A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  “Stop it. Stop lying.”

  Danny looked away.

  “I ran because I was afraid, Maddy. What if he’d called the police? I’d be in jail now. I can’t do that…”

  “Don’t be absurd, Danny. You wouldn’t have been arrested for what happened.”

  “But my name…there are warrants.”

  Maddy’s hands clenched. She took a breath. “This isn’t working, Danny. I can’t save you anymore. You don’t know what a real relationship is, and I don’t think you ever will.”

  His head hung over his lap. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You’re thirty-eight years old. What Dad did was awful – it was cowardly. But it’s time for you to let it go. Understand what it’s done to you, but let it go.”

  He lifted his face to beseech her. “It’s happening again, Maddy. You’re supposed to love me, and you’re turning your back on me.”

  Maddy didn’t move from the small entry. “You can’t make me feel guilty, Danny. No one’s going to do that to me again. It’s taken me a long time to figure out why I wasted my life on Ted. I think it had a lot to do with Dad. He was never there for me – for any of us. Ted was just like him. Putting on a great show, but never letting me see the man behind the curtain. You’re like that, too.”

  He brought his hand up to cover his face.

  “Change is a hard thing. Seeing the truth, and accepting it, is even harder. The reality is very different from the dream, isn’t it, Danny.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “But I don’t think you can stay.”

  “You’ll be alone.”

  “I know. I’ll live.” Maddy finally took a step. Then another. She knelt by the bed. “I can’t help you, Danny. We both need to grow up.”

  “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  His tears drew her own. “I don’t. I love you. And I care about you.”

  “Then why? I don’t understand…”

  “That’s just it. You don’t understand.” Maddy took his hand. “I care about myself, too, Danny. If you loved yourself – and you were in my place – you’d do the same. I can’t have you in my life. Not like this. We’re not good for each other.”

  “I thought we would be,” he said.

  Maddy brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I know. So did I.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The man who calls himself Phil Madvick can’t envision a life other than the one he has lived up to this point in time. He doesn’t see how it can be any different; doesn’t have the ability to change it. Because change leaves him open to hurt. He’s tried transforming himself back into Danny Phillips, hoping the name would return the life he’s lost. And for a few precious moments, it did.

  For a brief flash – because what else can a couple of months be to thirty-eight years – strangers accepted him, and his sister loved him.

  Those halcyon days couldn’t last, though. Deep inside – and maybe all along – he knew he couldn’t keep the veneer from peeling away, the way it always had.

  And something else had happened. Something he didn’t expect. The person he thought would be his savior and champion has undergone a transformation. She isn’t his alone. She has become part of the world he doesn’t understand. A world that left him behind eons ago because he couldn’t find a way to justify his place in it.

  *****

  Maddy was already in college. Living in the dorms.

  Even though Danny was alone at home, at least he knew Maddy would be back – on weekends and during school breaks. He lived for those times.

  In between he was – for the most part – ignored by his father. And although his mother tended to her small social circle as carefully as she tended the flowerbeds in their yard, she still found time to take some interest in Danny’s life. When she was home, that is. Home, and without the distraction of his father’s needs.

  But the best parts of those days were when his father was at work and his mother was playing bridge. Then he could read his comic books. Better yet, he could take out the notebook he used for drawing, sit outside, and make up a fantasy world peopled with animals and superheroes, but never with real humans. His sketches were heavily-detailed cartoons back then. There was no training involved in his art. But Maddy liked them enough to frame three of her favorites. She’d hung them over her bed, one above the other, just next to the Ansel Adams poster of Half-Dome.

  Why he only remembered Maddy’s approval of his work – and no one else’s – was a puzzle. There had been one other moment in his young life – before he’d become Phil Madvick – that should have stuck in his mind.

  It was a Saturday evening. Maddy, studying for exams, had stayed up at U.W. His father had been planning the barbecue for weeks. Business associates and golf buddies, along with their wives, would descend on the Phillips’ house and yard. They’d drink too much, talk about football and golf handicaps while his father grilled steaks and his mother walked from guest to guest with a pasted-on smile. And Danny did what he always did under the circumstances: he made himself scarce.

  His room was his haven during those parties, and behind the locked door he’d watch his tiny black-and-white television. His mother always brought up a TV tray, and he’d eat dinner accompanied by an old movie. And there was Charlie Chan Theatre, if the party went late enough.

  That night it had.

  As Danny cautiously poked his head out his bedroom door, and then headed for the bathroom, he heard voices coming from the designated coat-check – Maddy’s bedroom. Danny recognized his father’s voice – loud and boozy.

  “Porter’s got his head up his ass. He won’t last.”

  There was a chuckle, then another man said, “You’re probably right about that.”

  Danny quietly began to move down the hallway, not wanting to cross paths with his father.

  “This coat Sue’s?”

  “Yeah.” The man – Danny realized it was Mr. Symonds – paused, then said, “Hey, what’re these?”

  “Some junk my kid did.”

  “I thought she was into photography.”

  “Nah, that’s Danny’s stuff there.”

  Hearing his name stopped Danny just outside the bathroom door.

