Annihilate Me (16 page)

He
put the car into gear.
 
“We’re a few
hundred feet from them.
 
I sincerely
doubt that they heard anything.”

“I
hope you’re right because I won’t be holding back later.”

He
laughed at that, put the car into gear, and we sped off down the road, the
Range Rover hot on our tail as Alex’s hand dipped between my legs, cupped my
sex, and gently started to stimulate me to the point that I definitely knew
that I was in for it later.

*
 
*
 
*
 

The
farm stand Alex noticed when we passed it the day before was a boon that
brought back fond memories of me and my Aunt Marion, who was married to my
Uncle Vaughn, and who was one of the great delights of my life.
 
At seventy, she had more sauce and
swagger than Beyoncé did at thirty.
 

She
was gone now, and oh, how I missed her.
 
When my Uncle Vaughn was out lobstering, sometimes my aunt would steal
me away and, if it was late summer, we’d come to a place like this.
 
We’d soak it all in while we walked
around the fresh vegetables, fruits and herbs, and then we’d conspire on what
we’d make for dinner.

Just
as Alex and I were going to do now.

I
looked off to my right as the Range Rover pulled alongside the Mercedes, a rush
of dust spilling over it in a rolling cloud.
 

Nice
, I thought.
 
And so subtle.

I
hoped to hell the men wouldn’t get out, but sure enough, one did.
 
I turned to look at him, and saw that he
was scanning the dozen or so people walking through the stand, baskets in hand
while they selected all the fresh produce they could handle.
 
Some looked back at him, but he didn’t
seem to mind as much as they did.
 
This was no place for the threat of a gun.
 
Later, I’d ask Alex if they could tone
it down and be more discreet.
 

“I
think I see what you mean about the lunches they serve here,” I said to him,
now determined to ignore the guard so I could spend quality time with
Alex.
 
“Looks like fresh artisanal
bread paninis, and they have iced tea.
 
I’m way down for that.
 
You?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good,
because I’m famished.”

I
went over to an older woman behind a counter and smiled at her.
 
She was somewhere in her sixties, thickly
built, and was wearing what was obviously a homemade dress made from a
patterned fabric that looked light and comfortable.
 
She had blue eyes and wore no makeup,
and her graying hair was pulled away from her face in a kerchief.
 

“Hello,”
I said.

She
nodded at me while I looked up at the chalkboard above her, where their menu
was written.
 
It didn’t just list
paninis.
 
In the glass cooler I
stood in front of, they had everything a Maine girl could want.
 
A traditional potato salad.
 
Macaroni and cheese they’d likely warm
before serving.
 
A French potato
salad that looked divine because it was loaded with herbs and scallions, and
was likely tarted up with fresh lemon and vinegar.
 
There were heaps of sliced heirloom
tomatoes, basil and rounds of homemade sheep’s milk mozzarella on one large platter.
 
And desserts were everywhere.
 
Take your pick.
 
They looked glorious.

Alex
put his arm around my waist.

“Did
you make all of this?” I asked the woman.

“Some
of it.
 
I made the salads.
 
My sisters made most of the
desserts.”
 
She pointed down at a
basket filled with chocolate brownies.
 
“Except those.
 
I made
those.”

“They
look delicious.
 
It’s the French
potato salad that has my name on it.”

“It’s
my mémère’s recipe.
 
I also made
that.”

“I’ve
lived in Maine my whole life.
 
It’s
been a while since I’ve been down to the Point.”

“How
long have you been gone?”

I didn’t tell her that I’d left.
 
What did she see in me that made her
make that statement?
 
How had I
changed since I left Maine that made it so noticeable?
 
“Just a few months.”

“Still
a Maine girl,” she said.
 
“And a
beautiful girl.
 
You remind me of my
sister when she was young.
 
She was
the pretty one.
 
Always off to
dances.
 
Always with a beau on her
arm.
 
It’s your hair and your eyes
that remind me of her.
 
No one could
keep the boys off of her.
 
Our
father didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s
why she has me,” Alex said.

The
woman looked at him with a sly smile.
 
“You’re not from Maine.
 
I
saw the car you drove up in.
 
Showy.
 
And I can tell in other ways.
 
So, good luck with the local boys when
it comes to this one.”

“Noted,”
he said.

I
could hear the agitation in his voice, so I pressed forward.
 
“What would you like?”
 

“Where
do we even begin?
 
It all looks good
to me.
 
You tell me,” Alex
said.
 
“It’s been a while since I’ve
been here.”

“You
used to come here?” the woman asked.

“I
did,” Alex said.
 
“When I was a
boy.
 
I summered here for fifteen
years.”

“Live
on the Point, do you?”

“I
do.”

She
glanced at me, and in that glance I saw a world of concern that wasn’t
unfamiliar to me.
 
Alex and I were
of two different worlds.
 
She knew
that.
 
Being so close to the Point,
she probably knew that better than I did.
 
On this part of the coast, where the rich collided with the poor, he was
what was known as a summer person, something the locals were wary of.
 
