Don't Put the Boats Away

by Ames Sheldon

  “This is a great story.”

  “When it opened in 1951, it was the first hospital in the country just for heart patients.”

  “I knew it was the first but not how it got started.”

  “I’m interested in history so I read a fair amount.”

  She’s not a showoff. He admires that.

  “I know you’re worried about the future of heart surgery at the U. Did you consider going to New York with Dr. Lillehei?”

  “He asked me to come with him, but I wanted to stay here. I really like living in Minnesota.”

  Their food appears.

  After they start eating, he says, “You’re into music, aren’t you?”

  She swallows before answering. “I love music, especially live music. Must be because I spent so much time at my parents’ supper club. I got to hear lots of different bands playing swing, jazz, even rock.”

  He thinks, We have so much in common!

  He asks, “What’s your favorite kind of music?”

  She puts her hamburger back on the plate. “I like choral music, like Bach’s B Minor Mass, and jazz and folk. I really like the Beatles. They’re amazingly creative. When you think how far they’ve come in four years, it’s unbelievable—from singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 to coming out with Rubber Soul and Revolver.

  “They’ve written some great tunes.”

  “I have all their albums.” She picks her hamburger back up.

  He moves his head from one side to the other, as though he’s trying to see behind her. “What’s that you’ve done with your hair?”

  “It’s called a French twist.” She turns so he can see the back of her head.

  “Very elegant. Makes me think of Audrey Hepburn.”

  Blushing, she looks down for a moment. “Thank you.” When she raises her eyes to him, she says, “You have no idea how long I’ve been watching you, wanting to get to really know you.”

  “How long?” he teases.

  “Years!” Her eyes are so shiny he almost thinks he sees tears at the corners.

  He reaches his right hand out to her. “Well, I’m finally free.”

  She takes his hand and squeezes it, then pulls hers back. “Not completely,” she says.

  “Close enough. There’s no way I’d ever go back to Dorie.”

  She stares into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “In that case,” she says, grinning, “would you like to come over to my place for a drink?”

  “Would I! I’ll call Mrs. March and see if she can stay with the kids a while longer.”

  He stands and fumbles in his pocket for his wallet, releasing scraps of paper that flutter to the floor.

  She picks one up and reads.

  Red suffusing blue,

  Granite’s gray;

  One last ray, through orange clouds, breaks through

  As we say, “Goodnight, Sea View.”

  “What is this?” she asks.

  “Just some lyrics for a song I’m writing for my family.”

  “I’d love to hear it sometime.”

  “You will,” he promises.

  Nat follows Lucy’s car along West River Road to a white stucco house in South Minneapolis. As soon as they get inside and Lucy shuts the door behind them, he turns to face her.

  “May I hold you? I’m much more interested in holding you than having a drink.” He opens his arms.

  She walks into his embrace.

  He sighs. She feels so good. When he moves his head to sniff her neck, he catches a whiff of lavender soap. Sighing again, he draws her closer. They’re still standing in front of the door.

  She pulls back and grasps his hand. “Let’s move over to the couch where we can be more comfortable.”

  She leads him around a coffee table covered with books and sits down. He settles at an angle to her. She turns toward him as he leans forward to kiss her. Her lips are soft and warm.

  He puts his arms around her as their kiss continues. He wants to sink into her. After a few more breathless moments, he says, “Would it be all right if we lie down?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He takes off his blazer while she removes her green cardigan. When she loosens the clip holding her French twist in place, her honey-colored hair tumbles to her shoulders. Then they stretch out facing each other. The couch is flat all the way across the seat—Nat can stick his feet off the end. Arms around each other, they touch the entire length of their bodies. As they rock gently back and forth, their heat rises. Lucy snuggles in even closer. She presses against Mr. Snake, who is very excited.

  He moans, “So good, Lucy.”

  “Would you like to go to bed?” She seems a little shy asking this.

  “We should wait till we’re not so pressed for time. When I make love to you, I don’t want to be in a rush.”

  “You’re right,” she agrees. “Let’s not rush. It feels so wonderful just to be held. Let’s savor this now.”

  He says, “We’ll find a time to spend the whole night together. Soon!”

  Early in July, Nat brings his children to Massachusetts for two weeks, pleased by the prospect of a family vacation at Sea View without the burden of Dorie weighing him down. As he drives from the Boston airport toward the North Shore, he realizes that he feels free for the first time in years. He’s so light, he could almost fly. When the car rises up the lift bridge onto Cape Ann, he suddenly hears the first line of a new tune in his head—both words and notes. The line is “Sea View, summers spent at Sea View.” Humming it quietly to himself, he thinks about additional lyrics to complete the song. He has a good group to work with: his daughter Abby and Harriet’s Joey on guitars, Harriet’s Retta on flute, his sons Ned on drums and Ernie on bass, with Vi on vocals. The summer before last, Abby and Joey were a great team helping him polish the lyrics and tune for “Let’s Not Put the Boats Away.”

  When they arrive, the rest of his family streams out of the house. His father and mother greet the kids while Harriet, Retta, and Joey help carry their luggage inside. The children chatter among themselves as they haul the instruments into the living room. A snare drum and one hi-hat sit in the corner where Nat left them before. Joey’s guitar case, covered with multicolored Flower Power stickers, and a small amplifier rest nearby.

