SHADOW OF WHIMSY

by ANN HYMES

  Warm days were lengthening now as the season reached toward summer. An erratic breeze sauntered up from the water and caused a slight motion of the wind chimes on the porch, a faint hypnotic sound. Like echoes of vocal chanting tuned to scales in faraway chambers, the music called for meditation. Theresa did not like to think of leaving. She had begun to find her place here, settling in without disturbance.

  The vase of roses was like a pair of eyes that found her hiding under a new identity, piercing the comfort of days drawn with fresh strokes and reminding her of unfinished business. She opened the card.

  “Next week is a blue moon. Can we try a fresh start? Miss you and love you, Kevin.”

  Theresa smiled at the thought of Kevin sharing these personal words over the phone for the florist to write. A blue moon had sealed their love physically, but they struggled to keep that closeness in all aspects of marriage. What did she want—and how willing was she to work for it?

  The lilac buds were opening just enough to give hint of the sweet blooms to follow, and Theresa sighed happily at the remembrance of Rick’s guarantee. A relaxing bath before he came would feel wonderful, and she put a couple of candles on the porch table before going upstairs, still holding the card from Kevin.

  The old tub in the master bedroom bathroom was unlike anything she had ever seen before coming to Whimsy Towers. She chuckled at the thought of “master” bedroom and doubted that her grandmother had ever called it that. The bathtub was huge, a long, narrow, and deep white canoe of a tub, rising from graceful, claw-footed legs. The toenails had been carefully painted bright red, and the short, curved legs were shiny gold. It took a long while to fill, and Theresa tossed a generous cup of bath granules under the roaring faucet.

  She dropped her clothes onto the floor and slid into the warm bubbles. Her figure was still good, her skin turning brown from recent days at the beach. Even though she was tall, she could not quite reach the end of the tub with her toes. The fragrant water caressed her as she rolled rhythmically from side to side, her breasts reaching up, as if trying to float to the surface. She stirred the water with her hand and slowly moved her fingertips across her slippery body, exploring beneath the bubbles. She closed her eyes, repeating slowly, “Can we try a fresh start? Can we try a fresh start?”

  For a long while Theresa coasted between memories and longing, lulled by gentle motion, eagerness, perfume, and the promise of moist lilacs.

  As the water cooled and the bubbles evaporated, her skin started to feel chilled and bumpy. She reached for one of the large, fluffy pink towels with “Whimsy Towers” stitched in flowing blue letters. There were more than a dozen enormous towels and several terry cloth robes, all embroidered “Whimsy Towers.” She tried to imagine a muscular, young Stormy wrapped snugly in pink!

  With just the bottom of her hair still wet from the bath, Theresa slipped into her flowered slippers and shuffled to the phone. She knew the number by heart.

  “Hello, Rick?”

  “Hey. You’re not breaking our date, are you?”

  Theresa paused for a moment. “Date? Oh, no, of course not. I was just wondering … I’m sure you’ve had a long day at the garden center. What would you think of just having some Chinese carryout at my place?”

  As soon as the question was out, she didn’t know whether he’d think she was being transparently forward, foolish, or confused. And she wasn’t sure herself.

  “That sounds terrific. I’ll swing by Ming’s on the way. Any special favorites?”

  “No, I like them all. Maybe a couple of egg rolls, though.”

  “Your wish is my command. See you soon.”

  She hung up the phone and let the towel slip to the floor in front of the mirror. She wondered whether it were easier for older women to stay married, to stay put, to be satisfied. Would an older body desire a lover? Her long, sun-tanned legs were a sharp contrast to the white outline of her bikini. If her father could only know how all those years of skating had given her great legs! She turned slowly around in front of the mirror. “Not bad, Theresa Crandall. Not bad!” She laughed aloud and picked up the towel.

