Chapter Fifteen
Katie walked into the kitchen the next morning, sniffing the burnt air. Addison was trying her best to follow Gicky’s famous scone recipe that was taped to the fridge. At least three reviews on Airbnb had praised them. She was on her second batch of the day. The first lived in the garbage pail, their outsides burned to a crisp, their insides with the distinct texture of sandpaper.
Addison thought to greet her with How was your night? but decided against it. She really didn’t want to know. She had grabbed Ben Morse’s last book, On Fire Island, from Gicky’s shelf, a hardcover with a picture of him and Sally on the beach as his author photo. She had been determined to read a few chapters, but fell asleep soon after, and did not know if or when Katie had returned. Alcohol and reading don’t really mix.
She was shaping the dough into a disc before cutting it into wedges, as the recipe stated, when Katie walked in. She nodded with her head toward the kitchen table for Katie to retrieve her book. It turned out that there were signed copies of everything Ben Morse had ever written on her aunt’s bookshelves.
“Do you want your book back? I know you were hoping for an autograph.”
“I got one!” Katie happily proclaimed, inching up her T-shirt to reveal Ben Morse’s signature scrolled in Sharpie over her left hip.
“I’m getting it tattooed back in the city.”
The taste of vomit rose in Addison’s throat. She swallowed.
“Nice,” she said, diverting her eyes. “You may be his biggest fan, after all.”
Addison thought of Kathy Bates locking James Caan in her cabin in Misery. Again with the horror stories! She was glad these two would be on their way soon and wished she would never have to see Ben Morse again either. She stopped her mind from wandering to what precipitated his signing above Katie’s hip. What a perv.
“When are you headed out? Do you know what ferry you’re catching?”
“Soon! Jessie has a Venus Viva appointment.”
Addison was too embarrassed to ask what that could be.
“Do you want me to walk you to the boat with my wagon?”
“No thanks, we have our wheelie bags. We had a great time.” She added, “And sorry again about your aunt. She seemed like a really nice lady.”
“Wait, you met my aunt?”
“Yes! At one of Ben’s book signings. Looking back, I think she was already sick. She invited us here.”
All she could say was, “Hmmm,” while briefly air hugging Katie goodbye. She was so looking forward to her friends’ visit. To make her feelings official, she texted Kizzy, Lisa, and Pru in the group chat the minute the women left.
COUNTING THE DAYS!
A succession of hearts washed the rancid thoughts of her neighbor having sex with her young houseguest from her brain. Until her next interaction with him in front of the deli counter at the Bay Harbor Market.
Addison waited in line, clutching her list. She had decided to shop for her dinner and the next day’s meals all at once instead of riding to the market whenever she felt hungry, as seemed to be the local practice.
Ben showed up behind her and looked over her shoulder.
“Figures, you have a list.”
She folded it up, as if he were looking to cheat off her on an eighth-grade Spanish test.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just not done here. Like walking to town instead of riding. You don’t bring a list to the market—you look around, see what the guy in front of you is getting, what jumps out at you.”
“Next,” the ear gauge guy called out. Addison was hoping to get the good-sandwich guy, but for what she was ordering, she assumed it didn’t matter. She opened up her list and again covered it with her hand.
“Half pound of artichokes and a piece of tuna, please.”
“For how many?”
“Just one.”
“Same for me, boss,” Ben called over her shoulder. Addison shot him a look.
“What?” he said. “Why should he put the tuna away, only to take it out again?”
Addison rolled her eyes while they waited for their fish to be cut and weighed. Ben’s presence seeped under her skin before making it crawl. She turned and asked him, quietly, “If you weren’t intending on lying to me, then why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
“You were reading my book. We spoke about it. My picture is on the back flap. I assumed you knew.”
“Well, I didn’t finish it yet. And you introduced yourself as Ben. Not Benjamin Morse.”
“You’re right. ’Cause Ben is such an odd nickname for someone named Benjamin. My sincere apologies.”
“So you assume everyone knows you?”
Two people walked by. “Hi, Ben,” said one. “Hey,” said the other.
He threw up his hands in a case in point way.
Addison rolled her eyes again. His excuse seemed like more BS, like he was trying anything until something stuck. She didn’t trust this guy one bit.
