Where Dolphins Go

by Webb, Peggy

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I sing in the choir. Remember." Jo Lisa waltzed inside the room as if she owned it. Everything about her made Susan mad, her walk, her dangling earrings, her bare legs.

  "Please leave, Jo Lisa. I don't want a scene in the church."

  "I'm not going to make a scene, Susan. Are you?"

  "You always make a scene, Jo Lisa. You don't even have to say anything to make a scene." Susan stalked to the rack and jerked her robe off the hanger. "All you

  have to do is breathe, and the world falls apart around you."

  "All right, Susan. I was jealous, and I seduced your husband, but he didn't have to keep coming back for more."

  "How dare you say such a thing to me!"

  "Because it's true. Listen . . . I've given this a lot of thought, and I don't mean to be passing the buck. I accept my part of the blame. But part of it was his too. He was weak."

  "The next thing I know you'll be blaming me."

  "Are you blameless, Susan?"

  Susan drew back her hand, then let it fall to her side. Was she? After Jeffy was born her whole life had been taken up with him. She remembered how Brett used to climb into bed and slide his hand up her gown.

  "Please, Brett. I'm exhausted."

  He'd rolled over, sighing. "Lately you're always exhausted."

  "Maybe if you'd help out a little more . . ."

  "Dammit, Susan, are we going to go through that again?"

  Contrite, she ran her hand across his stiff, unyielding back. "Let's not quarrel . . . Please."

  He’d pouted for a while before finally giving in. Even after he took her into his arms and they were making love, she resented his small silences, those little gaps of time in which she felt all alone and then felt guilty for feeling that way.

  And their lovemaking . . . Before Jeffy that had been spontaneous and passionate. Afterward there were times when they might as well have not even tried.

  There had been the Christmas Eve when she and Brett were putting presents under the tree. Giggling and giddy as children they'd fallen onto the carpet among the brightly wrapped packages.

  Then Jeffy cried out. It was a small sound, so small that only a mother could hear.

  "Shhh. Listen." She stilled Brett with her hand pressed over his mouth.

  "What is it, Susan?"

  "Jeffy."

  "He's probably just dreaming. He can wait for a little while."

  "No, Brett." She twisted away from his mouth. "I need to check on him."

  Without a word he got up and straightened his clothes. She smoothed down her skirt and put on her sweater, then started to say something to him, something consoling.

  But in the end she said nothing. And neither did he. When she got back from checking on Jeffy, who'd only been dreaming after all, Brett had already gone to bed and was feigning sleep.

  Are you blameless, Susan?

  She whirled on Jo Lisa. "We had problems, but you had no right to sleep with my husband."

  The door swung open, and two early arrivals came into the practice room and began getting into their robes.

  Jo Lisa jerked a robe off the rack, then turned for Susan to button her up. Briefly Susan considered ignoring her, but she didn't want to make a scene.

  "If you think I'm going to slink off into the night and let this alone, you're sadly mistaken, Susan." Jo Lisa's voice was soft and urgent, hard to ignore. "I don't care whether you ever forgive me, but you've got to stop hating. It will destroy you."

  Susan fastened the last button, then walked away. She was already destroyed. Nothing Jo Lisa could do would change that. The organ prelude sounded, and she got into line with the rest of the choir.

  She ended up sitting in the choir loft beside her sister. And when they sang On Jordan's Stormy Banks, her soprano blended perfectly with Jo Lisa's alto.

  For all the world to see, they were sisters singing in harmony.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Horn Island was a haven of peace on a Sunday afternoon. Red-winged black birds sang in the mango bushes and grackles gave their musical calls. A white heron with yellow feet waded at the water's edge, and a batallion of gulls winged toward a sky so blue it hurt your eyes.

  Bill guided the boat and watched Beth Ann's reaction. She was trying very hard to appear bored with it all, but he could tell it was an act.

  "Spend time with her, Bill," the therapist had said, "time alone. She resents the relationship between you and Maggie. She feels left out."