  “He did these?” Another pause. “Wow. They’re pretty good.”

  No one, besides his sister, had ever praised much of anything he’d ever done. Danny was riveted, and didn’t anticipate the two men walking out of Maddy’s room quite so soon.

  Ben Symonds saw Danny and he grinned. “Hey, kid. Those cartoons of yours are wild. You’ve got quite an imagination.”

  Danny shyly smiled – said “thank you” – but his father’s face stopped him for saying anything more.

  “Y’know, Bob, you oughta show those to Skip’s wife,” Symonds went on. “She’s got a brother works for some comic book company.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Danny’s father looked away from his son with disinterest. “You wanna see the real talent in the family, come on down to the den.”

  Ben Symonds smiled at Danny one last time, and said, “Remind your dad to take those into the office week after next. Skip ‘n’ Anne’ll be back from the Bahamas by then.”

  Danny nodded then watched the two men move down the staircase. But he knew he’d never ask his father. And he knew his father would never volunteer.

  Danny had gone into the bathroom, shut and locked the door, and let himself feel the unaccustomed wave of pride wash over him. It didn’t last long. His father’s words had taken care of that. But it was a good feeling, nonetheless, and as he looked in the mirror Danny saw a different person. Someone he would’ve liked to know, but he was too timid and scared to make the first move.

  *****

  The life he has imagined for nearly twenty years will never be, and Phil Madvick puts his few belongings in the backpack that has become his only source of history. Slowly turning around the room, he shoulders the pack. It is lighter than when he came becaus
e he leaves behind his hopes.

  The postcards – the figurine of a mermaid – they have been delivered, but they didn’t possess the magic he’d wished for. And neither did his sister.

  The man who calls himself Phil Madvick leaves behind a third, and final, gift: an inexpensive sketchpad filled with the beauty and friendships that suddenly seem like a pleasant interlude. Something special he’d experienced for a very short time, destined to fade like the awakening memory of a dream.

  And as he again walks away from his sister’s life – and Danny Phillips’ – he becomes, once and for all, Phil Madvick. A man who will always be alone.

  He can see, now, it is the way his life was meant to be.

  Journal Entry

  October 26

  Danny’s gone. He must’ve left in the middle of the night sometime, and I guess I can understand why he didn’t say goodbye. He’s out there, alone again.

  Jaed called. She’d finally read my email about Nick, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I told her about Danny. Said I knew I’d done the right thing sending him away, but why did I feel so bad? And that I knew he just needed someone to understand him – to love him.

  And Jaed said, “You did that, Miss Maddy. Did it help?”

  She went on to say this whole thing made some kind of karmic sense, and it was probably my “path,” and his.

  And in her New Age, dippy sort of way, I knew she was right. There really wasn’t anything more I could do for him.

  I still love him. I hope to God he realizes that. At this point all I can do is wish him a better life. One in which he sees where his pain has come from, and a way to ease himself away from it. He’s so talented. I don’t know that he’ll ever be able to give himself to one person, but he has so much to give the world.

  He left his sketchbook on the front porch. I’ve looked through it many times now, and I cried the first time. How does such a hurting soul make such beauty? I plan on giving everyone in it Danny’s view of them, but first I want to make copies for the Salmon Beach book. And if Wendy Pratt will consent, I’d like to display a few at my show. It would be the best way to remember Danny.

  Jaed had her heart set on talking to Nick. Kept asking me for his new number. Said if she were here she’d “kick his firm ass all the way from Bellevue to the beach” for what he’d done to me.

  I said, “You just told me this is my path. I learned a lot from Nick. I guess it’s time to learn something new.”

  And I meant it.

  Sure, a tiny part of me wanted her to say I was wrong. And in a way, she did. Her exact words were, “You’re right, Maddy. You probably need to learn one more lesson before your soul is ready to walk the path with Nick.”

  I asked her, what if that never happens.

  She didn’t even stop to think about it. She just said, “Then that’s the way it was meant to be.”

  I didn’t tell her about Becky’s letter. It came last week. I let the envelope sit on the coffee table for days, and every time I’d see her little-girl handwriting a pain would shoot through me. When I finally opened it, I tried not to look at the photo; set it face-down while I read her note. But I couldn’t stand it.

  Seeing a picture of Nick in his new life, without me, was pretty tough. But he looked happy enough. And it made me glad knowing Janet hasn’t kept Becky from him. And after all that’s happened, it’s the most important thing.

  Mary had dinner with me tonight. We don’t talk about Nick. She surprised me by talking about Danny, though. I told her he’d gone and she seemed a bit sad. But when Mary said she felt he’d learned something important in his time here, and that it was a lesson he’d be able to carry with him always, I knew she was right. This place seems to have that power. I don’t know if it’s the isolation, or the people – who’ve gone through their own sea changes and so know the value of living life the best way for them, rather than trying to follow the dictates of others. Whatever it is, it’s wondrous for those of us who end up here.

  As Mary was leaving, she hugged me. It was the strangest thing: I could smell sea salt in her hair. And even though it was damp and cold at the front door, a deep warmth entered my body.

  “I told you you’d find what you’d lost,” she said. “And no matter how painful that was, Madeleine, it will eventually make you whole.”

