A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  I just remembered lying to him about that photo of me and Danny. And all I told him about Ted was we’d lived together. I even lied about the circumstances of our separation. I said something like, “We came to a mutual agreement that it wasn’t working anymore.” How about that for an understatement?

  Anyway, then the game ended (M’s – 3, Texas – 2), he walked me to the door and kissed me on the cheek. And now I’m home, feeling I don’t know him any better than I did three hours ago.

  10:15 p.m.

  That last line was really bothering me, so I called Mary Delfino. Didn’t mince words, for once, and asked her point-blank what I should do.

  “Madeleine, do you remember asking me how to find happiness?” she said.

  I said yes, but what did that have to do with getting to know Nick?

  “Many times, happiness depends on letting other people see the real you.”

  Then she said she had to go. Something about the mold being ready for pouring. And she hung up.

  So I’m still in the dark. How does letting Nick see the real me help me know him? And who is the ‘real me?’

  Someone’s daughter? Sister? Jaed’s assistant? Ted’s fool?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I wouldn’t normally make a fuss about it, Nick, but he took my last box of tea.”

  Mary Delfino’s usually calm voice took on a fretful strain, and he draped an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’ll be okay.” Nick kissed her cheek. “Do you want me to call the police?”

  “Seems a little silly, doesn’t it?” Mary sat on the cedar glider. The afternoon sun lit her worried face.

  Nick hooked his foot through the leg of an Adirondack chair, pulled it in front of Mary, and sat. “I can’t figure out where this guy is hiding out, but I’ll round up a few of the residents. See if we can’t flush him out.”

  Mary nodded, then sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to make due with an inferior brand until the fall.”

  He smiled. “At least he has good taste.”

  “I’m happy to be a source of amusement for you, Nick.”

  “Quite a switch, isn’t it? I’m usually the one crying on your shoulder.”

  Mary silently studied his face, then said, “Take off your sunglasses.”

  As he complied, Nick asked, “What for?”

  “I want to see your eyes.”

  Nick batted his lashes. “Same as always. Blue.”

  What Mary Delfino saw saddened her, the same way Maddy’s phone call had.

  “Nick, do you trust me?”

  He frowned, puzzled.

  “You know I do.”

  She was the only person on the beach who knew his story. He’d moved down to Salmon Beach fully intending to keep his mouth – and his life – closed. Patrick McKay, married major league catcher, became Nick Patrick, divorced handyman. The residents didn’t need to know anything more than that - and the fact he had a daughter. But when Mary Delfino invited him in for a cup of tea on a cold, wet December afternoon, Nick had spilled his guts.

  He’d always been able to talk with his sister, but with Kay he expressed actions or plans; what he’d like to do to Jim Kingston’s face was always one of the biggies. But that day Nick dumped everything he’d been feeling on Mary, somehow knowing his words would never be repeated. Nick’s unburdening brought him such a sense of relief, he could have cried. Since that time, Nick went out of his way for Mary.

  At first he did it because he felt he had to; an appeasement in exchange for her silence. But Nick soon understood he was doing it out of genuine affection. It came as a great surprise to realize he actually trusted this woman, because trusting women wasn’t something he did well anymore.

  Now, as Nick looked into her troubled eyes, he wondered why she’d ask such a silly question. He trusted Mary with his life.

  “Come on, Mary. What’s up?”

  “There is nothing, as you say – ‘up’ – Nick.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t have any tea to offer you, but why don’t you tell me how your evening went with Madeleine?”

  Nick shrugged and leaned back in the chair. But his casual attitude didn’t quite translate to his body, and he knew there was no fooling Mary. She simply regarded him, and waited.

  Nick looked at the flowers on the deck. He watched a seagull land on the railing. Seconds ticked by. A large fish jumped, breaking the silence for just a moment. Nick began to jiggle his right leg to an unheard beat. He stared down at the floorboards, then finally spoke.

  “I lied to her about my name. I don’t know why. I’ve gone over this about a hundred times since Sunday night, and I can’t figure out what the big deal is.” His eyes met Mary’s. “She wanted to know more about me, and I just froze.”

  “You two are quite a pair.” Mary paused. “I don’t like to repeat gossip, so let’s just say you were seen in what could be called a compromising position.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It was Gustafson, wasn’t it,” Nick stated.

  “George was simply taking his morning walk. My point is, there is something special between you and Madeleine. Do you agree?” Nick reluctantly nodded. “So, one of you is going to have to take the first step on the path to trust.”

  “It’s not that easy. You know that.”

  “You did it with me.”

  “You’re different,” he said. “Besides, she’s lied to me, too.”

  Mary’s smile came slowly. “So, basically, you believe you can carry on a physical relationship without having an emotional one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that isn’t what you want. Is it, Nick.”

  “I don’t know what I want, Mary.”

  “I think you do. But – if you’ll forgive me for putting it this way – I also think you’re very frightened.”

  Irritated by her insight, Nick said, “Hey, it’s not like I have a history of great relationships.”

