The Secret of Joy

by Melissa Senate

  And something tells me she didn’t share much about me with you. Likely because she felt she made a very big mistake in falling for me, and who wants their father to have been a mistake? No, I can’t see that she’d tell you what a jerk and an idiot I was. She saw something in me, something about me captivated her, her—this beautiful free spirit. Apparently, I made her laugh. Me, a short Jewish lawyer from Noo Yawk.

  I know you’re probably thinking, “Yeah, right,” like there’s anything funny about what I did. On both counts. Having an affair with Pia and then just turning my back on her. If it helps, which I’m sure it won’t, I knew Pia would be all right. Your grandparents are gold. I met them once, just once, and of course they didn’t know about me and Pia, but they were such warm, friendly people. I had no doubt they’d help her, see her through. That eased things in me, somewhat.

  The first time I saw her was on the beach in Wiscasset, way down by the old pier where no one much goes. I’d gotten into a big argument with my wife, and Rebecca was throwing some kind of wild tantrum, and I’d slammed out of the cottage and gone for a walk, ending up on the desolate stretch down by the old pier, where it’s all seaweed. I was throwing shells into the water, pissed off that they were so light and wouldn’t go very far.

  And all of a sudden, a woman said, “Try this,” and I turned around, and there was a Madonna look-alike, you know, with the crazy cut-up black clothes and wild hair and hundreds of silver bangles. She handed me a rock that she said she’d found up along the path. She said she was planning to paint it, its jagged perfection, but she thought the heft of it would be of more use to me.

  So she put it in my hand, and she had this crazy black nail polish on her fingers—I remember that so vividly—and I was about to throw it, but it felt so good, just to hold, and I gave it back to her. And she said something like “Rough day in the office?” I guess making fun of my khaki pants or whatever, and we just walked and walked and talked and talked. We talked about everything, and the chemistry between us surprised us both.

  How I made her laugh that day! She was laughing when I kissed her for the first time. She was laughing that big, crazy laugh of hers and I just turned and stopped and kissed her, and there was no hesitation, not a moment’s. And she kissed me back. We stood there and kissed for like an hour by that rotting old pier. We didn’t talk much after that, we just held hands and walked and kissed, then we stopped and sat and watched the ocean and each other. Have you ever had a relationship that didn’t require any talking at all? Like you could answer all your problems, all your questions by just looking into someone’s eyes? That’s how it was that day.

  We made plans to meet that night, same spot, and it’s there that we … were together for the first time. We met every day for the rest of the two weeks I was there. And when it was time to go home, I imagined keeping the relationship going on vacations, a “this time next year” type of thing.

  We spoke a few times on the phone once I was back home. But whatever strain there’d been between me and Norah—that’s Rebecca’s mother—had been mended somewhat, almost like that affair gave me myself back. I don’t know if this makes any sense. I told Pia I cared for her but that I wanted to save my marriage and that I didn’t think we should talk anymore. She was gracious, not that I gave her much time to say anything. Six weeks later, I heard her voice again, alerting me to the pregnancy. I just went numb and dumb and didn’t say a word. And finally she hung up. And then, eight months later, she called to tell me you were born and that her parents helped her buy a little blue Cape in town on Maple Drive and that’s where she would be. I thanked her for informing me and that was that. I closed my mind to it, and it’s amazing how the mind can shut down, close itself off to what it can’t handle. What it doesn’t want to handle, I should say.

  I’m sorry, Joy. I didn’t do the right thing. And now that you’re eighteen, now that you’ll be finding your own man to marry one of these days, I hope my actions don’t bear any weight, that you don’t make choices based on what I did or didn’t do. I hope you choose a good guy, someone who’ll love you like crazy and stand by you through thick and thin.

  Happy eighteenth birthday, Joy.

