The Mooring

The Mooring

a Branford Perry story by Stephen Brooke ©2011

We never did it.

No, not once, even though we ran around together for a couple years. Pam had a long distance boyfriend; he’d show up for the occasional weekend and I’d stay away.

Then he would leave and two lonely people would hook back up, finding friendship in a small town.

The Mooring—that’s where she worked, where we both worked, she as personal assistant to the boss, I as head groundskeeper. A little apartment above the sales office was one of her employment benefits. I learned eventually that she had been Dave’s mistress before I met her; that’s why he had given her the apartment free of rent.

Many an evening I climbed that stair, to hang out, to watch a video or two, to talk about whatever was on her mind. She needed to talk and I was always willing to listen. Looking back, it seems a very strange relationship but we were comfortable with it.

It’s not that I didn’t think about sex; guys do and she was an attractive woman. We just never clicked that way, no chemical reactions in our respective test tubes. The thing with the boss bothered me too, once I heard about it. Dave was a charming guy, a natural salesman, but he treated his wife—the original source of his wealth—like dirt. No, dirt he valued; he could build an apartment house on it.

All things end. The boyfriend had been there that weekend. Stopping by on Sunday afternoon to check some new plantings, I waved when I saw them sitting on her balcony. Oddly, I’d experienced a touch of jealousy; Pam and I might be friends and nothing more but I had something going on in me. I felt protective; I felt possessive. Was this guy good enough for her?

I always came in to work early; Pam would usually be upstairs when I arrived. This Monday, though, she was saying goodbye to her lover. Still in her robe, she leaned in through the window of his car for a farewell kiss. I watched her watch him drive away.

Then she smiled in my direction and motioned me over.

“Look, Bran,” she said, holding out her left hand.

No mistaking what she meant. It was a very large diamond.

“So—” I was at a loss for words; not unusual for me. I recovered. “Congratulations, kid.” I called her kid; she was six or seven years younger than I.

“Jim and I will get married next month,” she bubbled. “I want to do it right here on the grounds. In the gardens.” The Mooring was a high-end resort and had become a popular spot for weddings.

“I’ll make sure the place is perfect.” Then I thought about what this meant. “You’ll be, um, leaving, won’t you?”

She stepped back and gave me one of her sweet little looks. “Yeah, Bran, I’m going to give Dave notice this morning.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say.

“Go get dressed,” I advised her. “My crew is ogling you. Stop by this evening?”

“You’d better! I have a lot to tell you!”

I gave the boys a disapproving look but I couldn’t blame them for watching her walk away.

* * *

“Let’s walk.”

I was willing, though I walked around the area all day. This had once been a live oak forest by the river. Now, cottages stood among the remaining trees, set on a network of winding roads. Dave had done a good job of preserving the natural beauty. He knew what sold.

We strolled through the fading evening light, down toward the river. On a Monday evening there were few guests about. The place was ours.

Pam seemed quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“I’ve never told Jim anything about you. He wouldn’t understand.”

I nodded. “Not surprised. Wouldn’t have been much point in mentioning me, would there?”

We continued a while in silence.

“Where are you going to live?” I asked. We had reached the river. No more walking; it was time to talk.

“Daytona. We’ll stay in Jim’s apartment at first.” She giggled. “But he knows I expect a nice suburban house!”

I laughed along with her. “Going by that rock on your finger, he can afford it,” I observed. “That’s a long way from here.”

She couldn’t help catching the wistful tone of my voice. “I’ll miss you, Bran. It’s not that far, you know, and I’ll come to visit my sister.” Giving me a little sideways look, she added “You ought to give Jeanne a chance.”

She’d bugged me for two years about dating her sister. Hadn’t been above throwing us together on occasion, either.

“She’d always be second best,” I blurted out. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what the hell I meant.”

Pam put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her. “She always has been second best and that’s not fair.” She was very serious. “I was the pretty one, the outgoing one. She should be happy, too.” Then a little smile, tinged with something else . Sadness? Concern? I couldn’t quite read it. “And so should you, Bran.”

There were tears coming into my eyes. Pam knew I cried easily; we’d watched enough sad movies together, so I didn’t try to hide it. That’s what I was going to miss, I knew—someone from whom I never had to hide my tears.

