C
HAPTER
10
They met again for dinner that night, after going back to their respective rooms for showers to remove all traces of irritating sand and greasy sunscreen. Again, they talked easily and laughed often. When Hugh suggested getting together again the following day, Thea said yes before he had quite finished speaking. Briefly, she wondered if he felt an obligation to spend time with her. And then she reminded herself that Hugh was an honest person. While he was the kind of person to perform a social duty without complaint, he was not the kind of person to act falsely when it really mattered.
So on Thursday, after Thea’s early shift at the diner, they found themselves prowling through one of the many antique stores on Route 1. While Hugh examined a cache of old catcher’s mitts, leather football helmets, and other sports memorabilia, Thea wandered over to a glass case in which was displayed a collection of antique jewelry. Immediately, her attention was drawn to an Edwardian-style diamond ring. The price, scribbled on a small card next to the ring, was prohibitive—at least, it was for Thea—and, she guessed, for most of the people she knew. But the ring was lovely, just the sort of piece she would feel comfortable wearing. If, that is, one day ...
Thea turned deliberately away from the display case and walked over to a rack of dresses from the 1950s. Mindlessly, she fingered through them. She thought of the engagement ring Mark had given her. It had not been at all her style—the stone was set in a sleek, modern setting—but she had convinced herself that she loved it. After the divorce, in need of ready cash, she had taken the ring to a jeweler in Boston’s downtown diamond district, someone who had been recommended by a colleague. She had hoped to sell it for a substantial sum. What she had learned was that the stone was a not so very good fake; it wasn’t even cubic zirconia or Diamonique. The metal turned out to be sterling silver, not white gold, as Mark had claimed. Shamefaced and furious, and all too aware of the jeweler’s pitying looks, Thea had left the store with the meager check in hand and cashed it immediately.
Thea felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and screamed, “Oh my God, it’s Mr. Marbles!”
“Who?” Hugh asked. In his arms sat a seedy-looking ventriloquist dummy with a ratty yellow wig and a striped shirt.
“From
Seinfeld
. Kramer’s dummy. Remember?”
Hugh laughed. “Oh, right, the Kenny Rogers episode! Yeah, this thing is pretty creepy, huh?”
“It’s the stuff of nightmares. Put it away!”
Hugh laughed again and stashed the dummy behind a pile of old magazines. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “It’s a shame to waste a gorgeous day inside, even if some of this stuff is pretty interesting.”
Thea followed Hugh out into the midday sunshine. “What do you suggest we do?” she asked.
“How about a couple of rounds of miniature golf?”
“Oh, Hugh,” Thea cried. “You know I’m awful at miniature golf!”
“I know. It’s part of your charm.”
“Being awful at sports is part of my charm?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, I’ll play,” Thea said, “if you agree to let me win at least one round.”
“Deal.”
Hugh did let her win one round, which took considerable skill on his part. Thea managed to lose a ball entirely, and to almost get her head struck off by the rotating arms of the windmill feature. After miniature golf, they went to Billy’s Chowder House for lobster rolls and steamers and then they stopped at a farmstand for the farmer’s wife’s homemade whoopie pies.
“I feel like a kid again,” Hugh admitted as they ate the traditional Maine dessert while leaning against his car just off the side of the road. “Seriously, Thea, I haven’t had this much fun with someone in ... well, since you and I last spent time together just—being together.”
Thea smiled. She agreed with Hugh wholeheartedly but didn’t trust herself to speak without crying. All I seem capable of doing since rediscovering Hugh is crying, she thought. It actually didn’t feel like such a bad thing.
“Hey,” he said, “remember we talked about backpacking through Europe when we graduated college.”
“You talked about backpacking. I talked about taking the train.”
Hugh laughed. “That’s right. Well, did you ever get to Europe?”
Thea swallowed the last bite of her whoopie pie before answering. “Unfortunately, no,” she said. “I’d been saving up for an extended visit to France. Then I met the man who was to be my husband and he pretended to be as interested in French history and culture as I was. We agreed to go to France for our honeymoon but to postpone the trip until we’d saved more money. But then, well, let’s just say that never happened, the saving part or the honey-moon.”
“You’ll get to France someday, Thea,” Hugh said earnestly. “Your life hit a rough patch but the road will be smoother ahead. You really have to believe that.”
Thea smiled. “I try. Mostly.”
Hugh pushed off the car with the aid of his cane. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s go to the Nubble Lighthouse.”
If there was ever a romantic spot it was the Nubble Lighthouse, Thea mused as she got back into Hugh’s car. Which, of course, didn’t mean that Hugh had any romantic intentions in mind when he’d suggested it as their next destination. She knew that. They were not on a date. They were just hanging out. They were just old friends spending time together.
