Genevieve
I can’t believe I’m back here. Ten years have passed but nothing here seems to have changed. I’m looking at the ocean from the best spot on the planet. To my right sits the chair where my grandma – we called her Memére, the French equivalent – doled out her sagest advice. Mrs. Jones, our caretaker and Mem’s best friend, must have stopped by. It’s the offseason, and Mem’s chair should be in storage. I wish she were still here. She always knew what to say, and she never told me what to do. She listened, pointed out all angles of the problem and offered suggestions. What are you going to do? she would ask. Even when I chose wrong, she was there to pick me up, offer more solutions, or just listen.
So much has happened since I was last here. There have been so many memories at this cottage. Some were amazing and some well - life is filled with bumps and curves like the rollercoaster at the amusement park in the village. Time to move forward from the last bump - it was more like a ditch, but forward is where I need to go. Forward to forget about him - the reason I’m not married and have a huge debt from a wedding that didn’t happen.
Might as well get started now. I grab a hoodie from inside and start down the beach. I will stop at Mrs. Jones’s cottage to thank her. It’s a beautiful early fall evening. I pull my hoodie on as I slowly walk in the shallows, carrying my tennis shoes. The water is already cold. The soft sounds of the water lapping at the shore is something I’ve always found calming, ever since I was a girl. It’s as if time slows down to a turtle’s pace on the shore. Hopefully, if I spend enough time here, I can bring that serenity back home with me. It’s a short walk, but soon I lose myself in old memories.
Summer was the best time of the year for me. It meant we pack up the car with everything we need including our dog, Coco (What can I say? We named her when I was only seven) and headed to the cottage. She had tan fur and spots like chocolate chips. I was the oldest. My brother, Pete was four. He was a baseball fanatic. He slept with his glove even in the offseason. My sister, Maggie was two. She was only two so not much to report.
My mom, Joanie, was a secretary at the elementary school in the next town over, so she had summers off. Dad worked as a car salesman, so he was coming and going from the cottage all summer. Now that every possible thing was packed, we crammed into the car and took off. It was crazy early. My dad, Robert, seemed to think the earlier we left, the better. All I knew was I hoped to sleep most of the four-hour ride to the cottage. If this were a normal family vacation, we would have nowhere to check in until three in the afternoon. Luckily, my grandparents owned the cottage, so off we went at this very early hour of the morning. We wouldn’t have been able to afford this cottage for the entire summer if it didn’t belong to them. Money problems were high up on the list of my parents’ issues.
We are about halfway there and through my sleepy fog, I heard, Pete screaming, “I have to pee! Like, now!”
We waited and hoped Dad would find a rest area or restaurant, knowing that Pete’s definition of now is actually more like within five miles. Thankfully, we found a cute little diner, and Pete was all set. We got back on the road to my summer in the sun. We didn’t make it very far before an awful smell started coming from Maggie’s side of the car. “Yuck,” I thought, “no kids for me! I’m not changing that ever!” So much for a sleepy ride to the cottage on the beach. Dad pulled over to the side of the highway and Mom jumped out to change Maggie. The good news was that Maggie was clean and not crying. The bad news was that there was nowhere to leave the dirty diaper, so it was sitting in a baggie by Mom’s feet. So much for getting rid of the smell.
The cottage was my favorite place on earth. It was a quaint two-bedroom, one-bath house with barely enough room for the five of us and Coco. Thankfully, there was an enclosed lower porch with a door, so I had my own space while we were here. There was a medium-sized yard with a fire pit and an outdoor shower. While the house does have some kid required amenities like TV, we weren’t allowed to use it unless it was after 5 pm or pouring rain. Even then, Mom tried to discourage it and attempted to force family game time or reading. “I never minded the reading, but family game time: ugh!” I was much better off left on my own to read, color, or write stories about how I wish my life were.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we arrived at the cottage. I rushed to my room and started to set up my things. Summer is a long time for a seven-year old. The beach was calling my name; I went as fast as I could. I gathered necessities in a bag - nothing fancy: a blanket, a book and a water. Things were different at the cottage. At home, Mom was very strict. She had to know where we were, who we were with and that we would be safe. Here at the cottage, it was no holds barred. We could come and go as we pleased, and that included walking down to the beach. I did a quick check to see if the Cavallaro family had arrived yet. They spent their summers here too. No such luck. I was on my own for now.
I took off down the rickety wooden staircase to the beach straight into the shallows. I wasn’t thinking and I stepped right into the water. It was still cold. Our winter had been an easy one in Rhode Island, so we got out of school on June fifteenth this year. I leapt back out of the water and set up my blanket. I sat down and simply stared at the ocean. It was so peaceful and serene on that day. Some adults had told me, I had an old soul because I understood the calm of the sea and carried on conversations above my level. Call it what you want, I loved it here. It wasn’t long before Pete interrupted my peace. My time alone on the beach for the day had passed. Here comes the entire family, I thought, “Oh goody! Forced family time. Hopefully, if I just stick my nose in this book, no one will bother me. I highly doubt that my mom believes I have not finished Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, but a girl can dream.”
