Swim Butterfly Ch 18

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 18

Empty Wrappers

Goofy voices capitulate from the TV. June and Rudy woke up before me, and like flies to poop, found another cartoon station and turned up the volume. Empty Pop Tart and Cheetos wrappers litter the wild waves of the tangled sheet and comforter on their bed. I peek at my phone--8:04.

Then I lift the covers and peek at myself--yep, naked. Last night really happened, and the soreness proves it. I smile, remembering my date. My phone chimes with a text of a single heart, nothing else. I send back a heart with musical symbols on either side. Then I delete all the texts.

"Mom? Mom! I'm hungry," June announces.

"Really? Looks like you cleaned out the grocery store and dumped it all over your bed." I sit up, exposing my bare back to bend over and pick up the lumpy towel on the floor.

"Ew, Mom, you're naked!" Rudy exclaims.

That's not the worst of it, buddy boy.

"Yep, nice warm sheets on bare skin, Rude. Can't beat it."

Rudy makes a yucky face and turns back to the TV. I dig out my pajamas from the overnight bag and take them to the bathroom. I dress and brush my hair real quick. Just another recreational day at the shore.

I dig out cold cuts, yoghurt, and fruit from the mini fridge and arrange it on the bistro table for a Mom-approved breakfast. Their eyes never leave the TV as they shuffle to their morning meal. You'd think they tied their eyes to the tube with string, but I don't care today. This weekend is a vacation for me, too, with benefits. I still feel raw from last night, and it makes me smile. I'll have to defer Pete with a blow job tonight. If he wants anything at all.

The mini coffee pot brews a quick cup and the clock by the bed says 8:13. I pack most of our stuff, leaving out the bathing suits for a last-minute swim and a change of clothes. I pick up Jimmy's damp towel and the rest of my clothes from the floor, hanging the towel in the bathroom and stuffing the dirty clothes in a bag.

Something's missing. I check every inch of the room and between the sheets and comforter on my bed. Where's the red blanket?

***

I don't know how, but we did it--we swam showered dried changed packed loaded left called Pete and told him we'd be back around four or five had a nice time okay see you later bye, all by 11am. After we pack the car and check out, I haul the kids to a brisk walk on the beach. I have to find the blanket which must be on the beach because it's definitely not in my room, and Jimmy didn't take it.

We leave the car parked at the hotel. It shouldn't hurt to leave it there for twenty minutes, and I need to retrace my route. My stomach tightens as we cross the road at the same spot I crossed last night and up the same small stairs. I walk the old path onto the beach with June and Rudy darting behind, beside, and in front of me. Reflective rivulets of low tide decorate the exposed flats. June wants to play in the mud, naturally. Fuck! Nothing's ever simple with kids, is it?

I keep my eyes peeled for a sopping, bedraggled blanket in the sand. I look without luck and my heart sinks. Washed out to sea? Once the blanket dropped to the sand, the wind might have been strong enough to blow it into the greedy fingers of the surf. Shit! It's the only personal thing of Jimmy's that I have.

Idiot!

I picture Jimmy's blanket rolling about in the filthy silt, tossed around like a piece of trash and that hurts, because it's one of my dearest treasures.

I kick at the sand while June sifts for shells, something Pete might have enjoyed if he'd let himself get back into biology. I think back to the year I was clearing out the den and almost threw out his old high school biology book. "No!" Pete exclaimed, pulling the book out of the recycle bin. "Not this one! This was my favorite. Took a lot of guts to steal it rather than turn it in," he mumbled, leafing through the pages before he returned it to the bookshelf. Ever since then, I'd suggested several times that he pursue a degree in biology or something similar now. Why not? I got shrugs and excuses in response.

Rudy drifts back to me and hangs by my side, hands in his pockets, kicking the tips of the tiny sand hills. "June, come on! Put the shells in your pockets and let's go! You can show 'em to Daddy when we get home," I call across the sand.

"Aw, Mom, now?"

Rarely are we

all

happy at the same time. We cross back over the road to the hotel parking lot, and as we approach the car, I almost stop--the red blanket hangs over the side-view mirror. My heart skips a beat. I look around. No one. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a figure disappearing behind the curtains in a nearby room.

Yes, I had wanted the blanket back. Now I wish it

had

rolled out to sea.

***

Trying to put aside the Mystery of the Red Blanket's Return, I smile at June's unique brand of hopscotch on the brickwork of Washington Street's pedestrian zone while Rudy lags. He's not much of a shopper, but at least they're not bickering. We had a pretty good vacation here last summer, and I wish we had more happy family times. Maybe the drudgery of the day-to-day gets in the way. Well, what are you going to do?

