Seven Year Switch Part 22

Cynthia stretched her bangs back into place with the hand not holding the tissue. "No, it's about me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I have a head filled with ideas, but I can't tell the difference between the good ones and the bad ones until it's too late, so I just let them all drain right out."

I shook my head to dislodge a cartoon image of Cynthia's Swiss cheese brain leaking ideas. "But you have your work," I said. "You're an interior designer."

Cynthia took a raggedy breath. "Not anymore. My one lousy client won't be needing my services any longer. I think she misses her sink. But, I mean, farmer's sinks are so last year."

I flashed back to the night Seth installed that sink. I relived our first kiss in seven years, my back pressed up against the sink's white ceramic ruffles.

I'd managed to almost forget about Cynthia until she spoke. "Do you think I could do what you do? I mean, no way am I wearing one of those headphones, but if we can find something nice in Bluetooth, I think I could work with it."

Great, now I'd not only be taking Cynthia's kids off the bus, but I'd also be covering her phone s.h.i.+ft while she finished her tennis lesson. I took a deep breath and tried to conjure up the most generous part of myself. "Talk to Joni," was the best I could do.

"Oh, thank you," Cynthia said. "I'll tell her you suggested it." Cynthia held her used tissue out to me. I almost took it, then caught myself and pointed at the wastebasket on my way out the door.

Walking slowly to give my Cynthia headache a chance to dissipate, I wound my way along the path that led to the hotel office, which also housed the computer room and a gift shop.

Tamarindo felt like the ultimate laid-back beach town, and our hotel was actually a collection of little thatched-roof bungalows flanking a free-form swimming pool and an open-air restaurant and bar. We were surrounded by lush, tropical growth and colorful gardens. An iguana dozed in the sun just off the path, and I was pretty sure I could hear howler monkeys chattering up in the trees overhead.

Best of all, the hotel was right across the street from the beach. I breathed in the sharp salt air. It was hard not to think about how much Anastasia would love it here. And I also couldn't help thinking how romantic it would be to come back again one day with a man. I knew Joni was right that it wasn't about the guy. But in all these years I'd certainly proven I could make it on my own. What would be so wrong about having a little companions.h.i.+p?

I could actually imagine a man in my life, as long as I kept the image blurry and faceless. The moment I tried to plug either Seth or Billy into the equation, anxiety grabbed my chest, as if it were choking off the blood flow to my heart.

I stopped to watch a pair of toucans up in a tree, looking like male and female Toucan Sams from the Froot Loops box come to life. Wait, why was I making this so complicated? Anastasia loved Seth. Life would be so gloriously simple if I could work things out with him, too. Birthday parties, school plays, graduations, even Anastasia's wedding one distant day. Simple. Simple. Simple.

So what if Seth was going to j.a.pan on business? Was I sabotaging my chance for a normal life because I somehow didn't think I deserved one? Could the answer be as easy as a second try with Seth?

36.

"CALL ME ISMAEL," OUR SURF INSTRUCTOR SAID BY WAY of introduction.

Everybody laughed, including the instructor. He was adorable, with s.h.i.+ny black hair and a chocolate, salt-licked body.

"I think I've met him before," Cynthia said. "That sounds so familiar."

"Moby d.i.c.k," I whispered.

"You slept with him?" she whispered back.

Everybody cracked up.

"It's the first line of the book," one of the sorority sisters whispered. "Ismael was the narrator. Though, actually, I think it might have been Ishmael."

"That sucker ruined my junior year of high school," another sister said. "What was it supposed to be about anyway?"

"The human struggle for meaning, happiness, and salvation," the recently divorced woman named Janice said.

"Who knew?" Linda said. She was the woman who'd told us the bird story in San Jose. "And I thought it was just a guy book about whaling."

"I guess I should have actually read it instead of buying the CliffsNotes," Janice said. "Maybe it would have prepared me for the struggle for meaning, happiness and salvation in my former marriage."

Ismael walked away and came back carrying a long, beat-up surfboard. "I feel truly blessed for my country and all the beauty it has to offer," he said. "Surfing benefits your mind and body in the most positive way, stoked with more confidence in yourself and newfound energy."

We circled around him. He demonstrated a pop-up, essentially catching an imaginary wave and going from a paddling position, to lying on top of the board, to squatting, to standing on the board.

