Caribou Island (19 page)

As they hoisted the last full sheet, Gary was getting excited, the end in sight. She held while he went inside to nail. His head poking up through the joists, one arm slung around to nail from above.

Only the back row now, he said. We’ll have a roof over our heads tonight.

It’s getting dark, she said.

We’ll do it by flashlight.

So Irene brought out flashlights from her tent. We should have headlamps, Gary said. I wish you would have bought headlamps. And these flashlights are cheap. We’ll be lucky if they last. Irene at fault again. If they didn’t get the roof on tonight, it would be her fault.

Irene brought her stepstool around to the back wall, tried to plant the legs firmly enough so she wouldn’t totter. She stepped up and Gary handed her a sheet. The smaller sheets much lighter, but still difficult to raise over her head. She was tired and hungry and cold and her head was knifing. She pushed upward but wasn’t tall enough to get the sheet to flop over onto the roof. It only pointed into the sky.

Damn it, Gary said. Just drop it.

She let it fall into an alder bush.

I’ll have to do this myself. Bring your stool around front.

Irene went to the front and helped heave the piece onto the roof, then held it in place while he went inside. His head poking up between the joists, he grabbed the sheet and slid it upward. Fucking flashlight, he said. We needed headlamps. I can’t hold the piece and hold a nail and a hammer and a flashlight. I don’t have four fucking hands.

I’ll hold a flashlight from here, Irene said. And if you give me a stick or something, I might be able to keep the piece from slipping.

Fine, Gary said. Just hurry up. I can’t hold this forever.

Irene looked around the woodpile for a stick, trying to hurry, but she didn’t see anything. Starting to feel panicked. Gary waiting.

Just get the boat hook, he shouted. Go to the boat. I can’t fucking hold this much longer.

She walked as fast as she could to the boat, running when possible, the flashlight beam jumping around grass and snow. The boat bumping and scraping in small waves. She climbed over the bow, her flashlight beam bright against all the aluminum, and found the boat hook, hurried back to the cabin.

Here it is, she called out. She used the boat hook to push at the lower edge of the sheet. Other hand holding the flashlight, afraid she might fall, standing on the top step of the stool.

Okay, Gary said. He adjusted the sheet a bit. Now hold it there and keep the light on it.

Gary nailed the sheet along the joists, then asked for the next.

I’ll need help lifting it onto the roof, Irene said.

Fine, Gary said, and he came around, tossed it up by himself. Just hold it now, he said.

He was back inside and nailing, and they did two more sheets, utterly dark, the beam bright off the aluminum, the roof a kind of reflector. They could have been building a spacecraft, Irene thought, something meant to rise up into this night and take them away from the world. A strange thing they were doing out here. A man and his slave, building his machine.

Gary heaved the last piece in place, went around inside, and then wasn’t sure what to do. This one closes the gap, he said. I can’t get my hand outside to hammer. I shouldn’t have put those two-by-fours in yet to block the side gap. Hold it and just wait a minute.

Gary moved his stool outside the back wall, then the side wall. Damn it, he said. Not quite tall enough. The ground’s too low.

The ground’s fault, Irene thought. If they had better ground, it would know to rise up. She held the boat hook and flashlight, tried to stay balanced on the stool. This was her part in the circus.

Gary let out a little grunt-scream thing of frustration. No planning, ever, his entire life. Just throwing himself from one obstacle to the next, blaming the world and Irene.

Fuck, he said. I’m gonna have to climb onto the fucking roof. I can’t do it any other way.

Irene didn’t say anything. Just did her job.

Gary brought his stool beside her and let out another little scream of frustration. Nothing to grab on to, he said. So he took his stool back inside. Give me some room, he said. Move the sheet.

Irene let the sheet slide down toward her.

More, he said, so she let it slide farther, then saw his hands on the joist. He yanked himself upward and got one leg onto the roof. Growling, working that leg out farther, pushing down with his heel, trying to leverage. Finally pulled up sideways and made it.

I need the hammer, he said. It’s inside.

What about the sheet?

I’ll hold it. Just get the hammer.

Irene stepped down, walked around quickly, handed him the hammer, and returned to her station. Gary slid the sheet into place, she held it with the boat hook, and he nailed.

Okay, he said. We have a roof. Then he looked around. Not sure how I’m getting down, he said.

I’ll get out of the way, Irene said, and climbed down off her stool.

Nothing to hold on to, he said. But because of the slant, I should be able to hang off the back. Go around with the flashlight. We have to find a safe place for me to jump down.

