Envious Moon(22)

“Then I’d be a customer.”

She didn’t respond to that. She pulled the cardboard top back on the pizza box. “Onions and mushrooms,” she said. “I was going to get pepperoni because that’s what guys seem to like but I don’t like it too much. Hope it’s okay.”

“It’s great,” I said.

We ate the pizza and it was another comfortable evening and the sunset spilled across the sky. I opened another bottle of wine from the basement and we shared it. I could do this every day, I told her. And I could have. Sit on the stone porch and watch the ocean and the day fade from the sky with a beautiful girl. At one point she moved into me and I put my arm around her. I said, “You’re not going to fall asleep on me this time?”

“Stay with me,” she said.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

We shared the high-canopied bed in the turreted room. The moonlight coming through the windows painted stripes on the wall. She changed in the darkened room, turning her back to me and slipping on that cotton nightgown. I watched her where she stood in the shadows, lifting the shirt over her head, her hair tumbling down around her bare neck. The whiteness of her naked back and the curve of her hip and then the gown covering all of it. When she turned back around she climbed into the bed, and said, “I won’t sleep with you.”

“Okay,” I said.

I wore only my shorts and she laid her head on my bare chest and in minutes she was snoring softly. I have never known anyone who slept so easily. I listened to the rise and fall of her breath. I held one hand against the small of her back. And when she rolled away from me, I let her go and the covers fell down and they only came to her waist. Lying on her side away from me, I could see now where her neck met her shoulder, where her shoulder curved toward her arms, where her torso curved slightly inward before coming back to meet her hip. I saw how she was made, in other words, how perfect she was. And with my eyes I traced the shape of her over and over.

Later, when I could not sleep, I rose and walked across the room to the turret window. I carefully lifted it open and it creaked a little as I did. I leaned my elbows on the sill, as she had done the other night. I looked across the yard. I looked over the cliffs and to the ocean. I stared down at the stand of pitch pines I had stood under to watch her. And when I did, I realized they were not as dark as I had thought. I could make out the individual trunks. They were surrounded by deep shadows, but I saw that if someone were standing out there now, I would see them plain as day. And the three nights I spent under those trees were no different than tonight. Same light, same moon, same shadows.

And I realized then that perhaps Hannah had seen me watching her. That perhaps she had wanted me to watch her.

I closed the window and turned back to the room. I climbed into the bed and slid my body as close to her as I dared. My knees behind her knees. She stirred slightly when I slung my arm around her. But soon her breathing became easy and regular. In this way sleep came for both of us.





We used to play this game. Where we’d press our faces together, as close as we could, my nose on her nose, my lips on her lips, my eyes in front of her eyes. We were so close we couldn’t see anything. The winner was whoever could go the longest without pulling away. It was disorienting. Still, it drove Hannah crazy that I always won.

She’d say, “Next time I’ll get you.”

But she never did. I think maybe it’s because she kept her eyes closed. It can be weird and blurry seeing someone else from that distance. But if you keep your eyes open, you get used to it after a while, and your breath slows, and then you begin to breathe like the one across from you. You forget that you’re a separate person somehow. And when you forget this, there is no need to pull away. You’re right where you belong.





She grew like a tree. As a little girl her hair was more blond than red. It was curly, too, and she was the cutest thing. She looked like Shirley Temple, not that you know who that is. She could have done commercials, she was that pretty. Those big green eyes. On the island she liked to make sand castles. There is a great picture of her standing at the edge of the water, a toy shovel in one hand, a toy bucket in the other. The surf is around her ankles. She has on this little bathing suit, the kind that has a skirt attached. Her legs are baby pudgy. And she’s looking over her shoulder back at the camera. A streak of wet sand is on one cheek. She’s smiling. The biggest smile you’ve ever seen. Even then she lit up everything around her.

Jacob taught her to ride a bike. I was so afraid of her falling. She seemed so small and fragile to me. Jacob said, she’s a little girl, Irene, little girls are tough. I watched from the window as he supported her up and down the driveway. She was fearless and wanted to go on her own. I could barely watch. The look on her face was so serious, so determined. Jacob supported her and they picked up speed and then he let go. I could have killed him. But then she was moving fast, her little legs pedaling furiously. She went a good thirty yards before she fell. The bike tumbled and fell onto her. I raced out of the house and even beat Jacob to her. She was crying like mad and her leg was all scraped up. It’s okay, baby, I told her. And Jacob said, Irene, she’s fine. And she was. She was fine. Little girls get hurt but they don’t break.





Hannah and I quickly fell into a routine. She worked during the days and I kicked around the beach. We met back at the house for dinner and wine. The weather seemed to mirror my mood, and we were blessed with a run of bright sun and warm nights. After we ate we sat outside and later we lay together in her large bed. We would kiss and then we’d hold each other and we never did more than that. We’d stay up talking until she fell asleep. And then I’d watch her until I grew tired.