The Topsail Accord

by J T Kalnay

  I reach the top of the bridge and sneak a short look over the side and down to the canals. The canals that I have paddled with my brother in law and with my nephew and by myself. I have done it. I have actually done it. I paddled. Once, and then again and again and then so often that now I can paddle it even when I am frozen in an Ohio winter. I can paddle it anytime by simply closing my eyes and feeling the kayak beneath me and the sun above me and the water all around. I have paddled it with my camera, with my sketch pad, with a thermos of coffee, and just by myself. I have paddled it at dawn, at dusk, and at every hour in between. I do things now that I didn’t do before.

  Before I was married I did things. And now after I am no longer married I do things. But while I was married I did nothing. I didn’t realize at the time how little I was doing. How everything was about my husband and what he wanted. About the baby we never had. About the family he wanted. About how he thought things “should” be. He could never escape the “shoulds.” Who invented the “shoulds?”

  I start down the other side of the bridge. The unimposing country club appears on the right, and the brackish marshes stretch away south on the left. It is not far to his shop. It’s just a short drive from my house to the bridge, and another half mile from the bridge to his shop. Before I know it I am there. Yes, I am doing something. Without my husband, without my sister. Just me.

  Joe

  I didn’t think it was possible, but she is even more beautiful in the demure print sundress she is wearing than in the bathing suit I have seen her in these last days. She moves like an athlete. She must be some sort of athlete to be so trim, especially since she must be, I don’t know, in her mid-thirties? I might be too old for her?

  Too old?

  For a cup of coffee and a talk about a sea turtle nest? How old is too old to have coffee and to talk about turtles? I’m hoping there is never a “too old” for this. Clearly she doesn’t think I’m too old, or else she wouldn’t have agreed to come, and she wouldn’t have actually come. Agreeing and doing are different things.

  Shannon

  I can see him watching me. He’s cleaned up, and isn’t wearing his jogging clothes. What? Did I expect him to be a slob who would still be wearing his jogging clothes and who would be sweating over the counter and into my coffee cup? Maybe it would be easier if he was a slob and was ruining my coffee. It might be easier because it might be over right now. Over? How can a cup of coffee be “over”?

  I’m still not sure why I did this. Or that I am actually going to go through with it. I can turn around, get back in the car, and go back over the bridge right now. Or I can go in, get my coffee to go, and be out of here in under a few minutes.

  Both of those might be the better choice. I am going back to Ohio in a few days. I’ve had a great month here. It’s my house, I can come here anytime I want. I often come during the winter, but not to the big house. I come to my little house, my cottage. The big house is too big and too empty in January. The big house is for the summer, and for the crowd of the family and nieces and their cousins. Sometimes I stay there for a few days alone in the summer before they come. It is good for a few days. Yes it makes me homesick, but in a good way, and then they arrive and cure the homesickness.

  There is nothing like the Atlantic for me. Now that I’ve filled my beach house with my family for these last couple of years, being there alone can quickly become too much. I like to be alone, but not that alone. I’m not lonely. I like my life. I like my life alone in my new home in Ohio. I like my life alone in my lab, and at my digs. I like my life with my Mom and my sisters and all the nieces and nephews. I have it in order, and I like it.

  But I do come here in the winter, in January, and other times. Sometimes I fly to Wilmington and rent a car and drive up to my cottage for a few days. Other times I drive down and stay for two weeks.

  The family has never come to the cottage. My sister gets me, and she gets that the cottage needs to be my place. Just for me. She gets that if even one time it was filled with the family then those voices and feelings and memories and presences would be in that house and that would make it too lonely for the times when it wasn’t filled. Right now it is my private place here on the beach. She doesn’t even know which house it is, or at least she pretends. I love my sister and how she gets me. My ex never got me like that. How could he? Who could?

  So why am I here if no man ever gets me?

  I don’t really need another cup of coffee. And I don’t really need a complication for the next couple of days. And maybe it’d be weird next summer if I actually talk to this guy today. Maybe I’d have to avoid this coffee shop, and his sister’s day spa. This could get weird fast.

  But... He poured out my coffee. Who pours out someone’s coffee after they almost run them over?

  Shannon and Joe

  “You came,” Joe says.

  “I came,” Shannon answers.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d come,” she answers.

  “Your coffee is almost ready.”

  “No-one ever makes me coffee.”

  “Until today.”

  “Until today.”

  “I didn’t have to ask for Joe,” she says.

  “At Joe’s,” he answers.

  They both almost laugh. Almost.

  “Did your staff call in sick or something?” she asks.

  “I told him to get lost for an hour.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought if it was just the two of us we might actually be able to talk.”

