The Secret of Joy (13 page)

With her arm around Maggie, Joy told them about a place nearby called Soakology, where you could have a fancy foot massage and a thousand different kinds of tea and tiny pastries.

“God, I need a foot massage. And a lot of pastry,” Maggie said.

In ten minutes the four women sat side by side in plush pedicure chairs, their feet luxuriating in hot, soapy water that smelled like lavender. Rebecca leaned her head back and settled in, selecting Deep Vibrate for the chair, which began gently squeezing into her back.

“This is heaven,” Rebecca said. “Everything that was pressing on me feels like it’s now floating high above my head.”

“I’m beginning to feel better, too,” Maggie said. “It just seems like everyone else is pairing off or connecting except for me. It’s always like that. Always been like that. In high school, college, at stupid speed dating. I just always feel like the one who isn’t picked.” She leaned her head back. “Great, and now I sound like a whiny baby, too.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Rebecca said, “Jed told me he has a crush on you.”

Maggie smiled. “Really? That’s nice, I guess.” She burst into tears. “But see, if someone
does
pick me, it’s always the Jeds of the world. I know that’s mean. But it’s always the damned case. Sometimes it seems like everyone leads a charmed life but me.”

Rebecca squeezed her hand. “My dad died last week, and my boyfriend told me last night on the phone that there might be someone else unless I basically shape up as a girlfriend.”

The other three women leaned forward to stare at her.

“Really?” Maggie’s mouth hung open. “Now
that’s
a jerk.”

Ellie kicked up some bubbly water. “My husband told me that maybe the reason he ‘has’ to see other women is because I won’t let him do anal.”

Rebecca spit out her tea, and Maggie and Ellie laughed so hard that Ellie actually tipped halfway out of her chair.

“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “If Joy and Harry can be having trouble, maybe there’s just no hope for any couple. You guys were so rock solid.”

“Could you give us a teeny bit about what happened between you two?” Ellie asked.

Joy stared up at the ceiling. “We’re just …”

“I didn’t mean to pry, Joy,” Ellie said. “Forget I said anything. It just makes me feel less crazy, less at fault to know that other marriages have problems, too, you know?”

Joy picked up her tea and took a long sip, wrapping her hands around the dainty cup. “I—” She put down her tea. “Why is this so hard for me? I hate that Harry’s right.”

“About what?” Ellie asked gently.

Rebecca thought,
If I lean as far back as possible in my seat, so that Joy forgets I’m here, she might answer the question
. She even held her breath.

“Well,” Joy said. “Um … He … Oh, shit,” she said, kicking at the water. “He told me I’m emotionally frigid. His exact words. And that he was sick and tired of it. It’s pretty much why he moved downstairs.”

“Is
he
a jerk?” Rebecca asked before she could stop herself.

Joy shook her head. “Well, sometimes. But he’s mostly right. Not when it comes to Rex, though. Which is Harry’s big
complaint. He wants me to be with him the way I am with Rex.”

“He wants you to treat him like a three-year-old?” Maggie asked with a devilish smile.

That her own husband had trouble breaking through Joy’s shell made Rebecca feel a lot better. It wasn’t
her
. Well, it was. But Joy was one tough customer, period. She had given Rebecca a real opening, though. And Rebecca was taking it.

That night for dinner, Joy, Rebecca, Ellie, and Maggie went to the famous Lobster Shack in nearby Cape Elizabeth. Victor and Victoria (the novelty of saying that hadn’t worn off) had excused themselves for lunch (they were having sex in Victor’s room) and dinner. Clinton called Joy and reported that he’d met someone and wouldn’t be joining the group for lunch or dinner, but he would need a ride back Sunday, and he wouldn’t mind getting half his fee back, since things “got a little ugly, especially with shoe violence.” Joy had assured him she’d write him a check. Maggie thought he should pay an extra 10 percent for being an ass.

After dinner, after the best lobster Rebecca had ever had, they’d toured the stunning lighthouse on the rocky cliffs, and Rebecca understood why everyone she’d passed wore fleece. The wind whipped around her, yet she didn’t feel cold; she felt invigorated, the expanse of dark blue endless ocean and the complete absence of noise as soothing as the lavender foot rub. She hadn’t heard so much as a honk since she’d arrived in Maine. No wonder the sign proclaimed it the way life should be.

