Yours Until Morning Read online

  Out on the front porch, John caught the hint of a breeze coming in off the water. He pulled up two chairs and lit a mosquito coil with the lighter in his pocket. After the cake was eaten it would be time for him to light his pipe, to tamp the tobacco down into the bowl and suck on the mouthpiece until sweet smoke filled his lungs. It was his second favorite time of the evening, when his belly was full and he could sit out on the front porch with his pipe, watching the stars come out, listening to the symphony of insects and the rustle of beach grass in the dunes.

  June pushed open the screen door with her hip. She set the tray down on the table and handed John a plate of angel food cake spread with chocolate frosting. It was gooey sweet and stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  “Very tasty,” John said, finishing it off and setting his plate down.

  June lit a cigarette and crossed her legs, kicking her foot rhythmically, blowing out smoke in a stream.

  John lit his pipe and the two of them sat silently smoking. But it was not a companionable silence. There was something heavy in the atmosphere, something torpid and dark, the way the air felt before a storm. John felt the muscles in his back grow tense. He kept hoping June would tell him what was wrong, what he could do to make her happy. He found it increasingly impossible to read her mind or predict her moods. It was hard for him to accept that while his own life felt like it was taking shape, hers seemed to be dissolving into some kind of amorphous fog.

  Over at Stone cottage they heard the slam of a screen door, the titter of laughter and the clink of ice.

  June’s chin jerked up. “Good Lord, they can’t be having another party.” She leaned over and crushed out her cigarette. “Can’t that woman do anything besides give parties?”

  John looked over at their neighbor’s. There were a couple of lights on, but the place wasn’t lit up like a jack o’ lantern the way it was when they threw a party. “Probably just dinner guests. I wonder why they haven’t sent their boy over. He’d be a good playmate for Claire and Evie.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid we’ll contaminate him,” June said.

  “Oh, June, she can’t be all that bad.”

  June was silent. “Besides,” she said. “Evie’s getting too old to be playing with boys. Before we know it, she’ll be bringing them home as dates.”

  “She’s only twelve. Same as Claire.”

  “She’s growing up fast. Haven’t you noticed?”

  John finished his pipe. Whatever breeze there might have been earlier had mysteriously dropped away. He stood and leaned over the railing to scan the sky. A thick haze of cloud obscured the stars. “Maybe it’ll storm,” he said. “A good thunderstorm would cool things off.” He checked his watch. “I’d better turn in. I want to get an early start in the morning.” He tapped his pipe against the railing and stored it in his pocket.

  June sat with her head tilted back against the chair. “Maybe I’ll go for a little walk, try to get some air.” She closed her eyes. John leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “Don’t forget to go in and kiss the girls before you go up.”

  The twins were lying on their stomachs in front of the television, working their way through a bowl of popcorn.

  John stretched out next to Claire. “Hey there,” he said, tugging her ponytail. Her eyes remained fastened on the TV. Evie was turning the pages of a magazine, lying on her side, her long legs stretched out along the floor. John turned his attention to the television screen. Some variety show was in process, comedians slapping their thighs, slipping on banana peels, falling down to raucous laughter.

  John watched for a few minutes and then hauled himself up from the floor. “Goodnight girls,” he said, backing out of the room. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  Only Evie turned her head and flashed him a smile. “Goodnight, daddy.”

  “‘Night,” Claire echoed, waving her bare feet in the air.

  He climbed the stairs slowly, running his hand along the banister he’d installed over the winter. It was hand-rubbed oak, a beautiful piece of wood he’d gotten in a trade. He’d cut it down and sanded it, rubbed it with linseed oil and beeswax until it gleamed. In their bedroom under the eaves, John checked the window screen for holes. June had complained about mosquitoes the last few nights. The air in their room was hot and stuffy. They only had the one electric fan and June had put it in the girls’ room. He sat down on the straight-backed chair and removed his boots and his clothes, folding each article of clothing carefully and placing it on the shelf of the wardrobe he shared with June. John stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He heard the screen door open and close: June going out. Within minutes the sheet was damp with his perspiration and the warm air settled heavily on his skin. He tried to stay awake but could already feel the pull of sleep dragging him down, could hear, as if coming from a long way off, the murmur of insects in the dark.

  6

  Outside the air was heavy and still. June felt she could swim through it as if it were water. She switched on the flashlight and stepped off the porch, swinging the beam in front of her as she walked down the lane in the direction of town. She glanced over at Stone cottage as she passed by. There were several lights on, but it was quiet now. Maybe their dinner guests had gone home.

  Tall grass brushed her bare legs. Insects skittered from her path. She had no sense of where she was going or what she would do when she got there. She supposed she could go over to Emma’s and chat about the latest domestic crisis or try out new hairstyles, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to sit with her women friends and not be able to voice her persistent sadness. There was an edge to her unhappiness that frightened her, an emotion she didn’t detect in the women she knew. Or maybe they were all just covering up their true feelings, going on giddily about life’s hard struggle as if it were part and parcel of being alive, when underneath there simmered a cauldron of dark emotions. And it was wearing her out that she couldn’t mention Claire’s illness, even though it was always there, hanging in the conversation like an unwelcome specter, casting a dark shadow over everything.

