Life's a Beach (13 page)

My headache had taken on a rhythm of its own. I tried closing one eye to ease the pounding. Then I closed both of them. “Not as talented as Boyfriend,” I managed to mumble.

“Thanks,” Noah said. “But I mean it. And you should allow yourself to accept the compliment. Just say ‘thank you.’ ”

I opened both eyes. “What kind of jerky thing was that to say? I didn’t mean you. I meant my cat did it.”

Noah raised one eyebrow. “What kind of jerky name is
Boyfriend
for a cat?”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. I hate that name.”

“Oh, right, and
Sage
is just so perfect. You’d probably name
your
cat something stuck-up, like
Buddha
. Or
Enlightenment
.”

“For your information, Sage is named after an herb. And, also for your information, I wouldn’t even get a cat.”

“What?”

Noah slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and then pulled them out and crossed his arms over his chest. “Cats,” he said slowly and clearly, “are for people who don’t really want to go out of their way. They’re as close as you can get to not having a pet.”

“Oh, please, what about goldfish?” Some little-used part of my brain, way in the back somewhere, signaled me to quit while I was ahead. I ignored it. “And, anyway, Mr. I-Can’t-Have-a-Relationship-Because-I’m-an-Ahhtist, you know what dogs are? Dogs are as close as you can get to having a person in your life without really having one.”

“I thought you liked the way things were. How come you never told me?”

“I did. Repeatedly. At least I think I did. How come you never told me you didn’t like cats?”

Noah ran both hands back through his hair. “You always do that.”

“What?”

“Whenever I try to talk about us, you always change the subject.”

“Oh, right, and you’re so emotionally available.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Anyway, I really want to know. What do you have against cats?”

Noah put his hands back in his pockets and took them out again. He walked over to Boyfriend’s sculpture and looked at it some more. “Okay, dogs give you more, that’s all. They come when you call them. They play Frisbee. They’ll sit in your car with the windows open and wait for you forever, and no matter how long it takes you to get going, they’re still excited beyond belief to go anywhere with you.”

Sage tilted her head at Noah and wagged her tail. “Cats are completely self-sufficient,” I said. “They’re happy to see you, but they don’t really need you because they have a life of their own.”

Boyfriend batted a yellow marble out from under the couch. “Dogs have your back,” Noah said. “Their feelings for you are completely unconditional.”

“Cats are discriminating. You get what you earn with a cat.”

We stared at each other. One of us seriously needed to smooth things over here, but it certainly wasn’t going to be me.

“So,” Noah said. “I guess tonight’s not really going too well.”

I took a deep breath. “Maybe next time you should call first.”

“It never bothered you before.”

“Well, it does now.”

Noah and his dog were almost down the stairs before I remembered to yell, “And by the way, thanks for the flowers.”

“Don’t mention it,” he yelled back.

14

I PACED THE FULL LENGTH OF MY APARTMENT. FOR
seven steps in one direction, and seven steps back again, I replayed my fight with Noah over and over in my head. It was a really stupid fight. Not that I’d had many really smart fights in my life, but still. Bottom line, though, he was old enough to know you don’t throw pebbles at a girl’s window. You call.

Now the worst thing was that he didn’t know Riley and I were going to Hollywood. Or maybe the best thing was he didn’t know we were going. It was hard to tell. Possibly it didn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t be back in a week or two. Though maybe a little time to miss me wouldn’t be a bad idea. But what if he didn’t even notice I was gone?

Okay, the other way to look at it was that what if he’d already written me off, and then I’d get back and find out he’d had all that time to move on, and I wouldn’t know I was supposed to start moving on, so I hadn’t even started. That would really suck.

But, wait. This wasn’t about the guy. It was the perfect time to go. For me. While Riley worked, I could devote myself entirely to my art. My apartment would be in the hands of fate, or at least my mother, and completely out of my control. I wouldn’t be hanging around comparing myself to my talented boyfriend, or possible ex-boyfriend. Or even to my talented cat. I’d bring my books and supplies. I’d scour the shops and galleries for ideas. Maybe I couldn’t figure out how to have a relationship to save my life, but all that suffering might end up being great for my art.

I felt better already. I reached over and picked up my cat. I carried him down to his pet carrier on wheels and took him for an extra long walk. The summer crowds would be arriving in Marshbury this weekend, just like they did every Memorial Day weekend. July and August would be worse in terms of numbers, but still, you’d feel the difference right away, and everybody’s lives would change at least a little until after Labor Day. You knew the best time to shop and which back roads to take to avoid the worst of the traffic during the summer months, and you adjusted. When I first moved home again, the summer rhythm had come right back to me, as if I’d never been away.

It was too dark to walk the beach, but the stars and the streetlights gave us enough light to walk around the beach parking lot. I picked up a couple tiny pieces of driftwood from the sandy edges, and put them into the compartment with Boyfriend. He immediately batted one of them into the netting. “Score,” I said.

It was surprisingly quiet. Maybe all the tourists were stuck in traffic. We took our time walking back, enjoying the empty streets while we still could. I stood outside the open garage door and looked up at the sky. It was probably really silly, especially since it was Geri’s idea, but I had this sudden urge to dig up St. Christopher. Maybe he could be my good luck charm for the artistic travels on my horizon.

Boyfriend meowed loudly. “Just give me one minute,” I whispered. I turned on the garage lights, inside and out. I could make out the green circle of grass from here, so I grabbed a shovel and got to work.

Ten minutes and a trip up to my apartment to get a flashlight later, and I was sure. St. Christopher had completely disappeared. I unzipped Boyfriend from his carrier and ran up the stairs with him as fast as I could. I locked the door behind us and dialed my parents’ number.

“Mom?” I whispered when she answered the phone.

