One hour later, a happy but tired Sadie is back in the wagon, with our overnight bags piled precociously behind her. The purse and toiletry bag hanging from my shoulder bashes against my hips as I pull the wagon with Allyse, equally loaded, pushing from behind.
That sixth round of crushes took driving out of the equation.
"Thank God Ryan's house is only two streets over from yours," Allyse huffs, sweating like me. "I just want a cool shower and a warm bed. You did thank him for me, right?"
It was hard to say anything at all.
The second I heard Ryan's voice ... his soothing, compassionate voice, tears sprang to my eyes, and a softball-sized lump formed in my throat. He's always been such a good boss, understanding my need to take time off after the divorce, worrying about my well-being, and answering my call right away.
"Hey, Marcie, you at the beach?"
Don't cry, don't cry, you're a grown-ass woman, don't cry...
"Marcie, are you okay? Is everything alright?"
That's all it took.
The sob I'd been holding in came out in full force, my voice tight and choked in clipped syllables as I relayed to him the day's event. How Haven is trashed and abandoned. Allyse arriving instead of Nick. Our realized homelessness. "We tried to find a hotel room, Ryan, but nothing decent is available, and ... and ..."
I couldn't bring myself to ask to stay at his place. It was too much of an inconvenience.
"Marcie, it's all going to be okay. You both are more than welcome at my house. You should have called me right away!"
I closed my eyes and clutched my phone, relief flooding me. "I know ... I just didn't want to be a burden."
He let out a laugh, making me picture his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Marcie, stop, you're not being a burden. I'm excited about you seeing the place, now that it's fixed up. So, please. Stay as long as you'd like. I'll text you the door lock code."
There was one more thing.
"And ... Sadie?"
Ryan chuckled, already aware of her health issues. "No worries, the hardwoods can handle a little accidental incontinence, okay?
A little accidental incontinence.
His words now make me chuckle as we haul Sadie past a run-down condominium unit where a group of tanned twenty-somethings stares down at our unlikely parade with amusement.
"What's so funny?" Allyse asks, her breath heavy as a duffel bag hits the pavement.
I stop and help her re-stack our haul, Sadie wagging her tongue with a happy smile. "This," I say, waving my hand in a grand sweep over us and laughing ... truly laughing, for the first time in a long time. "Fair winds, mermaids, and accidental incontinence."
I don't know why I'm laughing.
I just know that it feels good.
~~~
I've seen Ryan's bay-side townhouse before, back when Nick and I were first looking for a place to buy. It was larger than we wanted, but our real estate agent took us there on a whim in case we were interested in a 'handyman special'.
Handyman special was a severe understatement.
It was more like should be condemned, enter at your own risk.
The place was even worse than Haven is now, trashed beyond comprehension by a group of surfing brothers who were living free on their parents' dime, so it was a huge no thanks for us. But now as we turn on Shellfish Lane, I can see that Ryan has replaced the decrepit front porch with sandy beige PVC decking and white vinyl rails. Two blue chairs and a bright orange sign that reads JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE welcome us as I unlock the mint-green door and step inside, gasping at the difference.
I had no doubt it'd be spectacular.
The original moldy green carpet had been replaced with blue-tinged engineered hardwood and the wall separating the kitchen had been removed, opening up the place for a grander feel. Fresh white cabinets, sparkling caramel granite, and bleached-wood planks on the ceiling add the perfect touch of beach, along with the blue-green paint on the walls.
"Seriously? This place is GORGEOUS," Allyse says, slipping off her flip flops and walking into the family room area with its white shelving, a cozy L-shaped sofa, and huge mounted television.
"You should have seen it before the renovation," I say, opening the back slider door. Sadie trots onto the large deck with a high-top captain's table, two lounge chairs, and a propane fire pit.
Allyse rests her arms on the railing, looking down at the two boat slips and four Adirondack chairs lined up on the pier. She points to them. "Now that is a perfect book reading spot."
I turn around and gasp.
"No. Up there!"
Ryan had told me he converted an attic to a third bedroom, but I didn't know he opened up the roof to create a quaint Juliette deck. We push away from the railing, excited to check it out. Allyse pauses in the kitchen, hooking a thumb toward the refrigerator. "So ... how inappropriate would it be to see if there's alcohol in your boss's fridge?"
