What's Not True

by Valerie Taylor

  “You put the tickets under the mat?” he mumbled just above a whisper.

  “All taken care of.”

  10

  Putting Off the Put-Off

  Mike stepped out of the shower, stretched to the ceiling, and wrapped the jumbo towel around his middle. He felt as bright as the first light streaming through the sheer curtains in the dressing room.

  “Rise and shine, honey child. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning.” Mike stood in the bedroom doorway, hands on his hips.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Karen pulled Mike’s pillow over her face and rolled away.

  “Nope. We’ve got miles to go before we sleep. Told you we’d be up at the crack of dawn if we want to beat the traffic to Provincetown. Route 6 can be a parking lot.”

  “It’s just across the ocean, isn’t it? How many miles could it possibly be?”

  “It’s Cape Cod Bay, not the Atlantic. It’s about one hundred and fifty miles, give or take. You can nap in the car if you want, but I rather you didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Driving to P-town is an experience you should have at least once.”

  “You make it sound as if it’ll be my one and only.”

  “You never know. If you don’t take in the whole thing, you might not want to do it again. After a year, it’s time you spread your wings beyond Boston and Cambridge. Anyway, with your red hair, you’ll fit right in out there.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mike packed a couple of tote bags with a change of clothes, water, bug spray, and his trail runner shoes to switch into when they got to the dunes. For the ride out there, he preferred his dark brown leather slip-on driving shoes that looked more like comfy moccasins, but they were too precious to get filled up with sand and dysfunctional for hiking to boot.

  “You’ll need two pairs of shoes. One for the car, one for the dunes.”

  “Really, Mike? You know I don’t have all my things here yet. Not sure I have anything that’d work for the dunes. How about flip-flops?”

  “No can do. Check the tall gray cabinet in the garage. Kassie probably hasn’t thought to empty that yet. I bet you’ll find something in there that would work. You’re both the same size, I’d guess.” He chuckled to himself at the thought of how similar the two women in his life really were, except of course now one of them had red hair. Would Kassie go red once she saw Karen? Probably not. Kassie wasn’t a fan of change, and she’d already had plenty of that to deal with over the last year.

  Leaving Karen to get ready on her own, Mike fired up the Keurig and made them each a tumbler of coffee for the road. The door to the garage rattled, confirming Karen had taken his advice. He gave her a few minutes to explore Kassie’s shoe selection without any interference from him.

  “How’s it going?” Mike opened the back of the SUV.

  “I think I found something that’ll work.” Karen lifted a pair of blue, green, and taupe Nikes out of a box and waved them above her head.

  “Are they new?”

  “Look to be.”

  “You can’t take those. They probably cost a hundred fifty bucks.”

  “Why not? If the shoe fits. I’ll consider it a wedding gift. She obviously doesn’t miss them. She can well afford a new pair.”

  “What’s in the bag?” A large black plastic trash bag sat open on the floor next to Karen.

  “Oh, this?” Karen laced the orange ties, tried to kick it, and grunted as she shoved it in the corner next to the cabinet. “Did her a favor and packed up her boots and things. I’ll let her know they’re here. She can pick them up when she gets her office stuff.”

  “Whatever. You ready?”

  “I need to pee first,” Karen said.

  “Make it fast. Time’s a wasting. Grab my phone while you’re in there. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

  Sitting in the car waiting for Karen, Mike stared at the cabinet and the black trash bag. Is this what his marriage to Kassie amounted to? He stepped out of the car and opened the cabinet. She emptied the whole fucking thing.

  He turned as the clunk-clunk of Karen’s black roller bag announced her arrival in the garage. Along with the designer purse she’d slung across her body, the glittery, strappy sandals that showed off her French pedicure from Friday, and her sunglasses propped on her head, Karen looked more as if she was heading for a stroll down Rodeo Drive than a hike in the sand.

  “I’m gonna make us coffee.” She turned on her heel, heading back once again for the house.

  “Coffee’s in the car. Already got it.” Mike tapped the hood of the car.