The ear gauge guy handed them each their bags, and Addison purposefully chose the register that Ben had not. Even so, they walked out the door at the same time and jumped on their bikes, leaving them in the awkward position of riding home together. When Ben eventually turned left up the bay block, Addison went straight. Still, they both reached their corner at the same time as a bunch of guys had gathered on the ball field.
“Good timing,” Shep called out. “Did you forget we had a game?”
“I did. I’ll put my groceries away and grab my mitt.”
“Hey, Addie!” Shep yelled. “We are short on guys, wanna play?”
“She doesn’t want to play,” Ben laughed snidely.
Shep looked over at Addison, who took Ben’s laugh as a challenge.
“Do you play?” Shep asked.
“I played in high school.”
“Suit up. Let’s see what you got.”
“Don’t put her on my team,” Ben mumbled, loud enough for Addison to hear.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Shep said, followed by, “I told you to be nice to her. Can you at least try?”
Addison purposefully held back during batting practice, wanting to see the look on Ben’s face when it counted. When she was officially up, she angled her feet to the base, got under the ball, and hit it right over Ben’s head into the outfield. The feeling of the ball hitting her bat, that moment of connection when you know it’s gonna be good, and the thrill of running the bases all filled Addison with a strength and confidence she hadn’t felt since that seminal moment at the office when the rug was pulled out from under her.
When she arrived on second base, he let her have it.
“There’s no way you haven’t played since high school.”
“I may have played in the Central Park advertising league—I didn’t want to overpromise.”
“You just did. These guys are gonna be all over you now—young blood.”
“Well, you would know about young blood.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he called out behind her as she ran to third base.
Ben spent a lot of time pacing and kicking the dirt until two innings later, when Addison was at bat again. Another double. As her foot landed on second base mere seconds before the ball, Ben repeated his last question.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Katie, my houseguest—young blood?”
“Please, it wasn’t a big deal. Don’t be such a prude.”
Not wanting to spend another second around him, Addison took off for third base just as the next batter hit the ball. Unfortunately, it was caught on the fly, and she awkwardly played monkey in the middle between second and third, while Ben and the third baseman tossed the ball back and forth over her head. Ben eventually chased her down, tagging her with the ball a little too aggressively.
“You’re out!” he yelled as she fell to the ground.
“Sorry,” he reached his hand out to her to help her up. She ignored it, got up herself, and stormed off the field.
While she had clearly had enough of the IRL Ben Morse, she spent the rest of the afternoon entrenched in his last novel. She laughed, she cried, she relished in the community of the story and wondered how close to the truth it really was. It felt very close, and Addison was left questioning everything she thought about Benjamin Morse all over again. She had to remind herself that it was billed as fiction. She couldn’t wait to rehash the experience with her friends and thought about sending them all a link to the book in advance—required reading.
Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
Regardless of any of it, Addison went to sleep that night heartbroken for the sweet man in the book who had lost his wife and unborn child.
In the morning she felt inspired to take her sculpting to the next level. She had yet to attempt anything more intricate than a vase or a bowl.
She went out to the studio, where a full-length mirror shoved behind some boxes caught her eye. She happily recalled her sculpting classes in college. At first, she had felt awkward and uncomfortable with a naked man or woman sitting in the middle of a circle, especially a man. She was eighteen when she had started college and had never seen a fully naked man before. It took some getting used to. When she did, she happily found herself transposing their bodies expertly into clay, penises and all.
“Mastering the human form is imperative to mastering any medium,” her professor would preach.
She leaned the full-length mirror against the wall in front of her and stripped off her clothes, taking in her image in detail, the length of her arms, the line of her jaw. She placed a block of clay on the turntable and set up an armature that Gicky had created from plumbing equipment and hanger wire, before slowly mapping out her intentions. Next, she remembered how, with practice, she had trained her eyes to replicate the shapes she was seeing with her fingers. Though rusty, the skill that had taken her years in college to master came back.
She felt happy in a way she hadn’t experienced since being fired. Or maybe way before that. Be in the moment, no judgment, she thought, like the signs she used to scoff at in HomeGoods. She wondered if she was growing or shrinking.