“Why are you whispering?” she whispered.

“Mom, can you come over here?”

“Ginger, tell me what happened.”

“Well, Dad and I tried to dig up St. Joseph. Actually, I was only the lookout. But St. Joseph wasn’t there and I didn’t want you and Dad to get into a fight, so I asked Geri for another St. Joseph, but all she had was a St. Christopher, so I buried him instead. But he turned out to be the patron saint of travelers, and Geri thought that might be why Riley and I were going to Hollywood, so I tried to dig him up to bring him with us for good luck.” I looked down and saw actual goosebumps on my forearms. Maybe this was how people became born-again. “And now he’s gone, too.”

“I’ll be right there,” my mother said before she hung up.

MY MOTHER WAS
wearing slippers and her old terrycloth bathrobe. She must have just finished washing up, because a stretchy aqua headband held her thick gray hair off her shiny face, and I could smell Pond’s cold cream as soon as I opened the door.

I threw my arms around her. “Mom,” I said.

I stepped back and rubbed my hip bones. “Ouch. What was that?”

A greenish yellow plastic statue was peeking out of each of my mother’s two square bathrobe pockets. “Mom?”

My mother pulled out the statues and placed them on my kitchen counter. “This place could use a good cleaning,” she said. “And why is that scooter still here?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” I said.

She sat down at my kitchen table, and I did, too. Maybe it was because I was used to seeing her in yoga pants instead of a bathrobe, but my mother looked almost old tonight. “Seller’s remorse, I suppose,” she said finally, “but as soon as we buried St. Joseph, I just wasn’t sure I wanted to rush things along. So many memories.”

“But what about St. Christopher?”

She shrugged. “How did I know that’s who he was until I got him home? My night vision’s not what it used to be.”

“Don’t say that, Mom. You have eyes in the back of your head.”

My mother smiled.

“Does this mean we get to keep the house?”

“Honestly, Ginger. Sometimes you sound like the world’s oldest living adolescent.”

My eyes teared up. “I know. I know. I just can’t seem to get my bearings.” I put my elbows on the table and leaned my head into my hands, and Boyfriend rubbed up against my legs. “It’s embarrassing, Mom. I’m forty-one years old, and I haven’t been this completely and utterly lost since I was sixteen.” I looked up. “But I really do want you and Dad to be happy. You should do whatever you want to do about the house. I’ll be fine.”

My mother put her hand on my arm. “Of course you’ll be fine, honey. I think the best thing for all of us is to sell the house. We’ll do it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

I nodded. The kitchen table felt warm and safe under the light of the little yellow lamp hanging over us. I tried to imagine sitting around a table at my mother’s age, and wondered who the other people would be. I couldn’t get a picture.

My mother picked up a piece of sea glass from the table and put it back in Boyfriend’s sculpture. Boyfriend jumped up on my mother’s lap, and she started petting him. “Hi, handsome,” she whispered.

“You know, Dad says one of your red hat friends is always kissing him.”

My mother smiled. “Oh, they’re awful. They’ll be lined up at his door in five minutes if I go first.”

“Do you really think Dad will be okay in the townhouse, Mom?”

“He’ll be fine, honey. It just takes him a while. I tell you, that father of yours would hang a tea bag out to dry on a clothesline just so he wouldn’t have to say good-bye to it.”

Boyfriend jumped off my mother’s lap and circled around and jumped up on mine. “Hey, Champ,” I said.

“Deep down inside, I know it’s the right thing to do. There’ll be dances and parties and a first-rate gym, and we won’t have to mow the lawn. And your father and I have always wanted to live in a house that’s brand spanking new.”

I nodded.

“The only thing I’m worried about are the cliques and the claques and everyone knowing everyone else’s business.”

“Don’t tell me people still do that at your age? I was hoping things would get easier by then.”

My mother blew out a puff of breath with the same horsy sound Geri always made. “It’s an active adult community, fifty-five-plus, not a nursing home. There are some real youngsters there. Some of them aren’t much older than you and your sister.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Boyfriend jumped off my lap and headed off to chase down a marble. “Mom?”

She covered her mouth and yawned again. “Excuse me. What, honey?”

“Did you ever wish you hadn’t had kids? I mean, not now maybe, but when you were younger? You know, was there ever anything you really wished you could have done but couldn’t, because of us?”

She clasped her hands together and stretched them up over her head. “Well, when you were little I used to tell you I wanted to be the first woman president, but the truth was I would have loved to dance on Broadway. I had such dreams of being a Rockette.”

I leaned forward over the table. “You gave that up for us, Mom?”

“No, I gave that up because my legs were too short.” She pulled her stretchy headband back down over her ears, then rested one hand on mine. “You make a decision and you don’t look back, honey. Have a family. Don’t have a family. But, meanwhile, you’ve got a great big world out there to enjoy.”

“It just seems like everyone else is already out there living their lives, you know, buzzing right by me, two by two.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend named Noah, honey. You can probably get a good seat on the ark.”

My fight with Noah bubbled up again, and I sat with it for a minute. “I’m not sure this is even about Noah, Mom.”

My mother stood up and retied the belt on her robe. She put St. Joseph back in her pocket and handed me St. Christopher. I stood up, too, and she placed her hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead. “Ever since you were tiny, you always had to find the hardest way to do everything. Remember, Virginia, you choose your life or it chooses you.”

I was pretty sure I recognized this as just another variation of her You Can Be Anything You Want to Be speech, but I let it go. My mother was the only one who ever called me Virginia. Geri was named Gerianne after a favorite great aunt, and eight years later I was named Virginia after the state where I was conceived during one of the romantic getaways my mother was always dragging my father along on. It seemed a statement on the trajectory of my mother’s growth. Had I been born a few years later, I might well have been named Pilates.