  An hour later she was just brushing her hair and was finally dressed. She’d tried half a dozen outfits and couldn’t seem to match her clothes with her mood. Finally, she settled for a pair of jeans and a knit top with a V-neck collar and long sleeves. It was a mossy green color that almost matched her eyes.

  “Anybody home?” came a familiar voice from downstairs.

  “Be right there,” she answered, her heart pounding a little faster than normal.

  “Do you like spicy?” Rick called, as he pulled little white boxes out of a tall bag.

  “Surprise me.”

  For over two weeks, Theresa and Rick had settled into a routine that was both mischievous and caring. They were not greedy, allowing time and space to balance their days and ignite their desire. Did he belong in that kitchen? Did she? She smiled and tossed her head as she entered the room, moving toward him and kissing him lightly on the cheek as he held Chinese food in each hand. Neither had mentioned falling in love. Neither dared admit that their behavior had a future or an ending. Theresa wondered at what point Stormy and her grandmother had realized that they needed to be together, to live as if only being together mattered. Grandfather did not get his way and was left behind in the love story that endured. Obstacles could be stepping stones to happiness.

  Gypsy sat with an expectant look as Rick continued to unpack won-ton soup, spicy beef, and a vegetable dish with chestnuts. As each container was opened for an approving peek, delicious fragrance filled the kitchen, and Rick’s stomach growled.

  “Theresa, I .... ”

  “How about we eat outside?” she interrupted, heading to the porch with plates, cups, and chopsticks.

  Rick scooped up the cartons of food. She passed him on her way back into the kitchen. “I’ll put some water on for tea. Grandmother left lots of choices. Chamomile, lemon, herbal, green, even artichoke! Ever heard of that?”

  “I’m yours to experiment on,” he teased. “The only requirement is that we both drink the same one. No kings’ testers here. Hemlock or nectar of the gods, we share the potion!”

  “You are putting yourself dangerously in my hands,” she responded, reaching for green tea, but neither of them commented further.

  A certain restraint settled over dinner. Rick did not ask about the white roses. Recently he had shown increased eagerness to let go of guilt and reservation, and Theresa had begun to pull back and resist the temptation of infidelity and deceit. Their roles were switching, and each stumbled in the exercise of changing places.

  As night descended around them, the small candles flickered hard to fight off the darkness. Hot wax dripped slowly into patterned clumps on the checkered tablecloth, and Theresa squeezed soft bits between her fingers into odd shapes. She smiled and handed Rick her fingerprint in warm wax. Like friends meeting to reminisce, they talked of gardening and cooking, of roads not traveled, and choices they had made that defined their lives.

  “What’s the matter with your marriage, Theresa?” he finally asked her. “We’ve never really talked about it. Neither of us can pretend it’s not a third presence here, the guest that will not leave.”

  “The matter? How do you mean?”

  “Well, obviously if everything was okay, I wouldn’t be here, and other things between us could never have happened. Satisfaction doesn’t leave an open door. Be honest.”

  She stared at the candle flame as a moth is drawn to light, fixated and helpless. She could not look at him. Tears began to form, but she would not give in to them. She was being required at last to provide words for feelings about Kevin she could not explain—or wanted to ignore.

  “Sometimes you just don’t hang the pictures the same,” she said softly.

  Rick listened, waiting for her to go on.

 
“We’re like trains going down parallel tracks, but all the blinds are pulled.”

  “How does that happen?” he asked earnestly, and she knew he did not understand how a relationship could tire. His had not died a slow death.

  “Poor communication, impatience with differences, predictability, not enough common ground or joy. It’s easier just to shut down.”

  “But Theresa, that’s not a marriage, that’s a life sentence!” he blurted out.

  She laughed aloud and felt the comfort of companionship that was missing in her life, but the man trying to understand her marriage was not the one in it.

  “I guess it’s the ‘worse’ part in ‘for better or for worse,’” she replied. And then she added, “Rick, I’m married to a very good man, a nice man. You’d like him. And in a couple of days I must go back to where he is, where we live. We have lots to sort out.”

