We kept ordering more seafood, and the waiter was kidding Susan about getting fat. This was a very pleasant place, and there was magic in the night air.
Susan and I kept the conversation light, the way people do who have just had an intense talk that pushed the table limits higher.
We skipped dessert and took a barefoot walk on the beach, carrying our shoes. The tide was going out, and the beach was covered with seashells and stranded marine life. A few people were surf-casting, backpackers had lit fires on the beach, and couples strolled hand in hand, including Susan and me.
The sky was crystal clear, and you could see the Milky Way, and a number of constellations. We walked south, away from the center of town, along a widening beach where new hotels sat along the coast.
About half a mile down the beach, we came upon the Nha Trang Sailing Club, an upscale place where a dance was going on inside. We went in, ordered two beers, and danced along with a lot of Europeans to some terrible, loud Seventies music played by the worst band anywhere along the Pacific Rim — maybe the world. But it was fun, and we chatted with some Europeans and even switched partners now and then. A few of the men pegged me for a Vietnam veteran, but that’s as far as it went; no one, myself included, wanted to talk about it.
I don’t know if I was drunk, mellowed out, or just happy about something, but for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace with myself and my surroundings.
We left the Nha Trang Sailing Club after one A.M. and as we walked back toward the colored lights of the cafés on the beach, Susan asked me, “Is what you’re doing here dangerous?”
“I just need to find someone and question him, then go to Hanoi and fly home.”
“Where is this person? Tam Ki?”
“I don’t know yet.” I changed the subject and asked her, “Susan, why are you here?”
She took her hand out of mine and lit a cigarette. She said, “Well… it’s not as important or dramatic as why you’re here.”
“It’s important to you, or you wouldn’t be here. What was his name?”
She took a long draw on her cigarette and said, “Sam. We were childhood sweethearts, dated through college — he went to Dartmouth. We went to B-school together — you may have seen his picture in my office, the group shot.”
Harry Handsome, but I didn’t say that.
“We lived together in New York… I was totally crazy about him, and couldn’t imagine a world without him. We got engaged, and we were going to get married, buy a house in Connecticut, have children, and live happily ever after.” She stayed silent for a while, then continued, “I was in love with him since we were kids, and right up to the time he came home one day and told me he was involved with another woman. A woman at work. He packed his bags and left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well… these things happen. But I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. I never saw it coming, which made me wonder about myself. Anyway, I couldn’t get over it, and I quit my job in New York and went home to Lenox for a while. Everyone there was totally stunned. Sam Thorpe was the boy next door, and the wedding was all planned. My father wanted to do an autopsy on him while he was still alive.” She laughed.
We continued walking, and she said, “Well, I tried to get over it, but there were too many memories in Lenox. I was crying too much, and everyone around me was starting to lose patience with me, but I missed him, and I just couldn’t get myself together. Long story short, I looked around for an overseas job that no one else wanted, and six months after Sam left, I was in Saigon.”
“Did you ever hear from him again?”
“I sure did. A few months after I got to Saigon, he wrote me a long letter, saying he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, and would I come home and marry him. He reminded me of all the good times we had as kids — school dances, our first kiss, family parties, and all that. He said we were part of each other’s lives, and we should be married and have children and grow old together.”
“I guess the other thing didn’t work out for him.”
“I guess not.”
“And what did you reply to him?”
“I didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “He broke my heart, and I knew it could never be the same again. So, to save us both a lot of misery, I just didn’t answer his letter. He wrote a few more times, then stopped writing.” She threw her cigarette in the surf. “I heard from mutual friends that he got married to a girl in New York.”
We walked along the water’s edge, and the wet sand and surf felt good on my feet. I thought about Susan and Sam, and while I was at it, about Cynthia and Paul. In a perfect world, people would be like penguins and mate for life and stay close to the iceberg where they were born. But men and women get restless, they stray, and they break each other’s hearts. When I was younger, I thought too much with my dick. Still do. But not as much.
I asked Susan, “Would it have made a difference if he had come to Saigon, instead of asking you to come home?”
“That’s a good question. I went home once on leave, and I think he knew I was home, though by that time, I guess we both knew we couldn’t see each other again. But I don’t know what I would have done if he’d shown up on my doorstep on Dong Khoi Street.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that a man who did what he did, and who was truly sorry, would not have written a letter. He would have come to Saigon and taken me home.”
“And you would have gone with him?”
“I would have gone with a man who had the courage and conviction to come and get me. But that wasn’t Sam. I think he was exploring his options by mail.” She glanced at me. “Someone like you would have just come to Saigon without the stupid letters.”
I didn’t respond directly to that, but I found myself saying, “Cynthia and I live a few hundred miles from each other, and I’m not making the move, though I think she would.”
“Women will usually go to where the man is. You should think about why you’re not going to where she is.”
I changed the subject back to her and said, “You got away from what you were running from. Time to move on.”
She didn’t reply, and we kept walking along the wet sand. She threw her sandals onto the beach and walked into the water up to her knees. I waded in beside her.
She said, “So, that’s my sad story. But you know what? The move to Saigon was one of the best decisions of my life.”
“That’s a little scary.”
She laughed and said, “No, I mean it. I grew up real fast here. I was spoiled, coddled, and totally clueless. I was Daddy’s girl, and Sam’s sweetheart, and Mommy’s perfect daughter. I belonged to the Junior League, for God’s sake. But it was okay. I was happy.” She added, “I think I was dull and boring.”
“You certainly fixed that problem.”
“Right. I realized that Sam was bored with me. I never even flirted with other guys. So, when he said he was screwing this woman at work, I felt so betrayed… I should have gone out and fucked his best friend.” She laughed, then said, “Are you sorry you asked?”
“No. Now I understand.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, when I first got here, I was terrified, and I almost turned around and went home.”
“I know the feeling.”
She laughed. “My tour here can’t possibly compare to yours, but for me, this was a big step toward growing up. I knew if I went home, I’d… well, who knows?” She said, “I told you, you wouldn’t have recognized me three years ago. If you’d met me in New York, you wouldn’t have spoken to me for five minutes.”
“I’m not sure about that. But I hear you. So, is your character development nearly complete?”