Jeffery

The light changes sometime early spring in Cape Cod, suggesting summer and warmth. The sea becomes slate blue, paler closer to the shoreline; where the sun hits it, the water glistens. I stood on the shore. I'd walked for at least a mile over patches of pebbles, jagged rocks in varying shades of gray; those submerged in water almost black while the drier ones nearly white. I sat on one of the larger rocks and studied the shadows. They didn't appear to follow the rules of physics with the shaded parts in multiple directions; darkness in places there should have been light.

I didn't want to marry the first girl I fell in love with.

I wanted Charlotte to stay that way in my mind. Because I'd loved her, my decision brought forth a carousel of sadness, longing, desire. But, those alone were not enough to draw me back to her.

The beach was desolate, the houses that dotted the shoreline were empty. I walked over a stone jetty on my way back to the cottage. I walked back up through the sand towards the grassy dunes and the light was turning orange. Clouds that just a short while before had been white, now absorbed the pink hue of dusk. I looked back towards the water. I missed her. I longed for her and carried the sadness over hurting her. The ocean was almost gray again and the breaking surf looked like jagged ribbons as it expended itself at the very edge of its reach. That was where the seaweed collected, a trail of brown and green. We'd walked the shore together so many times. Every season but spring. She was so pretty. She was so sweet and trusting with me.

Once I was back in the cottage, I realized how cold it had gotten in the time I'd been out. My hands were bright red and even the cold interior of the cottage felt warm compared to the beach. I removed my coat and hung it on the hook in the little mud room. The floor had a layer of sand and I'd learned to remove my shoes and then almost leap to the step up to the kitchen. Mostly, the grit was contained, confined to the rickety mudroom. I filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to make coffee. I put a scoop of coffee in my cup and leaned back on the wood surfaced counter as I waited for it to boil. I had several pictures stuck to my white fridge with magnets, a few with masking tape. Charlotte had selected a few of them for display. Mom often sent pictures or clippings and so some of those were curated up there on the white stained door of the small fridge. I was the one responsible for putting up the pictures of Charlotte. These were of Charlotte alone or the two of us together. I didn't move closer to the refrigerator; I examined them from my perch a few feet away. Charlotte was beautiful in all of them but my favorite was an up close shot, only half of her face visible, the rest of the photograph was the ocean water. I must have taken that when were out sailing the summer before. I must have snapped it just as the boat tipped to one side. Her face was tanned. She had a splattering of freckles around her nose. She wore white-rimmed sunglasses and my Boston College baseball cap. The strap of her orange swimsuit was barely visible in the photograph.

The kettle whistled and I lifted it an poured it over the brown instant coffee crystals in the bottom of my cup. I put the kettle back down and stirred until it was dissolved. It was all but dark outside the cottage. The moon hung low and a halo was reflected in the ocean. I was more interested the shadowed dunes and how the wind played with the tall grass. The whirr of the ocean and the periodic gusts that blew against the wooden exterior of my house, seemed in unison with the movement of the mounds of feathered plant. I'd read that sea grass creates its own habitat. The tall blades slow down water currents and increase sedimentation. Just by being there the plants stabilize themselves.

I swallowed down a sip of my warm coffee. I thought about that fact about sea grass, it was a good argument for inertia or at least for staying still in one place for a while.

I felt sad. I missed Charlotte. It was only 7:00, she would likely be home from work. I'd been to her apartment in New York a few times. She shared a tiny place with another girl who was also doing an internship at a magazine. They didn't know each other before Charlotte moved, but when Charlotte responded to an ad seeking a roommate, she met the girl, Liza. Charlote had relayed to me over the telephone that this new roommate was exactly like her. I had thought it to be excitement over finding a friend in a large, anonymous city like New York or enthusiasm over her first apartment away from college. She had a room on the Cape over the summer and fall when we were dating, but it was in her aunt's house. Her place with Liza was the real thing. I had been surprised the first time I'd visited Charlotte in New York. Liza was indeed exactly like Charlotte in many ways. Their taste and furnishings was so similar; it was very hard to discern who's things were who's. At first I'd thought that once in New York Charlotte would change. I thought maybe she'd fallen in love with me under one set of circumstances but in New York that would change; maybe I would no longer be relevant in her new life. I'd convinced myself that she would want to break up with me. It wasn't that way. Whether I was visiting her in the city or she'd driven her Volkswagen bug back to the Cape, she was the same girl. The same good manners and innocence disguising the silly person she was underneath it all.

The phone rang.

I walked through the dark house to my office. I switched the light on and sat down at my desk. Being nighttime all the window offered was a hyper vivid reflection of myself. It gave me a startle when I caught my own move in my periphery.

