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NOW
A few weeks later, during the first week of August, Joanna decided to forgo her usual run downtown and opted for the beach instead. She’d heard beach runs could be more satisfying, and she was in the mood to try something different. Beginning at Russell Point, first thing in the morning, she set her goal for four miles, a normal distance for her. She’d gotten to the point where, on pavement, that wasn’t terribly taxing, but on sand, her legs were burning after only about a mile and a half. She pushed harder, putting her head down and reminding herself to just suck it up and go.
So complete was her focus that she didn’t realize she had crossed onto Duckhead Beach until a few hundred yards after the demarcation—a point that seemed vague and arbitrary at best. In fact, she may not have noticed at all if, just then, a huge dog hadn’t come loping toward her, its tail wagging and its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Before she had a chance to brace herself, she was knocked almost all the way to the ground, and the dog was jumping around her, barking in excitement, wagging her tail and licking her everywhere she could reach.
Rolling her eyes, Joanna stood and brushed the sand off her clothes, trying to get it out of her hair and off of her sweaty, sticky face. Erik was jogging toward her, laughing hysterically.
“Sorry—I couldn’t resist. Once for old times’ sake,” he called out. When he reached her, he had the same bright exuberance he always had on his face when he was working Ro. “I’m impressed she remembered; aren’t you?”
“I don’t know if impressed is the right word,” she told him drily. She wiped the last of the sand and dog hair off her hands. Erik was eyeing her shorts and long-sleeved shirt, and she realized she hadn’t seen him since the wedding. Of course he was deeply tanned and fully kempt in his shorts and hoodie; of course she was at her sweatiest, her frizziest, her sandiest. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
He lifted one hand and scratched the back of his neck. “So you’re a runner now?” he asked lightly.
She shrugged. “It helps me think. You should give it a shot.”
“Ah, Joanna,” he said, throwing Ro’s ball into the surf and watching her dive for it, “still trying to whip me into shape.” That could have been a cutting remark, but Joanna was pretty sure she saw a glimmer in his eye, so she decided to interpret it as merely sarcastic. Then, Erik invited her back to the cottage for some water, which she accepted gladly.
They were about a quarter of a mile away, so he grabbed the ball Ro had fetched and they walked, Erik continuing to throw and receive, throw and receive, as Ro ran back and forth.
“You still love living here?” she asked him after a minute.
“Yeah, I do,” he told her, nodding. “I’ve changed a few things. I wonder what you’ll think of it.”
They were quiet for another minute.
“Not too many people out right now, are there?”
“Still too early. That’s why I work her so hard in the mornings, before the families start settling in for the day. I could take her to the waterfront downtown, but I’d have to leash her, and we both hate that.”
Joanna nodded her head. “How’s work?”
“Fine.” He glanced at her. “That’s different now, too.”
“Oh? What are you doing now?” From what Joanna could tell, he certainly still looked like he was doing hard labor.
“You’ll see.”
They’d reached the cottage by now, though Joanna didn’t realize it until Erik climbed the porch steps. What had once been little better than a derelict shack on the beach was now, from the outside at least, a cozy, well-maintained, comfy little beach cottage. There was a fresh coat of paint, new shutters on the windows, and a new screen door. The porch steps had been repaired. Loose shingles on the roof had been replaced.
“I…I have no words,” she stammered. He stood proudly, his arms spread wide and a giant smile crossing his face. “What happened to this place?”
“I did,” he said, trying and failing to sound modest as he hopped back down to the sand and stood next to her.
“You did?” She looked around again. He’d been doing this work for six years, she realized now—eight if you included two years of carpentry in high school—and she had never before seen what he was capable of. The porch had been totally rejuvenated. He had the same table and chairs, but he’d cleaned and repainted them, and they actually looked comfortable now. The porch itself had been sanded and stained, and the railing painted. All in all, it looked…inviting.
“There’s more inside.” In his eagerness, he grabbed her hand without awkwardness and pulled her up the steps, leading her through the door. Ro ran ahead of them, going straight to her food and grabbing a few bites before settling down on the bed in the corner. She followed slowly, remembering how she had always had to wait a few long moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark interior. But no longer. To her surprise, she felt as surrounded by natural light in here as she had out on the beach.
“Wow! Are there new windows?” she asked, looking around. She didn’t know how difficult it would be to add windows to an existing structure, but she couldn’t think of anything else that could account for the transformation.
“No—I replaced the glass. Made a wicked big different. And I stripped the wallpaper, tore up the carpet, and painted the walls white. Nice, huh?”
“Very nice.”
