by Rozsa Gaston
“Listen, I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she tried to explain.
“What did you mean then?”
“I meant I like spending time with you, but because I like it, I’m getting confused.”
“Okay, so let’s simplify. We’re spending time improving our hill runs together and refining our trash-talking techniques. Does that work for you?”
She laughed. He always made her laugh.
“Yes. I guess so.”
“Come on. You just guess so? You know I was pulling ahead of you back there.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, to let her know he was teasing.
“Okay, you’re right. I need to work on my hills.” Wait until you see how miserable I am on downhills.
“So let’s keep it going. Thursday afternoons we stick to sweat, tears, and trash-talking, strictly. Nothing more, okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled at him even as she kicked herself inside. If only he could understand, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to be around him. It was the opposite. She wasn’t one of those women who could keep two men on a hook, reeling them in and out like puppets. She’d always admired women capable of such skills, but she wasn’t one of them.
“Let’s get back,” he said.
She followed in a slow jog out of the parking lot, their backs turned to the now-bedded sun, the gorgeous Hudson, and the memory of time spent together on its banks less than two months earlier.
“SO, LISTEN. WHY don’t we grab a bite at that place we used to go to around the corner down here, and then we can catch a movie?”
“What happened to Thanksgiving with your family? I mean—weren’t we going out to Saddle River?” She could hardly believe her ears.
“Something came up. My mother can’t see us. She’s coming into town over the holidays, and we’ll get together then.”
Farrah was stunned. It didn’t seem possible that she was back in this trap again, playing push-pull with Will. A black lump of disappointment then anger rose from the bottom of her stomach to her throat.
“Is that it or is it something more?” How could “something came up” count for anything other than the lamest of poor excuses?
“Come on, we’ll have fun. That French movie about Diaghilev is out and I’m dying to see it. It’s playing at Lincoln Center.”
“But on Thanksgiving?”
“Farrah, Thanksgiving is the best day of the year to catch a movie. No lines. Everyone in New York goes to the movies on Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“I’m a New Yorker, and I don’t think either of those days are the right time to go see a movie.”
“I meant everyone in Manhattan. It’s an insider thing. Like going out on Thursday nights because weekends belong to the bridge and tunnel types.”
“I am a bridge and tunnel type now. What are you saying?” Her blood boiled.
“I didn’t mean you, darling. You’ll be back here soon. Once we get a few things ironed out.”
He was the only man who had ever called her “darling.” It sounded so sophisticated and refined. Too bad she didn’t like the content of what was being said. Will’s put downs stung. She liked being a Riverdalian, and she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to move back to the Upper West Side or into Will’s arms again. She burned at his presumptuousness.
“I’m not happy about the plan change,” she said, startled by her courage in letting him know she was put out.
“Darling, I can hardly help it. You have no idea what I’m dealing with when it comes to Mother.”
That was another thing. Will frequently derided his family members. What would he say about her if she were to become one?
“I’ve got to go. Bye.” Quickly, she got off the phone. Hanging up fast had been her best defense against everything since the all-fateful phone conversation that had ended their relationship three years earlier. Fuming, she strode to the window. It was two days before Thanksgiving, and she was fed up with being on her own, without family, without friends she could trust.
Jude’s honest, open face came to mind. Despite the Big Boy woman, the book he was writing, the society women hanging around him, she felt as if she could trust him. She had truly enjoyed running up and down Wave Hill with him. Hadn’t he said if plans change, let me know?
She hesitated. It wasn’t a good idea to call Jude just because she was furious with Will. She’d done it before, and it hadn’t worked out well. She’d go for a run, instead.
Pulling on her running clothes, she ran out of her apartment, into the elevator and out the downstairs lobby door, faster than she’d sprinted to the finish in her last race. She needed to clear her head.
As she pumped her arms, fresh, cold air filled her lungs. She loved her neighborhood, and she wasn’t going to join Will in putting it down. She wasn’t a Manhattanite any longer, eating Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners in restaurants then going to movies or shopping afterwards. Thanksgivings were for families. Since her father was out with Sean now in California and Mark was in Denver with his wife, she had none here on the East Coast.
Wistfully, she flew down the block, past the Charlotte Bronte apartment complex. It was an aerie high above the Hudson straight out of a fairy tale, an apartment complex built in the 1920s in the style of English Cotswold cottages. She’d point them out to Jude the next time they ran together. If there was a next time. Sadly, she thought back to her words. Should we be spending time together? She wished she could take them back.
Soon she turned the corner and headed down the road to the Spuyten Duyvil train station nestled under the bridge to Manhattan. Spuyten Duyvil meant “In spite of the devil” in Dutch. In spite of popular opinion, with Will heading up the snob squad, she liked living on the wrong side of Manhattan in the Bronx. It had been almost three years since she’d moved there, and she wasn’t going back. Jogging around the parking lot next to the water, she breathed in the river air. Whatever Will’s plans were for their future together, already they were rubbing against hers. She’d spent the past three years figuring out who she was, and she wasn’t exactly there yet, but she was on her way. She loved her track club, she loved the simple, homey atmosphere of Riverdale, and she was beginning to realize she still loved teaching. None of those facts would endear her to Will. And she no longer cared. What she cared about now was who was going to endear themselves to her? For a start, she needed to like the person she saw in the mirror.
