Lucy by the Sea (44)

vii

William took another trip to Sturbridge to see Bridget and Estelle. When he returned this time, he did not weep. He said that Bridget had made two friends in Larchmont—one a girl next door, and also that girl’s friend, and Bridget seemed much happier. “Of course, she’s such a great kid,” he said. But! Estelle’s boyfriend had dumped her. Or Estelle had dumped him. “Are you ready for this?” He looked at me ruefully. “The guy was gay.”

“He was gay?” I said. “And she didn’t know that?”

“Guess not.” William sat on the couch with his arms spread out across the top of it. “He was older, I didn’t know that part. And I guess he was of the generation where some men didn’t want to be gay.”

“Oh William, that’s so sad,” I said. I added, “For all of them.”

“Not sad for Bridget.”

“But does Estelle seem okay?”

“Seems to be. She was cheerful as she told me this. Who knows? She’s Estelle. She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, still—” I said.

“Oh, I know, I know.” But he began to whistle, which I had not heard him do in years.





“Hey, Lucy, do you want to buy this place?” William asked me this the next morning. We still had the screens on the big porch and we ate our breakfast out there, though it was chilly. I had wanted to put the plexiglass back up, but every time I mentioned it William said, “Not yet, Lucy.”

“Buy this place? You’re kidding.” I was almost standing up, but I sat down again; we had just finished breakfast. There was a steady rain falling outside and the water was swirling like mad.

“Not really. Bob just offered me a very good price on it.”

So I sat and looked at this man I had been married to, with whom I had two daughters, and with whom I was, so many years later, now sharing a bed again. Finally I said, “Is it already predetermined?”

And he laughed in a way and took my hand and said, “No, Lucy.” Then he looked at me and said, “Probably.” He shrugged. “Whatever.”

I said, “We’ll die in this house if we buy it.”

And William said, “Well, we have to die someplace.” And I said, “That’s true.”

He got up and went inside and I followed him. He walked slightly stooped; he was no longer a young man; he was no longer even a middle-aged man. Sitting down on the couch he said, patting his thigh, “Come here, Lucy. Sit on my lap. I love it when you sit on my lap.”

I sat on his lap and he said, “Now listen. We need to become residents of Maine. There’s going to be a vaccine, maybe even by the end of the year, and we’re sure not going back to New York to get it. We’ll have to get it here.”

I pulled back to look at him. “Seriously?” I said.

“Seriously.”

We sat quietly for many moments, and then I said, “Let’s buy the house.”

William said, “I already did.”





So we became residents of Maine. I could not believe it, but we did. William had no trouble with this, his sister lived here, his nephews and nieces, and he had his whole new career. But I called my accountant, my dear accountant—he had left the city, given up his office, and moved upstate—and he said, Yes, he could still do my taxes, but he said, “Lucy, if you do this, you have to mean it. You can’t move back to New York next year. You have to spend more than half the year in Maine,” and I said: Okay. There was a sense of unreality to it for me.



—

We went and got Maine driver’s licenses, and I worried that when the man who sat behind the counter saw that I was from New York he might say something. But he said nothing, and took two pictures of me, because he thought the first one was not good.





I called Estelle one day not long after that. “Oh Lucy!” she said. “How nice to hear your voice!” I told her we had become residents of Maine, and she said she thought that was probably the best thing to do. “But it’s strange,” I said to her, and she said, “Oh, it must be!” Then she said how it hadn’t worked out with her partner—this is what she called him—and I said I was sorry about that, and she said, “Well, I knew he was bisexual, I just didn’t know that he wouldn’t want to give up men once he was with me.” I did not quite know what to say to that, and Estelle said, “But it’s okay.” She laughed her burbling laughter and she said, “Oh Lucy, don’t you sometimes just feel sorry for everyone in this whole wide world?” And I understood then why William had fallen in love with her. “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. We talked more, and she was very cheerful. “Bye-bye!” she said, right before we hung up.





I still felt that my mind was odd. I still would not remember what it was that I had been about to say. I still walked into a room and wondered why I had come into the room. It worried me, though Bob kept telling me he was the same way.



—

And Charlene Bibber said she kept feeling the same way. We still walked together—or mostly sat on the granite slab—every other week, and one time she said to me, “I’m glad we don’t talk politics.” I turned to look at her. “We never have to talk politics,” I said, and she said she knew that. “I just appreciate it,” she said. And I said, “Of course.”