An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach)

by Mariah Stewart

“What difference would it have made? We were going to walk out of the hospital and leave him behind, and that’s what we did.”

  “All this time, a part of me has hated you because I thought you were ignoring the fact he was born.”

  “How the hell could I have ignored he was born? He was mine as much as he was yours.” He took off his ball cap and ran a restless hand through his hair, his cowlick sticking up stubbornly before disappearing again under the cap. “He was ours, and we were giving him away. I hadn’t wanted to see him because I knew some other guy was going to walk out of there with my son. Only then it would be his son. I thought if I didn’t see him it wouldn’t have been as hard to leave him. But that day, I knew it was my only chance, probably forever. So I stopped at the nursery window. I watched the nurse wrap him in that blanket, and I knew they were getting him ready to go home. But not with us.”

  “All this time, I thought you didn’t care.”

  “Of course I cared. How could I have not cared?”

  “I wish you’d have communicated that a little better.”

  “Maggie, for a long time, neither of us could talk about it. Then when we did, all you did was cry. I knew giving him away had broken your heart, and I knew it was my fault. I talked you into doing something you didn’t want to do.” He looked at her across the space separating them. “And I couldn’t undo it. I could never make it up to you. When you left me in Seattle, I knew it was what I deserved. I hadn’t fought for you when you needed me to, and I can never make that right.”

  “It wasn’t just you. My parents . . . your father . . .”

  “It shouldn’t have mattered. I should have stood up to them. Should have backed you. I never would have lost you if I’d been less of a coward and more of the man you needed me to be. After you left me, I didn’t run after you and beg you to come back, because I knew I didn’t deserve you.”

  “Oh, Brett.”

  “When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you just wanted to put it all behind you. And I thought I should give you that much. But something inside me never stopped hoping you’d come back. When I heard you’d gotten married, I thought, Okay, she’s found someone else to love. She’s moved on. I should, too.” He tried to smile. “Took me a little longer, and I have to say, I wasn’t as good as you were about getting it right.”

  She raised her eyebrows, as if questioning him. Before she could respond, his phone rang. He took it from his belt, where it sat next to his holstered service pistol.

  “Crawford . . . what? Where? Okay, secure the scene and get the witnesses’ info. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  He turned to Maggie. “Hit-and-run over on Pratt Street. I need to go. But there’s something else I need to tell you. About me being married three times. Something else I deeply regret.” His expression was sober. “I married three very good women whose only failing was that they loved me. And I hurt them because I couldn’t love them the way they deserved to be loved.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Because the problem was, I wanted them to be you, and none of them were. It wasn’t their fault. It was unfair and stupid of me to have married a woman while wanting her to be someone else. They deserved to be loved for themselves, and I couldn’t do it, and I realize what an asshole I was. The truth is I never really loved anyone but you. I’m pretty sure I never will.”

  She wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t move. His words hung between them for what seemed like a lifetime. Then Brett stood and stepped down from the rock he’d been sitting on. “So that’s the story. Start to finish. We have a son together, and he wants to know us. He seems almost too good to be true. You’ll understand once you’ve met him. I’m glad he’s reached out to us. I’m glad you’re back. Where any of this will lead is anyone’s guess. But I’m keeping my options open.” He started to walk away, zigzagging slightly to avoid the wettest part of the sand.

  “Do you love your children?” Maggie called after him.

  He stopped and turned. “Of course I love them. What kind of question is that?”

  “You said you regretted having been married three times. Three marriages. One child from each wife, you said at the reunion.”

  “So?”

  “So if you hadn’t married each of those women, you wouldn’t have those children. If you changed the past, those kids you love wouldn’t exist.”

  Brett stared at her for a long time. “Huh.”

  His phone rang again, and he answered as he walked away, leaving Maggie with way too much to think about. Today, for the first time, he’d told her exactly how he’d felt forty years ago, and the confession had left her speechless. Forty years too late, she might have said, but then, as she’d pointed out, changing the past meant changing everything, and that she would not do.

  She walked back to the house, thinking maybe she, too, should keep her options open.

  On Thursday morning, Maggie stepped into the cavernous closet the prior owners had built. Even with every piece of clothing she owned housed there, she’d barely filled the space. She stared at her skirts on their hangers, her shirts, her jackets, blouses, and tops, trying to decide what to wear. Something plain but not dowdy. Casual but not too. The weather was projected into the low eighties, so something light. She decided on a navy pencil skirt and a white button-down long-sleeve shirt. She’d roll the sleeves up to her elbows and wear a necklace of glass beads Natalie had picked up for her on a trip to Italy. Nothing fussy, nothing she had to think about once she put it on. She wanted her focus to be on Joe, not herself.

  The drive took over an hour, but it was an easy one. She kept to local roads as much as she could, avoiding the busy highway. She needed a slow-and-easy ride to calm her nerves. What if he didn’t like her? What if he decided this meeting was a mistake and at the last minute decided not to come?

