The Gin & Chowder Club, page 12
Isaac came in, caught Asa’s eye, and rubbed his forehead in dismay.
“Hi, Kate. I never expected you to make the trip all the way out here.”
Kate smiled. “Well, you’ve talked so much about it, we just thought it would be fun.” She hesitated. “Do you remember Jess?” she asked, motioning to her friend.
“Of course.” He turned to Jess and smiled. “I’m glad you could come. I see my mom has already given you some cake. Would you like something to drink?” He motioned to Asa to come over. Isaac introduced them to his brother and then retreated to the kitchen for drinks. Asa tried to strike up a conversation, although he wanted no part of his brother’s charade. He didn’t want to see Jen’s feelings hurt, and at the moment, it seemed inevitable. When Isaac finally returned with drinks, Asa excused himself and ducked out to the porch. With the adults inside and most of the kids back down by the fire, it was deserted.
Asa looked up at the deep blue canvas, splashed with thousands of glittering sparkles, and remembered the countless hours he and Isaac had spent peering into their father’s telescope and learning the stars’ stories. Asa knew them all. He looked up and found his birthday constellation, recalling the first time Samuel had pointed it out. He could almost hear his father’s voice. “The Archer is your constellation, Asa. The best time to view it is always on your birthday.” His father put his hand on his shoulder and pointed. “Do you see the stars that look like the Big Dipper, only upside down?” He pictured himself as a nodding six-year-old. “That is called the Milk Dipper, and the other name for the Archer is Sagittarius. Do you see the three stars in a curved line that look like a bow?”
He had nodded again and then shouted excitedly, “And, Dad, the star to the right makes the arrow!” Samuel laughed, and while they watched, a small bright star had suddenly raced across the sky. “Look, Dad, a shooting star!” Asa had shouted.
Samuel had nodded. “God must have sent that for you, Asa!”
Asa smiled at the memory, and it suddenly occurred to him to pray—instead of wish—for what he wanted. But how could he? He had deliberately turned his back on God. He had knowingly, willingly, forsaken everything his parents had taught him, and he hadn’t cared about the outcome. Nate had given him an amazing birthday present, and in a heartbeat, he would still betray him again. What kind of person have I become?
The screen door opened quietly, and Noelle came out, pulling a sweater around her shoulders.
“I thought I might find you out here. Aren’t you cold?”
“No, but I’ll keep you warm.”
She smiled. “We’re heading home soon, and I wanted to be sure to get your address at school.” She had a piece of paper and pencil ready.
Asa suddenly hated the word we. “I don’t know it offhand,” he said, “but I can get it. Are you leaving right now?”
“Pretty soon.”
Asa didn’t say anything but looked back at the stars. He wished time would just stop right now. He couldn’t bear the thought of tomorrow—and all of the endless, empty days to follow.
“I’ll wait for you later on the beach. Do you remember the path?” Asa looked around, reached for Noelle’s hand, and drew her into a dark corner of the porch.
“Don’t wait—” she began, but he pulled her close and kissed her.
Asa ached for so much more, and in that moment, Noelle would have loved to let him, but the shadows couldn’t be trusted. Instead, they offered only torment and sadness.
Suddenly, a sound came from the kitchen, and Noelle quickly pulled away, her heart pounding with fear. Asa leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists in frustration and despair.
“Please don’t go,” Isaac pleaded as Jen came out onto the porch.
“Isaac, I’m really tired.” She paused. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow.” She turned and headed down the stairs.
Isaac watched her walk away and shook his head. He saw Asa and Noelle standing there. “Asa, if you’re smart, you’ll just stay away from all women,” he said, letting the screen door slam. The irony was not lost on his brother.
Noelle stepped back into the shadow and gently wiped a tear from Asa’s cheek. He reached up, took her hands in his, and pulled them down to his sides.
“Be careful,” he said sadly. “That’s what got you in trouble last time.”
“I know,” she said with a smile. She paused. “Asa . . . please remember everything I said—I meant every word.”
Asa returned her sad smile and let go of her hands. “I’ll get the address.”
“There you are,” Nate said. He was standing in the kitchen, talking to Sarah when they came in.
“I was just asking Asa for his address. It’s always nice to get mail when you’re away from home.”
Asa riffled through some papers on the counter and jotted down the address. He handed the piece of paper to Noelle and managed to smile.
“Thank you again for everything.” He shook Nate’s hand. “I’m looking forward to the game.” He turned to Noelle. “Thank you for the shirt and the book. The shirt is perfect, and I will always treasure the book.”
She gave him a hug, and he closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and felt the familiar curve of her body. Noelle forced herself to pull away before it seemed too long.
“Good luck at school,” she said.
He searched her eyes one last time. Please don’t let this be the last time.
47
“Surely you noticed,” Nate said in the darkness of the car.
“Noticed what?” she asked.
“The look in his eyes.”
Noelle’s heart beat faster. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t see the way he looks at you?” Nate sounded incredulous.