  —Daniel Strand

  Rebecca shoved the letter back in its envelope and stuck it in between the others. All she could think was, if she hadn’t had a tantrum that day, her father might not have stormed out of the house and therefore been on the beach at the very moment that Pia Jayhawk had been out looking for the perfect rock to paint.

  And as love stories went, it wasn’t so great. So they had chemistry. So they talked and talked. So they kissed. BFD.

  She watched a drifting cloud, sure she could lie there for the rest of her life and watch it. She didn’t get it, didn’t get how her father had fallen for a total stranger dressed like Madonna. She still couldn’t understand how it happened. So they’d met on the beach, so they’d been oddly attracted to their polar opposite. Suddenly, they’re making out with seaweed wrapped around their ankles? No need for words? Just staring into each other’s eyes like they were fourteen?

  She couldn’t see it, couldn’t imagine it.

  What she could see, what she could imagine, was Pia in her ripped tank tops and giant, silver cross medallions, her belly getting bigger and bigger. She could see Pia, with frosted wild hair, with toe rings, standing all alone on the beach, the seaweed under her feet.

  She wanted to see this place, this spot of beach where her father and Pia had met. But she had no idea where it was. That was what long walks were for.

  nine

  Rebecca slipped into her clogs and headed down the path Theo had told her about. She stuck to the wooden trail, not wanting to step on the sand where her father and another woman had fallen in love—if that was what happened. Was what her father described in his letter love? Was it something else?

  She stared at the sand, the ordinary, everyday sand, and a stabbing pain of grief overtook her. She would never see her father again. And she was stuck with all of these letters, the truth of him, in these secret bits that had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with their family, their lives. The letters, Joy, Pia Jayhawk—they were all so outside of Rebecca. Outside of everything she knew and understood.

  And yet they were what was left, they were what was. Perhaps that was why she wasn’t ready to go home. Because the secret bits were here, here on this beach, here in this town in Maine. In New York, she would be among the familiar, her father’s truth creeping into her heart and stomach as she walked down the street, as she tried to work, as she tried to sleep.

  She needed to understand, to settle something inside her. And then she’d be able to go home.

  Way up ahead, a man threw a stick and his little brown dog raced after it, his wagging brown tail making Rebecca smile. She squinted against the sunlight as she watched the dog jump high in the air to catch the stick, then scamper to return it to the man. As she walked farther along the path, she realized it was Theo. Wiscasset was a small town. She liked this, seeing the same people everywhere she went. Especially when they were very cute men who were so easy to talk to. When she’d left Finch’s this morning, she’d run into Arlene from Mama’s, then Maggie, who was leading her elderly grandmother into a doctor’s office. Twice, a car horn honked a hello—one was Marianne, delivering her whoopie pies, and the other was the antiques shop owner who lived next door to Finch’s. This was new to Rebecca, this community of hellos and honks and waves. In New York, she never ran into anyone she knew, even on her own block.

  Theo’s dog brought the stick to her, the tail wagging. He was a scrappy medium-sized mutt with happy, black eyes. She kneeled down to pet him, his comical face managing to remind her of sad-faced Bingo.

  She threw the stick and the little dog went running.

  “Do you have a steak in your pocket?” Theo asked as he came over, his smile rendering her speechless for a moment. Rebecca found herself staring at his bare feet. “Spock isn’t usually s
o friendly.”

  Rebecca laughed as the dog came trotting back over, stick in mouth. His pointy ears did give him a slightly Vulcan quality. “My dad wanted to name our dog Captain Kirk. But I was six so Bingo won.” She scratched Spock under the chin and the dog rolled over, exposing his belly. Rebecca kneeled down in the sand and rubbed his pink tummy. “I forgot how much I miss having a dog.”

  He sat down beside her and hurled the stick, sending Spock running. “Spock doesn’t take to everyone, you know. I always think a dog knows.”

  Rebecca smiled. “My dad used to say that when Bingo growled at someone he couldn’t stand.”

