Good Harbor

And she was lying to everyone in her life.

Maybe the job had fallen through. Maybe he was just talking to his business partner. Maybe he was talking to his mother, in Ireland. Maybe he was sweet-talking another woman.

But where did the phone come from? And why hadn’t he called her?

Don’t ask him, Joyce, she drilled herself. Don’t ever ask.

He lit another cigarette, his back to the window.

She stared until her eyes ached. Leave, she told herself. Leave now. Finally, she took her own advice and drove home.

The streetlight on the corner had burned out, and she’d forgotten to turn on the porch light. The Madonna was deep in shadow, but Joyce saw something moving behind it. That’s way too big to be a raccoon, she thought.

“Mrs. Lupo?” Joyce said softly.

There was no answer.

“Mrs. Lupo, it’s okay.”

A tiny, white-haired woman hurried out of the yard up the street.

“Theresa?” Joyce called, and then stopped. What could she say to Theresa Lupo? The adulteress and the acolyte. Sounds like a romance novel, she thought, or an X-rated movie.

The phone rang as she walked into the house. Sure it was Frank, she listened as the machine picked up. There was a long pause and a hang-up. Frank would never do that.

Maybe it was Patrick. Maybe he wanted her to come to him.

“Shit,” she screamed. The sound in the empty house shocked her.

The phone rang again and she lunged at it.

“Joyce!” Kathleen said. “I hope it’s not too late to call. Would you mind including an extra person on the beach tomorrow? I’d like you to meet my son Hal.”

KATHLEEN TRIED HARD to appear calm. She tucked her hands under her thighs, breathed slowly, and kept her eyes on Hal’s face as he drove her to lunch. Thank goodness the trip was short, she thought, getting out of the car, and thank goodness he hadn’t noticed anything.

“Look at this place,” Hal said as they walked into Traveler’s. “Hanging plants? I’ll bet they serve raspberry iced tea. You sure this is still Gloucester?”

“Don’t be such a snob.”

“I just don’t want it to get glitzy.”

“Don’t worry. There was a good little French restaurant down the street that folded after a few months. But all the bars are doing fine.”

As they sat down, she heard a voice behind them: “Mrs. Levine?”

Kathleen turned to see the rabbi getting up from another table.

“Hello, Rabbi Hertz. Let me introduce my son Hal. He surprised me by showing up from San Francisco last night.”

Hal stood up to shake her hand. “How long have you been the rabbi?”

“I started in the fall.”

“How do you like it here?”

“It’s a great community. People have been very welcoming.”

“Really?” Hal asked. “It used to be kind of a tough place for newcomers.”