CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two Locals Pretending to Be
Visitors
I decided to find a
place to live just over the bridge from Amber in Milton. I needed
to be at least that far from settling down in my hometown. Iris
came along with me as a realtor showed us a variety of apartments.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t simply take the first
decent place that came along, and by the end of the morning I had
three reasonable candidates to consider. Iris and I had lunch at a
clam bar overlooking the water as we discussed my
options.
“You really want my
opinion, right?” she said.
“Of course I want
your opinion.”
“Take the duplex. It
was a good space and I can definitely imagine spending time there.
Nice bathtub.”
“It did have a nice
bathtub. Though realistically, you probably aren’t going to be
there very often. We’re still going to want to have most of our
time together in Lenox, right? I mean, Lenox is still exponentially
cooler than it is around here, no matter how many handmade mugs I
sell at the store.”
“That brings me to
the other thing I’ve been planning to tell you today. Have you ever
heard of the Spring Street Theatre Company?”
“I can’t say that I
have.”
“You really didn’t
get out much when you were here, did you? Spring Street is an
experimental theater group that puts on shows about ten minutes
away from here. They’ve been around – getting great notices if you
were paying any attention at all – for the past six years. For the
past three, they’ve been trying to convince me to come on
board.”
“‘Come on board’ as
in leave the Ensemble?”
“It would be a little
tough to do both. Anyway, I always told them that I didn’t have any
interest in coming back to this area – until I agreed to meet with
them tomorrow afternoon.”
“Do you think you’ll
get it?”
She tilted her head.
“I know I’ll get it. Did you hear the
part about them coming after me for three years?”
I actually felt my
eyes tearing. “So you’d be right here.”
“That’s the
idea.”
“All the
time.”
“Tell me you aren’t
going to get hung up about that.”
I tilted my head.
“Did you hear the part about my dreaming about you for the past
eleven years?”
“I deserved
that.”
Armed with this new
information, we went to look at the duplex a second time. This
time, as we walked through the rooms, I imagined how we would use
each one. The bathtub took on new meaning. I signed the lease that
afternoon.
That night we stayed
at an inn just off Russet Avenue. Two locals pretending to be
visitors for one more night before coming home. After dinner, we
took a long walk and found ourselves at the base of the Pine River
Bridge. We walked out onto it and leaned against the wall, looking
upon the water.
It was August ninth,
the day before the anniversary of Chase’s death. I wondered briefly
if there would be a piece about it in the Amber Advisor tomorrow and then let it go. I wasn’t
about to start reading that paper now. I’d get my community news
elsewhere.
I reached an arm
around Iris’ shoulders and she leaned her head against mine.
Numerous cars passed us by, shuttling between Amber and Milton. I
could hear a boat somewhere off in the distance. Down on the beach,
a hit song played on the radio and teenagers laughed. But the water
was remarkably calm, barely lapping in the August
stillness.
Iris turned her head
and kissed me on the cheek. I pulled her closer.
Eventually, and
without a word, we walked arm in arm back over the
bridge.