  Theo leaned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes for a moment. She took the opportunity to study him, the strong lines of his nose, of his chin. The golden hair on his tanned arms, at his biceps and triceps just below the sleeves of his white T-shirt. “I’ve been feeding a stray for the past few days,” he said as Spock returned the stick. “Scruffy little black and white mutt I’ve been calling Charlie. I’ve called the local shelters to see if anyone’s reported him missing and put a few posters up, but no one’s come to claim him. I’d keep him, but I can’t get him to come inside. I think Spock’s ears scare him. He’s yours for the taking.”

  A little black and white dog to love sounded wonderful. But Rebecca had no idea where she’d be after Sunday. Here? New York?

  So what if she’d be in New York? Dogs were allowed in her building, and permission wasn’t even required if they were under twenty-five pounds. She could come home with a little black and white dog. Not that Michael particularly liked dogs. Or cats. Or animals in general.

  “Think he’s hanging around now?” she asked.

  “Likely. I live about a quarter mile from here. Take a walk with me,” he added, getting up. He extended his hand.

  Her stomach flipped like she was sixteen and the cute boy had just asked her to the junior prom. She took his hand and he helped her to her feet. She was so conscious of him, of the way his hand had felt on hers, that she brushed sand off her butt to have something to do.

  “I’m going away for the weekend, though,” she told him as they headed back in the direction she’d come. “So I wouldn’t be able to take him till I got back.”

  “Well, if you decide to take him, I’ll entice him to stick around with special treats until you can pick him up.”

  “So you live right on the beach?” she asked. “Must be nice.”

  “It is. I go for very long walks with Spock without needing shoes.” He wiggled his toes in the sand.

  “So you know this beach pretty well, then?”

  He nodded. “Had my first kiss on this beach. With a girl named Samantha. I was twelve. A few years later, I had my heart broken for the first time on this beach by a girl named Jessie. There were a lot of firsts for me here.”

  She squinted up in the sun at him. “So, if two people were having a clandestine affair on this beach, where would they go?”

  “No one usually goes this far up over here. They call this part Seaweed Beach. There are lots of hidden spots. Sometimes I find teenagers here, doing things they shouldn’t.” He eyed her. “Planning to have a secret affair?”

  She smiled. “Just digging into the past. My mother and father and I came up here for vacation when I was two. That’s when my father met Joy’s mother. He saw her for the first time on this beach. He wrote about it in a letter. I thought if I came here, maybe I’d understand something, but I don’t.”

  “About why he strayed?”

  She nodded. “It’s just so … common. I guess I thought my parents had a fairy-tale marriage until my mother died. But if someone was able to tempt him away like that, even for a week … Maybe true love really is just a fairy tale.”

  “I know some people who’ve been married for forty, fifty years,” he said. “They get dressed up to go to the greasy spoon diner on Sunday mornings. They’re still in love. But love is hard work, period.”

  “I guess what short-circuits my mind is how something so temporary, like their affair, created something so permanent, like a child. I mean, a life came out of that chance meeting on the beach. A relationship that lasted two weeks had very serious repercussions.” She picked up a shell and threw it. “I must sound like a naïve twelve-year-old.”

  “Not at all. You sound like someone who’s trying to find answers. I prefer that to the head-in-the-sand trick.”

  “So you don’t think ignorance is bliss?”

  “Not remotely.”

  “I went on Joy’s singles tour this past weekend—not as a single,” she rushed to add, “but because Joy told me I could come, and I thought I’d be able to get to know her a little. And two of the singles got together, but the man told the woman, right before they were about to … have sex, that she shouldn’t have expectations. She got all upset, and though he was basically a jerk, I guess he did do the right thing. She said she might have preferred him to say nothing, to give her that night, and let the pain come in the morning. That at least she would have gotten that perfect night.”

  “Doesn’t sound so perfect, though. She likely dodged a bullet.”

  “Tell me something, Theo. Why do you think men stray? If they love their wives, I mean.”