  June fingered the pocket of her dress, wishing she had remembered to bring her cigarettes. She didn’t usually smoke when she was out walking, but she needed something to help her relax. She’d taken to having a cocktail or two before John came home for dinner, a little vodka and tonic or a splash of gin over ice to take the edge off. Since he wouldn’t drink, she didn’t see the harm in having hers by herself. But still, she would have liked a cigarette to help calm her nerves.

  A mosquito landed on her arm and she slapped at it viciously. She picked up her pace to outrun them, even though she had begun to sweat and perspiration trickled between her breasts. The talcum powder she’d dusted on her skin earlier in the evening hadn’t helped at all. She breathed in the moist air, hoping that as she got closer to the water, she would catch a hint of breeze. How she wished they could buy a house on the water, where the air wouldn’t lay so heavy in the evenings, like a wool blanket on her skin, and where she could watch the boats gliding in and out of the harbor. What was the point in living in a seaside town if you were stuck back in the dunes?

  June had almost reached the edge of town. It was light enough from the street lamps for her to switch off the flashlight and she turned down Harbor Street and headed toward the docks. She liked to walk along the mooring slips and peek into the boats, at the people eating dinner on the decks, lobster and champagne, the tinkle of ice in glasses, women’s laughter like bells. But as she started toward the water, a sudden restlessness overcame her and she changed her mind, thinking it would be better to look in the shop windows in town. At least that way it wouldn’t appear that she was gawping at other people’s lives. At Florence’s they were having a mid-summer sale on linens. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some new bed sheets and pillow cases to replace the ones that had gone nearly threadbare. June thought about the big canopy bed she had
slept in as a girl, where she would lie amid a mountain of stuffed animals and dolls. They had not been rich, certainly not, but solidly middle class, was how her mother put it. June could hear her voice even now. But she had been spoiled shamelessly as a child, especially by her father, her china-doll looks seen at the great asset that would launch her into a better life than her parents could provide. June’s mother had dreamed often of the marriage she would make to a powerful man, a scion of old money, with a large house in an affluent community and a coterie of important friends.

  Sometimes June felt that centuries had passed since she’d left her parents’ home, eloping defiantly with John in a civil ceremony at city hall. She’d worn a pale blue suit and a hat with a short veil. She’d forgotten to do anything about a bouquet, but John had remembered to buy her a corsage for her lapel. It was only a spray of pink and white carnations, but never mind, it was the thought that counted. She no longer had the suit. After wearing it until the elbows gave out and the hem was frayed, she had finally put it in a box with other old clothes for the Salvation Army. What wouldn’t she give to own another suit like that, purchased in New York on a shopping excursion with a friend. Silk crepe de Chine it was, a lovely fabric that clung to June’s slim figure as if she had been born in it.

  June scratched the mosquito bite on her arm so hard she drew blood. She turned away from the shop window and continued down the street, glancing into the Harbor Side restaurant as she passed, at the crowd of summer people inside, the women showing off their newly acquired tans in sleeveless pastel dresses, strands of pearls at their throats. Restless, she turned back toward home. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable wandering about like this on her own, as if she was on the prowl, a lone woman out looking for trouble. Better to stay on the paths in the dunes where it was unlikely that she’d run into anyone.

  The moon had come up and even though she was away from the lights of town, June could see clearly without the flashlight. Crickets quieted as she passed them and it was still enough that she could hear things rustling in the brambles. Snakes? Mice? Her own breathing sounded loud in the stillness and when she looked up she was startled to see a man some ways ahead, his form shadowy in the moonlight. He was holding something in his hands, something flat and white that gleamed in the darkness. As she drew closer the figure took shape. It was Richard Hutchinson. What he was doing out here at this time of night? Although it wasn’t late, she would have thought he’d be at home in Stone cottage, talking over the events of the day with his wife, while she washed the dishes, having seen the last of their dinner guests to the door.

  As she drew closer, he looked up and peered into her face.

  “Mrs. Kerrigan?”

  June was surprised by the sudden thumping of her heart. “Why Mr. Hutchinson. Hello.” She hugged her elbows and looked away from his face, suddenly shy. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it? Hot, but still lovely with the moon and the. . . .” She cut herself off, mortified that she was babbling, hoping the darkness covered her blush. She lowered her eyes and stared at the object in his hands. It was a small sketch pad.

  He saw the direction of her gaze. “Oh, this.” He smiled sheepishly. “You must think I’ve lost my mind. Drawing in the dark. But I’ve been trying to capture the lighthouse and this headland, the way the moonlight is reflected by the water.”

  “May I see it?”

  He handed her the sketch pad and then rummaged in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes.

  June looked down at the drawing he’d made. It was good, that much she could see. The lighthouse and the dark, rocky headland were detailed with bold, accomplished lines.

  “You’re good,” she said, handing it back.

  “I just dabble,” Richard said. “It’s my secret vice. My wife calls me a Bohemian whenever she catches me drawing.” A shadow crossed his face, but when he looked up again he was smiling. “Would you care for a smoke?” He held the pack of cigarettes toward her.

