And then, instead of standing up and walking out of the lake, this beautiful man-god used his hands and his arms to drag himself out of the water and onto the bank. As his lower half emerged, also naked, she gasped again. His legs were thin and withered, the flesh deathly white. It was so at odds with his torso, his arms, the wide V of his chest that tapered to a taut stomach. He rolled to a sitting position and then, using his hands to propel himself, he scooted across the sandy beach, toward a tree. Under it sat a wheelchair she hadn’t noticed before, and beside it a small bench. Somehow he hoisted himself up onto the bench, then into the chair and pulled a large towel around himself.
He turned the wheelchair and as Lucy watched him push it across the grass toward the cabin next door, his upper body muscled like a weight lifter, she thought there was something familiar about him.
All of a sudden the chair jolted to a stop. He kept pushing the tires, but the chair didn’t move. He was obviously stuck. She waited a moment, unsure of what to do. The morning was chilly, and he was wearing nothing but a towel. She should go and help him.
But as she opened the door, the chair began to move again, ascending the slope. He turned toward her cabin and looked up. She lifted her hand to wave, but he turned away. Closing the door, she stood by the side of the window where he couldn’t see her, watching as he made his way up a small ramp that she hadn’t noticed yesterday, onto his deck and then through a sliding glass door. She couldn’t imagine the strength it had taken to swim, and then get himself back up that long slope and into his house.
She wondered if he’d been born that way. She didn’t think so. He looked more like a man who’d been fit, and then perhaps had an accident of some kind, or a degenerative disease. What a shame, she thought, turning away from the window. He was such a handsome man.
10
RUTH HAD THOUGHT THE HOURS WOULD DRAG until three o’clock, but it was a typical Monday and she barely had a moment to think. Book orders had to be placed, the weekend’s sales tallied, shelves straightened, and boxes of new books opened. She took care of the paperwork and computer while Kris began organizing the shelves in between customers.
At noon she looked up to see Larry Porter standing on the other side of the counter. With wavy brown hair that seemed to defy combing, and a full beard, Larry was the picture of a scatterbrained professor. Larry, however, was an x-ray technician at Warwick General Hospital, and a self-professed bookaholic. He came in at least once a week, brought a stack of books to the counter, and then, as he peeled off bills and pulled coins from his pockets, famously quoted Erasmus: When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.
“I need something special. Just one book, I promise. For Angela.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“We met a year ago today, right here in your store, remember? I want something that…” He began to turn a furious shade of red as his words stalled.
“Something that tells her how you feel?”
“Exactly. But not too…”
“Mushy?”
“Right.”
Ruth led him to the small poetry section, and pulled a slim hardcover from the shelf.
“Sonnets From the Portuguese,” he read aloud.
“It’s a classic,” she assured him.
He opened to a page at random and, to Ruth’s surprise, began to read.
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach…”
He stopped and looked up at her with a shy smile. “It’s perfect.”
She rang up the book and after he left, she couldn’t help smiling herself at Larry’s passion for books, and now Angela.
BEFORE SHE KNEW IT, RUTH WAS DRIVING toward Interstate 84 and north to the prison, a route as familiar to her now as the drive home from the store. Her trembling hands clenched the steering wheel as she kept her eyes on the road. Once again she thought about Larry and Angela.
Everyone longed for love, for passion. It was part of the human condition. Hadn’t she fallen hard under its spell with Bill? Wasn’t it the hallmark of so many wonderful books where you could lose yourself in the longing of two characters you hoped would somehow find a way to be together by the end of the pages?
Ruth had given up on those dreams long ago. With consuming passion came consuming emotions. And risk, something she was no longer willing to take. But companionship would be lovely. The kind of passion she saw in Larry Porter’s eyes was relegated to youth, she knew now. And that was okay with her.
Thomas had become a friend, a companion in a way, through their letters. If she sat and read through her five years’ worth, she imagined it would read as a story of sorts. Two lonely people slowly revealing themselves, gradually becoming a bit enamored, and now…now it would probably be coming to an end. She would miss him. There would be a void she doubted she could fill again, not at this stage of her life.
She pulled into the prison parking lot, and it was as if an electric current switched on in her body. Even her hands trembled as she zipped her keys into her purse. The opportunity to talk to Thomas without a warden hovering, without the subterfuge of books, was something she’d daydreamed about for years. She’d just never imagined it would be like this.
Instead of meeting the clerk with her cartons of books, she went in alone, then filed through the various security screenings with the other visitors and finally entered the visiting room. It was noisy, filled with women and children of all ages, most dressed up for this visit with a special someone in their lives. A little girl in a pink flowered dress sat on her mother’s lap turning the pages of a book, while her mother talked to a tattooed man across the plexiglass divider that separated the long tables—prisoners on one side, visitors on the other. Conversation was through a telephone-like device, and she wondered suddenly if they would be taped.