  “Really? You know that to be able to talk you have to be able to listen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? Are you a good listener?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Did you remember my coffee order?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m a good listener. It just means I’m a good waiter.”

  “So what was my order?”

  “Half regular, half decaf, no cream, a sixteenth of a teaspoon of sugar.”

  “Yes. You got it right,” Shannon says, ignoring his teasing about the quarter of a teaspoon of sugar.

  “Yes I did. It was simple.”

  “So you think I’m simple?”

  “I doubt it,” he says.

  “So then you think I’m complicated? Or maybe high maintenance?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t presume one way or the other. I’ve made that mistake too many times.”

  “How many times is too many times?”

  “Once.”

  He turns back towards the coffee maker, and to all the extra things that are his specialty. He mixes the drink carefully, precisely. Like it matters.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “No need,” he answers.

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Sure,” he says.

  There is a short pause that threatens to turn into a lengthy silence. She does not mind the silence. She can sit quietly for hours. Her husband never got that. He felt like he had to fill every quiet moment with small talk, or with the television, or with something. But she has always liked to sit quietly. She is not uncomfortable with this silence.

  “Here’s your coffee. And, I hope you feel like I do, and like my loyal customers do, that it’s the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.”

  She sips.

  “It’s not too hot,” she says. “Everyone always serves their coffee too hot,” she says. “Which I don’t understand. If I’m in your coffee shop, and I am sitting at your counter, then I want to be able to drink my coffee in a reasonable amount of time without burning my tongue. So, nice job on the temperature.”

  “Thanks,” he says.

  He waits for more. For her to say it is good or to say it is bad or to say anything. But she doesn’t say anything. She finishes the coffee and slides the cup across the counter.

  “That’s your mug,” he says.

  “You ca
n clean it,” she says.

  “Sure,” he answers.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “You’re welcome,” he answers.

  She stands and smoothly walks the few steps from counter to door.

  He takes the cup and places it into the washing sink.

  “See you tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Sure,” he answers.

  “Seven thirty? On the beach? Jogging?”

  “See you,” he says.

  She waves over her shoulder.

  Shannon

  “So?” Cara asks.

  “So?” Shannon answers.

  Cara looks over her glasses at her younger sister, narrows her eyes, and asks the question again.

  “So how was it?”

  “It was a good cup of coffee,” Shannon answers.

  “And?” Cara asks.

  “And?” Shannon answers.

  Cara looks over her glasses again.

  “And am I going to have to drag this out of you line by line?” Cara asks.

  “No. I’m still processing it. Let’s go for a walk on the beach and talk about it,” Shannon says.

  “K,” Cara says.

  “He cleans up nice,” Shannon says.

  “Oh?” Cara prods.

  “Yeah. Pressed khakis and a nice polo. But I had a feeling he hadn’t been dressed up in a while.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. But that’s okay. He runs a coffee shop, so I imagine it’s blue jeans and t-shirts most of the year. But even all cleaned up he seemed pretty comfortable in his shop.”

  “Does he work there or does he own it?” Cara asks.

  “Does it matter?” Shannon asks.

  “Not really, since you’ll probably never see him again anyway.”

  Shannon keeps walking.

  “I mean you’re not going to see him again or anything are you?” Cara asks.

  Shannon keeps walking.

  “So you’re going to see him again. When?”

  “Tomorrow morning, at seven thirty, we’re going to go jogging on the beach.”

  “That’s a good second date. It has a defined beginning and end,” Cara says.

  “What are you talking about?” Shannon asks.

  “I mean he’ll either be on time or he won’t, so you’ll know right away whether he’s going to stand you up. And you’ll probably run down to the pier and back, so he’s got like twenty minutes to make an impression. And then you get back here and you can decide whether to run another mile or to ditch him. And if you run another mile, then he’s a mile from the house when you decide to turn around, so he won’t be standing around waiting for you to invite him in or anything.”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Shannon says.

  “Not really. Just thinking for you.”

  “I can think this through on my own,” Shannon says.

  “I know you can. I’m just mentally going through the options, different ways you can play it,” Cara says.

  “I’m not playing anything. We’re going jogging. And then if he’s not a complete jerk I might go get another cup of coffee tomorrow morning. That’s it. We’re all heading back to Ohio in a few days. Remember?”

  “Yes I remember. I just hope you do,” Cara says.

  Joe

  “How was coffee?” his sister asks.

  “Nice. She’s very smart,” he answers.

  “You can tell from one cup of coffee that she’s smart?”

  “Yes. It’s in the way she speaks. She’s educated, and thinks about what she’s going to say. There’s not a lot of surface there, there’s a lot of thought.”

  “You got all that from one cup of coffee?”

  “Yes I did,” Joe answers.

