Yours Until Morning Page 9

  They turned toward the pine forest and headed back through it, walking single file now. Claire could see by the droop of Paul’s shoulders that he was tired. The sun was lower in the sky now and it was gloomy under the trees, their footsteps muffled by the thick loam and layers of brown needles. When they came out into the lane and reached the halfway point between their two houses, Claire waved reluctantly, sorry to see him go. “Can you come out again tomorrow?”

  Paul dug the toe of his sneaker in the damp ground and looked away. “Maybe. I’ll ask. Come over anyway tomorrow and I’ll lend you some of my math books.”

  June was in the kitchen putting the last touches on the evening meal.

  “What are we having?” Claire asked, remembering to catch the screen door so it wouldn’t slam.

  “Macaroni and cheese, sliced tomatoes.” She turned to Claire and smiled. “Was that the Hutchinson boy I saw you with?”

  Claire nodded.

  “Well, I’m glad the two of you have finally met. He seems like a nice boy.” She turned back toward the stove, humming a little tune and Claire gazed at her back, wondering what it was that had made her mother lose her sad expression, the tired set of her mouth. She looked pretty, the crease between her eyes had faded; her whole face seemed brighter.

  The telephone rang and June picked it up. Immediately her face changed to one of concern. “They’re still not back yet? Oh, Emma, I’m sure they’re all right, but listen, if it’ll make you feel better, why don’t you talk to John. He just called to say he’ll be late for dinner. He’s at O’Malley’s. Ask him what to do. Of course I’ll say a prayer for you, but I just know they’re all right. Call me later if you hear anything.” June hung up the phone and turned away distractedly. “Poor Emma” she said to herself. “She really sounds frantic.”

  Claire felt sorry for Mrs. Sanders. She was glad her father wasn’t a commercial fisherman. In some of the houses along the waterfront she’d heard that the floorboards had been worn down to nothing from the generations of women who’d paced back in forth in front of the windows, or up on the widow’s walk, taut with anguish, waiting for their men to return from the sea.

  “Claire, I’m talking to you.” June waved her fingers in front of Claire’s nose. “Please call Evie and tell her to come down and help you set the table. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” June rinsed her hands and then dried them on a dishtowel. She stood by the window and looked in the direction of Stone cottage, a smile on her lips, her eyes unfocused, even a little dreamy. Claire stared at her mother, wondering what she was thinking about. It didn’t look like she was worried anymore about Mrs. Sanders’ husband and son. She seemed to be thinking about something else altogether. The sun was much lower in the sky now, the kitchen cast in shadow. Claire looked down and saw that her mother had kicked off her shoes and was padding around the kitchen in her bare feet, pink nail polish bright against the linoleum, flexing her naked toes against the floor like a languid cat.

  9

  The motor on the Dolores May was flooded and the radio knocked out, but Jimmy’s boat had not broken up in the storm. “Thank God,” Emma said when she called June the next morning to tell her they had been found by the Coast Guard seven miles offshore and were being towed in. They’d radioed the news to the harbor master, who called Emma at home, and she’d dissolved right there on her kitchen floor in a puddle of tears, vowing then and there to go to church every Sunday and never think a bad thought about anyone or anything again.

  All’s well that ends well, June said to herself as she hung up the phone. She was happy the crisis was over and that Emma’s family was safe so she could put the whole worry behind her. She’d been in such a floaty mood, lately, that all she wanted to do was get off by herself in the dunes or curl up on her bed and dream about Richard Hutchinson, about the next time they would be together, and the way his arms felt around her as he pulled her close. This coming Saturday was the start of his August vacation. They’d have a whole month to be together, no more waiting in anguish, no more wondering when she’d be able to see him again. He’d be living right next door and, if they were lucky, they might be able to sneak away together every day.