As she waited for Thomas, a toddler in denim overalls knelt on the floor in front of her, vroom vrooming a little matchbox car around the legs of his mother’s chair. A very pregnant young woman sat quietly staring at the floor on Ruth’s other side.
After what seemed like an eternity, a far door opened and several men in orange jumpsuits walked in with a guard. Thomas was one of them. She walked over and sat across from him, noticing that his hair had just been cut, the skin around his neck tender and raw.
His face broke into a slow smile that lit up his eyes. He picked up the phone.
“Hello, Ruth.” His voice sounded different coming through a speaker.
“Hello, Thomas.” She sounded out of breath. Her heart pounded.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” His smile broadened, and he shook his head, as if to waken from a daydream. “But you are.”
She nodded. Ruth had never seen him like this, almost lighthearted. He was always so serious at their book meetings.
There was a long, awkward silence as he waited for her to speak. She looked at the wall of glass. For some reason, she’d thought it would be different. But of course there were security measures. There had to be. Around them the murmur of voices filled the room.
“You look really pretty,” he said, and his look deepened.
“Thank you.” The irony of it kept hitting her. She had dressed nicer to go to this prison than she had for the wedding.
“How’s the store? Are things picking up at all?”
“We had a decent weekend.” She paused a moment. “By the way, how is your hand?”
He held it up for her to see through the glass. There was no evidence of the bruise.
“You never told me how it happened.”
“Two idiots got into it at lunch and I broke up the fight.”
“Oh.”
“I finished Gatsby,” he said then.
“That’s wonderful.”
“I felt sorry for him, actually.”
Had he asked her here to talk about the book?
�
�He was a good man, although he’d done some things that weren’t so good. But…wasn’t he really doing it all so he could fit in?”
“Well, yes, in a way.”
“The way I see it, he did it all for Daisy. He was trying to look better in her eyes. But I think all along he knew he wasn’t good enough for her.”
Ruth felt her mouth go dry. “In some ways that’s how Fitzgerald felt about his wife.”
“Ruth, I have something important to tell you. It’s good news. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”
Her stomach churned with anticipation and something else she couldn’t identify. Beside her, the pregnant young woman began to cry softly. The little boy was still making harsh engine sounds as he ran his car up and down the wooden table.
“Ruth?”
She looked up again and Thomas was looking at her, the distinct knit of worry back on his brow.
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“I’m being let out on parole.” A hopeful smile lit his face again. “I’m going to be free.”
She let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. So that was it, he would be leaving. “I’m really happy for you, Thomas. I’m going to miss you.”
But he was shaking his head. “Ruth, I…I wanted to know if I might be able to see you,” he said softly. “You know, outside of here.”
She blinked and looked down at her hands, stunned. “But won’t you be going back to Albany? Don’t you have family, friends waiting for you?”
“There’s nothing for me there. Besides, I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward, with a new life.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted her, holding up his palm flat on the glass separating them, as if in pleading. “Don’t answer now. I know this must be a shock. So…maybe just think about it? Please?”
She said nothing, nodding.
“I think, though, you need to know the truth about me. Why I’m here.”
“No, not now.”
She couldn’t imagine talking about it surrounded by all these people, the sobbing woman beside her and now a baby crying across the room, too. The tightness had come back, somewhere in the past few minutes, and Ruth felt as if a rubber band was wrapped around her chest.
“When will you be released?”
“There’s some paperwork and a few technicalities being worked on. And I’m going through parole counseling. But it should be within a month.”
She nodded. He put his hand up on the glass again and slowly she felt her own hand slide up the smooth partition, until it was right where his was on the other side. The closest they could get. His hand was large, with long thick fingers. A strong hand.
He smiled again and Ruth was startled to see tears well up in his eyes. She smiled back, her lips trembling with her own emotion.
“Can you come back again next week?” he asked. “I’ll be gone before the next book meeting, obviously. I’ll miss that, you know? But that’s the only thing I’ll miss about this place.”
She hesitated a moment. “All right. I’ll be back next week.” She stood up.
“Wait,” he said, doubt in his eyes. “What if I put it in a letter? We’re good at letters, Ruth. That’s another thing I’ll miss. I’ll write it tonight.” He stared at her. “Whatever happens, I want you to understand.”
As she walked out to her car, looking at the razor wire fence, the guard towers surrounding the building, Ruth knew she’d been lying to herself, about love and passion. Wasn’t this what she’d dreamed about in the long lonely hours in her tub? Somehow Thomas would be free. In her imagination there was the vision of a tender kiss, long and slow, that grew into something more urgent and then…a fade to candlelight, of course. Her daydreams never went further than that, because that would be ridiculous. Ruth knew that none of it would ever be real. It was just a lonely woman’s fantasy. But now, now he would be free. And he wanted to see her.
Was she really going to bring a criminal into her life?
