Cape May (10 page)

He led her up a path to the steps of a house. “Sit, Joanna.
Do you want me to get you some water?”

She checked her watch and laughed. “It’s 3:30? I think I’m just starving.”

“Me, too,” said Michael.

“After that huge breakfast I thought I’d never want to eat again.”

“You just found the house of your dreams, so I think you should get to choose where we have lunch, too.”

She smiled at him. “I’m thinking big ass clams, but two days in a row would be asking for a stroke. There were other, less lethal items on the menu, weren’t there?”

“You want to go to Henry’s again?”

“That lemonade took me right back to my grandma’s house. Also, if I order a salad, I can try one of those desserts that looked so good.”

They started walking towards Henry’s, and Joanna’s heart fluttered. What if Brian didn’t like the house, or changed his mind about moving? She knew he was moving just for her. Or what if someone else was willing to pay more
for the Tea & Scones? As she and Michael walked to Henry’s
she said, “Do you mind if I call Brian?”

“Of course not. Do you want privacy?”

She shook her head as she speed dialed Brian. As soon as he picked up, she said, “I found it!”

“What?”

“Our new home!”

“Oh. Okay.”

She stopped walking. “That’s it?”

“Jo, I’m in the middle of something.”

“You could at least pretend to be excited.” She turned her back to Michael, embarrassed. He noticed and walked away, suddenly determined to study a lavish iron fence.

“Maybe it’s all getting too real: moving,” Brian paused. “I think I assumed you’d be onto the next thing by now.”

“What?”

“I’m happy for you. Honest. We can talk when I’m there.”

“Okay. See you later. Bye.” She waited a few moments before walking over to Michael.

He said, “You okay?”

“I guess I can’t expect him to be as happy as I am. He’s not really thrilled about moving.”

They didn’t talk again until seated at a table, looking at the menu. Joanna said, “I’m taking up so much of your time. Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

“I am, in my head. Hanging out with you has given me ideas for my book. It’s been good for me.”

“For you? You may have saved us tens of thousands of dollars just by telling me to keep my mouth shut.”

“I hope I said it a little nicer than that.”

“You did.”

“The house is a beauty. Special.”

“Yes! And I didn’t see any foundation problems.” She took a small notebook out of her purse and began jotting. “No floor flexes or recesses. No moisture discoloration. There was a crack in two of the walls on the second floor I’ll want someone to look at, and the apartment upstairs needs some new walls entirely, but I don’t think the house was leaning, or structurally unsound. The mantelpiece on the large fireplace was missing some tiles. I’m sure they’re replaceable although I’ll probably have to have them made to order.”

“I didn’t notice most of those things.” Michael smiled and shook his head at her. “You know your stuff.”

“I’ve seen so many houses, dragged Brian or my sister Cynthia, or another friend for support. I’ve had to learn a lot. At work during lunch I read and read and read. I can’t think about spending this much money without educating myself about everything. I still have so much to learn, but I can tell that this house won’t cost me hundreds of thousands to renovate.”

Again they were seated outside. Again the breezes brought smells of summer. Joanna already felt at home here, after barely two days. She gazed out. “Hard to believe New York has the same sky.”

“Maybe you can’t see it because of the tall buildings.”

“Maybe. What about you? Do you live in one of those tall buildings?”

He shook his head. “Second floor of a ten story building.
In a tiny one-bedroom apartment on Seventy-Third just
off Amsterdam.”

“We’re practically neighbors.”

“I could kick myself now. I had the opportunity to move about four years ago. Same building but a bigger apartment with a nicer view. But I didn’t.”

“Why?” Joanna said.

“Oh, inertia mostly. Packing? No thanks. But if I wanted to move now, I’d have to wait until someone in the building dies.”

“Are you on a waiting list or anything?”

“Yes, but I’m in no rush, to tell you the truth. It’s just me there, with two million books.”

“Sounds like our apartment.”

They sipped their lemonade.

Michael said, “I was surprised you wanted to come back here. I mean, I love it, too, but not everybody does.”

“Brian’s best friend Frank is a chef and now Brian’s into upscale restaurants, so this is different and a lot of fun for me. Tomorrow we’ll probably be eating at some expensive restaurant, which I’m sure I’ll enjoy, but give me a basket of fried anything, with french fries and onion rings on the side, every once in a while, and I’m happy.”

They ate quietly and comfortably, with their notebooks open in front of them. While Joanna wrote down thoughts and questions about the houses she had just seen (pretending that she might be interested in any one other than the Tea & Scones), Michael worked on a scene between the Newark detective and the bodyguards assigned to protect the visiting politician, who didn’t appreciate police interference.

“Michael, on the second floor of the Tea & Scones,” Joanna asked, her eyes closed, her right hand holding a pen poised over the notebook and her left working its way through the schematic of the house in her head, “when we exited the smallest bedroom was there a window to the right before you get to the staircase?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She opened her eyes and laughed. “I guess you’re not as obsessed with the house as I am, huh?” He shook his head. “And I’m interrupting your writing again. I’m an anti-muse.”

“I don’t mind.”

They both returned to writing, until the check came. When it did, Joanna insisted on paying. “To thank you officially,” she said.

They left the restaurant and Michael said, “Want to see more of Cape May?”

“Yes but can we stop at the inn first? For a sweater? It’s a little breezy. And I want to call my lawyer and ask about putting a binder on the Tea & Scones. If Brian likes it. Oh God he has to like it.”

“It’s a great house and reasonably priced.”

When they approached the Manor Rose, Joanna said, “Do you know the owner?”

