A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  “It happens,” Nick said, afraid to give himself away, but wanting to bring Maddy’s dream back to life.

  “So I’ve heard,” Maddy replied, with a touch of bitterness. “Anyway, I went on those interviews and was accepted to both schools on my portfolio alone. I was thrilled. Even my parents got excited once they realized I could make money doing something they considered a hobby. By that time I was their only…” She froze. She’d nearly invoked Danny’s ghost.

  Nick waited, but he knew Maddy wasn’t going to finish that sentence. Her shallow breaths told him she was suddenly scared, and he said, “I get the impression you never went to either of those schools.”

  She nodded. “The wait to get into Brooks was a year and a half. The Art Center, even longer. I was willing to do it, though. So I moved down to Santa Barbara, rented a room, got a job. But I wanted to get some money put away; help my parents pay for part of the tuition. I figured I’d gotten really lucky when I found part-time office work at a double-A ball club down there. You know ̶ I was getting paid and getting free game tickets.” Maddy’s laugh was anything but mirthful. “That’s when I met Ted. And that’s where the story ends. I had to make a choice, and I stupidly chose Ted.”

  They sat in silence. It was well past dinnertime, but the sun still blazed over the Olympics. Nick looked at Maddy, while she turned her head to gaze across the Narrows. She swallowed hard, and her jaw tightened.

  Nick stood up and walked around to her side of the table. He straddled the small bench, planting himself in her line of sight. “Maddy.” He took her hand in his. “That’s not the end of the story, and you know it.”

  “I suppose. When I was unpacking, I found it all again. All my equipment was just waiting for me. But I’m not twenty-two anymore. I’ll never be what I could’ve been.”

  Nick suddenly understood how lucky he’d been. No matter how it had ended, at least he’d lived his dream. But Maddy hadn’t gotten that chance.

  “If there was some way I could give it all back to you, I would,” he said. “But you can still take pictures. If doing that makes you feel alive, then go for it.”

  “I don’t have any place to work, Nick. And I can’t afford to rent darkroom space. I need to be able to print them myself. I need to have that control. Otherwise, it’s meaningless.” Her smile was melancholy as she said, “It’s okay, Nick. Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For listening. For caring. No one has for a really long time.”

  Nick let his hand slip from hers and reached up to remove her sunglasses. He wondered how many years it had been since she’d shared her photographs with anyone, and he said, “Maybe I should be thanking you.” The flicker of gratitude she showed him in that unguarded moment was suddenly snuffed out, and Maddy quickly looked away.

  She make a point of checking her watch, saying, “God, it’s late, Nick. And I still have some work to do for Jaed.” She became a whirlwind of activity, stacking prints, shoving them into folders, piling them back in the box.

  “Hey.” Nick’s fingers around her wrist stopped her. “They’re safe with me.”

  “I know that,” she said, not looking up.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I do.” Maddy turned to face him.

  The golden light turned her eyes the color of mellow sherry. And there was something else in them he hadn’t noticed until now. Small, green flecks glittered in their amber background. Unprepared for the effect they had on him, Nick suddenly couldn’t think, let alone speak. So he did the only thing he was capable of doing. He brought his lips to her cheek. Her eyes closed, and he kissed their lids.

  “You’re safe with me, Maddy,” he whispered against her skin and she made a small, strangled sound. Her arms went around his neck. Nick pulled her closer. They stood that way for minutes, and then she finally let him go.

  Late that night, as he layed naked on top of the covers praying for any little breeze, an idea came to Nick that made him smile. Pulling on a pair of shorts, he padded barefoot into the kitchen and opened one of the drawers. Nick removed the box that held all the spare keys and found one labeled “Wash House,” then went out the front door.

  The security light came on, illuminating the door of the old shed. He hadn’t been inside since he’d first moved in. The key easily slipped into the padlock.

  Please let me remember right.

  The door creaked open, and Nick stepped inside. He reached up, his fingers found the chain, and he smiled as the dim bulb came on. And when rusty water ran into the ancient cement washtub, he whispered, “This is gonna surprise the hell out of Maddy.”

