Salt Water by Charles Simmons Page A

didn’t know which was Zina’s and which was Mrs. Mertz’s. I inched along in the dark and made my way into the near one. I stood in what I guessed was the center of the room, perfectly still, perfectly quiet. My plan had been to gently say her name until she woke. In that way I wouldn’t frighten her. Now the plan changed. If she was here in bed I would slide in beside her the way Melissa had beside me. She would turn to me as I had to Melissa. At first she wouldn’t know who I was. Somebody from the past maybe, like the boy with the Chinese eyes. She would put her arms around me. “It’s me,” I’d say. “Oh, Misha, what are you doing here? You’re in my bed. You naughty boy.” No, she wouldn’t say that. She’d kiss me. She had kissed me often. She’d kiss me now. She would have nothing on. I’d run my hand down her back. Her breasts would be pressed against my chest. I’d pull her away and touch them. She’d say my name, once and then again and again.
    I was very excited. If the plan worked, we could meet at her place in town in the winter or at my place when my parents were away. It would be our secret. Maybe I’d let Hillyerin on it. I’d tell her how I had suspected Father and Henry. She’d stroke my face and say, “Poor Misha, it was you all along.”
    I could see nothing but the outline of the window. I felt a chair, a chest of drawers, and then my knees touched the bed. I listened for breathing. My ears were full of my own breathing. I knelt down and put my hand on the coverlet. The bed was flat and empty. She was in the other bedroom.
    I stood up. The plan hung on her being asleep. Otherwise I wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with it. I turned around and took slow, small, careful steps toward the doorway.
    In the other room Zina said, “Peter, I’m in here,” and after a pause, “In here, Peter.”
    At that moment a light went on in the main house. I thought of Melissa’s poem, “a light makes darkness clearly black.”
    I stood still. I don’t think I could have moved even if I knew what to do. I waited for something else to happen. Would Father show up? Would she say it again, “Peter, I’m in here”? Would he get into bed with her? Would she turn to him and pull him on top of her? Would I have to hear the sounds?
    I rushed out. I didn’t care if she knew it was me or not. On the deck Blackheart jumped up and followed me to the house. Mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a book anda cup of tea. I called through the screen to say I was home.
    I explained that I couldn’t sleep in town. She poured tea for me and said she couldn’t sleep either. I asked where Father was.
    “Upstairs, probably tossing and turning like the rest of us. Usually he walks on the beach when he can’t sleep, whereas I come down here and get fat. It’s not fair.”
    Looking at her, puffy and huddled in a pink wrapper, I saw for the first time how unfair it was. She was having a rotten life, always jealous, not knowing what was going on, but knowing something was. And him up there, disappointed this time but planning the next time.
    “I was thinking about us,” Mother said, “you and your father and me. I suppose it’s these feelings you have for Zina that set me thinking. There’ll be Zina Two and Zina Three, and all of a sudden you’ll be gone. I don’t know if you know it, but you’re the main attraction for your father in this house. The reason he and I were awake tonight was that you weren’t here. I worry when you’re alone in town, but your father just plain misses you. I should go upstairs and tell him you’re back.”
    “No, don’t. He’s probably asleep by now.”
    “You know, two people get together and have a kid. There’s never enough time, never enough sleep. Somehow you get through it. Then things get easier. What was impossiblebecomes possible. You can see a year ahead. At the start you couldn’t see to the weekend. Now you know what’s coming, all too