“I miss Rex,” Joy said, staring out at the ocean, her arms wrapped around her slight figure.

“Does Harry take good care of him?” Rebecca asked, trying to keep her hair from whipping into her eyes.

Joy nodded. “I know he’s in good hands and I’m used to going away some weekends for the singles tours, but it’s different now that Harry and I sort of separated. We haven’t done anything as a family in a while. I take Rex or Harry takes Rex, but we don’t do anything together. Not since Harry moved downstairs. It kills me. I want Rex to grow up with happily married parents.”

“You’re like me,” Maggie said. “I grew up without my dad. He moved across the country when my parents divorced—and the only dream I really ever had was to keep my own family intact when I married and had children. To make sure my own kids never had to go through all that crap and heartache. Well, that dream got blown to bits. It still kills me.” She turned to Joy. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“It’s okay,” Joy said. “He’s only downstairs. That gives me hope about us.”

They were all quiet for a moment, then Ellie said to Rebecca, “Are your parents still married? Oh, wait, I’m so sorry. You said your father recently passed away. Foot in mouth, Ellie.”

Rebecca squeezed her hand. “They were happily married until my mother died when I was nineteen.”

Happily married
. Rebecca realized how automatically she’d said that, how ingrained it was. Who knew how happily married her parents had been? How happily married, how
happy
, anyone was?
Seems
and
are
were very different.

“Oh my God,” Maggie said. “You’re an orphan!”

Rebecca stared up at the thousands of twinkling stars. “I guess I am.”

“Which do you think is worse?” Joy asked, her gaze on the ocean. “Never knowing your father—never even meeting him—
or
loving him your whole life and then losing him?”

Rebecca stared at Joy, unsure where she was going with this, what her point was. It wasn’t a competition.

“Joy, a little insensitive,” Maggie whispered, darting her eyes at Rebecca.

“Our father is one and the same,” Joy said.

Because Maine was so quiet, the collective gasps echoed in Rebecca’s ears.

“Really?” Ellie asked, turning to Rebecca. “The dad you just lost is the same dad that Joy never knew?” She looked from Rebecca back to Joy.

That
was something—Joy had clearly told Ellie and Maggie about her father. Which meant she did think about it. And that these women were more than just clients. They were
friends
.

Rebecca nodded. “My father told me the day before he died.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I was wearing that stupid beautiful wedding gown and he just came out and said it: ‘There was a baby.’ I’ll have that image, those words in my head forever.”

“Wow,” Ellie said. “And why were you wearing a wedding gown? Are you and your boyfriend engaged? Did I miss that?”

“Michael’s mother likes me,” Rebecca explained. “She thinks it’s time we got engaged, and she gave me her dress right before I went to the hospital to see my dad. He asked
me to try it on since he’d never get to see me in a wedding gown otherwise.”

“That is so sad!” Ellie said.

Rebecca bit her lip. “And then a breath later, he told me I had a half sister who lives in Maine.”

“Joy,” Ellie finished. “Wow. Wow-wow.”

“Your father must have really not liked your boyfriend,” Maggie said.

Rebecca turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there you are, in a
wedding gown
,” Maggie said, “and a second later he tells you you have a half sister you never knew about? It’s like he felt the need to tell you, in that moment, that he wasn’t leaving you all alone in the world, after all, that you didn’t have to marry your boyfriend just to have someone.”

Huh
.

Maybe
.

Or maybe it was just coincidence. Her father had known he was dying. Every word was becoming a struggle. He had to tell her then if he was going to tell her at all. It meant something that he didn’t want her to find out when she inherited the contents of his safety-deposit box. He’d told her himself. That meant something.

“
Did
he like your boyfriend?” Ellie asked.

An image of her father rolling his eyes at Michael two weeks ago at his birthday dinner floated through Rebecca’s mind. Her father had made a very funny political joke against Republicans, and Michael, who liked to say that he was socially liberal (which wasn’t really true) and fiscally
conservative, had been offended and wouldn’t let it go. There’d been lots of that.

“Your dad needs to take X, Y, or Z more seriously,”
Michael would say.

“My dad is a successful attorney with his own firm,”
Rebecca would counter.
“He understands serious just fine.”

“It’s a wonder his firm is still afloat with that mind-set.”

