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time. When I got pregnant in college…I graduated and came home to him
and he was with me, with Seth. And sometimes I'd hear him say to Seth…you and
me, kiddo. Who says kiddo? Just your dad. But in the
hospital…when Seth was in a coma for so many days…I said that to him…all the
time."
    It
was alright then, her hand and her words, making Henry real, Seth…. The ocean
was big, and two ships out there. Stories everywhere…just the
life in this water…the secrets.
    "How…,"
he had to clear his throat, "…how long were you married?"
    She
looked at him, hair whipping, her skin red and soft
with the salt and the mist.
    "Two
years. It was…my divorce was final a couple of weeks ago but the marriage…two
years separated."
    He
moved his arm around her. Years of habit, comforting…but no…this was more.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    Chapter
8

 
    They
stayed together that night. He blamed the soup, the simple delicious taste of
the beef and carrots and onions and celery and her pearl barley, not the
instant kind, but the real deal, he blamed all of that…and the feeling in his
stomach…so good he didn't know how to let it be…full.
    And he blamed her, if
blame was the right word. His rational self, always his guide, told him to cut
and run. But she was an adventure. That's how she hit him, her face as she
talked away at the cutting board or listened to him, she listened…there was
something endearing about it, he didn't know what…her smile, her eyes…she kept
up contact…she seemed eager…unnerving, very unnerving…her raw need…but it drew
him.
    He'd
come here to the ocean with a sense of wanting more, wanting life, and here she
was…Cori. A whirlwind. He couldn't fix it or figure it
or be at peace with it….
    It
wasn't chance, or even destiny, it was manipulation
all the way, but she was an adventure none-the-less. She got to him.
    So
he comforted himself with her, next to him on the couch. He hadn't allowed them
to go to the bedroom as if the couch made it less involved, but he'd held her
there again, slept little, just let himself be…feel…comfort, and the worry over the comfort.
    "Be
content," Bill used to tell him, "to let things be a mess. The best
things come that way. Birth is a mess."
    In
his work, he'd learned to do that…until a mess came that was so big, so
consuming…it broke him.
    Now
he had her. Life in the beige Petri dish…Cori Weston.
    Cori's
declaration of love…it shocked him like…new love…neon love.
    Laura
claimed to love him. He wasn't boasting, but he was a good catch…good
material…for marriage. He knew that. Women noticed him and he'd wondered about
himself more than once, why he didn't feel excited…why he couldn't reciprocate
when everything looked right.
    He
knew now…he was starting to get it. When it came…love…not that it had, but she
claimed it had and he could see how powerful, when a woman like her just came
at you with an intensity …and so captivating….
    There
wouldn't be another like her. It wouldn't be possible. Born out of tragedy…this
kind of bond…this kind of…love?
    He
needed…help. He wanted to be told how to think. Not what. But how, and that was
often the case. He looked for the boundaries in which to think.
    His
normal boundaries were tried-and-true and past finding out. He'd chosen those
high and lofty ones, or they'd chosen him. But the incident…it had expanded
those ancient boundaries. It had made them huge. Death, pain, tragedy were
everywhere, but so was God, so was love, so was extraordinary compassion, and mercy and kindness and tears and grief and joy
and empathy and heroics…and surprises…and soup….
    Personally,
he hadn't won by matching James, by trumping him with might…and right. His
personal victory lay in becoming more like what he believed and less like James…by
not allowing James to infect him and conform him to
his distorted image.
    That
was the battle. If he stayed bitter, human life was diminished.