Ready to Fall: A Novel (Signed Copy)

Where can a 40-ish woman turn when her marriage has gone stale and her kids treat her like an unpaid chauffeur? In Beth Riordan's case, it's to cyberspace. She takes a zany romp with love through wry, revelatory e-mails to Thomas, her handsome neighbor in a New England suburb, travel writer in the middle of a divorce.
Although the families have not previously been close, Thomas asks Beth to attend to his pet rabbits while he is away researching a new travel guide. Beth begins to confide her own unhappiness in series of poignant yet funny e-mails to Thomas while he is on the road. Nothing in Beth Riordan's life is about her. She drives her daughters to endless swim practices. Her husband no longer notices her. Her best friend is self-absorbed. The baby of the family is 10 and needs her less every day.
Thomas replies cautiously at first to Beth's stories of truck drivers who ignore her for her nubile daughters, family conversations that repeatedly fail to focus on her needs, a week-long excursion to a self-discovery camp with a feminist girlfriend. When Thomas returns from his trip, longing and love, family and friendship combine to produce a climax that surprises Beth and the reader alike.

Excerpt

Date: Friday, June 5, 1:03 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Apology to Thomas Marsh from Beth Riordan

Thank goodness! I found your e-mail address on theback of your lovely travel book, Walden Pond and ItsEnvirons: The Transcendentalist's Tour. I am writing toapologize again for this morning's incident at thelibrary. I assure you that it was quite by accident thatyour book made it into the stack I was dropping off atthe library's "Take It or Leave It" pile.

As I explained during our brief encounter, I had spentthe morning weeding out my children's bookshelves,deciding that Charlotte's Web could stay but Goosebumpswould have to go, that sort of thing. I hadn'teven attempted to thin out my own collection, otherthan to grab a couple of paperback novels I was sure I'dnever look at again. I must also add that I was only contemplatingfiction this morning, which should be furtherproof that discarding your guidebook was anhonest mistake.

And what an awful coincidence that you should happenby at the very moment I was abandoning yourbook. I was so humiliated when you picked it up, wroteBest Wishes, Thomas Marsh with an elegant flourish, andhanded it back to me. If that wasn't enough to makeme suffer from terminal embarrassment, I discoveredyou were the same Thomas Marsh who lives next door.And I'd always thought you were in sales.

I don't mean to pressure you, but unless I am sure youhave forgiven me, I will find it difficult to leave myhouse for fear of running into you. By the way, I rereadyour entire book the moment I got home from thelibrary. I must say it was even better the second timearound. During my original reading I may have beentoo focused on planning a family outing to fully appreciateits scope. I particularly like Thoreau's statementabout how he put a piece of paper under his pillow sothat he could write in the dark if he couldn't sleep, andthe way you tied it in with the suggestion that thereader consider keeping a travel journal.

I hope this e-mail finds you since I'm not sure I'd havethe nerve to seek you out in person. I don't think I everquite believe that e-mail will actually get to its intendedrecipient, but that might be because I haven't beenonline for very long. That is the appropriate expression,isn't it? I always want to say inline, but then I rememberthat inline is for skates and supermarkets.

Well, Thomas, I'll bet you're in the middle of writinganother wonderful book, so I won't keep you.

Here goes. I'm going to push Send now.

Date: Friday, June 5, 1:10 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Thank you

Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I did halfexpect you to simply open your window, stick your headout, and yell, "I forgive you, Beth!" across our yards.

Oh, and it was sweet of you to tell me that my e-mailwas perfectly sent and that I have "the makings oftechno talent". Not even close to being true, but niceto hear anyway. Sometimes I wonder how it is that I livein a house bursting with computers and yet have managedto stay so functionally illiterate. It seems that myfamily moved into the computer world and I was leftbehind licking my stamps.