  “So now what?” his sister asks.

  “Why does there always have to be a ‘so now what’ with you?”

  “Because I’ve been your sister for forty nine years, I’ve been your sister through Colleen, and all the girls before Colleen, and I know you. So once again, returning to the question on the floor, now what?” she asks.

  “We’re going to go jogging tomorrow morning. I’m going to meet her on the beach side of her house and we’ll go jogging.”

  “Did she tell you which house she’s renting?”

  “She’s not a renter.”

  “She lives here?”

  “Two months a year from what I can gather. She owns the big house just down the beach from the green-roofed house where they film One Tree Hill.”

  “She owns that?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well it’s easy enough to check out,” his sister says.

  “What? Now that she owns a house on the beach she’s worth checking out? Is that it?” Joe asks.

  “Well isn’t she?”

  “I don’t like how this is going. I met someone who likes the beach and who likes coffee. We’ve talked for maybe a half an hour and we’re going to go jogging tomorrow. That’s it.”

  “Oh really? Are you sure that’s it?”

  “No I’m not sure. But I’m not going to talk about this anymore with you today. You always want to talk things to death. I’m a guy. We don’t talk things to death like you women do.”

  “That’s right. You’re a guy. You don’t talk at all.”

  “We talk with the guys,” he says.

  “In between beer belches, fried food, and farts,” she says.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well jogging is a good first date,” his sister says.

  “Second date. And why do you think so?” Joe asks.

  “Because there’s no expectation of intimacy and after you run a few miles you’re so sweaty that there’s no possibility of intimacy.”

  “And that makes a good second date?” Joe asks.

  “Yes. No awkward moment in the car or at the front door wondering whether there’s going to be a kiss or a hug or an invitation for a ‘night cap’ or any of that. You meet up, you jog, you get sweaty, and then if you still like her you either make a plan to go jogging again or get another cup of coffee or you don’t. Very clean.”

  “Very clean? After being all sweaty? What if she’s hot for my bod and we’re both all sweaty and she suggests we get a shower?”

  “You said she was smart. So, not a chance,” his sister says.

  Shannon

  The air is warm but not yet hot. The sun is glinting off gentle multi-faceted swells. The beach has been swept clean by another cleansing tide.

  It’s early. I’m surprised but pleased at how few people get out on the beach this early. Even in the absolute middle of the tourist season it is still quiet this early. There are a few elderly women collecting shells, a few joggers, a few walkers, and that’s about it. Since my house sits by itself, all these people are just passing by. So even when the tourists are here my little piece of beach has moments in the morning and evening when it is all mine.

  I like having the girls here, and my family, but I like having the beach all to myself too.

  So what am I doing out here in my running clothes waiting for a man? For Joe. I like my time on the beach to myself. I like walking with my sister, and watching the girls play, but I like having the beach to myself as well. Why have I invited someone into my privacy?

  He probably won’t show, so I will have the beach to myself anyway. I hope he won’t mind that I’m a much better runner than he is. I’ve seen him jogging, sometimes even shuffling, and limping. I am a runner, always have been. I ran as a kid, through junior high, went to state in high school, got four NCAA varsity letters, and one Olympic tryout. I still run, though not so much as I used to. I walk more now. But I still run. Sometimes I’m out walking and my body just says ‘run’. So I run. I hope he doesn’t mind.

  Joe

  I can see her waiting up ahead. Why did my knees have to pick this morning to hurt? She’s younger than me. I can
tell that just from looking at her. And she’s fit. I can tell that too from having seen her in her bathing suit, and in her sundress. I wonder if she’s a runner? Or maybe yoga? She’s really lean. I think I might get my ass handed to me this morning if she’s a runner. Won’t be the first time, won’t be the last. I just hope I don’t try to gut it out and end up hurting myself.

  Will she slow down if I ask her to slow down? Will she just go ahead and laugh at me? I’m slow, and my knees hurt sometimes, and this morning is sometimes. I should be gently peddling my bike, not running.

  Will she be warmed up when I get there? Will she need to warm up? Will she match my pace and carry on a conversation? Why am I doing this? Oh yeah, because she’s interesting, and because she called me cheeky. A cheeky man asks a younger woman to go on a running date early in the morning on the beach and she says yes and now here he is dragging his nearly fifty year old ass and achy knees up the beach.

  Shannon and Joe

  “Good morning,” he says.

  “Morning,” she answers.

  She starts jogging alongside him. Sees that this morning he is limping.

  “Is your knee bothering you?” she asks.

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because you’re limping a little this morning, like Monday.”

  “You saw me limping on Monday?”

  “Yes. You looked pretty smooth on Tuesday and Wednesday, but Monday and today you have a little limp. Is it your knee?”