Page 17 of The Beachgoers
“Are you evenlisteningto me?” Eva’s voice asks. “You can come withusto Elsa’s. With me, Matt and Tay.”
“No, I can’t.” Maris slips off her sheath and puts the khaki T-shirt dress on over her head. The dress falls into place on her body, hugging in just the right places as its arched hem falls below her knees. “I don’t even know what to wear.”
“But you havetheebest wardrobe.”
Maris holds a three-layer turquoise-stone necklace around her neck. “Nothing’s working today. Not this,” she says, tossing aside the necklace. “And not that,” she says, stepping over her navy sheath on the floor.
Silence then as she walks back into her closet. Her face is sweaty; her hair, hanging limp in the warm upstairs bedroom. A moment later, Eva’s voice comes through the phone speaker.
“Maris.”
“I’m telling you, Eva. Nothing’s working!” Maris calls back from the closet.
“This isnotabout your outfit. You could be out the door in no time, looking stunning in a paper bag, for crying out loud. This issoabout something else.”
“What?” Maris looks out at her phone before walking to it. A pair of skinny black pants is draped on the hanger she holds. “Of course this is about my clothes.”
“Do you hear yourself?Nothing’s working. Nothing’s working. It’s not your clothes that are the problem. That aren’t working. It’s yourlifethat’s the problem. It’s… it’s yourmarriage.” A long pause when Maris only stares at the phone, then picks it up and takes it off speaker. “It’s Jason,” Eva quietly says then.
“No!” Maris drops onto her bed and actually lies flat on her back. “No, Jason isnotthe problem,” she says, tossing the skinny pants onto Jason’s side of the bed—which has been empty for almost two weeks now. Damn it, her sister might be right.
“Yes, itisJason! And I don’t like what it’s doing to you. You’re jumpy. On edge. Indecisive. You need to make a decision all right, but it’snotabout your clothes. And so does that good-for-nothing husband of yours, too.”
“And I’m sure you’re going to tell me our options. Maybe in bullet points?”
“Two bullet points. Ready?”
Maris lies there, but turns her head to the open window facing the bluff. The sheer curtains on the window barely move. The late-summer day’s heated up some. “Yes, I’m ready,” she says—more as a sigh. “Go ahead. Let me hear your two bullet points.”
“One,” Eva flat out tells her. “You have to decide. Either you’re married…”
“Or?”
“Or two. You’re not.”
* * *
Okay, so Jason thought he’d just close his eyes for a few minutes before his shower. He’d taken off his prosthesis and lain down on the bed. Warm air drifted in through the open window; the sound of distant surf reached him. Next thing he knew, a ten-minute nap turned into thirty minutes. Shit, was he really that tired? There’s still time enough to get ready, though, without being late. So after placing some necessary items—deodorant, his boxers—into the bag hooked to his forearm crutches, he grabs that shower but skips the shave. Afterward, he sits in his boxers on the bed just as the dog noses the door open.
“Come on, Maddy,” Jason tells her while patting the mattress. It’s not until she crosses the room that he notices the rubber fetch stick clamped in her mouth. “Big night tonight, girl. With Maris,” he says, taking the fetch stick and sliding it across the floor. Maddy scrambles after it and settles near the dresser. So Jason reaches for the silicone liner on the nightstand and rolls the liner onto his left leg, up over his stump. He adds a sock, too, then fusses with the liner and sock both, aligning and pressing them up onto his thigh. After semi-standing and smoothing it all out, his prosthesis is next. Reaching down for the limb, he pulls it onto his stump first, then stands and tests that all is secure and in place.
And realizes now that the whole time, he’s kind of shaky. His heart is beating fast, and… what? Is he a little winded? Hell, he’s actually nervous. The dog must be, too, the way she’s gnawing on that squeaking stick and somewhat growling while she does. So they’re both anxious.
Well, no wonder, Jason thinks. He’s practically single again. That’s certainly a status he’d never seen coming. Yet here he is—alone. Oh, he’d hinted to Maris back in Stony Point this morning, when he was filming outside his barn studio. Hinted about getting readytheretoday.
Together.
At home.
But she pushed back.
So okay, he’s getting ready, solo. There’s no Maris dashing in and out of the room; grabbing clothes and makeup; twisting an earring; calling,Hey, babe, with some random question. No Maris smoothing his tee, tugging his jacket straight, touching his face.
At least he has a date with her tonight.
So he grabs the faded jeans off the hanger on the closet door. “It’s progress,” Jason says to Maddy. Sitting on the bed, he unzips the long, concealed zipper Maris had deftly sewn on the inner left seam. He puts his right leg in the straight-leg jeans, and his prosthetic left leg in the opened-up jean leg. Standing then, he buttons the jeans at his waist and grabs a black leather belt, which he buckles. That done, he sits on the bed again and zips that long concealed zipper on the leg seam.
“Perfect,” he whispers, standing and finishing the routine. He pulls the white-heathered tee over his head. Touches the fading bruise on his forearm from when he fell out of bed a week ago. Swipes his dog tags off the dresser top and drops the chain on. He rolls a kink out of his neck, brushes his damp hair, drags a hand over his unshaven jaw, puts his wallet in his back pocket, slips into his gray sport coat and gives the lapels a sharp tug.
