Summertime Guests - Wendy Francis Page 0,48
he worked. The exact life she’d been trying so hard to avoid with Marty.
Claire had shrugged. “It’s not that easy, honey,” she’d said. “Your father and I made a commitment to each other. We’ve been through a lot together.” Then she added, “Besides, I didn’t exactly imagine spending my twilight years all by myself.” She’d been afraid to give voice to her fear of how lonely she’d be without someone else around. The thought of so much quiet in the house, especially with both kids gone, would have been unnerving.
But Martin, she thinks now. It’s almost impossible to believe they’ll see each other tonight. After all this time. She feels like stepping back out onto the balcony and shouting his name for all the world to hear. Martin, Martin! I get to see Martin Campbell tonight! Claire knows that if he’d wanted to find her, he could have reached out easily enough. With her byline plastered weekly on the Providence Dealer, she’s a simple target, and at times, a certain disappointment that he hadn’t tried to find her swooped over her. But now all of that can be remedied. After tonight, there’ll be no more wondering. She’ll find out what, precisely, he has been up to these past thirty years. And if, by chance, he’s spent nearly as much time thinking about her as she has of him.
She dresses hurriedly, grabs her purse and makes sure to snatch the room key off the bedside table before heading for the elevator (she’d somehow managed to misplace it last night and embarrassingly had to request an extra from the front desk). Downstairs the lobby already hums with activity. In the concierge line, Claire waits to book a massage and then schedules an appointment for highlights at a nearby salon for later this afternoon. Exiting the hotel, she follows the main stretch of sidewalk on Seaport Boulevard across the bridge and over to Atlantic Avenue. Everyone seems to be walking with such purpose this morning—or maybe it’s Claire, projecting her anticipation for tonight onto them. As she strides past one of the new luxury hotels (an article she’d read recently described it as an architectural giraffe, which seems even more appropriate now that she’s next to it), something catches her eye through a window.
When she stops to look more closely, she sees it’s the hotel gym. High-tech treadmills and elliptical machines are lined up in a tidy row, and on one treadmill an older man—probably in his early seventies, gray hair and glasses, dressed in a blue sweatshirt and baggy gray pants—stands behind an elderly woman. The woman walks with slow, deliberate steps while the man straddles either side of the machine, his feet firmly planted. Spread like a butterfly, his hands hover behind her back, ready to catch her, should she slip.
The tender image stops Claire. This, she thinks, is what love looks like. Standing behind your sweetheart on the treadmill to catch her if she falls.
Would Walt, she wonders, have done the same for her? Maybe out of obligation. What if it had become difficult for her to walk? Would Walt have patiently stood behind her while she logged miles of physical therapy? Patiently is probably too much to ask, but maybe out of a sense of duty he would have. Would she have done the same for him? The question lingers in her mind as she ducks into a Starbucks and orders a cup of coffee with frothed milk. The New York Times and the Boston Globe wink at her from the newspaper stand, but Claire resists picking up either one. She’s promised herself she won’t check the news for a week. While she waits, she plants herself on a stool by the window, and her phone rings with an incoming call. Amber.
“Good morning, honey,” she answers. “Are you at work?”
“Hi, Mom. Yup, checking folks in.” Every Thursday and Friday morning, Amber mans the front desk at the Providence YMCA. One benefit: Fiona can play in the Y’s daycare for free while Amber scans members’ cards. Still, Claire hopes once Fiona gets a bit older, Amber will be able to put her master’s degree in anthropology to better use. “And now I’m checking in on you,” Amber says. “How’s it going?”
“Wonderful. I’m having the most fabulous time. It’s a beautiful day here, and I’m about to take a walk along the Rose Kennedy Greenway. Yesterday, I went to the MFA. And later today, I’ve got a massage and hair appointment