  “I can’t possibly answer that. I’ve never been married. And I’ve never cheated on a woman I’ve loved.”

  “Do you think you could? I mean, could you imagine it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Me either,” she said. “But it happens.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything else.

  She wanted him to say more, to tell her about his family, his parents. That first girlfriend and the second. She wanted to know everything about him. How he liked his eggs. If he liked eggnog. Bruce Springsteen. Women who had no idea what they were doing or where they were going.

  Women who had boyfriends whose mothers gave them a beautiful wedding gown.

  She kicked at the sand. “Ugh. I don’t know why I’m going on this weekend’s tour. It’s for couples in rocky relationships, and I’m supposed to be the impartial sort-of mediator, but I don’t know anything! Because of my work in divorce mediation, even though I’m just a paralegal, I’m supposed to help, but what the hell do I know about marriage and how it works? Or even relationships?”

  “You’re in one, first of all. And you’ve had plenty, I assume. And anyone who’s worked with divorcing couples must have plenty of experience. Plus, sounds like you and Joy will have a chance to really get to know each other.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Hey,” he said, putting his fingers to his lips. “There he is. Charlie.”

  Rebecca glanced up at the beautiful, gray shingled cottage. Up on the deck was a small black and white dog, a cross between a Jack Russell terrier and a beagle. Its short tail wagged at the sight of Theo, yet his ears lay flat as Spock scampered along behind them.

  “Why don’t you go sit on the steps and let him get to know you,” Theo said. “I’ll put Spock inside.”

  Rebecca sat on the second step. The little dog watched her for a moment, then slowly approached her and sat down in front of her. She let him sniff her hand. He sat there, not moving.

  “I think that’s a good sign,” Theo said.

  “He’s adorable,” she said, her heart melting at his sweet face. She reached out to pet him, and he let her, then rested his chin on her hand.

  Theo went inside and came back a moment later with a bowl of dog kibble, handing it to her. She put a few pieces in her palm and held it out to Charlie. The dog glanced at her with his little head tilted, then ate out of her hand and sat down beside her, resting his head on her leg.

  “Do you want to play?” she asked him. “Do you like fetch?” She picked up a twig and tossed it, and Charlie went racing after it and returned it, his tail wagging.

  “Oh, little cutie. You are so mine,” she told him, throwing the stick again.

  Theo laughed. “I’ll take good care of him
till you get back Sunday. But feel free to stop by and feed him or walk him until you leave. That’ll give you a chance to get to know each other.”

  She rubbed the dog’s belly. “I will. Charlie,” she said. “That’s his name. It just suits him.”

  “He does look like a Charlie. I have no idea why.”

  Rebecca laughed. She had a dog. She was sort of nowhere at the moment, but she had a dog. And she had somewhere to be this weekend.

  She and Theo sat there on the weathered steps, trading stories about pets, and suddenly Rebecca wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him so badly that her toes tingled.

  And this was how it happened, she thought. You’re sitting somewhere, talking to someone about the guinea pig you had when you were nine, and he’s telling you about the time his pet rats disappeared for two days, and suddenly you have a stray dog in common, and even though you have a boyfriend, a serious boyfriend, a live-in boyfriend whose mother gave you her wedding gown, you have an overpowering “I must” urge to kiss another person.

  But you cannot.

  And so Rebecca got up and gave Charlie one last hug, told Theo she’d be by to see the dog tomorrow, and then started to walk away, but Charlie came running after her. “No, Charlie, you need to stay here.”

  But the dog followed her.

  “Maybe Marianne will let you keep him at her place,” Theo said, smiling. “I’ll come by Saturday and Sunday and walk him and feed him.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Thanks.”

  And that was how Rebecca found herself walking back to her hotel with a little black and white dog named Charlie, who stopped to sniff every tree, flower, and leaf. A dog who stopped to smell the flowers was her kind of dog.

  When she returned to her room at Finch’s, there was a note on her door.