You see, my children meet their friends in private cyberrooms to talk in fancy fonts and brilliantly coloredwords. They send each other mysterious communicationsthey refer to as IMs, which I eventually cameto understand simply means "Instant Messages",although it sounds far more menacing. My husband,Pete, spends his workday surrounded by the trappingsof this new world. Each day he comes home from workI understand him less, not that he ever suggests bringingme up-to-date. If you asked me what his companydoes, I would have to say that all I really know is at onetime they invented a kind of improved track for the ballof the computer mouse to roll around in. It seems, ifyou turn your mouse upside down and unscrew itsunderside (something I admit I couldn't bring myself todo), there is a free-rolling ball inside that must beguided but not inhibited by a collection of tiny metalstrips. Apparently Pete's company improved the existingtechnology with just the right combination of slipand grip so that the mouse could more efficiently escortthat tiny little arrow around the computer screen. Thatwas several years ago, and probably the last computerdevelopment I understood in any real depth.

Well, enough about me. Again, I greatly appreciateyour forgiveness, and I thank you for upgrading mytechno self-image.

Oh, I almost forgot. I was so sorry to hear about yourmarital troubles. I'm glad you felt you could talk to meabout them and that you could even ask me for a favor.Of course I'll help you out. I'm always happy to help aneighbor, especially one who has forgiven me for mycompletely unintentional insult.

Date: Friday, June 5, 10:12 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Quick Question

This is absolutely none of my business but do you haveany idea why your wife left you? Feel free not to answerthat, Thomas. And let me assure you that, whatever youranswer, should you decide to answer, I will still be happyto keep an eye on your house whenever you travel.

I guess I've just been wondering lately about relationships.Exactly how happy should one expect to be atthis stage of one's life?

Date: Friday, June 5, 11:25 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: What a Nice Surprise

I didn't think you'd be awake and reading your mail solate at night, and I certainly didn't expect you to answerso promptly. But, what you said about relationships—that"everything has a shelf life, be it marriage or brusselssprouts". Do you really think that's true? Do youthink there's an expiration date stamped on some out-of-the-waycorner of every marriage?

Date: Saturday, June 6, 9:02 A.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Your Opinion, Please

Do you have a minute, Thomas? Pete has taken thegirls to swim practice, our son P.J. is watching cartoons,and I really could use someone to talk to. I did try totalk to my husband earlier but that wasn't exactlya resounding success. I got up this morning when hedid, even though technically it's my morning to sleepin, put on a pot of coffee and brought in the paperwhile he was taking a shower, I even made blueberrypancakes.

"Pete," I said, before the kids came downstairs. "I'msorry I've been so grouchy lately. Maybe we should tryto talk about it. Because it seems to me as if everythingis about someone else. Either you or the kids or thehouse. I feel as if the only time anyone even talks to meis to complain or criticize or to place an order for somethingthey need."

"Uh-hmm."

"Uh-hmm? That's all you have to say—uh-hmm?"

And my husband of almost two decades put down hisfork and looked at me over his reading glasses. He tookoff his glasses, placed them on the newspaper besidehis plate and said, "I think I'm getting conjunctivitis inmy right eye."

Answer me this, Thomas, if I'm not too presumptuous.Does it sound to you like Pete and I are having maritalproblems, and, if so, how do they compare with yours?

Date: Saturday, June 6, 10:37 A.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Seriously?

I can't believe you once forgot your wife's name whenyou were introducing her to someone. That's really bad,Thomas. Thank you for making me laugh, whether ornot it's actually true or you made it up just to make mefeel better.

Date: Sunday, June 7, 12:03 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Quick Note

Pete and I will be leaving soon to pick up the kids fromtheir overnight at his parents' house. I'm glad I have lastnight to think about because my day will consist ofPete's mother's overcooked roast and the recirculatedcomments about the sorry state of the world that passfor conversation with my in-laws. I'm sure I could transcribethe whole visit in advance right now, and whenI return tonight to check my work, I might be off byonly three or four sentences.

Let me just say, before I rush off, how happy I was torun into you in the dark last night. Pete and I were havingan impromptu cookout, an idea he came up withon the way home from his parents' house. "So, honey,how about having a few people over tonight?" heasked in a voice that was a little too cheery. Lately weboth jump to fill our house back up whenever it emptiesof kids.

I said "yes" to the cookout just as cheerily, looking overat Pete as he was driving. Pete has the kind of looks thatmake him seem less substantial as the years go by. Hishair is turning pale instead of grey, his skin is somehowlighter. He's getting shorter, I think, as if gravity werepulling his tall lanky body closer to the ground. I felt aburst of sympathy for him, until it occurred to me thathe's probably aging better than I am.

