Page 68 of The Castaways
She had never seen it the way he saw it. She had never been willing to give it all up, to give any of it up. Their affair had been…what,to her? A way to spend a few hours? A safety net, a security blanket, protection from the marital whiplash that Greg provided daily?
They had fought about it. Addison did not like to admit to himself that they had fought, but they had fought. He loved her insanely, he looked at her across the room when they were all together and couldn’t believe she didn’t belong to him. He had to endure watching her hold hands with Greg, and kiss him, and call himHon. Addison told Tess that seeing her touch Greg made him want to set himself on fire. She said she tried not to touch Greg when Addison was around, but sometimes she forgot or couldn’t avoid it. This made Addison boil over with jealousy and resentment: she tried not to touch Greg when Addison was around, but what about when Addison wasn’t around? Did they make love? Did she make love to Addison in the cottage and then go home and make love to Greg? She said no, she was offended by the suggestion, but Addison was suspicious. Greg had animal magnetism; women threw themselves at him.
How often do you make love to him?Addison asked her.
Not very,she said.
I want you to leave him,Addison said.
I can’t,she said.The kids...
The kids were her zone of immunity. Whenever Addison pressed her, she brought up her kids. She could betray Greg—God knows, he had betrayed her—but she could not betray her kids. She did not want her kids to have divorced parents, she did not want her kids to have a stepfather, and she, Tess, did not want a separation, a divorce lawyer, shared custody. She had left Greg for that one godforsaken week in November and she had said all those words out loud, she had chewed them up and eventually spit them out.
Addison pulled into Tess and Greg’s driveway. He had shown their house only three times since it had gone on the market, all three times to visitors who did not know what had happened to the owners. No one had gone back to look a second time. Addison was thinking of lowering the asking price.
Tess had her own key to the Quaise cottage. Addison had not remembered this when he went through her house the first time weeks ago, but he remembered it now. He had asked her once where she kept the key—Tess was paranoid about getting caught; where would be safe enough?—and she had said,I keep it hidden under the bug spray in the garage.
He found it there. On one of the many shelves for house and garden necessities was an orange-capped can of Raid, and underneath it lay the key.
The day was sunny and dry after three days of showers, heavy fog, and thunderstorms. The Polpis Road looked scrubbed and squeaky-clean, like something that had just been removed from the box. The fields to the right side of the road were green and freshly cut; the view of the harbor to the left seemed polished.
Did you ever really love me?he asked.
Oh, God,she said.Of course I did. But…
But what?
It was complicated.Wasn’t it?
She used to send him song lyrics (which he quasi-resented; it seemed so Greg-like). Her favorite line was from a U2 song:You say in love there are no rules.Tess liked to believe that her love for Addison was renegade, something beyond her control, something she could not be held accountable for, something that had happened to her, not that she had made happen. In this way, she was not responsible. Love had been visited on them from above at some point during their lunch together at Nous Deux. Sandrine had done it; Sandrine was a witch.
Addison pulled into the driveway of the Quaise cottage. Was he going to cry? It didn’t matter if he did, he cried all the time now; he had stopped feeling embarrassed by it. He had not been to the cottage since, well, since the seventeenth of June, a Friday. Tess had met him while the twins were at camp. She had reminded him, on that day, of her impending anniversary; on that day, she had gently told him about the planned sail to the Vineyard.
Greg’s idea,she said.
Tell him no.
I think that would be aggressive,she said.It would send up red flags.
He’s trying to win you back,Addison said.
He can’t win me back,Tess said.I’m yours.
So then why are you going?Addison asked.
And Tess said,Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.
Meet me here on Sunday afternoon. Please—one last time before you go sailing.Addison went to the cottage every Sunday to change the sheets and do some basic housekeeping.
You know Sundays are impossible for me,she said.
The cottage was beautiful in the heart of the summer. The roof was draped with crimson climbing roses, like the back of the winning Kentucky Derby horse, and the woods beyond were full and lush. Paths between the trees were lined with hostas and jacks-in-the-pulpit. When Tess and Addison had been here the last time, the roses had not yet been in bloom.
In a few weeks,Addison had said,we can walk to the water and go for a swim. No one will see us. This cove is completely deserted.
I can’t wait,Tess had replied.
Addison let himself in. He expected the place to be stuffy, but someone—Florabel? the caretaker?—had left the windows open, and the breeze moved through the screens, and the white, filmy curtains floated like ghosts.