I recall the pink lingerie debacle and how I hid Pete's purchase deep in the bottom drawer. The set that fit, the set I'd worn for Jimmy, I kept handy in the top underwear drawer, in case Pete ever asked about it. I think he forgot already. And then, that damn blanket! Who at the hotel would know that it was my blanket

and

know which car was mine? I never pointed out my car to Jimmy, and he never said he saw me arrive. I'll let him bring it up when we meet here, otherwise, I don't want to alarm him. But why would he be concerned? Indeed, I project my fears onto him.

My knees tingle when we near the green clock and I see Jimmy, hands in pockets, lingering nearby. I almost want to turn the kids around and take them somewhere else. I shouldn't do this, but just then, Jimmy turns and sees us. Wearing a dark blue peacoat and beanie, he reminds me of a longshoreman, smiling warmly at us.

As we approach, I exclaim too loudly, "Hey! I know you, how've you been?" Shit, what do I call him?

"Hi, long time, no see," he winks and we give each other quickie hugs.

"This is Rudy and June, my kids." I say.

They stare at Jimmy, who offers his hand to Rudy, "Hey, Rudy, I'm Andrew, nice to meet you." Ah, so it's Andrew today. I pray the kids don't recognize Jimmy from the pool although he's dressed now in heavy winter clothes. I'll have to sweat this out, I guess.

"How do you know my mother?" Rudy asks.

"We worked together in Philly years ago." Jimmy answers without missing a beat.

"Oh."

"And you, young lady. Nice to meet you, too." Junie offers a limp hand, barely looking at him. Sometimes she's shy. Or afraid?

I take a deep breath, "Well,

Andrew

, how you been?" I smile wide enough to crack my cheeks.

"Awesome! Work's good, just chillin' this weekend with the family. I see you're doing the same?"

"Yeah, down for the weekend. Change of scenery, you know?"

No need for further chit-chat. The kids already drift towards a store display of kites and windsocks. Jim and I walk side-by-side, following the children's lead, yet maintaining some distance.

"Did you get any more sleep?" I ask out of the side of my mouth.

"Yeah, some. Ms. Sharon was still pretty well asleep when I got back. We went out to breakfast. She had some bloody Marys and went back to her room. She's going through a nasty divorce, so she's down here pretty much to get blot-O'ed and get her mind off it for a while, you know."

Ms. Sharon.

I don't recall Jimmy referring to any of his clients by name. Well, I guess they must have names. I wonder if any of them know mine? I shake my head slightly, hoping Jimmy didn't see me do that.

"So, when are you and Ms. Sharon leaving?" I ask.

"Tuesday."

"Oh."

I think about the next time Jim and I can see each other. June and Rudy examine conch shells and Cape May shot glasses in another window. I wrest Jimmy's hand from his jeans pocket so we can clandestinely hold hands in his jacket pocket, even if just for a moment. He looks down at me with a wide smile. I wish I could kiss him, then I pull him into a doorway and do so, quick as a bunny, his lips warm, the scent of icy citrus from his cheek.

We emerge from the doorway just as the kids look back, waving and pointing to the candy store.

"Okay, Rude, June, a few things, but don't eat them 'til after lunch," I call out. They jump up once, crying yay, and shove each other through the door with the tinkling bell.

Jim leans in, "Mom, you're no fun... well, you were last night." He slaps me hard on the ass, making me jump and snort. I flash him the finger.

Jimmy slips off his hat as he follows me closely into the store. I stop and pretend to browse the rainbow assortment of jelly beans, situated so I can see the kids, but they don't have a full view of me. Jimmy slips a hand under my coat, caressing my midriff.

"See anything you like?" he asks, his hand drifting downwards. My knees feel like jelly, like the cellophane-wrapped cubes of Turkish delight.

"Mom, look!" I hear Rudy say. He turns a corner and approaches us. Jimmy remains, and I hope Rudy can't see his hand, but Rudy seems enamored with a Garfield-imprinted tin of candy fish and shakes it in my face. He takes off again and joins June, both of them giggling and poking at gold coins, colorful candy sticks, and little stuffed monkeys hugging giant lollipops. Jimmy watches them, smiling. I wonder what kind of father he'd make if he had the chance.

Occasionally, between new and different confectionary diversions, I notice June stop and stare at Jimmy, as if studying him and taking notes. Eventually she motions me to her, and tugs my sleeve to pull me close.

"Mommy," she whispers, "he's the ghost."

My heart thumps. "Really, hon, uh, why do you say that?"

