That Old Cape Magic

you.”
    “You know this how?”
    “My guy pitched me. If we could convince Ruby we’re right, we could do it together. Take six to eight weeks, ten at the outside. You’d be back grading your grammar exercises by Labor Day. Decent money. Possible series to follow if it works.”
    “Ruby Hand. The guy I’m remembering was an asshole.”
    “That’s right, a producer.”
    “I’m in the car right now. How about I talk to Joy and call you back when I get home.”
    “Not to influence you, but I could use the gig.”
    “Okay if I ask you a question?”
    “Sure.”
    “Are you still in love with Joy?”
    Not even a second’s hesitation. “Sure,” said his old friend. “Aren’t you?”
    Such a simple question. Such a simple answer. Yet somehow, sitting there in the shadow of the Bourne Bridge, he’d managed to twist it all around. To make it instead a question of whether Joy still loved him. If she did, he told himself, she’d be waiting for him on the other side. Years ago, finally leaving L.A., they’d made the journey in two cars loaded down with things they didn’t trust to the movers. That was before cell phones, of course, but after the first day they had it down to a science, each intuiting when the other was going to need to stop for gas or food or the lavatory. They tried to stay close, within sight of each other, and whoever was in the lead would periodically check the rearview mirror and, if the other car wasn’t there, slow down or pull over until it caught up. Would Joy remember? Had she seen him pull over? If so, she’d be waiting for him on the other side. Or, more likely, farther on. By now, he was sure, she’d have checked her mirror, and noticed he wasn’t there.
    Turning off his cell, he put it back in the cup holder. He didn’t want to talk to her on the phone. There’d been too much talk already. He just wanted to see her off on the shoulder, waiting for him, concerned for his well-being. If she pulled over, he’d know that whatever was between them could be worked out.
    Carefully pulling out into traffic, he climbed onto the Bourne,passing the sign— DESPERATE? —a group called the Samaritans put there to discourage leapers. From the elevated midpoint of the bridge, he could see a steady stream of cars that reached almost a mile down the highway, but none were off on the shoulder. Half an hour later he switched his cell back on, hoping to see that he’d missed a call, but none had come in.

9
Rehearsal
    T he rugged Maine coastline was stunning, Griffin had to admit, the light so pure it almost hurt. He couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if his parents had fallen in love with this part of the world instead of the Cape. Certainly it would have been more affordable, but that begged an obvious question: would they really have wanted something they could afford? After all, much of the Cape’s allure was its shimmering elusiveness, the magical way it receded before them year after year, the stuff of dreams. Coastal Maine, by contrast, seemed not just real but battered by reality. Where Cape Cod somehow managed to give the impression that July lasted all year, Maine reminded you, even in lush late spring, of its long, harsh winters, of snowdrifts that rotted baseboards and splintered latticework, of relentless winds that howled in the eaves and scoured the paint, leaving gutters rusted white with salt. Even the people looked scoured, or so it seemed to Griffin as he drove down the peninsula toward the Hedges, the resort hotel where Laura’s wedding would take place tomorrow.
Wouldn’t Have It As a Gift
, his mother informed him, in answer to his unspoken question.
    Since her death last winter, she’d become even more talkative than when alive, ever anxious to share her opinions with Griffin, especially, but not exclusively, during his long, insomniac nights. Proximity—she now rode in the left wheel well of his rental car—also made her chatty. With any luck this would soon end. The plan was to drive down to the Cape after the wedding, find a resting place for both his parents. He’d had many months to think it over, but he still had no better plan than the one she’d proposed this time last year, to scatter his father on one side and his mother on the other. Maybe that would shut her up.
Fat chance
, she snorted.
    All of Joy’s family and most of the other guests were staying at the Hedges so they wouldn’t be tempted to drive after drinking too much