Chapter 2
The drive to Maine from New Jersey was too long to accomplish in one day, and so they'd stayed overnight in Boston, gone to a couple of jazz clubs, and continued early the next morning.
"Oh, it's lovely," Abby sighed as they followed the coastal road that snaked around Penobscot Bay.
"You know, it's funny," Mike said. "I thought this was going to be a pain in the ass at first, but now I'm really getting into it. I may be able to get some writing done after all."
With a smile, Abby reached-over and squeezed his hand. Everything was working like a charm. Already he seemed like a different person.
"We'll have to get some groceries first on the mainland and then find someone to take us over in a boat."
"Great. Let's get enough supplies for three days so we can just hole up there and enjoy ourselves. God, I can't believe the weather, it's fantastic!" Mike exclaimed.
Though it was mid-October, the sky was clear and blue and the temperature brisk but not uncomfortably so. It was the best time of the year for Maine, Mike thought. The mosquitoes would be gone now, the island deserted, and the nights just cool enough to enjoy a cozy wood fire. Hell, once he got into the swing of things his writing would come easily. He knew, of course, that Abby hadn't just suggested coming here for that reason ... she had something else on her mind, and he certainly couldn't blame her.
He knew he'd been neglecting her in bed recently, but he wasn't sure exactly why. It was tied in to something much deeper, more complicated, than sex alone, and if it could be summarized in one word, that word would have to be boredom.
Yes, boredom, he chuckled to himself. Here he was at the age of twenty-eight, already a published poet with a comfortable position in a small New Jersey college. It was everything he'd dreamed of and the struggle to achieve it hadn't really been that difficult, which of course was part of the problem. He wished now that he'd done something like ship but on a merchant marine vessel or gone to live in Paris. It would have been more romantic, more adventurous. But no, instead he and Abby had become boring and middle-class, having sacrificed their freedom for security.
"Well, at least you don't have to work in an advertising agency," Abby had cheered him numerous times, but what was the difference? Mike asked himself. Teaching was a day-to-day job with responsibilities and long stretches of boring moments as well as some stimulating ones. Sure, he enjoyed teaching writing courses ... the only problem was that he felt life was beginning to close in.
He knew Abby wasn't fond of the way he'd been drinking lately, coming home and passing out in bed shortly after dinner, and while he knew it, there wasn't much he could do to change it. It was all connected with the boredom, the feeling of being trapped, the fact that he wasn't able to write anymore the way he used to and had failed to publish anything in a period of two years.
If only there were some escape, something different ... a woman, maybe. Yes, that was it, even though he didn't relish the thought of cheating on Abby. Hell, she was good in bed, in fact a lot better than he'd been lately, she wasn't bitchy or whiny, and yet there was a certain excitement in having another woman ... a woman like Linda Grover, for example, Pete Grover's wife.
As he thought of her, Mike recalled the cocktail party over at Pete's house some months ago. Linda, who was almost forty but trim and svelte and in fact much younger-looking than her age, had come over to where he was sitting and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Mike, dear, could you help me, please? I have an awfully heavy tray in the kitchen."
"Of course," he'd said, not aware of what was really on her mind until a moment later when they were alone together. Suddenly without warning her hands were on his shoulders and she was pressing her body tightly against his.
"God, I get so tired of these empty intellectual discussions sometimes," she whispered almost desperately, and before Mike knew what was happening, they were locked in a tight embrace, her lips hot against his, her tongue swirling inside his mouth, hungrily, eagerly, as though she desperately desired his body.
He hardly knew what hit him then, and of course he'd never mentioned the incident to Abby, but lately he found himself thinking of Linda quite a lot. He knew something was going to happen between them. It was bound to ... it was just a matter of time.
As the road sign for the small town of Castine came up, Mike's mind returned to the present.
"Well, here we are," Abby said excitedly. "Oh, Mike, we're going to have a beautiful time, I'm sure of it."
They stopped at the food store first, picking up several days' worth of supplies from Amos Shucker, who greeted them warmly even though he hadn't seen Abby in years.
