The Beach House (21 page)

“Who said anything about dating?” Adam grins. “I was just hoping for a kiss goodnight.”

Daff looks at him in horror.

“I’m kidding,” he says, and she forces a laugh.

“Seriously, though,” he persists, “I’d really like your number. I’m not looking to date anyone either, but perhaps you and I could make one another happy in different ways.” He raises a confident eyebrow at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t you get lonely going to bed by yourself every night? I find friends with benefits to be the easiest solution. You and I both stand to win. No commitment, just passion.” He growls on the last word and moves closer, putting an arm around Daff’s waist.

“Oh Jesus,” Daff groans, shoving him away and getting in the car, gunning the engine without waiting to see what he’s saying, although she glances in her rearview mirror as she drives off and he’s shouting something.

“That was the worst night of my life,” she says out loud as she drives home. “Not only am I going to kill Laura, I’m never ever going to a singles night anywhere for as long as I live.”

It’s not even as though Daff wants a relationship. What she wants, right now, is to find herself again. When she was married, she knew who she was. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely true to herself— she always felt, married to Richard, she was playing a role, being the dutiful wife, the loving mother, to the extent that she stopped thinking about what it was that would make her happy—but now that she’s no longer married she realizes she doesn’t have a clear definition of who she is.

Living in this small suburban town where everyone is married, everyone is defined by their role in the community, their involvement in school, she doesn’t have a role anymore.

Slowly, she realizes, her social life has dropped off. The couples they were friends with are no longer her friends.
Friendly,
yes, but she is no longer invited to dinner parties and get-togethers on her own, unless there is a single man someone wants to introduce her to, but they are few and far between.

She runs into those women sometimes at the grocery store, their carts piled high with industrial packs of Bounty, giant plastic bottles of Tide, three quarts of fat-free organic milk, and she feels self-conscious about her own shopping, particularly now that Jess is no longer at home—a couple of yogurts, sliced ham from the deli, a small packet of organic granola and half a pint of milk.

“We must get together,” the women will say, eyeing her small hand-held basket with pity as they pretend to be embarrassed at all their provisions. “Groceries,” they’ll say with a sigh. “Isn’t this a pain?”

Soon after the divorce she had read in the local paper about a women’s support group. She had gone, not because she particularly wanted support, but because she was lonely, was still trying to adjust to not having a husband to cook for, to having to do everything herself, and was hoping to meet some other women who had shared her experience, perhaps find friends, women she could get together with and have dinner, a coffee perhaps.

But she had found it frightening and toxic. A room full of bitter, angry women, each of whom seemed to have a worse story about the awful ex-husbands in their lives, from abuse, to laziness, to infidelity. Daff left the room each time in a deep depression.

“What about your husband?” someone would invariably ask as they lined up by the coffee machine in the break, and Daff, who could have regaled them with stories of Richard’s affair, chose instead to shrug and say it was just one of those things that didn’t work out, and they quickly lost interest.

What she needs now, she realizes, is a fresh start. A change of scene. She is booked on the ferry to Nantucket in three days, and she needs this rest more than she has ever needed anything. She needs to get away from home, needs to lie on beaches with stacks of good books, hell, maybe even start painting again. She needs to remember who she was before she became a wife, a mother and, most recently, a divorcée.

She needs to decide who she’s going to be next.

"Oh good.” Nan peers out of the kitchen window as she does the washing up. "That nice man from the garden center’s here. Daniel, would you mind just running out and telling him I’m in the kitchen? I’ll be out in a minute.”

Nan watches as Daniel walks outside and introduces himself to Matt, pointing inside then nodding and climbing up into the back of the truck to help get the tools.

How could they not like each other, she thinks. Matt, short but perfectly formed, his arms a deep, rich tan from working outside in the sun, with longish brown hair and a ready smile, is nothing short of adorable, and a perfect foil for the more brooding Daniel.

What a lovely couple they would make, she thinks, smiling to herself, wiping her hands on a towel. Not that she’s trying to push anyone into anything, but that poor Daniel is so sad, and so obviously confused. Amazing that his wife doesn’t seem to know, but this must be so hard for Daniel. He looks like he could use, at the very least, a friend.

