The Beach House (18 page)

“I said I’d think about it,” Daff says, blinking back the tears as she looks around the room. “Hey, I love this room. Who painted that mural?” She points to a mural of
Hairspray.

“Carrie did,” Jess says sheepishly. “She knows that’s my favorite movie so she painted the mural as a surprise.”

“Wow! She’s really good.”

“She helped me decorate the room too.” Jess points out the futon, the pillows, the bookshelves. “We went to Ikea to get the stuff and it was so cool. I didn’t want to tell you”—she looks awkwardly at her mom—“I mean, I didn’t know what to tell you. About Carrie and stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Daff says. “I’m happy that Dad has a girlfriend. Do you like her?”

Jess shrugs. “Sometimes. I mean, I like her when it’s just her and me, but I don’t see why she has to be Dad’s girlfriend. I don’t think he needs a girlfriend, but maybe they can just be friends after a while, and that would be much better.”

“I understand that,” Daff says. “It must be very hard to share your dad.”

“Yeah. Now that they’re living together she’s always around and there’s no special time for just him and me. That’s why I want to be here, to live here, I mean, because that way I’ll get tons more ordinary time with him.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah. He already said. So can I, Mom? Can I come and live here? I’ll still see you all the time, but can I be here? Did you think about it yet?”

“Not yet.” Daff smiles, rubbing her daughter’s back and thinking how lovely it is that they are even able to have a conversation. It has been months since Jess talked to her about anything without a sneer, and for her to reveal how she feels about Carrie is huge. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe they could try it out over the summer, see how it goes.

But then that leaves Daff. On her own. What on earth is Daff supposed to do all by herself?

The answer comes to her as she drives home. She is thinking about work, what she has listed, what she can do to market her properties, when she remembers the pictures she was looking at in that house. Nantucket.

Why not go to Nantucket? This is the first time in thirteen years she doesn’t have to think about someone else. She could have an adventure. Go somewhere new. Meet new people.

And making a mental note to Google Nantucket and find out about rentals, Daff finds herself smiling all the way home.

Michael walks in the apartment to the smell of melting butter and garlic. It smells wonderful, smells like he has made a mistake and walked into someone else’s apartment, or the restaurant on the corner.

“Hello?” He pokes his head tentatively into the kitchen, for he thought Jordana was leaving today, was going off to stay with friends, a hotel,
something,
and he’s not sure he can bear the guilt now that Jackson has chosen him as an unwilling confidant.

Jordana looks up from where she is sautéing onions and garlic, in the corner of the tiny kitchen, pleasure in her eyes.

“I thought I’d cook you dinner,” she says. “To say thank you for taking me in last night.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he says. “I thought you were going to a hotel.”

“I am,” she says, her face falling at Michael’s lack of pleasure. She thought he’d be thrilled—what man, what self-respecting bachelor wouldn’t be thrilled to have a beautiful woman cook him dinner?

What Michael so clearly needs, above all else, is a woman to look after him. She hasn’t just shopped and cooked—and her cooking days in Great Neck were long gone—she has dusted the apartment. She needs Michael to realize how wonderful she is, how good his life could be with the two of them together, for she senses his distance, and this is the only way she knows to get him back, to make herself indispensable, to make his life better with her than without.

That and a spectacular blow job.

“I’m booked into the St. Regis,” she says, laying down her spoon and turning off the gas as she rubs her hand slowly on the front of his jeans, and Michael, despite himself, groans.

“Want me to stay or go?” She sinks slowly down to her knees and unzips him, knowing the effect she has on him, knowing she is all-powerful where this is concerned.

“Stay,” he gasps, and with a satisfied smile on her face she takes him in her mouth.

Michael lays down the knife and fork and sighs. He’s trying to eat the pasta. He knows it’s probably delicious—it smells delicious, looks delicious and if he were able to taste anything at all, it would undeniably taste just as good, but he can’t.

