Chapter 15
Fifteen
June 14, afternoon
Our low approach is up the Fore River with Portland to the right and South Portland to the left. The roof of Ben’s parents’ house is easy to locate by counting the roofs from the elementary school. I look hard to see if I can catch a glimpse of Luke and Cole outside, but we’re too far away and at the wrong angle. I can’t believe I’m so close to seeing my sons again. How much have they grown? Will they still remember me? Will they want to spend time with me? How can I even begin to make up the time we’ve lost?
Our landing is uneventful, and Suzanne is waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator.
“Hey, stranger!” She greets me with her arms open wide. “Welcome back!”
I gladly fall into her hug; it does my heart good. “Thanks for picking me up. I have a few bags to wait for.” I wish I could say I’m glad to be home, but I’m not. I want to get my boys and go back to St. John.
“How were your flights?” Suzanne and I walk over to the baggage carousel and wait for the bags from my flight to come out.
“Interesting. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get to leave St. Thomas. I learned that the airline has zero tolerance when it comes to unruly passengers.”
Suzanne gasped. “What did you do?”
“No, not me! The woman in front of me.” I hope she’s only kidding. I’ve learned it’s OK to put myself first, but I’d never go so far as to be selfish. She can’t actually believe I could be unruly.
“No! Of course not. But you never know with pregnant women.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I laugh; it’s good to see Suzanne again.
“I’ve written down all the contact numbers for you to call tomorrow to find out what’s going on,” Suzanne says as I watch the belt for my bags. “I still can’t believe that prick is that irresponsible, putting his own children in danger, not to mention everyone else on the road.”
“I know.” Both of my bags are on the belt and headed our way. “I have to get the boys away from him before he causes them any more harm.”
“And his parents, especially his mother.”
“Her too.”
We each carry a bag out to the parking garage. “This is a pretty classy ride,” I comment as Suzanne pops open the back of her Land Rover Defender.
“Henry gave it to me for my birthday.” Suzanne takes a deep breath and lets it out. “He’s in New York this week.”
Does Henry buys Suzanne expensive gifts to make up for not being around?
“Well, thank you for staying here to meet me.”
“Oh, I don’t go on Henry’s work trips. I would just slow him down.”
“But he’s twice your age. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“Haha.” Suzanne’s laugh is dry, but she doesn’t say anything more, just starts the engine. Then she pauses. “I know he loves me. I just wish…”
“Wish what?”
“I wish he was around more.” Suzanne backs out of the space and drives carefully through the garage to the exit. “I wish he was more of a husband.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can say. I really don’t know anything about Henry other than he’s a lot older than Suzanne and he’s never home. At least Jack spent a lot of time with me. Well, at first he did. And then he left me. Is this a pattern? Are Suzanne and I just unlucky in love? Our hearts are stolen by older men who leave us?
“There’s nothing for you to feel sorry about.” She glances over to me before inserting her credit card to pay for parking. “We’ll figure it out.” The bar swings open, and she steers the Land Rover out onto the road that takes us away from the airport.
“If you love each other, you will.” I pat her shoulder as we stop at the intersection of International Parkway and Jetport Boulevard.
“So, our house is in Prouts Neck, to the left, or we could take the long way through South Portland if you want to take a chance on the boys playing outside today.”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“No,” Suzanne says as she signals and makes a right turn, “but I wanted to give you the choice.”
I nod. I want to see the boys. I want to know they’re okay. My fingers find my necklace and start to twirl the starfish between my fingers.
“I like your necklace. Is that Tiffany’s?”
“I think so? Jack gave it to me for my birthday.”
“I thought you were done with Jack. Why are you wearing a necklace he gave you?”
I shrug. I don’t know why. Maybe I wear it because it’s the only birthday present I’ve received since my parents died. Maybe I love the necklace because someone took the time to learn I love starfish.
Suzanne turns down the Cushings’ road and slows when we come to their house. It’s a typical Cape Cod with some deferred maintenance. It needs paint, and the landscaping is overgrown; a pile of debris outside the garage needs to be taken away. That’s not safe for the boys to play around.
Why isn’t Ben helping his parents? If he’s staying with them, I would think that he’d be helping them take care of the house. I hope they care for Luke and Cole better than they care for their house.
Suzanne pulls over just past the house so I can get a better look into the back yard. There’s a green tent set up on the grass. Does Ben camp out in the backyard sometimes with the boys?
I don’t see any activity. I don’t think anyone is home.
“Have you seen enough?” Suzanne asks as I take a few pictures with my phone to look at later. Maybe that pile of rubbish in the driveway will help a judge see this isn’t the place for my sons to live.
“Yeah, I guess.” I’m disappointed I didn’t see the boys. Suzanne pulls away and points the Land Rover to Prouts Neck.
“Thank you for the detour. I really appreciate all you’re doing for me.”
“I don’t mind. Really.” Suzanne turns onto a small dirt road that resembles a driveway. Along the road, I count six large houses, all of which look historic. “I can use the company.”
I smile. I can use the company too.
