hundreds of hormone-addled, hard-partying, emotionally fragile seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. The next summer we ditched work for almost a month. The plan had been to follow the Grateful Dead around for a few weeks, but plans, as they do, had gone awry. It had gotten a little hairy, but I had come out of it with a blood-brother, and a novel.
Coastal Drift
was all about that summer. About Dale and me. His Dean Moriarty to my Sal Paradise.
He knew me better than anyone.
I chafed with words building up inside me until we had ordered and the waitress walked away.
“It’s not like that,” I said. “Jacqui and I—”
“I’m not sure this quasi-separation thing is the best idea.”
“Well, tell that to Jacqui. It was her idea.”
“That’s not what I mean. This whole thing with you living in your studio but spending most of the day at the house—it’s been, what, six months now? I think you need to retire any fantasies of reconciliation you might have and think about getting a little distance. It’s not doing David any good to have you guys fighting all the time. It’s not doing you any good, floating in limbo like this. And it’s not doing Jacqui any good.”
I sagged into the chair, incapable of speech.
I want to say that the words took my breath away, that they hit me like a punch, that they were a sudden piercing insight: none of that would be true.
If I were honest about it I would have to say that the marriage had disintegrated long before I’d moved out of the house. We had spent yearsgrowing further and further apart, not really fighting, but not really talking either. We had spent less and less time together, both of us with our attention elsewhere, more roommates than a couple.
There hadn’t been any single point where it all fell apart; the marriage had been worn away by apathy, by the slow grind of things not said. Money brought it to a head, a conversation about renewing the mortgage turning into the same fight we always had. I had slept in my office that night.
And I had spent every day since then trying to get back.
“And furthermore,” he continued, his tone changing. “It’s not doing
me
any good.” He smiled, trying to break the tension. “Seriously. I love both of you guys, and this whole thing …” He shook his head. “It’s not healthy.”
“Jacqui and I—” I said, “it’s just … we’re in a rough patch.”
He nodded slowly. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he placed a manila envelope, smaller than a credit card, on the table beside my water glass. An address was written on it, in Dale’s careful hand.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at it, deliberately not touching it.
“It’s a key,” he said. “To one of those live–work places in Dragon Alley. Three floors, big enough for one, space for a pullout for Davy when he spends the night.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair.
“I’ve been trying to find a buyer, but the seller is willing to settle for a rental.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I can make it work,” I said. The idea of moving, of that sort of finality between us, sickened me. It wasn’t that bad, was it? We couldn’t be at that point already.
The way Dale looked at me, the sadness in his eyes, made me think that I was the only one who thought so.
The captain burst into the room without knocking. When he saw Matthias sitting across from the magus, the table between them heavy with books and maps, he stopped.
“My apologies,” he said grudgingly.
The magus waved away the comment and rose slowly to his feet. “It is no matter,” he said. “I think young Matthias’s head is probably full enough for one afternoon.” Setting his satchel on his chair, the magus began to pack the books.
Matthias was reeling from all the old man had told him, the blurring together of truth and legend.
“The Queen,” the captain said, “has requested our presence for dinner. There are clothes in the wardrobe. It would be best if
Coastal Drift
was all about that summer. About Dale and me. His Dean Moriarty to my Sal Paradise.
He knew me better than anyone.
I chafed with words building up inside me until we had ordered and the waitress walked away.
“It’s not like that,” I said. “Jacqui and I—”
“I’m not sure this quasi-separation thing is the best idea.”
“Well, tell that to Jacqui. It was her idea.”
“That’s not what I mean. This whole thing with you living in your studio but spending most of the day at the house—it’s been, what, six months now? I think you need to retire any fantasies of reconciliation you might have and think about getting a little distance. It’s not doing David any good to have you guys fighting all the time. It’s not doing you any good, floating in limbo like this. And it’s not doing Jacqui any good.”
I sagged into the chair, incapable of speech.
I want to say that the words took my breath away, that they hit me like a punch, that they were a sudden piercing insight: none of that would be true.
If I were honest about it I would have to say that the marriage had disintegrated long before I’d moved out of the house. We had spent yearsgrowing further and further apart, not really fighting, but not really talking either. We had spent less and less time together, both of us with our attention elsewhere, more roommates than a couple.
There hadn’t been any single point where it all fell apart; the marriage had been worn away by apathy, by the slow grind of things not said. Money brought it to a head, a conversation about renewing the mortgage turning into the same fight we always had. I had slept in my office that night.
And I had spent every day since then trying to get back.
“And furthermore,” he continued, his tone changing. “It’s not doing
me
any good.” He smiled, trying to break the tension. “Seriously. I love both of you guys, and this whole thing …” He shook his head. “It’s not healthy.”
“Jacqui and I—” I said, “it’s just … we’re in a rough patch.”
He nodded slowly. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he placed a manila envelope, smaller than a credit card, on the table beside my water glass. An address was written on it, in Dale’s careful hand.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at it, deliberately not touching it.
“It’s a key,” he said. “To one of those live–work places in Dragon Alley. Three floors, big enough for one, space for a pullout for Davy when he spends the night.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair.
“I’ve been trying to find a buyer, but the seller is willing to settle for a rental.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I can make it work,” I said. The idea of moving, of that sort of finality between us, sickened me. It wasn’t that bad, was it? We couldn’t be at that point already.
The way Dale looked at me, the sadness in his eyes, made me think that I was the only one who thought so.
The captain burst into the room without knocking. When he saw Matthias sitting across from the magus, the table between them heavy with books and maps, he stopped.
“My apologies,” he said grudgingly.
The magus waved away the comment and rose slowly to his feet. “It is no matter,” he said. “I think young Matthias’s head is probably full enough for one afternoon.” Setting his satchel on his chair, the magus began to pack the books.
Matthias was reeling from all the old man had told him, the blurring together of truth and legend.
“The Queen,” the captain said, “has requested our presence for dinner. There are clothes in the wardrobe. It would be best if
Similar Books