  “Actually, I would,” June said, remembering their first encounter on the porch of the cottage when she’d refused his offer. “This weather has made me a little restless.”

  “Hard to sleep at night, isn’t it?”

  June took a cigarette from the pack and placed it between her lips.

  Richard sparked his lighter. He leaned close to light her cigarette and their hands briefly touched. June felt a shiver at the back of her knees. Nervously, she reached up and brushed the hair off her forehead. She was glad she’d remembered to freshen her lipstick before going out.

  “Is it as stifling at your place as it is at ours?” Richard said. “My wife’s plugged in some electric fans, but all they do is move the hot air around. Our place in Newport’s right on the water and we've always got a good breeze there. We were supposed to go to England this summer so my wife rented out the house.” Richard shrugged. “Then the trip fell through, so here we are.”

  June was silent. England. It sounded very exciting. She couldn’t imagine a life where going to England for the summer was a possibility. “I know what you mean, it is hard to get a breeze going," she said, for want of anything better to say. "I can’t remember a summer this hot, can you? Better to be here, though, than in the city. New York must be sweltering.”

  Richard smiled. “It is. It’s nice to be able to come up here on the weekends. In August I’ll be here for the whole month, taking a little vacation from the office. Tibby insisted. She says I need to play a little golf and spend more time with Paul.” He looked embarrassed by this admission of wifely scolding. “She’s right, though. I probably work too much.”

  “You should send your son over to our place,” June said. “My daughter Claire’s been moping about all summer.”

  Richard was silent for a minute. He dragged on his cigarette and slowly exhaled. “My wife’s a little protective of Paul. He had rheumatic fever a few years ago and we almost lost him. She’s worried about him running around too much, getting overtired, but if you ask me, he’s had too much coddling. I’ve tried to get her to ease up on him, but a mother’s will is hard to bend. But I expect you know that.” He smiled suddenly. “Would you care to walk for a stretch, Mrs. Kerrigan? There’s a nice path I found that takes you all the way down to the lighthouse and around the headland.”

  “Only if you promise to call me June. Mrs. Kerrigan makes me sound like an old lady.”

  “June it is. And please call me Richard. Or Dick if you want. It’s what Tibby calls me.”

  “I like Richard better.”

  She fell into step alongside him. His pace was easy and slow as if he were in no hurry to go anywhere, particularly not home. June wondered what he was doing out here, wandering in the dunes on his own. Perhaps it really was just too uncomfortably hot indoors, or perhaps he and his wife had argued and he had escaped the house to clear his head. Maybe he was tired of all her dinner parties. Somehow she could picture Mrs. Hutchinson back at Stone cottage with the lights out, pacing back and forth in an angry huff, waiting for his return.

  June finished her cigarette and stooped to bury it in the sand. As she stood up, she lost her balance and Richard touched her arm to steady her. Again she felt a jolt run down through her legs, a tingle in her knees. She hadn’t been out in the moonlight with a strange man since before she’d married John. As they walked she glanced at Richard’s profile from the corner of her eye. She liked his slender build and the way he furrowed his brow as if deep in thought. And he had nice hands with long slim fingers and blunt cut nails. She liked nice hands on a man.

  As the path narrowed and the brambles threatened to scratch June’s bare calves, Richard guided her by the elbow and gallantly parted the way with his trousered leg. The lighthouse rose up in front of them, white against the dark sky, its beam beating like an anxious heart. There was a bench at its base and Richard brushed it off for June before she sat down.

  She kicked off her sandals and dug her toes in the sand. “Hmm, it feels good to sit. I thought I felt a breeze a mome
nt ago. Maybe the wind is coming up.”

  Richard had remained standing, his hands thrust in his pockets, his head tilted back as he squinted up at the revolving light. June studied the curve of his throat. Small blond hairs, growing near the hollow at the base of his neck were exposed by the open button of his shirt. June closed her eyes and breathed in, chasing the air for the scent of wild roses and blackberry blossoms. What she caught was the smell of salt and Richard’s aftershave, citrusy and fresh. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his warm brown gaze upon her face. She blushed and looked away. He sat next to her and pulled off his loafers and peeled off his socks.

  “I haven’t had a vacation in a long time,” he said, looking out at the water. “Once August comes it’s going to take me a while how to figure out how to do nothing.”

  June smiled. “When I was a child we took our family vacations at a lake in Maine. My father thought it built character for my brother and me to get up at first light and dive into the water. It was like melted ice. Brrr. To get through it I used to pretend I was a penguin.” She laughed. But when she spoke again her voice was subdued. “John and I don’t take vacations with the children. There’s no point when you live in a place like this, I guess, although in the winter I wish we could get away somewhere warm. The wind howls in January loud enough to wake the dead. The house shakes and ice forms on the inside of the windows. That’s when I start dreaming of Florida.” She laughed again to take the edge off her words. She didn’t want Richard to think she was complaining.

  Richard groaned. “Don’t talk to me about Florida. Tibby’s always going on about buying a winter home down there. She says the climate would be good for Paul.”