  She turned into the restaurant’s parking lot at 11:55 and parked in the first space she saw. Pulling down the visor, she checked her appearance in the mirror. No lipstick on her teeth. No mascara flaked on her cheeks. She fluffed her hair just a bit, took a deep breath, and got out of the car, the strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, her sunglasses covering her eyes. There were several others about to enter the restaurant when she arrived at the door, a party of five or six, and one young man who stood outside. They made eye contact briefly, and he smiled. She smiled back, a force of habit, and then he opened the door for her. Thanking him with another smile, she stepped inside, and he followed. She was taking off her sunglasses when she realized he was behind her. She turned and took a good look at him.

  “Hello, Maggie.” She’d dismissed him immediately because at first glance he hadn’t looked old enough to be her forty-year-old son.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked.

  He held out a hand to her, and she took it, barely noticing he hadn’t answered her question.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” To the hostess, he said, “Reservation for Miller.”

  “I have two for noon.” The pretty hostess smiled at him. “Would you prefer the dining room or the patio?”

  Joe turned to Maggie, who peered past him. The patio tables were almost empty, promising some privacy.

  “The patio looks lovely,” she said.

  The hostess led them to a table shaded by a fully leafed-out maple tree. Joe held Maggie’s chair for her, then sat across from her at the small table.

  “Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said as she handed them their menus.

  “Thank you for coming,” Joe said. “I was afraid you’d change your mind and decide not to come.”

  “After forty years?” She smiled. “Nothing could have kept me away.”

  He’s almost too beautiful, she thought after he’d taken off his dark glasses and hung them from the open neck of his shirt. He was wearing the male equivalent of her outfit: navy Dockers and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She could indeed see her eyes in his, just as Brett had said. And s
he could see Brett in him as well, in the dimple on the left side of his cheek, the shape of his face. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “You have a cowlick in the same place as Brett.”

  “That was the first thing I noticed when I met him, and believe me, I didn’t thank him for it. I’ve wrestled with that thing all my life. I never could tame it.” He self-consciously tried to force it down, but it didn’t stay, and when it popped back up, they both laughed. “Well, at least I know I came by it honestly.”

  The waitress came by for their drink orders and to explain the specials. They ordered ice teas, a burger for Joe, and a strawberry salad for Maggie, who had little appetite and who’d barely looked at the menu. She was mesmerized by the fact of where she was and who she was with. The miracle was not lost on her.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I’ll answer what I can, but could we first learn a little about each other before we talk about the past?”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  Everything.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and Maggie waited until she left before responding, “Where you grew up. Went to school. What you studied. What you do for a living. Are you married? Do you have children?” Maggie was suddenly overwhelmed by everything she didn’t know about this man, this newly found son. She sipped her tea to keep from asking more. There was so much to learn about him, about his life, but she had to slow down, take small bites instead of big gulps, lest he feel he was being interrogated.

  “I grew up in a small town in Maine. Cape Elizabeth, near Portland. Less than ten thousand people. My dad ran the local medical center. He’d gone through med school on an ROTC scholarship, so he owed the army a few years. But once his debt was paid, he went back to his hometown, opened a clinic, and met my mom there. She was an RN. So was my wife.” The index finger of his right hand began to tap slowly on the tabletop, measured beats against the white cloth. “We lost my parents and my wife during last year’s pandemic.”

  Joe’s eyes misted, and he cleared his throat.

  “Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.” Maggie reached across the table to take his hand.

  He nodded, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of her condolence, before continuing. “Thank God, my kids and I survived. I have a son—Jamey, he’s twelve—and a daughter, Louisa, seven. We call her Lulu.”

  Jamey and Lulu . . .

  He cleared his throat again. “Anyway. I grew up there, great town. Good schools. Went to Bowdoin, then U. Maine for grad school, studied engineering.”

  “You didn’t want to be a doctor, like your father?”

  “I liked to build things. Engineering seemed a better fit. My parents didn’t care. They just wanted me to find something that I liked doing.”

  “That was good of them,” she said, thinking of parents she’d known who’d pushed their children to be what they wanted them to be, or tried. Chris Dean came immediately to mind.

  “They were wonderful people, Maggie. Very fair, always, about everything. Try everything, but you get to decide what you like and what you don’t. I was their only child, and they gave me a great life.” His voice carried the weight of his emotions, his love for the parents who raised him, and his sadness at having lost them. “That’s what I told Brett, and what I want you to understand, too. My wanting to connect with you and with Brett is not a reflection on them. I couldn’t have had better parents. I’m not looking to replace them.” He paused and took a few seconds to compose himself, his emotions so close to the surface. “I just want you to understand that. I loved my parents. I still do. Always will.”

  “Of course you do—and you will. You should. I understand completely. I don’t have words to tell you how grateful I am to them.”

  “I was afraid you’d think I was searching for you because I was hoping to find something better because they weren’t good parents.”

  “I never thought that for a minute, Joe.”

  The waitress delivered their meals, apologized for the delay, then topped off their ice teas. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked, and they both declined.

  They made small talk while they ate, but when they finished, Joe took his phone from his pocket and scrolled across the screen, a smile on his face. “You asked how I knew you were you.” He passed the phone to her.