  “Of course you do.” Karen patted his chest as he held the car door for her.

  Karen tilted her head against the window, closed her eyes, and drifted off to la-la land before they reached the highway. So much for her taking in the sights of the Cape. With her hair and dark sunglasses, she reminded Mike of a movie star. Maybe Jane Fonda. Or maybe he was beginning to like her new look, or just getting used to it the same way he was growing accustomed to having her next to him in the passenger’s seat.

  Mike’s eyes wandered away from the road, looking around the front for his iPhone. He figured he could take advantage of the quiet time to listen to a jazz appreciation course he’d downloaded. Aw, shit. It must be in her bag. Conceding his planning skills weren’t as honed as Kassie’s, he turned on his favorite jazz station, keeping the volume low. It was the least he could do. If Karen could sleep on this stunning day, she must need it.

  Traffic getting onto Route 6 wasn’t as heavy as Mike predicted. Of course. Saturday was more the changeover day when weekly renters arrived and departed. The madness would occur later that day when weekenders extended their mini-vacations as long as humanly possible and then flooded the roads in a dash to get home for work on Monday. Why hadn’t he thought of that before he suggested this adventure? Kassie would’ve known better. He could’ve avoided the hassle altogether had they gone to the ballgame. Too late. The tickets would be in Bill’s hands by now.

  About two-thirds of the way to Provincetown, Karen shifted enough in her seat for Mike to tap her arm and ask if she was hungry.

  “Starved. Are we there yet?”

  Mike laughed. “You sound like a kid.”

  “That may be. If you don’t get me some food quick, I may get carsick. Damn it. This coffee’s cold.”

  He pulled off the highway in Dennis, not needing any further motivation. The last time he thought about possibly puking in a car was the Good Friday Kassie had rushed him to Boston Clinic and his life turned upside down.

  The line at the diner was out the door and wound around the side of the red building with white shutters. Full breakfast on Sunday mornings on the Cape was almost as popular as three-scoop ice cream cones in the evenings. The best thing, though, was Mike had been there before.

  “The line moves fast. You’ll see.”

  “Really? Wait here,” Karen said. She brushed ahead of families of men, women, children, babies, and elderly with their walkers and pushed her way into the restaurant.

  Oh, no. What’s she up to now?

  The people in front of him turned and glared. He lifted his shoulders and raised his eyes to the cloudless blue sky, except no one could see his embarrassment behind his sunglasses. Glares continued, accompanied by murmurs: “Who does she think she is?” and “Maybe she’s a movie star. Did you get a close look?”

  “There you are.”

  Karen grabbed Mike’s hand and dragged him to the front door.

  “What the hell?”

  “Just shut up and come with me.”

  Once inside, Mike and Karen were hustled to a table for two in what appeared to be a private room near the kitchen in the rear of the building. Probably belonged to the owners or a staff break room. As soon as Karen ordered two No. 2 Specials and hot coffee from a waiter who was not more than sixteen years old, she left Mike at the table, scratching his head.

  Karen returned as their
meal arrived.

  “Okay, Einstein, spill it. How’d you manage this?” Mike said.

  “It’s the hair, big guy.” She tossed it. “I told the gal taking names I landed late from LA and had to get to Provincetown by ten for a film I was shooting. If I didn’t eat soon, I’d faint, and then what would Martin Scorsese do?”

  “She bought that crap?”

  “Yup. So keep your mouth shut except to chew.”

  Mike stared at his eggs and poked at the bacon, his appetite nowhere to be found.

  “Oh, and I gave the first two families in line twenty dollars each. Good idea, eh?”

  “You didn’t.” Mike lowered his coffee cup.

  “Sure. I made their day. They’ll have a story to tell. They’ll rack their brains all day trying to figure out who the pushy, yet sexy, redhead was.”

  Karen was right when she said she was starved. She finished her meal; stole his bacon, though he didn’t plan on eating it; and helped herself to his whole grain toast. Mike suffered in silence through his eggs and cantaloupe, knowing it could be five hours until his next meal.

