Never Too Late

by Patricia Watters

To her annoyance, Jerry strolled into the room. For some reason she had expected him to have let himself out by now. Her father, who was mixing himself a whiskey sour, looked up and said, "You'll have a drink with us, Jerry?"

  The glass in Andrea's hands dropped to the tile floor, shattering.

  While Edith, the maid her parents brought along with them, rushed in to mop up the mess, Andrea was aware of her mother saying something, but she didn't catch it, so stunned she was with her father's change of tone with Jerry. She couldn't remember one time, during the twenty-five years she'd been married to Jerry, when her father addressed him by his first name...

  "Honey?" her mother repeated. "Are you alright?"

  Andrea blinked several times and nodded to her mother, then said to her father, "Daddy, you just called Jerry Jerry."

  "That's his name," her father said, as if it had always been that way.

  "Yes, I know it's his name, but it seems to have taken you twenty-five years to get it right. I'm just wondering why."

  "It's not too hard to figure out," Carter said. "Jerry and I found out we had more in common than fighting over you. So, Jerry, can I fix you a drink?"

  "I tell you what, Carter," Jerry said. "Mix me one of those whiskey sours you like so much, and I'll let you know if it would have passed the Ninth Street Gang test."

  "Carter?" Andrea said, staring at Jerry.

  Jerry shrugged. "It's better than the other names I had for him."

  The men exchanged glances and there was no animosity, but their expressions were that of two men who had just shared a private joke. Someday she'd ask her father what happened to change things between them, but for the moment, she didn't want to be reminded of anything that took place in that dense forest earlier in the day, even if it was to learn what transpired between two aging commandos that brought them together.

  When she realized Jerry was settling in for at least the length of time it took to have a drink with her father, she said, "If you'll excuse me, I have to go pack."

  "That should take about two minutes and a shoe box," Jerry said, with irony.

  Andrea glanced at her parents, who were waiting for her response. She shrugged, and said to her parents, by way of explanation, "All my clothes are on the ship, and those Jerry bought for me don't take up much room since there's so little of them."

  Ignoring Jerry's glare that told her he was pissed because she insisted on staying with her parents instead of with him for a night of hot, heavy, sex—a decision she regretted, miffed as she was with Jerry—she said to her father, "You did say we'd be flying to Cat Island in the morning, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Carter replied. "Your mother's anxious to get home, and your cruise ship's already there. But you and Jerry can still fly back with us to Charleston if you want. I'm sure the girls would understand."

  "No!" Andrea said quickly." I don't want them to know anything about... anything. As far as they know, Jerry and I are happily married and at the moment cruising the Bahamas while celebrating our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and that's the way I want it. There's time for them to learn that their parents—"

  "Didn't sleep together the whole damn time?" Jerry said in a calm, even manner that held a host of undertones—I'm mad because I need sex. I put my life on the line for you today and you don't give a shit. I want you in my bed and you're too damn stubborn to take what you want too...

  Andrea looked around at her parents, who were again waiting for her response. Ignoring them, and refusing to counter Jerry's remark, she replied, "Like I said, I have to pack." She went into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Jerry looked at the closed door, then at Andrea's parents, and said, "So now you know how it is. Sorry you had to be dragged into it."

  Barbara placed her hand on Jerry's shoulder. "Midlife isn't an easy time for any couple," she said. "You've both been getting older for some time by then, but all of a sudden you're pushing fifty and you begin to look old."

  "Andrea doesn't look old," Jerry countered. "Hell, she looks better now than she did the day I married her."

  Barbara laughed. "When was the last time you told her?" she asked, coming around the sofa to sit at the opposite end, and angling her body toward him.

  "I didn't have to tell her," Jerry said. "All she had to do was put on that swim suit I got her so we could go snorkeling and she knew the moment I looked at her. It was impossible for me to hide. The woman looks better than most twenty-year-olds."

  "But you didn't tell her." Barbara insisted.

  "No," Jerry admitted, "I didn't tell her."

