Under the New Moon - Chapter 5

         A white beagle with black and rust patches jumped up and down, and then began running around us in an explosion of excitement.

         “This is Joey,” Cynthia said tossing her hair with a triumphant gesture.

         I bent down to touch the silky-smooth shiny coat. Joey rolled on his side and licked my hand, murmuring with warm sonorous sounds of delight. How could I not to like him! He was starved not only for food but also for affection now that his companion was incapacitated.

         “I’ll do my best with him until you come back,” I told Cynthia, trying to sound noncommittal.

         I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to care for a dog, but now that I had met him, something had thawed out within me leaving me no choice but to love the feel of his friendliness. Still that unknown voice inside me was questioning my approach and warning me to behave. What was that for? Why was my internal alarm system acting up? But the joy I felt when I held him overcame any inner reproach and I even smiled when I felt his wet tongue licking my cheeks.

         “See, he took to you,” Cynthia said. “And thank you, My Dear, for taking him off my hands. Richard was getting antsy since we’ll go to Toronto late this year. A mini vacation will be a good thing for him now.”

         “Look where a mini vacation got me,” I laughed. “I’m a Florida resident as the result of it.”

         So Joey entered my life when Cynthia and Richard left for the Keys the next day. And my morning runs turned into elation accompanied by Joey who also started to reconstruct his instincts by running, jogging, jumping, and yelping while I held onto his leash. He made me grin, smile, laugh, and I adored his recklessness.

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         Later that day, when I arrived at the library, I met Marjorie, the curly gray-haired slender widow who tapped her fingers and moved her hands nervously over the desk. She was the other worker Gwen had told me about, returning to work from her vacation.

         “You look like you’re my age, Lynn,” she said. “It is nice to have a peer around.”

         I stared at her stunned. On her olive-complexioned face, especially around the corners of her eyes and mouth, myriad of wrinkles were deeply etched. The skin on her neck twisted in folds and gullies. Her age was at least sixty-five. Did I look that old? I heard Ellie’s giggle as she doubled over her keyboard attempting to hide her face.

         “Where were you on your vacation, Marjorie?” I asked, shaking off the shock.

         “It was no vacation. I went to Ohio to see Mother. I hadn’t seen her since Robby passed.”

         “Marjorie,” Gwen called from the children’s section. “I need your gentle touch here before the story hour begins.”

         When Marjorie was out of earshot, Ellie whispered, “Watch it, she’ll tell you her life story and carry on. She hasn’t been quite there after her husband Robert died last year. And Lynn, don’t worry, you don’t look as old. Actually you don’t look old at all.”

         Before I could answer Ellie, I saw Bruce waving at me as he entered the library. He was returning a few books. Leaving them on the counter, he said, “Lynn, Mystic Theater in Stuart is putting on the Three-Penny Opera. I have tickets for Friday. Will you go with me?”

         “I didn’t know there was a theater around here.”

         “It is no Broadway but they do a good job with a semi-amateur cast.”

         “Sure, Bruce. I’d love to go. Thank you,” I said, surprised at my own ease in accepting the offer.

         When Bruce headed to the new books section, Marjorie sidled up to me. “Lynn, is he your boyfriend?”

         “No, just a friend. I don’t have boyfriends, Marjorie.”

         “It is so difficult, isn’t it? I know. The dating scene has changed. What do you do? I don’t know what to do either. I don’t even know how to act around men after Rob died and left me. Sometimes I get so mad at him for dying.”

         “I’m not dating,” I said, “Believe me!”

         “But you just accepted that man’s invitation.”

         “Not as a date though. He’s just a friend. I met him only a few days ago. Bruce’s interested in arts and literature; his likes are similar to mine. That’s all.”

         “Is it your ex still? I know a woman who never forgot the husband she divorced.”

         “My ex is very forgettable,” I snickered. “He wanted out and I let him go, thanking my lucky stars.”

         “Why did you move down here then?”