  They had become lovers soon after that first embrace by the lighthouse. It was June who suggested they meet in an old fishing hut she knew about which was unlocked and empty. The first time he placed his hands on her back and slid the dress from her shoulders, her heart felt like a fist in her throat. It was like swimming a long way under water, desperate for air. When he touched her naked skin and the goose bumps rose under his fingertips she knew there was no going back. She was officially an adulteress. But the word didn’t frighten her, not since she had crossed over to the other side. What she and Richard were doing didn’t feel wrong. It felt wonderful, exhilarating. His lips and fingertips made sparks on her skin where they touched her. She felt an ache between her legs, a desire to have him fill up her insides, in a way she had never felt with John. For the first time in her life she understood what passion was, the kind of breathless passion she’d seen in the movies or read about in romance novels.

  Before Richard came into her life, her own experience of passion and romance had been rather thin. She had done nothing more than neck with her teenage suitors, and early attempts at lovemaking with her husband had been awkward and constrained. The whole business embarrassed her, but in the early days of their marriage John had been gentle, never asking for more than she was willing to give, until they’d reached a kind of awkward but tender communion. But after the girls were born, they began sleeping in separate beds and June had preferred it that way, especially since she and John woke up and went to sleep at such different hours. Perhaps as a result of these sleeping arrangements, lovemaking had never been a big part of their marriage. It had been a long time since John had touched her. And now Richard had woken something inside of her, as if for all these years a spell had been cast over her, while she waited for the right man to bruise her lips with his kisses and pump new blood into her slumbering heart.

  But the waiting. . . . Oh, dear God, it was the waiting that was killing her. When would she see him again? When-oh-when. Her blood pumped to the rhythm of these words. There were still four more days until Richard returned to Lockport and now John was putting a crimp in her plans to daydream the time away with this plan of his to take the whole family out on the boat for the day. He said he badly needed a break from working on Sandhurst’s boat, that he would leave Emerson in charge so he could spend some time with his family. As a way of surprising them, he announced his intentions the night before, while they were all seated at the table, everyone except Ben, who’d already been put to bed.

  “I don’t think Claire should go out on the boat, John.” June tried to keep her voice calm, but a quavering note crept into it. She felt something akin to hysteria whenever she thought about Claire being close to the water.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” John said, glancing quickly at Claire, whose head was bent over her bowl of ice cream. June knew he disapproved of them talking about the children in front of them as if they weren’t in the room. “You’ll be there to watch her, I’ll be there. So will Evie. We haven’t been out yet on the boat as a family this year. It’ll be fun. You keep telling me that we don’t spend enough time together. And I could use a day off. Emerson and I are going into the final stretch now and it would be nice to have a clear head before we tackle the rest.”

  “But I can’t watch Ben and Claire at the same time. I’ll be a nervous wreck thinking either one or the other will fall over the side and drown.” June stood up jerkily and began clearing the plates and bowls from the table.

  “I haven’t finished,” Evie said coolly, holding onto her bowl of ice cream. June pulled her hand back as if stung and turned to busy herself at the sink. Her face was flushed, her hands trembled. She did not want to spend the whole day on the boat. Yes, it was true she was worried about Ben and Claire falling overboard, but it was more than
that. She did not want to spend all day out on the boat with her husband. The only person she wanted to be with these days was Richard. It was as if her mind and body were possessed by something beyond her control. Her thoughts had been so full of Richard lately she was afraid if she spent too much time in John’s company, something in her face and manner would give her away.

  “June. Aren’t you overreacting a bit?” John stood up and touched his wife on the shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’s going to be clear and calm all day tomorrow. No wind. We’ll go out in the morning and take a picnic lunch. It’ll be fun. What you need is to enjoy yourself more. So stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”

  June bit her lip. A million arguments crowded into her head, but she was too tired to go up against John when he had that determined look in his eye. She knew that look, the stubborn set of his chin. There was no changing his mind.

  “I have other things I need to do tomorrow,” she said fretfully, pulling at a loose thread on her dress. “I don’t have time to spend all day out on your boat. But if it's that important to you...then a couple of hours. That’s all. I’d better go over to the market to get some cold cuts for our lunch. Although I don’t see how you can be so cheerful about taking us out in the boat after Jimmy and Robbie almost died out there in that storm. I swear the worry’s taken ten years off Emma’s life.”