  It had astonished him to realize that too much love between a husband and a wife could make a child feel excluded. Together he and Maggie had hit upon the idea of involving Beth Ann in his dolphin research.

  "The dolphins will be around this island, Beth Ann. Remember the temporary freeze marks on the dorsal fin I told you about?" She nodded. "Look for it. If you spot one, jot down the number."

  She didn't ask any questions. That wasn't good.

  "Get her to talk to you as much as possible," the doctor had said.

  "Remember how we talked about studying dolphins in the wild." Once more she merely nodded. He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. How did a man go about establishing a different kind of relationship with a fifteen-year-old daughter? "These freeze marls help us study their migration patterns. They travel great distances, you know, navigating by bio-magnetism." He sounded like a dry science book.

  "Don't overdo it," her therapist had cautioned. "Make it seem natural."

  Still not talking, Beth Ann rubbed suntan oil on her arms and legs. Bill wished he'd brought Maggie. She seemed to be making more progress with their daughter than he was. Maybe he was too old to be a parent. Maybe there was some law he didn't know about that at forty parents passed their children on to younger people with more energy and more knowledge on parenting.

  In the distance a dorsal fin cut through the water. The sun glinted off the shiny fin as it glided toward them.

  "Look, Beth Ann. A dolphin."

  She turned toward the direction he pointed, and as she did, three dolphins breached the water in perfect formation. Behind them, three more spun upward. The sea roiled about the boat as more dolphins appeared, their great gray bodies slicing swiftly through the water.

  "It's a herd, Beth Ann." Bill couldn't contain his excitement. Usually on sightings he saw a small pod of ten or twelve, but there must have been a hundred and fifty dolphins racing to greet the boat.

  Beth Ann's eyes lit up, then her whole face. "Gosh," she said, leaning over the edge of the boat. "I've never seen so many." The dolphins drew nearer and began to close in gleaming gray circles. "Awesome," she said. Then, "Hey, look. I see two marks ... no, three, three marks, Dad!"

  She reached for her binoculars and the small notepad he'd given her. "What if they disappear before I can write down their marks?"

  "Don't worry, Beth Ann. We'll come back."

  She smiled at him, and he saw everything he had missed—the father-daughter talks, the discussions about grades and boyfriends and college and careers.

  He was going to do better. Tomorrow he'd pick up brochures of Hawaii and they'd plan that family vacation he'd been promising Maggie for sixteen years.

  Getting away would do them all good. Besides, Hawaii had a large dolphin population.

  o0o

  Because of the weather, Paul and Jean were taking a late lunch on the patio. It was Chinese food they'd picked up on their way back from church. Paul had changed into jeans and an old sweatshirt, but Jean was still wearing her cream-colored silk suit. She looked elegant and beautiful and unapproachable.

  They ate mostly in silence, with Jean making an occasional remark about her gallery, and Paul commenting on the weather. She never mentioned the boat anymore. He supposed she'd given up.

  It seemed they'd both given up. They rarely touched, and when they did it felt obligatory. They were polite strangers, living in the same house.

  "I'm thinking of expanding the gallery."
<
br />   She wasn't asking his advice; she was telling him. He nodded.

  "Whatever you want to do, Jean. Pass the sweet and sour sauce, please."

  She handed it to him. "The trial will be over soon."

  "Yes." He tried not to think too far into the future.

  "It looks bad for Curt."

  He studied her to see how she felt about that. She was serene and confident, merely making conversation. He remembered how she'd looked when he'd seen her at the ballet with Curt, so fragile, so much in need of protection. Then he remembered Susan, glorious in her red dress, sweet and passionate, sexy and innocent.

  A sense of loss weighed so heavily on him, he got up and walked to the edge of the patio. The azaleas were beginning to bloom. Jean used to plant new ones every year, adding to their collection until they had a display worthy of Bellengrath Gardens.

  "Paul? Is anything wrong?"

  "Nothing, Jean. I'm not that hungry. I thought I'd go inside and get a book."

