college?”
“Didn’t everyone?” He cupped his hands against the sea breeze and struck a match. Dragging deep, he waited for her reply, and when she didn’t, he frowned, shaking out the match. “Are you fucking kidding me? You mean you never ... ?”
She came closer. “No. I guess I hung out with a pretty straight crowd.”
Holding in his breath, he shook his head, and when he exhaled, he muttered, “There just seems to be no end to the wayward paths I can lead you down.” His hand shot out, grabbing the top of her shorts and he pulled her down onto his lap. “Come here, little girl. I have a new treat for you. ”
On their last morning together, they made love just before dawn. There was something feverish in her responses, a desperation he hadn’t felt before, and when Sam sank back onto the pillows, he realized there were small scratches across his shoulders where she’d clung so tightly. He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she got up, insisting she needed a few last shots around the rocky point at the south end of the beach. Rather than drifting back to sleep, he was left staring up at the ceiling, aware of a deep, growing apprehension. By the time she came back, Sam had started pancakes from scratch, and for a few minutes her delight dispelled the anxiety between them.
“These are great, Sam. Who’d have thought you could cook?”
“Yeah, well, this is about maxes out my repertoire. My dad and I used to make them together every Saturday morning from when I was about four years old, all the way through high school.”
“And did you serve them to your mom in bed?”
“No.” He ran his hand across her shoulder as he put a large mug of coffee in front of her and sat down. “She took off right after we came home from the hospital when I was born. We’ve got that in common. We both grew up with just our dads.” She gave him a searching look, surprised he'd never mentioned it before. He shrugged. “She was just too young, barely twenty. She was pregnant when they got married, and I suppose it was too much for her. He couldn’t even find her for the divorce, but it made the case for abandonment easy.”
“Sam," her blue eyes were wide, "that's really sad.”
“No sadder than for you. It was just the way things went.”
“And then your dad died. How long ago?”
“He died when I was 31, so nine years.” As they ate, he told her about growing up in Boston with his father. His grandmother helped out when she could. It wasn’t an idyllic childhood, but it was largely happy. His grandmother had been his biggest fan and had bored Sam’s aunts and uncles silly with her bragging when he won a scholarship to Columbia. His father always had at least one woman in his life, but never brought any of them home. Whatever his relationships, he kept them separated from his son.
“And your mom? Did you ever hear from her again?”
“No. I suppose she might be out there somewhere, but it doesn’t really matter.”
She cleared her throat. “Speaking of somewhere out there, so is your wife. Where in God’s name does she think you are?”
It was a quick turn in the conversation, and he winced, not seeing it coming. “Toughie, it’s our last morning. Let’s not …”
“Oh, I think we’d better. You said we’d talk about it, and we’re out of time.”
He sipped his coffee, looking at her determined face, all the anxiety rushing back. “What can I say? I told you, she’s in Europe with her mother. She’ll be back in D.C. in a week, dying to get back to work. I’ve checked my voice mail at home and at work every day since I got here just in case she called. She hasn’t, not once. She sent me an email from Geneva, to say that she’d be back in touch when they get to Rome for their return flight. I emailed back saying fine. That’s been it. She’s not very concerned about how I am, and she’s sure as hell not worried about what I’m doing.”
Tess frowned, looking down
“Didn’t everyone?” He cupped his hands against the sea breeze and struck a match. Dragging deep, he waited for her reply, and when she didn’t, he frowned, shaking out the match. “Are you fucking kidding me? You mean you never ... ?”
She came closer. “No. I guess I hung out with a pretty straight crowd.”
Holding in his breath, he shook his head, and when he exhaled, he muttered, “There just seems to be no end to the wayward paths I can lead you down.” His hand shot out, grabbing the top of her shorts and he pulled her down onto his lap. “Come here, little girl. I have a new treat for you. ”
On their last morning together, they made love just before dawn. There was something feverish in her responses, a desperation he hadn’t felt before, and when Sam sank back onto the pillows, he realized there were small scratches across his shoulders where she’d clung so tightly. He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she got up, insisting she needed a few last shots around the rocky point at the south end of the beach. Rather than drifting back to sleep, he was left staring up at the ceiling, aware of a deep, growing apprehension. By the time she came back, Sam had started pancakes from scratch, and for a few minutes her delight dispelled the anxiety between them.
“These are great, Sam. Who’d have thought you could cook?”
“Yeah, well, this is about maxes out my repertoire. My dad and I used to make them together every Saturday morning from when I was about four years old, all the way through high school.”
“And did you serve them to your mom in bed?”
“No.” He ran his hand across her shoulder as he put a large mug of coffee in front of her and sat down. “She took off right after we came home from the hospital when I was born. We’ve got that in common. We both grew up with just our dads.” She gave him a searching look, surprised he'd never mentioned it before. He shrugged. “She was just too young, barely twenty. She was pregnant when they got married, and I suppose it was too much for her. He couldn’t even find her for the divorce, but it made the case for abandonment easy.”
“Sam," her blue eyes were wide, "that's really sad.”
“No sadder than for you. It was just the way things went.”
“And then your dad died. How long ago?”
“He died when I was 31, so nine years.” As they ate, he told her about growing up in Boston with his father. His grandmother helped out when she could. It wasn’t an idyllic childhood, but it was largely happy. His grandmother had been his biggest fan and had bored Sam’s aunts and uncles silly with her bragging when he won a scholarship to Columbia. His father always had at least one woman in his life, but never brought any of them home. Whatever his relationships, he kept them separated from his son.
“And your mom? Did you ever hear from her again?”
“No. I suppose she might be out there somewhere, but it doesn’t really matter.”
She cleared her throat. “Speaking of somewhere out there, so is your wife. Where in God’s name does she think you are?”
It was a quick turn in the conversation, and he winced, not seeing it coming. “Toughie, it’s our last morning. Let’s not …”
“Oh, I think we’d better. You said we’d talk about it, and we’re out of time.”
He sipped his coffee, looking at her determined face, all the anxiety rushing back. “What can I say? I told you, she’s in Europe with her mother. She’ll be back in D.C. in a week, dying to get back to work. I’ve checked my voice mail at home and at work every day since I got here just in case she called. She hasn’t, not once. She sent me an email from Geneva, to say that she’d be back in touch when they get to Rome for their return flight. I emailed back saying fine. That’s been it. She’s not very concerned about how I am, and she’s sure as hell not worried about what I’m doing.”
Tess frowned, looking down
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