Sea Change

Jesse stood and walked to the door.

“Be sure Steve brings in the confiscated magazines,” he said.

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21

J esse was on the small balcony off the living room, drinking club soda, with his shirt

off, when Jenn came home. It was hot, but the air off the harbor was cool and as the sun went down it got cooler. When they had been married and worked in Los Angeles, Jesse and Jenn had lived in one of those old bunga-lows in Hollywood, with an overhanging roof and a big front porch. Jesse used to like to sit out on the front steps of the porch in his undershirt and drink beer and feel the air.

She kissed him gently when she came in.

“I’ll join you,” she said. “Thank God it’s evening.”

S E A C H A N G E

She went to the kitchen and got some white wine and brought it with her to the balcony and sat in the other chair.

It was late enough to be dark. Jenn sipped her wine. Many of the boats in the harbor showed lights, particularly the big yachts farther out. The black water moved quietly below them. In daylight there was usually some trash floating on it. In the darkness it was unmarred. Barely visible, its presence announced mostly by its dark movement.

“Domestic,” Jenn said after a time.

“That’s us,” Jesse said.

“I mean it,” Jenn said, “as a good thing.”

“I know,” Jesse said.

“Just sitting together,” Jenn said. “At the end of the day.”

“Maybe I should buy a couple of rocking chairs,” Jesse said.

“And a shawl,” Jenn said.

Jesse looked at his glass.

“Nothing like a bracing club soda,” he said, “at moments like this.”

“You still miss it,” Jenn said.

“Every day.”

“Is it a physical craving?”

“No, never quite has been a craving,” Jesse said. “It’s just, I like it and I miss it.”

Jenn smiled.

“Like me,” she said.

“No,” Jesse said. “You’re a craving.”

They were quiet for a time. There was a dim sound of mu-1 0 1

R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

sic from among the moored boats in near shore. Across the harbor, they could see the running lights of a powerboat moving silently along the inner shoreline of the Neck.

“Glad I’m ahead of Johnny Walker,” Jenn said after a time.

Jenn drank the rest of her wine and went to pour a second glass. Jesse drank some soda, and put his feet on the balcony railing. He crossed his ankles. The running lights of the powerboat turned silently and began to trace the causeway at the south end of the harbor. Jenn came back.

“You know,” Jesse said. “Craving is pretty much all about the craver and nothing about the cravee.”

“No shit,” Jenn said.

Jenn had kicked off her shoes. She put her feet up on the balcony next to his. It made her skirt slide up her thighs.

Jesse felt the surge of desire. What was that about? He’d seen her naked a thousand times. He’d had sex with her a thousand times. Why did he feel this way because her skirt slid up her thighs? He’d always assumed such feelings were the result of normal masculine humanity.

“I’m leering at your thighs,” Jesse said.

“Good.”

“You want to be desired, you dress sexy, you look sexy, you want to be seen as sexy. We both know that.”

“And we both know you are making something out of nothing, Looney Tunes,” Jenn said. “You’re supposed to get riled up looking at my thighs, for crissake. You’re supposed to leer.”

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S E A C H A N G E

“Looney Tunes,” Jesse said.

“It’s like we don’t have problems anymore,” Jenn said.

“And you’re trying to invent some.”