         “I don’t know. It just happened. Maybe, at the old neighborhood, there was too much din around for me. I needed to get to know me.”

         “Don't we all need to do that!”

         Although she showed some neurotic tendencies, I didn’t find Marjorie “not quite there” as Ellie had put it. Marjorie was still grieving, and as to how to go about re-doing her life, she didn’t know. I didn’t either. But the only thing I had to grieve over was my own stupidity in letting things happen to me and around me. Still, I didn’t think of life as an empty house to furnish or change the decor when it didn’t fit me. I thought of life as a river hiding undercurrents and mysteries in its depths. A life was something I had to explore. And for decades, I had neglected doing that.

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         Next morning, just before I was about to leave for work, Joey started barking.

         “Now, Joey, I promise I’m coming back.”

         When I knelt down and stroked him to calm him down, the doorbell rang. So that was what the barking was about. What a nice surprise had Joey been!

         I looked through the peep-hole in the door to see Gerald’s face with its altered features through the focal distortion of the lens. What in the world...

         I unlocked the door.

         He stood at the threshold grinning awkwardly through his glossy white teeth. “Good morning, I wanted to catch you before you left. I have something for you.” He handed me something soft and limp covered with waxed paper and saran wrap. “I was fishing yesterday. I thought I’d bring you a kingfish. I filleted it. Hope you like it.” His torso and his head were slightly bobbing as if swaying to some Caribbean rhythm. His features were so clear-cut; it was as if I was looking at them for the first time, each time.

         “How nice! Thank you, Gerald. I love fish. Let me put it in the fridge.”

         I couldn’t help but notice the trembling in my hands when I opened the refrigerator door. How I hated my hormones!

         “I just noticed. Your dock needs fixing,” he said, following me into the kitchen.

         “Well, yes. But I don’t know. Chances are I’ll never use it.”

         “Still it needs fixing. It’s your house...” He hesitated a little then offered, “I could do it for you. I do such jobs on the side. You don’t have to pay right away. I could start right tomorrow if you wish.”

         I didn’t say no. I just couldn’t. The image of him topless and in shorts working on the dock flashed back and forth in front of my eyes, and I said, “That will be very nice. Thank you.”

         “I’ll get some material today, then.”

         “I’ll write you a check. Okay?’

         “No, later. I’ll tell you how much when it’s finished.”

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         “You needn’t rush that much; your face is flushed,” Gwen said when she saw me. “It’s okay to be a few minutes late once in while.” But the redness on my face wasn’t because of my hurrying to work.

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         I woke up to Joey’s barking around midnight. There were footsteps outside and sounds that suggested someone was dragging something. It upset me thinking it was an intruder. I turned on the lights outside. A tall figure stopped in full view by a corner floodlight; he looked up and waved toward the house. I put a robe on and went down.

         “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up. But I got the wood late and when my landlord saw it, he ordered me to take it off his property. So I brought it here. Hope you aren’t mad at me.”

         “It’s okay, Gerald.” I felt my face redden through the work of some craving’s imps. I tried to avert my eyes from his face and focused them on the collar of his shirt but even that ended up signaling lust. So I fixed my gaze at his boots that looked like grey ghosts in the dim outdoor light. “I’ll leave the lights on, so nobody will think you’re a prowler,” I said.

         “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s only the woods on this side of the house and the police know me well.”

         I left the lights on anyhow.

         I didn’t see him in the morning, but next to the dock was a heap of weathered wood pieces and four-by-fours.

         When I came back from work in the evening, he was about to drive off. I lowered my window, as he leaned out from his truck. “The legs are all rotted out. Nothing’s worth saving. Be back tomorrow. Take care!” As he pulled off, I consoled myself that my imps of desire were built-in necessities of life and if faced with understanding, they would go away. Still, when inside, I avoided looking at the mirror until my face didn’t feel so hot to the touch.

