The High Season(107)

Ruthie felt the breath knocked out of her. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re afraid to make left turns, you know what? You only go around in a circle.”

“I make left turns! I got here, didn’t I!”

“It’s a metaphor, you idiot! And what’s all this bullshit about you can’t stay in Orient? Do you think you’ll crumble if you see Adeline and Mike? Do you think when you pass the Belfry you’ll burst into tears? Guess what? Sometimes you have it good for a while, and then it goes. Poof. It’s called life.”

    “I know that!”

“And what about Joe?” Penny waved her spatula at the window. “Look at that terrific man. He pines for you.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Because I have eyes. He came here to see you, and you ran away.”

“He’s here collecting signatures.”

“He already got our signatures, he’s been here stalling until you got here. Because all winter and spring the weight of him not asking about you was just as comical as him asking. Wake the fuck up, dude. It’s criminal watching you fuck up again.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Forgive yourself, for fuck’s sake!” Penny pointed the spatula at her. “Nothing’s going to crash down on your head, okay? Nobody is going to fly away. I mean, sure, those things could happen, but stop expecting them to. You have to abide, dude, and the fact that you don’t get that reference doesn’t make me love you any less. Now go out the door and be a person. Joe made that call to the Whitney, he talked you up, you might start by thanking him.”

“Joe got me the job?”

“No, asshole, you got yourself the job. He made a call. I would have done it if I could have, you needed help. Now take this and go outside, because that man is on one cheek right now. He’ll leave if you’re not nice to him.”

She shoved Ruthie out the door with a bowl of cherries in her hands. She stopped, her head whirling. She felt as if she’d just been diced into ribbons by a spatula.

“Sit,” Elena said.

Ruthie sat.

“Elena, I need your help!” Penny yodeled from the kitchen. “I can’t find the good napkins!”

“She’s a chef, and she acts like she’s never seen a kitchen,” Elena said, and went inside.

Silence. Then, “So,” Joe said.

    “Thank you for making the call to the Whitney, to whoever,” Ruthie said.

“It was an easy call.”

“Well, thank you. And thank you for…what you did. About the painting.”

“I did it for you.”

“For me?”

“I thought you knew. That day we stood outside the house. I told you that.”

“No, you didn’t. You said, sometimes the right thing happens.”

“I gave you a significant look.”

“That was significant?”

“I was trying to be cryptic!”

“You were trying to tell me not to talk about it. This way you had deniability.”

Joe let out an exasperated breath. “No, I was trying to protect you without your having to confess. I talked Adeline into taking the picture because it was the right thing to happen, the only thing that made sense for everybody. Whatever made you do it, it’s clear you regretted it before it went too far, so…”

“Did it make sense for everybody?”

“The painting was never bought, technically, so there’s no record of a payment. It’s been cataloged and sits in a rack. One more Peter Clay in the world, who cares. Lucas is out in LA, getting kicked off one reality show after another. Somebody torments him by posting his picture with the hashtag #chickenshit.”

Ruthie laughed. “Really?” Doe, she thought.

“One day the real money will come in and it will be enough to really get him in trouble. That’s his problem. Adeline is married to someone she considers the love of her life. And if you have a broken heart, I’m sorry. You…well, I don’t know how you are, because you never called, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” Ruthie said. Here she was. In a moment he would go. She read his reluctance and confusion. She knew him that well, because she no longer knew him as Joseph Bloom, who was too good for her, too old for her, too rich for her. He was Joe. She had known his whispers and his kiss. She had known his touch and his heart, and she had treated him badly. It was time to turn left and face him. Even though it would split open her heart.

    A helicopter buzzed overhead, heading out toward the point. Penny emerged from the house with a platter. She flapped a dish towel at the helicopter, as if it were a wasp. “Fuck you, fuckers!” she yelled at the sky.

“Daniel Mantis is putting a lot of influence behind the helipad,” Joe said. “Limited service, he’s saying. He’s gaining some support. After all, we’re fighting an antiquated train service and an expressway that’s a parking lot. There are a few big-money people who want it to happen. The village will stop it, though.”

“Yes, we’ll stop it,” Elena said, slicing into the frittata. “For now. Something else will come along. Everything passes, everything changes. Even Orient. The sea is going to get us one day. We’ll be an island. Maybe we’ll float away, all of us lesbians and lefties and arty folks. What can you do.”