Joanna didn’t have the technical vocabulary to really understand what she was looking at, but the change was enormous. The cottage had been adequate but cramped, and always kind of sketchy. Now, it was fresh and bright and clean and airy. The ancient, mildewed furniture was gone, replaced by a couch and a wingback chair in the living room and a table with two ladderback chairs in the kitchen—all used, but clean and in good condition. She saw that Erik had replaced the grout and the sink in the bathroom and had retiled the shower. And he’d gotten rid of that god-awful puffy toilet seat and replaced it with a plain white one. Joanna had always refused to go to the bathroom here, she remembered, for fear of whatever might have lurked on that seat. The frilly, chintzy drapes and valances had been replaced with clean Roman shades. The loft, where Erik’s bedroom was, had been repainted too, and its railing sanded and touched up. Joanna saw that he’d gotten rid of all the kitschy knickknacks Bruce had put everywhere and had hung a few framed prints on the walls and scattered framed photographs on the surfaces. Finally, there was a new backsplash in the kitchen, a farmer’s sink, and butcher block counters. The original range was now vintage and the avocado green refrigerator was a conversation piece, so he’d kept those, but everything else was new.
“I honestly can’t believe it. You did all of this?” Joanna asked, turning in a slow circle to see everything. Erik nodded, clearly proud of himself. “When did you have time?”
He shrugged. “I started a little over a year ago and just did what I could when I could. I only finished it a couple of months ago and Bruce came to have a look.” A little over a year ago—that was when they’d broken up. Had she inspired all of this, somehow?
“How did Bruce take it?”
“Actually, he loved it. So much so that we went into business together.” He looked over at Joanna with that last part, an almost bashful look on his face, and opened the fridge to get the water pitcher. He busied himself pouring two glasses while she stared at his back.
“Business? What business? What do you mean?”
“We’ve been flipping houses. This place was my test.” He turned and handed her her glass, while he took his to the couch in the living room. She stayed in the kitchen, still staring after him.
“How did that come about?”
Erik shrugged and sat down. “I love construction, but I hated my job—all the hours on someone else’s time, and I could never make my own decisions about the end product. And Bruce loves real estate, but he hates the labor. I was already doing all of his maintenance, and, a little over a year ago, he went to some conference and came back and asked me if I’d like to do this. He handles the business, we do the design together, and I handle the labor.”
Joanna finally came to sit down beside Erik, still somewhat stunned.
“So…you’re not working right now?”
“Not like I was. We work together. I’m co-owner and he’s co-owner.”
If Ronnie could see him now… The thought was there and gone almost before Joanna recognized it as such, but she couldn’t help a flash of pride in him flaring up.
“We’ve had two jobs so far. One in Hedgewood. A little cabin like this. And a real dump in Thomaston. We did both of those on commission—his brother bought the first place, and his neighbor bought the second one.”
“And…did it go well?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding proudly again. “My share of the profit, after supplies and all, was $20,000 for both combined.” Joanna was floored. That sounded unbelievable to her. “And it was only maybe eight months of work,” he continued. “If we keep this up, we should be in a good position to get through the winter and then push really hard again in the spring.” He took a sip of his water and shrugged as he set the glass down on the coffee table. “I don’t know how it will be in ten years, but I love it right now. Some days, I worked 20 hours for three days straight, but right now, I don’t have much to do. So it evens out.”
“Wow. You sound…really happy, Erik.”
“I am. You know, I am. Bruce is a good partner. He knows the market, and he’s wicked smart about business, and I get to work with my hands and hire my own crew and see a project from start to finish. It might not work without his income from the other properties. It’s an expensive line of work, but…” He shrugged again, smiling. Joanna remembered her water then and took a slow, thoughtful sip. Erik was probably the most content person she knew. Not only that, but also the most contentable. What made him so much easier to satisfy than everyone else?
As much to continue the conversation as to share the spotlight, Joanna said, “I have job news too. I’m going to be an assistant theater teacher and assistant director at Grace High this year.” She sat back, feeling proud of herself.
“What—really?”
She nodded.
“That sounds like a great fit for you, Joanna.” He smiled, one of his real, Erik smiles.
“Yeah—I mean, I won’t be making any twenty thousand, but I think it’ll give me a chance to figure some things out.”
“Hey, money is money.” Erik picked up his glass again. “And that means…so…you’ll be staying here, what—at least for the school year?” She nodded her head, and he smiled a little, taking a small sip of water. “Huh. Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you. I can see you as the cool new teacher. All the girls will love you, all the guys will want you,” he joked.
She laughed and said, “Oh, right.”
