Forgive Me. Amanda Eyre Ward
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ignore the dizziness, the dark patches at the edges of her vision.
“I love to cook,” said Hank, “and there’s a bar with good burgers downtown. I can push you there in my wheelbarrow.”
Nadine tried to smile, and shook her head.
“You won’t make it to Mexico City,” said Hank. “Nadine, you’re still on some strong painkillers, and your body has undergone a serious trauma. You’ll pass out at the bus station.”
“I have friends who can help me.” Nadine wasn’t sure this was true, and the room did look fuzzy. Oh hell, she thought. She envisioned the long security line at the airport. She thought about her empty apartment, the meaningless flirtations with the fact checker next door. She wanted so desperately to get back to work, but she couldn’t travel, not like this. She had to sit down, just for a little while.
“Okay,” said Hank. “Thought I’d give it a shot. It’s lonely out there. You take care, Nadine. Have a great holiday.”
“All right,” said Nadine. “All right, fine.”
“Let me help you to the door,” said Hank. “Do you want to take your records, or should we fax them to your doctor in Mexico?”
“I said fine,” said Nadine.
“What?”
“Let’s go,” said Nadine. “I don’t… I said, okay. Let’s go to Nantucket. But I’ll need… I need some clothes.”
“They have clothes on Nantucket,” said Hank.
“I shudder to think,” said Nadine.
“You’re my second-to-last appointment. I was planning on catching the four PM ferry.”
“I’ll be in your lobby,” said Nadine.
The receptionist did not appear to notice as Nadine sat down in an orange plastic chair and paged through the Cape Cod Times. She finished the paper, three old People magazines, and one Travel+Leisure before Hank appeared.
Nine
Sun shone on the water as the ferry moved out of Hyannis Harbor and past expensive gray homes. Next to Nadine and Hank, an old woman petted her dog. The dogs collar was printed with tiny lobsters.
“Look,” said Nadine, “a yacht.” She pointed. It was a lovely boat, its sails bound in blue cloth. “Or I guess you’d call that a sailboat.”
“Definitely a sailboat,” said Hank. “Didn’t you grow up here?”
“Sort of,” said Nadine.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t remember it much,” said Nadine. “My life started after I left.”
“Coffee?” said Hank.
“Great.”
Nadine watched his red T-shirt as he walked away. The shirt had an ice cream cone on the back. His jeans were faded, and his hiking boots looked well worn. Hank’s thick black curls needed a trim.
The ferry rocked slowly. Hank returned a few minutes later, balancing a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand. “Cream and sugar?” he said.
“Neither,” said Nadine.
“I figured,” said Hank, handing her a paper cup.
“At what point does a sailboat become a yacht?” said Nadine.
“Hm,” said Hank. “Fifteen feet? Twenty?”
“Oh,” said Nadine. “Well, you learn something every day.”
“Do you?”
Nadine sipped her coffee. “You know,” she said, “I do.”
“I envy you, then.”
“I love my job,” said Nadine.
“Yes,” said Hank, “you’ve said that.”
“Why do you sound as if you don’t believe me?”
“I used to work in an emergency room in Boston,” said Hank. “At first, it was great. You know, it was what I was trained to do. Someone ODs, or comes in with a broken leg, I know how to handle it. At work, I was happy. I guess it was somewhat like you said. I felt alive. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t switch it off. I mean, you walk out the door, you know, you walk outside, but those patients are still… you’re supposed to go on home, have a beer, relax. I’d take the T, twenty minutes, and then my wife would be opening the door, wanting to go see a movie or talk about new paint for the living room… it was strange. It got to me. I felt as if I couldn’t stop, not for a minute. I didn’t like who I turned into. I didn’t like who I was, outside the ER.”
“I could stop,” said Nadine.
“Okay,” said Hank.
A man began to spray bright yellow cleanser on the ferry window, wiping it afterward with a thin blade. He wore a jacket that read STEAMSHIP AUTHORITY. There were two patches on his jacket: an American flag, and his name, JEFF. Jeff was sweaty and had a pimple in the center of his forehead. He sprayed the cleanser and wiped it away.
“Gwen told me your wife, um,” said Nadine.
The old woman began patting her dog and talking to it. “We had a wonderful morning, didn’t we?” she said. “You saw your friend Austin, didn’t you?” The dog, like Hank, did not respond.
“Gwen told me your wife, well, went on a Carnival Cruise ship… this can’t be true…”
“No,” said Hank, “it is true. We went on the cruise together. It was a theme cruise.”
“I don’t want to ask,” said Nadine.
“ ‘Bring Back the Zing,’ “ said Hank, staring at Jeff, who sprayed and wiped.
“Pardon?” said Nadine. “The zing?”
“You heard me,” said Hank. “It was for couples. ‘Bring Back the Zing.’ It was my idea.”
“Oh, Hank,” said Nadine.
“I’d been working around the clock. I knew Maryjane was unhappy. I thought that maybe if I got far enough away, I could shut off. I could… talk about her, pay attention to her.” He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “I got us tickets on ‘Bring Back the Zing.’ We were supposed to make love from Miami to Bermuda.”
“But Gwen said… and again, this cannot be true–”
“Oh it’s true,” said Hank. “Hercules Kalapoulou.”
“Hercules?”
“You might ask yourself, as I did, why a divorced Greek businessman booked a room on ‘Bring Back the Zing.’ But Maryjane didn’t ask any questions. When the cruise was over, so was our marriage.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Nadine.
“I went back to the ER for a year, and then decided I wanted a quieter life. A small community. I guess I wanted a home. Falmouth needed a generalist And that’s the story.”
Nadine shook her head. “Wow.”
Hank nodded. “I suppose I can see the humor in it now,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up. He continued to look out the window. Nadine couldn’t tell if he was seeing Jeff or the water beyond Jeff. The glass did not look any clearer.
“I’ve never been on a cruise,” said Nadine.
“So I sold my place in Falmouth after a year,” Hank said, forging ahead. “I rent a condo now. And I bought the house on Nantucket. It has a fireplace.