They work hard, Daniel and Matt, side by side. Nan watches from the window like a mother hen, emerging from time to time to check their progress, bringing them cold lemonade, then calling them for lunch.

“I set the table under the pergola,” Nan says. “You two need a break and I have to dash off to the A & P with Michael.” And with a jaunty wave, she’s gone, a smile on her face.

She would love to stay, but knows they will be more comfortable alone.

Matt walks in front, grinning as he sees the table. Daniel, following behind, looks away as Matt pulls off the gardening gloves and tucks them absentmindedly into the back pocket of his jeans, then looks back at the smooth curve of Matt’s backside in rough, faded Levi’s, blushing as Matt turns and catches his gaze.

Two linen placemats are laid out, a white bowl of salad greens from the garden, toasted pine nuts and feta, beautifully cut roast beef sandwiches, and a basket of what smells suspiciously like freshly baked bread.

“Damn!” Matt slaps his thigh. “She forgot the candles!”

“What?” Daniel looks at him in confusion.

“Well, doesn’t this feel like we’re being set up on a date?” He grins again, not entirely unhappy about the situation, as Daniels eyes widen.

“We are? But . . . Nan doesn’t know . . . ?” Daniel’s voice trails off.

“Doesn’t know what? That I’m gay? Oh Daniel, everyone on the island who knows me knows I’m gay. I think it’s sweet. She thinks we’d make a nice couple.” He raises an eyebrow at Daniel, who flushes and looks away, not knowing what on earth to say, unused to flirting with a man, and particularly with a man so unexpectedly cute.

“Oh shit.” Matt’s face falls. “Don’t tell me you’re straight. Oh my God! I’m so embarrassed.”

“No, no,” Daniel lays a hand on his arm as Matt sinks his head in his hands. “I am gay—” and even as he says those words he feels relief flood through him—“it’s just that . . . I’m newly gay.”

“You just came out?”

“Well, not officially. I don’t understand how Nan knew?”

“Because you thought you were as straight as they come? Oh honey . . .” Matt throws his head back and laughs. “I hate to disappoint you but we can always tell.”

“Nan too?”

Matt shrugs. “Nan? Of course. Shall we sit down? This food looks delicious and, bless her, she’s even left cold beers in the cooler for us. I think we should treat this as the date it’s supposed to be.”

Daniel sits, gratefully taking a swig of the beer Matt hands to him. “I was married until about a minute ago.”

“Married?
Married?
To a
woman
?”

Daniel nods.

“No wonder you’re so jumpy. This really must be new for you. Were you faithful or were there men on the side?”

“God, no!” Daniel says. “I’ve got two daughters. I’d never be unfaithful.”

“But you’ve always known you were gay?”

Daniel nods.

“Me too.” Matt dishes out the salad as he talks. “I guess I was lucky. My dad left us when I was four, and my mom always had tons of gay friends. It seemed completely natural to be gay and, honestly, I don’t ever remember having a conversation about it, or ever officially coming out. It just evolved, and was never uncomfortable, or an issue. I’ve met so many married men over the years. Actually—” he looks coy for a second—“I’ve had affairs with one or two, but I’ve known so many men who are married and who can’t see another way. Most of them stay married their entire lives and the wives never know.”

Daniel nods. “That’s how it was for me. I’ve always known, but I didn’t want to know, didn’t want it to be true. I thought that being married to a woman would somehow keep me safe.” He snorts. “Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“No. I think a lot of men feel that way.”

“But I thought I could do it, and then something happened. A guy I was once . . . well, we had a fling years ago, before I was married. I hadn’t seen him for years then he got back in touch, and he came out years ago—and I saw what my life could have been, could still be, and realized I couldn’t live a lie any longer. I just couldn’t do it.”

“I think that’s incredibly brave,” Matt says. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, having to tell all the people in your life: jeez, sorry but I made a mistake, after all these years of you thinking I was straight, guess what?”

