That Old Cape Magic

years ago, when he’d come upon her in the shower. He’d driven into campus and was parking in the faculty lot when he remembered he’d left a stack of graded papers on his desk back home. He’d stayed up late to finish them, having foolishly promised to return them today. When he got back, he could hear the upstairs shower from the kitchen. Grabbing the papers, he poked his head in to say goodbye again, in case she’d heard him come in and was wondering why he’d returned.
    She stood in the shower stall facing the spray, her forehead restingon the tile beneath the nozzle and most of the water pounding the glass door behind her. Though her shoulders were quaking violently, it wasn’t immediately apparent that she was sobbing. To Griffin it seemed impossible that she could be. When he’d left her at the breakfast table less than fifteen minutes before, everything had seemed fine. What could have occurred in the interim to provoke such sorrow? If something had happened to Laura she’d be frantically trying to reach him at the office, so that couldn’t be it. The life they’d dreamed of in Truro had finally come to full fruition. What was there to grieve about?
    What came to Griffin, standing there, was that he wasn’t supposed to be witnessing this. Whatever heartbreak his wife was giving vent to now had been fully present half an hour ago, but she’d waited for him to leave. Nor, after he did, had she broken down there in the kitchen. She’d gone upstairs and taken off her robe and nightgown and gotten into the shower, where the evidence of her sorrow would be washed away immediately. How long did he stand there in the doorway, rooted to the spot, staring in stunned disbelief, before quietly backing out of the room, getting back in the car and returning to campus?
    How good it would feel, Griffin thought, to go back inside the Olde Cape Lounge and coldcock the woman’s companion, knock him clean off his bar stool, bloody his fucking nose. Here she was, trying valiantly to be happy, and this asshole wouldn’t let her.
    Instead he took out his cell and dialed Sid’s number. He’d called him half a dozen times that afternoon, always getting the answering machine. It was now eight-thirty, only five-thirty on the West Coast, but again the machine picked up. There was no point in leaving another message, so he hung up and scrolled down his contacts list, stopping at Tommy’s name. A moment later his old writing partner was on the line.
    “Griff,” Tommy said, as if he’d been expecting the call.
You through screwing around back there, shoveling snow? You coming
back to work?
That’s what Griffin expected him to say, not “Jesus, I was so sorry to hear about Sid.”
    “Hear what about Sid?” But even as he asked, Griffin suddenly knew why today’s calls hadn’t been answered.
    “I almost called you,” Tommy told him. “The poor bastard woke up dead, is what I heard. His housekeeper found him.”
    Griffin looked out across what had been the parking lot and was now a lake. It was astonishing, really, how hard it was raining.
    “What the hell’s that noise?” Tommy wanted to know. “Are you under attack or something?”
    “It’s hailing,” Griffin said, realizing only as he said so that it was true. Semitranslucent pellets the size and shape of cold capsules were dancing off the hood of the convertible.
    “Yeah, but who lives like that?” Tommy demanded. “I mean, voluntarily.”
    “I can’t believe it,” Griffin said. “Sid called me yesterday. Left a message on my machine. I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”
    “Come out for the service, why don’t you? You were one of his favorites. I could be wrong, but I’ve got this feeling he didn’t really have anybody.”
    Sid had been Tommy’s agent, too, but his new partner, the one he’d briefly teamed up with after Griffin left, had been represented by one of the big agencies, and Tommy had moved on.
    “Besides, it’d be good to see you. You want, I’ll introduce you to my guy. Bring Joy. We’ll all do something, go someplace we can’t afford and misbehave. Like the old days.”
    He was tempted to tell Tommy that the old days were long gone, that he and Joy never misbehaved anymore, that the woman he was remembering didn’t exist. That day in the shower had been an anomaly, and he was grateful for that. His wife had every single thing she wanted, and he couldn’t remember the last time she’d changed her mind. And