Cape May Page 7

  Joanna said, “Thanks,” and walked into the back area of the restaurant, and saw Michael sitting at a table, reading. He looked up from his book, saw her, and smiled. She was still breathless from her sprint, and squeaked out a “Hi!”

  He walked over to her. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I suddenly realized how hungry I was.”

  He guided her over to the table, with his warm hand light on her upper arm. She sat across from him and looked around, taking it all in, and giving herself time to catch her breath. The space had a canvas roof with awnings, which made flapping noises in the breeze. In cooler weather, the clear plastic walls, currently rolled up and out of the way, would be down. In the winter, the room would be closed off. Now, it was just warm enough to be pleasant in the shade, and the table afforded a panoramic view of the beach and the ocean. The scent of sunscreen lightly wafted in and mixed with the fried-food smell of the restaurant. The combination tugged Joanna right back to her childhood summers. She breathed in deeply. “Oh, this is just what the doctor ordered.”

  Michael called Sophie over. He gestured across the table. “Sophie, this is Joanna, and it’s her first time in Henry’s.”

  Sophie said, “Welcome. You want to start with our lemonade? It’s the best in town.”

  Joanna nodded. “Sounds great.”

  “I’ll bring two right away. Here’s some menus, although you don’t need one, Michael,” Sophie said, and went to get the lemonades.

  Michael said to Joanna, “My son was friends with her. I think we both had crushes on her.”

  “Eww.”

  “It’s not like I pursued it. I saw, and learned from, American Beauty.”

  “Good. There’s nothing worse than a man dating a girl his granddaughter’s age. Unless it’s a woman dating a man three years younger than she is. Or perhaps I read too many tabloid headlines at the supermarket.”

  “Actually it was her mother I was…” he was interrupted by Sophie bringing the lemonades. Michael said to her, “I forgot to ask, how’s your mother?”

  “She’s fine. Happy she moved to Atlanta. Still wishes you had moved down there, too, when she did.”

  “Oh, that was a long time ago. But I’m flattered,” Michael said. “Tell her I said hello.”

  Joanna listened to their conversation as she took the inch of paper cover off the top of her straw and sipped. “Oh, yummy.”

  “Good! I’ll be back in a minute for your order.”

  Michael turned to look out at the beach, lost in thought. Joanna was comfortable just being quiet, and watching him. She wondered if he used to eat here with his wife and son. He’d mentioned that he’d been coming to Cape May for years. He was somewhere else right now, miles away. She realized his eyes were an intriguing shade of blue, which made her also realize he was staring back. She snapped out of her own little trance and said, “Sorry. Daydreaming,” and turned to people watch.

  There were a lot of people on the beach, many strolling fully clothed except for bare feet. The young, skinny girls paraded in their tiny bikinis. “Oh, I see why you like it here.”

  “Can you imagine: in the 1870s, women wore bathing dresses made of flannel, about ten yards worth,” Michael said.

  Sophie returned and said, “Are you ready to order?” as she put down a basket of rolls and butter. Michael shook his head, and the waitress left them alone again. Joanna broke off a bite-sized piece of roll and popped it into her mouth.

  He sipped his lemonade. “Did you like your B&B?”

  “The little I saw, yes. Just inside the door. It seemed perfect. I’ll be honored to sleep there tonight. I hope I’m worthy.”

  “It does seem bizarre to be in an elegant, formal house in jeans and a wrinkled shirt, or even worse, shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “Sacrilege! Some houses should have real Victorian clothes for houseguests to wear.”

  “You could do that at your B&B,” he smiled. “But don’t make it mandatory or people might not come back.”

  “It would certainly change our romantic views of that time period, if we had to wear corsets and suits in August.” She picked up the menu.

  He said, “I could make a suggestion, as I’ve eaten here about a thousand times. Left column, about midway down. Henry’s Specialty.”

  She scanned the menu following his directions: “Big Ass Clam Platter! Can they say that?”

  “Yes. And it’s delicious. With cole slaw and french fries.”

