Page 62 of On Fire Island

She gave in. As they walked the last steps to our house she asked, “Julia is your wife?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever known, and somehowshewas enamored withme.”

Josie laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” He stood sideways, pulled in his gut and made a couple of bodybuilder poses.

She laughed more. I did too. It was the first time in ages I’d heard him talk about me other than reporting on my doctors’ appointments and chemo sessions. I was happy to hear him remembering me as his beautiful healthy wife.

Josie waited outside our house, fidgeting in the dark, until Ben showed up again with my bike in tow. The streetlight caught the top of her head, creating the illusion of a halo. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was all very dramatic.

When she saw the baby seat, she lit up—making the obviousassumption. With a big smile, she said, “Oh, I didn’t know you had kids!”

I could see the vomit rise in Ben’s throat. He swallowed hard and shook his head. She looked equally, if not more, nauseated by his response. He tilted the handlebar toward her, and she accepted it.

“You sure about this? I feel funny taking it,” she said.

“Don’t, no one’s using it anyway.”

They both paused to take that in too.

“I’ll bring it back before I go. My friend has one of those tandems, so it will be a simple exchange.”

“Whatever you want. Just remember I’m the house near the ball field.”

He pointed to the place where the four corners met.

“It was nice meeting you, Ben.” She smiled her beautiful smile and lightened the mood with “Please tell your friend I’m sorry I foiled his deflowering!”

Ben rallied and met her tone. “I will definitely let him know the entire story! Nice meeting you too, Josie.”

He flipped on her bike light—my bike light—and waved as she rode off into the night.

thirty-four

Redemption

Some men mature with age. Others, like Shep, seem to perpetually navigate life through the lens of a twelve-year-old boy. In that way, Shep was the youngest in the house. Late that night, when Ben was sound asleep, Shep woke up, stirred by the sound of the rain tapping on the skylight. Shep loved the rain. He considered it an invitation. He entertained the offer, grabbing a flashlight and a slicker, and left the bedroom to check it out.

He journeyed toward the room Matty was staying in and shined his flashlight on the seventies-era digital clock on Matty’s nightstand—the kind where the numbers flip. It had come with the house back when Shep and Caroline bought it. There were a few such treasures still hanging around, like that clock. My favorites were a white Fitz and Floyd ashtray that looked like a diaphragm and a set of Portuguese porcelain corn plates with the name of the famous old New York department store, Bonwit Teller, stamped on the back.

The clock read 2:00 a.m. Shep moved the beam of light onto Matty’s sleeping face, but Matty didn’t budge—so he shook him.

“Matty, wake up.”

Matty opened his eyes and cringed from the light.

“You all right?” Shep asked.

“Aside from the blindness.” Matty sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Are you wearing a raincoat?”

“Yes. Want to go for a ride?”

“Are you still drunk from dinner?”

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