And all that went with it.

* * *

How many more times would I climb these stairs? The staircase opened into a hallway between the lobby and Dave’s office in what, from the outside, looked much like another cottage. Rustic Southern was the style here, metal roofs and rough siding: pseudo-cracker, but with modern interiors.

I had keys; however, after hours I always let Pam unlock the doors. This became her home then.

The girl was a slob. I found that both endearing and annoying; I’m very much the neat freak myself. The personality matched the job, I suppose. Orderly flowerbeds, orderly home!

So I knew the place would look much the same as when she and Jim had rolled out of bed that morning. That had never bothered me in the past. Would Jim mind, I wondered; would he care about the clothes lying on the floor, last night’s glasses on the coffee table?

A painting hung above the sofa, one of my own amateur daubings—a landscape, as if I didn’t get enough of that in my job. Pam had seen it and liked it; I presented it to her one day soon after. Over her protests, of course, though she really did like having it. It would end up in some closet in that house in the suburbs, until it was discarded or sold for two bucks at a garage sale. No illusions about that; none at all.

She went to the fridge and got us each a cold Sam Adams. Pam knew well that I appreciated the better stuff; the boyfriend seemed to leave a trash basket full of Bud cans behind.

“Sit.” She patted a spot beside her on the couch, below that old painting. I could see so many flaws in the picture. I wished right then that I could give her a more accomplished work. But that would also end up in the closet. I sat.

I sipped from my bottle. At home it would have gone into a glass.

“Aw, Pam,” I started. My hick accent seemed to come forward at times like this. Pam—and Jim—had that middle-America-come-from-anywhere way of talking but I was a true Florida boy. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I know. It was bound to happen, Bran.” She chugged half her beer. Pam could drink. “I’ll miss you too. I told you that.”

“But you love Jim.” I looked at the floor a moment, then lifted my head and smiled. “And you know I wish both of you happiness.” I raised my bottle. “Here’s to Jim, the luckiest dentist alive!”

Pam clinked her bottle against mine and we both took a gulp. “Thanks,” she said, “and he’s an orthodontist.”

“Pokes around in people’s mouths, just the same.” He had met Pam when some sort of conference on orthodontics was held at the Mooring. His first night here had been spent in his room; the second one in hers.

“I knew you never liked Jim.” She gave me a mock scowl before laughing. “That’s alright. You two are night and day. Get you another?”

“Sure,” I said, draining my bottle.

* * *

The TV was on, some tabloid show. We sat and pretended to watch it for a few minutes. Pam remained unusually quiet.

I had to say something. I turned sideways on the sofa to face her and asked if she was okay.

“Oh, yeah, Bran. All of a sudden this seems like a lot to sort out. Marriage, moving away, all the rest.”

“Well, you said it. It was bound to happen. I expected you to get hitched again some day.” Pam was long divorced but I knew well that those who marry once marry again, unlike we old bachelors.

“I—” She hesitated. “I sometimes have wondered about you and me.”

All I could do was nod. Hadn’t I done the same?

“Could we have fallen in love?” she asked. “I mean… why didn’t we? Why wasn’t there a spark?”

“Damned if I know. We’ve always been comfortable with each other.” I sat back and polished off the last of my second beer. “Maybe that was it, we turned into a brother-sister act.”

“I want to know. Look at me, Bran.” I turned toward her once again. “Kiss me.”

I wanted to know, as well. How I wanted to know! Our mouths came together, lips on lips. Right then, old Sam Adams spoke up unexpectedly. Yes, I burped in her face.

It completely cracked Pam up. I had to laugh too, despite my total embarrassment. When we stopped, we both knew that the moment had gone. We would never try to kiss again.

We would never find out what might have been, what never would be. Just as well.

* * *

Later, I gave Pam a brotherly hug goodbye. Instead of going to my truck, my feet carried me once more toward the river, through the silent moonlight.

I sat there a while on the dock, watching the flow. Things change, I told myself. Maybe it’s time I moved along as well; it was never the plan to work here forever. Or maybe I will call up Jeanne one of these days.

I slapped at a mosquito. Time to go home.