A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  “Because it’s true,” she said. “Sometimes others see the truth more clearly.” She said I’m too close to focus on the real Danny.

  I raised my voice to her then. Said, “I’m the only one who knows who Danny really is.”

  She asked me who that was, and I told her he’s a hurt, lonely man. Mary’s eyes got hard – I’ve never seen her like that – and she said, “He’s other things, too. But you’re not ready to see them.” She wouldn’t go on after that, and I left.

  But when Danny came over for dinner tonight I tried to step back. Tried to get the big picture. I’m not sure what I saw was relevant. I mean, did he tell me not to think about Nick out of concern, or selfishness?

  When I asked him why he ran away when Becky fell all he’d say was he really liked Becky and would never do anything to hurt her. I have to believe him. But I keep going back to his running away. Guilty people run, don’t they?

  So I asked him again: if it had really been an accident, why run?

  He started to get upset. He accused me of taking Nick’s side, which really pissed me off, and I said, “There are no sides. I’m just trying to get this straight in my mind since I wasn’t there when it happened.” His face changed when I said that. I could almost see his thought processes. Then he said, “I guess I wasn’t so much running away, as running to get help. Nick’s the one who keeps saying I ran away. He’s trying to make it look like I did something wrong.”

  Why would he tell me such a bald-faced lie? Nick may not like Danny, and Nick has a lot of trouble with trust, but he wouldn’t make up something like this.

  So I asked Danny to tell me, one more time, what happened from start to finish, and he told me to stop cross-examining him. He said, “I know you’re in love with this guy, but how much can he love you if he does something like this? He’s just trying to split us up.”

  Something just occurred to me. I hate to even think this. But those last words of Danny’s…I can almost hear Nick saying them. “He’s trying to split us up.”

  Of the two of them, who would I believe?

  I’d have to say Nick.

  I’m so tired I can’t think straight.

  11:30 p.m.

  I can’t sleep. It’s turned cool and there’s a steady rain falling. I guess it’s really fall now. This would’ve been our first night together in the house. We probably would’ve built a fire. I don’t want to think about what else we might have done.

  Instead, we’re forty miles apart. It may as well be four thousand. I’ve never felt this kind of pain before.

  He didn’t respond to my note.

  Is it really over? Am I never going to see him smile – see his beautiful eyes again? Hear his voice or listen to him tell me how much he wants me? I can’t imagine turning over in bed and not feeling him there ever again. Or comforting him when he’s had one of his nightmares.

  October 8

  I don’t know what time I finally went to sleep last night. I really had to force myself to get up – to do some work. Jaed had emailed a “happy cohabitation” message. I broke down when I read it. It was almost unthinkable, but I knew I’d have to tell her what was going on. Hitting the “send” button made it too real.

  I went over to Danny’s cabin to talk to him some more. I’ve got to get this sorted out. I knocked, and when he didn’t answer I went in to leave him a note. Danny doesn’t have much in the way of personal possessions, so I’m pretty familiar with everything in his place, but there was something new in there. It’s a photo I took years ago, when I was still in college. I don’t know where he got it, but it wasn’t from me. He must’ve had it all this time, and waited until Nick was gone to put it out.

  Y’know, it only took a few minutes to end our relationship, but the way those minutes come back to me – in bits and pieces – it seems like centuries. When I saw the photo I remembered something Nick said to Danny: “You have what you wanted. She’s all yours.”

  I’m starting to think he was right.

  5:45 p.m.

  Mary just left. She brought me some stew. It’s still sitting on the kitchen counter. I haven’t much felt like eating.

  I’m ashamed of being so self-absorbed when Mary’s been going through as many changes and upheavals as I. I know she misses Nick. I also know her health is starting to fail. I need to get past all this, if not for myself, then for Mary.

  She asked how I was doing and I told her the truth. That I’m scared. That I miss him. That I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.

  She said, “What you did before.”

  That really shocked me, and I asked her how she could say something like that.

  Mary looked me right in the eye and calmly said, “There’s no permanence in this world. Even rocks eventually crumble. As a photographer, you should know that better than most.”

  I started to cry. “But I need him.”

  And she said, “You once thought you needed Ted.”

  I’ve thought about it and, in a way, she’s right. I proved I can get along without Ted. But it’s different with Nick. I do need him. He completes me.

  Maybe I didn’t do the same for him, though.

  October 9

  I’ve been incredibly slow-witted. And I just realized I’ve also been incredibly selfish. When Nick said “you cost me my daughter” to Danny, I didn’t understand the full meaning of his words.

  Now I do, and I think it’s too late.

  If knowing me has made Nick lose Becky, I’ll never forgive myself. And if Danny has done something this calculated, then he isn’t the person I thought he was.

  How will I ever know the truth?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Nick came awake slowly. As the wind intercepted the rain, it pattered against the living room window. A muted form of daylight crept into the room making it impossible to tell the time.

  He pushed aside the blanket, but couldn’t quite bring himself to get up. It wasn’t because the couch was comfortable. It was because there didn’t seem to be much point in it these days.

  Nick turned his head and squinted at the DVD player’s clock. Nine thirty-three. He closed his eyes again. He seemed to get up later every day.

