Between the Tides Read Free

ripples. “It’s not the sea or the bay,” I say to the girls every time we visit a New York waterway, “but at least it’s better than no water. On a boat you can buck the current and that’s an adventure.” Now there will be horses instead of boats, woods instead of rivers. I shake my head.
    â€œDid you hear what I said, Lainie?”
    â€œI heard. Why horse country?”
    â€œThere’s nothing more lovely,” Charles says, as if we’re discussing the Impressionist wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
    â€œThe rolling hills, the privacy. Maybe you’ll want to take riding lessons, Lainie, with the girls.”
    I twist off my wedding band and twirl it on the end table. The inscription reads Love Is Eternal, not that Charles thought it up. It’s what Abe Lincoln had written in Mary Todd’s ring. I’ve often thought that the jeweler must have suggested it to Charles along with a few other ideas.
    â€œThe commute to New York is fairly painless,” Charles continues. “As long as you get yourself to the Summit train station, the trains run often enough. Plenty of express trains.”
    â€œHow far is Elliot from Summit?” I start pacing.
    Charles waves his hand and doesn’t answer. Claire starts more water dancing. Matilde puts her hands on her shoulders. “Claire, stop, please, Mom and Dad are talking.”
    Matilde smiles at Charles. I imagine that she doesn’t want to take sides. Charles is a cool dad, a fine father. He picks her up later at her friends’ apartments than I would like. He stays and chats with the parents on a casual Sunday afternoon while I’m always rushing home to get back to work. Charles permits Matilde and Tom to skip Sunday school, claiming they have too much homework to be pressured. He is the handsomest father and he’s never too tired to take the children wherever they need to go on a weekend. He takes them to musicals, to the Hayden Planetarium, to ride bikes in Central Park. Matilde loves to walk on Upper Broadway with him, stopping at Starbucks.
    â€œWhen do we move, Dad?” Matilde asks.
    â€œThat’s a very good question, Matilde. A logical question.”
    Matilde shoots Tom a triumphant glance.
    â€œWe’ll move sometime during the summer,” says Charles. “So you’ll have a little time there before school starts to get to know the place and meet some kids.”
    â€œCharles,” I say as calmly as I can, “what about the Shore?”
    â€œWe’ll have to skip it this year, Lainie. Everything is changing. For the better.”
    â€œCharles, we always go to the Shore for the summer, that’s the deal. That’s always been the deal.” My voice is hard, crisp. I’m counting on the jetties, the strong sun of summer, the smell of seaweed, the clam beds, surf fishing. Swimming.
    My husband stands up and Tom and Jack do the same. They are directly in front of my work, and although it is enormous, they are ruining a view of the lower frame made of seashells and sea glass, turtle backs and debris.
    â€œWell, maybe we could rent the house out for a month. I’m thinking aloud.… Maybe put that money toward the house in Elliot that we’ll rent first … while we shop for houses.… Getting some income from the Shore house would be useful.”
    â€œUseful,” I repeat. I walk over to the couch to sit between Matilde and Claire. The three of us melt into it, our human skin branding to the fabric.
    â€œI’m tired, Mom,” says Matilde. “Like a grandmother must feel.”
    â€œI know,” I say.
    â€œMommy, what happens to the prettiest selkie?” asks Claire. “Where does she go?”
    Charles is at the doorway and the boys are beside him. Candy is outside holding up a wooden spoon and the lid to a pot. “Do I need to bang?” she asks. “Dinnertime for the little