  WINTER

  “…In the long way that I must tread alone,

  will lead my steps aright.”

  William Cullen Bryant

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The sunlight was deceptive. Her grandmother would have said it had teeth.

  The bitter cold which had descended on the Sound cut through Maddy’s wool jacket. Her hands, already clumsy from the gloves, grew numb and useless. As she attempted to tie a knot for the third time, Maddy finally pulled off the gloves and dropped them on the deck.

  She’d already stuffed crumpled newspapers around the rootstock of the rose, but tying a burlap sack around the large pot was nearly impossible. She couldn’t get her fingers to work. They smarted in the twenty-five degree temperature. Exertion borne of frustration made her breathe hard, and her lungs ached.

  Maddy finally went to her knees and reached around the pot once more. As she brought the twine to the front, a thorn snagged her sleeve.

  “Damn it! I’m trying to save you.”

  She angrily tore herself away from the cane, finally tied something resembling a knot, and stood. Maddy draped another piece of burlap over the top of her rose – her Love – and weighed it down with several small rocks before stepping back to catch her breath. It hurt her hands to put the gloves back on, but she still needed to wrap the outdoor faucets.

  Taking a break, Maddy walked to the edge of the deck stairs and stared down at the QVII. The white boat cover was blinding in the sun, and when she looked away red spots floated through her vision.

  The sky was an endless vista of unbroken milky blue. She didn’t see a single cloud, and was positive the weatherman was wrong again. He kept talking about snow – up to six inches. Maddy laughed to herself.

  Yeah, well, it’s probably gonna snow somewhere in the world in the next twenty-four hours, but I don’t see it happening here.

  She turned to finish up outdoors.

  Dropping an armload of wood into the crate next to the fireplace, Maddy stripped off her gloves and held her hands out to the blaze. With the help of a space heater she managed to maintain the temperature in that small area of the living room at a tolerable sixty degrees. But the bedroom never seemed to get above fifty, and sitting on the toilet was just plain brutal. Maddy vowed to talk to Jaed about the benefits of insulation.

  Maddy had pushed the couch and coffee table closer to the hearth, and did most of her work from there.

  Photographs, interspersed with Danny’s drawings, were neatly lined up on the dining room table, their negatives resting on top. The discard pile occupied a chair. Since the arrival of winter, working in the darkroom had become an impossibility. Maddy could handle the days in the fifties by running the space heater for half an hour, getting the chemicals up to the proper temperature. But below that, it wasn’t worth the effort. And the past couple of weeks it had been unseasonably cold, with highs only reaching the low-forties. Those numbers were usually reserved for February or March.

  So Maddy satisfied her creative urge with self-critique. And she’d managed to winnow out the best of her work. And Danny’s.

  After seeing his sketches, Wendy Pratt had enthusiastically agreed to Maddy’s plan. She wanted to put a price on them, though, and was disappointed when Maddy explained their origins. As a way to allay the gallery owner’s pique she finally gave her two nature studies for auction, with the stipulation that the homeless shelter downtown receive seventy-five percent of whatever they brought.

  Now, holding her third cup of coffee of the morning, Maddy regarded each photograph one more time. They were good. But were they good enough to sell? She’d shown the final select
ion to Mary yesterday, but didn’t really trust a friend to be completely unprejudiced, so she’d taken Mary’s zeal with a grain of salt.

  Maddy had looked at them so many times. And each time she had to silence the tiny voice in her head; the one that said, “If only Nick were here…”

  She missed him. Some days she ached for him. And every day Maddy needed to tell herself he was gone, and to get on with it. She felt she was doing an admirable job, considering.

  Considering how much I still love him.

  Maddy turned from the table and went into the kitchen. She needed something to do, and making her contribution to Thanksgiving dinner seemed like a good idea right now.

  The Nelsen’s were hosting a small group, and providing the turkey. Rita and Susan were on the list for candied yams and stuffing, Emily DeMille was baking pies, Mary had agree to make her honey wheat rolls. To make life easy on the bachelors, Corina Nelsen requested cranberry sauce from Sparky Karlson, and a salad from George Gustafson. And Maddy volunteered a molded salad that had become a very American tradition in her vaguely Greek family.

  As she added each ingredient – as she stirred the soupy mixture – Maddy couldn’t keep her thoughts at bay any longer.

  What was Thanksgiving like with Nick’s family? What was he doing right now? Would he have liked her salad? Wanted to make it a tradition for the family they might have been?

  Maddy knew – just knew – she’d have loved spending the holiday with his people. They would’ve taken her in, treated her like one of them, and she’d be there right now, if…

  Stop!

  She shook her head to muddle the thoughts, but it didn’t help.

  Did Becky go with him this year? What little traditions did his sister – his parents – have? Once, and it seemed like a lifetime ago, Nick had called Kay and put Maddy on the phone with her. They’d discussed the holiday and Kay, without hesitation, had said, “You’ll get to make a Greek salad for us while you’re here. I love Feta cheese.” Maddy remembered how easy it had been talking to her. How warm she’d felt when she handed the phone back to Nick.