To her, he was one of the spoiled, rich
boys.
 
And that never went over well
with the locals who had to do their laundry and buy their food in order to make
a living.
 
She didn’t hide her
disapproval from her stony face or her eyes, and I kind of loved her for
it.
 
Her honesty was what I missed
about Maine.
 
New Yorkers were
direct, but Mainers could say more with a look
—
or just by lapsing into silence
—
than by saying anything at all.

Alex
and I continued to talk and to make our decision.
 
When we were ready, I said, “OK.”
 
I looked up at the woman, who had a
bemused look on her face as she watched us.
 
I wondered if we looked like a new
couple to her.
 
I wondered if she
had ever been with one of the summer boys when she was young.
 
Is that what I saw in her eyes?
 
A memory?
 
A moment ago, she was engaged with
us.
 
But now she seemed to be at
once looking through me and back to another time.
 
She didn’t hear me when I spoke, but I
knew why.
 
I could tell that seeing
Alex and me together had brought her to another time in her life.
 
It was right there on her face, and I
saw her expression go through a mix of emotions
—first happiness,
then a kind of longing, then a distinct sadness
.
 
I wondered where
she was and whom she was with.
 
Where had her life taken her to bring her to this point now?
 

Who
was the one who got away?

I
gently cleared my throat, and I saw her come back into herself.
 
We ordered our lunch—two tomato
and mozzarella paninis on their artisan wheat bread, two portions of French
potato salad, two unsweetened iced teas—and then we were on our way to
one of the picnic tables outside.

We
sat down, and Alex cast me a look.
 
“She was odd,” he said.

“Really?
 
I thought she was great.”

“Hmmm….”

“Don’t
you remember her?” I asked.

“From
where?”

I
picked up my panini before leveling him with a glance.
 
“From your childhood.
 
Maine women haven’t changed that much,
especially here on the coast.
 
If
you go into Bangor, it’s different.
 
Even more so if you make the mistake of going into Portland, which just
aches in its soul to be Boston, so we won’t count them as part of Maine at all,
because they’re not.
 
But here?
 
Here, it’s the same.
 
She must be familiar to you.”

“I
remember women like her.
 
I also
remember them not liking me very much.”

“Well,
you were rich.
 
They were poor and
struggling to make it.
 
You wore
fancy new clothes.
 
They wore
hand-me-downs and cleaned your new clothes so they could get a paycheck and put
food on the table.
 
They feel an
ownership to the coastline they lost to those with money.
 
They sold out for financial reasons, and
because of that necessity, the coast is no longer available to them in many
places.
 
It’s complicated, but as a
result, years of resentment have built between the two classes.”

“I
can see that.”

“How’s
your sandwich?”

“Depressing.”

“I’m
sorry.
 
But this is my home.
 
It’s where I come from.
 
I could have ended up like her, wishing
I’d taken another route and had the guts to take a chance on a better life.
 
Did you see the look in her eyes a
moment ago?
 
It was
heartbreaking.
 
She was remembering
something from her past.
 
I don’t
know what it was, but it was clear that it was a missed opportunity.
 
Or something along those lines.
 
I’ve seen it too many times while living
here to not know that look, so I worked hard in school and then drove myself to
get out of this joint with Lisa in tow.
 
Please don’t think that I’m judging her, because I’m not.
 
She reminds me of some of my favorite
stoic relatives.
 
What’s eating at
me is the usual—my parents again.
 
My father expected me to become her.
 
Since my mother refused to ever disagree
with him or anything he did to me, I assume she felt the same way.
 
As soon as I could, I got as far away
from here and them as possible.”

“I’m
sorry you went through that, Jennifer.
 
Nobody deserves that.”

“In
a way, I’m—what’s the word?
 
It certainly isn’t grateful.
 
But in an odd way, I’m OK that I went through what I went through.
 
Yet in a deeper way, I’m not OK with it
at all.
 
If that even makes
sense.
 
I guess what I’m saying is
that what I went through with them shaped the person I am today.
 
I wanted more for myself, so I made that
happen.
 
They’d hate it if I said to
their faces that their treatment of me actually helped me.”

“And
left scars.”

“Just
as your parents left scars.”

He
didn’t react to that.
 
Instead, he
dropped the subject and moved forward.
 
With the focus now on him, this conversation had just ended.
 
He picked up his sandwich, and took a
bite.
 
“Actually, this is
delicious,” he said.
 
“Yours?”

I
forgave him for all that he couldn’t face, because I’d been there myself for
too many years.
 
I knew how
difficult it was to face your past, especially where your parents were
concerned.
 
I’d never judge him for
keeping quiet.
 
I wanted to tell him
that whether you’re Alexander Wenn or Jennifer Kent, we all have to face the
demons that affect our lives.
 
In
order to move forward, we needed to accept all the wrongs that were done to us,
or else we would be stuck, just as I sensed the woman who served us was stuck.
 
Or mired in the regrets of the
past.
 
It didn’t matter.
 
It was all the same.
 
I was getting to a healthier
space—but I had a long way to go before I crushed my own demons.