We watched, mesmerized by the muscles rippling across his back.

"Now again, but slowly," Ismael said.

The lawyer sighed.

Ismael lowered himself to the board. "The first part is much alike as a push-up with your arms. But with one flow, you must snap up to a crouch positioning as quickly as you can."

Too soon, we had to stop watching Ismael and attempt our own pop-ups. We chose beginner surfboards, which were short and soft, from the rack. I picked a white one with a vertical border of pink hibiscus along each side. Anastasia would have loved it. I couldn't wait to come back to Costa Rica with her. Maybe Seth would come, too. It might even be a second honeymoon.

Seth's and my first honeymoon was a three-night trip to a bed-and-breakfast in Bar Harbor, Maine. It was all we could afford, but we'd traveled so much already and Bar Harbor was breathtakingly beautiful, so we didn't mind. Our room was cramped with antiques and a canopy bed. It was like being caught in a time warp, so we called each other my lord and my lady while we lingered over breakfast in the dusty gingham and lace dining room. We meandered through Acadia National Park along Park Loop Road, pulling off to the side of the road to take in the staggering views or to explore a stretch of rocky beach. Or just to kiss. We walked the carriage roads and took pictures of the stone bridges. We splurged on lobster quiche for lunch, steamed lobster for dinner.

"I'll love you forever," Seth had said as we made love in our creaky canopy bed on our last morning there. "No matter what."

Maybe I'd love Seth forever, no matter what, too.

I brushed some Costa Rican sand from my hands and attempted another pop-up.

"Practice makes perfect, guys," Ismael said. I knew he was talking about pop-ups, but I thought there might be a message for Seth and me, too.

By the time Ismael moved on to teaching us how to add a half-twist to our pop-up, so that our feet and body were facing out away from the board, I was ready for a nap.

Instead we hit the water for some paddling practice. I did okay, but of course Cynthia was brilliant at it, getting all show-offy in her teeny bikini as she practiced her pop-ups in the water, even though Ismael hadn't told us we were ready yet.

"Enough of this lesson," Ismael finally yelled. I couldn't have said it better myself. I dragged my tired body out of the water and returned my sandy surfboard to the rack.

Cynthia was still going at it, so I walked back to our bungalow alone. I peeled off my new black suit and rinsed it carefully, in case it had to last me for the next decade or so. I took a quick shower and changed into shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt.

I headed down to the office to check my e-mail. I bought a bottle of water from the ancient vending machine, then sat down at the single computer in the alcove across from the main desk. I took a sip and clicked on the Internet icon. While I waited for it to upload, I put one elbow on the old metal desk and rested my chin on the heel of my hand.

I closed my eyes and wished for an e-mail from Anastasia. I knew she was fine, but I missed her. I pictured her sitting on the couch with Seth last night, like two peas in a pod, watching TV. Family was the most important thing, and mine was at home, waiting for me.

I typed in the Web address for my e-mail, then entered my pa.s.sword.

The message I'd wished for was waiting for me in the inbox. I smiled and double clicked.

Hey Mom I got a 100 on my spelling test and then we made j.a.panese tempoora for dinner. Me and Cammy think your prettier than Dads friend Ileen. Miss u.

Love Me I fumbled in my shoulder bag for my cell phone as I pushed the office door open.

I chose a random path and half ran, half walked, until I lost myself in the tropical growth. I leaned up against a palm tree, struggling to catch my breath. The howler monkeys overhead were louder now, screaming away as if they were talking about me. Loser, I was pretty sure they were saying. What were you thinking?

The sound of the waves cras.h.i.+ng across the street merged with the rage pounding in my ears.

Eventually, I unearthed my phone. My hands were shaking, but I managed to find Seth's cell number in my address book. I pushed the Call b.u.t.ton.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey. Everything okay?"

Just in case Seth had a sister I'd forgotten about, I said, "Who the h.e.l.l is Eileen?"

"Oh," he said.

I waited.

"Just a friend. How's the trip going?"

I closed my eyes.

"Now I remember you," I said.

"What?" he said.

"Now I remember you," I said again. And then I hung up.

The monkeys screeched above me.

I looked up. "Thank you," I said. "You're absolutely right."