Well, Ryan did say to help ourselves to his linens, towels, microwave meals in the freezer, and alcohol in the fridge.
"Totally appropriate."
She smiles and digs out two beers, handing me one before we go upstairs to see two beautifully decorated bedrooms.
But the attic. Oh my gosh, the attic.
It's spacious and quaint, a peaceful sea-foam green with white furniture and peach-tinted linens. We step out onto the Juliette deck to a spectacular view of the bay-side canal, most of which are lined with boats, jet skis, kayaks, and pontoons. In the distance, I can see the Ferris Wheel churning at Jolly Roger's, with its flashing lights in red, yellow and blue.
We stand silent, quietly sipping our beers. Allyse then turns to me, running a finger along the white railing, her smile fading to a concerned frown "So, have you, ah, talked to Nick about Haven yet?"
Haven? Does she know what we nicknamed the townhouse?
Well, that's stupid, of course, she does.
Nick must have told her. But what else does she know? Does she know about our arguments there? The times I got annoyed by sandy, unwashed feet running inside? That I didn't like how there was no shade in the hot afternoons and my worries about Wesley falling into the bay?
Did he tell her I was the buzz-kill wife he had no choice but to divorce?
I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts.
"He hasn't called me back. And it didn't seem like the kind of news I wanted to text, what with his father being sick and all. Did you?"
She also shakes her head.
"No, not yet. I just didn't—" she shrugs, taking another sip of beer as water laps against the green algae-stained piers below and an older couple walk hand-in-hand down the street, dressed for a night out. She watches them, wearing the same unidentifiable expression as she did at Fish Tales. Not envy or admiration. Not disdain. But something in between.
I wonder again if this has something to do with Nick hinting at how they're having issues, which doesn't make any sense. She's here, after all.
Allyse then yawns and steps back. "Well, I'm pooped. I'm going to take the small front bedroom. I highly suggest you take the third floor." She spins, arms held wide. "Because this is spectacular. Goodnight!"
Allyse ducks into the house just as a black pontoon boat cruises slowly down the canal, full of a sun-kissed family wearing swimming trunks, bikinis, and huge smiles from their day's adventure. They dock four houses down from Ryan's and hop off the boat, each of them having a task. Tying the boat up. Hauling coolers to the pier, placing boogie boards and a paddle board underneath the deck, hosing down the boat to get rid of the saltwater as someone turns on a radio.
Complete and total beach people.
As they work, I find myself nodding along to the old MC Hammer song playing from their boat's radio, one I used to dance to way back when in my single days. I wonder what Wesley would think if he saw me now, on a third-floor deck of a gorgeous beach house, sipping beer and swaying to the music.
Should I send him the picture Allyse took of me at Fish Tales? Just to prove that I am the kind of person who goes to happy hour?
The alcohol tells me I should.
I pull my phone out from my pocket and send it to him with a cheery miss you were here, love, Mom, before heading back downstairs for my bags and Sadie's dog bed still lining the wagon. After I find a cozy corner for her to sleep, my phone rings with his response.
So ... Grandpap is at the hospital and you're out drinking? Nice.
I slump to the floor, the music in my head screeching to a stop.
Fuck.
I forgot about that. Of course, Wesley would be upset about Nick's dad. They've always been close. I messed up again, just like I've done time after time. My cheeks blaze with guilt as I think of a response ... should I tell him about Haven being destroyed? How I needed a drink from that shock? How upsetting it was at first when Allyse arrived?
But no.
I can't tell him any of that, especially not about Allyse who he prefers over me. Because no matter how hard I've try ... Wesley will always view me as the nagging mom, the one who pushed him into taking two months' worth of SAT prep course and retaking the test after getting a horrible score the first time. The one who forced him to get his community service hours required for graduation done early, so he wouldn't have to worry about them during baseball season.
The one who will always cause him to roll his eyes when I call.
Nick was good cop. I was bad cop.
This is what happens when you have a boy, my mom had said when I told her about Wesley saying he hates me after I grounded him for going to a party. And just you wait ... it will get worse. Daughters are your daughters for life, but sons? They always leave you when they're grown, just like men always leave. Just like your father left me.
