He never played poker on Saturday or Sunday. Saturdays were reserved for chores around the house, and while the garden in the front yard may have bothered the neighbors, the interior was a showpiece. Over the years, his father added crown molding and wainscoting; he carved the fireplace corbels from two blocks of maple. He built the cabinets in the kitchen and installed wood floors that were as flat and sure as a billiard table. He remodeled the bathroom, then remodeled it again eight years later. Every Saturday evening, he put on a jacket and tie and took his wife to dinner. Sundays, he reserved for himself. After church, he would tinker in his workshop, while his wife baked pies or canned vegetables in the kitchen.
On Monday, the routine started all over again.
His father never taught him to play the game. Steve was smart enough to learn the basics on his own, and he liked to think he was keen enough to spot someone bluffing. He played a few times with fellow students in college and found out he was simply average, no better or worse than any of the others. After he graduated and moved to New York, he’d occasionally come down to visit his parents. The first time, he hadn’t seen them in two years, and when he walked through the door, his mom hugged him fiercely and kissed him on the cheek. His father shook his hand and said, “Your mom’s missed you.” Apple pie and coffee were served, and after they finished eating, his dad stood, reaching for his jacket and car keys. It was a Tuesday; that meant he was going to the Elks lodge. The game ended at ten and he would be home fifteen minutes later.
“No… no go tonight,” his mom urged, her European accent as heavy as ever. “Steve just got home.”
He remembered thinking that it was the only time he’d ever heard his mom ask his father not to go to the lodge, but if he was surprised, his father didn’t show it. He paused at the doorway, and when he turned around, his face was unreadable.
“Or take him with you,” she urged.
He draped his jacket over his arm. “Do you want to go?”
“Sure.” Steve drummed his fingers on the table. “Why not? That sounds like fun.”
After a moment, his father’s mouth twitched, exhibiting the tiniest and briefest of smiles. Had they been at the poker table, Steve doubted he would have shown even that much.
“You’re lying,” he said.
His mom passed away suddenly a few years after that encounter when an artery burst in her brain, and in the hospital, Steve was thinking of her sturdy kindness when his father woke with a low wheeze. He rolled his head and spotted Steve in the corner. At that angle, with shadows playing across the sharp angles of his face, he gave the impression of being a skeleton.
“You’re still here.”
Steve set aside the score and scooted the chair closer. “Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because you’re in the hospital.”
“I’m in the hospital because I’m dying. And I’d be dying whether you were here or not. You should go home. You have a wife and kids. There’s nothing you can do for me here.”
“I want to be here,” Steve said. “You’re my father. Why? Don’t you want me here?”
“Maybe I don’t want you to see me die.”
“I’ll leave if you want.”
His father made a noise akin to a snort. “See, that’s your problem. You want me to make the decision for you. That’s always been your problem.”
“Maybe I just want to spend time with you.”
“You want to? Or did your wife want you to?”
“Does it matter?”
His dad tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace. “I don’t know. Does it?”
From his spot at the piano, Steve heard an approaching car. The headlights flashed through the window and raced across the walls, and for an instant he thought that Ronnie might have gotten a ride home. But just as quickly the light shrank to nothing, and Ronnie still wasn’t here.
It was after midnight. He wondered whether he should try to find her.
Some years ago, before Ronnie had stopped talking to him, he and Kim had gone to see a marriage counselor whose office was located near Gramercy Park, in a renovated building. Steve remembered sitting beside Kim on a couch and facing a thin, angular woman in her thirties who wore gray slacks and liked to press her fingertips together. When she did, Steve noticed she didn’t wear a wedding band.
Steve was uncomfortable; the counseling had been Kim’s idea, and she’d already gone alone. This was their first joint session, and by way of introduction, she told the counselor that Steve kept his feelings bottled up inside but that it wasn’t his fault. Neither of his parents had been expressive people, she said. Nor had he grown up in a family that discussed their problems. He sought out music as an escape, she went on to say, and it was only through the piano that he learned to feel anything at all.
“Is that true?” the counselor asked.
“My parents were good people,” he answered.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
The counselor sighed. “Okay, how about this? We all know what happened and why you’re here. I think what Kim wants is for you to tell her how it made you feel.”
Steve considered the question. He wanted to say that all this talk of feelings was irrelevant. That emotions come and go and can’t be controlled, so there’s no reason to worry about them. That in the end, people should be judged by their actions, since in the end, it was actions that defined everyone.
But he didn’t say this. Instead, he threaded his fingers together. “You want to know how it made me feel.”
“Yes. But don’t tell me.” She gestured to his wife. “Tell Kim.”
He faced his wife, sensing her anticipation.
“I felt…”
He was in an office with his wife and a stranger, engaged in the type of conversation he could never have imagined growing up. It was a few minutes past ten o’clock in the morning, and he’d been back in New York for only a few days. His tour had taken him to twenty-some different cities, while Kim worked as a paralegal at a Wall Street law firm.
“I felt…,” he said again.