  Though her fraud may have made the day exciting for some of the restaurant’s patrons, she was wrong about one thing. She hadn’t made his day. Perhaps he could give her some slack about filling the trash bag with Kassie’s shoes since they’d had that conversation about clearing out Kassie’s office. But her public display of entitlement was a side of her he hadn’t seen, or noticed, before. He’d have to talk with her about it, but the diner was neither the place nor time to cause a scene. He couldn’t risk the sprawling headline he imagined across the front page of the Mid-Cape Herald: “Man Dresses Down Actress, Wears Egg on Face.” He had Ricci and Son to protect.

  There would be the dunes.

  11

  Climb Every Mountain

  Karen couldn’t pinpoint her newfound energy. Was it the protein breakfast, the way she made her way to the front of the line at the diner, or the chummy text from Charlie she’d seen when she slipped off to the bathroom at the restaurant? Probably all of the above, except Charlie’s text was the cherry on top.

  Whatever the reason, Karen’s eyes were wide open during the remaining forty-mile drive to Provincetown. Yet for the life of her, she didn’t know why Mike characterized it as a not-to-be-missed experience. Looks like the usual tourist trap to me.

  “Was it always like this?” Karen turned her attention to Mike.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mini-golf. Ice cream. Junky craft stores. Lobster shacks. Bumper-to-bumper traffic?”

  “Always?”

  “Yeah, like forever, since you began coming here?” Karen deliberately excluded Kassie in her question, as in “since you and Kassie began coming here.” It was bad enough she’d be walking in her shoes most of the rest of the day.

  “Seems like more traffic now. But it could be an illusion. The roads are filled with SUVs and vans, all jockeying for space once taken up by sedans and station wagons. So it’s hard to tell.”

  “Then why . . .”

  “You’ll see.”

  And that was the extent of Karen and Mike’s conversation for the rest of the trip. Oh, she tried to keep the chitchat flowing, but all she got back in return was either a nod, a grunt, or a “You’ll see.”

  After ten miles of his apparent disinterest in her or in what she was saying, she gave up and simply stared out the window, wondering what she was doing there in the first place when they were supposed to be spending the day with Sarah . . . and Charlie. If only Sarah was still the kind sorority sister who’d come to Karen’s rescue when she’d gotten pregnant in college, rather than the rich bitch she’d morphed into, she’d be rubbing knees with Charlie at Fenway instead of riding shotgun next to Mike, going who knows where.

  “Here we are.”

  “Where? Where’s the parking lot?”

  “There isn’t any. Lucky we’re here early enough to get a space along the road.”

  Unlike Mike, who seemed to jump with glee getting out of the car, as if he were seven years old again, Karen took her time, in no rush to explore the unknown.

  By the time she joined him on the side of the car away from the road, he’d slipped off his khakis and slipped on a pair of asphalt-gray cargo shorts that were frayed along the pockets.

  “Nice knees.” She patted his backside.

  “Let’s get going. Don’t be a slowpoke. Change your shoes.” He already had his sneakers on, bending down to lace them up. She offered her hand to help him stand.

  She unzipped her roller bag, retrieving her—or rather Kassie’s—shoes. A thought whipped through her mind. What if she’d accidentally left them behind? Would Mike have called off this wild adventure? Too late now to test that theory.

  “Come on, before it gets too hot.” Mike slapped on a blue Red Sox hat, handing a white one to her. “You’ll need this. And put this on.” He flipped a tube of sunscreen at her. It burped when she tried to squeeze some on her arms.

  “Great. It’s empty.” Karen threw it back at him.

  Of course, he’d come prepared. Rifling through the totes he’d packed, he put a new tube on the hood of the car and proceeded to load two black day bags with the water bottles, bug spray, and paper towels.

  “My phone. Grab my phone, Karen, so we can take pictures.”

  Karen claimed one of the day bags and tossed her phone into it. “Can we lock my purse in the back?”

  She didn’t notice him mouth the words, “Anything else, my lady?” as he locked her purse in the secret compartment in the rear of the car.