Irene ran around quick, shone her light all along the back, moved a pile of garbage bags, their food, and found a mossy patch that seemed soft. This looks good, she said. A bunch of moss.

Okay, keep your light on it. And he lowered himself off the back, hopped down a few feet, easy enough.

Let’s tack up the window, he said, so the wind doesn’t come in. We can leave the back door for now.

Are we spending the night in there?

Yeah, of course.

With all the gaps? Wind and snow are going to come in, right?

It’s not perfect.

Why not use the tents another night?

Why are you like this?

Like what?

Get that light out of my face, he said, slapping it away. And don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.

I’ve been helping you, she said. All day and now at night.

You help, but you’ve also been letting me know what you think of me, every few days, how I’ve destroyed your life, separated you from everyone. So maybe it’s time I let you know what I think of you.

Stop it, Gary. Don’t do this.

No. I’m going to let you have it like you’ve been letting me have it.

Gary, I’m trying here. I’m building your cabin in the dark. I haven’t had any food since the oatmeal this morning.

My cabin, Gary said. See? That’s what I mean. Our whole lives, my fucking fault. No choice of yours. Not your fault you have no friends. You’re a social misfit. That’s why you don’t have any friends.

Stop, Gary. Please.

No, I think I’m enjoying this. I think I’m going to sink my teeth into this.

Irene started crying. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it.

Cry your fucking eyes out, he said. If it weren’t for you, I would have left this place. I might even have become a professor, finally. But you wanted kids, and then I had to support the kids, and build more rooms on the house. I got trapped in a life that wasn’t really me. Building boats and fishing. I was working on a dissertation. A
dissertation.
That’s what I was supposed to be doing.

The unfairness was too much for Irene. She couldn’t speak. She kneeled on the ground and cried.

Misery loves company, he said. And all you wanted to do was drag me down with you. You’re a mean old bitch. You don’t say it, but you’re thinking it, always judging. Gary doesn’t know what he’s doing. Gary hasn’t planned a thing, hasn’t thought ahead. Always a little bit of judgment. A mean old bitch.

You’re a monster, she said.

See? I’m a monster. I’m the fucking monster.

The satellite phone arrived by UPS in the afternoon. A yellow Pelican case, watertight, the phone tucked inside, padded in foam. Power cords for AC and DC, a packet of adaptors for anywhere in the world. The kind of thing only Jim could afford. A slow day at work, so Rhoda sat at her desk and read the instructions, plugged in the phone to get it charging. She had already bought two golf cart batteries, so her mom would be able to recharge using the DC plug.

At five p.m., she packed up and drove home. A full wedding planning kit from the resort on Kauai had also arrived today, so she was looking forward to opening that. She and Jim would sit on the couch and look through everything.

But when she arrived, Jim was already working out, running on the orbital.

Hiya, he said between huffs. He talked differently now, perky speech. Hiya and you betcha. She didn’t know what was going on. He had a new receptionist, and she spoke like that, so maybe it was rubbing off.

Rhoda put the Pelican case on the bar, and the wedding planning packet. She might as well start fixing dinner. His workouts were getting longer and longer. He’d be at it for at least an hour and a half, every day now, and then he’d have to take a shower. Then dinner and early to bed. They were right here in the same room together, but he didn’t like to talk when he worked out, and he had his iPod going anyway.

Rhoda opened the fridge, and she wondered how much of Jim she was marrying. What percentage. Ten percent of his attention, some larger percentage of his affection, ninety percent of his daily needs and errands, some percentage of his body, a small percentage of his history. She wondered what she was signing up for. Half of his money. She didn’t like to think of it that way. They were supposed to be joining their lives together. They were supposed to be sitting together on the couch right now, looking at the sunset and the brochures.

Salmon, halibut, caribou, chicken. None of it appealed. She didn’t feel like cooking. So she closed the fridge and walked over to Jim. She waited until he pulled out his earphones. He looked like hell, sweaty and splotchy. I’m gonna grab a pizza, she said. I don’t feel like cooking.

He was huffing hard. I don’t know about pizza, he said. All that cheese. Not good for the muffin top.

He had started calling his gut a muffin top, and he was on a diet. No alcohol or desserts or dairy.

I feel like pizza, she said.

How about a big salad. Can you fix us a big salad, honey?

Quit calling me honey. What the fuck has happened to you? Who are you?

Rhoda. What’s wrong? Maybe you need to work out more, too. Make it every day. You’ll feel better.