I realize now how fortunate I was to spend my summers here. My parents were always fighting about money. I’m sure if the cottage had belonged to them, it would have been sold years ago to cover some expense or another. Thankfully, this place belongs to my Memére and Pepére. They worked their whole lives to get this place and would never sell it. Tears fill my eyes as I think of Memére and Pepére. What will happen to their cottage now?
I’m so lost in my memories that; I reach Mrs. Jones’s cottage without realizing it. Her cottage is similar to ours, well, maybe not “ours.” Who knows who will get the cottage? Mrs. Jones sees me approach and wraps me into a great big hug.
“Oh dear, look at you. You’re so thin! Are you feeling well?” she says.
“Hi, Mrs. Jones. Thank you for setting out Memére’s chair. I truly appreciate it. How did you know I would be here?” I ask.
A grin crosses her face. “I heard about the wedding - well non-wedding - and figured you would be here sooner, rather than later. It’s been three days. What took you so long?” she says with her hands on her hips.
I laugh. She means it has been three days since I chose not to marry Daniel. Despite all the current upheaval in my life, it’s nice to know Mrs. Jones is her usual blunt self.
“I had a few things to wrap up,” I respond.
“Would you like some tea? Perhaps something stronger?” she says winking.
“Something stronger,” I reply.
Mrs. Jones walks into the cottage and promptly returns with two glasses. After taking a sip, I don’t know what’s in the glass, but it’s certainly stronger than tea. If I can’t have Memére, Mrs. Jones is the next best thing. When her only daughter was ten, she died of leukemia. Her husband, Stan, died about five years ago. At that time, she sold her house and moved to her cottage permanently. She has watched over the neighborhood ever since.
The cottage I’m staying in belonged to my grandparents until they died six weeks ago. Both of them passed away in the span of seventy-two hours. Memére died in her sleep and the next morning, Pepére collapsed. I truly think Pepére died of a broken heart. They were supposed to be at my wedding to Daniel. Instead, we had a small service for the two of them together. It may have been a sign.
I sit with Mrs. Jones for nearly an hour before heading back to my grandparent’s cottage. We catch up on various local goings-on and chat a bit about my life. Mrs. Jones isn’t Memére, but she listens to every word without judging me at all. When I finish explaining the reasons why I’m there she offered me her wisdom.
“You’re the only one who can decide what’s best for you. You have a lot of thinking to do and a lot of big decisions to make. Whether it’s going back to Rhode Island, moving here, or starting over somewhere else; those are your choices to make and yours alone. You will make the right choice, dear. You certainly did by not marrying Daniel,” she says.
“How did you know I shouldn’t marry Daniel?” I ask.
She snorts. “I’ve known you your entire life. Not once in the two years you were with Daniel, did I ever see you look at him like you did Joseph.”
“But . . . “I sigh. Deep down, I know she is right. I have never felt even a sliver of what I felt for Joey for Daniel. On the other hand, who meets their true love when they are seven years old? No one does. No one.
“Take your time, think about what is best for you, and go get it. I love you, Gen.”
“I love you too, Mrs. J.” I get up and hug her. “Thank you. I think coming here was the first smart thing I have done in a long time,” I say and start down the stairs towards the shoreline.
Along the short walk, I can’t help but think about Joey, the true reason I couldn’t marry Daniel. I met Joey when we came here for the summer when I was seven. That year the snow had been heavier than usual, even for Rhode Island, so we had a bunch of snow days to make up. By the time we were able to head to the cottage, it was already late summer.
I didn’t even take the time to unpack. Grabbing a towel, I took off out the door to the beach. This was my favorite place to be. The smell of the ocean air surrounded me as I ran down the beach. I was completely lost in my thoughts when I ran smack-dab into a boy playing football on the beach.
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? My name is Gen. What is your name?” I asked as I surveyed my victim.
“Joseph. I’m Joseph. I’m fine. You were running very fast for a small girl,” he said as he looked me up and down.
“Thanks, I think. Where are you staying?”
“We’re staying there in the blue one. You?” I looked up at the largest cottage on the beach, the one with an amazing deck stretching towards the ocean. I thought that Mem’s cottage would fit in it twice over.
“We are in the white one two doors over.” I said avoiding his eyes.
“Great! I’ll see you every day then. What is Gen short for? Do you not like your name?”
“Genevieve, my name is Genevieve. Most of my friends and classmates stumble on it, so people call me Gen. Do you only go by Joseph?”
“My mother says Joseph is a strong name, but only she calls me that.” He looked towards the blue cottage where his mother had stepped onto the deck. She was waving him in. I was stunned by how beautiful she was - tall and lithe. I’d never seen anyone so glamorous before. “Well, looks like I have to go. See you around.”
“Okay, bye Joey.”
“Bye, Genevieve.” He grinned and took off running toward his cottage.
We became inseparable. My parents always thought I was out with Joey’s sisters, Norah and Kelly, but that wasn’t always the case. Joey and I ran on the beach, played hide and seek and talked for hours that summer. As we got older, we spent more and more time alone together. Once, we found this cavern down the beach. . .