  Journal Entry

  July 1

  Too hot to sleep. Even Chloe is stretched out on the window sill, but there’s no air movement at all.

  Telling Nick all that stuff has left me feeling strangely restless. Almost as if, now that I’ve started, I want to go on talking until I’ve let it all out. But I get scared. I did tonight, that’s for sure. And Nick got away without telling me anything in return.

  I know he’s awake. I can see a light on over there. But I don’t think I have the right to ask him to talk, when he was understanding enough to leave me alone. It can wait.

  Nevertheless, this evening was quite a revelation. He actually listened to me, and that’s pretty amazing. If I’m going to be really honest with myself, I’d have to say Ted never did. We went through all those years together, with me trying so hard to keep Ted happy, that I never realized he wasn’t returning the favor. I knew a relationship was work and, no matter what anyone says, rarely equal. But I guess I figured it would somehow even up in the end. It didn’t. Not with Ted.

  Isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing? Now that I look back to the beginning, I can see how Ted made me think he cared about my thoughts and feelings. He’d let me talk about my hopes and dreams, and then turn them around on me, telling me what he thought was best for the two of us. But it was never for the two of us. It was all for Ted. And I went along with it. I’d already lost Danny. And Mom and Dad pulled into themselves so much after that, I might as well have lost them, too. I remember Dad was disappointed I didn’t finish school. But Mom told me taking care of a man would be a full-time job, and a “wonderful education.” And I let myself believe her because at that point I was terrified of losing Ted. He was a master at manipulation. Why didn’t I understand all this sooner? Too afraid, I guess. Didn’t want to rock the boat because where would that leave me?

  I’ll tell you: exactly where I am today. Alone.

  Which isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, when I see what I had with Ted, which was nothing.

  But with Nick, I can almost see the possibilities. Like in those old movies, where the blind patient waits while the surgeon slowly unwraps the layers of gauze that cover her eyes. And you wait, too, wondering if this is the operation that helps her see again. The camera shows you the patient’s point of view: a gradual lightening, the soft focus from the bandages shielding her senses from too much too soon, a blurry image of the doctor’s serious face, which suddenly becomes joyous because he knows she’s seen him for the first time. That’s how I feel about Nick and me.

  Somehow, I believe Nick truly cares about others. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t think so highly of him. And now I want to know his dreams. What thing in Nick’s life gives him what photography gives me?

  I’m going to have to find some way to get back into a darkroom. Showing Nick my photos really got my juices up (and not just for Nick). I can scrape together the money for chemicals and paper. But “time is money” holds very true when it comes to space.

  What really bothers me is I’ve got all the equipment in storage. All I need is a room with running water and electricity. I thought about the bathroom here, but aside from the skylight being a minor problem, there’s no counter space whatsoever.

  I need to earn some extra money. Maybe I should swallow my pride and ask Karen if they need any part time
help at the ballpark. Hell, I’d sell hotdogs in the stands if I had to. And at least I’d be able to see a game once in a while.

  2 a.m.

  An hour’s gone by. I thought I’d be able to sleep once I got my thoughts on paper, but the one I’ve been avoiding nagged at me: Danny.

  I’ve managed to not think about him for a while now. It only hurts when I do. And it always takes me by surprise when a perfectly innocent thought, or conversation, brings him to life again.

  What I almost said to Nick this evening – the sentence I didn’t finish – panicked me. But the truth is, for the longest time now I’ve thought of myself as a surviving child.

  Danny is certainly dead to Dad. And Mom goes along with him. And in order to keep the family going I’ve had to join the denial-fest. So much so that sometimes I’ve actually believed it.

  It got to the point I almost wanted to think of him as dead, because if I didn’t I’d think of him on the streets – alone, unloved, unwanted. And that’s just too hard to bear. I’m not sure why I never picture him happy, with a new life. Maybe because, even as a little kid, Danny was such a loner. By the time he left – at 18 – his only friends were the fantasy comics he practically lived in, and me.

