Rising Tides (3 page)

He raised his hands as though surrendering.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get you angry.”  Gary sat in one of the chairs and held the soda with both hands.  “I just think you should take care of yourself, that’s all.”  He frowned.  “I didn’t mean to nag.”  He set the can on the nightstand and placed his hands on his slacks as though he didn’t know what else to do with them.

“How did the meeting go?” I finally asked, watching him stare vacantly at the bed.

He closed his eyes, lifted a hand, and massaged his temples.  A headache was coming, no doubt.  “Fine.  The clients like the new ad campaign.  Debra is taking care of the contracts, and they’ll probably be ready to sign tomorrow or, at the very latest, early next week.”  He lowered his hand and smiled. “Then we can go home.”

I divided the ponytail into three sections and started to braid my hair.  “And how is Debra?  She enjoying this trip?”

Gary stood up.  His hand froze at his tie, and I counted three beats of my heart before I saw his fingers move again, loosening the tie from around his neck before yanking it free.  A pause.  “I guess she’s enjoying herself.  She probably would have been happier if Aaron could have come, too.  He’s never seen the beach.  Kids like stuff like that, you know.”

Aaron, her five-year-old son from a previous marriage.  I shook my head. 
No,
I thought,
I don’t know.  We never had kids, and we never will.
  I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen the muscles  cramping from working on my hair.  I finished braiding and picked up another band to wrap around the ends.  “Yeah, I’m sure she misses him.  But he has school, right?”

Gary took off his jacket and carefully draped it on a hanger. Although he had been meticulously adjusting the collar, his fingers had stopped moving.  A pause.  “Yeah.  He’s in kindergarten this year.”  He finished hanging his coat, took out a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt from the closet, and headed for the bathroom. “Are you hungry?  What do you want for dinner?”

I stared at my reflection, frowning at such pale skin.  “I don’t care.  You choose.”  I picked up a jar of foundation and began applying it, trying to hide the way I really looked before we had dinner.  I didn’t care what we ate; everything tasted like cardboard, anyway.  “Who’s taking care of him?”

Gary had been opening one of the dresser drawers to get a pair of socks.  He pulled too hard, and the drawer came out in his grip.  “Damn,” he muttered, shoving it back into place.

“Gary, who’s caring for Aaron?” I repeated, watching his body  betray his guilt.

“Debra’s grandmother, I think.  That’s who she usually gets to take care of him when she has to go out of town.”  Gary stopped behind me and kissed my shoulder.  “Now, about dinner.  How about Italian?  You always did like spaghetti.”

“That’s fine.”  I forced a smile I didn’t feel and set down the jar.  “I’m not that hungry.”

“You should be.  You’re losing too much weight.  It’s not healthy.”

I picked up a large make-up brush and stroked it across the square of blush inside my compact.  “Italian is fine.”

He squeezed my shoulder lightly.  “I’m going to take a shower before we hit the restaurant.  I’ll be out in a few.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.  A few seconds later, I heard water running.  I finished applying my makeup and sat in silence broken only by the hiss of a shower while my husband tried to wash away the lingering scent of a perfume I’d never used.

I lay on the bed and tried for the first time to pinpoint just when their affair had started, just when I’d known, just when I’d realized I hadn’t given a damn.  I closed my eyes and remembered the day I’d seen them, having lunch together at a restaurant.  Nobody could have missed Debra in that bright pink suit and black, three-inch pumps.  A manilla file had sat beside Gary, so it had looked innocent enough.  I had started to wave, then stopped myself as he leaned over and kissed her.

That night Gary had brought home a diamond necklace as a surprise gift.  Oh hell, I’d been surprised all right, just not by diamonds.

I adjusted the pillow under my head and remembered that day just a little less clearly than the one when Dr. Ramsey had given the “I’m sorry” speech three weeks before.  Maybe that’s why I didn’t care.  Because it was insignificant in the whole picture. I had waited to tell Gary until I was ready, and after seeing that, I knew he would never be prepared. I had given him the chance to leave me, if that had been his intention.  There had been months of opportunities before I’d told him about the cancer.  And then I’d known he would never leave.  In a few months, he wouldn’t have to.

