Nan Rossiter - The Gin and Chowder Club

“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.

“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.”

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.

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.

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.