  There’s a picture of him that I keep hidden away. I took it on the day he walked away from the family. He and Dad had been fighting again. Danny was still in high school, and because of one missing P.E. credit, wasn’t going to graduate with all the other seniors. But he hated gym, hated that little Nazi of a coach the school had hired after Mr. Dorsey retired. The new guy was as bad as Dad when it came to riding the boys who didn’t emanate enough testosterone. And Danny refused to make up the class in the summer. He wanted to see if the school would give him credit for his time spent swimming at the Y. Dad wouldn’t consider it. Wasn’t even willing to give it a shot.

  They were up in Danny’s room, but I could hear the yelling from the backyard. I was in college by then, home for the weekend, and Mom had gone to her hair appointment. I heard the front door slam and Dad’s car start. It was peaceful again, and I thought, ‘Just another blow-up,’ and went back to pulling weeds.

  Danny came outside so quietly I didn’t know he was there until his shadow fell across the flower border I was kneeling in. “Maddy,” he said, and I looked up at him. He was holding his backpack. I remember the emptiness in his voice, even now, but I smiled and said something like, “If you’re running away again, be sure and come back before eleven-thirty. There’s a Charlie Chan movie on, and I can’t watch it without you, Number One Son.” He gave me a small smile back, then said, “I’m leaving, Maddy, so you’ll have to watch Charlie alone. Say ‘bye to Mom for me.” He turned and took a couple of steps, then stopped. Without looking at me, he softly said, “You’re the only one I love, Maddy,” and he walked away.

  At that moment, I think I understood those were the last words Danny would ever say to me, and I ran inside the house. My camera was on the kitchen table. I grabbed it and flew out the front door. He’d just thrown his pack into the passenger seat of his old VW bug – he’d paid about a hundred bucks for that old beater – and was closing the door. I screamed his name and he turned, and I snapped the photo.

  He was a beautiful boy. In my mind’s eye, he always will be. I never look at that picture anymore. I used to all the time, when I was younger. Now it lies between the pages of an old comic book I took from his room that day. But it’s never far away. I’ve always kept it in my nightstand. Now it’s in Jaed’s.

  I know Dad thought Danny’s problems somehow reflected on him. And that getting help wasn’t only a sign of weakness, but a sign there was something wrong with Dad, too. In a way, I guess there was.

  I’m so ashamed of my family – of what they did to Danny – that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to talk about him out loud again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Independence Day, and the skies were clear. This had to be a sign. Maddy could recall only a few Fourths in her lifetime on the Sound that hadn’t been cold and wet. Growing up, she remembered her parents telling friends – neo-Northwesterners who continually groused about what passed for summer – “Wait till after the Fourth of July.” And it always seemed to be true. The fifth usually dawned clear, and the rain seemed to stay away for the next two months. And those same people, who’d complained about the damp, cloudy early summer days began to whine about the heat.

  Maddy passed on her parents’ folklore, adding, “And I don’t want to hear any bitching about how hot it is.” Since most of the immigrants came from California, or the East Coast, how could they call a dry 85 degrees “hot?”

  She stood on the deck in shorts and a t-shirt, sipping coffee. Her rose – her Love – was in full bloom, very happy in its new home. ‘There’s something to be said for transplanting,’ Maddy thought, smiling as she inhaled deeply, the smell of the sea filling her lungs.

  Her mother’s call had gotten Maddy out of bed early. She should have known it couldn’t be good news, but the day was too beautiful to care, and Maddy had said, “Mom, I don’t give a damn what Ted’s doing, where he’s doing it, or to whom.” But her mother was beside herself.

  “Maddy, honestly! What’s come over you? I tell you Ted’s here, in Phoenix, and that’s all you can say?”

  Maddy had replied, “Well, Mom, I really don’t think your ears are ready for my complete take on the situation.”

