mom, although she was wasting her breath. I saw the concept in action every day at home.
And then there were Dad’s words of wisdom. He’d tell me how smart, talented, intelligent I was, and in the next breath tell me to “play dumb” around men. “It’s what they like.” I tried it once and hated myself for it. Never did it again. Not even with Ted. I may have put everything else in my life aside for him, but at least I always stayed true to my capabilities.
But one look at Nick today and I needed to know he still wanted me. Even if it was only physically. And when I got the message, I was ready to do anything to keep him wanting me. This confuses the hell out of me because being with him also feels so right, and doesn’t seem to have anything to do with my screwed-up priorities.
I have very ambivalent feelings about the person on the path who brought us to our senses. I didn’t want to stop, and still can’t believe Nick was the one who cried “uncle” first. Who’d have thought a guy would do such a thing?
Our evening went nothing like our morning. Don’t get me wrong, the sexual tension was thick. But there seemed to be an unspoken hands-off agreement, and the three hours passed fairly comfortably.
We started out by eating and paying close attention to the game. That got us over the initial awkwardness. Let’s face it, being in a room with someone you’ve never had a real conversation with but whose body parts you’ve licked, bitten, and sucked is just a little weird.
But we started talking, and before I knew it, it was the 9
th
inning. The topics were fairly tame: baseball, movies, the neighbors.
Nick told me a hilarious story about the Christmas party the Nelsen’s put on for the whole beach last year. Apparently they went with a Dickens theme and dressed their three dogs – Manny, Moe, and Jack – as the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Their parrot – Ebenezer Scrooge – wore a tiny nightshirt and cap, and screeched obscenities the whole night. Around midnight the dogs (Moe, in particular) had had just about enough of their various costumes, and decided to see if they could lose them in the Narrows. They didn’t completely and tore through the house showering everyone with cold water. Moe (he must be the instigator) also figured he’d earned the right to help himself to most of the food, including a bowl of brandied cherries. When the alcohol hit him he became 70 pounds of extremely amorous dog, and proceeded to hump every leg in sight.
I was laughing so hard I was crying.
I had to go through Nick’s bedroom to get to the bathroom, so I turned on the light. On my way back, on a chest of drawers, I noticed a framed picture of a little girl. I didn’t mean to snoop, but when I got a closer look I was amazed to see she was my little singing mermaid.
Right then I decided we needed to know each other better.
It’s funny how the past doesn’t mean anything when you’re dealing with barely-contained sexual frenzy. All I saw in Nick was someone my senses couldn’t pass up. It didn’t even occur to me he might have an ex-wife, or kids.
At this point I’ve begun thinking of Ted as a 16 year mistake. Not an ex-anything. He’s part of my recent past, and he doesn’t matter anymore.
As for kids, I guess I’m of the very egocentric mindset that if I don’t have any, and I haven’t
seen
him with any, why would Nick?
Stupid, I know.
So I went back to the living room and said, “Y’know, we haven’t really talked about our past lives…”
Nick interrupted me with a groan. “Don’t tell me you’re into that garbage? Jaed never let up with that stuff.”
I laughed and said, “Not the past life where I was Cleopatra.” Then I told him about Ted. Well, not
all
about Ted. Just of his existence. Then I waited.
He finally said, “I was married. Now I’m not. End of story.”
“No kids?” I asked. He waited so long to answer that I said, “Come on, Nick. That’s a no-brainer. You either have kids, or you don’t.” He flinched slightly, and I could’ve smacked myself for saying something hurtful.
But then he said, “I have a daughter. And I don’t. She visits me twice a month. She’s the most important thing in my life.”
“Then you miss her a lot,” I said.
He just nodded with this faraway look in his eyes.
I wanted to put my arms around him then. He suddenly seemed very helpless. I sat down next to him. When I took his hand he looked straight at me but didn’t say another word. And I didn’t feel right pushing him to talk about it. So I let the subject drop.
I know there’s a lot more to this.
God, I was just about to write something really dumb. I was going to say, it’s going to take him a long time to trust me. Well, Maddy, guess what? You don’t trust him, either.
I just remembered lying to him about that photo of me and Danny. And all I told him about Ted was we’d lived together. I even lied about the circumstances of our separation. I said something like, “We came to a mutual agreement that it wasn’t working anymore.” How about that for an understatement?
Anyway, then the game ended (M’s – 3, Texas – 2), he walked me to the door and kissed me on the cheek. And now I’m home, feeling I don’t know him any better than I did three hours ago.
10:15 p.m.
That last line was really bothering me, so I called Mary Delfino. Didn’t mince words, for once, and asked her point-blank what I should do.
“Madeleine, do you remember asking me how to find happiness?” she said.
I said yes, but what did that have to do with getting to know Nick?
“Many times, happiness depends on letting other people see the real you.”
Then she said she had to go. Something about the mold being ready for pouring. And she hung up.
So I’m still in the dark. How does letting Nick see the real me help me know him? And who is the ‘real me?’
Someone’s daughter? Sister? Jaed’s assistant? Ted’s fool?
Ch
apter Thirteen
“I wouldn’t normally make a fuss about it, Nick, but he took my last box of tea.”
Mary Delfino’s usually calm voice took on a fretful strain, and he draped an arm around her shoulders.
“It’ll be okay.” Nick kissed her cheek. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“Seems a little silly, doesn’t it?” Mary sat on the cedar glider. The afternoon sun lit her worried face.