  “Are you planning to stay there? What about Whimsy Towers?” He reached across the table to hold her hand, and she did not resist. “And what about me?”

  “You fell into my life, and I think it surprised us both. Two hungry puppies ready for love. I feel content and happy when I’m with you, but we both know this is not real. I came looking for answers about family, past and present, not an escape for dishonesty. “

  “So this was just a respite from responsibility? A spring fling?”

  “I think you know better. Hey, you have been the one with the voice of reason.” She laughed and continued, “The one on the high moral ground, remember? I’m just trying to share the view.”

  “I’ve slid down the hill!” he responded, still holding her hand and joining the laugh. “Or maybe you pushed me.”

  Theresa playfully pulled her hand free to open her fortune cookie. As the pieces broke apart, the message glared at her like a face in a mirror: “GOOD CHARACTER GUARDS AGAINST TEMPTATION.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE NEXT MORNING when the phone woke her up, Theresa assumed it was Rick. They had left unresolved emotion hanging like laundry waiting for the sun. Still hoping for an answer that would satisfy them both, neither could quite say goodbye.

  “Hi, Theresa, are you available for a beach picnic with the girls and me today? I thought we’d drive over to the site of Marconi’s first telegraph.”

  Theresa laughed. Relief, reprieve. She took a deep breath and realized she didn’t have to start the day where night left off.

  “Am I calling too early? I didn’t want to miss you.”

  “No, Jeff, it’s fine. How are you? How are the girls?”

  “We’re doing great, thanks. Summer school and day camp start for us in a couple of weeks, but this vacation on the Cape has been like make-believe, just pure pleasure.”

  Theresa wondered why reality had to be separate from “pure pleasure” and what it takes to pull the two together. Her life seemed to be coming in boxed segments that didn’t spill over. She pictured Kevin and Rick and Jeff in large plastic containers, each looking at her through clear walls that held them silent and apart.

  “Jeff, I … I don’t think I can make it. I’m leaving in a day or so, and I have so much to do.”

  She didn’t sound convincing even to herself.

  “Are you sure? Katie and Liz will be so disappointed.” Then he added, “We’ve all looked forward to seeing you again.”

  Theresa felt a tug at her heart from the two little girls who so effortlessly showed her their affection. She remembered their trusting hands in hers, the ease with which she held them and they had come to help her. She yearned to be part of a family, to be needed by children. She ached for what was not possible with her own husband, yet available with someone else’s.

  “Jeff, I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She knew she was afraid, afraid of false signals and pretending, of wanting fantasy and the mirage of a borrowed life. But just as the distant silhouette of a person gets larger as one approaches it, so the truth was gradually becoming clearer to Theresa. Running away brought her closer to herself. She was ready to go home.

  Jeff accepted the finality of her response, and she thanked him for all his help, wishing him well with his own family situation. Then she dialed Kevin. He was just getting into the office.

  “Hi, counselor! I need a good lawyer. Got any recommendations?”

  Kevin paused, probably unsure where this line of inquiry was headed. Before he could answer, she continued. “I’m just teasing, testing your morning reactions. We’re coming home tomorrow, and I’m bringing these gorgeous roses with me. Thank you, Kevin. And I mean it. Will I be in time for the blue moon?”

  Gypsy nuzzled her, trying to coax Theresa out of bed. A new day awaited, and there would be fresh smells in the yard to investigate. Exploration and breakfast were the first priority.

  “It’s been a perfect few weeks. Gypsy has adjusted well here, and she won’t like to have her routine interrupted. I think this dog is really your offspring!” Theresa laughed at herself and then added, “Are you ready for us back?”

  “Tomorrow? That’s a quick exit. Are you running from something?”

  She hesitated, readying to twist the words that harbored a lie. Theresa would be bringing home a secret of her own making. “No, there’s no running. I came in search of answers, and many questions have been resolved for me. Kevin, I want us to try harder, to have that fresh start. I want us to find the missing link that brought us together. I do miss you.”

