Page 85 of The Beachgoers
* * *
When Maris turns into the kitchen, the room is dim except for the recessed lights shining over the windowed kitchen nook. Which is where Jason sits, stirring her tea.
But she’s seen enough. And doesn’t like it.
She’s seen his life here. His phone charging on the counter. His doughnuts. His papers and mail and keys and… things. His way. The dishes in the sink. The clothes tossed over chairs. The open windows in the kitchen nook. No doubt, a scant breeze comes through to him sitting there. He looks up from their teacups just then.
“What are you doing?” he asks, the stirring spoon suddenly stilled.
Maris gives him a quick smile. “What do you mean?”
“You’re dressed.” He taps the spoon on the cup and puts it down. “You could’ve grabbed a shirt from my closet. Something comfortable.”
“Yourcloset?”
“Maris. You know what I mean.”
“I do. And I’m leaving, Jason.”
“Leaving?Jesus, Maris. Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not.” She walks to the gray-swirled marble-top island, picks up her denim clutch and pulls out her keys.
“Hey,hey. Hold up.” Jason moves aside her teacup. “Just give things a chance.”
She looks at him from where she stands behind the island. “I can’t do this here, Jason.”
“Stop.” He tosses up his hands at the table. “Just stop and think a minute.”
She shakes her head. “I’m going home now.”
“Wait. Because I thought I’d maybe go homewithyou. After our weekend together.”
“No. I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“But you said your bags are in the trunk.” Jason reaches for his crutches leaning against a chair. “I’ll go get them. We can talk more, take a couple of days here with no one around.”
As she watches him get up from the chair and stand in his pajama shorts and old Yale tee, Maris just shakes her head.
“No?” Leaning on his crutches, Jason watches her right back. “But after we were just together? So what the hell was all that?” As he says it, he motions a crutch upstairs.
Maris shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she whispers.
Which makes Jason look at his wrist now, as though he’ll see the time there. But his watch is upstairs, too, on his dresser. “Well, it’s really late. I don’t want you on the road alone at this hour.”
And itislate. It’s the hour when their voices seem to echo, almost, in the very still house. In the very still night.
“I won’t be alone. I’ve got Maddy.” When Maris raises a leash off the island top, the dog scrambles out of her bed in the living room and rushes to the kitchen. “You had her for the past few weeks. Now it’s my turn.”
“Your turn?” Jason walks closer to her. “What, like some sort of custody? Come on, I thought we were working things out.”
“We are. Slowly.” After setting her clutch down, she turns to head out the front door—with the dog following close at her heels. “Just wait here a second. I need to get something from the car,” Maris calls back.
Doesn’tlookback, though. Because it bothers her, seeing Jason’s life spread out in this beautiful beach home he renovated.
Bothers her seeing him too comfortable living here alone.
* * *
Jason just stands there. He doesn’t move. Just stands in the middle of the kitchen and waits for Maris to return. Wearing his pajama shorts and tee, he feels suddenly beat as he leans on his forearm crutches. The room is in shadow beneath the dim recessed lights. But certain things catch his eye. Maris’ cup of tea cooling on the kitchen table. Her denim clutch beside Neil’s happiness jar on the island. A splash of amber liquor pooled in a glass tumbler he left on the counter the other night. Her light cardigan sweater on a hook near the slider. The plate of cake slices Elsa sent home with them. Everything filled with memories. With voices and words he can recall looking at them.
But once the door closes behind Maris, the house goes silent. There’s nothing. No noise. No movement. No bang, or footstep, or creaking floor, or calling voice. There’s just that muffled quiet left behind. While waiting for her to come back in from the car, a bead of perspiration glides down Jason’s temple.
“Shake it off,” he tells himself.
But he can’t, and he damn well knows it.