"He's pale, Mom. I saw him in our room last night."

Shit, how do I wiggle out of this one? I bite my lip and put my hand to my hot cheek. "Uh, yes, he's a little on the light side, but he's probably not the ghost you saw last night. That hotel is very old and probably has lots of ghosts."

"Well, why didn't they check-out, like we did?" June asks.

"I guess they lost their room key," I laugh, then ask, "How come you didn't get scared and wake me up?"

"I thought it was okay. Maybe he wasn't a bad ghost, because you were with him."

I try to hide the deep breath I take, "Uh, I don't know, June. Maybe it was a weird dream. Sometimes when people travel, they have dreams like that. Why don't you look around some more and decide what you want to buy?"

She nods and returns to her shopping.

Jimmy waits a few feet away, his face serious. When I return to him, he asks, "What did she say?"

"She said you look like a ghost. She said she saw you in the room last night. I told her it's an old hotel and haunted."

Jimmy rolls his eyes and exhales, "Geez, great. Maybe the haunted hotel story will work. You look pale as a ghost yourself. You okay?"

I stare at the display of fudge behind the glass, "Yeah, I guess so. Let's get out of here and get something to eat."

My hands shake and I wipe a thin veil of sweat from my forehead. Rudy and June finally settle on licorice pipes, rock candy, and gold coins. Jimmy puts his hat back on. I pay, we leave.

***

I always liked the Irish pub nearby. Jimmy nudges me as we step into the murky, bustling pub and the sunny hostess leads us to a dark table with long, deep bench seats.

"Anyone want to sit next to J...Andrew?" I ask. June hugs my arm, and stares up at me with her big blue eyes, shaking her little bobbed head.

The kids and I squish into one seat with me at the end, across from Jimmy. I settle my pocketbook on Jimmy's less crowded side and after a little footsie, Jimmy and I interlock our ankles. Rudy and June spread their candies and toys from their pockets onto the table; jacks, a Lego warrior, rocks, and oyster shells. To increase their space, I gather the table doo-dads; the bottle of ketchup, box of sugars, salt and pepper shakers. Jimmy knits his brow, watching. I construct a wall between the kids and adults, completed with the beers and waters the server brings. I put my right hand on the table, drumming my fingers, then turning over my hand and wiggling my fingers to Jimmy. With a smile, he lays his left hand near mine, barely touching. My kids don't miss much when they tune in, but at the moment they tune out. I think.

I pick up my beer and toast, "Long time, no see!"

"Yes, yes." Jimmy says, smiling a little. He takes a sip. "You been good?" he asks in a low voice.

"Actually, yes." I reply. He dabs the thin beer mustache from his upper lip. I watch every motion. He shakes his head imperceptibly.

I cast a quick glance at the kids, and notice Rudy looking at the odd wall I built on the table. He has that split-second register of 'something's weird' in his eyes. I know my kid. Jimmy and I smoothly distance our hands.

"What's that, Mom?"

"What's what?" I ask, then hold my breath for his response.

"That," he points, "is that supposed to be some sort of wall?"

"Sort of. Just getting the condiments all ready on the table."

"They were

already

on the table," he mumbles, shaking his head, "kid-zone, adult-zone," then subjects the Lego warrior figure to blunt force trauma by licorice pipe. I look at Jimmy, who looks like he's about to burst out laughing when the server returns.

The server, a twenty-something young woman with long brunette tresses, asks to take our order and looks at Jimmy far more often than at me. She glances at Jimmy's left hand, then to my left hand; no ring, ring. Her brow raises slightly while she rattles off the specials, none of which I remember. Finally, she looks at me; I don't smile at all.

Mind your own fucking business.

She plays down the flirtiness and finds her composure, something that flatters everyone. She and her flighty youth return to the kitchen with our order, so Jimmy and I get back to business. We barely rub knuckles while Jimmy watches the kids. He looks at me and tips his head in their direction. I nod.

Jimmy straightens up, then leans back in his seat, "So, you guys enjoying Cape May?"

"Yeah, we like it," Rudy mumbles. "Last time we were here, we were with Dad."

June stares at Jimmy, then continues stacking and re-stacking her oyster shells.

"Yeah? Well, so, what's your favorite thing you've done here

this

time?" Jimmy continues, casting a quick glance at me.

"I like the pool," June finally finds her voice.

"Cartoons!" Rudy blurts.

Jim laughs, "Yeah? Which cartoon you guys like best? I used to watch

He-Man

," he winks at me. I grimace.

"Teen Titans Go!"

Rudy beams, and June agrees.