  ...unless dragging her suit off her and nailing her to the beach was telling her...

  Jerry caught Barbara and Carter exchanging glances. Carter nodded to Barbara, and she said to Jerry, "Carter and I went through a little of what you and Andrea are going through about that time in our lives, and we managed to get through it just fine."

  Jerry started to argue that they got through it because they didn't lose a son, and they never knew what it was like to feel so damn guilty for buying him a fast car that he wanted to die every day of his life, and that it was hell living with a woman who blamed him every day of her life because she also had a son, who died because his father didn't have the guts to say to him, No, you can't have that car!

  He took another sip of whiskey sour, rested his head back against the sofa, and said, in a weary voice, "It's not like we're the first couple to call it quits midlife. We did have some good years. And those girls of ours, they don't come any better." He took another long sip, swallowed, and let out a little sigh.

  Barbara reached out and placed her hand over his, and said, "I know it's going to be a difficult day for you and Andrea tomorrow, since it would have been Scott's eighteenth birthday, but maybe it could somehow be a day of coming together, for Scott's sake."

  "Scott's dead," Jerry mumbled, then took another long sip of his drink.

  "Scott's still very much alive in many people's hearts. He is in ours," Barbara said.

  Jerry stood abruptly. "I need to go." He plunked the highball glass on the table and started for the door.

  Carter caught up with him, placed his hand on Jerry's arm, and said, "Wait!"

  Jerry looked at Carter and waited.

  Carter's hand remained on Jerry's arm, as he said, "It's tough, and I don't know what I'd do if I were in your shoes, but just for the record, I know all about boys and fast cars. The only difference between me and Scott is when I flipped my Corvette when I was his age, it had a roll bar and I walked away. But like Scott, I was old enough to know that drinking and speeding don't mix. I'm the real bastard here, Jerry. You didn't kill your boy. It's just a bad combination, boys and cars. He could just as easily have left the road driving an old clunker."

  "But he didn't leave the road in a clunker, Carter, he was driving a Dodge Charger with mags and duel exhausts that I helped him buy."

  "Well, don't be so hard on yourself," Carter said. "Maybe you and Andrea should call a truce for the day and talk about it."

  "Yeah, like that's going to happen," Jerry said. "In case you haven't figured it out, Andrea and I don't talk about Scott. Pretty ironic isn't it. When Scott was alive we never stopped talking about him. Well, arguing would be a better word."

  "Scott's gone now," Carter said, "so arguing is pointless. But maybe it's time you and Andrea started actually talking about him. No pointing fingers. Just talking."

  Jerry knew Carter meant well, but what he was asking was not an option. "Look, sorry to cut you off," he said, "but I'll handle this in my own way."

  Carter patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure you will. And I get the feeling Andrea's going to handle it in her own way. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you're both wrong, that there could be another way to handle it?"

  Jerry let out a short, ironic laugh. "Well, if you figure it out, let me know because I haven't got the damndest idea what to do."

  He left and headed for his bungalow, feeling lonelier than he'd
ever felt in his life. For some reason he thought if he could lay in bed and hold Andrea in his arms, things would be better. But that's not the way it would turn out if she were with him tonight. It would be a repeat of the beach, and he'd feel like shit afterwards, and she'd turn her back to him, and Scott would be hovering between them, untouchable, unreachable. Silent.

  CHAPTER 10

  As the Learjet circled Cat Island before making its final approach to the Old Bight Airport, Andrea looked down at endless miles of pink sand beaches, and lush green forests, and a patchwork of farms intermingled with the ruins of cotton plantations dating back to the 1700s, and saw the crumbling remains of vine-covered mansions, and the vestiges of stone walls that once penned in cattle, and the wooden ruins of slave villages. In the bay, where the cruise ship was docked, were dozens of fishing vessels. Not far from the airport, she spotted the monastery. Built by an architect turned Catholic-priest, it sat atop Mount Alverina, the highest point in the Bahamas. She'd read about it in Frommer's while on deck the first day, then forgot about it completely when Alessandro Cavallaro slithered into her life...

