Good Harbor

“Lovely,” said Kathleen.

When Hal returned, he and Buddy squabbled over who would drive Kathleen to the clinic in the morning, but she settled it quickly; it was her time with Buddy. The last thing she wanted was for Hal to discuss her weight or state of mind with Marcy. Hal insisted on taking his mother to lunch afterward. “My pleasure,” Kathleen agreed.

In the car the next morning, Buddy seemed to choose his words carefully. “Well, what do you know about Josh, huh? Hal’s going to be best man. He says we’re going to be invited.”

Kathleen struggled hard against the rising terror she felt as the car climbed the bridge. She sighed, trying to disguise her labored breathing. Thank heaven Buddy always kept his eyes on the road.

Once they reached the mainland, Buddy asked again. “So what do you think about Josh’s news?”

“I thought he might be gay,” Kathleen said softly. “And you did, too, didn’t you?”

Now it was Buddy’s turn to be silent. He signaled and pulled into the passing lane before answering. “Yes.”

“We never talked about it,” Kathleen said, sounding a little angrier than she intended. And now we don’t have to, she thought.

“It was okay with me,” said Buddy.

“What?”

“It took me a long time to get used to the idea, but I would have told him that it was all right. That he was my son. That I loved him. Hell, I love Josh, too.” Buddy let out a hoarse laugh. “I love Josh even more now!”

Kathleen tried to smile.

“You thought I’d be some kind of Neanderthal about it, didn’t you?” he said, eyes straight ahead.

“I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“You should know. For crying out loud, Kathleen! After all this time, you should know.”

“I’m sorry, Buddy.” She squeezed her eyes closed, shutting out the kaleidoscope of passing cars and rushing trees, trying to hold on through the panic.

He glanced over. “It’s okay, Kath. You just take it easy. It’s only four more days and we’re done, right?”

She nodded and stared at the door handle. Four more days. She counted them out as they drove the rest of the way: today, tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday.

On the way home, she changed the mantra: tomorrow and Monday and Tuesday. And then it would be Au

gust 8.

LIKE KATHLEEN, Joyce had fallen asleep after their walk in the heat. She’d collapsed on Nina’s bed and woke at sunset, disoriented, hungry, and crazy to see Patrick. He was gone on another three-day run, to northern Maine this time. And then it would be the weekend, so there was no chance of seeing him for five days.

He never called on Saturday or Sunday. On the morning they’d met, Joyce had made it sound as if Frank spent weekends in Gloucester, and she’d never got around to correcting the story. After all, there was the possibility that Frank might actually appear some weekend.

And what would that be like? she wondered as she walked through the house, cranking the windows all the way open. Would one look at his familiar face make her comprehend the terrible error of her wanton ways? She knew that Patrick was just a fling, or at least, she knew it in her head. Her body was a different story. Joyce was unsure about her heart; she was in lust, in longing, in heat, even. In love? Maybe a little. Oh, definitely a little. But probably not enough to do anything drastic — Patrick had certainly not given any indication of wanting anything more from her than their afternoons. “My lifeline,” he called her. “The cure for loneliness.”

“I suppose I could say the same for him,” Joyce murmured, then opened the refrigerator and groaned. “I can’t face a bowl of cereal,” she announced to the empty kitchen.

The air, heavy and still, absorbed the sound of her voice like a sponge. She grabbed car keys and considered the options as she started the car: she could go to the supermarket and take out a healthy meal or get a slice of pizza down the street.

She drove past the pizzeria and the Star Market and found herself on the road to Rockport. The scene of my crime, she thought. She would buy an ice cream cone and sit out on Bear Skin Neck. On a night like this, the tourist strip on the little peninsula by the harbor would be great for people-watching. Besides, she needed a few more postcards for Nina.

But as she pulled into town, Joyce decided she’d rather have a tuna sandwich. As she passed the sub shop looking for a parking spot, she saw that the lights were on upstairs, in Patrick’s room. A shadow moved behind the shade. Her mouth went dry. It took her five minutes to find parking, a dozen blocks away. She counted them, hands in her pockets, head down, walking as fast as she could.

From a bench across the street, Joyce sat and watched Patrick pace. His gait, his profile, his hold on the cigarette. He was on the telephone.

But there was no phone in his apartment. He couldn’t afford a cell phone. He called her from the pay phone downstairs.

He was lying to her.