         He was there early, way before I left for work the next day. I gave up on jogging, except taking a perplexed Joey out for a couple of minutes who expressed his confusion in short yelps. Instead I flitted about the house taking eyefuls of Gerald from the safe indoors while my heart nearly burst with its own beating. But eventually, I had to pull myself away for the sake of my work if not for my self-respect.

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         I had a good time with Bruce. The play was a local production with less of a movement and light, but it boasted of sincerity and Bruce had a certain brilliance and ease of culture about him that can only be expected as a common occurrence like that of the sun rising in the morning. No right-thinking person could fail to like him.

         “My daughter is coming soon, but only for a week,” I told him on the way home.

“You sound happy. You wish she’d stay longer, don’t you?”

         “Yes, but I understand.”

         “I don’t think you do, Lynn. I think you’re hurt, permit me to say.”

         “It’s okay, really. There isn’t much I can do, is there?”

         “Maybe not. But I hope your daughter has just as sweet a nature as her mother and decides to stay for the summer.”

         “Thank you Bruce. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high,” I said, smiling. But for an instant or so, this part of the conversation formed a lump in my throat like an offensive intruder.

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         “You were out last night. Did you have a good time?” Gerald asked, conscious of himself for asking me a personal question.

         “Yes, I went to see a play with a friend.”

         “Where to? Vero? or the Mystic?”

         “We were at the Mystic Theater. Were you here? I didn’t see you when I left.”

          “I came to look around later, when I was passing by. Had to measure something.”

         It was a Saturday and I had the morning off. From the back of the truck Gerald took out a sledge hammer, a horse and a circular saw, and carried them to the side of the dock. I retreated into the house to fumble through the dishes while I glanced at him through the window over the kitchen sink.

         For a few minutes, the sound of the sledge hammer hitting against the wood resonated in regular momentary intervals. When he stood up his white tee shirt was glued to his ample back. He twirled the hem of the shirt and slid it all the way up to his underarms. My heart leaped at the sight of his half-bared back glistening with sweat under the sun. I found my hands on my face, with dish soap and all, as he held the back of the shirt and pulled it over the back of his head. I ducked instinctively when he turned around. When I came up again his back was turned to me and the shirt was lying on the grass behind him. He was standing straight, motionless, watching the water.

         I dried my face with a kitchen towel, hoping the harsh detergent wouldn’t make my skin flake out. Then I took a tall glass, filled it with iced tea and stepped out the kitchen door.

         “Would you like a drink?”

         “Thanks, yeah. This is great.” He drank it in one gulp.

         Once inside, I rummaged through the bottom drawers. An Aladdin thermos was in there somewhere. I filled the thermos with iced tea and opened the kitchen door. He was nowhere in sight, though his truck was still parked to the side, his knapsack and his shirt were still on the grass. I came back in and looked around through the window. He came out of the woods zipping up. God! He could have asked to use the bathroom. He knelt by the water and washed his hands and face, and dried them with the tee shirt, then tossing it back on the lawn again. Then he went back to work.

         A few minutes later, I took the thermos to him.

         “Great!” he said. “This will work better.”

         “There’s a bathroom inside the porch. The porch door is open. You can also come into the house and use the one at the entrance”

         “I know. I know your house. I knew the people there before you. But don’t worry. It won’t be necessary.”

         But later he came in anyway and used the bathroom in the porch.

         When I got ready for work, he was still cutting the wood on the sawhorse.

         “I have to finish this cutting and hope there’ll be little need for the handsaw later. I borrowed the circular saw just for today.” He looked up at me. “Going out?”

         “To work. I work from noon to five on Saturdays.”

         “Okeydoke. I’ll be here, till the cutting’s done. See ya, tomorrow then. Won’t mind me working on a Sunday, will you?”

         “Not at all, it’s your time.”

         “Some folks are funny about Sundays.” He grinned, the stark whiteness of his teeth showing.

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         Sunday afternoon I noticed something peculiar. At regular intervals, he stood straight and watched the water. For long periods at a time. There was a willfulness about him when he did that.