Just like Nick left me.
Sadie snuggles against me as hot tears swell in my eyes. I should go to bed. God only knows what tomorrow is going to bring. But instead, I step back out onto the Juliette deck and look down the canal to see another boat approaching. A tall, tanned man expertly docks the boat right beside Ryan's empty pier with the precision and skill of one who's been born on the water as a slim woman with long blond hair hops onto the pier with a rope, anchoring the boat with quick laps around a post.
But it's the third passenger that makes my eyes go wide.
It's her, the woman in pink overalls and a lime green tank top, the one who offered us that quirky toast suggestion with a twinkle in her eye. Is she one of Ryan's neighbors? My sadness over Wesley disappears like a sand crab in the tide as I bolt from the railing and head downstairs, peeking out the deck sliding glass door to see which house she goes to.
When she disappears down the alley toward the parking lot, I run through the house, cracking open the door enough to see her walking toward the main street. She's not a neighbor after all. So where does she live?
I have to find out.
I slip on Allyse's flip flop and creep out the door, feeling like a spy ... or better yet, stalker ... as I follow her through a maze of side streets that look oddly familiar. After a few minutes, I find out why when she opens a rusted gate at a faded pink condo unit with four buildings all facing each other and a swimming pool in the middle.
Mermaid Cove.
The place where I wanted to buy a condo, but Nick had no interest, since it wasn't on the water and seemed too dated. She lives here? That would explain her mermaid toast. I try to see which unit is hers but just as I stand on tiptoe to look over the gate, my phone rings.
Damn!
I dig it from my back pocket and hit the silence button, staring at the screen. Nick. Finally. My breath shortens and an angry flush rush to my cheeks. Regardless of how I may (or may not) feel about Allyse ... regardless of our friendship pact, fair winds and mermaids ... I'm still furious at him for not warning me she was coming or bothering to answer any of my numerous calls.
That was shitty of him.
"Hello, Nick," I answer curtly. "It's about time you called.
He snorts. "Yeah, well, I've been a little busy, Marcie ... you know, at the hospital, and all instead of drinking cocktails at Fish Tales."
My stomach tightens.
He knows about happy hour? Did Allyse tell him?
Nick answers this by saying, "I'm here with Wesley. He drove up to visit his grandfather and he showed me the picture you sent. What is going on there?"
Hold on.
Is he pissed at me for going out for drink with Allyse? Seriously?
"Yes, I did, Nick. We both needed it after seeing Haven."
"Why? What's wrong with Haven?"
Oh, boy.
A part of me had hoped that Allyse had already told him ... that it wouldn't be up to me to break the news, once again playing my role as bad cop.
I sit down on the concrete curb, looking down at Allyse's sand-dusted flip-flops, and trying to keep in mind that Nick is stressed out about his father, so seeing a picture of me drinking surely didn't help things.
"Marcie? Is something wrong?"
This is the second time that a man has asked me this tonight. I'm on a roll.
"Well, Nick, it's not good. Hank told us ... uh, me ... that the Smiths moved out months ago and let their son and his college buddies live there ... they completely trashed the place, Nick. All the furniture. The drywall. The carpets. The kitchen cabinets. All of it trashed." The familiar softball-sized lump forms once more in my throat. "And it reeks from whatever they left in the refrigerator that they left unplugged, so I think it was deliberate."
"Wait a second ... the Smiths? But the rent checks have still been coming from them. There's no way they'd do that?"
I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "They did, Nick. They did."
He's silent for a few minutes.
I can hear the sounds of a hospital monitor beeping and then a loud scrape, as though he's pushing off from a chair and leaving the room.
"Well, they didn't say anything to me," Nick snaps. "And why didn't you call me to let me know this? Why was I left in the dark?"
Wait ... what?
I could let his happy hour comments go. But now he's getting angry at me for not calling?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I jump up from the curb and rush to weathered fence lining a small Cape Cod, cleaning the wood with one hand for balance. "Hold on, Nick. Why didn't you bother to tell me that you weren't coming to Ocean City? Why didn't you warn me how your girlfriend was coming here instead? Even after you promised me, you promised me that she wouldn't?"
Hot tears spring to my eyes as a woman across the bay steps out on her back deck holding a leash attached to a springy Border Collie. She sees me and waves. I don't wave back.