He has forced one mouthful down, but he can’t do this. Can’t play happy families when he knows, suddenly and without any shadow of a doubt, that he and Jordana are not meant to be together.

It is as if he has just awakened from a trance, the shock of Jackson’s pain, the shock of all their lives being turned upside down, enough to force him back to reality, a reality that Jordana has no part of.

“What’s the matter?” Jordana is happy. She has him where she wants him, has been besotted with him since the first kiss, and has only been able to leave Jackson, to blow up her life, because she has barely thought about Jackson since that very first day when her fantasies became a reality.

This is what she has been waiting for these weeks, but this is not the way it is supposed to happen.

In her fantasies Michael is as adoring as he has always been, only more so, his gratitude immeasurable for her having had the courage to leave her husband. He welcomes her with open arms and tears in his eyes, telling her how much he loves her, how they will start afresh.

She would even have children for Michael, and Jordana never wanted children in her life. But imagine little Michaels, the product of their love for one another! She has even thought about coming off the pill, because, let’s face it, she isn’t getting any younger.

And Jackson? Jackson would deal with it. He’d have to. And at some point he’d find someone else, and then perhaps they’d all be, if not friends, then at least on friendly terms. Jordana certainly bears him no animosity, she doesn’t want to hurt him in the slightest, but Michael is her
soulmate.
How can she miss an opportunity like this? How can she spend the rest of her life knowing she was with the wrong man? Jackson may take a while, but ultimately he would realize that Jordana was not his soulmate, would realize that she had done the right thing.

Her heart beats faster as she watches Michael struggle to chew. He does not look the way she thought he would look. He looks like a man carrying a weight on his shoulders. He looks like a man who is about to say something she knows she doesn’t want to hear, and she doesn’t want this to happen, wants to turn the clock back to a few weeks ago when everything was perfect. She feels a wave of nausea as Michael opens his mouth to speak.

“I can’t do this, Jordana,” he says softly.

“Can’t do what?” She is almost choking.

“I saw Jackson today.” Michael looks up and meets her eyes. “He’s in so much pain. I feel horrible. I don’t know that I can do this to him.”

“I know,” she croons, thinking that if it is only his concern at hurting Jackson, she can deal with that, knows her way around that. “Of course it will be painful in the beginning, but I swear that in time he’ll see how wrong we are for one another.”

“Maybe,” Michael says. “Maybe you and he are wrong for one another, but I still . . . I can’t . . .”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t be with you,” he says eventually, his voice soft.

Jordana sighs. “Okay. Fine. We’ll take a break until things settle down. I understand you feel horrible about this, and maybe it’s a good thing, maybe it’s too risky to keep seeing one another, so I can wait.” She stretches across the table and takes his hand. “We’re worth waiting for,” she says earnestly.

There is a long pause and then Michael shakes his head. “Jordana, I think you’re amazing. I think you’re beautiful, and clever, and funny and talented . . .”

“Oh my God,” she groans, her eyes widening in disbelief. “I know there’s a but coming.”

“In another life you would be everything I would look for in a woman, but we come from such different worlds. It isn’t just that you’re married, and I work for you, and I like your husband. That’s bad enough, but there’s more. You’ve always talked about not meshing your world and mine, creating one that both of us can live in, but I don’t see it. I don’t see how we do that.”

“We can,” Jordana insists. “I’d love to live a simple life with you. I don’t need all this stuff. I’d give it all up for you.”

“But I don’t want you to,” Michael says. “You wouldn’t be true to yourself.”

“I’ve got many different sides.” Jordana’s desperation is becoming evident in her voice as she tries to reason with him, tries to refute all his arguments. “You just know one limited side, and you think that’s all there is but that’s not true.”

“I don’t think you’re limited, but . . .” He sighs. This is so difficult. In such a short time they have become so incredibly close, but he knows, finally he knows, there is no way they belong together, and this has to end now. How does he tell her without destroying her?