  There was no one to do anything for. Emily DeMille wasn’t calling him to rescue C.B. George was filing his daily reports with someone else. If Sparky started another fire, it was no longer Nick’s problem.

  And who was Maddy urging to come see her latest print? To try the recipe Jaed had FAXed? To make love to her?

  Mary Delfino was his only connection to the beach now. He talked to her regularly, but never about what had happened. Never about Maddy.

  His eyes opened and he stared at the coffered ceiling, hoping this day wouldn’t be like the eight others that had passed. They’d been full of loneliness, dislocation, and thoughts of Maddy.

  The phone rang four times. Nick waited for the answering machine to do its job. It was a hang-up. Even though the machine was in the kitchen, he could hear the dial tone, and instinctively knew who it was.

  She’d called nearly every day. At first she’d left tearful messages. Her letter brought an end to those. Now she just called, and when he didn’t pick up, she’d hang up. One time the only sound on the tape was Chloe’s far-off meow.

  He couldn’t – didn’t want – to talk to her. Not during the day, anyway. The nights were a different story. A weakness would come over him, and a couple of times he’d actually picked up the phone. But he’d see her brother’s face, and hear his insincere apology, and Nick’s anger would overshadow his need for her. She’d made a choice, and it had been the wrong one.

  Nick looked at the clock again, and was shocked. Half an hour had gone by. His life was going on without any participation on his part. When he realized he wasn’t even sure if it was Thursday or Friday, Nick sighed and sat up. The morning paper gave him the date.

  Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Nick mechanically made his way through a bowl of cereal. As he brou
ght it to his mouth to finish off the milk, Nick glanced at the calendar. There was something scribbled in Friday’s square. Memory suddenly returned, he checked the clock on the microwave, and swore. Twenty minutes to shave, brush his teeth, change clothes – nope, no time for that- and make the fifteen minute drive to Becky’s school.

  The bowl cracked into perfect halves when he dropped it in the sink.

  The third grade father-child pumpkin carving contest was just getting underway as Nick breathlessly entered the cafeteria wearing the clothes he’d slept in. The noise level required earplugs. He finally spotted Becky’s green arm cast saluting him from across the room.

  “Hey, sweetie.” He leaned down for a kiss. “Sorry I’m late. How’s the arm?”

  “Good. Look at all the autographs I got.” Becky proudly held it out for him to admire.

  Nick smiled then noticed the pumpkin she’d picked out. “This thing must weigh thirty pounds, Becks. How the heck did you get it in here?”

  She pointed to the red wagon parked under the table, then said, “I want to carve a witch wearing a catcher’s mask.”

  “You, and what graphic designer?” he asked, as he picked up the serrated knife and began cutting into the top.

  “Mommy made a drawing.”

  As he stuck his hand into the vast depths of the huge pumpkin, Nick looked at the pattern, and in a voice filled with genuine surprise, said, “That’s pretty good.”

  “I bet we win.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? I don’t see you doing any work here.” Nick pulled out a handful of slime and seeds and dropped it in a plastic bag. Wiping his hand on a paper towel, he said, “Time for a little participation on your part. You scoop this thing out, while I try to figure out how we’re gonna carve this masterpiece. And don’t get any goop on your cast.”

  As the work progressed, and Becky cleaned out the last of the pumpkin’s innards, he asked, “Where are you gonna put it?”

  “On the front porch at your house. Can we light it tonight? I want Maddy to see it.”

  Her two statements caught him off guard.

  “Are you staying with me this weekend?”

  Becky’s tone made it clear she thought his question fairly lame. “Mommy helped me pack my suitcase this morning.” Her next words might as well have been, “Get a clue, Dad.”

  Nick was stunned by Janet’s change of heart. Not more than five days ago, she’d been adamant that until Becky’s cast came off, his weekends with his daughter were over.

  He suddenly grinned, and silently thanked Alec Michaels. Nick’s phone call to his lawyer, immediately following Becky’s fall, had paid off. He was a little puzzled that he hadn’t heard anything from Michaels about this, and then remembered the pile of unopened mail on his kitchen table. There had been an envelope from the firm, but Nick figured it was a bill. Apparently, it was something else. Like, maybe, a copy of a letter Michaels had sent to Janet. A letter telling her she didn’t have the right to keep his daughter from him.

  Nick could still hear Alec’s comforting, no-bullshit words: “She doesn’t have a prayer in hell. You have too many character witnesses. And your daughter’s the best one.”

  Nick turned his smile on Becky, who had already taped the pattern on the pumpkin and was carefully tracing over her mother’s lines.

  “We’ll get some candles on the way home.”

  She nodded, the tip of her tongue firmly ensconced in the corner of her mouth.

  “What do you want for dinner?”

  “Pepperoni pizza.” Becky pulled the paper off and stood back to check her work. “’Cause Maddy likes that, too.”

  “Maddy won’t be having dinner with us.”

  She looked up at him, startled. “How come?”

  “How about we talk this over later and get on with the business at hand?”

  She took another quick look at him then picked up the knife, which Nick promptly took from her hand.