I can't even move.
"Oh, that's real nice, Marcie," Nick huffs. "I'm at the hospital with my dying father and you're getting mad about Allyse? Are you serious?"
I don't know what to say. Confusing thoughts ricochet in my brain as my hands go numb. I have every right to be upset.
Do I?
Yes. I do.
"But you had time to discuss this with Allyse, didn't you? You had time to give her the address and make plans with her, but you couldn't spare one minute to give me a heads up? That's not asking a lot, Nick. It's just not."
Blood pounds through my veins as my mind flashes back to the many arguments we've had throughout our marriage, ones like this, ones that always left me drained, emotional, and most times ... feeling guilty.
Not today.
He was wrong and he knows it.
"Pardon me for being too distracted by my father dying, Marcie. As someone who lost both her parents, you'd think you'd be a little more understanding of what I'm going through."
My heart lurches.
He's right. Even though I wasn't close to my own father, his death still was painful. And mom ... our relationship was complicated, but I feel her loss, each and every day.
Damn it.
I shouldn't have said anything about Allyse, however justified. I should have just apologized for not telling him about what happened to Haven. I mean, I had time. I could have sent him pictures of the damage before Allyse and I left for Fish Tails. I could have texted him while we were there.
Why didn't I?
"And haven't I always been considerate of your feelings, Marcie?" Nick continues, emphasizing every syllable. "Didn't I try? Didn't I give you chance after chance, trying to save our marriage, for twenty years? I don't deserve this. Not now. Not today. It's not fair."
A cold breeze sweeps over me as a seagull lands on the fence. It turns to stare at me, its head cocked as though in accusation. I pin my free arm across my stomach, staring down at the goosebumps erupting on my legs.
He's right.
And I wish I could just start this whole conversation over.
"Look, I'm sorry, Nick. It was just a shock, seeing Allyse, okay? But you're right. I won't bring it up again and I should have told you about Haven sooner. And I'm so sorry about your dad. How's he feeling?"
Nick sighs, a loudspeaker beside him asking a Dr. Miller to Room 215, stat.
My chest plummets.
I hope that's not his father's room.
"My dad is doing a lot better, thank God," Nick says, the calmness in his voice telling me the call for Dr. Miller wasn't for his dad. Thank God, indeed. "The doctors want to keep him here for another day, though. Just to be sure."
"I'm really sorry, Nick. Is there anything I can do?"
He chuckles. "Can you wave a magic wand and fix Haven so I don't have to deal with it, too?"
If I had a magic wand, I'd do more than fix the townhouse. I'd fix our marriage, my relationship with Wesley, my life, the choices I've made, everything.
"And look," Nick says, his voice taking on a softer tone. "I'm sorry, too. I should have given you a heads up about Allyse. Things just happened so fast, you know? And now Haven. It's just ... is it really that bad?"
The seagull flies away, leaving behind a fresh splatter of white feces behind him. Or her.
"It's bad, Nick," I softly say. "I'm sorry. That place was always your dream and I'm ... sorry."
He clears his throat, his voice strained and tight as he says, "Well, I had hoped to have a second chance there, but dreams are always ending, right?"
Huh?
What does he mean by that? A second chance with who?
"And look, Marcie, I'm tapped out, okay? I just can't mentally deal with Haven right now, so can you please deal with this however you think is best? We have about twenty-one thousand in the equity line that can go towards repairs. Can you just make the call on however best to proceed?"
I bite my lower lip, and lean on the fence, careful to stay away from the seagull poop. On the sidewalk below, a boisterous bachelorette party is crossing the street, all of them decked out in tiaras and pink sashes, the bride-to-be wearing a pretty white sun dress. I watch, transfixed, as they load into a waiting ride share van, off to have a night of fun.
Can you please just deal with this?
I don't want to be the one left with all this responsibility. I don't want to be the one who has to make all the hard decisions, just like I've always had to throughout our marriage. But after everything I said to Nick while he was devastated about his dying father, I have no choice but to say yes.
It's not until later, after I finally go to bed, exhausted to the bone, that a realization hits me, causing my eyes to open wide.
My dad is doing a lot better, thank God.
Whatever happened to him dying?