Page 84 of The Beachgoers
* * *
It feels like she’s in bed with a stranger.
Like this Jason Barlow’s a man she’s never been with before. A man who can pack up his life on a whim and move it. At his own reasoning. A man well settled in here—away from his gabled home on the bluff. A man who she’s not sure even misses what he walked away from.ThisJason is someone Maris doesn’t fully know.
So there’s something different to their sex tonight. Sure, some of it’s the same—from her unzipping the custom zipper on the inner seam of his jeans and taking off his prosthesis and pants. To his lifting her dress and sliding down her panties.
But then things change.
Neither of them looks at the other much. In the darkness, they take more than they give. It’s obvious in the way neither is fully naked while making love. Her dress makes it off, but her lace bra does not. Neither one of them ever lifts his tee over his head.
Not until afterward.
Not until Jason, lying behind her in the bed, unhooks her bra, reaches around and slips it off. And strokes her breasts.
Not until Maris turns to Jason again and mounts him atop the tangle of sheets. As much as this man seems a stranger to her? Maybe she feels the same to him. So still straddling his body, she lifts off his tee then, before setting her arms on either side of his head, bending and kissing him deeply. Her hair falls forward and fans his face. His hands reach low around her hips. And for the second time, the sex happens quickly. None of the usual slow leisure is there tonight. None of the murmurs, the sweet touches, the intimacy. In its place is a desperation, almost. And a swiftness leaving them both exhausted when they’re done, when Maris shifts off him and drops heavily back onto her pillow beside his. Their chests rise and fall; their bodies are lax; Maris pulls up the sheet and closes her eyes with little talk.
* * *
Okay, so Jason was caught off guard.
It takes a few minutes for his body to calm down. For his heart to stop racing. For his breathing to slow. All the while, he knows. What just happened wasn’t what he had in mind tonight. Not that he didn’t like it, but still.
Lying there in bed, he tosses an arm over his eyes. But he’s doing more. He’s waiting until Maris seems to be sleeping. Even then, he stays on the bed a few minutes longer. Finally, he sits up and reaches for his crutches leaning against the nightstand. Notices the alarm clock on the nightstand, too. It’s already after 1:00 a.m. Crossing the quiet room, he manages to grab pajama shorts and a clean tee from his dresser drawer and get them on in the bathroom so as not to wake Maris. He does something else, too—catches sight of his tired reflection in the mirror over the sink. “Shit,” he whispers, dragging a hand along his unshaven jaw, then back through his overgrown hair.
Maybe a cup of tea will settle him down. He’ll make one for Maris, too, and see if she’ll sit up in bed and sip some with him.
* * *
Maris stays in bed the whole time Jason’s moving around. She listens to his sounds as he turns on a lamp and closes some dresser drawer in this unfamiliar bedroom. Hears him click off the lamp, open the door and splash water on his face in the bathroom. Hears Maddy nipping at his crutches on his way downstairs. Can make out the sound of the kitchen tap running, and a teapot clanking on the stovetop. Hears silverware being plucked from a drawer; waves breaking outside the bedroom window.
Finally she reaches over and switches on a green-glass bedside lamp. It throws light on the room so she can see just what Jason’s been calling home. The guest bedroom walls are paneled with whitewashed boardwalk planks. There’s a high shelf running along the far wall. Thin, white decorative starfish line that shelf. And the lamp she heard him put on minutes ago? She props herself up on her elbows for a better look. That lamp is beside a basket of seashells on a Shaker-style dresser he must be using here.
All of it light and airy—nothing like their home on the bluff.
So she swings her legs out of bed, puts on her underthings and scoops her dress off the floor. Quickly, she drops the dress over her head and presses out the wrinkled fabric the best she can. Grabs her turquoise beaded necklace off the nightstand, too, and gets that clasped around her neck.
And stops.
And again looks around this unfamiliar but beautiful space. It’s a far cry from their own tired bedroom with a semi-busted air conditioner in one of the windows. And their old furniture; the worn floor there.
After quietly slipping on her sandals, she crosses the room to Jason’s dresser and fusses with her hair. But only for a minute. Only until she picks up his wallet, flips through the money—twenties, fives and singles. His watch is there, too. She picks that up, feeling the wide leather band before dropping it back on the dresser. Jason’s belt is next—casually strewn on the dresser top. So she neatly coils the belt and sets it aside. And looks more; takes in the details of his life here. She skims a few business cards—one with a date and time scribbled on the back. Some papers are off to the side—looks like a printed email from a client sending along design changes.
All of it Jason. All of it her husband.
And everything about it feels wrong.
Looking around again, she leaves the room and crosses the hallway to the large loft Jason customized here for Ted. It’s above the outdoor deck and is fully enclosed. That crescent moon outside throws the palest light tonight, but enough to illuminate the egret stained-glass window facing the distant beach.
“Maris?” Jason suddenly calls from downstairs. “You up?”
“I am.”
“I made tea. Want yours in bed?” his voice carries to her.
“No.” She hurries out to the hallway. “I’m coming down.”
She stops in the bathroom first, rinses her face and fusses with her hair again—this time putting it in a loose side braid before taking another glance around and heading downstairs.