“Claire. Yes.”

“No, this one’s name is Marie. There’s also a Rachel, no, Rebecca.”

He shook his head. “Neither rings a bell. Maybe they’re new? I wonder if they’re Claire’s relatives. She has a couple of nieces I think. Do you know their last names?”

“I can’t remember. I’m sure it’s somewhere in my head, but inaccessible right now. Apparently half my brain is closed for vacation.”

He laughed. “Do you think you’ll recover for work next week?”

“I’d better.”

They walked up the few steps to the front door, and Joanna whispered: “Marie’s nice, but I wish she were a little less interactive. Maybe it’s the New Yorker in me. Sometimes I like to be left alone with my thoughts.”

The hallway was peaceful, with some classical music lightly drifting in from the kitchen. Michael sat down in one of the burgundy wingback chairs and said, “Think how great an innkeeper you’ll be, armed with all this insider
information. Number one: give guests some peace and quiet.”
He grabbed a magazine and settled in.

“When you come and stay with me and Brian, contrary to this trip I promise to leave you alone to write. And we’ll give you ten percent off.”

“That’s all?”

Entering the pantry, she said, “And a complimentary cup of coffee or tea, right now.”

“Now you’re talking. Coffee. Black with one sugar.”

Joanna prepared her tea and his coffee. It felt surprisingly comfortable preparing drinks for herself and Michael on the ground floor of this magnificent house. When Brian came, she’d do the same for him, and feel the real mistress of the house. Carrying the cups out to the parlor, Joanna spotted Michael gazing out the window. He looked pensive.

She didn’t mean to pry, but said, “You okay?”

He took the cup of coffee. “Oh, I know sometimes I’m miles away. I didn’t mean to be aloof.”

“Not aloof. It’s just, you seem sad sometimes.”

“I thought I hid it well. Being in Cape May brings up memories of my failed marriage.”

“Oh,” she said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“God no,” he said, with a laugh. “I don’t like to fail, or talk about my failing.”

She smiled at him. “I understand. You’re a man. If you were a woman I’d already know every detail. Would’ve in the first hour on the bus.”

“I’m actually a good talker, for a guy. Haven’t you noticed? I think it’s because I’m a writer. I have to explore
things, and stir up memories and feelings. But now I’m having a good time, and I don’t want to actively depress myself.”

She put her tea on a table. “I’ll go get my sweater.” She trotted upstairs. When she entered her room the cell phone rang. “Brian, where are you?”

“Still in Manhattan. I’ll be able to leave in a few hours.”

“I hope you have an easy drive.”

“I doubt it. I’ll hit traffic somewhere. You still with what’s-his-name?”

“Yes, we just had some lunch. I think you’ll like him. Oh, he got us in a tour of a private estate tomorrow. They limit attendance because they don’t want thousands of people traipsing through each year. And then you have to see the Tea & Scones.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

“Okay. I’ll see it this weekend. Probably tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to pressure you but I don’t want this house to get away.”

“Jeez, Jo, I get it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just thrilled with the house. I’ll stop now.”

“Good.”

“You sound tired. Wait until you get here. You’ll love it. I feel great. Relaxed. Like I’ve been on vacation a week.”

“Sounds good. I better get off now. The sooner I finish the sooner I’ll be there. See you later, Joanna. I miss you.”

“You, too.”

Joanna put her phone away, grabbed her sweater, and walked downstairs, to find Michael sleeping soundly exactly where she left him, with a magazine open on his lap. He looked so comfortable, she didn’t have the heart to wake him. The leather photo album she’d spotted that morning popped into her mind. She quietly walked over to it then carried it gently to a comfortable chair across from Michael’s and began looking through the pictures, as she sipped her tea.

According to the hand-written labels, which were starting to peel off the worn pages, the photos were from the 1880s. Everyone looked old, even the children, and no one looked happy. As she judged the women in the photos, she wondered what people one-hundred years from now would think of her own photos. If she and Brian did buy an inn—her mind instantly visualized the Tea & Scones—would they take pictures, put them in a leather photo album? Would it stay in the house for years after they died? The photos would be of just her and Brian, with no children. She felt the stab she always felt at that thought. Would guests speculate on Joanna’s level of happiness, of love. Joanna had everything, didn’t she? Devoted husband, excellent prospects for the future. She tried to ignore the suddenly empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

***

The antique grandfather clock in the parlor chimed. Joanna opened her eyes after counting four, and was shocked to hear three more. She sat up and looked around, trying to focus. Michael was watching her from his chair, a book open on his lap, and a cup of tea on the table beside him. He really had a very likeable face.

He said, “Hi,” quietly, looking at her from under his hooded lids.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been up for half an hour. Made myself
some tea and I’ve been reading. I didn’t want to wake you. Marie brought me some cookies.”

“Ooh, homemade! Leave one for me.” She stretched. “I think I needed that nap.”

“What is this narcoleptic effect we have on each other. First the bus, then here.” Michael closed the book and put it on the table.

“Maybe we’re boring,” she said.

“I think it’s more of a trust thing. I don’t fall asleep with people I can’t trust.”

“Have you checked your wallet? Maybe I fleeced you while you were sleeping.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m ticklish.”

Their eyes unlocked when Marie’s loud, cheerful voice said: “Well, I see you’re up now, too, Ms. Matthews. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” Joanna stood up, and stretched again.

Marie said, “It’s the sea air, you know. Makes people sleepy when they’re not used to it.”

“Thanks for the tea, Marie,” said Michael. “And the nap.”