The point of land from which one viewed the lighthouse was known as Sohier Park. In truth, the park was little more than a parking lot and a gift shop. Oddly, for such a popular attraction, it was relatively empty when Hugh and Thea arrived. They got out of the car and once again leaned side by side against it, looking out at the red-roofed keeper’s house, the white tower with its beacon on top and the two small outbuildings. It was almost seven o’clock and there was a chill in the breeze coming off the water. Thea was glad she had brought a sweater with her. In a little over two weeks she had learned the truth of a popular saying: If you don’t like the weather in Maine, wait three minutes.
“I read somewhere,” Hugh said, “that this is the most photographed lighthouse in all of Maine. It really does define ‘picturesque, ’ doesn’t it?”
Thea nodded. She was acutely aware of her left arm being a mere inch or two from Hugh’s right arm. She wanted to lean ever so slightly against him; she wanted him to put his arm around her shoulder. She wanted ...
“Hey.” Hugh bumped his elbow into hers in a gesture that was unmistakably unromantic. “Penny for your thoughts.” His eyes, still hidden behind sunglasses, were unreadable, but the tone of his voice was easy and natural, without any hint of flirtation.
Thea forced a smile to her lips and shrugged. “I’m not thinking anything in particular,” she said. And she shifted ever so slightly away from him.
C
HAPTER
11
The plastic alarm clock on her bedside table read 2:43 a.m. Thea had been checking it at intervals since getting into bed at 11:00. Sleep, it seemed, might not be on the agenda this night. With a sigh, she sat up and turned on the small shaded lamp on the table. It was less trying to admit defeat than it was to battle on hopelessly.
The day she had spent with Hugh had been as near to perfect as anything she could imagine. The one thing that would have made the day entirely perfect, of course, was if he had kissed her in Sohier Park. Maybe. Because if Hugh was going to wave good-bye in a few days, a kiss would only have made his leaving that much more painful.
Thea thumped her fists against the mattress in frustration. She had so many questions, both for Hugh and for herself. For example, they had talked about all sorts of things—from nachos to former classmates, from Hugh’s relationship with his brother to costumes they had worn to a Halloween party in high school—but the one thing neither of them had mentioned was the breakup. If they were going to part in a day or two never to meet again, maybe there was no need to explore the causes that had led to the end of the relationship. It might be best just to let the past, especially the sad parts, go the way of forgetfulness. Without one of them introducing the topic—“Let’s talk about what went wrong”—there would be no way to know. And Thea felt certain that unless Hugh was brave enough to introduce that topic, it would go unexplored. Bravery was not something Thea felt she could easily lay her hands on at the moment.
Besides, she had to admit that what had happened in the past really didn’t interest her half as much as what was happening in the present—and what might happen in the future. She rubbed her temples and sighed. It was hard for her to believe—because she didn’t want to—that she and Hugh were really only passing the time together as old friends. It was hard for her to imagine that they would part in a few days with only an exchange of “contact information” and a promise to “keep in touch.” Was it really possible that in a year or two she might open her mailbox—wherever she was living—to find an invitation to Hugh’s wedding to an incredibly successful, outstandingly beautiful woman with a heart of gold? Because of course Hugh would marry someone like that, now that he was truly independent, now that he was no longer shackled by an overdeveloped sense of duty to his parents.
Or, by some miraculous twist of fate, would they ... what? Fall into each other’s arms? Declare their undying love? Run off and elope? Buy a crumbling château in Provence and spend their days lovingly restoring it? Thea shifted uncomfortably in the bed. She felt a little disgusted by her melodramatic thoughts. The future—her future with or without Hugh—would happen entirely without reference to her middle-of-the-night agonies.
Thea sighed and looked at the alarm clock: 3:30 a.m. She turned off the lamp and scooted back down onto the pillow. Just try to accept each day as it happens, she counseled her troubled self. Just try. And after a moment or two, she finally fell off to sleep, worn-out by her own confusion. She dreamed of windmills refusing to turn and lighthouses going dark and planes crashing into the sea. And behind or beneath these images of destruction was the image of a ventriloquist’s dummy with the vaguely sinister features of Mark Marais.
C
HAPTER
12
Thea and Hugh passed the day being tourists. First, they had breakfast at the Maine Diner in Wells. Then they drove down to Portsmouth and poked around in the craft and jewelry shops. They had lunch back in Perkins Cove, after which they visited the Ogunquit Museum of American Art. In the late afternoon Hugh dropped Thea at her apartment and went back to his room at the bed-and-breakfast to do some work. At 6:30 they met at the Old Village Inn on Main Street. It was now close to nine o’clock and neither felt in a hurry to part.
