Page 82 of The Beachgoers
thirty-one
— Now —
MARIS DOESN’T TRUST HIM.
Jason finally gets it. But it took this long for him to realize. It took her agreeing to spend the weekend with him under her one condition—they wouldn’t spend it attheirhome. So after leaving Elsa’s together, he had to park curbside at his own cottage on the bluff. For starters. Then he had towaitin his SUV as Maris went inside and packed an overnight bag.
Still, her mistrust didn’t hit him until she didnotwalk out the front door to join him waiting at the curb. Didn’t hit him until Marisdroveback down the driveway and called out from her car that she’d follow him.
Follow him.
She wouldn’t put her bags in his SUV so they could go together.
She wouldn’t get trapped with him and have no way to leave.
So Maris wants an out. She’s keeping her options open. Won’t commit to even one weekend together.
Doesn’t trust him.
Damn it. Driving down the coast to Sea Spray Beach, he keeps an eye on her headlights behind him. Gives a shake of his head, too. Swears at himself. Wonders if his leaving home a few weeks ago is something Maris actually can’t get over. If it undid their marriage.
By the time they pull into Ted Sullivan’s driveway, it’s all Jason thinks. Thinks it even more when Maris gets out of her car behind his. Because she’s still wearing her khaki T-shirt dress from the evening. So she didn’t change into something more comfortable. Something like her shredded denim cutoffs and black fisherman sweater, maybe. Something easy for spending a few days with him.
But still. She’s here.
Jason walks to her in the driveway. “How was the ride for you?”
“Fine,” she says, closing her car door. “It was fine.”
“Where are your bags? In the backseat?”
“In the trunk. I’ll get them later.”
“Why come back out? I’ll help you get them now, Maris.”
She shakes her head. “No,” she says, dropping her keys into her denim clutch.
He walks closer, stopping in front of her. “When we danced earlier, in Foley’s back room, I asked you to spend theweekend. So we could talk, and be together.” He tries to get past her to the car’s trunk. “This’ll be good,” he adds.
Maris takes hold of his arm. “No, Jason. Let’s just try a little at a time. Go slow.”
“Slow?”
She nods. “I’ll get my bags later.”
He looks long at her. “Well. Come inside, then.”
She follows him to Ted’s door. Big brass lanterns mounted on the cottage light the way. They glimmer on the honey-colored cedar shingles, too. The night beyond is dark; the scent of the sea, strong—lifting off the water on the other side of the dune grasses. And of course, as Jason opens the cottage door, Madison bolts right out to Maris. The dog practically wraps around her legs; her whole German shepherd body trembles with happiness. Maris smiles and bends low, grabbing Maddy affectionately by the scruff of her neck and giving her a pat and a few words.
“Come on, girl,” she tells the dog while slapping her shoulder. “Let’s go in.”
As Jason holds the door for Maris, and as she hesitates in the foyer and they sort of bump into each other, and as Jason motions for her to follow him through the cottage, their talk is awkward. All of it.
His, “So this is your first time here,” casually said over his shoulder.
And his, “I’ll take your sweater,” said when he turns, hand outstretched.
And his, “Let me put on a light,” said when they pass the living room and he bends to a table lamp.