  “But you do, Nick. What about your sister? And your parents? And the best one of all – Becky?” Mary leaned closer to him. “You’ve let your ex-wife, and that husband of hers, take away your confidence. But they’re nothing to you now. They are the past.”

  Nick’s discomfort got the best of him, and he suddenly stood and strode to the edge of the deck. “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He pushed the heels of his hands into the railing. “Tell me about Maddy.” He turned and waited.

  “Is this a test, Nick?” Mary joined him at the rail. “Because I believe you know I won’t do that.” A movement along the path caught her eye, and she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to rush you, my dear, but I just remembered I have several pieces in the kiln.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some work to do, too.”

  “And Nick? The missing tea isn’t important, but thank you for coming. You know I always love seeing you.”

  Nick smiled. “Even if I am the dopiest person you know?”

  “Yes. Despite that.” Mary’s regal form retreated toward the shed. “Now, go.”

  A film of sweat broke out on her forehead as she leaned against the boards of the shed. The dizziness passed quickly, the nausea soon after. Mary Delfino had never felt anything quite like this before, but then she was seventy-seven years old, and it was the hottest June day she could remember. All she could think about was a glass of water, but Mary waited until she was certain Nick was well on his way before leaving the oppressive heat of the kiln’s enclosure.

  She sat at the kitchen counter fanning herself with a magazine, her second glass of water half gone. Able, at last, to turn her thoughts back to Nick and Maddy, Mary sighed deeply. She hoped she’d been quick enough. Hoped Nick had run into Madeleine – on one of her photographic missions – on his way home.

  Mary slowly got up from the stool and opened the freezer. She pushed aside a loaf of bread. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the frigid air cool her face.

  ‘We’ve all
lied now,’ Mary thought, as her fingers closed around the green and white box of Murchie’s Darjeeling Blend she’d hidden.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So, we’re set for tomorrow morning?” Nick was hunkered down on the deck of Number 57, watching John Messner rebuild a carburetor. “Nine okay with you?”

  “No problem.” The Stadium High gym teacher wiped the sweat off his forehead. “It’s summer and my time’s my own. I wanna find this guy before Marcie drives me crazy with her worrying. ‘What if he’s hurt? What if he’s starving?’” John mimicked his wife. He grinned up at Nick. “Besides, I always wanted to be on a posse, Marshall Patrick.”

  Nick stood. “I’ll be sure to polish up that badge for you, deputy.”

  Including himself, that made five in the search party. Over the past week the residents had stepped up their efforts to catch the burglar, the consensus being ‘There’s someone down here who needs our help, and how can we do that if we can’t see him?’

  Nick stepped off the deck and onto the path to head home when a shriek raised the hair at the nape of his neck, and snapped his head around. It had come from Number 58, and with the second screech, Nick was flinging open Emily DeMille’s front door. He raced toward the back of the house, his heart pounding wildly.

  Nick checked the kitchen. Nothing. He grabbed a knife from the dish strainer just as another noise came from Emily’s dining room. Nick paused at the threshold, frantically trying to put together a course of action, when he suddenly heard a snort and then gales of laughter. He peered inside, and fear turned to anger.

  “Jesus H. Christ!”

  Emily and Maddy, tears of glee running down their faces, turned stunned eyes on him.

  “You two scared the crap out of me.”

  Nick entered the room, still clutching the knife, but he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

  Maddy was collapsed on the floor behind a tripod and camera, and when she got a good look at Nick’s shocked face, began laughing again. Emily sat at the elegantly laid table – a complete tea service before her – giggling uncontrollably, and dressed as if she were going to meet the Queen. Scones and tea cakes littered the floor.

  Nick took all of this in, and then heard a low growl. He looked up and saw C.B. clinging to the chandelier, wearing a doll-sized tuxedo. His fur – what Nick could see of it – stood up in every direction.

  “What in the name of holy hell is going on?”

  “Family portrait,” Maddy said between gasps.

  Nick shook his head and thought about turning the knife on himself. “Sometimes I think I’m the only sane person down here.”

  Emily tried to speak. “Everything was…It was going splendidly, until…” She held up a tiny top hat, elastic dangling from the brim, and started chortling again.

  On seeing the offending article, C.B. let out a yowl and sprang off the light fixture. He landed on the table. When he finally got enough purchase to tear out of the dining room, he took most of the pink damask tablecloth with him, sending china, silverwave, and a small lemon tart flying. The latter landed on Nick’s shoulder, upside down.

  Emily’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but Maddy wasn’t as quick, and she fell on her back with a howl of laughter.

  Nick, attempting to maintain some kind of dignity, looked down at Maddy for a moment. “We can make this cleanup easy…” He reached across the table and picked up a small crystal bowl filled with whipped cream. “Or not. You have less than five seconds to decide.”

  “You wouldn’t really have dumped that bowl of cream on me, would you?” Maddy let Nick take the tripod from her, as she hefted the camera bag onto her shoulder. One look at his face and she said, “Let me put that another way.” They walked along the shadowed path. “You wouldn’t have done that to me, and assumed you’d go on living.”

  Nick snorted. “Like you could take me.”