  The face of a little girl with curly blonde hair and huge eyes—blue like Brett’s, not green like hers—filled the screen. “Lulu looks like you.”

  “Oh, look at her.” Maggie zoomed in on the picture. “Actually, she looks so much like my daughter Grace at that age. She’s thirty-two now and dark haired, but she was blonde when she was a child.”

  “So you have two daughters? Natalie and Grace?”

  Maggie nodded as she returned the phone to Joe. He scrolled some more, then held the phone out to her again. “My son, Jamey. He definitely resembles his mother.”

  The boy had sandy blond hair and dark eyes. He stood in front of a lacrosse net, a stick in his hand, a broad grin on his face.

  “He’s very handsome, Joe.” Maggie gave him back his phone.

  Joe nodded. “Yeah. He’s a good kid. Smart and kind and good natured. Heck of an athlete, too.” He smiled. “Brett picked that up right away by the way he’s standing. He’d scored three goals in that game. His best day ever.”

  “He looks very proud of himself.” She picked at a lone strawberry she’d left on her plate, trying to decide how to ask her next question.

  “And you look like you have something to say. Go on. You can ask me anything,” Joe assured her.

  “I was just wondering why now. Why you waited all these years to look for us.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Maggie knew the answer. He’d lost everyone—his parents and his wife. He was looking for a connection to someone beyond himself and his children.

  “Like I said, I’m an only child. I always knew I’d been adopted—my parents never hid that from me. But once they were gone, and Josie, my wife, was gone, I felt the kids and I were adrift. My son, my daughter—they had no cousins, no aunts or uncles. No one they could look to for . . .” He held his hands palms up in front of him while he searched for the words he needed.

  “People who maybe looked a little like them? People with whom they shared a common background?” she offered.

  “All of that. It took me months to get up the nerve to have my DNA tested at that genealogy site. When the results came back, I hit pay dirt. I found you both.”

  Joe grinned, and in his smile she saw Brett. For a moment, it dazzled her.

  “Beginner’s luck,” he said. “You know how it went from there. Brett’s sister, Jayne, popped right up. I contacted her because I wasn’t sure how she fit into the story, since she was identified as an aunt. She got back to me pretty quickly. She said she knew who I was looking for, and if it was okay with me, she would have him contact me. And he did.” Joe was still smiling. “Then Natalie popped up as a sister, and I almost couldn’t believe it. The thought I had a sister . . . I can’t explain what that meant to me.” Joe paused. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “I had a sister. Sarah.” Maggie explained the circumstances of Sarah’s death.

  “My son has extreme sensitivity to insect stings, but I don’t know how serious he takes it. I should make sure he always has his EpiPen with him. His sensitivity doesn’t seem as serious as your sister’s, but still . . .”

  “Safe, not sorry,” Maggie said.

  “Yeah.”

  “So now you know you have sisters. And I know I have a grandson and another granddaughter. How amazing.”

  “I hope you want to meet them someday.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Maggie laughed. “Natalie has Daisy—she’s three. Grace is divorced and has no children. Do I want to meet your kids? Oh yeah.”

  “I’ll need to explain to them who you are, who Brett is. He’s
said he’d like to meet them, too.” He finished the tea in his glass and shook his head to decline a refill when the waitress appeared at the table with a full pitcher. “I want to know more about you.”

  Maggie told him about growing up in Wyndham Beach, how she’d gone through school there.

  “So you and Brett went to school together,” he deduced.

  “Yes. We started dating when we were fifteen. Right after he and his family moved to Wyndham Beach.” She hesitated, not sure how many blanks she wanted to fill in right then.

  “I’m not going to ask you anything personal,” he assured her. “You’re afraid I’m going to ask you things you might not be ready to talk about right now. I won’t.”

  “I appreciate that. There will be a time for those questions.” Maggie talked about her time at the University of Pittsburgh, how she’d gotten a degree in early childhood education, then moved to Seattle after graduation. She could tell Joe had questions, like why after she’d moved to the opposite side of the country she and Brett hadn’t married, but he didn’t ask. “Then I moved to Philadelphia. Taught kindergarten. Met my late husband. Got married. Had two kids. Raised them. My husband passed away two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Art was a great guy. A good husband and a wonderful father.”

  “And then I took a DNA test, and here we are.”

  “And here we are,” she repeated, and reached for his hand.

  “Do you think we could meet up again?”

  “Of course. I didn’t consider this a one and done. This has been one of the best days of my life, Joe. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for meeting me. For not resenting me or hating me. Or thinking I didn’t want you, I didn’t love you.” Without warning, tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Damn. She’d promised herself she would not cry.

  “Please.” Joe moved to the seat between them. “I don’t feel any such thing. I’ve wondered about you for most of my life, but never with resentment or judgment. I’ve wondered what brought you to that place where you made that decision, but that’s something you may someday want to talk about. Or not. Either way, it’s all right. I am grateful to you for giving me life, and I’m grateful to you for giving me a chance to know you.”