Page 73 of On Fire Island
Her line of questioning was curious. Was she leading the witness, thinking Tuck would say that Lola dumped him, and that’s why he wanted to come back home? I hoped that wasn’t the case. Whether she let him back or not, I hoped she would feel vindicated by him wanting her in the end for reasons of his own, not because he was dumped. I’ve seen people take back husbands or wives after infidelity and go on to have many wonderful years together, but she certainly didn’t deserve to be a consolation prize.
“I realized the engagement idea was a big mistake. I told her I missed my family and let her have the rental house in the Hamptons to herself for the rest of the season.” He surprisingly rolled his eyes, adding, “I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”
Just when I thought things may go the way of reconciliation, Renee pivoted.
“Do you know what I loved most about you, Tuck?”
“I don’t.” He smiled, also hoping this was going in the right direction.
“That I could always count on you.”
His face dropped.
“That is gone, you know, that trust that meant more to me than anything else? It’s gone. My biggest fear, being lied to and left, like I watched happen to my mother, it came to fruition, and I survived it. There isn’t much that you bring to the table now, aside from the fact that you’re the father of my son.”
She was completely disenchanted with him, or more so unenchanted, as if she was just now realizing how low she had set the bar to begin with.
It was harsh. Tuck was speechless. Until he finally asked, “Wait. Is this about that drummer? After everything you said to me about Lola, you’re choosing that child drummer over me?” He laughed scornfully, his colossal ego reemerging again, overriding his brief foray into self-awareness.
“Well, I’m hoping the drummer—Gabe is his name—will stay around for a while longer, because Ireallyenjoy his company, but I am not ‘choosing’ him.” Renee made little air quotes when she said “choosing,” and ended with a Benjamin Morse novel-worthy pronouncement.
“I’m choosing me.”
Ah! Just the ending I would have written for her. My inner editor beamed with satisfaction, and my inner BFF with pride.
Renee stood and walked toward the house, turning back to him once more, to leave things on a more civil note. “See you at the game, Tuck!” she yelled with a smile.
He stared at her blankly before sinking back onto the stairs to lose himself in the ebb and flow of the one thing that could weather any storm.
forty
The Big Game
Whereas on any other summer weekend, the stands on the ball field were filled with patches of onlookers who came and went, doing more chatting than watching, the big game carried a much grander, more competitive vibe. It was an event, a culmination of the summer, and an annual tradition that marked the passage of time.
Seated on the left-field set of bleachers, we had the people rooting for Bay Harbor, on the right for Oceanview. The men, and this year one gutsy woman, were divided as well: Bay Harbor in blue, Oceanview in red. Usually the teams are a mixed bag—this is the only game of the summer that pits one town against the other. The air was tense with competition. I’m not joking or imitating my sportswriter husband’s vernacular, it really was. Aside from the glory and the bragging rights, the winning team gets their name inscribed on a giant trophy (think Stanley Cup) that sits in the winning town’s market until the following Labor Day.
Both teams warmed up together on the field as each player took a turn at BP (batting practice). Joel passed out T-shirts that read,BAY HARBOR VS. OCEANVIEW HOMEOWNERS’ GAME.
WithSPONSORED BY VIAGRAwritten on the back.
Everyone looked at them and laughed—except for the one woman.
I will do my best with the play-by-play. It’s not really my thing, but I have been sufficiently schooled in it over the years. So, here it goes:
Eddie stepped up to the plate for BP. Matty was on deck. Ben was catching.
“How you feeling, pal?” Eddie asked Ben while kicking up the dirt a little—as one does.
“Pretty good today, thanks.”
It may have been the first time he wasn’t lying. The dolphin-induced sparkle in his eyes was still in play, and while his shoulders remained hunched from the weight of the world, I recognized the very specific look he got when his brain was working on a new idea. You could almost see his mind trying to keep track of all its thoughts while still concentrating on the game.
The ball crossed over the plate, and Eddie hit a pop fly into the outfield. Shep caught it and did a little celebratory dance, holding his mitt in the air. These type of shenanigans were short-lived—everyone would get serious once batting practice ended and the actual game began. Very serious. Traditionally, it’s painful to watch.
“Good timing with him getting that bike back,” Eddie noted, regarding Shep’s great catch and happy dance.
“More like getting his dignity back,” Ben agreed.
