Page 70 of Summer Longing
“Well, aside from that, it’s been many, many years since I’ve been out on the water like this,” she said. In those days, she’d been more brave. What had happened to her?
They passed the lighthouse, and Tito cut the motor and raised the sails. Ruth hadn’t realized how much noise the engine made until it was stilled. She was able to hear the lapping of the water against the side of the boat, and she settled onto a shallow bench.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” she said from her perch.
“Isn’t it? I’ll tell you, when the town gets overrun in the middle of the summer, this boat saves my sanity,” he said.
“I see the flood of people on the weekends already. I can’t imagine it getting any more crowded.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Every year I think,This has to be the limit.And yet the crowds keep growing,” he said, glancing at her. “But you’re welcome aboard anytime you need an escape.”
“That’s very kind of you.” She looked out at the water, uncomfortable with the directness of his interest in her. He was an attractive man—that much was undeniable, as much as she would have liked to pretend otherwise. Something about his smile and his voice reminded her of Jeff Bridges, an actor she’d been infatuated with since seeing him in the filmThe Fabulous Baker Boys. It would make her life simpler if she didn’t find Tito attractive, but watching him at the helm of the boat, the way he divided his attention between watching the controls and looking at her, made her feel good.
Ruth hadn’t known what to expect of this phase of her life, but part of the motivation for moving had been finding solitude. With a fresh start, she wouldn’t have anyone to disappoint or be disappointed by. And then that baby appeared on her doorstep, like the universe extending a long, scolding finger:You can leave your marriage. You can leave your company. But motherhood must be reckoned with.
“Is your daughter still in town?” Tito asked as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, though she was certain she hadn’t.
“Yes, she is. But I don’t know for how much longer.” She tried not to think about—and certainly did not mention—that as of that afternoon, her ex-husband would also be in town.
It had been difficult to sleep the night before, knowing that in twenty-four hours she and Ben would be under the same roof. While it was true that over the decades, their relationship had mellowed into something amicable, she felt certain they both had unresolved feelings about the divorce. She suspected on his end, he believed she was to blame. For herself, it was guilt.
No matter how it happens, the ending of a marriage is like a small death. Ruth couldn’t remember a specific moment when she knew her marriage was over. It had been a gradual slide.
Part of the problem, and she could admit this now, was that her work was all-consuming.
Ruth traveled to New York City three times a week and eventually established a second office there. She spent one week a year in Bologna for the annual trade show, her favorite trip of the year. The show always drew the same people—her friends, colleagues, and competitors. In the 1980s and 1990s, the industry had been a close-knit group. It was her second family, one she began to relate to more than the one she had at home.
When Ruth got worn down and stressed, when she was grappling with a production problem or a demanding account, her impulse was to confide in Ben. But her husband didn’t want to hear it. She told herself that he had his own aggravations at work—more serious stakes, dealing with life and death—and so she tried talking only about her successes. He didn’t want to hear about that either. And she realized that while the company had been necessary and valuable in the early days, now that they didn’t need the income anymore, he resented it.
Their sex life dwindled to nothing.
She suggested couples therapy, and Ben agreed. It didn’t mend their relationship, but it did help her realize the issue wasn’t about her long hours or the fact that she was outearning him even though he was a respected anesthesiologist. It was the simple fact that she had found her passion in life and he had given up his. Ruth had tried talking to him about this, had suggested that he take time off, go to a writing retreat. “Get back to what you love to do,” she’d said.
“I’m a doctor,” he said.
He was afraid to try. And he resented her for it.
Olivia was ten when Ruth finally couldn’t live with the simmering tension any longer. She found herself avoiding coming home just so she didn’t have to deal with it, and that was no way to live and no way to be a parent.
When she told Ben she wanted a divorce, he reacted as if it had come out of nowhere.
“This can’t be a surprise to you,” she said. “And I don’t want our relationship to get to the point where we hate each other.”
“What do you think divorce is going to do for our relationship? Enhance it? And what about Olivia?”
“It’s better for Olivia not to grow up in such a tense environment.”
This reasoning was true. It was what a child psychologist had told her—you can’t stay in a marriage just for the child. But, looking back on it now, Ruth was eager to end the relationship because she was exhausted from trying to make it work. She hated the sense of failure she felt every day. She had a very difficult time in gray areas; either a relationship was working or it wasn’t. She was a fixer and problem-solver. And in her mind, the way to fix the relationship was to end it. To quit while they were ahead, for themselves, and for their daughter.
Over the years, her relationship with her ex-husband had mellowed, but her dynamic with Olivia had just grown more contentious. Until now.
No matter how awkward it would be to have Ben at the house, she would do it for Olivia’s sake.
The breeze lifted Ruth’s hair, and she patted it back into place. The haze had burned off to reveal the beautiful morning it had been hiding. Behind them, the Long Point Lighthouse. Ahead, water as far as the eye could see, reflecting the bright sunshine and creating the illusion that she and Tito Barros were the only people in the world.
“Do you have children?” she asked Tito, eager to keep the conversation going, not to lapse into longer silence that would allow the past to creep up on her.
“I never married, and I don’t have children,” he said. “But Manny’s two kids—Jaci and Marco—and Bianca’s daughter, Pilar, are like children to me. Bianca thinks I favor Marco; that’s why she’s angry with me. I gifted him my water grant a few years back and she was furious. So between Pilar selling the house and Marco taking over the water rights, she feels she’s gotten short shrift.”