  “Hey kids,” he says, “you want to work on more songs this summer? I’ve started a couple of new ones.”

  Joey exclaims, “Groovy!”

  “We can put on a show the last night we’re here together.”

  “That would be so cool!” says Retta.

  His sister’s kids are looking more like hippies this summer. Retta’s dark brown hair is long and straight, held back from her face with a bright orange headband, and Joey’s wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt with red sunbursts all over it. Of course, his own kids are younger; they live in the Midwest, and perhaps they’ve been sheltered more than Harriet’s East Coast kids, who also spend time on the West Coast with Ron. He should ask Retta and Joey what it’s like for them to have parents who are divorced, if he can get them alone. Perhaps he’d learn something that would help in his own case. His kids don’t know yet that his divorce is underway.

  Before dinner the first evening, the older folks sit on the porch with their drinks while the younger ones play a game of Monopoly in the dining room. A cool breeze is blowing in from the ocean. Both his mother and sister wear sweaters. Harriet’s is the same purple color as her slacks. Eleanor, in a denim skirt, dons pants only for gardening. He dressed in long plaid pants to please his mother—otherwise he’d be wearing blue jeans. His father is attired in his usual white shirt, dark trousers, and sneakers.

  Eleanor says, “It’s wonderful to have you all here at last!” She looks at Nat, squinting a little. Does she need new glasses? “What’s the news on Dorie?”

  He quickly glances around to make sure his kids are out of earshot. “She’s very depressed, and she continues to refuse
to see anyone about it. She’s living in our house, and I’ve rented a bungalow nearby so the kids can walk back and forth.”

  “That’s good,” says his mother.

  He goes on. “I met with a divorce attorney last month. He’s drawing up the papers to grant me sole custody of the children, but he cautioned me that it would be very unusual for the courts to give custody to the father. As I’ve told you, I can’t trust Dorie to be responsible for them any longer. My attorney says I’ll need to provide documented evidence of her unfitness as a mother. We’ll probably get a hearing in front of a judge.”

  Eleanor replies, “I’m very sorry, Nat. This must be extremely difficult for you.”

  “No fun at all.”

  “Before you go to court, I hope you’ll get your hair cut and sideburns trimmed.”

  “Mother! Everyone’s wearing their hair longer these days. I’m finally in style along with everybody else.”

  Harriet laughs. “That’s true, Nat. It’s a first for you.”

  His father is sitting to the side, staring out to sea, but Nat knows from the way his head is cocked that he’s listening.

  His sister turns to their mother and speaks quietly. “You were right, Mummy. I feel a lot better now that I’ve done some grieving.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  “It helped to say everything I did to Father. I guess I had a lot to get off my chest.”

  Nat says, “Thanks for your recent calls, Harriet. What’s next for you?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve got some feelers out.”

  Joey emerges from inside. “I’m out of the game—used up all my money.”

  “Come join us if you like,” Harriet says.

  Joey takes an empty chair near Nat. “What do you think of The Byrds, Uncle Nat? Do you like their music?”

  “I’m not familiar with them.”

  “Their ‘Turn, Turn, Turn’ and ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’ blow my mind. I can play one of their albums for you later if you want.” Joey looks at him expectantly.

  “You have a record player here?”

  “I brought mine from home.”

  “I’d like to hear The Byrds and anything else you want to play for me.”

  “I’ll play you my Country Joe and the Fish album too.”

  Harriet says, “Blowing one’s mind makes me think about a situation we had in May with a senior who was seen smoking marijuana behind Hartley at the end of the school year.”

  George turns around to hear better.

  She continues, “Of course, there’s nothing in the handbook yet about smoking marijuana, though consuming cigarettes or alcohol in or near the school and at school functions is forbidden. Anyway, this senior was near the top of her class, her grades qualified her for the Cum Laude Society, and she’d been accepted by Wellesley. I thought long and hard about what kind of punishment would be appropriate. We could deny her membership in Cum Laude. We could suspend her for a few days, but then she’d miss her exams, which would mean she couldn’t graduate. If we expelled her, it would be even worse. Any punishment for her at the end of her senior year could ruin her life.”

  Nat says, “What’s the big deal? I smoked Mary Jane in my jazz club days. I was an early beatnik—I guess.”

  Eleanor exclaims, “Mary Jane?”

  “Pot, Mother.”

  Joey’s watching his uncle closely, a dreamy smile on his face.

  Harriet says, “I didn’t believe we should simply ignore her bad behavior. It sets a terrible precedent. Everyone knows what’s going on in a small school like ours.”

  “Aren’t you being a bit prudish, Harriet?” says Nat.

  “The rules should apply to everyone.”

  George asks, “What did you do?”

  “Janice gave the student a stern talking to. That was it.”

  “We’ll have to make sure the new student handbook addresses marijuana use,” says George.

  Joey gets up and goes back into the living room. A moment later, they hear him tuning his guitar.

  Harriet sits with her legs crossed, swinging the top leg back and forth, gazing at the ocean.