"Hello?"

"Jeffery, it's mom." I hadn't heard her voice in several months. Not since Christmas. I'd meant to call her but as each week stretched into another, it felt like not calling her was an accomplishment. Like learning to walk.

"How are you?" I missed her.

"Sweetheart, I'm doing well but I heard from Charlotte's mother. That's why I'm calling."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry you broke up."

"It's all right."
Mom was silent for a moment. I wondered what Charlotte's mother had said.

"Why did she call you?"

"Well, she had been asking me to help with the arrangements. You and I hadn't talked and she didn't know a date. I guess Charlotte had told her early summer. I suggested she call me in the spring."

I didn't remember my mother to be one of those people that provided elaborate and unnecessary details when answering a question. "Mom. Why are giving me all this information?"

"I guess it's a round about way of saying I didn't like Charlotte's mother very much."'

"You did a good job. I didn't get that impression at all. In fact, I had no idea what you were saying."

"OK. Well." I heard her light a cigarette and inhale. She let it out and continued. "So she called me yesterday and said that you two broke up a few weeks ago."

"We did." I noticed a spider moving slowly near my typewriter. It was navigating the metal side and I wondered what decision it would make once it was on top of the keys. I looked back at the reflection of myself. "I broke up with her. I feel very sad about it."

"I'm sure you do. I'm so sorry. I know how much you cared for each other. I thought she was really a wonderful person. I liked her so much."

More silence. More of mom smoking on the other end.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you since Christmas." I said.

"I'm sorry for what I did. I hope that didn't make things hard with Charlotte."

"No. It had nothing to do with it. Of course not."

"I didn't call you because I—after Christmas I realized that I expected a lot from you and it's not fair."
"I don't see things that way." I ran my finger over the typewriter keys, felling the smooth concave texture of each key.

"I've always depended on you so much. You need your own life."

"I have my own life mom. You're one of my favorite people."

"Still."

"How's dad?"

"Things are good. He's busy. We're both busy."

"I wish I'd known all that you went through mom. The things you said at Christmas."

"Something had me really upset. I don't know why I said those things in front of you children. I made your father out to be so horrible. It wasn't really that way."

"I don't know about that. He does treat you badly."

There was a brief silence before she started talking again. "Listen. I was thinking that you should ask dad to come visit you on the Cape. I'm sure right now you don't want company. You've got a lot on your mind. But, he said you told him that you wished you knew him better. I wish you did too. You two could spend a weekend together."

I heard a car pull up on the cracked shell driveway. I recognized the put put sound of Charlotte's Volkswagen. Headlights flooded the cottage with white light.

"Mom, can I call you back? Someone just pulled up at the house."

"Of course."

I walked to the front room and opened the door. I stood in the doorway and the wind blew in strong gusts. It howled and I could hear the sound of something tapping against the house; maybe a loose shingle. Charlotte stepped out of her car and walked towards me. Her hair was blowing across her face as she approached the porch. She held it back with her hand. I could see she was crying. Her body looked so small when she got up on to the porch. I didn't remember her being so little. She had on a fluffy down jacket and jeans. She stood under the porch lamp and a yellow glow warmed her complexion. Her lip was trembling and she said "I'm sorry." She had her hands clasped in front of her and she kept her eyes on me; they were still the same emerald, both mischievous and intent. Her eyes held a deep sadness. I held out my arms and she walked into my embrace. She put her head on my shoulder and cried. I smoothed back her hair. When she looked at me she again uttered, "I'm sorry."

"It's cold." I said.

She nodded.

We went into the cottage. Once inside, I moved close to her and I kissed her. "I was just thinking about you." I said.

"You were?"

I nodded. "I was thinking about you and Liza. How much you have in common. I was also thinking about how sweet you are to me. No matter what."

"I miss you so much." She looked down. "We don't have to get back together but I just wanted to spend the night with you. You can say no. My aunt is here. I can go to her house."

"I want to spend the night with you too. I miss you. All the time."

"We don't have to be engaged." She was hopeful. "We can just stay in love with each other."

She made me smile. I unzipped her coat and helped her slip it off. I put it down on the couch.

"Come sit with me. Do you want a coffee?"

We were insulated from the winds that had picked up outside. I thought of the sea grass and how it agreed to the conditions of its survival, growing roots and slowing currents. How it persevered through the violent gusts, even in the barren soil. Standing still, it became more secure over time. That was how I wanted to be. I didn't want turbulence tearing me from the earth in constant confusion and flux. That night I wanted to sit with Charlotte and drink a coffee by the warm fire and later make love to her under the thick wool blankets. I wanted to feel her next to me with her long hair forming golden ribbons on my pillow. Nothing more.

THE END