  “Why not? It sounds like fat and cholesterol heaven, and I am officially on vacation.”

  “One greasy meal can’t hurt, huh? Oh, there’s Sophie. Sophie! We’re starving.”

  Sophie came over. “Gee, Michael, let me guess what you’re having. Did you talk her into it?”

  “Yes,” said Joanna. “That’s me, falling prey to peer pressure again just like in high school.”

  Sophie left to place the order.

  Michael said, “She’s about to fulfill her dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher, and it seems like yesterday I was helping her with algebra.”

  “Time really does fly, doesn’t it?”

  He paused. “Most of the time I don’t mind so much, you know? Then something will happen and I’ll think, shit, what’s happened to my life.”

  “I don’t even like to admit I’m middle-aged, and then I think, how many 120 year old women do I know?”

  “You’re not sixty, are you?” Michael asked, shaking his head.

  Joanna’s palms flew up to her face. “Not quite yet, please! I’m still in my fifties, for a few more months. I always forget I’m not supposed to tell people my age.”

  “You shouldn’t because they’d never guess it.”

  “Thank you. Well they do say that sixty is the new twelve, or something.”

  “I’m over sixty on the outside, with an internal maturity of about seventeen.”

  “Uh oh, are your hormones raging?” she said, embarrassed the moment the words came out. Her own hormones were making her blush again. At almost sixty. Would that ever stop?

  “Yes, they still get me into trouble, but at a slower pace. No raging any more. Now it’s more like a swift current.”

  Wanting to change the subject, she asked, “Are you working on any projects other than the Cape May book you won’t even give me a hint about?”

  “Next week, back in the city, I have a speech to write, then nothing lined up. I have to start hunting for work. Hell, can anyone retire any more?”

  “It’s too bad you don’t have a science background. My medical education company always needs freelance writers.”

  He squared his shoulders. “And who says I don’t have a science background?”

  “Do you?”

  “My parents didn’t believe I could make money as a writer, so they forced me into medical school. I made it through two long, awful, painful years.”

  “Loved it, did you?”

  “It was my parents’ dream. Certainly not mine. But I did learn a lot. I learned how to work like hell and attempt to be satisfied with so-so grades. It really was humiliating. However, having seen an autopsy in person gave me some good copy for my mysteries.”

  She reached into her purse. “We do seminars, slide presentations, that sort of thing. If you’re interested in some freelance work…wait, let me impress you,” and dug out a business card. “Here. My company gave me 100 of these, and I think this is the fifth I’ve actually given anyone.”

  “Joanna Matthews, Associate Managing Editor. Well, I am impressed.”

  “Yeah, big deal, huh? Email me your CV when you get back to New York. I’ll give it to the editorial director. You never know. It’s hard work, but it pays well. You’re sure to do it better than me. And my cheap company would love the fact that you’d be freelance and they wouldn’t have to cover your health insurance.”

  “If anyone saw what I’m about to eat, the health insurance I currently have would be revoked.”

  Sophie put huge plates down
in front of them. Joanna said, “Wow, that’s a lot of food.”

  “Here’s some extra napkins.” Sophie asked, “You need anything else? Water?” They both nodded and she was off.

  Michael said, “Looks greasy and good” as he handed Joanna the ketchup bottle. She took it just as she bit into a big ass clam. It was hot and some juices dribbled down her chin. He grabbed a napkin to give her but her hands were full, so he wiped her face and she started laughing.

  She managed to say, “Oh, I’m glad this isn’t a first date. What would you be thinking?” as she continued laughing and dripping.

  He laughed, too, and said, “I’d be hoping for a second one.” Their laughter slowed.

  Sophie arrived with two glasses of water. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  They gazed out at the beach and the pink sky while they ate.

  ***

  They finished eating, quietly and comfortably, watching people on the beach. Joanna consumed her last fry then wiped her hands and face on a wet-nap. After vehemently turning down dessert, she settled back and sighed.

  “It’s hard to believe we’re on the same planet as Manhattan, let alone the same coast, just miles apart.”