  Saying, “I’ll just check on the casserole,” Eleanor heads into the house.

  George says, “Harriet?”

  She turns to look at him.

  “What would you think about working at the foundation? I need someone to manage operations, and I think you’d be great.”

  “Really? Is this what you meant when you said you had plans for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you wait? Why didn’t you tell me when I lost my job at Hartley?”

  “I thought you should take the summer off.”

  “I would have enjoyed myself much more if I’d known about this job possibility.”

  “With all your experience in research and administration,” says Nat, “you’d bring a lot to the foundation, and we’d get to work together on the advisory committee.”

  George says, “Let me know if you want it, Harriet.”

  Later that evening, Nat sits drinking with his father. They’re alone on the porch. The older kids are back in the living room, and everyone else is in bed. In the relative quiet, he can hear the frogs in the lily pond behind the house croaking loudly.

  His father asks, “Do you want to try to reconcile your differences with Dorie?”

  “I can’t imagine ever getting back together with her. What complicates the situation is that I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

  “You’ve been having an affair?” His father sounds surprised.

  “Not exactly. I’ve known this woman for years—we work together—and we didn’t start spending time together outside the hospital until after Dorie and I separated. It just feels a little like an affair since technically I’m still married.”

  “Is this other woman the reason you and Dorie split up?”

  “God, no. There are a million reasons we split up. We’re completely incompatible.”

  His father nods agreement.

  Is now the time to confront his father after all these years? He puts his hands on his upper thighs. “I know you must have had an affair, because I saw you with a dark-haired woman at the Three Deuces jazz club one night during the war. I lost a great deal of respect for you at that time.”

  George bends forward to touch the flame from his lighter to the tip of a cigarette. After exhaling some smoke, he admits, “Yes, I did have an affair then.”

  “I knew it! I was so angry at you, Father. I couldn’t believe you would do that to Mother.” He lights a cigarette too. “What ever happened to that woman?”

  “Miriam ended it after a year.”

  “Have you had any other affairs?”

  “I was always dutiful until Miriam came along. Then I completely lost control of myself. It was some sort of compulsion that I was unable to resist.”

  “Since then?” He knows he’s probably going too far by asking this question, but he suspects he’ll never have another opportunity. How much like his father is he, really? Is he guilty of adultery too?

  George replies, “That was the only time I acted on an attraction to someone other than your mother. Since then,” he chuckles, “she wouldn’t let me get away with it.” Does his father count on being kept in line?

  His situation is different. “I don’t think I could ever give Lucy up.”

  Smiling ruefully, his father says, “I do know the feeling.” He crushes his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray.

  Nat takes one last drag of his own cigarette. “We’ve never had a talk like this before.”

  “That’s true. All I can say is that I hope you manage to free yourself from Dorie. She was never a good match for you.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Father. It’s my kids I have to look out for now.”

  “Indeed.”

  During their time at Sea View, everyone enjoys the usual swimming and sailing and games, eating favorite meals, talking and laughing and han
ging around with each other. Late afternoons while dinner is being prepared, Nat and the children work on their songs. Making music with his family like this—he couldn’t be happier as they prepare to perform for his parents and sister. With Abby and Joey’s assistance, “Sea View, Summers Spent at Sea View” has become a delightful song.

  On the day before he and his children have to return to Minnesota, while they’re rehearsing for their show later that night, he receives a frantic telephone call from Dorie’s mother.

  “Dorie’s in the hospital, Nathaniel. She’s in rough shape. You’ve got to come back right away!”

  “What happened?”

  “She tried to kill herself! Last night I found her sitting in the bathtub covered with blood. I cleaned her up as best as I could and drove her to the emergency room. They admitted her into the hospital and put her in a special ward.”

  “Oh God. No.” He’s been kicked in the stomach.

  “She needs you!”

  “We’re flying home tomorrow, Mother Larson. I’ll come to Glendale as soon as I can get someone to cover for me on Monday.”

  “Hurry! I’m so worried, Nathaniel.”

  He won’t tell his children about their mother yet, but the joy he’s felt these past two weeks is gone. He gets the kids to help setting up the porch for their performance, pushing the chairs around and arranging the instruments and music stands in a row across the back. He doesn’t say much while this is going on.

  At one point Abby comes over to him and asks, “Are you all right, Dad?”

  “I’m just a little distracted. Getting psyched for our gig tonight.”

  He starts to feel better once he’s standing with the children, ready to start their show. He’s wearing his first pair of bellbottoms and a flowered shirt.

  Harriet has dressed up in an attractive short dress with big blobs of strong color, which she told him was Marimekko, whatever that means. Joey’s wearing another sunburst T-shirt and jeans, and the rest of the kids are wearing the best clothes they have with them. Eleanor has a striped dress on, and George has donned his navy blazer. Nat’s pleased by all the attention his “band” is attracting.

  Once they start playing “Sea View, Summers Spent at Sea View,” the girls singing the tune, he’s able to stop thinking about Dorie. At the end of the first song, the audience claps loudly. He breathes in deeply, glad it’s going well. After “Let’s Not Put the Boats Away,” they conclude with “Goodnight, Sea View.”