“Oh God,” Daniel groans. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“What was your wife’s reaction?” Matt is curious now. “Is she okay?”

Daniel looks down at the table. “I haven’t told her yet,” he says slowly.

“Are you going to?”

“Of course!” He looks up. “I just don’t know when. Or how. I feel like I’ve caused her enough pain. She thought everything in the marriage was great. Well, almost everything . . .”

“As in, you never wanted to sleep with her?”

Daniel shrugs with a resigned smile.

“Got it. You know, though,” Matt says, “I know people who have told their wives, and it’s almost made it easier, because it stops being about them, they stop being able to blame themselves. I think when relationships end we spend so much time thinking about the ‘if onlys’: if only I’d been more understanding, or less understanding. If only I’d been nicer, or worked less, or any number of things. Okay, I’m rambling now, but the point is that the
what ifs
can wreak even more havoc on a situation that’s already difficult. If your wife knew the truth, she’d know she couldn’t have competed, she couldn’t have done anything differently to make you stay. It may be that it makes it much easier for both of you.”

Daniel nods slowly. “I’d never thought of it like that. I guess I’d just thought of trying to avoid causing her more pain.”

“I’m not saying she’s going to throw her arms around you and thank you, then want to be your best friend, although, frankly, stranger things have happened.” He gazes intently at Daniel. “You might want to think about telling her the truth.”

“Wow.” Daniel shakes his head in surprise, a smile on his lips. “I can’t actually believe I’m talking about it now, so freely, like this.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Matt raises his beer.

“It does. It really, really does. Cheers.” And they both tuck in to the food.

Nan stays away for as long as she can, going straight back out to the garden when she finally gets home.

Daniel’s almost finished digging one bed, Matt turning the soil on the other one, and Daniel is laughing at something Matt has been saying. Oh goody, Nan thinks, they like one another.

“How are my beds?”

Matt looks up. “Almost done. And thank you, Nan. Lunch was delicious.”

“Entirely unexpected but wonderful,” echoes Daniel. “Thank you.”

“You two look like you’re getting on.” Nan can’t help herself.

“It’s remarkable,” Matt says. “In the four hours since we met we’ve fallen head over heels in love and we’ll be moving in together next week.”

Nan almost keels over in shocked delight. “Really?”

“No!” Matt shakes his head as Daniel grins and looks away. “Not
really.
But now at least we see you did have an ulterior motive.”

“Was it that obvious?”

Matt shrugs. “It was the flowers on the table that did it. We were wondering where the candles were.”

“I did think about candles,” Nan says, seriously. “I just thought it was a bit unnecessary, given that it’s a hot summer’s day.”

“We were joking,” Daniel says, thinking how strange it is to say “we,” when referring to anyone other than Bee.

“Oh boys,” Nan says. “Stop being so wicked. Let me show you how I want these beds planted out.” She takes Matt’s arm and walks him up to the house to show him the pictures she’s cut out of a garden magazine.

“Did you mind?” Later, long after Matt has gone, Nan comes outside and sits next to Daniel, sinking into one of the old, scratched-up Adirondack chairs overlooking the bay. “Was it horribly presumptuous of me?”

“A little, but I don’t mind. Can I ask you, though—how did you know?”

“Oh darling. An old bird like me? I’ve learned to listen to my intuition these days. I didn’t when I was younger, you know, and every time I ignored it, it got me into trouble. Now I find that the little voice is almost always right, and there was nothing in particular, just a feeling.”

“Okay.”

“Were you worried you were suddenly behaving like a screaming queen without realizing it?” Nan laughs.

“I was a bit.” Daniel grins sheepishly, and she shakes her head.

“Not a bit of it. But now do tell me about Matt. Isn’t he lovely? The two of you seemed to get on.”

“We did. He’s a good guy. Helped me see things another way.”

“Good.” She nods, loving being the mother hen again, loving having people to look after. “Oh my gosh,” she says, looking at her watch. “The new tenant will be here any minute and I was hoping to make dinner for all of us, a sort of getting-to-know-you night.”