He’d just have to plan a funeral.

When I’d told him about the tumor, he’d sat in the living room recliner and rested his head in his hands.  “Oh, God, Kelly.  Oh, God, I’m sorry.”  He’d looked at the floor, at the walls, at anything except my face.

Sorry for what?
I’d wondered.  For just a moment, I’d been tempted to tell him I knew, but something inside lay broken, and even though I should have been angry, I just felt empty as I watched him grapple with the knowledge I was dying.

I shook away the memory as Gary walked out of the bathroom fully dressed.  He slid his brown leather belt through the loops.  “Are you ready for dinner?” He asked, reaching for my hand.

I gave it and sat up.  “Sure.  Dinner sounds great.” What I wanted, though, was to hear the ocean waves rushing toward the beach; that sound was the only thing I knew to fill the emptiness.

Chapter Three

“You hardly said a word at the restaurant,” Gary said, latching onto my hand as we rode toward the hotel.

I squirmed under the feel of his palm and feigned an itch on my opposite shoulder as an excuse to break free.  Then I lifted my hand to my neck and tried to massage away the aching. “I guess I’m a little tired.”  I lowered my hand and leaned back against the seat.

Gary squeezed my knee.  “Must be from all that fresh air at the beach.  I’ve heard salt air will do that sometimes.  You do look tired.”

Or maybe it was from the water I fell into and struggled through,
I thought.  “Yeah,” was all I said as I peered at the blurs of lights passing outside.

Gary’s forefinger brushed my jeans softly.  Still, I felt it there with excruciating clarity.  “I was thinking, Kel.  Maybe I’ll take tomorrow off and we can go sight-seeing together.  I’m sure Debra can handle the formalities.  And I’ll have my cell.  She can get hold of me if she needs to.”

I’m sure she can,
I thought to myself.  “No,” I replied sharply, withdrawing from his caress.  “I’d rather you didn’t.  I’m a big girl.  I can occupy myself well enough.  You shouldn’t feel obligated.”

Gary sighed in frustration.  “Kel, you’re my wife.  Why would I feel obligated?  I just thought you might want to take some time and look around the place a bit.”  Even in the darkness I could feel the weight of his stare lingering on my face.  “I mean this trip probably isn’t that great for you, and I just want you to enjoy yourself while we’re here.”

I looked out the window, trying to avoid his gaze. “I am enjoying myself.  Besides, I already have plans.”  I closed my eyes.

“Oh?”  He pushed the button on his watch.  The dial lit up, and he checked the time.  “And what are you going to do?”

An image of the rainbow-colored sail flashed into my head.  “I’m going back to the beach.  Maybe I’ll paint a few new pictures or maybe I’ll take a sailing lesson or something.  Who knows?”  I nestled lower against the seat.  “I just thought since I’ve never gotten to see the ocean before, I should spend some time appreciating it.”

“You can’t be serious.  Sailing?  This time of year?”  Gary’s voice rose in volume.  “Kel, that water has to be freezing.  It won’t be good for you.”

“There’s no rules to this illness.”  I gritted my teeth to tether the frustration building inside.  “We both know what’s coming.  It comes for everybody, just not when you want it.  There’s nothing in this world that’s going to be good for me.  Not now, not later.”  I forced a laugh to come out of my throat.
Certainly not the truth...watching you and Debra work together when I know what you do for a hobby?

I sat up straighter.  “You can relax.  I don’t plan to fall into the water.  That means I won’t be cold, after all.”

“I just want you to be safe.  The headaches...what about those?”  The cab pulled up to the hotel entrance.