  “They didn’t almost die and there won’t be another storm like that this summer,” John said. “We’ll have to wait for the fall for another nor’easter like that one.” He smiled at his daughters and reached out to lay a conciliatory hand on his wife’s arm. She tolerated this brief gesture of affection for a moment and then pulled away.

  “Well. If you’re dead set on this, I’d better go to the market before it closes.” She picked up her handbag from the chair. “Keep an ear out for Ben in case he wakes up, will you? Girls, please don’t forget to dry the dishes while I’m gone.”

  June walked out into the soft air of early evening, relieved to be away from the house, even if it was only to go to the market. She was glad that Mr. Fredericks kept the market open late, as it gave her an excuse to get some time alone to try to calm the thoughts of Richard that rushed through her mind in a torrent. As she passed Stone cottage she glanced surreptitiously at the house, but couldn’t see anything through the screened windows and no one was on the porch. As far as she knew Richard was still in New York, so there was no hope of seeing him. And she certainly didn’t want to run into his wife. Not now.

  Frustrated desire made her heart flutter and her breath was come in little gasps. The last thing she wanted was to spend all day tomorrow on the boat. But perhaps it would better to get this little excursion over with now. When Richard came, June didn’t want anything to interfere with their time together. Her face flushed at the thought of him. She’d never made love to anyone besides John before and was surprised by the strength of her passion and the depth of the desire she felt when Richard touched her, as if she were being sucked down into a volcano of darkness and heat. How many times in the past two weeks had she giddily wished they could run off together, sail off on a yacht toward the setting sun and never return?

  In her dreams she became the heroine of all the romance novels she’d ever read. Or a Hollywood starlet on the silver screen, sitting around her penthouse apartment in a peignoir, a martini in her hand, waiting for her lover to arrive. Electricity sparked in her veins every time she thought of Richard; she felt more alive than she had in years. If only they had been able to see each other more than those two times so far, or that they hadn’t had to sneak off to make love in a musty old fishing hut. What she wanted was for Richard to whisk her off to the Copley Hotel in Boston and check them into the penthouse suite where they could order in room service and lie in bed together and make plans for their future.

  Of course it wouldn’t be a simple matter to leave John. She knew him too well to know that he was not the kind of man to stand aside while another man took away his wife. And the children. June’s heart contracted when she thought about the children. Of course they’d be devastated if John were no longer living with them, but New York wasn’t so far away. They could still see him every other weekend and during the summer vacation. She knew only one other divorced woman, but these days it wasn’t such a terrible thing. Nowadays people got divorced all the time. All you had to do was read the movie magazines. Film stars dropped husbands right and left and nobody batted any eye.

  But as she approached the town, doubt began to cloud her mind. She could almost feel the ground shift under her feet, like sand sucked out with the tide. Maybe Richard wouldn’t want her if the children came too. What then? Or what if Richard didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about him? He’d never mentioned how he felt about his wife. What if he still loved her? Of course they’d only been seeing each other for a short time, had made love only twice, but how could he possibly go on with Elizabeth when he’s clearly so in love with me? June thought. Richard hadn’t said he loved her. At least not yet. Her brow furrowed at this thought. But he would soon. She was sure of it.

  A group of teenage boys sporting rolled up dungarees and greased hair was loitering in front of the market, smoking cigarettes and swigging Cokes. June ignored their laughter and rude comments and swept into the store. She gave a cheery wave to Mr. Fredericks, who was way past retirement age, but insisted on working until he dropped. “They’ll have to carry me out of here,” he always said cheerfully, grinning his lopsided grin. Half his teeth were gone, and the rest looked ready to follow.

  June bought a loaf of white bread and a jar of grape jelly and peanut butter for the children’s sandwiches and a package of sliced ham and a jar of mustard. Coke was too expensive, so she’d just make lemonade or iced tea and put that in a thermos. Not much of a picnic, she thought, surveying the items in her shopping basket. But she didn’t want to use up all her household money so early in the week. Too bad she didn’t have any coupons for the things she needed.

