Good Harbor

Kathleen moaned softly in her sleep.

Frank and I have had long dry spells before, Joyce reminded herself again, picking at her cuticles. Of course, I wasn’t having an affair before. And I am having an affair, even if we haven’t technically consummated. For a while, Joyce had talked herself into believing that stopping short of penetration made a difference. But that was bullshit. It would be easier if Frank were having an affair. That would let her off the hook.

Kathleen startled and sat up. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were only out for a few minutes. And you needed the sleep. So here’s the deal, Miss Kathleen. From now on, we will walk on Good Harbor beach every afternoon, but I think later would be better, when the sun isn’t so strong. I’ll call tomorrow morning to set it up. This is not an invitation, by the way. It’s a prescription from Dr. Joyce.”

Kathleen leaned over and gave her a long hug. The smell of lavender lingered on Joyce’s cheek as she drove away.

Thank God for Kathleen. I don’t have to be just an adulterous fraud anymore, Joyce thought. I can be a friend — a good enough friend to be trusted with what happened to Danny. God, poor Kathleen.

I wonder if she’d still be my friend if she knew about Patrick.

Oh, well. Nina will be home in a few more weeks, and Frank will show up eventually, and everything will change, but not yet.

Not just yet.

AUGUST

KATHLEEN lifted her head from the pillow: 5:50 P.M. Buddy would be home from work soon. She closed her eyes again and stretched. She and Joyce had done the length of the beach twice that day, resulting in a wonderful, long nap. Maybe their walks would help ease the panic that had spilled over from the car into the rest of her life.

She wasn’t driving at all anymore. Buddy took her to and from the clinic in the morning, and Joyce picked her up for a walk at three-thirty, plenty of contact to diffuse suspicions about her mental health. But Kathleen had developed several other odd, secret habits that were less obvious.

She was avoiding the mirror altogether, but at least her hair had grown so long she could pull it up into a ponytail without looking. She used a washcloth in the shower so she wouldn’t have to touch her own skin. She stayed out of the kitchen as much as possible and ate only when Buddy was around. She avoided the front door. Kathleen knew that she was acting peculiar, but she told herself she’d be back to normal as soon as the radiation was over. She was counting on it.

A car door slammed. Kathleen rolled to her side and tasted sea salt on her lips. She wondered what Buddy had brought home for supper.

“Mom?”

Kathleen was up in an instant. “Hal?”

He was hugging her before she could get to her feet.

“Surprised?”

“Completely.”

“You are way too thin, Mom.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?”

“Isn’t the doctor concerned?”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Hal frowned.

“Let me get a look at you,” she said.

I’m going bald.”

“Impossible!”

“See for yourself.” He tipped his head forward.

“Oh, dear. That makes me feel ancient. I have a balding son.”

Kathleen was perpetually surprised at how her genes and Buddy’s had yielded two such distinct replicas: Jack was a McCormack — a compactly built Irishman — while Hal was a Levine, cut out of the same large, sandy cloth as Irv and Buddy. “Too bad you didn’t inherit the Levine hair, though even bald, you are one handsome man.”