A Last Lunch

One of the many quirks of small towns like Confluence is that the residents here all seem to vacation in common places. Rest assured, we don’t all go to the same place together, but many folks enjoy their summer sojourns on Coulter Point. There, they own or rent houses, spend a week or two away from our village here, and relax.

I’ve been out to Coulter Point a few times. It’s an old fishing town filled with cedar-shingled houses weathered gray by years of exposure. Most of the places there are modest in comparison to some of the beach mansions I’ve seen, and they all have a fair spit of land to call their own. The village sits on the land side of a peninsula, and the houses extend outward into the bay like an upside-down comma. You can drive there in just a few hours.

As Marilyn’s semester in New York came to an end, she felt more and more dread about returning to Confluence. Her father’s letter, as well as the last phone call with her mother, assured Marilyn that her parents were disappointed with her. Besides, she was turning twenty years old this summer. What on earth would a woman her age do around town? She certainly didn’t want to face two months of living with her parents, dreading whenever the subject of Victor Salarino came about.

“I cannot help but question the decency of a man who would roll about on the deck of a boat with you in broad daylight,” her mother had said on the telephone. “Did you know that people still ask us if you’re running around with that hooligan?”

“He’s not a hooligan, Mother,” Marilyn replied. “He’s a good man, and he’s quite responsible. I’ve explained the entire situation to you before. He practically saved me from going overboard!”

“Well, you had no business gallivanting around on a sailboat, anyway!” she said. “Of all things! We told people you were there to learn and study. We expected you to be studying, to be behaving, and then you show up in the gossip pages with some New York playboy.”

And on her mother went. They had raised her better than that. This was no way of acting like a lady. There was a reputation at stake—the whole family looked bad because of this. They were embarrassed. Marilyn had made them look like liars.

So it was with great relief to Marilyn when a letter arrived from one of her oldest friends from Confluence, Alice Broadman. It read:

Dear Marilyn,

How are you? When are you coming home for the summer? The terms at Meredith end early, and I’ve been home for a week. It’s awfully boring here in town.

Anyway, I wanted to ask: won’t you come to Coulter Point with me this summer? My family will spend the whole season there, and I know it would be fun to spend the time with you. Write back.

Love,
Alice

Marilyn didn’t hesitate to go directly to her desk, pull out her stationery, and respond immediately. Nothing could be better, she said. With that looming and awkward matter out of the way, Marilyn faced another before she left New York: what to say to Victor. They had arranged a lunch together on the Saturday before she left for Confluence.

It was already summer-hot when Victor picked Marilyn up in his convertible. They decided on a favorite restaurant called Wyatt’s and sat at a table on the sidewalk. Victor ordered a steak sandwich, and Marilyn had a cold salad.

If you’ve ever had a lunch like this one, in which two people sit and attempt to delay an uncomfortable conversation, you’ll know that it wasn’t until the waiter brought the check that either of them brought up the simple subject that Marilyn was leaving New York in less than a week.

“I’m going to miss this, Victor,” she said to him. “I’m going to miss coming here for lunch, and I’m going to miss having lunch with you.”

Victor nodded and wiped his chin off with his napkin. He took an extra moment to fold it carefully before he placed it on the table. He was thinking through what he would say. Finally: “I’m going to miss having lunch with you, too.”

Marilyn waited for a few seconds to gather a bit of courage. “You know, Victor, I---“

“Before you say anything else,” he interrupted, “would you mind if I tell you something?”

She smiled. “Not at all.”

“I’ve had a wonderful time with you the last few months, and I want you to know that I care about you a lot. I know the entire mess with your parents has been rough on you, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Well, I am. It would be rough on me, and I know it’s a mess for you. I’ve never met your mother and father, but I’m quite sure they don’t like me.”

“But if they only got to know you—“

“If they only got to know me, I’m sure things would be worse,” he grinned. “So we’re here now having lunch at our favorite place, and we’ve got this awful thing lurking about with you going home, and I want to save you a bit of trouble.”

He paused to let the waiter clear their plates. “If you want to get back on the train home and take the memories of a great time in New York with you, that’s fine. I will try to be the gentleman that nobody in your family could possibly imagine me to be, and I will let you go.”

Marilyn felt the pit of her stomach drop a bit. “I’m not sure that’s what I want.”

“Me either,” he said. Suddenly he laughed. “But I’m not sure how on earth this would ever work out.”

She reached across the table for his hand. “Victor, I’m not going home this summer. I’m going out to Coulter Point with a friend of mine and her family. I’ll be there by the first of June.”

When Marilyn had sat down at this restaurant table, she had carried with her the difficult understanding that when they left, she and Victor would part ways. A springtime romance would only be that, and nothing more. She had been careful all along to keep her emotion in check, to remind herself to feel strong, to leave with a calm face.

Suddenly, though, she wasn’t so sure of herself.

Victor smiled. “Really? Couldn’t bear the thought of your mother and father pressing you all summer long?”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“No summer volleyball leagues?”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll have games organized at Coulter Point.”

“What will you do all summer? I know you—you’re not the kind to just lollygag about on the beach. I didn’t know people still went to Coulter Point.”

Marilyn felt her face flush with the slightest embarrassment. “Of course people still go there.”

“There’s nothing to do!”

“But isn’t that the point?”

Victor laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’d go a bit crazy there, I think.”

“You might if you had to stay there all summer long,” she conceded. “My friend Alice’s family owns an inn on the point. They don’t live there or run the place, but they do spend summers living in the main house. Why don’t you come out and stay a couple of days?”

“And what exactly would I fill my time with?” Victor asked.

“I imagine you could take me to lunch,” she said.