“We actually just got married. Yesterday,” Avery says with a distracted glance at the bar, too.
“Well now. That explains it—you’ve been … preoccupied?” their waiter asks.
“To say the least,” Avery agrees. “Showers, parties. The rehearsal, and wedding. It’s been a whirlwind. We just arrived today for our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations, you two. So you’re booked here at the inn?” The waiter flips his order pad closed.
“No. No, we just stopped in for dinner,” Mack tells him. “Actually staying at Hatchett’s Point, down the road a ways.”
“Ah, nice place, right here in Old Lyme. So … you’re not from around these parts?” the waiter asks.
“Oh, we are,” Mack says. “Live just inland, outside of Hartford. Keeping the honeymoon local, though.”
“You work local, too?”
“We do,” Avery tells the waiter as she hands him back their menus. “I design the window displays for a nearby shopping plaza.” She turns to Mack. “And my husband’s family owns Martinelli Upholstering.”
“That’s a familiar name,” the waiter says as he tucks their menus beneath an arm. “I’ve heard you do great work.”
“Appreciate that,” Mack tells him. “But right now, I’m worried about that pandemic more than anything else.”
“I hear you. Scary stuff, especially if the state closes down.” The waiter gives a slight salute as he heads toward the kitchen with their orders. “Hope you’re well-stocked with supplies,” he calls back over his shoulder.
* * *
By the time they get to the supermarket after dinner, the sun’s gone down. Mack grabs a shopping cart and wheels it through the doors. But when they turn to the produce aisle, he stops.
“You should get another carriage,” he tells Avery.
Avery comes up beside him and brushes her fingers across his whiskered jaw. “Are you sure? Maybe you’re overreacting.”
All Mack has to do is nod to the empty shelves. Only shreds of lettuce are left. And a few scattered tomatoes. A half-dozen zucchinis, which he grabs. Some berries and nectarines. “Get another carriage,” he tells Avery again, his voice lower this time.
When she returns, they slowly walk up and down the aisles. The lighting is harsh at this nighttime hour. The shelves, half empty.
“This is so weird,” Avery softly says, looking back over her shoulder. “Is this really happening? The way everything’s picked over, and the way the store’s so quiet, it’s like the world’s coming to an end.”
Mack looks back, too. Then he keeps walking. He tosses in anything they might need. Some canned goods. Breads they can freeze. Avery fills her cart with paper products. She adds cleaning sprays and disposable gloves—what’s left of them, anyway.
“Really?” Mack asks. “Disposable gloves?”
Avery nods toward two women wearing blue latex gloves while shopping. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispers in the oddly hushed store.
“Let’s plan out for the week, then. We’ll have to grab food for dinners. Maybe some hamburger patties. A chicken.”
“But we have reservations. And at some of the nicest restaurants!” Avery insists from behind Mack. “Don’t you think we’ll be all set? And your family filled the fridge for us.”
Mack watches an older couple hurry past. Their steps are quick; the woman clutches a long list. “I don’t know, Avery.” He looks back at her pushing her carriage. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this. We’re here, so it can’t hurt to stock up.”
Soon the groceries—readymade salads, salmon fillets, bakery rolls—are bagged and loaded into the car trunk. But driving back to the beach cottage, Avery and Mack say little. Instead, Mack tunes the radio to a local station. They listen to the latest news—hearing some imminence in the announcer’s tone.
When Mack turns the car onto the long dirt road leading to the cottage, the forest seems more ominous than ever. Trees throw black shadows in the headlight illumination. A raccoon plods across the road. The car engine rumbles as the vehicle shifts and sways on heaves in the packed dirt. At one point, Avery snaps off the radio, then sits back and crosses her arms. The night presses against the car windows.
Finally, the cottages come into view. Beyond them, a heavy moon rises over Long Island Sound. It drops a swath of silver on the water. When Mack turns the car into their driveway, their beach cottage is so dark, it’s barely visible. Every window is as black as the night.
Avery reaches over and squeezes Mack’s arm. “You didn’t leave a light on?” she whispers.
two
SOMETHING ABOUT THE EARLY LIGHT of day edging the curtains changes things. You can see it in the way the couple lounges in bed, beneath the sheets, Monday morning. Avery lies on her side. Mack moves closer, and from behind, wraps an arm around her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Martinelli,” he says, then kisses the side of her head. A few moments later, he lifts the sheet and gets out of bed.
“While you’re up, can you get my robe?” Avery’s sleepy voice asks.
Mack lifts the short satin robe off the bed’s white wrought-iron footboard. Standing there in his pajama bottoms, he lets the robe’s fabric stroke the skin of her legs, her arms. “You sure you want it right now?”
“Mack!” Avery sits up and takes the robe, slipping it on over her chemise. “We’re going out to breakfast, remember?”
Lifting his wrinkled tee off that same footboard, Mack pulls the shirt over his head. Walking to the windows, he sweeps open the white curtains, which gets Avery to squint at the brilliant sunshine glinting off the expanse of Long Island Sound beyond.
“I’ll put on coffee,” Mack tells her as he kisses her again, and strokes her blonde hair. “You relax.”
So Avery sits alone on the bed. She takes a few breaths of the salt air filling the room. When the cry of seagulls reaches her, she walks over to those windows. Outside, a large lawn slopes down to dune grasses, beyond which lies the sea. Looking rested and at ease, Avery simply stands there—taking it all in. The sound of distant waves can be heard, too. Over and over, they lap onshore.
In another moment, though, a different sound gets her to turn her head. Mack must’ve put on the TV in the other room. A news anchor’s muffled voice drifts close. When Avery turns toward the doorway, Mack is standing there—his hair mussed, a coffee in hand.
“We’re on lockdown,” he says.
“What?”
“We’re not going out to breakfast. The governor announced the lockdown first thing. Except for essential businesses, the entire state of Connecticut is shut down.”
“But … but restaurants?” Barefoot, Avery steps closer to Mack. “Aren’t they essential? We have to eat.”
“At home, apparently. Everything’s closed, Avery. They showed a graph on TV. I guess the virus numbers are really spiking. Positive cases, up. Hospitalizations. Deaths. It’s right at our doorstep now. And the governor’s aim is to slow the spread of that virus and flatten the graph’s curve.” Mack sips from his coffee cup. “Stay-at-home orders have been issued.”