The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home Page 6

I pulled my car into the market and stepped out. It was perfect.

The air was warm, the sea was inviting, and the people looked like a fucking J. Crew catalogue. I shuddered and walked into the store with my phone. I got one last set of directions from Siri before she died as I bought snacks and wine.

I drove to a street called S. Forest Beach Drive. There were houses and a Marriott, but I was looking for one place. I parked in the parking lot for the Tiki Hut and walked down to the beach. Rednecks in beach shirts watched me storm down the beach with my bags and fancy shoes.

All I knew was that France was close. These were his people. They wore things like beards and plaid. I needed him. I regretted not letting myself call him.

I stopped and looked at a man sitting at a table. I cocked my head, “Can I steal the wine glass from your table?” He sat under a tiki hut but looked like he’d gotten a lot of sun. He smiled and passed it to me.

“You wanna have a drink?”

I looked around the touristy pit and shook my head, “Thank you, but no.” I clutched the wine glass and walked down the beach, veering left. I walked up until I felt it. It was like following a scent. One minute I had it and then it was gone. I stopped when I was sure I was there. I would drink my wine and go find him. Unless he found me first. I knew his house was somewhere near the Tiki Hut bar. I remembered the story of the drunken, Tiki-Hut night.

I dropped the bags and looked at my high-heeled boots. They were scuffed from the sand. I groaned and looked around. Being two in the afternoon, the beach was still packed. I walked to a quieter area, but it was still populated with a few people. I sat in the sand, in my navy-plaid, Burberry short trench coat, Comme des Garçon black, pleated skirt, Helmut Lang sheer-sleeve blouse and knee-high Giorgio Armani leather boots.

I wasn’t dressed for the beach or South Carolina.

I unzipped a boot, wiping sweat from my face. I pulled my fun cashmere, polka dot, knee-high socks off and stuffed them into my boots. I undid the tie on my jacket and then the buttons. I was pouring sweat; it had to be close to eighty-five degrees out, in early May, no less. I spread my jacket out and pulled my sunglasses from my pocket. I slipped them on and laid back in the sun. I was certain I looked like a fool in a black pleated skirt with a white blouse unbuttoned as low as I could, without being sleazy.

I lay there and contemplated the essence of life. My life. My arranged marriage was a mess. My family and his would still want us to go ahead with it. Could I do it? Could I still marry, ignoring the fact he liked to dirty screw nineteen year olds?

No.

I lay there, gripping my dead phone and willing France to find me. The warm sand and comforting breeze made it impossible for me to fight the emotions. They released hard, tearing my insides a bit.

I sobbed.

I lay there and bawled until I didn’t have anything left. I should have left when France asked me to. I should have come with him. I would have suspected Phil of cheating, but I wouldn’t have known about Ashley.

At least, if I was going to have a crisis, I was there close to him.

The sun had started to set. I sat up and watched it. It began with a fire in the sky, slowly changing by brushing color against only the tips and edges of the clouds. The white clouds had layers of colors like dark shadows and bright-orange brush strokes and white, fluffy pillow-looking bits. It was stunning and a perfectly dramatic end to my day. I imagined it was exactly how Charles Boyer felt when he realized Irene Dunne wasn’t coming. It was the exquisite pain people like him and I never let our hearts feel.

I opened the bottle of wine and poured my first glass. As I sipped, I walked down to the water and pulled my marquise-cut engagement ring off. Gripping it tightly, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Thank you, God, for showing me how wrong I was.” I kissed the ring and walked into the cold water. I threw the ring as hard as I could and watched the waves for a moment. Technically, the whole past forty-eight hours had been a sign of how wrong I was. The fundraiser, seeing Muriel in such pain, nearly sleeping with the bartender against my better judgment, and seeing Phil with Eleanor, had all been signs. I had made up excuses for each one. Finally, God decided to show me exactly what I needed to leave. Ashley. That I couldn’t stand for. I didn’t care if my parents and his were fine with that type of life, I wasn’t.

I squished the sand in my toes and drank back the first glass far too quickly. It was poetic and something I’d wanted to do since the minute I’d gotten engaged. I could admit that, now that it was the end.

I turned and walked back to my spot on the beach. I plunked back down on my jacket and poured the second glass. I looked around, wondering where his house was.

The second glass was dedicated to my broken heart. I placed a hand over it, cupping the swell of my own breast and waited for it to make a snapping noise but it never did. It was my pride he had broken, not my heart.

The wind picked up and I started to feel a little bit guilty. Was any of it my fault? Had I driven him to it? Had I been so closed off that I made him…

Fuck that.