Erik started to take another sip and then realized that his glass was empty. Looking into the kitchen, he asked if Joanna had had breakfast yet. When she shook her head, he said, “Do you want some?” Erik had never cooked for her before, though he’d made a big deal of wanting to when he’d first moved in five years earlier, so she said sure, curious to see how it would turn out. He took her empty glass, along with his, into the kitchen, whistling something she didn’t recognize.
“Why don’t you turn on some music or something,” he called over his shoulder. The antique radio that had belonged to his dad was still on the mantel where it had been before. Ro lifted her head and watched Joanna cross the room, and then she laid back down and sighed happily. Joanna turned the dial, loving the satisfying click it made; it was already tuned to her favorite station. “Breakfast in Hell,” by Slaid Cleaves was playing. “Good choice,” he called from the kitchen. Joanna heard cupboard doors opening and closing, the rattle of dishes. Joanna walked around the living room, studying the photographs that Erik had placed around the room. There was one of a very young Erik with his grandfather, his mother’s dad, whom Joanna had never met. A few pictures showed Erik with his dad or with his dad and mom. As she had many times before, she studied the faded images for the resemblance to his dad. There was almost none between he and his mother, but his dad had had the same coloring, and there was a certain swagger in some pictures that she could see in Erik too. One shot in particular showed a very young Mr. Donovan—younger than Erik was now, from the looks of it. He was standing on one hull of a small catamaran, bare-footed and bare-chested. His hair, curly like Erik’s, was probably close to shoulder length, though it was held back by a folded bandanna, so she couldn’t tell for sure. His eyes were squinted against the sun, but he had a smile on his face that was so relaxed, so utterly at home in the moment, she thought immediately of Mrs. Donovan. No wonder she fell for him, she thought. Joanna had never felt comfortable asking Mrs. Donovan about Erik’s dad, but she knew the basics of their story: she’d been seventeen when he, a twenty-three-year-old Ph.D. student, had come to the dot-on-the-map town in Aroostook where she lived in order to conduct some kind of research on cold-weather agriculture. By the end of his three months in town, she’d turned eighteen, they’d gotten married, and he’d moved her down to Grace where he’d secured a job. Joanna wondered what Grace might have seemed like to a young, inexperienced Mrs. Donovan. Had it seemed like another world? Had she regretted her decision? For what was easily the hundred thousandth time in her life, Joanna wished deeply that she had met Erik’s father. He must have been something.
Most of the other pictures were of Erik and Josh, or Erik and Joanna, or Erik and Josh and Joanna. They were mostly young and unformed in those, and she’d forgotten many of the moments that they immortalized, but she was struck by the realization that he really had been there forever.
“Bone appetite!” Erik called out, intentionally mispronouncing the words and bringing Joanna out of her reverie. She went to the table in the kitchen and sat down, eager to see what he had prepared for her. Sliding around in the center of her plate, she saw an Eggo waffle, topped with a pat of butter. Across the table, there was an identical plate for Erik. She didn’t mean to, but she laughed a little and looked up at him.
“Are you serious? Is this what you eat for breakfast every day?”
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Well, I usually have three or four. Why?”
“No—nothing,” she said, still shaking her head and laughing. “I’m sorry. This looks perfect. Thank you!”
“What, you think you could do better?” he challenged her as he sat down. He had the same glimmer in his eyes that she had noticed on the beach, and she stood back up and faced him defiantly.
“Maybe I could. I happen to have learned a thing or two in college, you know.”
“Really. Well, be my guest.” He gave a mocking bow, and Joanna slid past him to open the fridge.
Three eggs. Half a tomato on a plate. A case of beer. A still-wrapped block of cheddar cheese, plus the dregs of a bag of shredded Taco Blend cheese. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, Worcestershire sauce, and sriracha. The pantry wasn’t much better: a baggie of partially-crushed taco shells. Three cans of Hungry Man beef stew. A collection of salt and pepper shakers. A lifetime supply of dog food. A new box of Saltine crackers.
“I hope market day is coming,” she quipped, grabbing the eggs, tomato, shredded cheese, and taco shells and setting up a space for herself by the stove. Erik laughed and then stood behind her, watching everything she was doing. He was so enthusiastic and appreciative, she felt like a genius when, five minutes later, she served two plates of very basic Mexican scrambled eggs.
“Joanna, this is great,” he told her after a couple of bites. “I never thought I’d find anything better than an Eggo, but this comes close.”
“I don’t know how you get by. I happen to know for a fact that your mother made you eat a starch, a protein, and a vegetable at every meal. She would have a heart attack if she saw your fridge.”
“Nah, I think she likes it.” Erik chewed his last bite and then used the side of his fork to scrape up the remaining bits of melted cheese from his plate. “The more helpless I am, the more reason she has to come take care of me.” She laughed and nodded at that. He was probably right—Mrs. Donovan did love her son, that was for sure.