  Maddy smiled to herself, but didn’t bite. “So, you’re going burglar hunting tomorrow. Can I come?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause it’s a guy thing.”

  He looked at Maddy to gauge her reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. She glanced at him, one eyebrow arched, and then picked up her pace. Nick trailed after Maddy and watched her pony-tailed hair switch in counterpoint to her hips. And sweetheart, you’re no guy.

  He called her name.

  She turned, but kept walking backwards.

  “I was kidding,” he said. “If you really want to come along, you’re welcome.”

  “That’s better.” She stopped and waited for him to catch up.

  They travelled the rest of the path in silence.

  At her door, Maddy said, “What would you say to a beer?”

  “Where’ve you been all my life.”

  Nick slowly crossed the deck, the cold bottle pressed to his neck. Leaning back against the railing, he watched Maddy water the plants. “So, this photography thing is something you’re serious about?”

  She shrugged, then said, “It used to be.”

  “But?”

  “But, nothing.” Maddy turned her back to him, taking an extraordinary interest in the petunias. “It’s not worth talking about.”

  “Judging from the amount of equipment you have, I’d say it is.” She didn’t respond. “Maddy?” He moved nearer, his fingers gently closing around her upper arm. “Come on, Maddy. Look at me.” When she faced him, he said, “I want to know about you. And since neither one of us seems to want to get into the personal stuff, I figured maybe you’d talk to me about this part of your life.”

  Maddy could hear Mary Delfino’s voice, telling her to be herself, and she took a deep breath. Her hand came up and touched Nick’s cheek. “I won’t pretend this is easy for me. And I expect something from you in return.”

  He nodded once.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  Nick sat at the redwood table and drained his beer. What could he give her in exchange that wouldn’t cause panic to course through his body? But he didn’t have enough time to think about it.

  She returned with a box held together with strapping tape. The original label – A Gift from Cascade Orchards – had been X-ed out with black magic marker, and printed under that was M.V.P. – Photos. Maddy set it on the table and sat across from him. He didn’t fail to notice she now wore sunglasses. Nick knew that trick all too well, but let it go. He understood wanting to hide.

  “I don’t quite know where to start,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter. Just talk to me.”

  Maddy stared at the faraway traffic on the Narrows Bridge and thought how like watching television with the sound turned off it was. It calmed her. She could feel her breaths come less shallow, her pulse slowed to a more normal rate.

  “Did you ever find something in your life that you knew you were meant to do? Something you just stumbled into – had never thought about before – and everything just fell into place?”

  Nick knew her question was rhetorical, and waited for her to continue. If he told her he knew exactly what she was talking about, he’d have to explain. And even thinking about playing baseball was like ripping off a scab.

  “Well, that’s how it was with photography,” she went on. “I started in high school. And I was good. I won a few statewide awards. Ended up Head Photographer on the newspaper and the yearbook. In college, I took a couple of advanced classes just for the hell of it.”

  Nick watched as Maddy allowed herself to open to the memories. She smiled wistfully. That smile caused the dimple in her left cheek to appear. He wanted to kiss that spot.

  She came out of her reverie and looked at him.

  “Tell me about doing it. What was it like?” he asked.

  Maddy exhaled, and shook her head. “Hard to explain. Taking the pictures is fun, but the darkroom is where I love to be. The magic always amazes me. You’ve got this blank sheet of paper, and suddenly there’s a face, or a landscape, where before t
here was nothing.” Her body grew animated with the telling. “It’s this incredible feeling of control. I’m Maddy Phillips, and I can point and focus the lens, push the shutter, develop the film. Crop and print the negative however I want. And there’s a moment in time stopped forever.”

  She was pulling folders out of the box, handing the mounted photographs to Nick.

  “See this barn? It stood in that field for probably a hundred and fifty years. It finally fell a couple of years ago, but there it is in the picture. Proof it once had a purpose.” Maddy tore it from Nick’s hand, and gave him another. “I took this at the petting zoo back in ’73.”

  He looked into the face of a little girl holding a baby chick. Her huge eyes were obviously clear blue, even in the black and white photo. She was a child caught in the act of being delighted.

  “Isn’t she something? To me, she’ll always be this beautiful little girl, but doesn’t it make you wonder what happened to her? Did she go to college, or get married? Or did she end up lost on the streets?”

  Nick looked at picture after picture. Even his untrained eye saw Maddy’s gift for photography. They were technically perfect. Many were very simple. But they contained something special that gave them their warmth. Nick guessed the something special was Maddy herself.

  “I don’t know anything about photography, but I think these are great,” Nick said. “Why…” Then he stopped himself. The question hung between them in the hot, windless evening. “Sorry. You don’t have to say anything else.”

  “No. I need to finish this.” Maddy leafed through a proof-sheet notebook, not really seeing the hundreds of tiny photographs. “One day, in my junior year, my professor took me aside and told me I was wasting my time on a degree from U.W. That there were special schools ̶ prestigious schools ̶ that would put me ahead of the game. He set up interviews at Brooks Institute in Santa Barbara and The Art Center in Pasadena. I’d heard of them but never really thought I could make a living doing what I loved.”