If he had depraved fantasies about teenaged girls, I certainly hadn’t made him follow through with them. He was as close to a pedophile as I imagined grown men got without crossing over completely. Maybe it was good we hadn’t gotten married or had kids yet. Was that why he didn’t want them? I shuddered. Maybe he knew about his problem. I almost gagged.

I nodded and drank the second glass back in several gulps. I broke open the bag of snacks. I perused, scanning over each item as if it were my last meal. Finally, I selected a bag of gourmet popcorn. I took a huge handful of it and shoved several servings in at once. I chewed and savored the light, aged-cheddar taste. I poured a third glass and swallowed back the last of the popcorn. It was a bad combination but I didn’t care.

I looked at CHANEL and nodded. This was that moment. I lifted the tissue-wrapped garment and sighed when my fingers brushed the mesh fabric. I laid it out and looked down on it. It was perfect. I undid my blouse and pulled the dress on. I slipped my bra strap down to make a half assed strapless and slid my pleated skirt off. I stuffed everything into the CHANEL bag and let the wind blow through the short, white, mesh fabric. The petals of the embroidered flowers fluttered in the breeze and looked like blue and purple butterflies. I knew it was what the dressmaker had envisioned. Someone like me, less broken perhaps… but thin and tall and standing on the beach with the flowers fluttering away. The sun faded and the air cooled, but I didn’t care. I drank my third glass and ate my popcorn in my dress worth more than all my other clothes in the bag combined.

It was the freest meal I’d ever eaten.

Thinking the statement, instantly brought up a memory that hurt just a little. But I was being honest with myself so I had to let the memory play out.

I looked at the fading light of the day and remembered exactly the moment I had fallen in love while eating the freest meal ever.

It was a hot dog from a vendor after a long walk in Central Park. The backs of two hands brushed against each other innocently, and yet, too frequently. It was perfect in every way. The way France wiped my cheek with his thumb and licked the mustard off. Or the way I felt when I went to sleep that night, dying for it to be light out so I could find him again. Only I didn’t have to. He scaled my house and tapped on my window in the dark. I let him in but he didn’t try anything, we snuggled like always. I swore to France I’d break it off with Phil and move with him to Los Angeles for him to play hockey. We were twenty-four and in love, crazy and free. It was the last free moment in my life.

The next morning, Phillip showed up with a ring. I stood on the stairs as my father looked like a gushing bride and accepted the ring for me as Phil proposed from the bottom of the stairs. I knew France heard it all from upstairs, but I was frozen there on the stairs, watching as my life ended. My heart broke when I got back upstairs and France was gone. He had gone out the window just like he had come in it. We never discussed it after that. We just hung out and pretended I wasn’t on a speeding train to despair.

I shivered, remembering it, swearing somewhere in the back of my mind, I could still taste the hot dog.

Doing the right thing had sealed my fate. A fate I would never escape, beyond this trip into madness.

I had to be strong and stop them from convincing me to take him back.

I looked down, letting my strawberry-blonde hair fall around my face and for the first time in a long time, I felt fear. It was the unknown, my father, and the possibility I would be made to try to save my upcoming marriage. I lived in the same world as Muriel. I knew my mother had made the same choices as Muriel had. The blue pills had worn off and were long gone. I was stuck with my own frightening reality and pain it caused in my chest. A pain I had only ever felt once. That was when I started letting my dad and Dr. Michaels give me the blue pills.

We all made the same sacrifices to be in the life we wanted. My heart started to panic against the aching pain but I slipped a finger against my lips and shushed myself. I needed to stay calm. The crying wasn’t allowed to happen after the wine had been drunk. There were rules.

I needed to find France and there was no crying in that dress. It was a dress of possibilities, summer love, and youth. I would die in that dress before I would allow one tear to be shed.

It was the opposite of every other garment I owned. It was a freedom dress. I knew it when I saw it. It would be my morning-after married dress for the gift opening. Later, I would wear it to garden parties. I love the cut of it, and the fact I could be slightly risqué and free in it. It was the small things I could still control when everything was planned out and reigned in. I imagined I would be showing my shoulders midday while sipping from a champagne glass, not alone on a beach in South Carolina with a bottle of wine as my only friend.

I never saw any of it as the way my life would be.

Or the dog knocking me over, and yet, there he was. He dove for the bag of popcorn and tore off with it. I screamed and laughed at the same time. I got up and ran after my meal but hands grabbed my arm, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

I looked up, scowling, “Do I look like a ma’am in this dress?”