  “I don’t think a one-armed eight-year-old needs to be using a lethal weapon.”

  Nick made his way down the school corridor in search of a bathroom. The door he found read “BOYS.” He eyed the height-impaired urinals and opted for a stall.

  As Nick stooped over the sink, lathering his hands, wondering what he was going to tell Becky regarding the Maddy situation, a very tall parent wandered in. The man stared at the squat porcelain fixtures. One glance at his face, and Nick knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “Challenging, aren’t they,” Nick chuckled.

  “I don’t think I was ever that small,” the man replied. “You’re Patrick McKay, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty.” Nick had to seriously bend over to reach the paper towels.

  “I’m Carl Fisk. Jeff’s dad.”

  “Didn’t you used to catch for the Sox?” Nick grinned, shaking his hand. “I remember you being a lot shorter.”

  The man smiled back. “I get that a lot. No relation. Did I hear you’re living up here now?”

  Nick nodded.

  “If I’m out of line, you can tell me, but would you be willing to do some private coaching? My kid’s been bugging me to take him down to Jim Nettles’ place, but Tacoma is – like – in another country as far as I’m concerned.” Fisk entered one of the stalls, but kept talking. “I don’t know what Nettles charges, but I’ll match it. Anything to get Jeff off my back. The kid’s got a little talent – that’s what everybody says, anyway…” The toilet flushed, and the door opened again. “And he’s got a birthday coming up. Figured ten or fifteen sessions would be the perfect present.”

  Nick stood rooted to the tile floor, wondering why the possibility never occurred to him before. He knew of former Major League outfielder Jim Nettles’ business – he was pretty sure it was called “Grand Slam” – but that’s where his education on the subject ended.

  Fisk finished wiping his hands and pulled out his wallet. Handing Nick a business card, he said, “Give me a call if you think it’s something you want to do.”

  “Yeah.” Nick tucked the card in his shirt pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

  Nick hefted the pumpkin out of the truck bed and carefully set it on the wide porch rail, the red ribbon still pinned to its side. First Place had gone to a more traditional design, but Becky had taken the defeat well.

  “Can we light it now?” Becky shouted from the sidewalk.

  “Can we wait until it’s dark?” he said, walking past her to retrieve the two grocery bags.

  “I guess.” She shuffled up the cement path. “Can we order the pizza now?”

  Nick sat across from her at the kitchen table. “You promised you’d eat the salad and drink your milk.”

  “I did.”

  “One cherry tomato and a couple of bites of lettuce doesn’t qualify. Not if you’re serious about watching Ghostbusters.”

  “Daddy? How come your bed doesn’t have any sheets and stuff on it?”

  Puzzled by the conversational shift, he asked, “Why do you wanna know?”

  She shrugged then in a fairly accusatory tone said, “You’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

  How could he tell her that the bed he and Maddy had picked out didn’t appeal to him anymore? That it seemed vaguely wrong to climb into the antique brass four-poster without her?

  “How come Maddy didn’t come over for dinner?” Becky asked.

  “Isn’t it time to light that pumpkin?” Nick said, as he stood and picked up his plate.

  “Daddy!”

  “Aw, come on, Becky. This isn’t something I want to talk about with you. It’s kind of an adult thing.”

  “Are you guys mad at each other or something?”

  “Let’s just say we had a disagreement.”

  “But you’ll make up, huh? ‘Cause I really like Maddy.” She got up from the table and guilelessly put her arms around his waist. “And you got her that ring, and everything.”

  Nick sighed. “You know I won’t lie to you, Becky. It wouldn’t be
right. So the honest answer is, I don’t know.”

  “Can I call her?”

  Nick closed his eyes in agony, then finally said, “Sure. She’d probably like that.” He was sure that was a lie. “Get the candle, Becks. I’ll be out in a minute with the matches.”

  He entered the bedroom and pushed the button on the old-fashioned light switch. A book of matches sat on top of the oak dresser he’d managed to salvage from his marriage, and he picked them up. Then, without really meaning to, he opened the top drawer and took out the small, black, velvet box with the hinged lid. The diamond flanked by two small sapphires – her birthstone – glittered, even in the soft light.

  “Come on, Daddy!” Becky called from the living room.

  It was a done-deal, Maddy.

  The box shut with a loud snap, and he let it drop. He tried to close her memory, along with the drawer, but knew there was no forgetting.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The chill dampness seeped into the cabin, and his bones. Too many years away from the Northwest had all but erased Danny Phillips’ memory of how monotonous – and how depressingly short – the late-fall days became.

  It was just past the dinner hour and full darkness had descended. A low-pressure system arrived in the region a few days earlier and unpacked all its bags, intent on a long stay. The continuous gray cloud cover, the unrelenting drizzle, the fifty degree temperatures – all threatened the psyches of even the most optimistic. The rest of the population’s selective – and collective – memories had already forgotten the hot, arid summer. A few took the coming winter even more personally. This morning the first jumper of the season took to the top of the Narrows Bridge, stopping commuter traffic for nearly two hours until he was finally coaxed into coming down – back into a world he obviously felt held little hope for him.