  She carried her basket up to the register.

  “Yes, quite a storm, wasn’t it?” Mr. Fredericks said. “Farmers are glad for the rain though”.

  She paid for her purchases and left the store, hugging the paper bag to her chest. The air was warm. It was hard to believe there had been such a fierce storm only two days ago, that her best friend had almost lost her husband and son. The sea was calm, the swell nearly gone. There was hardly any wind. It was as if the storm hadn’t happened at all; only the image of Emma’s ravaged and terrified face was still imprinted in her mind. But Emma is strong, stronger than I am, June thought. When she’d believed John was lost in that storm a few years back, she’d been hysterical, unable to think rationally, had gabbled to Emma like a madwoman and then finally drunk herself into a state of oblivion with half a bottle of gin.

  But now her mind careened off in a direction she didn’t want it to go. What if John had died in that storm? She’d be a widow now, a free woman, free to go off with Richard. Without John in her life, she wouldn’t be obliged to stay on in Lockport, a town with limited opportunities, to say the least, where she didn’t belong and would probably always be looked upon as an outsider. But where would she go have gone? Back to her mother? She would never have taken her in, or if she had, June would be forced, for the rest of her life, to pay for what her mother saw as utter folly: rebelling like a spoiled child and marrying John, refusing to follow the path that had been chosen for her. Even now she could hear her mother’s voice clear as day: serves you right. You made your bed. June bit the inside of her cheek to stop this train of thought. She was starting to become obsessive. “I won’t think these things,” she said aloud. It’s bad luck.

  Her sandals flapped against the pavement. The streetlights blinked on and the deepening sky was so beautiful she sighed deeply like a schoolgirl under the influence of her first crush. She wanted so much to be with Richard. Her chest ached as if constricted by iron bands. Richard, Richard. She whis
pered his name in the soft air. In the last few days whenever she was doing the washing or bathing Ben or mopping the kitchen floor, she thought about Richard, about the two of them whispering together in the dim light of the fishing cottage, the way her breasts felt pressed against his chest.

  All too soon she was back at the entrance to their lane and she turned into it, scuffing her feet in the sand. As she approached Stone cottage she raised the bag higher to hide part of her face and peeked surreptitiously into the windows. Now that it was dark and the cottage was lit up from within, she could see easily inside. Elizabeth swept into the living room with a drink in her hand and June’s heart contracted with jealousy. Why did Elizabeth get to be Richard’s wife? Why her and not me? Did they sleep in the same bed, did he make love to her? The thought made her groan. She looked away.

  June hurried up the steps to the kitchen and flung open the screen door. She could hear the television on in the living room. John called out. “That you, June? Need any help?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. If she had to face her husband now, she was sure he’d see in her expression all her pent up frustration about being kept apart from Richard and he’d recoil from her as if from a Medusa’s head. She put the groceries on the table and tried to control her breathing. She ran her hands down her dress to straighten the creases. You’re John’s wife, she said to herself. You’re John’s wife and the mother of three children. This is your life. Be happy with what you have.

  She emptied the paper sack and put the food away. She was tired now from the trip to the market and the emotional tumbling in her heart, but she still had a few things to do before turning in. Already she was getting the jitters about going out on the boat tomorrow. Even in the best weather she got bored after an hour and no matter how much John cleaned it, the deck always smelled of fish. And she hated to admit it, but she was afraid of the sea. No matter how calm the swell, or how flat and serene the water, she was afraid of drowning, of the boat hitting a rock or being rammed by a whale, of floundering in the dark water and being sucked down into the depths by some hideous creature with dead eyes and gnashing teeth. She shuddered. Nothing to do about it now. She’d just bring a couple of magazines and make the best of it. As long as she wore her hat, the freckles on her nose wouldn’t get any worse. She would put on suntan lotion and sit in the shade of the cabin and try to stay cool. She wanted to be beautiful for Richard, and had even taken to dabbing her freckles with lemon juice so she would have skin like Grace Kelly, flawless and pale like a cameo.