We Are the Light(5)

Jill booked us two rooms in a seaside hotel in coastal Maryland. We drove to the little island and I could see a small, squat, trapezoid-shaped lighthouse from my bedroom window, which I thought Darce would like when she arrived later that night, as she loved lighthouses.

Jill and I hopped on rented bikes and rode around with helmets on, sipping water out of the hydration pouches we wore on our backs. Then we lay on the beach and went swimming in the cold ocean whenever we got too hot. When the sun set, we showered up and had a seafood dinner at the hotel restaurant.

As we leisurely made our way through three bottles of wine, Jill talked nonstop about Darcy, telling stories I had heard a million times before. Like the one about how they used to sneak out of their bedroom windows in the middle of the night when they were kids and then meet in this field where the Walgreens now is. And they would bathe naked in the ghostly moonlight. And listen to crickets. And sweat in the summer heat. She told me about how Darcy and her ditched their senior prom dates for two other guys they met on the Wildwood boardwalk during prom weekend. They ended up driving to New York City with these guys, who turned out to be junior Wall Street traders fresh out of college. The four of them ate a picnic breakfast in Central Park.

Darce and I were only friends in high school. I didn’t even go to our prom. She and I didn’t fall in love until I started writing her letters when we were both away from Majestic for the first time. Darce and Jill were an odd couple—especially when we all were kids. Darcy was short and small with chin-length black hair. My wife was always cute and approachable. Jill was as tall as most boys. Her straight blond hair cascaded down to her butt. She floated through the high school hallways like a goddess. I would have never dreamed of speaking to her back then. As adults, Jill was the one who was always nervously telling jokes and Darcy was the one who was always quick to laugh, throwing her head back and roaring with her mouth wide open. My wife was easy to please and Jill was a pleaser. Jill’s looks often made other girls self-conscious but my wife was always very comfortable in her own skin. Jill was impulsive. Darcy was thoughtful. All of the Jill and Darcy puzzle pieces just naturally snapped together. For every tab, knob, and loop one had, the other had a corresponding blank, hole, or socket. They were a perfect fit.

But—back in the Maryland seafood restaurant—Jill was talking about how Darcy was there for her when Jill divorced Derek, who used to hit Jill hard enough to leave bruises in places that were easily covered by clothing. Derek, who I never liked, was able to avoid legal trouble because his brother was a high-powered lawyer and Jill only started talking about the abuse after all the bruises had healed, so there was no documentation. Instead of cracking open the crabs in front of her and enjoying her meal, Jill went on and on about how she might have killed herself if it hadn’t been for Darcy’s help, and then she started really slurring words, which was when I realized she had drunk almost all of the wine by herself. So I helped her get into her bed upstairs, put some bottles of water on her bedside table, and then slipped away to wait for Darcy in my own room.

The lighthouse was spinning its great beam of light around and every so many seconds my window became illuminated. There were light-blocking shades, but I didn’t want to keep the beam out. I pictured Darcy using it to find me. I also pictured the gigantic smile on her face when she saw we were staying near a real working lighthouse, the rhythm of which she could appreciate all night long. There were mosquitoes and biting flies, but I opened the screen anyway and waited for Darcy.

I must have fallen asleep because a knock at the door woke me up. I was still half dreaming when I made my way over to see who was there. I figured they had the wrong room, because Jill was passed out and Darcy would surely use the window. But when I opened the door, I was overtaken by a rush of passion, which could only have come from a loving wife on a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Hands groped my back as a mouth greedily sucked my own. It felt like she was trying to extract my soul. Before I knew it, I was on my back. And aroused. And then I was inside her. And her hair was brushing against my cheeks. When I began smelling honeysuckle, I started screaming, “Get off me! Get off me! Please! Stop!”

And then Jill had my face in her hands and she was whispering, saying everything was okay and that she was sorry and that we were just drunk and that it didn’t mean anything, but I couldn’t stop shaking. It felt like I was about to have a seizure. And then it felt like there was someone inside me trying to carve his way out with knives that were too blunt to cut so they just scraped and scraped but never broke through to the exterior of me. And so I lay on my back, moaning, which upset Jill, I know, because she started crying. Then she said—over and over, almost chanting—that she was a horrible person who didn’t deserve love, which immediately shifted something deep inside me. Without thinking, I grabbed Jill and held her. I told her that the best part of my soul loved the best part of her soul. And even though she didn’t respond, I kept telling her the best part of my soul loved the best part of her soul until she fell asleep in my bed.

Then I watched the great lighthouse beam go round and round until the sun came up. Darce never arrived, of course, because she didn’t want Jill to see her wings. The shock of seeing her best friend as an angel might have killed Jill dead. A small part of me resented Jill for keeping Darcy away on our anniversary, but the resentful part of me vanished by morning, at which point we ate our continental breakfast in the hotel lobby before deciding to leave a day early and making the long, mostly silent drive home.