  So Ted was in Phoenix? So what? He wasn’t here, and that was what counted. The piece of slime had contacted her parents, asking for a referral. Her father took the phone from her mother, basically told Ted where he could put his referral, then hung up on him. No harm – no foul. Maddy grinned, for once glad for her father’s obstinance, still knowing he’d done it more for himself than for her.

  She’d taken her shower, then called Jaed, whose sloppy voice meant either sex, or too much alcohol, or both.

  “Bad timing, Jaed?”

  “Nope. Perfect timing, Miss Maddy. I’ll drink a toast to you.”

  Even on the staticky line, Maddy could hear the clink of glass on glass. “What are we drinking?”

  “Ouzo. And my tongue’s getting fuzzy.”

  Maddy wrinkled her nose at the thought of the licorice-flavored drink. “Coffee’ll have to do for me,” she said. “So, what’s the toast?”

  “It’s Independence Day, so how ‘bout, may your spirit soar to new heights of freedom.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Both women paused to swallow their poison of choice.

  “So, what’s new Maddy?”

  “Your October tour is booked solid. We’ve got a burglar on the beach. I slept with Nick. I’ve started taking photos again…”

  “What?” Jaed screeched. “I don’t believe it!”

  “No, really. I’ve been photographing the beach for a while now.”

  “Shit, Maddy, you know that’s not what I’m talking about. Now tell all. Wasn’t I right about him? Come on. Admit it.”

  Maddy’s cheeks grew hot. “Suddenly this feels a little weird, Jaed.”

  “Ooh, I had no idea he had a kinky side.”

  “Jaed! I just mean – well – we’ve both slept with him.”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t mean anything to me except a great lay.” She paused, obviously refilling her glass. “Did you let yourself feel it, Miss Maddy? Maybe open one flap of that box you keep your emotions in?”

  “What was there to feel?” she lied. “It was only one time.”

  “Just once?” Jaed’s voice was incredulous. “How can you stand it?”

  “I was a wee bit insane that night.” Well, that was probably true. Besides, Maddy didn’t want to get into the higher truth. That she couldn’t stand it.

  “Then there’s something to be said for insanity.”

  “I’m changing the subject, Jaed.” She could picture her friend’s pout. “How about designing a new brochure?”

  “I wish you were here in front of me so I could see y
our aura. I bet anything you’re lying.”

  In a singsong voice Maddy said, “I’m ignoring you. Talk brochure, or don’t talk at all.”

  Jaed had enthusiastically given her the go-ahead. “Just take what you need out of the account,” she’d said. “And don’t forget to pay yourself. What d’you think? Does two hundred sound right for the design work?” Maddy had closed her eyes in relief. Now she had the extra money she needed.

  Draining her coffee cup, Maddy set it on the deck railing. For a few minutes she watched Chloe track a bumblebee, its drone the only sound she could hear. When the cat grew frustrated with her prey and stretched out across the warm planks, Maddy lazily turned to look up the beach.

  Nick’s shades were still closed. Maddy checked her watch, surprised it was only a little after eight. Her eyes followed the shoreline, stopping at each house for just a moment.

  Movement inside Number 68 told her George Gustafson was already engaged in his favorite pastime. The sun reflected off the lens of his telescope. Tempted to flash him, she waved instead.

  George had been one of the posse members the other day. He’d grumbled at Nick’s directives, argued with John Messner and Norm Nelsen over who should go where, and actually had the nerve to ask Rita Anders when she was going “to find a good man and settle down.”

  Rita’s response had been, “Susan can take out the garbage as well as any man, and she never leaves the toilet seat up.”

  To which George replied, “I bet there’s one thing she can’t do.”

  And Rita, her back up, stated, “When Susan has to have brain surgery, they’ll cut into her skull. They have to cut a lot lower for a man.”

  Nick had to physically get between them.

  And that’s how that morning had gone. Nothing but quibbling and frustration. The search had been fruitless, and they’d quit at noon. Nick had taken Maddy down to Number 16, after the group had disbanded, and asked her to look at it with her photographer’s eye.