The Topsail Accord

by J T Kalnay

  Talking and jogging and doing things together are nice intersections too. Harmless intersections. But how harmless are they with Shannon? Because just thinking about her I’ve thought about marriage and family and sex. Maybe not so harmless at all.

  Well I will know a lot more after tomorrow’s ‘date’. I’ll see her working and I’ll see her with her sister and her sister will see me. Our sisters will meet. Lord knows how that will go. I’m going to ask her to go for a walk on the beach around sunset tomorrow, after supper. I don’t know if she’ll just walk. She’s a really fast runner, she didn’t even break a sweat or have any heavy breathing from our run.

  If she says ‘yes’ to the walk I’ll ask her whether she wants me to come to her house or if she wants to meet me on the beach in front of her house or if she wants to meet somewhere else. Where she wants to meet will tell me a lot.

  Why am I planning tests? Why am I ‘intelligence gathering’ with her. She asked me not to pretend. Actually she told me not to pretend. I think she’d also tell me not to engage in intelligence gathering. I think she’d tell me that if I have a question I should just ask her the question. And I also think she’ll either answer the question or tell me that it’s none of my business.

  My my my. She’s got my head spinning. And my head doesn’t spin.

  Shannon

  The setting sun is throwing pinks and salmons into the late evening clouds over the Sound. I walk behind as the children alternate sprinting and stopping and looking at things on the shore. The kids and I come out a few evenings just by ourselves every year. Unlike their parents, I offer no suggestions about what they should do or how they should do it. I simply walk behind, with a cup of decaf, and marvel at how much they have grown. I visited each and every one of them the day they were born, except the twins. The twins were born while we were all here, all except my mom and sister.

  I remember driving to the different hospitals and holding the tiny little babies and wondering whether I would ever have my own. As the years went on, I realized I would never have my own. Though no-one could identify any specific problem, either with me or with my husband, I knew somehow that there would never be a baby. All the trying and hoping eventually ruined even that one thing that almost sort of worked between us, the sex. It had been good when we were young and had no worries and I was just discovering this thing. But over the years, like I guess it must for so many married couples, it slowed and then stopped. It became a chore, loaded with expectations and hopes for my husband. Freighted with failure every month. I didn’t care either way, whether we had a baby or not, whether we had a family or not. If it had happened that would have been fine, and even that it didn’t happen was fine. With me, but not for my husband.

  These walks on the beach with the nieces and nephews and children of cousins were never enough for him. He wanted his own. And his family wanted him to have his own. They were convinced that a man “should” have his own family. Even though they couldn’t provide a single reason, as though simply saying “should” was enough reason. So he was convinced. I asked him once, only once, why it was so important to him. His only answer was that a man “should have a son.” So maybe even five daughters wouldn’t have been enough for him. I never knew what was enough for him. Because I think he never knew what was enough for him. We never talked about it. We hardly talked at the beginning, and by the end we didn’t talk at all. There was a nearly complete cessation of communication. Except about our nephew, the oldest of the kids, for some reason we could always talk about him. My ex was truly attached to that boy. Sometimes I think it was harder for my ex to leave my nephew than to leave me.

  These walks with the children are enough for me. I love each of them in their own way. The smart ones, the athletic ones, the ones with good hearts, the ones that like to goof around, I love them all. But I don’t need any to spring from my body. All these children are mine, in some small way. And all my brothers and sisters and parents are my family. When my husband remarried and got his “should” family, his own son, and his own daughter, he still wasn’t happy. So now he’s divorced again. And maybe remarried and then divorced again. I don’t keep track, but sometimes mutual friends let something slip, or drop it intentionally. I have moved on, why haven’t my friends?

  We have walked all the way to the pier, where my brother and sister have driven just in case some of the smaller kids want to ride back, or to get ice cream. All the kids except the oldest two decide to ride back. To make room, my sister joins me on the beach, in the twilight, and we walk behind the two oldest as they head back towards my house. The oldest girl is going to be a beauty. Boys and men already turn their heads to watch her on the beach. My sister and I will have our hands full with that one.

  “What are you thinking about?” Cara asks

  “My ex,” Shannon says straight away.

  “What about him?” Cara prods.

  “About how the sex was no good and then non-existent at the end.”

  “And exactly why are you thinking about sex?” Cara asks.

  Shannon looks at her.

  “You’re not thinking about doing it with Joe are you?” Cara asks.

  “No.”

  “But you’re wondering what it would be like?” Cara asks.

  “No.”

  “So why were you thinking about sex with the ex?”

  “Because of the kids. Because after a while, the sex was only to have kids. He had to have kids. And now he has kids and he doesn’t want them.”

  Cara listened. Watched the older kids walking ahead, thought back to their walks at Nags Head, thought about their walks around the farm in Ohio, and at Mentor Headlands, and all the other walks they had taken over the years. Realized that this was the first time Shannon had ever talked about sex with the ex.”