  "You don't think I have feelings left for Curt, do you?"

  "No." He started toward the French doors.

  "Paul! Don't you dare walk out on me." She stood gripping the edge of the table.

  "I'm not walking out on you, Jean. I'm going to get a book."

  "No, you're not. You're running away from me."

  "For God's sake, Jean. I told you I'd never leave you."

  "Dammit." Jean, who never said a byword, slammed her hand on the table. "I don't want to be some ball and chain hanging around your neck for the rest of our lives. Talk to me, Paul. Tell me what you want out of this marriage . . . tell me if you want this marriage."

  From the depths of their house, they heard their telephone ring.

  "Someone's on the phone," he said.

  "Forget the phone, Paul."

  "It might be important."

  He went through the French doors, ashamed at how relieved he felt to leave her standing on the patio. His footsteps echoed in the silent house as he made his way to the phone. Too much house. Too much silence.

  He picked up the phone.

  "Is Allyson there?"

  "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."

  He pressed his hands to his temples. Wrong number. Wrong life. Wrong wife. God, he’d never even told Susan he loved her.

  “Paul." Jean had come up behind him and was standing with her hands folded.

  "It was just a wrong number, Jean."

  "I didn't come to ask who was on the telephone; I came to ask you what you're going to do about us."

  "I told you I'd stay, Jean."

  "Do you think I want your pity? Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life lying on my side of the bed while you're on the other side thinking about her?"

  "Leave Susan out of this, Jean."

  "No, you leave her out of it, Paul. Get her out of our marriage, out of our bed."

  He walked away, as he had so many times before. But this time he got only as far as the sofa. It was time to face the truth: in protecting Jean he was destroying them both.

  He turned to face her. "I can't leave her out of it, Jean."

  "At last an honest answer."

  "Isn't that what you've been wanting, Jean? Honesty?"

  "Yes." She squeezed her hands over her stomach and walked to the sofa.

  Don't you dare collapse on me, he wanted to rage at her. Don't you dare chain me to your side with guilt and weakness.

  Perched on the edge of the cushions with her knees pressed tightly together, Jean fought for composure.

  "I wanted children, Paul. We've never talked about children."

  "We can't cement a broken marriage together with children, Jean. It would be wrong."

  He remembered how it had been with them once, the laughter, the love they'd taken for granted, the son they'd produced. The memories came gently to him, and he finally understood that that's all they were, memories, and that the time had come to move on. A part of him wanted to race toward Susan and never look back, but another part of him wanted to leave with grace and dignity, to part without recriminations and tears.

  He knelt beside Jean and took her hand.

  "Paul? You're leaving, aren't you?"

  "Yes, Jean, I'm leaving. You're a wonderful, talented, desirable woman, and what we once had was beautiful. But it's gone, Jean. Over. Finished. I thought we could get it back, but I know now that we never could."

  He rubbed her hand between his. "Look at me, Jean."

  He could see unshed tears shining in her eyes. "I love you for the years we had together and the wonderful son you gave me. I love your talent, your elegance, your innate goodness."

  "But you don't love me enough to forget Susan Riley?"

  "I can't forget her. She's the best part of me." He squeezed her hands. "I won't abandon you, Jean. I'll see that all your needs are taken care of, and I'll continue to pay for the best professional help possible for you."

  She drew a deep, steadying breath. "I've known for a long time it would end this way." She pulled her hand away.

  He stood up. "I'm going to help you, Jean."

  "I'm going to help myself, Paul ... I have to."

  "Jean…”

  "Leave . . ." She lifted her chin and stood to face him. "I don't want a long, drawn-out parting. Please . . . just go quickly."

  "I'll send for my things." He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the cheek. "Be safe, Jean. Be happy."

  "You too."

  They reached for each other, needing to hold onto the past long enough to say good-bye. Outside the wind freshened and stirred the Spanish moss on the live oak tree and the tender young grass greening the lawn. A robin called to its mate, and house wrens fluttered about the holly bushes, preparing their nest for the hatching.