Noelle thought quickly. Maybe denial isn’t the best strategy. She laughed lightly. “Well, you obviously do, but I’m sure it’s only an innocent crush. He’ll get over it as soon as he sees his first pretty college girl.” She paused and put her hand on his. “Besides, you have nothing to worry about—there’s only you.”
48
Martha picked up her head sleepily when Asa slipped down the stairs. He knelt beside her and scratched her behind the ears.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said softly. She laid her head down and stretched her neck to watch him push open the door. It creaked forbiddingly as he squeezed through. A biting wind blew in off the ocean and whipped at the tablecloth that had been left out, folding it over and threatening to sweep it to the floor. Asa hurried through the darkness to his truck. His heart pounded as he pulled out of the parking lot and switched on the headlights. His mind was racing. Was Noelle already there? Had she been waiting long? Had she given up and gone home? Was she coming at all? I must get there. Oh, God, please let me see her . . . just once more.
Route 6 was deserted, and the road leading to Nauset Beach was dark and lonely. Asa parked his truck in the empty lot, grabbed the cooler and blanket, and jogged down the beach until he reached the place where the path came through the tangle of scrub brush. Noelle was not waiting, and Asa prayed that he hadn’t missed her. He stood still in the eerie darkness and wondered what he should do. The wind whipped at his thin shirt, and he wished he had thought to bring a jacket. Remembering the matches he still had in his pocket, he looked around for some driftwood.
49
Clouds rushed across the sky, billowing like curtains in front of the moon. On the desolate beach, a boy gathered enough wood for a small fire. He flipped open a matchbook and saw that three matches remained. He cupped the first two flames in his hands, only to have the laughing wind reach around and steal them away. He looked at the last match and turned his back to the wind, waiting for a gust to pass, and then struck again. Carefully, he held the tiny flicker to the dry grass and watched it slowly catch and start to burn. He dared a tentative smile, but the relentless wind had no mercy for the figure with the flame. It swept around his back to steal again, and the boy just stared at the dark, cold wood. Undaunted, he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and waited.
In the bedroom overlooking the ocean, a woman stood by the window and watched the clouds racing with the wind. The moonlight illuminated the room behind her, and she turned to look at the man as he slept. She thought of the first time she lay beside him. He had made love to her with tears in his eyes, and his tears had made her love him all the more. He was a sound sleeper, she knew. One hot summer night when they were first married, she had tried to wake him with a piece of ice. She had run it along the curve of his spine, and the water had trickled down to the small of his back and made a puddle. She couldn’t believe he slept through it, and in the morning, she showed him the damp sheet. He laughed and told her that when he was a boy, his father had turned up the 1812 Overture as loudly as their old Victrola would play to wake him. More often than not, the neighbors would wake to the sound of booming cannons before he did. She smiled, picturing him as a boy with tousled hair, sleeping through the thundering climax of the famous overture.
She turned to look out the window again and pictured another boy, shivering in the darkness, his heart full of hope and desire. She knew it was possible to slip away unnoticed. She thought of what it would be like to go to him, the surprised smile on his face when he saw her, the feeling of his arms around her, his gentle kiss, his soft touch. She stared sadly out the window and thought of him waiting alone . . . his heart breaking.
The boy trembled under the blanket. He stood for hours, her words echoing in his mind. If I don’t come, it’s not because I don’t love you—it’s because I do. And his silent reply. But if I stay, you might still come.
At last the stars grew dim in the azure sky, and the boy pushed through the underbrush to look up at the window one last time. The house was dark and quiet. It seemed impenetrable and private. He pictured her lying beside the man. Angry, jealous tears burned his eyes as he realized he was just an uninvited intruder. He had no right to be there, he had no reason to stay.
50
Asa did not know if his parents heard him pull in. He parked the truck on the far side of the house. No one would be using it while he was away. The sky had grown brighter, and the stars had become faint. Still, he hoped no one was awake yet. He kicked off his sand-filled shoes and pushed open the door. Martha’s tail thumped against the hardwood floor. He sat down next to her, and she put her head on his lap. He stroked her velvety ears and whispered, “Wish I could take you with me, ole girl.” Martha thumped her tail harder and licked his hand. Asa leaned back and thought about the day ahead. He was thankful that he had already put most of his belongings in his father’s car. Only his birthday presents and a few small things were left to pack. He heard his parents stirring and gently lifted Martha’s head back onto her bed. Then he quickly slipped up the stairs to shower.
By eight o’clock, they were on their way. Isaac and Martha had seen them off. It was far easier for Asa to say good-bye to his brother than it was to say good-bye to Martha. He kissed her on the head. “You know the routine,” he whispered. “I’ll be back.” He shook Isaac’s hand. “Keep me posted on all the drama,” he said with a wry smile.
“Yeah,” Isaac replied with a grimace. He had not had a good night, and he hoped he could resolve the “drama” before he returned to college the following week.
