The Deep Blue Sea for Beginners Read online

  Talking to Max, I had realized the weight of my family history even more. Standing with him in front of the Hotel Quisisana, remembering my grandmother’s postcard, thinking of her visit here, I had been faced again with her warped notion of what life for women should be all about. The goal was to become the wife of a rich man; if you failed in that, you might as well not bother.

  “What happened when Edith visited you here?” I asked my mother now. We had both taken showers and were relaxing on the terrace after hours of gardening.

  “That was years ago,” my mother said.

  “I know. She only came once?”

  My mother nodded. “Yes. She hoped she’d find me among the smart set, the yachting crowd. Instead, I was living in this little house, on the quiet side of the island. I hadn’t fixed it up yet; it was something of a wreck. I’d bought it cheap from the Gardiners; it was part of the estate, but they’d never used it, and the plaster was cracked, a few windows broken, bats living in the chimney.”

  “Your mother saw it like that?” I asked, unable to hold in my smile.

  “Well, I’d replaced the broken glass, gotten rid of most of the bats,” she said, smiling back. “But there really was no way my mother could fool herself into thinking I’d come here for the social life.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “A combination of things,” she said slowly. “I’d visited Capri on that trip after college. Instead of seeing glamour, the way my mother might have, I saw peace. It rained one day, and I felt a strange sense of belonging. I had this feeling inside…. I’d never felt I fit in anywhere before, but suddenly I was here, and I felt at home. And then the sun came out.…”

  “And it was like this?” I asked, staring out at the amazing, unbelievable, indescribable sparkling blue.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And you always remembered it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Both parts. The quiet rain and the dazzling blue. So when the time came, when I had to leave, I knew there was only one place to go.”

  “Capri,” I said. “But Mom, this is just a place.” I was asking her: Did you really leave me and Lucy, and Dad, for a patch of earth?

  She nodded. We sipped our tea, and let the hugeness of our reality overtake us. The truth was the truth; we had spent the last ten years apart. I had always wanted her; our early bonding was radiant and total. During our separation I’d felt monsters clawing me inside. Was she now telling me she’d walked out on our life to come to this idyllic island?

  “You mentioned ‘showing you the way’ before,” she said. “That’s what mothers are supposed to do. I don’t really feel qualified to show you anything. I don’t deserve to. I made choices you would never make.”

  “Can’t you tell me about them?”

  She stared out to sea, hot feelings seeming to pour right off her skin. “If I could tell you anything, it would be to follow your dream, whatever it is. Don’t let anyone talk you out of it.”

  I stared at her. Did following her dream really mean coming to Capri, throwing me and Lucy and our dad away?

  “Do you think it’s impossible for a woman to do both?” I asked. “Follow her ‘dream’ and also stick by her family?”

  My question hung in the air. As soon as I asked, I wished I could take it back. My eyes filled with tears, in anticipation of what she was about to say.

  “It was,” she said. “For me. Having you here, talking to Lucy … I hate so much of what I’ve done. But I want you to understand.”

  “The moon gate didn’t work for you and Dad,” I said, trying to make light. I didn’t want to hear this.

  “Pell,” she said. I couldn’t look at her, but I felt her kneeling in front of me. I heard her crying as well. She kissed my face, her lips on my tears. I should have flinched, but I leaned into her. She was my mother.

  “There’s a reason,” she said. “That I did what I did.”

  “I want to know,” I said. I felt myself shaking; I tried to hold it together, act cool and understanding. But right then I was her daughter, and she’d left me, and I was about to hear why.

  “I was empty,” she said. “Nothing inside. Going through the motions like a zombie, a sleepwalker. Miss Miller and your father took care of you. He was so good—he did everything. I was a skeleton mother.”

  “You were not,” I said. “I know. I was with you. Our walks, our country, the map of Dorset … you, me, and Lucy. She pasted the stars on.…”

  “You were too young to understand,” she said. “Those were special times. But behind them, those days and the things we did, was nothing, Pell. I was nothing. I felt as if I was dragging you down—you and Lucy.”

  I felt chills. The look in her eyes was dark and frantic. What was she thinking? We’d had this day of closeness; it had started with her waking me up. But here we were, back to our reality.

  “What are you saying?” I asked.

  “Back then, just before I went to the hospital, I wanted to hurt myself.”

  “Hurt yourself?”

  “Kill myself,” she whispered.

  No one had ever told me this, but suddenly I knew. I’d felt my mother’s despair, her not wanting to be in the world. I forced myself to look at her, and I know I’ve never seen anything so terrible on another person’s face. The torment was agonizing; it came from her bones. And I felt it in mine.

  “Mom?” I said, reaching for her.

  “I didn’t kill myself,” she said finally, “but I almost did. I almost …,” she said, then stopped.

  “Is that why you left?”

  She didn’t answer. She stayed very pointedly silent. I could see her mind working, tumbling around something she wanted to say. Our hearts had once been so much in sync, I recognized the turmoil, the need to tell me fighting with some scruple about holding back. What couldn’t she say? Instead of speaking, she took my hand. Together we stood.