  “Welcome to Cape Cod National Seashore,” Mike read the sign aloud, as if Karen couldn’t read.

  “Out here, sweets, the area’s also known as the Province Lands.” He was suddenly in a babbling mood. That is until they reached the first sand hill. He stood with his hands on his hips, reminding her of a Jack Nicholson movie where he was told he couldn’t have sex until he climbed a flight of stairs. Eventually, Jack conquered the challenge. She assumed Mike would as well.

  He warned her the trek up the hill was a doozy, but she thought he was just pulling her leg.

  She was wrong. Though her calves screamed, “You’ve got to be frigging kidding me,” Karen led the way up the giant incline, dragging Mike behind her. At the crest of the hill, they stood bent over, arms linked, breathing heavier than they ever did after sex. But, to be honest, a roll in the hay was the last thing on Karen’s mind.

  “Is this what it’s like the rest of the way? ’Cause if it is, maybe we should turn around now.”

  “Don’t give up, Karen. This was the worst. Can’t say it’s all downhill from here, but no pain, no gain.”

  “Glad to hear it. I think.”

  Karen retrieved her water bottle and took a swig.

  “Pace yourself.”

  Indeed, the pacing began. As Mike took the lead along unmarked trails and the hollows of the dunes, Karen followed in his footsteps and those of previous hikers who were most definitely more experienced than she. The sandy grit seeping into her shoes reminded her she’d need a pedicure even though she’d gotten one just two days before.

  Every few minutes, they’d stop, allowing Mike to tutor her on the flora and fauna of the dunes, as well as its history. She welcomed each break and, to her surprise, grew to enjoy the time in the sun and with Mike.

  “I’m not in Elephant Butte anymore.” Karen waved her arm across the breathtaking vista.

  “No, you’re not. Would you like to stay here tonight?” Mike pointed to one of the weathered shacks they were nearing.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I am. But writers and artists do live here between April and November. There’s about twenty dune shacks with no electricity, running water, or toilets.”

  “Better them than me.”

  Mike continued, “Imagine living here a century ago. You could’ve helped mariners navigate their ships through the Cape’s shifting sands.”

 
“Really? That long ago?”

  “Yup. There were a lot of shipwrecks.”

  “Did they find them all?”

  “Probably not. Did you know the Mayflower . . . you are familiar with the Mayflower, aren’t you?”

  She gave him a don’t-be-an-asshole punch in the shoulder. “What about it?”

  “Provincetown Harbor, which was called Cape Cod Harbor back then, was their first stop in November 1620.”

  “I thought they settled in Plymouth.”

  “Eventually. Their original destination was the mouth of the Hudson River, but storms and tides blew them off course. If you’re interested in the story, there’s a fabulous book by Nathaniel Philbrick aptly named Mayflower.”

  “Maybe I’ll read it sometime.”

  “Check out the bookshelves in Kassie’s office. It’s probably there. You took her shoes. She probably wouldn’t mind if you borrow a book.”

  Karen turned her attention to the sprawling beach they were approaching and smiled. I’ve got the men in her life too.

  Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths through her nose, pulling into her lungs a mix of salty sea air and sweet wildflowers. The late morning sun bore down on her SPF 30 skin. Trickles of sweat formed beneath her hat and streamed near the outer corner of her right eye.

  “What the hell?” She dropped to the sand.

  “What happened?” Mike turned and rushed to her.

  “My eye’s burning. I forgot I had sunscreen on my hand.”

  Mike knelt beside her, whipped out a paper towel, poured water on it, and dabbed around her eye.

  “Better, sparky?” He removed her hat, kissed her forehead, and lifted her chin to kiss her lips.

  “Um. While you’re down here, you know, you never officially asked me to marry you.”

  12

  Magic Moments

  Mike hoisted Karen to her feet, rubbed his chest, and led her down a sandy path to the uninhabited beach. “Did you see that? Look. I think I see some seals bouncing around out there. Let’s take some pictures.”