“Her life is difficult?” Maribel said. “My life is difficult! My life is very, very difficult. Have you forgotten that? Have you forgotten what I’ve gone through to get here, Mack?”
“That’s different, Maribel. I’m not taking anything away from you. But you’re not dealing with what Andrea is dealing with.”
“Go to her then,” Maribel said. Thinking, hatefully, Go to her and her fucked-up son. “Get out of here.”
“But I love you, too,” Mack said.
“Tough shit,” Maribel said.
“I don’t want to leave,” Mack said.
“What do you want?” Maribel asked. “Do you have any idea? Do you want to sell the farm? Do you want to manage that blasted hotel your whole life? You don’t know. Do you want to get married and have kids? You don’t know. You don’t know anything except that you love us both. You want me here at home and Andrea down at the hotel. I’m sorry, Mack. I am so, so sorry.” Maribel was hysterical now, her breathing ragged, her tears hot and salty; her eyes stung. She plucked a Kleenex and tried to blow her nose but she was blocked up, stuck. She thought of the broken toilet. Her life was a toilet.
“I’m going to do something for you,” Mack said.
“The only thing you can do for me is to get out of here,” Maribel said. Her voice was small and nasal.
“I’m going to ask Bill to profit-share. I’m going to ask him right after the Fourth. I swear it, Maribel.”
Maribel tried to snort, but her nose was stuffed up. Her snort sounded like a bleat. “Ha! Why now, Mack? So you can give James and Andrea a good life? So you can show them how important you are? Go ahead and ask Bill for the profits. I hope he turns you down. I hope he fires you and you leave this island.”
“But I’m doing it for you, Maribel,” Mack said. “I’m doing it because you want me to.”
“I want you to marry me!” Maribel screamed. She couldn’t believe how angry, how upset she was. Never in her life would she have predicted the relationship would crumble like this, so suddenly, in one night. “I want you to marry me! I thought the problem was with you. I thought you were just not grown yet, I thought you still had issues with your parents, the farm. And I thought if you asked Bill to profit-share you’d feel better about yourself, you’d feel established, you’d feel ready. What I didn’t realize is that the problem isn’t with you, Mack, it’s with me. I’m not the woman you want.”
“You are the woman I want,” Mack said.
“Then ask me to marry you,” Maribel said.
Mack reached for her again and she surrendered. She buried her face in his chest and cried even harder. His shirt, his smell, her Mack, she loved him so much. He was all she wanted, all she needed to fill the empty space where her father should have been. But she waited five minutes, ten minutes, and he said nothing. He was shushing into her hair, but he wasn’t asking her to marry him. Suddenly her head was heavy, a sandbag, her mouth was dry and scratchy from the wine and the tears.
“You have to go,” Maribel said. Unsteadily, she stood and pointed in the direction of the door. “I’m sorry.”
“Mari, you don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she said. She walked into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Her eyes closed the second she heard Mack’s Jeep pull away.
Mack spent the rest of the night in the Jeep in the Beach Club parking lot. He considered sneaking into Lacey Gardner’s cottage and crashing on her couch, but he didn’t want to frighten her. And so, Mack wrapped himself in his Polar Fleece, put the seat back as far as it would go, and closed his eyes.
He woke to the sound of talking. He sat up and looked around-it was still dark. He didn’t see anyone near the lobby or on the beach. Mack climbed out of the Jeep, quietly, and he made out the figure of Cecily sitting on the front step of her parents’ house, talking on the portable phone. Mack checked his watch; it was three-thirty.
“I love you,” she was saying. “I can’t stand it here without you. I’m dying of love for you.”
Please, Cecily, Mack thought. Do not fall in love. But from the sounds of it, it was too late. He climbed back into his car.
“I love you, Gabriel.” Cecily’s voice was sweet, pleading. “Can you hear me? I love you.”
What seemed like only minutes later, Mack heard the sound of tapping on the window of the Jeep. He opened his eyes. It was Andrea and James. The sun was up. Mack checked his watch; it was six o’clock. He opened the door.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not here to go with us to the airport?” Andrea said.
“Is Mack coming to the airport?” James asked. “Are we shaving today, Mack?”
“How’re you doing, buddy?” Mack asked. He looked at Andrea. “I told Maribel.”
“Told her what?” Andrea asked. Her green-gray eyes widened. “About us? Why? Oh, Mack, what did you say?” She turned to James. “Get in the car, James. Mom will be there in five minutes.”
“It’s six-oh-three, Mom. We’re late already.”
“Five minutes,” Andrea said.
“Five minutes.” James tapped the face of his watch. “Mom will be there at six-oh-eight.”
Andrea waited until James climbed into the Explorer, then she said, “What happened?”
“I had to tell her,” Mack said. He thought of Vance, pointing the gun at him like it was some kind of toy. But when he got right down to it, Mack hadn’t told Maribel because of Vance; he told her because it was time. He told her because he couldn’t stand lying anymore. Vance was just a manifestation of Mack’s own conscience, like something out of fucking Shakespeare. “I told her I loved you.”
“No,” Andrea said. She put her hand over her heart. “She must be devastated. The poor girl. Ouch.”
“What about me?” Mack said. “She threw me out. I spent the night here in the parking lot.” His mouth felt as if it were lined with flannel, he stank with the four scotches he’d had at Lacey’s, his head ached and his legs would cramps up as soon as he stepped out of the Jeep. He needed five more hours’ sleep, a hot shower, some clean clothes.
“You’re a man, Mack,” Andrea said. “Men will always survive.”
Mack touched Andrea’s hair. “You might see me surviving this winter in Baltimore.”
“Mack,” Andrea said, shaking her head sadly.
“What?” Mack said. “I could help you with James. I could give you the help you need.”
“Go home and take it all back,” she said.
“You don’t want me in Baltimore?”
“Just go home,” she said. “I’m not coming between you and Maribel. She’s much better for you than I am.”
“But I love you,” Mack said. “That’s how I ended up here. I love you.”
“Maybe,” Andrea said. “Or maybe you feel sorry for me. The point is, you should be with Maribel. I’m just a friend, Mack, a summer friend. You have no idea what my life is like the rest of the year. You have no idea what happens once I return to America.”
“I know I don’t. What I’m saying is, I want to find out.”
“I should stop coming here. I’ve depended on you too much, and I made you feel like you can help me. But you can’t help me, Mack. Nobody can help me. James is my lot in life-he’s my blessing, he’s my albatross.” She tried to smile. “Anyway, I hear the Vineyard is nice too. Maybe next year we’ll go there.”
“No,” Mack said. This was too much: to lose them both in one night. “No way.”
Andrea picked up Mack’s wrist and checked his watch. “My five minutes is up,” she said. “Go home.” He listened to her footsteps crunch across the shells and the loose gravel. He heard the soft dinging of her open car door and James saying, “You’re one minute late, Mom.” Then Andrea started the car and drove away, but he didn’t turn to watch her go.