  Spring had come to the seacoast.

  Softly Paul let go the past; softly he released Jean. He turned in the doorway for one last look.

  "I hope you find everything you're looking for, Paul."

  So did he ... so did he.

  o0o

  After Paul left, Jean went onto the patio and began to clean up. Still dressed in her silk suit, she dumped the leftovers in the garbage disposal, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, then scrubbed the countertops.

  Next she went upstairs and began to pack Paul's clothes. There was no need to hurry, for she had all the time in the world. When she was satisfied that she'd packed every tie, every toiletry, every shoelace, she stowed the bags and boxes in the upstairs hall.

  By the time she'd finished all her chores, she was wrinkled and smudged and tired. She took off her silk suit, for once not bothering to hang it properly, then put on jeans and an old black and gold Vanderbilt sweatshirt left over from her college days.

  Outside the sun was sinking and the smell of sea salt hung in the evening air. Jean jogged around the block. Neighbors she'd barely seen over the last year and a half waved and called greetings as she passed by. Children she'd last seen on tricycles had sprouted up like weeds and were playing ball and hopscotch and Ping-Pong in their yards and on their sidewalks and in their garages. Everywhere, life went on.

  She turned the corner, winded but determined. Some of the houses she passed had new coats of paint, some had For Sale signs in the yards, some had new residents. Change. It was inevitable.

  When she neared the course and came back in sight of her own house, she noticed how huge it was, how formal, how forbidding. It was far too big for one. Tomorrow she'd list it with a realtor. And after that . . . who knew? She might stay in Biloxi and run her art gallery or she might move on. She'd always thought she'd like to live in San Francisco.

  Newly cut grass that had drifted onto the sidewalk from the house down the street was caught on her tennis shoes, and she tracked it into the house. She went into the kitchen to get a whisk broom and dustpan to clean up after herself, then changed her mind and left them sitting in the closet.

  She then went into her studio and took up her paintbrush. She
understood the art of survival; it was time to learn the art of living.

  o0o

  He checked into the Grand Biloxi, and his first visitor came calling that same day.

  When he heard the knocking, his heart sank. Jean was the only one who knew where he was. Had she changed her mind? Come to parade some announced some new illness that would make it impossible for her to live alone?

  When he opened the door and saw Susan's sister, he was as alarmed as he was surprised.

  "Don't ask how I found you. I don't have time to waste with unimportant details."

  "Has something happened to Jeffy?"

  "The kid's okay." She pushed her way past him. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

  "Yes."

  "That's too damned bad." She lit her cigarette, then tossed her purse on the bed and sat on the edge. "Aren't you going to ask me how my sister is?"

  "I'm going to give you exactly one minute to tell me why you came."

  "It's Susan."

  He strode to the bed and lifted Jo Lisa by her shoulders. "If something has happened to her and you've wasted my time playing games, I'm going to . . ." He took a steadying breath, then released her.

  "Do what, Doc? Walk out on me the way you walked out on her?"

  "It wasn't that simple."

  "She picked you up off your alcoholic butt and dusted you off and cleaned you up, and then when she fell in love with you, you left." She took a deep drag of her cigarette. "Is that about right?"

  "That's about right, Jo Lisa." He sank into a chair. "She trusted me, and I feel as if I've betrayed her."

  "So did I." Jo Lisa squinted at him through the smoke rings she was blowing, then jumped off the bed, went to the window, and stared out over the gulf. "It all started when we were kids." With her shoulders hunched forward, she told the sordid story of how she'd betrayed her sister.

  He felt as if somebody had driven an ice pick into his heart. In his effort to save Jean had he destroyed Susan?

  When her story was over, Jo Lisa turned from the window, tears streaming down her face.

  "My sister needs you, and if you don't help her, I swear to you that I'm going to hound you till the very sight of me makes you sick." With her hands shaking, she reached for another cigarette. "It probably does, anyhow."