11
LUCY SLEPT OFF AND ON MOST OF HER FIRST FULL DAY at the lake, not sure if she was ill, or simply catching up on months of lost sleep. She felt as if she was in an altered state, until she finally woke for good late the following morning. As she sat at the table by the window with her tea, she noticed the man next door pushing himself from bird feeder to bird feeder, using a long hook to pull them down and fill them from a heavy bag of seed that sat on his lap. She decided to get dressed and go introduce herself. By the time she did, he was gone.
She decided it was time to get back to work. She was also anxious to see if David had responded to her e-mail, though she was still unsure if he had access to a computer where he was. But fueled by the wine that first night, she’d written anyway, just one sentence: Please tell me, is this really what you want? Because she still couldn’t believe it. Now, however, she couldn’t seem to get back online.
She walked around the cabin with her laptop open, like a divining rod seeking water, hoping to see the little icon on the bottom of the toolbar turn green.
No luck.
Heading outside, she walked around front, back, and even up the driveway to the road with the laptop open in her hands. The broadband card she’d bought before leaving St. Augustine was supposed to get her online ANYWHERE. But here at the lake, which definitely qualified as the hinterlands, obviously it was hit or miss.
She went in and packed up. There had to be an internet café somewhere. She hadn’t seen one in Warwick, but Warwick was too far. Maybe the little general store would have Wifi.
Although Ruth had told her it wasn’t necessary, she locked the door. She realized then she hadn’t heard back from Ruth after leaving her a message yesterday. Then she remembered Ruth’s visit to the prison. She could tell by the look in Ruth’s eyes, the way her hands moved as she spoke of Thomas, how nervous she was about it. Hopefully it had gone well. And that Ruth was as good a judge of character as she thought. Lucy would hate to think of someone trying to take advantage of her. She was such a kind woman, it probably wouldn’t be hard.
Walking down the path to the driveway, Lucy noticed the man next door also leaving his cabin. She almost waved, but then his wheelchair turned away, so she went straight to her car. She turned the key, but nothing happened. Three times she tried, knowing in her gut that the click and ensuing silence probably meant one thing, a dead battery. Looking over, she saw that the man was already in his white Jeep, so she made a run for it. By the time she drew close, he was slowly backing up.
“Wait,” she called. “Hello?”
The Jeep stopped and he turned, rolling down the window. She guessed he was in his late thirties, with light blonde hair nearly to his shoulders. His face was tanned and even his eyebrows, straight and thick, had golden glints. Staring at her now were the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The memory of him coming out of the lake, naked, flashed before her.
“I’m sorry, but I was wondering if you might be able to give me a jump?”
He tilted his head, a slight smile curling the corners of his lips. Despite a prickle of annoyance that he’d chosen to take her words suggestively, she felt a blush crawl up her cheeks.
“I’m pretty sure it’s just my battery.”
“Sure, not a problem,” he said. “I’ve got cables. I’ll just drive over and meet you at the side of the car.”
“Thank you.”
Luckily, she knew about unreliable cars. Before David, she’d had a series of clunkers, and among other things, like changing oil and washer fluid, she’d mastered the art of jump starting a car without blowing up the battery and herself.
So when he opened his door and she saw that he was about to go through the arduous task of getting in and out of his wheelchair again, something she’d missed and wondered how he did actually accomplish, she simply said, “I’ve got it.”
He gave her a long look. “Fine.”
She opened his hood and hers, grabbed the cables an
d clipped them onto each battery. Then she got in her car and gave him a thumbs up. He gunned his engine as she turned the key. Nothing. They tried four times until she sat back in defeat.
He yelled over, “I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
Awkward as she felt about it, she didn’t have a choice. She grabbed her things and got into the passenger side of his car.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry to bother you like this.”
He gave her an amused smile. “It’s no bother at all. Any friend of Jenny’s is a friend of mine.”
“Jenny?”
“Yeah, my sister? Who’s constantly calling me, worried I’ll have some kind of catastrophe up here and no one will know it? That I’ll lie here and mummify before it’s noticed I’m missing from the world?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know Jenny. Do you know Ruth? I’m doing a signing at her store.”
He began to laugh, a big, hearty, throw back your head laugh.
“You know Ruth then?” she asked, confused at his reaction.
He turned and looked at her again, shaking his head. “She’s my mother.”
“Your mother? Well…why didn’t she…”
Then she remembered the pictures in the bedroom where she’d slept. No wonder he seemed familiar. And she recalled Ruth mentioning her son who’d been hurt in Iraq. How he lived alone on a lake, but her attention had drifted many times.
“I’m Colin, by the way,” he said, extending a hand.
“Lucy,” she said, shaking. “I’m doing a book signing at Ruth’s store next week and, well, I got the dates confused. Anyway, she was kind enough to offer me the cabin for a few days, since I’d have to come all the way back.”
“How convenient for her.”
“Your mother doesn’t really seem like the type to orchestrate something like this, without saying something about the circumstances.”
Book Lover, The Page 11