As she jogged northward back home, she admired the Charlotte Bronte apartments again. Then she wondered to herself why it was she thought of sharing her enjoyment of them with Jude, not Will. By the time she got upstairs and into her apartment, she’d made a decision. Thanksgiving weekend would be conducted on her terms, not on Will’s. Ready or not, with two men in her life, she was going to mix it up a bit.
“DON’T PRESSURE HER,” Emily advised. It was the day after Thanksgiving and they were sitting around the family room of Jude’s sister’s Huntington, Long Island home enjoying a quiet moment while she watered her plants.
“I’m trying not to. But how do I keep her from slipping away? I mean, she’s seeing this guy and I don’t know what’s happening between them. It makes me sick.” He crushed his eight-year old niece’s slinky in his hand.
“Let’s focus on what you do know,” Emily answered, calm and practical as usual. What did she tell you about him?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, so what did she not tell you about him,” she pressed.
“Well, when I asked if he made her happy, she sort of hesitated.
“Then what?”
“Then she said, “What do you mean?”
“Good.” Emily nodded vigorously. “That’s a good sign.”
“It is?” He’d thought so, too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
“That’s right up there with Prince Charles’s answer to reporters when they asked him if he was in love,” she clarified, while she watered her ficus tree. She hadn’t moved far from Oyster Bay, where she’d
met her husband, Mike, who ran a home heating oil delivery business.
“What did he say?’
Emily was a big British Royal Family follower. Jude had gotten her a subscription to Hello Magazine the year before for Christmas. This year he wouldn’t be able to afford to renew it.
“He said “I suppose so. Whatever that means.”
Even Jude had to wince. “Lame, right?”
“Lame, but accurate. He didn’t know what it meant, at least not with Diana, and look what happened.”
“So where does that leave me?’
“With a chance, I think. What else did she say?”
He gave a deep sigh. She said something like “I’m not sure we should be spending time together.”
His sister frowned. “Did you ask why not?”
“She said it was too confusing for her.”
“Hmm. Emily looked thoughtful as she pulled the dead leaves from the pot of the small tree. “That might be a good thing.
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t be confused if she knew what she wanted.”
“You mean him or me?’
“Yeah.”
He threw the slinky onto the rug, startling Emily’s silky dachshund, who got up and padded into the other room.
“I don’t like feeling helpless. What exactly can I do to make my case?”
“Be there for her, but don’t pressure her.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“How?”
“We’re running hills together Thursday nights. In her neighborhood.”
“That’s good. Hang out with her in her own neighborhood, listen carefully when she wants to talk, but don’t push on the personal front.”
“Got it.”
“When do you see her again?”
“Next Thursday.”
“Good. Do you know what she’s doing for Thanksgiving?”
“No.” He slammed his fist into the pillow by his side.
“Okay, so don’t jump to conclusions. She has a right to a private life.” His sister smiled and sat down, picking up the framed photo of Ariel as a baby that stood on the side table next to Jude. Ariel smiled beatifically, her tiny fists grasping her father’s shirt, holding on for dear life.
Jude growled.
“Did you know I was dating someone when Mike came into the picture?” As if on cue, Emily’s husband walked into the room looking for the paper.
“It’s in the garage. I put the papers in the recycle bin,” she told him. A minute later, to the sound of the kitchen door opening to the garage, she continued.
“It was a bit confusing.”
“So what made you decide to jump ship?”
“I felt more comfortable with Mike. I could be myself.”
Jude thought back to his friend Tom’s words—the comfort factor again. Apparently, it was key.
“So how long did it take you to figure things out?”
“Not long. Maybe a month or two.”
“Who was the other guy? Do I know him?”
Emily gave a kabuki-like smile. “The other guy is history. That’s all you need to know.”
“Okay, but was he a jerk?”
“No. He was just someone I wasn’t entirely myself around.”
“So why were you dating him?”
“It took Mike coming along to realize how much more comfortable I could be. When I spent time with him, I felt like he was introducing me to myself.”
“Huh. So who were you being with the other guy?”
“Someone I wasn’t.”
“It was someone from Oyster Bay, right? Jude knew the feeling all too well. It had hung over him his entire childhood. “Do I know him?”
“Unh—uh,” Emily shook her head slyly. “We’re not going there, bro. Over and done with. Let’s just say, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“You mean pretending to be one of the crowd, when we weren’t.”
“You got it.”
“I’m glad you met Mike and got out of that whole scene.”
“I’m glad you’re no longer in it, either.”
“Greenwich isn’t all that different.” Had he really progressed? He’d just hopped across Long Island Sound to another Oyster Bay-type town he didn’t quite belong in. He pounded the pillow again.
