Suddenly, in a night that had moved slowly, everything’s quick. And urgent.
When Mack presses her down on top of the sheets and pulls off her satin shorts, Avery’s kisses grow needy on his body. There’s a desperation coming from some aloneness maybe, from the shadows. On top of her now, Mack restrains her arms. And kisses her throat, her face. Their breathing comes fast; the sex does, too. There are no words, no affectionate murmurs between them. There are only sounds—gasps, and grunts, and throaty sighs.
Afterward, they lie side by side on their backs. The sheets are tangled around their bare legs. Their skin perspires. Their chests rise and fall as they catch their breath.
Minutes pass.
Outside the open window beside their bed, the moon rises higher in the black sky. When some of its pale light falls across the bed, across Avery’s tear-streaked face, she quietly turns away from Mack and pulls the sheet up close.
three
THE NEXT MORNING, MACK IS up before Avery. Cawing seagulls and the distant breaking waves are the only sounds in the beach cottage. Well, those and the sound of the gurgling coffee maker. A breeze wafts the straight curtains; early rays of sun reach into the rooms. On the teak deck table outside, two plates are set out, as are forks and spoons. Mack sits there, too, idly turning the pages of a magazine.
So he doesn’t see Avery walk into the living room, first. Her step is as soft as the lightness of the room. Its white walls are awash in that dappled sunlight; a pale blue throw is tossed over the white sofa. Everything soft in the early light.
Avery stops near the sofa and glances around, as though wondering where Mack is. She stands there wearing a white bikini top and frayed white-denim cutoffs. A long open-front sweater covers it all. The sweater is tan; its loose stitches, airy; the length, just to her thighs. Her blonde hair, side-parted, hangs in a blunt cut to her shoulders.
Barefoot, she crosses the cool wood floor to the kitchen, then stops at the slider to the deck.
Mack looks up from his magazine. “Avery. You’re up. And dressed.”
“I am.”
“What’s going on?” Mack asks, turning in his chair.
“Take a walk with me?”
“A walk?”
Avery nods and steps out on the deck. That sea breeze blows a wisp of her hair. “We were so busy these past few months, I never even got to see this cottage. Or have a tour of Hatchett’s Point. Show me around?”
“Okay.” Mack slowly gets up, as though unsure. Standing there in a white tee and khaki cargo shorts, he pushes in his chair. “How about if we bring our coffee?” he asks.
“Sure, I’ll pack my tote,” she says, turning back into the cottage.
“Wear your sneakers,” he calls out. “Going to do some hiking.”
It doesn’t take long to get ready. While Mack pours their coffee, Avery tucks a blanket in her tote, and some napkins. Two muffins, too. Right as she’s lacing up her sneakers, Mack comes in the kitchen and puts a stuffed brown bag in her tote.
“What’s that?” Avery asks, sipping her coffee then.
“You’ll see.” Mack grabs a navy baseball cap off the table and puts it on backward. Holding the door open for her, they head out.
* * *
“You didn’t sleep last night,” Mack says while crossing the lawn. “After we were together, you were restless.”
They walk a few easy steps before Avery answers. “I can’t get things out of my mind.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. And everything. The pandemic. The headlines. That virus, which is so contagious.” She pulls her tortoise-shell sunglasses from her tote and puts them on. “You and I are cushioned from it here. But … what about my parents?”
“What about them?” Mack asks as they take the dune-grass-lined path to the beach.
“My father’s high risk. Is it safe for me to see them when we get back? Will we even be with them at the holidays? Everything’s in limbo. Then there’s your family.”
Mack sips his coffee. “My family?”
“Yes. And your beautiful upholstering business. It’s been in operation for thirty years. Started by your grandfather Maximilian—who you’re even named after. The Martinellis have been making people’s homes a place of comfort for decades. And all of that might come undone by one virus.” Giving a sad shake of her head, she goes on. “You’ve got a big rent on that building. And bills to pay.” Avery steps out of the path and onto the beach. “Oh, I guess I’m just worried sick about things. So how can I have a good time and enjoy our honeymoon, with all that’s happening?”
“But we’ll be okay,” Mack insists beside her.
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re right,” Mack says, blowing out a long breath. “I really don’t.”
They cross the beach now, heading toward the peninsula at the far end. They keep to the packed sand at the tideline. To their right, dune grasses sway. To their left, the blueness of Long Island Sound reaches to the horizon. That endless view gives the feel of being stranded on a deserted island.
“Maybe it was all a mistake,” Avery suddenly says.
“What was?”
“Getting married the way we did.”
Mack stops and turns her toward him. “Avery, come on. Now you’re questioning our wedding?”
“No.” She gives him a quick smile and pulls the blanket from her tote. “Well, yes. I mean, we saw it all coming—this whole pandemic, and the virus, and how dangerous it is—and we tuned it out. Let’s face it, we turned a blind eye and a deaf ear and went on with the show.” As she opens the blanket on the sand, gentle waves lap onshore. A sea breeze skimming off the Sound blows her hair. “And maybe that’s all our wedding was, Mack,” Avery admits while sitting now. “One big show.”
Standing there, Mack looks at her, briefly. He lifts his coffee and takes a long sip, saying nothing.
Avery draws up her knees and wraps her arms around them. “Maybe I’m even a little embarrassed that we didn’t scale everything back. Or postpone it.”
Mack sits beside her on the blanket. “Put off the wedding?” he asks, watching her closely.
She nods. “And take more time. That way, we’d have gotten to know each other better, too. Because let’s face it, Mack, our relationship happened so fast! We just met last fall, and the next thing I knew? You swept me off my feet, and I was planning a wedding, and here we are.” While saying it, she gives her fingers three quick snaps.
Mack sets aside his coffee cup. Out on the Sound, a pleasure boat passes by, leaving a frothy wake behind it. “All right, then,” he reasons. “I hear you. It was fast. So … So let’s get to know each other more, starting here. Let me tell you about this place that’s been a part of my whole life.”
“But Mack, what I’m saying—”
“No.” He stands then. “You wanted me to show you around before. So you sip your coffee, and I’ll talk.”
* * *
In minutes, his voice seems to lull her. As they take a path off the beach and back to the one dirt road, Mack’s words tell a story. A story of time, and history, and leisure. He says how the original century-old cottages on the point were modeled after the grand Newport cottages. He and Avery veer off the dirt road here, and there, taking in sights of nature, and sprawling shingled cottages. Back on the road, they circle around behind the peninsula and walk the second, western beach.