I snapped out of my stroll down memory lane when I suddenly hear his voice. I have to be imagining it. There is no way that glorious sound is real. Looking up the beach, I see the silhouette of a tall, fit man. My body recognizes him instantly. What is he doing here? The last I heard, he had a child on the way and was getting married. A little boy comes rushing towards me chasing a ball. I bend over and scoop it up before it can roll past me.
He points to the ball and says, “Hi, my name is James and that’s mine.” Smiling, I hand him his ball and he runs away. I’m not ready to see Joey yet so I keep walking trying to avoid him. There’s no way he knows I’m here. I need more time. I fail miserably as Joey heads right for me.
At first, he looks just as stunned to see me as I am to see him. Neither of us speak but then James says, “Daddy, say hi to the pretty lady who gave me my ball back!” Joey gave a low chuckle and takes the ball from James to clean it off.
“Thank you, James,” I reply.
“Genevieve, how are you?” Joey asks. He is the only person I let call me that. Even though I’d been about to marry Daniel and spend the rest of my life with him, I never - not once -let him call me by my full name. That probably should have been my first clue something was wrong.
“You know her, Daddy?” James asks with a curious look on his face. James is his son?
“Yes, buddy. I have known Miss Genevieve since we were about your age.” he says. “Here, go play while we chat for a minute.” He hands James the ball.
“Okay!” James runs off towards the shore. I’m still in shock that Joey is right here in front of me when he pulls me into a bear hug. The scrawny boy with pale blue eyes he had been is gone. Joey had been my first kiss, first love, first . . . everything. His eyes are the same piercing blue color, but he isn’t scrawny anymore. College and beyond have been very good to Joey in the body department. Standing in front of me is a man with an athlete’s body - strong and lean but sculpted in the right places. His eyes bore into my soul as he lets me go. Immediately, I was cold all over and shivered.
“How are you, Genevieve? What you are doing here? It’s the offseason. How have you been doing? What have you been doing?” He pelts me with questions. Before I can answer any of them, he looks embarrassed and adds, “Sorry, that was a lot. Let’s start with what you’re doing here?”
I simply stare at him. I came here to move on from Joey and yet here he is. I hadn’t even considered the possibility he would be here. Deep down I knew I wasn’t over him, but I’d been lying to myself for so long that I’d almost convinced myself I was until this very second.
“Joey, you’ve known me for twenty-two years. I’m not going to lie to you. I never have and I won’t start now. Memére and Pepére are gone. I came here to see their cottage again and sort through their personal items. I came here to forget about you. I was supposed to get married three days ago, but standing there at the altar during rehearsal, staring at my future husband, I only saw you.” I look down at the sand away from his piercing blue eyes. He reaches out to lift my chin and fire flows from his fingers over my entire body.
“Genevieve,” he says, leaning down so his lips are mere inches away from mine. I can’t help but close my eyes, willing this to happen, when the sudden shock of cold water on my feet makes me pull back in surprise. Opening my eyes, I look down to see James.
“Daddy, I need to use the bathroom,” he says. “I can’t hold it much longer.”
“Okay, bud. Let’s go,” Joey says. Shooting me an apologetic grin, he adds, “Genevieve, I want to finish this conversation later. It’s long overdue.” Scooping up James, he runs off toward his parents’ cottage two doors down from mine.
I let out a slow exhale, so thankful that we were interrupted. I don’t know if I could handle him touching me again. Confusion clouds my heart, but one thing is certain – I’m not ready to be near him. How is my body reacting to him like this? I haven’t been anywhere near him in ten years. I know nothing about Joey anymore other than he has an adorable son.
After staring at them until they disappear into their cottage, I force my feet to move. James is the most adorable little boy I’ve ever seen. He has his father’s coloring and hair but most notably, he has his father’s pale blue eyes. I focus on James only to avoid focusing on Joey.
If he had touched me again, I don’t think I could have handled it. I have been thinking about his touch since the last time we were together. I remember him and our time together randomly at home. I would like to say it was all his fault that we broke up, but I know deep down, that isn’t the case. I completely believed him when he said his parents would not allow him to marry me. Did it hurt to hear him say those words? Absolutely. Did I blame him? At seventeen definitely. Now, not so much. I completely understand why his parents with their country club membership and fancy cars would not want their golden child, their only son, marrying someone like me. Honestly, it wasn’t really about me, per se. More about my parents and their issues. But during our last summer together; I knew it wouldn’t last and I jumped in anyway. I gave Joey everything and I don’t regret it. I regret not chasing after him when he drove away. Every time I think about that moment, I hear that Rascal Flatts song “Cool Thing” in my head.
I find myself sitting in Memére’s chair staring at the ocean and thinking about Mrs. Jones’s advice. What do I want to do with my life? Well, I have three weeks to figure it out. While Daniel is lounging on a tropical beach in St. Kitts on our honeymoon; I must get myself together.
How do I move forward when being here takes me back down memory lane? Seeing Joey and his carbon-copy son brings up so many more questions than answers. What about James’ mom? Did he ever get married? What is he doing here?
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