When we got home, Pete made some phone calls whileI dashed out to the store. And the cookout was fine, ifpredictable. All of the guests stayed outside until themosquitoes chased them home or into the shelter ofour screened porch. I had just wandered back outsideto see if there were any stray napkins or paper platesthat needed to be picked up. And there you were,standing at the junction of our yards. Even with thatsalt-and-pepper hair and mustache, in the dark youlooked almost like a teenager. Maybe it was the wrinkledT-shirt you wore with your jeans, or the fact thatyou're in amazingly good shape for a man who mustbe ... how old?

Pete is downstairs yelling for me. Bye for now.

Date: Sunday, June 7, 7:26 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Continued

I'm back and do you know what I wondered about allday? I know you're always traveling, but how is it thatwe've lived next to each other for years and years andnever even had a real conversation? Is it a New Englandthing or something that only happens in certain suburbsof Boston, this studious ignoring of one's neighbors?Or is neighborliness a dying convention, likeattending town meetings and taking trash to thedump?

How many years have we casually avoided each other?If I passed your driveway to pull into my own while youwere standing in your yard, you would look up atthe trees as if you had just noticed an unusual bird,maybe the yellowest oriole or even a lost tern that hadwandered inland. Or you might squat down to theshrubbery as if you were inspecting for mites or rust orwhatever rhododendrons are likely to catch.

It went both ways. If I drove in, my daughters in the car,returning from the morning swim practice, not quite 8A.M. and I'd been out for over three hours already, Imight pass you heading out for another one of yourtrips. If we couldn't avoid a wave, it was done withouteye contact and with only the most superficial of smiles.Imagine sharing a small road, and each of us acting asif the other didn't exist.

I think somewhere along the line we had decided notto like each other. Do you remember? I have to admitto thinking—maybe it was the way you draped yoursweaters around your shoulders and knotted themjauntily at your chest—that you were arrogant and self-absorbed.A bit priggish I'd have to say to be completelyhonest.

And then, last night. I was startled by your "Hello, Beth"as it broke through the muffled noises from the backporch and the harmony of insect sounds. In the darkyour voice was deeper than I remembered from thelibrary, the remnants of a midwest accent more pronounced.

Please excuse abrupt sign-off. Entire family has suddenurgent need to go online.

Date: Sunday, June 7, 9:29 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Pardon Me?

What do you mean you thought of me in the past asharried, sort of a cross between hurried and worried?

Date: Sunday, June 7, 11:11 P.M. EDT

From: SwimSlave

To: Wanderlust

Subj: Okay, Truce

I agree, let's put past impressions behind us.

And I did want to say again, Thomas, how much Ienjoyed last night, enjoyed standing with you at theintersection of our properties and talking the nightaway. Do you know that it was after midnight when Icame inside to find the last of the guests gone and myhusband, fully clothed, snoring loudly on my side of thebed? I tried to take the fact that he was on my side ofthe bed as a sign that he had missed me, that he'dtossed and turned, wondering where I was and whathandsome stranger I might be talking to in the dark. Ofcourse, in the morning Pete merely asked, "So whattime did we go to bed, anyway?"

I'd like to say, too, that I am so very sorry that your wifehas disappeared without a trace. It must have beenawful to return from weeks and weeks away, which ofcourse you need to do in your line of work, who canblame you there, and find someone you've been marriedto forever gone and not know where or for howlong. And then to have your grown children refusing tospeak to you on the phone. You seemed so sad, soneeding to talk, and I'm happy you felt that you couldtalk to me.

And then your story about the rabbits ... what was ityou said? You had just liberated two domestic slavesfrom their inhumane captivity. Simply opened the doorof their hutch, their prison, removed their figurativeshackles, and allowed them the freedom nature hadintended for them. Instinct will provide for them, youassured me, and I wondered if you were thinking aboutyourself, too.

It just occurred to me that I should have invited you tothe cookout. How rude of me. You didn't wander overbecause you were hungry, did you? I'll remember to bemore considerate in the future.

Good night.

Continues...

Excerpted from Ready to Fallby Claire Cook Copyright © 2003 by Claire Cook. Excerpted by permission.
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Copyright © 2003 Claire Cook
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