Rudy then launches into a play-by-play of last night's episode and June chimes in when Rudy misses the slightest detail. Jimmy listens without taking his eyes off them or interrupting. My shoulders loosen up. The beer buzz and charming conversation between the kids and Jimmy almost makes me woozy; tears even well up. Why do I cry so much? When something's wrong, when something's right, I cry. Confusing.

Between Jimmy's recollections of

He-Man

and June's own recap of

Gumball

, our order arrives. We munch and laugh our way through loaded potato skins, soda bread, and Irish stew. I swear, June-bug flirts with Jimmy; hard not to, with his easy-going, attentive nature. I sigh. I wish Pete could be more like that. Instead, he treats meals at restaurants like a burden, frowning and admonishing the kids for every minor transgression and quashing any signs of light-heartedness. Today's jovial lunch would have made Pete crazy.

After she finishes her second potato skin, June ducks under the table without warning and pops up on the other side next to Jimmy. I bang my knee on the underside of the table extricating my foot from between Jimmy's ankles, praying June didn't notice anything. Jimmy nearly chokes on his sip of water, but otherwise he doesn't seem to move a muscle.

Conversation continues flowing around the table, and I throw in a couple details about 'work' in case the topic of 'Andrew' comes up at home. The story that he's an old work colleague must remain essentially sound. Jimmy plays along beautifully, even while I rub his leg with my foot; payback for the train experience. I smile at him, wondering how did I get so lucky to meet him?

Oh, just shut up and enjoy it.

Treasure this time now and fret tomorrow. Maybe the gift of Jimmy helps me age happily, a gift I can decide to keep, or not.

But the gift of good food leaves me stuffed, although part of my aching stomach is the nervous knot of time passing by. The server slips the bill onto the table and I pay with cash. She bids us a quick bye-n-thank you, and off to the next table, all of which are full. More customers wait at the door.

Jimmy mouths, 'Thank you' and flits his fingertips over my knuckles one last time while the kids round up their doo-dads. I mouth back, 'I love you.' He smiles, but only a little.

***

I'm warm and sluggish after a big meal and a rough, randy night, and we've got about an hour to hang around town before heading out. Strolling side-by-side, bumping elbows back and forth, Jimmy and I discuss rubber duckies in a window, whether we should get ice cream in January, and how we lucked out with the weather. Sometimes I wish the world would vaporize at these moments when I feel content.

But I never feel content for long and wonder what Jimmy would say if I considered leaving Pete. What an upheaval, and who knows what would happen with me and Jimmy if I were free to do as I please. I'm old enough to know that the thrill of a romantic affair is just chemical and won't last forever. Usually.

I push my lonely hands deeper into my coat pockets, studying the jogging rooflines of the storefronts. We rarely write our own story, although we like to believe otherwise. I mean, I can stay where I am now, not rock the boat and fool around on the sly, never knowing if I'm coming or going, parsing my soul, never whole. Is it right to find my happiness at the expense of others? But if I'm not happy, no one else is, and it's a whole mess. Ah,

freedom.

Maybe I could live in some crappy little apartment nearby, still take care of the kids, and work some extra jobs to make ends meet, but I come and go as I please. Stay out late, sleep in on weekends, fool around however I want, but then, I'm alone again. A lot. And I know from experience that loneliness sucks, too.

Jimmy looks down at me, "You okay?"

Color and sound roars back, and I turn my attention to Jimmy, "Yeah, fine. Just drifted off for a moment."

"Mm hmm."

He guides me to a bench and we sit, "Put your hand in my pocket," he says. I do so, almost not caring whether or not the kids notice. I doubt it. They busy themselves jumping off a short stone wall nearby.

A breeze carries the scent of him to me, "Jimmy?"

"Mm?"

"What would you do if I left Pete?"

He sits up and adjusts his hat with his free hand, "You're not really thinking about that, are you?"

"No, but just theoretically."

"Well, I probably wouldn't do anything differently myself, except ask you to come live with me. Give it a whirl," he shrugs, but I can't tell if he takes me seriously.

"Would you really want me around that much?" I squeeze his hand.

"Sure, why not? There's plenty of work and plenty of stuff to do in the city. You could bring the kids. Together we could afford a larger apartment, or move back to Brooklyn."

My heart jumps a beat. I breathe deeply. Jimmy's response, so easy and breezy, like daisies and fluffy summer clouds. I watch June and Rudy settle down on the stone wall and break out their candy. Shoppers bundled in winter coats walk by. Jimmy and I hold hands in his roomy coat pocket. Picture-perfect. But I shake my head anyway.