They chatted amiably while she finished her helping, and then he took Ro for a quick walk. She declined his offer to join them, straightening up the kitchen while they were gone instead. They weren’t back yet by the time the dishes were drying and the food was put away. She wandered through the living room, looking at the pictures a second time, more slowly. Her gaze drifted repeatedly to the ladder leading up to his loft. She’d been up there a couple of times, back when they were dating, but it had been a pit of smelly clothes and scattered DVDs, CDs, and scrawled-on bits of paper back then. She was dying to see if the transformation down here had also happened up there. And also—yes, there was certainly that part of her that wanted a moment to be as near to Erik’s things as she could be.
Without trying too hard to talk herself out of it, she scooted quickly up the ladder and stood in the open loft. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular; she just wanted to see what sense she could get of Erik’s life. The bed was neatly made—thick white comforter and dark blue sheets. He had no frame, but the mattress was set on top of a couple of pallets. There was a black, floor-to-ceiling shelf against the wall next to the bed that served as a bookshelf, a dresser, and a catch-all. Clothes were folded neatly in sorted piles on the bottom three shelves; books and knickknacks filled the top two. Mostly construction-themed books, but there were some on dog training and horticulture too, and he had copies of Lord of the Rings, Holes, The Giver, and Hatchet on the top. She wondered when he’d last read any of them, or if he was reading one of them now. There was an open notebook on one of the pillows. Looking closer, she realized it had something to do with work. There were a lot of measurements, some sketches, a supply list. A pair of flannel pants was crumpled on the floor next to the bed, as if he’d stepped out of them that morning and left them there. An old picture of the two of them was taped to the side of his shelf, the side facing the bed—one of those photo booth pictures, from that fateful night at the carnival, actually. She’d forgotten they’d done that. Looking at the picture more closely now, she wondered how the girl it showed could possibly be so very different from the woman she was now. Had she been better off, not knowing what was coming for her? The smile on her face was so open, so sure of the world’s goodness, its fairness. Was it the last time she’d smiled like that?
Joanna ran her finger gently over her own face in the picture. Had she loved Erik then? She wasn’t sure. She had probably thought that she did. It seemed to go without saying that he had loved her. Was that what had happened? Was it a simple case of being out of balance?
She needed to get back downstairs. She allowed herself one last look around the room and then climbed down the ladder, mulling things over; when Erik and Ro came back about five minutes later, they found her reading a magazine on the living room couch. She was about to say goodbye when she remembered that she had a three-mile walk back to her car, this time on a beach crowded with families.
“Why don’t I drive you?” Erik offered.
“Oh no,” she told him quickly. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t,” he pointed out. He grabbed his keys, yelled for Ro, and led her out the front door, the one that faced the road. In place of his little Tempo, there was a new Ford truck with a bed full of tools and boards. She ogled it for a moment before hoisting herself up into the seat next to him. Ro squeezed in the middle, panting and watching everything with her classic head tilt as they went on their way.
As they drove, Erik asked her how Mary was doing down in Virginia. “She hates the weather—too hot,” Joanna told him. “But she said the mountains are beautiful. The people are really nice, but everyone talks to her. She said she doesn’t go out sometimes, just so she won’t have to have the same conversation a hundred times.” Erik laughed at that. “But she’s happy, if you can believe it.”
“Wow,” he said quietly. “Out of all of us, I didn’t think Mary would be the first one to get married.”
The unspoken implication, that they were the ones he’d thought would be first, hung in the air for an uncomfortable moment. Joanna wondered if he would ask her out or even try to kiss her when they got to her car. She wondered how she would respond if he did.
He didn’t though. He shifted into park next to her car and thanked her again for breakfast.
“No problem. Thanks for the ride.”
Erik ruffled the fur around Ro’s collar and cleared his throat, not looking at Joanna. “This was fun.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “It was.”
They sat quietly for a few seconds, and then she opened her door and slid out, giving him a final wave and plopping herself down into her seat. He waited until she’d turned on the engine and then pulled out, tooting his horn as he drove away.
She sat for a few minutes more, running their conversation through her head. He seemed different. Attentive still, but…she couldn’t put her finger on it. She’d been surprised, both by her obvious presence in the cottage and by her absence. On the one hand, in every room, he could turn his head in any direction and see a picture of her. On the other hand, she was integrated with everything else—pictures of Josh, things having to do with Ro or work, family memorabilia—in a way that she hadn’t, if she were being honest, anticipated. And in a way that she found reassuring. He’d taken her seriously all those months ago—he was figuring himself out. She only hoped she could say the same.