Asa sat in the backseat and looked out at all that was familiar. Every ice-cream shop, vegetable stand, and seafood shanty was wrapped in some boyhood memory. He watched people shopping for fresh clams or lobster or salad for that evening’s dinner and realized that he would be far away by that time. He stared at the passing landscape and longed to stay. His father switched on the radio and tuned in an old country station. The deep haunting voice of Johnny Cash drifted through the car. Asa closed his eyes and listened to the sad lyrics about missing someone and wondered if Noelle missed him as much as he missed her.
PART II
My sorrow is beyond healing, my heart is faint within me! . . . is there no balm in Gilead?
—Jeremiah 8:18, 22
51
Autumn whispered through the leaves, leaving a blush of rouge along the treetops. Against this tapestry of change, the September sky had a cobalt hue, bluer than that of any summer day. In spite of himself, Asa fell into the routines of college life. For the most part, he kept to himself. He was not at all surprised one afternoon to overhear his roommate complaining that he was a bore. The boy was trying to make arrangements to move in with two other students whose extracurricular activities were a bit more exciting. Asa didn’t care. He could certainly understand his roommate’s situation. He had never been one to reveal too much about himself, and now he was even less likely. Now, because of his promise to Noelle, no one could ever know the person he had become. He had unwittingly sentenced himself to a lifetime of solitary confinement. He would never be able to share—with anyone—the events that shaped him, and even if he did try someday, he doubted that mere words would ever be enough.
After his roommate finally succeeded in securing different living quarters, Asa became an even more solitary figure in the landscape of freshmen. He threw himself into his schoolwork and rarely socialized. He briefly considered trying out for the cross-country team, but after enduring one testosterone-induced conversation he had while they worked out, he decided that he preferred to run alone. He ran early, slipping out of the silent dorm and into the cool northern air. In the predawn light, he explored the historic campus and the surrounding old New England neighborhoods. He was usually back to his room and showered before any other doors had creaked open. At meals, Asa also sat alone. He kept an open book in front of his tray and maintained a demeanor that was not inviting to passersby.
To Asa’s surprise, the days passed quickly, and even though each day seemed to blend into all the rest, there was one daily occurrence that gave him something to look forward to: the delivery of mail. Taking two granite steps at a time into the school post office, Asa would quickly scan the rows of mail slots with small combination locks on their doors. With a tightening in his chest, he would peer through the tiny glass window to see if there were any envelopes leaning up against the inside wall. Noelle had proven true to her word, and after her first letter, Asa had forgiven her for not meeting him that last night. She wrote often—two or three times a week. Asa would slip her envelope into a book and find a seat on the grass under the reaching boughs of an old oak tree or at a worn secluded table by the window in the library. There, with the sun casting light across the pages, he would slowly read, running his fingers over the pale stationery and thinking of the slender hands that had touched it last, the hands that had touched him and given him such pleasure.
Noelle’s letters were warm and funny and spoke of life at home and at work. She wrote about the changing weather and the ocean and the stars. She wrote about Nate finding a bottle of champagne by the pool—where in the world had that come from??? And she always closed with thoughts of him—she missed him, every part of him. Her thoughts stirred his fire and kept the embers burning. Asa clung to her words, and they sustained him—more than food or drink or air. He lived for these, elegant lines linked together to give him hope.
Asa could not write back. There was no safe address for him to send letters, so he filled his notebook with his thoughts and kept it in a box with her letters. Night after night, he sat by the open window in his room and listened to the wind in the hills. He heard the haunting call of an owl and then a distant reply of interest. He listened to the endless cry of the whip-poor-will and the sad lonely whistle of a freight train. He wrote as if he were writing to her—about these sounds and about the memories he held close, reliving them over and over, burning them into his mind.
Noelle’s letters were not the only ones Asa received. There were almost as many from his mother. She, too, wrote about the changing weather and her daily activities. She had continued to stay at the summerhouse because it was her favorite time of year—so quiet and peaceful, now that all the vacationers have gone home. While he was out running early in the morning, it was comforting for Asa to know exactly where Sarah could be found at that very moment. He pictured her sitting on the back porch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a hot cup of coffee in one hand and her worn Bible in the other. The day before he was to head to Boston for the game, Asa received a package from his mother. When he pulled away the paper, he found a tin of chocolate chip cookies, a short note, and some photos:
Enjoy! Also enclosed are some pictures
from your birthday! Miss you!
Love, Mom
P.S. Martha approves of the cookies and misses you too!
Asa quickly flipped through the snapshots and then stopped and stared. He had completely forgotten that Isaac had taken pictures of Noelle standing beside him, but there it was, an intimate moment captured and preserved—a moment he could save, and savor, a part of Noelle that was his to keep. He looked at her smile and felt her arm around his waist. He smelled the scent of sandalwood soap and felt the cool ocean breeze billowing in off the water. He looked at the picture and thought of the words she had spoken before and after the picture was taken.
52
The following morning, Asa was up early. He skipped his run, showered and dressed, and grabbed his old Red Sox cap. He tucked the picture of Noelle into the book from his father and put the book, the tin of cookies, and his poetry notebook into his shoulder bag.