  “Have you heard from him lately?” Cara asks.

  “He keeps sending me emails and texts and actual letters. I half expect to see him show up here on the beach someday.”

  “Do you think he would?”

  “Not really. He’d think about it. But like everything else he’d never quite get around to it.”

  “Ouch,” Cara says.

  “Just keeping it real.”

  “Wonder what he’d think if he saw you jogging with Joe?”

  “Where did that come from?” Shannon asks.

  Shannon and Joe, et al.

  Shannon and Cara arrive exactly at seven. A small group of four or five women and two or three men are standing outside the coffee shop, most sipping from tall to-go cups. Shannon parks in the same spot.

  “Ready for this?” she asks Cara.

  “Coffee. Need coffee...” Cara answers.

  “Here is your coffee ladies. Shannon, your special order for the early morning, and a double espresso for, your daughter?” Joe asks.

  “Charming,” Cara says rolling her eyes. She holds out her hand, “Cara, sister Cara.”

  “You’re a nun?” Joe asks.

  Cara rolls her eyes again.

  “No verbal or mental gymnastics until after my coffee please,” Cara says.

  Shannon laughs to herself at Joe’s teasing of her sister. Like Shannon, Cara is rarely on the receiving end of witty repartee or teasing. As the bosses at their jobs and as the leaders in their fields they are both much more used to respectful discourse, not early morning “nice to meet you” banter.

  “Certainly Dr. Patrick,” Joe says.

  “You know I’m a doctor?” Cara asks.

  “Yes.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” Cara asks.

  “I googled ‘Shannon geologist Ohio shale oil’ so I could read up on Shannon.”

  “That’s kind of sneaky, checking up on her like that,” Cara says.

  “Sneaky? Rhymes with cheeky. But Shannon said I could. Even gave me the Google keywords. Told me she wanted me to know what I was getting into. Anyway, one of the articles mentioned her sister the famous cancer researcher and I followed the lin
k and read up on you. You two are quite the pair.”

  “That’s not fair,” Cara says.

  “You could have Googled me,” Joe says.

  “What would we have found?” Cara asks.

  “Wouldn’t want to spoil the discovery or lose my sense of mystery...”

  “So what exactly are we doing?” Shannon asks.

  “Some amateur archeology,” Joe says.

  “You’re joking,” Cara says.

  “Not really. But yeah kinda sorta. This morning we are going to pick up trash,” Joe says.

  “Really?”

  “Really. Everyone out there owns one of these little businesses along here so we adopted this mile of highway and we pick up the trash every Friday. We go down to the little cemetery on one side and then we turn around and come back. The guy who runs the bait shop has a prosthetic leg so he drives my truck behind us with the four way flashers on. We can put bags in the back as they fill up.”

  “Is there a reeee-son why the business owners chose Friday?” Cara asks.

  “Good question. Very insightful Dr. Patrick. I can see that probing scientist mind of yours in action, always looking for a reason. So yes there is a particular reason. The incoming renters arrive on Saturday and Sunday, and we like to have the last mile before the bridge looking pristine. And, the outgoing renters leave on Saturday and Sunday so we also like them to see how clean things are here. We like making a good first and last impression.”

  “And being out there on Saturday morning wouldn’t work because there would be too much traffic and people would see the trash actually being picked, right?” Cara asks.

  “Insightful again. Yes. So I see that I’m not going to be able to get anything past either Shannon or her sister Cara,” Joe says.

  “Were you planning on trying to get something past us?” Cara asks.

  “Cara!” Shannon says. “That’s enough you two. Please take your coffees and head to your respective corners...”

  “Thanks for the coffee. It really is quite good,” Cara says.

  “You are welcome. And now, without further ado, it is time to go pick some trash. I have trash bags and gloves and pickers in my truck, unless you brought your own.”

  “There’s more trash than I thought there would be,” Shannon says to Joe. “Are the renters really this careless or thoughtless?”

  “Sadly, I think most of this trash is from locals. The renters go onto the island and stay there for the week, maybe go down to Wilmington for something, or come in once or twice to buy souvenirs. And most of the renters are fairly well off and seem to have good manners. So, very sadly, most of this trash is from locals. They dump it and think they can get away with it by blaming it on the renters.”

  “So I guess you are a little bit of a local cultural anthropologist then?” Shannon asks.

  “I wonder how many third dates have included commentary on being a ‘local cultural anthropologist’ while picking trash?” Joe asks.

  Joe and Shannon share a laugh.

  “Joe tells me you’re a doctor?” Joe’s sister says.

  “Yes. I do cancer research in Cleveland.”

  “That must be difficult, to watch people die like that,” Joe’s sister says.

  “Yes it is. But we do manage to save some.”

  “My niece died of cancer,” Karen says abruptly.

  “I’m sorry,” Cara says. “Your niece?”

  “Joe’s daughter. She’s buried up at the little cemetery where we turn around at the end of our mile.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “It was hard on all of us. On his wife too.”