“Where’s Farrah from?” Emily asked.
“Riverdale. In the Bronx.”
“Does she make you feel comfortable?”
“Yes. Totally.” Uncomfortable, too. In all the right ways.
“Good.”
“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit around like some sort of putz waiting for her to get comfortable with me then dump the other guy?’
“No. You’re supposed to keep on doing exactly what you’re doing now. Running with her, focusing on things you can do as friends. Let her do the rest. She’s making up her mind right now.
“What if she makes a mistake?”
“She’ll probably make a few.”
Jude glowered.
“You’ve never made any, bro?”
He got up, whistling for Plato.
“I’m taking your damn dog out.”
The silky dachshund rushed into the room, ears cocked as Jude rattled the leash he’d picked up from the table behind the sofa.
“Take Ariel while you’re at it.”
The little girl ran into the room at the sound of her name.
“What are you doing, Uncle Jude?”
“Get your jacket on. We’re taking Plato for a walk.”
“Oh good. Let’s get some ice cream.”
Emily’s eyes met Jude’s over Ariel’s blonde head.
“Don’t worry, bro. It’ll work out.”
“So you say.”
“Just believe in yourself. And make her comfortable.”
He slammed the door behind him on the way out. Easy for a woman to say. But how was he supposed to put up with Farrah seeing another guy while he was hanging around like somebody’s chump change?
IT WAS THE day after Thanksgiving, and the weather was crystal clear. The brilliant, cloudless blue sky overhead was unusual for November. Farrah decided to go for a long run at Tod’s Point, Greenwich’s beachfront park that was only open to non-residents in the off season. She knew about it from running the Cook Your Buns race there the past June. It had been fun, and the scenery was breathtaking. That day it had been hazy, but she’d heard on a clear day you could see the Manhattan skyline from the shoreline near the Tod’s Point lighthouse. Pushing off from Will the evening before had given her an unexpected free day in which to see for herself. On her way up, she thought about Jude. He’d said he was going to his sister’s on Long Island for the weekend.
She couldn’t help it, she was curious to see where he lived. He’d told her he rented the pool house of a large house next to the high school when they’d had dinner at the Mexican restaurant the month before. Punching Greenwich High School into her GPS, she followed the instructions to the high school then drove slightly beyond until she came to the first private driveway. A gate across its entrance was closed, but she could see a large stone and clapboard house at the end of a long driveway. Pulling into the area in front of the gate, she got out and peered over the fence, wondering which of the various smaller buildings on the property might be the pool house. She couldn’t tell, so she turned to get back in the car. Two white mailboxes stood next to the gatepost. Something was taped to one of them. She went closer.
“November 26–December 27: Forward mail for Jude Farnsworth to Jude Farnsworth, c/o Marshall, 26 Indian Chase Road, Greenwich, CT 06830”
She didn’t remember him saying anything about moving during the holidays, but he’d been trying to follow her wishes to keep things impersonal on their Thursday runs together. Getting back into her car, she punched the new address into her GPS.
Within ten minutes, she was down closer to the water, on the coastal side of Bruce Park in central Greenwich. Turn
ing onto Davis Avenue, she passed Mead Point Drive then turned left onto Indian Chase Road. Large, stately homes lined both sides of the quiet block, the ones on the right on shorefront property. Some of the houses had gates across their driveways with intercom boxes affixed to the gate posts. Others allowed access. Driving all the way to the end of the road, she finally found number twenty-six. The name “Marshall” was on the mailbox by the fencepost next to the open driveway. Underneath it was a strip of duct tape with “Farnesworth” handwritten on it in black magic marker.
She pulled over and peered down the driveway. No one was around. Thinking of an excuse, if someone came out, she decided she would say she got lost and was turning around. According to her GPS there were quite a few street names in Greenwich with “Indian” in them. Indian Field, Indian Harbor, Indian Chase.
The white clapboard and stone house was large, decorated with tasteful fir wreaths on each of its ground floor windows. It looked smug, stately, as she imagined its owners did. Why Jude was living there temporarily over the holidays? If she could just get comfortable relaxing her “don’t get too personal” rule, she was sure he’d tell her. He’d laugh if he knew what she was doing now. Not only was she getting personal, she was more or less spying on him. But he didn’t have to know that. She simply wanted to satisfy her desire to know more about him without asking him directly. She wasn’t ready to get his hopes up. Not with Will in the picture.
As she ruminated, two women came out of the house, both laughing. The taller one was carrying a large brown and black striped shopping bag that said Shoes and More. Her Louis Vuitton handbag was almost as large as the shopping bag. She opened the trunk of a dark blue Mercedes-Benz sedan and popped it in then went around to the driver’s side.
“See you tomorrow,” she called out as she opened the car door.
The wind coming off the Sound blew into Farrah’s face, carrying the women’s voices to her. She discreetly watched from behind the stone wall, praying it hid her from view.
“We should be there by seven. You’ll probably find us in the lounge where the game will be on.” The voice of the tiny woman at the door was silky, cultivated.