The Land Rover bounces as we hit holes left over from the cold and snowy winter that recently ended.
“The potholes are traffic deterrents. They help keep sightseers away,” Suzanne explains after she carefully navigates one that stretches across the driveway. I can imagine getting stuck during mud season without four-wheel drive; it’s easy to see why Suzanne would need the Land Rover Defender.
“Sightseers?” I ask but before Suzanne answers, I see the answer to my question: the ocean. The road dead-ends at a pile of sharp-edged boulders. Beyond that, the land falls away, and below that, strong waves crash into the rocky shore. It’s a much harsher landscape than the one I enjoyed on St. John.
“That’s Winslow Homer’s studio.” Suzanne points at a small red-trimmed gray-shingled dwelling with a large wraparound balcony on one corner. “The art museum owns it now and gives tours.” She laughs. “By appointment only.”
I remember learning about Winslow Homer in high school. He painted scenes of the Civil War, but he also focused on seascapes. This must’ve been a great place to watch the tide change.
Suzanne pulls into the driveway across from the studio. This is the last house on the road and the one closest to the water.
“This is beautiful.” The large shingle-style house looks like it has been here forever. We get out, and my nostrils fill with the salt spray tossed up when the waves hit the weathered rocks. The wind off the ocean is constant. Even though it’s the middle of June, the air here on Prouts Neck is chilly.
“Henry and I just had it restored before we moved in.” We take my bags out of the back of the Land Rover and start toward the house. “It’s a John Calvin Stevens.”
“Hah. Paying attention in art class is really paying off now. He’s the guy who designed a thousand buildings in Maine, right? He was a popular architect in the early 1900s.”
“Yep. That’s him. He did the redesign on the studio.” Suzanne points her thumb over her shoulder, then unlocks her front door, and we step into the foyer. “I know more about him now than I want to.”
Inside, it’s like stepping back in time a hundred years. “It’s still very nice.”
“The restorers did a good job.” We drop our bags on the floor, and Suzanne turns to me. “You hungry?”
“Famished!”
“Let’s find something to eat.”
Why do I wake up in the middle of the night? I’m so tired when I go to bed that I fall asleep immediately. Now it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep. The nearby lighthouse reminds me with two blasts that a minute has gone by. Lighthouse? Foghouse. I giggle. Wow, I am punchy. Instead of counting sheep, I can count the fog horn blasts to fall asleep.
But between writing a script in my head about what I’m going to say to the state about Ben and trying to figure out the best way to see my boys, counting every minute the lighthouse sounds its warning won’t put me back to sleep tonight. Way too much is going on in my head.
I watch the sun come up over the water. I’d forgotten how early the sun rises in Maine. It’s 4:30 a.m., and it’s already getting light outside. It will be “one of those days” if I don’t get some coffee into me.
Using the light on my phone, I find my way through the dark hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Bonus that it’s Dunkin’s French vanilla. Thank you, Suzanne!
I go through my phone as I sip on my coffee. I know I shouldn’t do it, but I I’m a glutton for punishment. I open Jack’s text messages to reread some of our conversations.
At the bottom of the text screen are the words “Jack unsent a message.” Not once, not twice, but five times. I didn’t even know you could unsend a text message.
Jack texted me and then unsent it? Why would he do that? Was he was thinking about me? Does he know I left and he wanted to say goodbye but then hit unsend to be respectful of my wishes? Or did he write something mean and then he took it back?
I think about texting him something and then unsending it just so he knows what it feels like to have to guess. But I’m better than that, and I don’t want to open the door for him to start communicating with me again. I have too much on my plate right now with trying to get the boys back.
I close out of Jack’s text messages and open up a game app. Sipping my coffee and playing solitaire will pass the time until Suzanne gets up.
Nine a.m. on the dot, I dial the number to the state and ask what’s going on with Ben Cushing’s case.
“Apparently, nothing,” The woman’s voice on the other end says. “No one has been assigned.”
I explain everything I knew about the arrest and how the boys were in the car with him when he was drinking. When I say that I don’t have custody but would love to more than anything, she asks me to send over the custody arrangement and any other information that might be important.
“Absolutely! As soon as I hang up.” I give the woman my phone number and my email so she can reach me with any questions or updates. She promises to keep me updated on her investigation, but she warns me this could be a slow process.
Hope fills my heart. Finally, someone who cared enough to listen to me. That’s more than I can say about my first interaction with the court.
Using Suzanne’s all-in-one printer, I scan the copy of my divorce decree along with copies of the boys’ birth certificates and my driver’s license.
“Suzanne, thank you.” I hug her, tears flowing from my eyes. “Thank you so much!”
“For what? Inviting you to stay with me?” Suzanne returns my embrace.
“That, and for coming across the article.”
“That’s what friends are for. You would do the same for me.”
We weren’t close when we went to school together, but that has changed. What are the chances that we would be in the same restaurant at the same time in St. John? Our running into each other was the universe knowing we needed each other’s friendship. It feels good to have Suzanne as my friend.