The Topsail Accord (7 page)

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Authors: J T Kalnay

BOOK: The Topsail Accord
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He is attractive. He’s older. Ten years older. Does that matter to me? Not really. My sister’s husband is five years older and although he is slowing down faster than she is it’s not a big deal. Joe is ten years older, but he’s in decent shape from the jogging, and he must eat okay. He’s tanned, but for someone who lives on a barrier island he doesn’t look like leather. So he must look after himself that way too.
He’s meticulous in preparing coffee. Is he meticulous about other things? I don’t know. Would that be an issue? He runs at the same time every day, except on Fridays, when he does something different. Is this an issue? Is he too much a creature of habit?
I have my habits. I know that. If they weren’t such productive habits they might be called something else, like obsessive compulsions. But they are productive, and directed at worthwhile things. My sister the cancer researcher is the same way. No-one is more obsessive compulsive than she is. But since its cancer research it’s not OCD, it’s dedication. Me too, because it’s geology and oil and gas exploration it’s dedication and purpose, not OCD.
What’s my honesty here? I went out on the beach hoping to meet him and now I’ve met him. He isn’t repulsive. And despite what I told my sister he is handsome. Not movie star gorgeous, but who is in real life anyway? Well those actors that use the green roofed house are, but they’re movie stars. Okay, television stars.
So I’ve met him, and had coffee, twice, and gone on a slow jog. I wouldn’t be able to jog with him very often. He’s too slow. And I know he can’t go much faster because of his knees. Would he walk with me? Instead of jogging. Would he walk on the Atlantic beach with me and sip coffee and not talk over the waves and the morning sun? Would he paddle with me on the little inland canals where the egrets and osprey live? Could he paddle and be quiet and take photographs? Maybe that’s my honesty. Maybe my honesty is that I want to find out these things.
And there is the real truth. I am interested in him. Interested in a man in a way I haven’t been in so very long. Maybe never. Yes I was married, but I’m not sure I was ever interested in my husband that much. Our marriage just kind of happened. He was on the same research project with me that whole summer, and then got a post doc at Ohio State where I was teaching. One thing lead to another and then we were married. But I don’t think I was ever as interested in my husband as I am in Joe.
Joe. It’s such a plain name. Is it short for Joseph? Joseph and Shannon? People will make a joke about that….
Joe

 

So she’s going to bring her sister tomorrow morning. Is her sister older or younger? Is her sister going to be sizing me up the whole time? Are they going to turn out to be princesses who won’t like the work? I guess that’ll be interesting for me to find out.
I think she likes me. But I don’t think she likes me a lot yet. She is almost aloof. But she did smile at me during our run. She smiled at me a couple of times. She seemed happier when she was running.
She is at home on the beach, is nearly a part of it. Her stride and breathing seem to ebb and flow with the waves as they come ashore. She belongs on the beach. That’s plain to see. We have that in common. I don’t just love the beach in general, I love North Topsail beach in particular. I don’t think I would have to explain that love to her. I think she would just get it. What else will she just get?
Will she get that I used to be a fundamental Christian? But that I ‘reformed’ after Colleen, and after Caitlin? Will she get what that was like for me? Will she get that I don’t want another marriage? Or another family?
Why am I even thinking about marriage and family? We have had two cups of coffee and a jog, and those horrible berries. At least I won’t have to eat any more of those berries. I’m glad she busted me on that. She made it clear she wants honesty. That’s fine with me, excellent with me. Because it means I don’t have to pretend about anything. Pretending is too much work. And it means that she will either take me or leave me just the way I am. I’m fifty soon, and this old dog isn’t about to learn any new tricks. My personal computer works, I’m not getting an iPad. Okay I did get a Kindle, and a water-proof and sand-proof bag so I can sit and read on the beach. My favorite thing, just sitting by the ocean and reading.
She’s coming over tomorrow, with her sister, to work. And she’s leaving soon to go back to Ohio. She’ll be back, to her cottage, to be alone. If she hasn’t even invited her sister to her cottage she’s never going to invite me to her cottage.
She has so many mysteries. Are they really mysteries? Or does she just like to be alone? Some people just like to be alone. To think, or not to think. I know I like to be alone, and I know that I like to be together. I like intersecting lives. Lives that intersect but that don’t smother or reduce the other life. Beautiful intersections when lives are made better by the moments together. Sex is an intersection. Why am I thinking about sex? Perhaps because she’s beautiful and sexy and smart and doesn’t have any idea the effect she has on men. This man in particular. Yes sex is a fantastic intersection. But one I better stop thinking about right now. She’s going back to Ohio, and I am not ‘that’ guy, not ‘that’ islander. Well, not very often, and not lately.
Talking and jogging and doing things together are nice intersections too. Harmless intersections. But how harmless are they with Shannon? Because just thinking about her I’ve thought about marriage and family and sex. Maybe not so harmless at all.
Well I will know a lot more after tomorrow’s ‘date’. I’ll see her working and I’ll see her with her sister and her sister will see me. Our sisters will meet. Lord knows how that will go. I’m going to ask her to go for a walk on the beach around sunset tomorrow, after supper. I don’t know if she’ll just walk. She’s a really fast runner, she didn’t even break a sweat or have any heavy breathing from our run.
If she says ‘yes’ to the walk I’ll ask her whether she wants me to come to her house or if she wants to meet me on the beach in front of her house or if she wants to meet somewhere else. Where she wants to meet will tell me a lot.
Why am I planning tests? Why am I ‘intelligence gathering’ with her. She asked me not to pretend. Actually she told me not to pretend. I think she’d also tell me not to engage in intelligence gathering. I think she’d tell me that if I have a question I should just ask her the question. And I also think she’ll either answer the question or tell me that it’s none of my business.
My my my. She’s got my head spinning. And my head doesn’t spin.
Shannon