“I want to show you something,” Thea said when she had finished her dessert, a slice of the ubiquitous blueberry pie.
Hugh nodded. “All right.”
All day long, after her almost sleepless night, Thea had debated showing Hugh the miniature portrait of Napoleon. It would, she thought, be forcing a memory of intimacy. It would be reminding them both in a highly visual, tangible way of the love they had once shared. But maybe, she had decided, a tangible reminder was necessary at this juncture. Maybe, just maybe, it would prompt a talk about that topic neither of them had mentioned—the breakup. And maybe, just maybe, it would help clarify the current state of their relationship. Thea could only hope.
She reached into her bag and took from it the purple velvet box. She was aware of her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She opened the box and turned it to face Hugh. “My sixteenth birthday present,” she said.
Thea couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought she saw tears come to Hugh’s eyes. Certainly, the sight of the tiny painting had stolen his words. He gazed down at it for some time and finally looked back to her and smiled.
“I’m so glad you kept this, Thea,” he said. “The minute I saw it in that antique store on Charles Street I knew it was meant for you.”
Thea smiled back. She closed the box and returned it to her bag. “I never told you this,” she said, “but my parents wanted me to give it back. They said it was ‘too much.’ But I just couldn’t. I knew you really wanted me to have it.”
“I did want you to have it, very much.” Hugh paused before adding, “And I guess it can’t matter at this late date if you know that my parents were furious with me for having spent so much money on a gift for you.”
“Because it was for me, Thea Foss?” she asked. “Or would they have been angry about your spending money on any sixteen-year-old girl?”
Hugh looked uncomfortable and Thea regretted having spoken aloud a question with such a potentially awkward answer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s okay. Honestly, Thea, I never thought about it. Like I said, it doesn’t matter now. Hey, I kept something special from you, too. Do you remember that monogrammed keychain you gave me, back in freshman year of college?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I keep it in my desk at home. It’s been broken for some time but it’s always had sentimental value for me.”
Thea smiled. “You know it’s worth next to nothing, monetarily speaking. I wanted to get you something nicer but it was all I could afford. Most of the money I made babysitting and working at the college’s bookstore and waiting tables went toward school expenses.”
“It was the thought that counted,” Hugh said firmly. “You know I believe that. That was another bone of contention in my marriage. Susanne had been raised by an extremely doting daddy whose idea of showering his daughter with love meant showering her with expensive gifts. Not that I didn’t do my duty to her in that regard, but it seems I was totally off base when I tried showing my love with more lowly gifts like driving her mother to the grocery store or cooking an anniversary dinner instead of taking her out to a popular restaurant.”
“People’s idea of money,” Thea said, “and the meanings they attach to it, can tear a relationship apart. Of course,” she added ruefully, “in my case it was less our conflicting ideas about money and more my husband’s criminal habit of theft that broke us up.”
“Ouch. At least Susanne is an honest person. I heard through the grapevine that she’s remarried and I really hope it works out for her.”
“I can’t say the same about my ex-husband,” Thea admitted. “I think if I heard that he was remarried I’d send a rescue squad to spirit his new wife to safety.”
They talked for close to another hour, and though Thea hoped the conversation might naturally progress to something definitive, it did not. Hugh’s having kept a broken keychain, she realized gloomily as the conversation turned to politics, that most unromantic of topics, might signify nothing more than mere nostalgia.
Finally, Hugh excused himself and went off to the men’s room. Thea watched him stop to chat with their waiter, who had gone off shift and was sitting at the bar.
Thea sat alone in the emptying restaurant. She could no longer tell herself that Hugh was just a friend. She had fallen in love with him all over again, though she didn’t dare to presume that he had fallen in love again with her. She hadn’t planned for such a potentially disastrous thing to happen.
She became aware of a sudden pounding in her temples. She felt more miserable than she had felt before she had shown Hugh the miniature, a gesture that seemed to have accomplished nothing. Her irrational, superstitious self wondered if this reunion with her first love was a sick joke staged by the universe, some punishment perhaps for a crime she didn’t even know she had committed, retribution for her own stupidity in having made such a lousy marriage. Her rational self, though weakened, denied such a possibility. Of course, their reunion wasn’t some divinely orchestrated happening. It might just be pure bad luck, a natural disaster.
Hugh appeared from the direction of the men’s room. Thea watched him with longing as he approached their table. She so wanted to pull him close against her. She wanted to kiss him, to hold his face in her hands. But she didn’t dare. She didn’t think she could survive the results of humiliating herself in such a way.
“Ready to go?” Hugh asked.
Thea smiled gamely up at him and hoped that her face betrayed nothing of the yearning in her heart.