morning,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Didn’t we fit in just fine?”
“You certainly did.”
“That’s not what I meant. Although, you have a point. Three years,
Sam
. Who would have thought three years?”
“Not me.”
“But don’t you think it’s sort of strange? It would seem like one of us would want something to change.”
“Why would we want something to change? I think it’s just about perfect the way it is.” He looked across the table at Georgia ’s familiar face and became convinced all over again that it was just about perfect.
“Perfect? How is it perfect?” Georgia asked. Her face showed how much she doubted perfection.
So maybe it wasn’t perfect. He knew he should be more careful when she started talking like this. Why couldn’t he remember from one time to the next? Weeks and months could go by, and everything would be fine, but then something would happen—maybe a neighbor would look at her a certain way or some kids would accidentally stray down the beach—and this conversation would come up again in one form or another.
“Come on,
George
girl. We have it pretty good, you and me. What would you want to change? If you could fix it any way you like, what would you change?”
“If I could fix it?” Her tone let him know he had again not used the right words.
“You know what I mean.”
“Maybe I would have you and
Victor
be the same man—a little of you, a little of him when he was younger. Presto.”
“Which part of me would you keep?”
“Why, all of you, of course.”
“And Victor?”
“Some of him.”
“The parts that still work?”
“Don’t be nasty.”
“I don’t mean to be nasty,”
Sam
said. “I wouldn’t be half so decent if I were him.”
“It’s not easy, you know. Not everybody can shut these things out.”
“I know. And we can’t change them either. I think we’re stuck. But this isn’t a bad place to get stuck, is it?”
“I guess not.”
She looked at him with eyes that meant he had to say something more.
“When you first moved here, I used to watch you down on the beach. You looked like you were waiting for somebody. I imagined it was me. I didn’t even know your name then, but I was wishing it was me.”
“So you had your little fantasy. That’s not like you,
Sam
. And after you imagined I was the one you were waiting for, what more did you imagine?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“One admission is all you get. Anyway, it was me you were waiting for. I didn’t have to imagine that.”
“But
Sam
, it’s the imagining that gives pleasure. Sometimes I would wake up early, and I would see this strange man out in the water. I wondered what you could be doing all by yourself in that little boat, and why you would leave and return at such odd hours. You were a mystery then. That’s certain. It was the imagining that made it so interesting. I told myself that I wouldn’t get up to watch, or if I did, that it was just a coincidence. But it was uncommon how many times I woke up when you were out there. Wasn’t it strange how we both thought of the other? That must have brought us together.”
“It was the storm that did it.”
“That had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course it did. Don’t you remember? The water came all the way up to my foundation.”
The water had been like a battering ram on the beach, and the wind had been so strong that the rain came down sideways and barely touched the ground. It was the worst storm he had witnessed since buying the house, and he had even wondered if the house would survive. The next day was the opposite. The sun was bright and the water was unusually calm. Their beach had changed. Logs that had been in the same place for years were gone or transplanted to new high-water marks. In the afternoon following the storm, he had gone out to walk on the altered surface, to put his feet where the water had been, to reassure himself that the beach was still
“You certainly did.”
“That’s not what I meant. Although, you have a point. Three years,
Sam
. Who would have thought three years?”
“Not me.”
“But don’t you think it’s sort of strange? It would seem like one of us would want something to change.”
“Why would we want something to change? I think it’s just about perfect the way it is.” He looked across the table at Georgia ’s familiar face and became convinced all over again that it was just about perfect.
“Perfect? How is it perfect?” Georgia asked. Her face showed how much she doubted perfection.
So maybe it wasn’t perfect. He knew he should be more careful when she started talking like this. Why couldn’t he remember from one time to the next? Weeks and months could go by, and everything would be fine, but then something would happen—maybe a neighbor would look at her a certain way or some kids would accidentally stray down the beach—and this conversation would come up again in one form or another.
“Come on,
George
girl. We have it pretty good, you and me. What would you want to change? If you could fix it any way you like, what would you change?”
“If I could fix it?” Her tone let him know he had again not used the right words.
“You know what I mean.”
“Maybe I would have you and
Victor
be the same man—a little of you, a little of him when he was younger. Presto.”
“Which part of me would you keep?”
“Why, all of you, of course.”
“And Victor?”
“Some of him.”
“The parts that still work?”
“Don’t be nasty.”
“I don’t mean to be nasty,”
Sam
said. “I wouldn’t be half so decent if I were him.”
“It’s not easy, you know. Not everybody can shut these things out.”
“I know. And we can’t change them either. I think we’re stuck. But this isn’t a bad place to get stuck, is it?”
“I guess not.”
She looked at him with eyes that meant he had to say something more.
“When you first moved here, I used to watch you down on the beach. You looked like you were waiting for somebody. I imagined it was me. I didn’t even know your name then, but I was wishing it was me.”
“So you had your little fantasy. That’s not like you,
Sam
. And after you imagined I was the one you were waiting for, what more did you imagine?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“One admission is all you get. Anyway, it was me you were waiting for. I didn’t have to imagine that.”
“But
Sam
, it’s the imagining that gives pleasure. Sometimes I would wake up early, and I would see this strange man out in the water. I wondered what you could be doing all by yourself in that little boat, and why you would leave and return at such odd hours. You were a mystery then. That’s certain. It was the imagining that made it so interesting. I told myself that I wouldn’t get up to watch, or if I did, that it was just a coincidence. But it was uncommon how many times I woke up when you were out there. Wasn’t it strange how we both thought of the other? That must have brought us together.”
“It was the storm that did it.”
“That had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course it did. Don’t you remember? The water came all the way up to my foundation.”
The water had been like a battering ram on the beach, and the wind had been so strong that the rain came down sideways and barely touched the ground. It was the worst storm he had witnessed since buying the house, and he had even wondered if the house would survive. The next day was the opposite. The sun was bright and the water was unusually calm. Their beach had changed. Logs that had been in the same place for years were gone or transplanted to new high-water marks. In the afternoon following the storm, he had gone out to walk on the altered surface, to put his feet where the water had been, to reassure himself that the beach was still
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