Fools Rush in(103)
“He’s kissing her hand. Now she’s really crying. He’s going around to her side of the table, got his arm around her. Oh. Oh.” Curtis drew a sharp breath. “He kissed her, Millie.”
“I think that’s enough,” I whispered.
“Yes. Right.”
My chest was tight and my head throbbed with every beat of my heart. I kept the phone to my ear, listening to the restaurant where Sam and Trish had made up.
Trish would be living on the Cape again. I would see them all the time. And now, unlike just thirty-six hours ago, everyone knew. I loved Sam, and he, Trish, my parents, Danny, everyone knew. Things with my nephew would never be the same. I’d have to smile at Sam at Thanksgiving and buy him a sweater at Christmas. Maybe they’d have another baby.
“Millie? Are you still there, honey?” Curtis’s voice was horribly gentle.
“Do you think I can come up and stay with you guys for a couple of days? Before I start work?”
“Sure! Of course. Stay as long as you like. You can even bring your dog.”
“I’ll just throw a few things together….”
“Fantastic. And Millie…I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CURTIS AND MITCH GREETED ME as if I were a delicate cancer patient, holding my arms gently, talking in hushed voices.
“You can stay for as long as you like,” Curtis said staunchly.
“Thanks, bud, but I think it’ll just be for a couple of days at the most. I just…I just wanted to be somewhere else.”
“Of course! And what about dinner, Millie? Would you care for something to eat?” Mitch asked kindly. I tried to remember the last meal I’d eaten and couldn’t, but my stomach seemed to have a bocce ball in it.
“I think maybe I’ll just go to bed. I’m sorry I ruined your anniversary.”
“No, don’t be silly! It’s just the anniversary of our first date! We’ll celebrate our real anniversary next month. Don’t worry.”
They carried my bag upstairs and, like the innkeepers they were, showed me the amenities of Dry Dock, my suite. It was hard to pay attention. Sam and Trish. Trish and Sam. Their names had been linked together for so long that they still sounded normal. Now, Sam and Millie…that just sounded dumb.
My large suite had lavender-scented sheets, a huge arrangement of bright flowers on the bureau and a view of the water. I made a quick call to Katie, as I hadn’t wanted to talk to my parents, and told her briefly what had happened and where I was. Then, so tired I ached, I climbed into bed without even washing up. Digger came over for a little reassurance, and I petted him weakly until he gave up and went to lie before the fireplace. The only sound was the wind and the slap of the small bayside waves. Alone in the dark, my misery curled up with me, and a heavy weight seemed to press me into the mattress.
“Oh, Sam,” I whispered, and the endless spring of tears spilled over again. How would I do this? I asked myself. How could I handle this incredible sense of loss? That time with Sam was like a cruel trick. It was bad enough to love him, but to have heard those words from him, to have felt the way we felt, to have that incredible rightness taken away, was unbearable.
In the morning, Curtis and Mitch made me a huge breakfast. I ate the food, but chewing was such an effort. The boys tried to distract me by chatting about the Peacock. They were getting ready to close for the winter and had to do a final cleaning of all the guest rooms, paint a few rooms, make some repairs and the like. They would spend the winter tucked away on the third floor, happy and cozy and together. Not that I begrudged them that…it was just hard to see the contrast between their happy couplehood and my solitude.
Digger and I took a long walk out to the very end of Provincetown, where the huge rocks of the breakwater stretched into the choppy bay. Digger trotted along happily, sniffing at crab shells between the crevices, returning to nudge my hand with his nose. I felt dead inside, as flat and lifeless as week-old roadkill, my eyes barely seeing the lovely houses of Commercial Street, hardly noting the raucous calls of the gulls as they wheeled and glided above me.
The boys cooked lunch and dragged out an old game of Trivial Pursuit and even took Digger to the dog spa for a little pet pampering. And while I knew I couldn’t hide out here forever, I was glad for this little reprieve. Instead of waiting around for other people to decide how my life was going to turn out, I had at least taken action.
That night, as I lay listening to the sounds of the ocean, I tried to make peace with my situation. Digger crept onto the bed and licked my tears as I sobbed quietly for the love that I’d very nearly had, for the humiliation I felt, for the empty, hollow days that were waiting for me back home.
Somewhere in the night I resolved to go back to Eastham and face things. Sam would probably come over to break the news to me, and I’d have to be dignified and strong and somehow let him know that I would be just fine with everything. I’d start work and engross myself there. And someday, I’d find someone else.
But for now, I gave myself one more cry in the dark over Sam Nickerson.
THE NEXT DAY, THE BOYS PUT ME to work. In the morning, we draped and taped the salon, which was a vast room featuring a Steinway grand piano and a wall of French doors that led to the small beach. The boys had decided to go from hunter-green to royal-blue, and we donned our painting clothes and set to work. Actually, their painting clothes were on par with my best stuff, but that was just their way.