  “His wife?”

  “Colleen was her name. She took it extremely hard. A lot of people blamed her, because she wouldn’t let her daughter get the latest treatment. She was a very fundamental Christian.”

  “Does Christianity include denying medicine to a sick child?” Cara asks.

  “Not my kind of Christianity,” Joe’s sister says.

  “Nor mine,” Cara answers.

  “She ended up killing herself. His wife. A year to the day after their daughter died. She’s buried in that little cemetery too. Her church wouldn’t bury her in their churchyard. Said suicide was a sin.”

  “When did all this happen?” Cara asks.

  “Twenty years ago. By the way, my name is Karen,” Joe’s sister says. “If I’m going to be filling you in on Joe’s back story, perhaps we ought to call each other by our first names.”

  “Cara, nice to meet you. That is by far the most information I’ve ever received from someone whose name I did not know.”

  “I thought you needed to know, and I think Shannon needs to know.”

  “Is that really up to us?” Cara asks.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re upset that I told you.”

  “I’m not. While in some circles that kind of data dump might be deemed inappropriate, in this compressed world of weekly rentals or monthly visits, I suppose there are different rules.”

  “Yes there are,” Karen says.

  Karen nods at Shannon and Joe walking a dozen yards ahead.

  “So what do you think of this? Is it going to be a problem?” Karen asks.

  “I don’t think so. She’s going back to Ohio in a few days. They’re both adults. But it is interesting to see her finally talking to someone again.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Since you’ve been so forthcoming, I suppose I can reciprocate, make this easy for you. This is the first time for her since her divorce. She’s gone on a few dates with people she met on eHarmony or match.com, but just lunch dates, or jogging dates. Nothing serious, no second dates, and certainly no third dates.”

  “Joe either.”

  “In twenty years? I imagine he’s had a few dates in that time. He is an attractive single man in a target rich environment.”

  “Yes, a few, but like you just described, no third dates. He runs, runs his coffee business, picks up trash, does some volunteer work, and that’s about it. Not a lot of dates.”

  “He is attractive,” Cara says.

  “Yes. And Shannon is lovely. So lovely that a man was in the coffee shop asking about her the other day,” Joe’s sister says.

  “A man?”

  “Yes. From Ohio like you. He didn’t offer that up but I saw his license plates when he went out to the parking lot.”

  “What did he want to know about my sister? Cara asks.

  “Just whether I knew the beautiful woman who walked on the beach near the One Tree Hill house. Said he’d seen her there while he was walking up to the pier from his rental.”

  “And did you know at that point?” Cara asks.

  “Actually I did know. But something about him wasn’t right so I told him I didn’t know who he meant.”

  “You did the right thing,” Cara says.

  “Oh?” Joe’s sister asks.

  “Yes. Her ex. He has peaks and valleys. And in the valleys he obsesses about her.”

  “Does she know?”

  “Not as much as I know,” Cara says.

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I just think he’s lonely.”

  “He didn’t remarry?”

  “Twice already, and twice divorced. He got the kids he wanted but I don’t think he got the life he wanted.”

  “They never do, do they?”

  “Mine’s full, I’m going to get a replacement,” Shannon says.

  “K. That’ll give me a chance to talk to Mike. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Mike. Gotcha,” she says. She walks, stops, let Karen and Cara pass her, and waits for the support truck.

  “Full already?” the driver asks.

  “Yes. There’s a lot of trash.”

  “If you step on the beer cans first to crush ‘em you can get more in the bag,” the driver says.

  “But I might not be able to carry much more than this,” she says. “It’s heavy!”
/>   “Yeah you are kinda little,” he says.

  Shannon vows to crush a few more cans in her next bag.

  Shannon catches up to Cara and Karen.

  “So what are you two talking about?” Shannon asks.

  “The weather, the stock market, you know, regular Friday morning trash picking talk.”

  “Uh huh,” Shannon says.

  “What do you think we’re talking about?” Cara says.

  “You better not be talking about me and Joe,” she says.

  “What else would we be talking about?” Karen says.

  “Fine,” Shannon says. She speeds up and leaves them behind, working her way forward to catch back up with the other half of the topic of the conversation. As she approaches Joe she overhears Mike asking a question.

  “So what day of the week is she? She looks like a Friday to me.”

  Mike and Joe start to laugh.

  “A Friday?” she asks.

  Mike snaps his head around, and Joe’s laugh dies in his throat.

  “A Friday to Friday renter,” Mike says. “Which day of the week you arrive and depart.”

  Joe’s face turns from pink to light red to flaming red as she watches. It is not a pretty transformation.

  “Oh look! My bag’s full,” Mike says. He stops walking, steps a little further off the edge of the road, and makes a show of waiting for the support truck.

  “A Friday?” Shannon asks.

  “He’s a jerk,” Joe says.

  “But he’s your friend?”