         I too liked to sit by the window or in the porch and stare at the view, but what I did was out of wonder and admiration; in his staring there was a different kind of connection. He stared at the river with sour insistence, as an inquisitor does while he waits for his subject to break down and confess.

         Suddenly, I recalled his exact words from days ago. “If a gator gets a person, that’s a death sentence. I’m sure he comes back to the crime scene like any other murderer. Do you mind if I came around and looked for signs of it in your backyard?” And also, “He’s out there somewhere and I’ll get him.” Is that why he was here? I tried to sidestep the thought but couldn’t. I clutched at a dishrag. Its loosely knitted surface felt wet, tired, and worn. I had to be careful with Gerald, and yet...

         Almost involuntarily, I stepped out of the kitchen door and stumbled toward him. He turned around and looked at me with questioning eyes.

         “Would you like to have a bite to eat? I’m going to fix something for myself.”

         I had suddenly come up with a good impromptu question instead of asking why he was really here. On rare occasions, I stop myself from making a fool of myself.

         “Sure. Just not fruit salad, okay? Most ladies like that. Not me. Anything else is fine.”

         “Okay, no fruit salad.”

         “Just call me when.”

         “Will do.”

         What a weird man! So he didn’t like fruit salad. Yet, not even a thank you? Not that it mattered...

         I set the table inside the alcove in the porch and turned on the outdoor fans. Then I called him.

         He ate with gusto talking about how they weathered different kinds of wood and I ate slowly looking down, with the acknowledgement of the proximity of his perfect shape inside my mind. I nodded now and then, pretending I was listening because his words were rumbling by like trucks over a bridge and all I could concentrate on was his bare legs.

         I almost jumped out of my skin when he touched my arm with a slight pat. With his other hand, he was pointing to the barbecue pit. “Next time I bring you fish, I’ll barbecue it.”

         “Good,” I muttered not knowing what else to say but I was scared of the sudden burst of anticipation inside me as if something had slipped across an invisible line.

         By Monday afternoon, he had the old dock completely pulled out. I don’t know how he put in the legs of the new one, because I wasn’t home when he did it and I didn’t ask him in case he might have misinterpreted and thought I was questioning his expertise. Yet, some kind of a freeze had thawed in the meantime. We were friendlier with each other and talking more about things other than the weather.

         When he said he grew up around the Lousiana Bayous and moved to Florida later, I asked, “Do you have any family?”

         I was standing next to him by the dock and he was nailing some slats together on a frame. He put the hammer down and looked at me with the eyes of a cornered animal.

         “Not really. No parents, no brothers or sisters and no woman will have me either with the kind of work I do.”

         Something swelled in me in loose knots and opened up like silken threads smoothing themselves out.

         “What about you?” he asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

         “No, nobody special,” I hadn’t expected his question.

         “You’re nice. Good-looking too. I’m surprised anyone would let you get away.”

         Like whitewater taking a sharp bend, he stood up suddenly and faced me. “You don’t know how hot you are.”

         I took a step back without wanting to. It was due to my mother’s New England conditioning. I scolded myself inwardly

         “Are you mad?”

         “No. No,” I repeated. “You took me by surprise.”

         “Okay,” he turned around. Then he reversed his stance and faced me again.

         “Am I too coarse for you?”

         “I’d be too old for you.”

         He smiled wearily and put his hand forward gently touching my shoulder. An invisible current seeped into every pore of my skin and clung inside every vein and artery.

         “Nope. You’re just right.” His voice was low and confident.

         His cell phone interrupted us. He reached into his knapsack on the grass and answered it.

         “Gator problem. Gotta go. I’ll have to leave the tools with you.”

         “Bring them in the house.”

         “They’ll be okay in your porch.”

         And he was off just like that. With my mouth open, I stood in the middle of my house hanging on to every syllable of his words, every gesture, every meaning, and I wondered what I was getting myself into.