  "So, what do you intend to say to the other passengers about Cavallaro?" Jerry asked, zeroing in on her thoughts, a heady reminder of how it had once been with them. But now, Jerry seemed to zero in on the thoughts she didn't want him to know.

  "I don't plan to say anything," she replied. "There's no reason for anyone to ask. And I would just as soon shove the whole terrible episode out of my mind, that is if you'll let me. But I suspect you'll want to rub my nose in it for the rest of our time together."

  Jerry took a few moments before replying, "I think we both stuck our noses in a couple of piles of shit we weren't expecting," he said, "so I'd just as soon forget it too."

  Andrea was surprised to hear Jerry admitting to his brief episode with Val, even if it was a somewhat oblique admission. "I still plan to stay with Val for the rest of the cruise," Andrea said, filling in the gap Jerry provided. "Like you said, we don't need a repeat of what happened on the beach. But you may have to explain to a few people why you happened to stay behind with me. When we left the ship, you and I were a couple of singles, me with Alessandro, and you... not showing up at the fire dance. And now we're returning together. Which makes me curious. Why did you stay with me?"

  Jerry eyed her, brows drawn, and said, "Maybe to save you from yourself. Maybe to protect the mother of my girls. Maybe because I still—" he cut his own words off and shrugged. "I don't know. I just did."

  The wheels touched down with a squeal, and a shortly after, the jet came to a nose-dipping halt. Andrea wondered if Jerry had been about to say he still loved her. If so, she wouldn't be hearing it now, because he had already left the seat and was standing at the door, ready to leave the plane as soon as the stairs dropped down.

  For some reason, she expected him to excuse himself as soon as he stepped on the tarmac. Instead, he waited for her and her parents to join him. Her father patted him on the shoulder and said, "You two have three more days to get it all together."

  Jerry avoided the remark by glancing at the jet, and replying. "Thanks for the ride, Carter. Maybe I should get myself one of those little toys someday."

  "Maybe so," Carter replied. But there was a definite edge to his tone, Andrea noted.

  An odd turn of events, her father lobbying for them to stay together.

  Addressing her father, while ignoring Jerry's pointed stare telling her to let her father's remark pass, she said, "Jerry and I will try to make the most of the time we have left." She looked at Jerry then, and said, "In fact maybe we should join the tour that the cruise line scheduled to the monastery in about an hour."

  Jerry let out a muffled grunt, and said nothing.

  "Honey," her mother said, "for the girls' sakes, you and Jerry enjoy the days you have left. Think back on the good times and put aside the troubling times, and make this day special." She avoided mentioning that this day would have been Scott's birthday, just as she and Jerry had been avoiding the subject ever since they joined their parents for breakfast at the resort before flying to Cat Island. But at some point between now and when the day was done, they would read the letters from the girls. But she wanted to put it off as long as possible.

  "I'll get a taxi," Jerry said. He gave Barbara a hug, shook Carter's hand, and headed toward a cab waiting on the edge of the tarmac.

  Andrea sighed and looked from one parent to the other. Settling on her father, she said, "Thanks for coming, Daddy. You were quite wonderful out there in the bush. Maybe when I get back you can tell me what happened with you and Jerry."

  Carter smiled and said, while hugging her, "I learned you married a good man. Don't be too quick to let him go."

  "Things are as they are. But I'll keep an open mind."

  She hugged her mother, but before her mother let go, she said to Andrea, "Think of the girls, honey. Breaking up the home where they grew up will also break their hearts."

  "I know, Mother," Andrea replied, "but thanks for caring." She released her mother and went to join Jerry in the cab.

  As she settled next to him, Jerry said to her, "We could have flown back with them. It seems pointless to continue this charade."

  "Not completely pointless," Andrea said. "One good thing came of it. You and my father are talking like normal people. In fact, you actually seem to like each other."

  "He's okay," Jerry said, and offered nothing more.