  “You’re renewing my love for Cape May. Thank you.”

  “No, thank you for inviting me here. I probably would’ve just gone to bed too early.”

  “Doesn’t sound bad.”

  “I’ll be dead asleep by eleven anyway.” She looked at her watch. “I should get back to my B&B. Prepare for tomorrow. Let’s get the check,” she said, looking around the restaurant for Sophie.

  Standing and stretching, he said, “It’s all taken care of.”

  Confused for a second, she then said, shaking her head, “You can’t treat me.”

  “I did treat you. It’s your first meal at Henry’s. Your first meal in Cape May.”

  “Then I accept graciously. Can I leave the tip?”

  “I tipped more than the meal cost. For Sophie’s textbooks,” he smiled.

  They exited and Michael lightly put his hand under Joanna’s elbow to escort her out of the restaurant. It struck her as a gentlemanly, old-fashioned thing to do, fitting right in with the Victorian structures they were about to see.

  It was dark when they exited Henry’s and the street lamps and shop windows were ablaze. She gasped. “It’s so, I don’t know, World’s Fair, or Disneyworld, but real.”

  “You see what I meant about time traveling? It doesn’t look all that different than it did a hundred years ago.” A man wearing only tiny tight yellow shorts roller bladed past them. “Well, that ruined my point.”

  The street was full of pedestrians, bikers, skateboarders, and cars, surreys, and scooters. The air hummed with activity.

  Joanna said, “Oh, I smell warm, fried dough covered with powdered sugar.”

  “You smell powdered sugar?”

  “Why do unhealthy things smell so good?”

  They started walking, and Joanna headed back to Ocean Street. Michael said, “Let’s take Gurney Street so you can see some different houses.”

  Joanna yawned. “I can’t believe how tired I am. I guess it’s a combo of the bus trip and too much food.”

  “And the fresh sea air.” He sniffed.

  She sniffed. “I can’t smell it, can you?”

  “No, as a matter of fact.” He sniffed again and shook his head. “Maybe it’s seeping in through our pores.” They walked quietly for a few moments. Then he said, “I’m falling down on my tour guide duties. More about Cape May: Do you want to hear about the seventeenth century, and the Kechemeche Indians of the Lenni-Lenape tribe?”

  “Keep it simple. I’m really tired,” she said.

  “Well, for me, things started hopping in the early nineteenth century. In the 1830s, the elite of the major cities—New York, Washington, Philadelphia—came and stayed in the boarding houses. There were only a few then, but within the next ten years, the New Atlantic was built. It was huge. Would accommodate three-hundred guests.”

  As they walked, Joanna gaped at the row of sister Painted Ladies on Gurney Street. “Oh my, I’m dazzled just looking at the outsides of these houses. What am I going to do tomorrow when I’m inside some of them? My heart may not be able to stand it. I’m meeting with a realtor also, to get an idea of prices and what’s available. I’m supposed to be a sensible businesswoman, not a rabid fan.”

  “Look, I’ve stayed in over twenty B&Bs. I have friends who own Victorians. I could probably be of help.”

  “That’s nice of you to offer, Michael.”

  “It’s no big deal. I love it here. Been visiting since I was a kid, lived here, would move here again in a heart beat. I know a lot. There I go bragging again.”

  “No, that’s not bragging.” She thought a moment. “My husband is coming tomorrow. Let me see how he feels about a third person joining us. Although I think you two would get along really well. That is, if he’s not in one of his ‘I already know enough people’ moods.”

  “I do that, too. I’ll give you my phone number. If you guys want me to come with you, if Brian’s feeling social, I’d be happy to join you. My time here is flexible.”

  “Thanks.” She pointed to the houses on the left. “Are all those bed and breakfasts?”

  “Only the ones with the inn signs. The others are private homes. Some people fly south in the winter. Florida, the Carolinas. The wealthier go to Bermuda or the South of France. But many people live here all year long.”

  “It must be cold and lonely in the winter.”