"Long time since you been up heah," he laughed. "Sure I can't sell you some long Johns? Gonna be cold over there at night."
"We brought our own, Amos. I'm sure well get along fine."
"Never can tell. Cold snap might come up, might get fogged in over there."
"Amos, is there anybody who can take us over to the island?" Abby asked.
"Eah, Tony Warren over at the marina's got a boat. You'll probably catch him now."
Mike straggled with the large carton full of food and supplies, and in a few minutes they were in Warren's boat heading across the bay to Lobster Island. The trees lining the shore in the distance had already turned to their fall colors, presenting a startling scene of orange and gold and yellow. A light breeze skimmed the bay, and as Mike took a deep breath, his lungs were filled with clean pure air. Abby's idea had been a good one all right. He would really enjoy staying here for a few days, he was sure of it.
"You may have company," Warren suddenly piped up from the stern as he guided the boat toward the landing dock.
"Oh, what do you mean?"
"Word is, there's some other people on the island. Or were. Not sure if they're still there or not."
Abby and Mike exchanged puzzled glances. Her parents had assured them the island was deserted now, that everyone had returned home. So it was a surprise to hear Warren's news.
"What the hell," Mike shrugged. "Well stay out of their way, and they'll stay out of ours." And with that they stepped out of the boat as it jolted to a stop against the dock.
About an hour later Mike had gone out to check the motor on Abby's parents' boat and make sure it was in working condition, leaving Abby to sort out the supplies and store them away.
I really love this place, his wife was thinking as she set about her task, stacking the canned goods in the cabinets, putting the perishables away in the propane-powered refrigerator. When she'd finished she took a short walk outside the cottage, reveling in their isolation, the beauty of the surroundings. Tall birch trees swung gracefully in the light breeze, the fluffy clouds overhead glided idly by, and the only sound was the crunching of twigs and leaves underfoot. She was certain that a long weekend here would be good for both of them.
Returning to the cottage, Abby headed into the large spacious bedroom to undress, feeling as she removed her garments that she was stepping out of the confinement of their life at the college into a new, if temporary, freedom. They were alone together, she could do anything she wanted, even walk around naked if she wished.
Which was exactly what she felt like doing at the moment. Clad only in her brassiere and thin filmy panties she stood in front of a full length mirror, surveying herself appraisingly, as though she-were an outsider looking in. What she saw pleased her. Her legs were long and willowy, her hips well-rounded and flaring, her breasts firm and full, still high-set and crowned by the tips of her tiny red nipples, visible even through the confines of her brassiere.
She was sure now that with Mike in a different environment, their sex life would begin to improve until if was as good as it had been years ago. How could Mike resist her? she wondered. How could any man resist her? She turned and pirouetted as though she were a model, craning her neck to get a view from the rear. Her short blonde hair curved inward over the back of her neck, her shoulders were smooth, the curve of her spine long and sensual. No, there's nothing wrong with me at all, she thought. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could arouse the old spark in Mike just as soon as he walked through the door. It would be nice to do it spontaneously for once, right in the middle of the afternoon, instead of waiting until bedtime. As the thought ran through her mind, she could hear a rustling noise outside the window, and her ears suddenly perked up.
"Mike, is that you? Mike?"
But there was no answer. She walked to the window and peered outside in time to see something or someone scurrying through the woods away from the cabin. At first she thought it might have been an animal, but no ... through the trees she could see flashes of a black-and-red hunting jacket. It looked as though Tony Warren was right. There was someone else on the island, and he was certainly acting peculiarly. She wondered how long whoever it was had been standing around ogling her as she paraded in front of the mirror half-naked. The thought of strangers intruding on her paradise caused a slight chill to run up her spine, and she was glad when Mike came back up from the dock a few moments later.
"Well, look at you," he laughed. "It certainly looks like you slipped into something comfortable."
"Mike, did you see anybody or hear anything? I think there was somebody outside the window watching me."
"Probably just a raccoon."
"Raccoons don't wear hunting jackets, do they?"