When the clock struck one a.m., Steve went outside to stand on the back porch. The blackness of the night had given way to the purple light of the moon, making it possible to see up and down the beach. He hadn’t seen her in sixteen hours and was concerned, if not quite worried. He trusted she was smart and careful enough to take care of herself.
Okay, maybe he was a little worried.
And despite himself, he wondered if she was going to vanish tomorrow, the same way she had today. And whether it would be the same story day after day, all summer.
Spending time with Jonah had been like finding special treasure, and he wanted to spend time with her as well. He turned from the porch and went back inside.
As he took his seat at the piano, he felt it again, the same thing he’d told the marriage counselor as he’d sat on the couch.
He felt empty.
10 Ronnie
For a while, a larger group had gathered at Bower’s Point, but one by one, they’d taken off until only the five regulars remained. Some of the others had been okay, a couple were even kind of interesting, but then the liquor and beer started taking effect, and everyone but Ronnie thought they were a lot funnier than they really were. After a while, it got kind of boring and familiar.
She was standing alone at the water’s edge. Behind her, near the bonfire, Teddy and Lance were smoking, drinking, and occasionally throwing fireballs at each other, Blaze was slurring her words and hanging all over Marcus. It was getting late, too. Not by New York standards-back home, she didn’t show up at the clubs until midnight-but considering what time she’d gotten up, it had been a long day. She was tired.
Tomorrow, she was going to sleep in. When she got home, she was going to hang towels or a blanket over the curtain rod; hell, she’d nail them to the wall if she had to. She had no intention of spending the whole summer rising with the farmers, even if she was going to spend the day at the beach with Blaze. Blaze had surprised her with the suggestion, and it actually sounded kind of appealing. Besides, there wasn’t much to do otherwise. Earlier, after they’d left the diner, they’d walked through most of the nearby shops-including the music store, which was very cool-and afterward, they’d gone to Blaze’s house to watch The Breakfast Club while her mom was at work. Sure, it was an eighties movie, but Ronnie still loved it and had seen it at least a dozen times. Even though it was dated, it felt surprisingly real to her. More real than what was going on here tonight-especially since the more Blaze drank, the more she ignored Ronnie and clung to Marcus.
Ronnie already neither liked nor trusted Marcus. She had pretty good radar when it came to guys, and she sensed there was something “off” about him. It was like there was something missing in Marcus’s eyes when he talked to her. He said the right things-no more crazy suggestions about heading to Florida, at least, and by the way, how weird was that?-but the more time she spent with him, the more he creeped her out. She didn’t like Teddy or Lance, either, but Marcus… she got the vibe that acting normal was simply a game he played so he could manipulate people.
And Blaze…
It was strange being in her house earlier, because it seemed so normal. It stood in a quiet cul-de-sac and had bright blue shutters and an American flag that fluttered from the porch. Inside, the walls were painted cheery colors, and a vase of fresh flowers stood on the dining room table. The place was clean, but not neurotically so. In the kitchen, there was some money on the table, along with a note addressed to Blaze. When Ronnie caught Blaze sliding a few bills into her pocket and reading the note, Blaze mentioned that her mom always left money for her. It was how she knew Blaze was okay when she didn’t come home.
Odd.
What she really wanted was to talk to Blaze about Marcus, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. Lord knows she’d learned that from Kayla-Kayla lived in denial-but even so, it didn’t make sense. Marcus was bad news, and Blaze was clearly better off without him. She wondered why Blaze couldn’t see that. Maybe tomorrow they’d talk about it at the beach.
“Are we boring you?”
Turning, she saw Marcus standing behind her. He was holding a fireball, letting it roll across the back of his hand.
“I just wanted to come down to the water.”
“Do you want me to bring you a beer?”
By the way he asked, she could tell he already knew what she was going to say.
“I don’t drink.”
“Why?”
Because it makes people act stupid, she could have said. But she didn’t. She knew that any explanation she offered would only prolong the conversation. “I just don’t. That’s all.”
“Just say no?” he taunted.
“If you say so.”
In the darkness, he wore the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained shadowy pits. “Do you think you’re better than us?”
“No.”
“Then c’mon.” He gestured to the bonfire. “Sit with us.”
“I’m fine.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Ronnie could see Blaze digging through the cooler for another beer, which was the last thing she needed. She was already unsteady on her feet.
Without warning, he took a step toward her, reaching for her waist. He squeezed, pulling her closer to him. “Let’s walk the beach.”
“No,” she hissed. “I’m not in the mood. And take your hand off me.”
It stayed in place. She could tell Marcus was enjoying this. “You worried about what Blaze would think?”
“I just don’t want to, okay?”
“Blaze won’t care.”
She took a step back, increasing the distance between them.
“I do,” she said. “And I’ve got to go.”
He continued to stare at her. “Yeah, you do that.” Then, after a pause, he spoke up so the others could hear: “No, I’ll just stay here. But thanks for asking.”
She was too shocked to say anything in response. Instead, she started down the beach, knowing that Blaze was watching, and suddenly thinking she couldn’t get away fast enough.