  Andrea was tempted to ask what took place to make things okay, but the last thing she wanted was to relive anything that happened in the jungles of Andros Island, or on the cruise ship, or on the beach. "It'll make things better when we're at family occasions," she volunteered.

  Jerry looked at her like she'd lost touch with reality. "What family occasions?"

  "Well, maybe Christmases... at my folk’s house. You could be there with the girls and their families now. I'm sure you and I could endure one day a year together. And maybe Easter too. And the children's birthdays. And maybe my father would come to the lake house now. We could surely get along for a couple of weeks a year to do that."

  "Yeah, well, maybe I should just move into one of those suites at your parent's house, now that we're all buddies," Jerry said, with irony.

  "Not permanently," Andrea said, as if Jerry had made a valid suggestion. "But you could visit there some, so you and my dad could build a kind of a father-son relationship."

  "Right," Jerry clipped. "And while we're fantasizing, maybe you and I could get together once a week, at either your place or mine, so we could nail each other to the bed."

  "Would that be so bad?" Andrea asked, wishing that was what they were doing right now, not what Jerry suggested, but what they once had, the romps, the passionate love, the tender moments afterward, before they'd fallen into the pointless diatribe that seemed to be a constant in their lives now.

  Jerry let out a short guffaw. "Which are you referring to? Me staying with your folks so I could be daddy's little spoon-fed-prince, or us nailing each other to the bed?"

  "Why are you doing this?" Andrea asked.

  "Doing what?" Jerry replied, while looking out the cab window, his way of shutting her out when she was trying to initiate something. Anything but what was happening.

  "Ruining the one thing that was special about our marriage," Andrea said.

  "If you're talking about sex," Jerry replied, "I couldn't tell it by you over the past couple of years because whenever I got the urge you curled up in bed with your back to me."

  Andrea folded her arms. "Well you certainly can't claim I had my back to you on the beach."

  "I don't want to talk about the beach," Jerry snapped. "It makes me horny for all the wrong reasons, and I don't think you want me nailing you to this seat right now."

  "Fine!" Andrea clipped. "Let's just pretend I didn't try to initiate a conversation for the duration of this taxi ride, and I won't bring up doing it again. But it is a bit ironic that you're the one turning
your back to me now."

  Jerry let out a snort of derision and said nothing. But Andrea knew if he had responded, it would have been something hurtful, like telling her to find a new stud because he was through servicing her, as if she were the only one who liked what they once had. But what they had was over, and she felt humiliated that she'd all but begged Jerry to make love to her again, and he'd silently turned her down. So she made a silent vow. She would never bring up the subject of having sex with Jerry again...

  When they stepped out of the taxi onto the docks, a warm, gentle breeze from the Atlantic swirled around them, bringing with it the scent of salt sea air mingled with fresh fish from the bins of the fishing vessels tied to the wharf. Among the vendors set up on the docks, a rake 'n' scrap band was making a terrible musical racket, presumably to welcome the cruise ship. A short distance beyond the band, passengers who Andrea recognized from the ship had gathered at a thatched-roof tiki bar, the Danforths among them.

  Lillian Danforth caught sight of them and motioned for them to come over. When they did, Lillian said, with enthusiasm, "It's so good to see you. When the steward went around from room to room asking about the two of you, we wondered if something happened. And when neither of you showed up for dinner, we were very concerned. But then they announced over the loud speakers that you had food poisoning and would be rejoining us later, we were very relieved."

  "Moral to the story," Andrea said, "don't eat conch chowder or drink unbottled water at dingy little greasy-spoon hideaway."

  Lillian laughed. "Well it's fortunate Jerry was with you," she said.

  Andrea realized the Danforths had no idea who she'd really been with that evening, and that they hadn't seen her leave the ship in her outrageous Armani outfit. She was also certain the news of Alessandro's death hadn't reached the island papers or the cruise ship. But in another day or two it would and it would be a hot topic of conversation aboard.

  "Yes, Jerry was a big help," she said. "I'm not sure how I would have gotten to the medical clinic without him." She looked at Jerry, who said nothing.