I pushed Redial.

"Jill?" Seth said halfway through the first ring.

"Good guess," I said. "Is she still in my house?"

"Of course not."

"Is Eileen the woman you lived with in Africa?" I asked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"It's not what you think. She was in the area on business, and she just wanted to meet...to say h.e.l.lo. I mean, we were together for...we're just friends."

I drew a line in the hard-packed dirt of the path with the edge of my flip-flop.

"Seven years ago," I said, taking the time to enunciate each word, "you shouldn't have left us. Even if I wasn't hearing you about the kind of life you wanted us to have, you should have kept trying until I did. Because we were a family, and that's what families do. They stay together and they figure out a compromise. They don't sneak off in the middle of the night."

"I can't take that back," Seth said quietly. "It's water under the bridge."

For the second time today I pictured us on our honeymoon, walking hand in hand along the carriage paths and under the stone bridges, a lifetime of promises ahead of us.

"Sure it's water under the bridge, Seth, but who built that bridge? Who took off and left me standing on that bridge with a three-year-old? Broke and scared, with no one to turn to. Do you know what I went through? What our daughter went through? There's not enough water in the world to wash that away, Seth."

"Jill..."

"Joni was right. I was stuck, totally stuck. Glued to my little house, my tiny world, afraid to move. I don't know, maybe I thought if I stayed frozen in place, nothing else could happen to us. Or maybe I thought it might make it easier for you to find us, so we could all live happily ever after like we were supposed to the first time. G.o.d, what was I thinking?"

This phone call was going to cost me a fortune. I didn't care. I was sick and tired of worrying about money. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I took a deep breath. "But I'm unstuck now, Seth. I am soooooo unstuck. I want a brand-new bigger life that's not about waiting for you to grow the f.u.c.k up. Don't you see? You're doing it again. We hit a b.u.mpy patch and, suddenly, guess who's coming to dinner?"

"That's not fair, Jill."

"I agree," I said. "It's not fair that I'll never be able to really count on you when the going gets tough. It was a lot to forgive, but if we both gave it our all, I thought we had a shot. Instead, I leave for five minutes, and you're already cooking dinner with your old girlfriend and working on an escape plan. Or at least a backup plan."

"But-"

I gulped in some air. "I think a quick update of the rules is in order. One: any decision that impacts all three of us is first discussed by the two grown-ups in the family. Two: before we expose our daughter to anyone we have dated, are dating, or might possibly date, the two of us have an adult discussion about the best way to introduce said person into her life. Got that?"

"What are you really saying, Jill?"

The monkeys were quiet now. Just a few yards away I noticed a garden filled with an amazing array of orchids. It was practically right in front of my nose, and I hadn't even seen it.

"What I'm saying, Seth, is that I forgive you. And I let you go. I want us to be the best co-parents we can possibly be, but I'm ready to move on with my life. You should, too. Put Anastasia on the phone now, okay?"

37.

CYNTHIA WAS SITTING ON HER BED, READING ELIN Hilderbrand's The Castaways and drinking a bottle of water.

"Joni just stopped by," she said, "to see if we want to take a belly dancing cla.s.s with her."

"d.a.m.n right we do," I said. "Let's go."

At the door of the thatched-roof, open-air yoga hut that doubled as a belly dancing studio, I bought a chiff on hip scarf. It was bright turquoise, with rows and rows of gold coins that made a lovely tinkling sound. I deserved it, and I tied it around my hips without even a trace of guilt.

Cynthia chose a pale pink scarf with tiny silver coins, and oni went right for one that was tie-dyed with sequins and coins sewn in a wave design.

A striking teacher with dark hair coiled on top of her head and exaggerated smoky eye makeup danced into the hut in full regalia: fringed and sequined bra, fitted hip belt, harem pants in the sheerest sea foam chiff on. She pressed a b.u.t.ton on the CD player and smiled at us.

It seemed totally incongruous to hear Middle Eastern music playing in a hut in the middle of Costa Rica. It was soulful, exotic, and s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.

Our instructor never said a word. She brought us through a series of movements, isolating hips, pelvis, stomach, ribs, shoulders. She'd demonstrate, then we'd repeat. We made figure eights with our hips and s.h.i.+mmied our shoulders. We worked on traveling steps.