I wrapped my fingers around the handle.  “To hell with the headaches.  I’m not going to spend the rest of my life waiting to die.”  I tapped my fingers on the metal latch.  “Besides, could you promise I’d be safe if you were with me every second? Even if you followed me into the bathroom?”  I leaned close to him.  “Would that keep this away?  No.  You can’t stop it.”  I opened the door, effectively stalling Rob’s next protest as I got out and he gave the keys to the valet.  He slid his arm around me as we entered the building.

Our proximity hardly felt natural anymore.  At one time, I had felt we were two stones which had been sanded smooth by wind, and the grooves which had been marked into us fit together so perfectly.

We hadn’t had sex since that day I’d seen the two of them together, and I had gotten pretty good at playing tired when I wasn’t.  He didn’t seem interested anymore, anyway, probably because he had Debra waiting.  His fingers wrapped around my waist, and I just wanted to be free of him.  “Kel, I’m sorry I’m not with you very much.  That’s why I thought this trip was important—a chance for us to be together.”  We walked through the lobby toward the elevators.

I closed my eyes. 
Yeah—you, me, and the secretary.  I’m getting claustrophobic.
  “We are together, but you have a job to do, and I want to spend some time painting on the beach.”  I opened my eyes and feigned a smile.  “I’ve always wanted to see the sun set against the ocean.”  I pushed the button for the elevator.

“I could go with you.”  His voice softened and he swallowed sharply.  I could see his Adam’s apple move.

I shook my head.  “You’ve never been excited about sitting in one place while I stroked colors across a canvas.  We both know that.  We’ve always known it.”  The bell chimed and the doors slid open.

Gary dropped his arm.  “Why do you keep pushing me away?”  He raised his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “I’m doing the best I can.”

Gary and I entered the elevator beside two other couples, and our conversation  died.  Once again, interlopers had founds us.  As the doors closed, I punched 15 and stepped away from the console.  In my peripheral vision I saw Gary leaning against the back of the elevator.  His fingers braided together, and he braced his shoulders sharply in the rigid posture of a piano player.

My husband and I were the first two to arrive at our floor, and we stepped off the elevator in the same silence we’d left.  Gary walked ahead and pulled out the plastic card to unlock the door.  Once the two of us were together in the room, I  lay on the bed and curled up into a ball.  Gary turned off all the bright lights and left on the single lamp to illuminate his side of things.  He pulled out a John Grisham novel he’d half finished and opened it as I closed my eyes.

In that darkness, his soft breath was magnified until my heart aligned its pace to Gary’s rhythm of breathing.  Angered by my own physical betrayal, I purposely held my breath until my heart thundered in my chest and the blood galloped through my veins. 
I’m alive!
I thought as my fingers curled into the thick comforter. 
And I’m not yours anymore.

The blackness thickened, sweeping toward the cliff of dreams, and I let that hypnotic blindness capture me in the only freedom I knew.

* * *

Morning sunlight bled around the thick cream curtains as I woke.  I rolled over slowly, feigning sleep just in case Gary still happened to be in bed.  Through half-opened eyes, I saw the rumpled sheets emptied of my husband, and I slowly stretched my fingers out on his side of the bed, touching the pillow where he had slept.  For some reason, the emptiness filled my eyes in the form of tears as I thought again about the man who came to my bed with shutters drawn tightly across his heart.

The tears spilling across my face had little to do with betrayal anymore.  I had gotten quite used to that.  My own body had betrayed me with cancer.  What more damage could anyone do?  I moved my hand from his pillow and brushed it across my wild hair before slowly crawling out of bed and climbing into the shower.  As I styled my hair with the same mechanical motions I always used in my morning ritual, I only looked in the mirror when I had to, as though if I really didn’t pay attention, I wouldn’t see the obvious.

I walked out of the bathroom and spied Tyler’s sweats where I’d neatly folded them on top of the dresser.  Without thinking, I touched them, stroking my palm against the fleeced softness.  I closed my eyes and savored the warmth of the fabric against my skin.