“Jackson loves you,” he says, trying to convince her. “And you may have your hard times but who doesn’t? You’ve been together for years, and I don’t think you should throw it away for me. I think the two of you belong together. I think you owe him a second chance. Maybe this was what was needed, a catalyst to bring the two of you closer.”

“You have to be fucking joking!” Jordana’s voice is hard as she sits back in her chair and looks at him with disbelief. “I’ve blown up my life for you and now you’re telling me to go back to my husband because you don’t want me? I don’t fucking believe this.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you.” Michael feels pathetic in the face of her anger. “It’s just that I don’t see us together, and I don’t want to be responsible for this.”

“You’re a fucking coward,” she stands up and hisses. “You just loved screwing the boss until it became serious. I can’t believe I fell for this. I can’t believe I fell for you. Jesus Christ.” She runs her fingers through her hair as she looks around the apartment frantically. “I’ve been so fucking stupid.”

“Please don’t leave like this.” Michael stands helplessly in the doorway as Jordana throws the last of her things back in her suitcase, refusing to look at him, refusing to say anything. “Can we talk about this?”

But she doesn’t say a word to him. Zips her bag shut as tightly as her lips, then shoves past him and slams the elevator button, turning her back as he shuts the door of the apartment gently, not sure how he feels. Upset. Sad. Relieved.

The phone rings at 3:02 a.m.

“It’s me.” Jordana’s voice is husky down the phone. She has been crying, the rage of a few hours ago having worked itself out of her system by the time she reached her hotel room.

“Yes?” Michael is cautious.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and this time she breaks into sobs. “I love you. I really do. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I know we belong together. I know we can make this work. Please don’t do this to me, Michael. Please give me a second chance, give us a second chance.”

“It’s late,” Michael says eventually. “It’s been an exhausting day. Why don’t we both go to sleep and talk again tomorrow morning? Everything will be clearer in daylight.”

“Okay,” she says. “And I do love you.”

Michael puts the phone down and goes over to his computer. He opens a blank document in Word and starts to type.

Jackson sits in his offIce and tears open the envelope after looking at the return address on the top left-hand corner. Why would Michael, his jeweler, be writing to him? He unfolds the piece of paper and starts to read, shaking his head in disbelief, then he lays his head in his hands.

“Oh Christ,” he says, raising his eyes to the ceiling, his voice loud. “Why me? What the fuck am I supposed to do?” And with that he picks up the phone and calls Jordana.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” he says into her voice-mail. “But I want to talk to you. Come to the shop at three o’clock today.”

“What’s the matter?” Jordana knew from the tone of his voice that morning that something was wrong, and she is shaking as she walks into his offIce.

“Well, quite apart from the fact that my wife left me two days ago, this morning I received this.”

He slides the paper over the desk to Jordana, and as she sees Michael’s name at the bottom, she instantly feels sick.

“What is it?” she whispers, but she knows.

“Read it,” he says coldly, and she does, finishing it and looking up at Jackson in confusion.

“He’s left?”

“Can you believe it? Twenty fucking years I’ve looked after him and now he’s gone. No notice. Nothing. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

And Jordana bursts into tears.

Michael sits on a bench in Hyannisport harbor and watches the high-speed ferry take off, crammed with excited holidaymakers, before making his way to the old-fashioned freight ferry that takes twice as long, but is the way he always traveled back and forth as a kid. It wouldn’t feel right to travel any other way.

Already, he feels a wave of excitement at being home, the smells, the sights, and mostly the comfort of being back where he belongs, for the last month or so has unsettled him, and he needs to be back on terra firma for some much-needed stability.

He feels terrible about running away, leaving both Jackson and Jordana in the lurch, but he couldn’t think of another way. Jordana’s behavior was scaring him, he could easily imagine her telling Jackson, or refusing to take no for an answer, and he knew that the longer he stayed around her, around the situation, the more dangerous it would be.

Michael has never been a coward, but the need to be away from New York, to be back home where he belongs, was overwhelming, and he truly felt he didn’t have a choice.