  “Cold, yes. Lonely? Of course you can be lonely anywhere, any time. But Cape May is busy at Christmastime: tree lightings, caroling, theater, there’s a parade, too. You see how pretty it is at night? In the winter it gets dark earlier.”

  “Yes I’ve noticed that in Manhattan, too,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I meant, more time to enjoy all the lights. The town is all lit up and festiv…”

  “WAIT.” Joanna stopped and stared across the street. “Wow. Is that the Abbey?”

  “Yes.”

  “I read about it. But the website doesn’t do it justice.”

  “Gothic revival villa. It’s one of the most popular bed and breakfasts in Cape May.”

  “I can see why.”

  “All of the bedrooms are named after cities, like the rooms in your inn are named after roses.”

  They walked, turning left onto Columbia. In back of the Abbey was a creepy, glum black and red house. Joanna said, “That has to be on the Haunted Cape May tour.”

  Michael said, “If you’re interested, the book store on the Washington Mall sells a series of books about Cape May’s ghosts. I’ve read a few. They’re fun.”

  “Shouldn’t they be terrifying?” She glanced around. “Oh, I see where we are: my inn is right over there. Everything is so close.”

  “It’s a small town.”

  She lowered her voice: “I love being able to see into the houses, with all their lights on.”

  “Cape May brings out the voyeur in all of us.”

  “Maybe those alleged hauntings weren’t ghosts, just Peeping Toms,” and she yawned. “Excuse me. I’m so sleepy.”

  They were now right in front of the Manor Rose. “Good timing. You can be asleep in minutes.”

  They stood for a few seconds, Joanna scanning the architecture of the block, soaking in the ambience, andreluctant to say goodbye. “Where’s your bed and breakfast?”

  “About five blocks from here,” he pointed, “that way.” He smiled slightly. “I hate to say goodbye.”

  “Me, too. It’s been really…”

  “It’s been nice showing you around, someone who appreciates it, you know? The year we lived here, my wife and son spent all their time wishing they could move back to a big city.”

  “I understand.”

  “Remember, if you need any help, let me know. I don’t have business cards with me, but you could record my ph
one number the old-fashioned way and write it down.”

  “You can have some of mine, just cross out my name,” she said while fishing paper out of her bag.

  “Or I could change my name to Joe Matthews.”

  “Everybody calls me ‘Jo.’”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I?”

  “No, I like being called ‘Joanna.’” She found a pen. He rattled off his cell number. They stood for a moment. “Well, maybe see you tomorrow then,” he said.

  “Yes. Thanks.” Their eyes locked for a moment before he turned and walked away. This time Joanna didn’t watch him go, she just went through the gate and up the front steps of her bed and breakfast.

  CHAPTER 6

  Joanna entered the Manor Rose and closed the screen and the side door carefully, so they wouldn’t slam. She turned left into the parlor and saw a bell on the mantelpiece over the fireplace next to a sign: “If you need anything, just ring.” Joanna decided then and there that if she had a B&B nothing cutesy would be allowed. She had to admit that the sign was beautifully calligraphied and the bell appropriately period. The wooden handle and brass bell were heavy and expertly crafted. She moved her hand and the clapper hit the bell’s curve, making a startlingly loud noise. Joanna silenced it, not wanting to disturb the rest of the house, even though it wasn’t late. In an instant, Marie came through a door that presumably led to the kitchen.

  “Ms. Matthews! Did you enjoy Henry’s?”

  For a moment Joanna was puzzled that Marie knew she went to Henry’s but then remembered. “Yes, it was delicious, unhealthful food. I loved it.”

  “Great! I’ve put your bag in your room on the second floor. Are you ready to go up?”

  “Please. I’m exhausted.”

  “Oh, before we go,” Marie said, “I should tell you that breakfast is served from seven to ten in the dining room right through there. There’s a pantry on each floor with complimentary coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. There’s also a small refrigerator in your room, stocked with water and juice. If you need anything else, call one of the phone numbers on these sheets.” She handed Joanna a few typed pages. “One or two of us is always nearby, either here or in the house next door. Only a call or intercom away.”