 

The setting sun is throwing pinks and salmons into the late evening clouds over the Sound. I walk behind as the children alternate sprinting and stopping and looking at things on the shore. The kids and I come out a few evenings just by ourselves every year. Unlike their parents, I offer no suggestions about what they should do or how they should do it. I simply walk behind, with a cup of decaf, and marvel at how much they have grown. I visited each and every one of them the day they were born, except the twins. The twins were born while we were all here, all except my mom and sister.
I remember driving to the different hospitals and holding the tiny little babies and wondering whether I would ever have my own. As the years went on, I realized I would never have my own. Though no-one could identify any specific problem, either with me or with my husband, I knew somehow that there would never be a baby. All the trying and hoping eventually ruined even that one thing that almost sort of worked between us, the sex. It had been good when we were young and had no worries and I was just discovering this thing. But over the years, like I guess it must for so many married couples, it slowed and then stopped. It became a chore, loaded with expectations and hopes for my husband. Freighted with failure every month. I didn’t care either way, whether we had a baby or not, whether we had a family or not. If it had happened that would have been fine, and even that it didn’t happen was fine. With me, but not for my husband.
These walks on the beach with the nieces and nephews and children of cousins were never enough for him. He wanted his own. And his family wanted him to have his own. They were convinced that a man “should” have his own family. Even though they couldn’t provide a single reason, as though simply saying “should” was enough reason. So he was convinced. I asked him once, only once, why it was so important to him. His only answer was that a man “should have a son.” So maybe even five daughters wouldn’t have been enough for him. I never knew what was enough for him. Because I think
he
never knew what was enough for him. We never talked about it. We hardly talked at the beginning, and by the end we didn’t talk at all. There was a nearly complete cessation of communication. Except about our nephew, the oldest of the kids, for some reason we could always talk about him. My ex was truly attached to that boy. Sometimes I think it was harder for my ex to leave my nephew than to leave me.
These walks with the children are enough for me. I love each of them in their own way. The smart ones, the athletic ones, the ones with good hearts, the ones that like to goof around, I love them all. But I don’t need any to spring from my body. All these children are mine, in some small way. And all my brothers and sisters and parents are my family. When my husband remarried and got his “should” family, his own son, and his own daughter, he still wasn’t happy. So now he’s divorced again. And maybe remarried and then divorced again. I don’t keep track, but sometimes mutual friends let something slip, or drop it intentionally. I have moved on, why haven’t my friends?

 

We have walked all the way to the pier, where my brother and sister have driven just in case some of the smaller kids want to ride back, or to get ice cream. All the kids except the oldest two decide to ride back. To make room, my sister joins me on the beach, in the twilight, and we walk behind the two oldest as they head back towards my house. The oldest girl is going to be a beauty. Boys and men already turn their heads to watch her on the beach. My sister and I will have our hands full with that one.

 

“
What are you thinking about?” Cara asks
“
My ex,” Shannon says straight away.
“
What about him?” Cara prods.
“
About how the sex was no good and then non-existent at the end.”
“
And exactly why are you thinking about sex?” Cara asks.
Shannon looks at her.
“
You’re not thinking about doing it with Joe are you?” Cara asks.
“
No.”
“
But you’re wondering what it would be like?” Cara asks.
“
No.”
“
So why were you thinking about sex with the ex?”
“
Because of the kids. Because after a while, the sex was only to have kids. He had to have kids. And now he has kids and he doesn’t want them.”
Cara listened. Watched the older kids walking ahead, thought back to their walks at Nags Head, thought about their walks around the farm in Ohio, and at Mentor Headlands, and all the other walks they had taken over the years. Realized that this was the first time Shannon had ever talked about sex with the ex.”
“
Have you heard from him lately?” Cara asks.
“
He keeps sending me emails and texts and actual letters. I half expect to see him show up here on the beach someday.”
“
Do you think he would?”
“
Not really. He’d think about it. But like everything else he’d never quite get around to it.”
“
Ouch,” Cara says.
“
Just keeping it real.”
“
Wonder what he’d think if he saw you jogging with Joe?”
“
Where did that come from?” Shannon asks.
Shannon and Joe, et al.

 

Shannon and Cara arrive exactly at seven. A small group of four or five women and two or three men are standing outside the coffee shop, most sipping from tall to-go cups. Shannon parks in the same spot.
“
Ready for this?” she asks Cara.
“
Coffee. Need coffee...” Cara answers.

 

“
Here is your coffee ladies. Shannon, your special order for the early morning, and a double espresso for, your daughter?” Joe asks.
“
Charming,” Cara says rolling her eyes. She holds out her hand, “Cara, sister Cara.”
“
You’re a nun?” Joe asks.
Cara rolls her eyes again.
“
No verbal or mental gymnastics until after my coffee please,” Cara says.
Shannon laughs to herself at Joe’s teasing of her sister. Like Shannon, Cara is rarely on the receiving end of witty repartee or teasing. As the bosses at their jobs and as the leaders in their fields they are both much more used to respectful discourse, not early morning “nice to meet you” banter.

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