Nick hooked his foot through the leg of an Adirondack chair, pulled it in front of Mary, and sat. “I can’t figure out where this guy is hiding out, but I’ll round up a few of the residents. See if we can’t flush him out.”
Mary nodded, then sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to make due with an inferior brand until the fall.”
He smiled. “At least he has good taste.”
“I’m happy to be a source of amusement for you, Nick.”
“Quite a switch, isn’t it? I’m usually the one crying on
your
shoulder.”
Mary silently studied his face, then said, “Take off your sunglasses.”
As he complied, Nick asked, “What for?”
“I want to see your eyes.”
Nick batted his lashes. “Same as always. Blue.”
What Mary Delfino saw saddened her, the same way Maddy’s phone call had.
“Nick, do you trust me?”
He frowned, puzzled.
“You know I do.”
She was the only person on the beach who knew his story. He’d moved down to Salmon Beach fully intending to keep his mouth – and his life – closed. Patrick McKay, married major league catcher, became Nick Patrick, divorced handyman. The residents didn’t need to know anything more than that - and the fact he had a daughter. But when Mary Delfino invited him in for a cup of tea on a cold, wet December afternoon, Nick had spilled his guts.
He’d always been able to talk with his sister, but with Kay he expressed actions or plans; what he’d like to do to Jim Kingston’s face was always one of the biggies. But that day Nick dumped everything he’d been feeling on Mary, somehow knowing his words would never be repeated. Nick’s unburdening brought him such a sense of relief, he could have cried. Since that time, Nick went out of his way for Mary.
At first he did it because he felt he had to; an appeasement in exchange for her silence. But Nick soon understood he was doing it out of genuine affection. It came as a great surprise to realize he actually trusted this woman, because trusting women wasn’t something he did well anymore.
Now, as Nick looked into her troubled eyes, he wondered why she’d ask such a silly question. He trusted Mary with his life.
“Come on, Mary. What’s up?”
“There is nothing, as you say – ‘up’ – Nick.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t have any tea to offer you, but why don’t you tell me how your evening went with Madeleine?”
Nick shrugged and leaned back in the chair. But his casual attitude didn’t quite translate to his body, and he knew there was no fooling Mary. She simply regarded him, and waited.
Nick looked at the flowers on the deck. He watched a seagull land on the railing. Seconds ticked by. A large fish jumped, breaking the silence for just a moment. Nick began to jiggle his right leg to an unheard beat. He stared down at the floorboards, then finally spoke.
“I lied to her about my name. I don’t know why. I’ve gone over this about a hundred times since Sunday night, and I can’t figure out what the big deal is.” His eyes met Mary’s. “She wanted to know more about me, and I just froze.”
“You two are quite a pair.” Mary paused. “I don’t like to repeat gossip, so let’s just say you were seen in what could be called a compromising position.”
“Who was it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It was Gustafson, wasn’t it,” Nick stated.
“George was simply taking his morning walk. My point is, there is something special between you and Madeleine. Do you agree?” Nick reluctantly nodded. “So, one of you is going to have to take the first step on the path to trust.”
“It’s not that easy. You know that.”
“You did it with me.”
“You’re different,” he said. “Besides, she’s lied to me, too.”
Mary’s smile came slowly. “So, basically, you believe you can carry on a physical relationship without having an emotional one.”
“Why not?”
“Because that isn’t what you want. Is it, Nick.”
“I don’t know what I want, Mary.”
“I think you do. But – if you’ll forgive me for putting it this way – I also think you’re very frightened.”
Irritated by her insight, Nick said, “Hey, it’s not like I have a history of great relationships.”
“But you do, Nick. What about your sister? And your parents? And the best one of all – Becky?” Mary leaned closer to him. “You’ve let your ex-wife, and that husband of hers, take away your confidence. But they’re nothing to you now. They are the past.”
Nick’s discomfort got the best of him, and he suddenly stood and strode to the edge of the deck. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He pushed the heels of his hands into the railing. “Tell me about Maddy.” He turned and waited.
“Is this a test, Nick?” Mary joined him at the rail. “Because I believe you know I won’t do that.” A movement along the path caught her eye, and she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to rush you, my dear, but I just remembered I have several pieces in the kiln.”
“Yeah, I’ve got some work to do, too.”
“And Nick? The missing tea isn’t important, but thank you for coming. You know I always love seeing you.”
Nick smiled. “Even if I am the dopiest person you know?”
“Yes. Despite that.” Mary’s regal form retreated toward the shed. “Now, go.”
A film of sweat broke out on her forehead as she leaned against the boards of the shed. The dizziness passed quickly, the nausea soon after. Mary Delfino had never felt anything quite like this before, but then she was seventy-seven years old, and it was the hottest June day she could remember. All she could think about was a glass of water, but Mary waited until she was certain Nick was well on his way before leaving the oppressive heat of the kiln’s enclosure.
She sat at the kitchen counter fanning herself with a magazine, her second glass of water half gone. Able, at last, to turn her thoughts back to Nick and Maddy, Mary sighed deeply. She hoped she’d been quick enough. Hoped Nick had run into Madeleine – on one of her photographic missions – on his way home.
Mary slowly got up from the stool and opened the freezer. She pushed aside a loaf of bread. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the frigid air cool her face.
‘We’ve all lied now,’ Mary thought, as her fingers closed around the green and white box of Murchie’s Darjeeling Blend she’d hidden.