  We walked to the curved wall of the terrace. My mother and I held hands, facing out to the beautiful sea, so far below. A minute ago, I’d wanted to fling myself over. Right now the feeling had passed, and all I felt was exhaustion. We gazed out at the bay. The blue was deep and clear, the color of our eyes. I thought of what she’d said before, that she felt unable to show me the way.

  That’s what mothers do, I wanted to tell her. Whether conscious or not, their very existence is a map for their daughters. She didn’t speak, but I felt her saying something back to me: the ocean is wide and deep, filled with beauty and menace. Life is a journey and a dream, exciting and treacherous. She was warning me and promising me, both at the same time.

  “Okay” I said. “You can’t tell me the whole story of why you left. But I need to know why you didn’t come back. After you got well. Or even later—three years ago, after Dad died. Didn’t you know we needed you? Why didn’t you come back to us then?”

  “Because I’d walled myself off,” she said. “Once I left, I gave up my rights as a mother. I couldn’t come and go; it wouldn’t have been fair to you and Lucy.”

  “We wouldn’t have minded,” I said. “We would have wanted you back for as long as you wanted to stay.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, holding my face in her hands, looking into my eyes.

  “If you’d spent time with us, you’d have wanted to stay!” I said. “And never leave us again!”

  “I knew that this was right for me, Pell,” she said. “Being here, making a life for myself—it kept me alive. I had to literally shut the door on the past. If I looked back, even a little, if I called you on the phone, I’d be pulled home to you. And that could have been a disaster.” The words were agonizing for her to say—I saw it in her eyes. They raked me inside like a branding iron. I caved in on myself, almost unable to stand the pain.

  I wanted to scream. Anguish like a tidal wave. My mother returning to us would have been a disaster. Even after our father’s death, when we’d been so alone, she’d chosen not to return to us. I stared at her. She’d
used the word “almost,” said it twice. Almost what? What had almost happened?

  Or was it just an excuse?

  My feelings were too much to take. I took a deep breath. My mother was waiting for me to ask more questions, but I had none—or, if I did, I was afraid to ask them. I told my mother I was taking a walk, and she just nodded and didn’t try to change my mind.

  I knew exactly where I had to go: the harbor, where I would feel like home, like Newport, where I would feel Travis with me, feel like myself again.

  Ten

  There were places on Capri no tourist ventured. Well, maybe a tourist who liked back alleys and what went on there. Midafternoon, Rafe drove the boat from his grandfather’s dock to the Marina Grande. He saw the hydrofoils and ferries from Naples and Sorrento, yachts on their way to the south of France, small boats, low to the water, heading to the Grotta Azzurra. But he barely registered the activity.

  His grandfather had been paying him to tend the dock and boat, mend the nets, paint the boathouse; he had cash in his pocket, and he told himself it was to settle his debt. Motoring into the channel, he pulled back on the throttle. Slowly he approached the pier where work and fishing boats docked.

  Nicolas worked at the gas dock; he waved Rafe in, let him tie up on one of the finger piers. Wharf space was tight and expensive here; Rafe waved his thanks to the old man.

  “What brings you to port?” Nicolas asked as Rafe stepped off the boat.

  “Just an errand,” Rafe said.

  “Crazy summer day, just look at all these visitors,” Nicolas said. But instead of looking around at the day-trippers and vacationers, he stared into Rafe’s face. Rafe felt himself redden; he knew his grandfather’s old friend was examining his pupils, his affect, watching him for signs of relapse.

  “Thanks for letting me dock here,” Rafe said. “I won’t be long.”

  “You’d better not be,” Nicolas said, arms folded across his chest. Rafe felt the old man’s eyes on his back as he wound his way through the crowds, along the wharf. Shops and bars lined the shabby waterfront. The tide was out, and fishing boats were pulled right up on the shore. Guides hawking island tours called out and held up signs advertising trips to the grottoes and the Faraglioni. Rafe walked quickly along, ignoring everyone.

  This used to be dangerous territory for him. Maybe it still was. Among the innocent shopkeepers and tour guides, there were people selling another kind of wares. Time was, he could find them no problem. He played a game with himself now: that guy with the black motorcycle jacket, the girl in the pink sundress. Were they holding?

  Rafe lit a cigarette. He caught the eye of the guy in the leather jacket. He’d never seen him before; he was new here. But the way he looked at Rafe, a flick of his gaze, let Rafe know he had something to sell.

  Walking on, thinking of his grandmother. In his mind he saw her smile, a knowing look. Yeah, Grandma, I’m doing okay. I really am. This is just a game.

  She’d died two years ago. No game there. He’d been high, whacked out of his mind. But he saw certain things as clearly as if he’d been stone sober: the ambulance, her bird-thin body crumpled, the way she’d cried when they tried to lift her.

  Asshole, he said to himself. You fucking shit. You did that to her. You might as well have pushed her down. Before and right after she’d died, he’d been one of the furtive ones down here at the wharf, or wherever he was: Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park in London; Washington Square Park and South Street Seaport in New York. Tourist areas were good: there was always someone selling whatever you needed. And Rafe had needed what they had.

  “Hey, man,” Arturo said, putting down his sign: thirteen euros for a tour around the island and a stop at the Blue Grotto. Arturo probably thought he was better off with Rafe’s business.