“Can we not diss my father, Michael?”

“Sometimes, Rebecca, the truth is the truth.”

The last time her father heard the words
“It is what it is”
come out of Michael’s mouth, he made a stabbing motion to his heart. Her father hated that phrase and had banned it from his office.
“It isn’t always what it is,”
he’d exclaim. “It
is multifaceted. And if you manipulate just one layer
, it
can change, be something else.”

Like a pregnancy. Like a baby. Like a little person growing up. Rebecca glanced at Joy. Twenty-six years ago, her father had undone “It is what it is” to suit himself. She squeezed her eyes closed. She hated when she’d be mentally defending her father long after Michael stopped arguing his point (because he’d either gone to bed or huffed off with “You are so stubborn”) only to find out that Michael wasn’t entirely wrong. Or wrong at all.

Rebecca kicked at the dusty pebbles lining the edge of the wooden railing. “My father
did
like Michael—well, he appreciated how earnest and responsible he is. He thought Michael was a little uptight, maybe. That he could have used a sense of humor.”

“I think Maggie’s theory is right,” Ellie said. “Your dad
wanted you to know you don’t have to settle for Michael, that you’re not all alone in the world. That is
so
touching.”

“Not from my perspective,” Joy said quietly.

It was as though they’d forgotten her in the equation.

“But now you have a sister,” Ellie said. “You went from being an only child to having a sister.”

“Same here,” Rebecca said.

“God, I would kill for a sister,” Maggie added. “I wouldn’t be such a lunatic if I had a sister to tell everything to.”

“We’re not
really
sisters,” Joy said. “We have the same biological father, a man I never met and who’s now dead. That doesn’t make me and Rebecca sisters. It makes us related by DNA.”

“It makes you sisters,” Ellie whispered in Rebecca’s ear.

Joy had said no to coffee, a drink, tea in the parlor at the bed-and-breakfast, and Scrabble. Ellie and Maggie had given up and whispered in Rebecca’s ear, “She’ll come around.”

And so they’d gone back to the hotel and said their good nights (Rebecca and Joy with an awkward smile). Rebecca’s friend Charlotte called, dying to hear the news about Joy and how things had gone, and Rebecca filled her in on everything.

“So you two are developing a relationship,” Charlotte said excitedly. “That’s great, Rebecca. I can totally understand why you want to stay up there a little longer. Don’t listen to Michael. Do what you need to. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “And thanks, Charlotte.”

After they hung up, Rebecca changed into yoga pants and
a long-sleeved T-shirt, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and then slid beneath the heavy quilts, her eyes on the sliver of moon through the filmy white curtains on the window. She couldn’t sleep, and so started counting sheep, but all the fuzzy little white cartoon sheep in her mind, the ones from the old bed commercial, had Joy’s face. Last she knew, she’d counted six hundred thirty-two brown-eyed sheep with long blond hair.

At brunch, Joy announced that her personal life was off-limits as a topic for discussion, that she intended to revert to her usual professional self and would appreciate it if they’d all respect that. Rebecca had caught Maggie’s
Yeah, right
, professional—
you mean emotionally frigid
raised eyebrow and smiled to herself. Joy ate her omelet in record time, then announced the day’s activities. There was a choice of yoga, religious worship, if so inclined, and the Edward Hopper exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art. Then free time until the group met back at the lobby for checkout and the return home.

Victor and Victoria chose their room for more nookie. Clinton hadn’t made an appearance. Joy said she was going to church. “Hopper or yoga?” Ellie asked Rebecca and Maggie.

“Yoga stresses me out,” Maggie said.

Rebecca smiled. “Me too.”

While buying a poster of a Hopper she loved, she realized she’d chosen it without considering—as she usually did—whether or not it would go with Michael’s black leather and chrome.

• • •

Since Rebecca had driven her rental car to Portland, she would have to say her good-byes to the group at the hotel. With Styrofoam coffee cups in one hand and travel bags in the other, everyone stood outside, the spectacular September sunshine and warm breeze too good to miss out on. Victor and Victoria, unable to remove their hands from each other, hugged Rebecca in unison. Clinton poked his head out from behind the
Portland Press Herald
for a quick “Oh. Bye.” And Maggie and Ellie each wrapped Rebecca in a fierce hug.