I snatched my hand away and thought
, This isn’t getting you anywhere.  You ought to just return them and forget about sailing.  Forget about him.

I reached down and picked up my purse, along with the bag with paints and canvas, and shoved in the clothes.  “I won’t stay long,” I muttered.  “And I won’t even go sailing.  Not again.”

I had already locked the door when I remembered the pills I had to keep with me.  My fingers inserted the plastic card and I darted back into the room to get them, shoving the smoke-colored bottle into my purse and resumed my journey toward the beach.

     The minute I stepped into the sand, I knew I had lied to myself about sailing, just as I had when I’d first felt the headaches and the lumps I’d reassured myself were normal. And the second one--the self-flagellation over untempered jealousy toward a husband I had once believed incapable of infidelity. 

Yes, I had lied to myself.  I would sail again.  With Tyler.

I stared at the tide rolling toward me, and that’s when I knew the truth: my life had been leading toward this freedom, and I had finally arrived.  I don’t know.  Maybe in some stupid way I was lucky because the picture had been brought into focus by the cancer.  What if I’d been killed in a car accident.  How could I have thought that I had ever truly lived?

I pulled out my supplies and carried them down toward the water.  For a few moments, I watched the constant motion and listened to the fluidity of the language exchanged between the birds and waves.  Then I  set out my easel and tried to mimic the soft caress of water ebbing at my feet.

For a while I had to glance at the view spread in front of me, but then something else happened, something unlike anything I’d experienced in ten years of holding a paintbrush and giving life to bland canvas: I closed my eyes and I saw the sea.

Time melted away as I steadily muted blues and greys together.  For a moment, I stopped painting and rolled my shoulders, trying to stretch out the aching I hadn’t noticed before. I frowned and scrutinized the colors, checking to see if I had blended them right.  My neck cramped slightly.  I rolled my head slowly, and from the corner of my eye saw someone sitting perfectly still a few feet away from me.

I glanced in that direction and found Tyler with his legs pretzelled into a yoga position.  That was the only part of his body that was meditating, however, unless I had become part of his ritual, I noted, feeling the weight of his stare falling upon me.   This time, he wore jeans and a hooded grey sweatshirt instead of the black wetsuit.  “How long have you been there?” I asked, taking my free hand and rubbing the back of my neck.

He shrugged.  “A few minutes.”  He stretched out his legs and picked himself up from the ground.  “Long enough to know you’re a pretty good painter.”  He walked over to where I stood and brushed his fingers against my cheek.  When he pulled his hand away, I could see the gray paint.  “But you really should keep it on the canvas.”

I laughed and started to clean my brush.  “Most of the time I try to. I’m a much better painter than a sailor.  I assure you.”  Tyler watched as I sorted my supplies and put them back together.

“Why are you quitting?” he asked, digging his left shoe into the sand.

“I was going to put these things away and take a walk on the beach.  I think I’m kind of painted out for the day, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.  I do.  Here, let me help.”  Tyler folded the easel and picked it up while I grabbed the bag of supplies. As we carried them to the rental car, Tyler walked beside me.  I unlocked the trunk, and Tyler set the easel inside.  When he stepped back, our shoulders bumped together.  “Sorry about that,” he said, moving away.

We stowed the rest of the stuff in the trunk before I closed it and shoved the keys into my pocket.  “How come you’re not sailing today?” I asked as we headed toward the beach.

He thrust his hands into his pockets.  “How could I top yesterday?”  He looked over my head, toward the waves stroking the beach.

“Tip the boat over.”  I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, feeling the cool air through my sweater.

He laughed, the sound of it echoing over the gentle crying of gulls overhead.  “I guess that’s an option.  How was your husband when you got back?  You said he might be worried about your absence.”  Tyler stared at the ground.

  “Gary was worried, as usual.”  I stepped into bigger tracks which had been washed by the tide enough so that only an impression remained.  “He probably would have lost his mind if I’d told him about going sailing.”