  “I came to pay you,” Rafe said.

  “Yeah?” Arturo asked, leading him off the beaten path, to an alley behind the funicular entrance. “That’s good. Because then your credit is fine with me, and you can have whatever you want.”

  “I don’t want anything,” Rafe said. “Just clearing up my debt.”

  Arturo smiled and shrugged, as if he knew this was all just precursor to the real deal. Rafe reached into his pocket; his heart was pounding. He was going through the motions he’d gone through so many times before. Hand over the money, get something in return. Take it, feel better. His mouth was dry. By habit, he glanced around, looking for cops.

  “I’ve let you slide on this,” Arturo said. “I’ve been good to you.”

  “Thanks for giving me time,” Rafe said.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Arturo said. “Nicolas and your grand father have eagle eyes. You tell them about me?”

  “No,” Rafe said.

  “Nicolas is always watching me. He and your grandfather told me they’d like it if I moved to Naples. Can you imagine that, those two old fucks? My family has been on Capri as long as Nicolas’s people, centuries before the Gardiners came.”

  “I’m sorry they made it hard on you,” Rafe said. His stomach clenched. Another way he’d messed things up, dragged his grandfather and Nicolas into his sordid problems. Maybe he should just fuck up once and for all.

  “Anyone else owed me, I wouldn’t have been so patient. But with your grandfather’s influence, I had to hold back.”

  “Well, here’s your money,” Rafe said. “We’re even now, so don’t worry about it anymore.”

  Arturo counted out the euros. He glanced pointedly at a stone building, a maintenance shed owned by his family, where tools and fishing supplies were stored. Rafe had gone in there many times.

  “No,” Rafe said, before the question was even asked. “I’m done.”

  “No one’s ever done,” Arturo said.

  Rafe didn’t stick around to argue. He hurried down the narrow lane, stepping onto the waterfront just in time to see Pell Davis step out from under the awning of the funicular entrance. She blinked in the bright sunlight, getting her bearings. Rafe started toward her, but Arturo caught up to him.

  “Here,” Arturo said, handing him a small envelope. “This is for free. Old times’ sake.” He walked away, picked up his sign, before Rafe could shove the packet back at him. But not before Pell saw.

  “Hey, Pell,” he said.

  “Hi, Rafe.” She sounded cool, her gaze seemed unfriendly.

  “What brings you to the marina?” he asked.

  “I like harbors. How about you?” she asked, staring at the package in his hand. He wadded it up and threw it into a trash bin.

  “I came to pay off someone I owed,” he said. “That’s over now, and I have the afternoon free. I know we said Monday, but do you want to take that boat ride to the Faraglioni? I’ll show you the seahorses.”

  “No,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

  She started to walk away, down the waterfront. People jostled her, but she kept going. Rafe felt panicked that she had the wrong idea, ran after her.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said.

  “I don’t think anything,” she said.

  “I owed him money from before,” he said as she kept striding along. Her long dark hair swung as she walked, blocked him from seeing her face.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said.

  “But I want to.”

  They got caught in a throng of people jamming the dock for the next boat tour. Pell shouldered her way through, kept walking without looking at him. They passed a waterfront hotel, painted bright Pompeian red, and then she stopped.

  “You should really get clear with yourself,” she said.

  “I am,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Because I saw him give you an envelope back there.”

  “Did you see me throw it away?” he asked.

  “I did. But would you have if I hadn’t been here?” she asked, staring hard into his eyes. The intensity made him feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t look away. Her eyes were bright blue, sharp with pain. Swamped w
ith whatever she was dealing with, she felt concern for him too—he could tell. He’d felt it sitting beside her on the rock ledge, after his grandfather’s party, and he sensed it now. Powerful emotions swept over him, reminding him of the way he’d felt in Malibu, talking to Monica.

  “I would have tossed it no matter what,” he said. “Honestly.”

  “Have you ever noticed how people say ‘honestly’ mainly when they’re lying?” she asked. “You know, if you let your grandfather down, I just might have to hurt you.”

  “My grandfather?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “He adores you. It’s so obvious, just spending an hour with him. You practically destroyed your life, but he’s not giving up on you.”

  “He should have,” Rafe said.

  “Self-pity,” she said. “Very attractive.”

  They walked along, then stood staring at the water. Dolphins leapt, following a fishing boat. Sun glistened on their black backs. He stared at her glossy hair, wished he could take her swimming, show her the beautiful world underwater, where it was quiet and peaceful and far from pain.

  “What was in the package?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably pills.”

  “What kind?”

  “I used to take downs,” he said. “I wanted oblivion. Just to sleep, all the time. I didn’t want to feel.”

  “Because of your mother?” she asked.

  The question shocked him. His mother had been dead so long, he rarely thought of her.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Didn’t you talk about it in rehab?”

  “Of course,” he said. “We talked about everything. But you know what? Plenty of people go through much worse shit than I did, and didn’t start taking drugs. Look at you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know the whole story. How your mother bailed on you and your sister when you were little kids. How your father took care of you, and you were so close to him, and then he died and left you too.”