  “I’m liking Whimsy Towers more and more,” he joked.

  “It’s given me a chance to step outside my world and look back on it with clearer eyes. I don’t want to lose what we’ve had. I want us to expand the common ground beneath our feet and not head off in separate directions just to avoid the effort of understanding each other. Love is work and fun and discovery and listening. Can we move our marriage away from indifference?”

  Kevin became serious. “I’m willing to try. I want to do better at listening and having fun—really, I do. When you’re back, I’m taking a few weeks off to unplug work and focus on what we need to do. Without you, I’d be swallowed by the curse of boredom and monotony.” And then he added, “Theresa, could we talk about adoption?”

  She felt a fresh start had begun for them both.

  • • •

  A gentle rain began at mid morning, at first cleaning infant leaves and cleansing the air, depriving dust of a place to settle. Gradually the drops grew heavy and pounded on the roof like insistent callers. Theresa carefully closed all the windows and spent her last day on Cape Cod locked in a house of memories brought to light. She tried to remember her first impressions of Whimsy Towers, the shadowy rooms and odd feeling of trespassing.

  In a few hours Stormy would be coming to dinner. The rainy day provided plenty of time to pack up things for the trip back to Virginia and to poach a fish Stormy had given her. Venturing quickly down the porch steps, she picked several wet sprigs of parsley from her herb pot. The rain tickled her bare arms. She decided she would leave the pot behind. Part of her was returning home, and part was already home.

  Stormy arrived promptly at 7:00. “This is a sad supper in many ways, Theresa. You’ve left here before, and it’s painful all over again.”

  Theresa hugged the old man, feeling him fragile for the first time. “I’ll be back. I promise I’ll be back.”

  Something in his eyes made her wonder whether he was saying goodbye. He had lived to see the return of Emily’s baby, the link to the past that guaranteed the future. Theodosia’s legacy was secure for now.

  They carried trays of steaming fish and fresh summer green salad up the stairs to the garden room. The large skylight was blanketed with gray. Blotches of rain trickled down the curved glass in eerie designs that disappeared onto the roof. The pounding had lessened, but the storm hung on, leaving the window to the sky unable to provide a view of the declining
sun or rising moon.

  Around the edges of the skylight, dangling crystal stars caught the light of the room and bounced it among themselves like a secret. Candles flickered.

  “I love this room,” sighed Theresa, perched happily on a lounge chair with her tray.

  “I think it was your grandmother’s favorite, too,” Stormy replied. “She used to feed the birds right on the window sill and let them fly in to the bird bath. Sometimes your father would be tryin’ to write, and somethin’ feathery would pass across his face. He’d mumble and shift in his chair, and Emily would laugh so hard he couldn’t be upset. The birds especially loved the fountain, and there was no point sittin’ in their path. They got real gutsy about it. Territorial.”

  “Stormy, why the name Whimsy Towers?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” He laughed, trying to swallow before getting into another story. “Got a dictionary? This house represented ‘out of the ordinary’ and ‘subject to sudden change.’ Those are definitions of whimsical. Its owner was full of fanciful ideas and whims, unpredictable as could be, full of curiosity and fun. She used to laugh that ‘whimsy’ came between ‘whimper’ and ‘whim-wham’ in the dictionary, between whining and the jitters. ‘Give me whimsy!’ she’d holler, with the fervor of Patrick Henry.”

  “And the towers? Did she build them?”

  “Yes and no. She added the one over her bedroom to match the other side. Nobody knows why the first one was built. Perhaps it was a variation of a ‘widow’s walk,’ an expression Theodosia would not allow. She preferred to think of them as lookouts, not the waiting post for disaster. Hundreds of seamen through history have not returned to anxious loved ones that searched troubled waters for them, and the rooftop widows’ walks were well named. The ocean takes what it wants.