Porch Light

The letter in my raincoat pocket tugs at the corners of my conscience, demanding a decision I don't want to make.

"I'm going for a walk," I yell over the cheering crowds and sportscasters' raspy voices. "I'm tired of this lousy weather." I throw on my yellow raincoat and Jimmy's old fishing hat.

My husband Jimmy, dressed in his University of Alabama football jersey, grunts from the couch. "It's only been two days."

Miracle, he heard me.

I bend down to kiss him. His lips barely brush mine, and he moves me slightly so that I don't block the game.

"Why don't you come with me? We can grab a beer at the Mint Julip."

"The Mint Julip doesn't get the channel with the Alabama games."

"You can't pull yourself away from the game for a drink?"

He glares at me. "It's only the most important game of the season."

"That's what you always say when Alabama is playing."

"That's because every Alabama game is important."

I roll my eyes. "I'm a college football widow again."

"Only for another four months."

"Yay. Maybe I'll see you again around New Year's." The door squeaks as I shut it.

The summer house is lopsided and weathered. I pull the door a second time so that the latch clicks. The wood planking on the porch is cracked and peeling from years of moist sea air.

The house hasn't changed since the last time I was here five years ago. But that was another time, another man. Was I punishing myself to suggest to Jimmy that we vacation here?

The sky is sullen and the air is soggy, but it's no longer raining. I kick off my shoes, then hold onto the rickety handrail as I tiptoe down the cold, slippery wooden steps to the beach.

I turn around. "Hey Jimmy! I forgot. Can you turn on the porch light?" He probably didn't hear me. "Oh well," I mutter, "I know my way back to the house."

"Hey Cassie, where ya' goin'?"

I turn to see Mary Beth waving at me. She's renting a summer house down the road, and the three of us have become friends. I wave back. "Taking a walk," I yell.

Mary Beth catches up to me. "When are you coming back?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Dunno. Why?"

"I thought we could order some pizza and watch the game."

"Go ahead and get that pizza. I'll have some when I get back."

"No problem." She grins at me. "You stay dry now."

I watch Mary Beth walk into our summer house without knocking. When she's inside, I turn around, picking my way around discarded soda pop cans and plastic pails.

My feet sink into the soft wet sand, and the icy water stings my toes. A small crab scrambles sideways towards the water. "I remember the first time I saw Jimmy," I tell the crab. "He was standing in the produce section, holding a turnip, and looking for the greens."

The crab is in no mood for memories and scuttles away. I sigh. Maybe I loved Jimmy once. Or maybe he was a refuge. I don't know if he ever really loved me.

I roll up my pant legs and walk into the water. The tide is low, and the cold waves slap my ankles. I shiver and wrap the raincoat more tightly around me. An outcropping of rocks waits for me. It's just out of sight of the house, and it's my favorite place to watch the surf and think.

A few seagulls float past, low over the water. Thunder booms in the distance.

I take the letter out of my raincoat pocket. The paper is crumpled and the ink runs in places from rain and my tears. Make a decision, it shouts in black and white. Stay with Jimmy or come to me.

A seagull perches on a lower rock and sings huoh-huoh-huoh. "If it wasn't for that piece of cherry pie, I wouldn't be sitting here," I explain to the bird. "I turned around too quickly, and there was Rex, wearing my dessert. He shouldn't have stood so close to me. He said it was because he liked the fragrance of my hair." I fold the letter. "Do you know that he wore that cherry pie to his book signing?" I laugh. "He told me it reminded him of me."

The seagull dances on the rock.

"But both men are the same. They both leave me for months at a time. The only difference is that Jimmy leaves me for the TV, while Rex leaves me for some exotic country."

A piece of seaweed is wedged into a crack, and I throw it back into the ocean. "Am I just the queen of indecision? Am I allowing circumstances to toss me around like a clump of seaweed in the surf?"

The sea gull flies away with my questions in its mouth. I'm left behind with no answers.

The city lights break through the twilight gloom and sparkle in the distance, like a diamond necklace nestled in black velvet.

Now I'm alone, so I talk to the ocean. "I wonder if Jimmy noticed I'm still gone. I wonder if he noticed we've barely spoken to each other for years." I shake my head. "Such a waste of two, no, three lives."

Darkness descends quickly on the beach. The tide creeps back up the sand. Raindrops soak Jimmy's hat. My coat is a shiny reflection of the moon. I don't know if my cheeks are wet from rain or tears.

"OK," I say to the ocean. "If the porch light is on, I'll stay with Jimmy. If the porch light is off, I'll go to Rex."

I slide off the rocks and walk through the surf, back to the sand. "What was I thinking? I should have worn boots. I'll add that to the list of all the other things I should have done."

I look at the moon peeking through the clouds. "Hey, Mr. Moon, am I ready for what's next?"

The moon doesn't reply, so I walk just far enough to see the summer house.

A tiny bright light illuminates the door. My throat constricts with a longing for the familiar.

I rip the letter into tiny pieces, and toss them, like confetti, into the waves. I should feel better, but I only feel sad.

Mary Beth and Jimmy jump apart when I throw open the door.

Jimmy pulls down his shirt and smooths his hair back into place. "We weren't expecting you back so soon, honey."

"That's pretty obvious." I glare at him.

Mary Beth adjusts her pants. "I was just showing Jimmy my tattoo." Mary Beth opens the pizza box. "Want a slice?"

I push Mary Beth's hand aside and walk quickly to the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Jimmy asks.

"Packing up." Jimmy and Mary Beth are silent while I throw all my clothes into a duffel bag. "I'm sure you can find your own way home, Jimmy." I look at him one last time before I walk out the front door. "Don't expect me to be there when you get back."

After slamming the front door shut, I skip down the illuminated steps, laughing and crying at the same time. Jimmy probably turned on the porch light for the pizza delivery guy, not for me. As I drive to the highway, I watch in the rearview mirror as the porch light goes off.