Cape May Read Online Free Page A

but she ate carefully and even her older clothes still fit, mostly. Infrequently she went to the gym and more frequently she thanked her slim parents for passing along their DNA.
    A couple, in their late teens or early twenties, sat kissing at a small corner table. Unable to stop herself, she stared at them. When was the last time she and Brian had really kissed? Not just a peck hello or goodbye. A few days, and nights, together away from work, commitments, and routine would do them good.
    Downing the remaining bit of soothing peppermint tea, Joanna listened to a Port Authority loudspeaker announcement in a lyrical Spanish accent: “The 2:30 bus to Atlantic City, with connections to Wildwood and Cape May, is now boarding at gate three nineteen.”
    Over the rim of her paper cup, Joanna risked one last glance at the kissing couple. After peeking (they were still kissing), she gathered her things, tossed the empty cup, and walked to the gate. She was surprised to see a line and, as she climbed aboard the bus, was again surprised to see it almost packed. Apparently one of the Atlantic City hotels was having a special mid-week offer, luring people south to the casinos, hence the crowd. Close to the front of the bus, where she preferred to sit, was an empty aisle seat next to a teenage boy with spiky black hair. The seat was comfortable and she managed to settle in, despite a strange cleaning-fluid smell.
    A raspy smoker’s voice over the bus speakers announced, too loudly, and with an awful accent, “Dis is da tooo-thurdy bus to Alanic Ciddee, wid transfuhs ta Wildwood an’ Cape May.” Her seatmate put in neon green ear buds, which emitted a steady thump thump thump. The engine also made a lot of noise. So much for a few relaxing traveling hours. Joanna pulled out her new notebook. Even if she didn’t move to Cape May, she was keeping a journal about this midlife change, or attempt at change. She loved to write but was usually too tired after work and always too self-critical. She was learning already: her first “Note to Self” was Visitors may crave quiet after a not-so-relaxing bus ride .
    Joanna looked out the window, but the kid with the headphones made a face, as if she was intruding on his space. So instead, she gazed at the rainbow pattern on the back of the headrest on the seat in front.
    She concentrated, and jotted down: “ After twenty years of marriage, a woman and her accountant husband contemplate moving from Manhattan to buy and run a B&B, far away from the noise and crowds of the city. ”
    Wow. Individual days might be long and draining, but years really did fly by. Twenty years of marriage.
    Her seatmate turned up his volume and through the thumping she could hear the screaming of the singer. The bus driver was loudly conversing with a passenger, too. She needed to move away from the noise. She craned her neck and saw, all the way in the back, a few empty seats. Grabbing her overnight bag, she stood up, and carefully inched her way to the back of the bus, hurrying to find a seat. She wanted to sit alone and spread out but there weren’t two empty seats together. The bus made a turn and she almost fell in someone’s lap.
    “Please siddown, ma’am,” came the voice over the speakers. Joanna assumed the driver’s concern for her well-being was rooted in the bus company’s reluctance to be sued.
    There were three empty seats: her prospective trip mates were a sleeping woman, a very large man, and a man who was reading. She decided on the woman, who suddenly snored, so she sat down next to the reader. He didn’t look up or budge an inch.
    She settled in: bag at her feet, notebook on her lap, pencil in her hand…and nothing in her mind. One sentence completed, she was already losing concentration. Was that age? Postmenopause? Disinterest? Or did she just desperately need to relax.
    Too often lately she’d been feeling that, about to turn sixty, “It’s all downhill from here.” Sixty now wasn’t