Rhoda looked down at her stomach. She was still slim. She ran three times a week, and that was fine. How did her running not count as a workout? I’m fine, she said. I don’t need to work out more.

I’m not saying anything about your weight. I’m just saying you might feel better.

This is a dumb conversation, Rhoda said. I’m not having this. I want to talk about other things. The satellite phone arrived, so I have to get that out to my mom. And the wedding planning kit arrived, so we need to look at that this evening.

I don’t know about this evening, honey. Maybe this weekend, when we have more time.

Rhoda felt so angry suddenly she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to say anything bad. This was supposed to be their happy time, planning their wedding and honeymoon. So she just nodded and walked away, back to the fridge. They had some lettuce and tomato, an unripe avocado, smoked salmon, of course, that she could throw in. Pine nuts. Enough for a salad. Some cucumber left over. So fine, they’d have a salad. No need to fix it now. He wouldn’t be ready for another hour and a half at least.

Rhoda walked into the bedroom, ran the bath, and stripped. Lay down on the bed naked, waited for the tub to fill. Felt a little cold but didn’t care. Looked up at the ceiling. None of this was working out the way she had planned, and she couldn’t even really think about it, anyway, because she was thinking about her mother all the time. Her mother saying she wanted to do something worse than throw a bowl through the window. She meant it. Rhoda could tell. She wanted to destroy. And how had that happened?

Rhoda sighed and went to sit in the water, even though the tub wasn’t full yet. Added bubble bath. Like one of the dogs at work, waiting to be scrubbed. She put her arms around her knees and laid her head against them. Tried to focus on her breath and stop thinking, the hot water rising up.

When it was full, she turned off the faucet and laid back, closed her eyes. Smelled pear and vanilla, the bubble bath, too strong. Her body long and slim and weightless. She thought about a water wedding, just for fun. Everyone wearing scuba gear and weight belts, held to the ocean floor. Light brown sand rippling in wave patterns, a white wedding arch anchored down. A wall of coral for backdrop as she held Jim’s hands, looking at his face pinched in a mask, a regulator in his mouth, lips pale pink. The guests arrayed in the sand watching, the women’s dresses creating great colored plumes in the current, far-off coral tufts and fish gliding by. A parrotfish, lime and turquoise, swimming past Rhoda’s feet.

Rhoda smiled. If only a dream could be made instantly. No arrangements. She could decide this was the wedding she wanted, and poof, it would happen. She didn’t like waiting.

Rhoda dozed off, woke with a start, not sure at first where she was. The shower running, Jim finished with his workout. The bath water no longer hot. She rose and dried off, dressed, walked into the kitchen. Felt sluggish as she fixed the salad, no interest in the food. Over a week since they’d had sex, a very long time for them. She wondered what was wrong.

Jim came out just as she had the salad and plates on the table.

Fabu, he said. Another of the perky new phrases.

Panacotta, she said.

What?

Just sounded like it went with fabu.

Hm, Jim said. Then he served himself some salad. Raised the tongs too high. Made an arc in the air with each serving. As if this were a performance.

I’m worried about my mom, she said.

Yeah.

I need to get that phone to her right away. I need to be able to talk with her.

Jim munched on a big mouthful of lettuce. Looking outside, at the deck lit by floodlights, not at Rhoda. He finished chewing, then gulped half a glass of water. Thirsty, he said. After working out.

I’m really worried about her.

Jim stabbed another bunch of lettuce on his fork but then paused and gave her a quick look. Next time they’re in, he said. You can run it out to the house.

No. I need to talk with her now.

Jim stuffed the lettuce in his mouth. Stared at his plate while he chewed. Then gulped the rest of his water. Can I have some more water? he asked.

Rhoda grabbed his glass and filled it at the fridge. Walked back to the table and was careful not to set it down hard.

Look, he said. I know you’re worried, and you care about them. But I’m sure they’re fine. And maybe it’s good to have a bit more separation from your mother. Maybe you’ll rely on her less.

This isn’t a normal time, Rhoda said. There’s something wrong with her. I’m scared.

Nothing’s going to happen to them out there. Jim pushed some of the lettuce around on his plate, flipped a leaf over and flipped it again. Man, he said. This is just not that satisfying. I miss the pancakes and peaches. But pancakes aren’t good for the muffin top.

I think she might kill him.

What?

Rhoda stood up and walked into the bedroom. She lay facedown on the bed, closed her eyes, could feel her pulse beating fast. She was afraid her mother might kill her father or hurt him in some way. Or she might kill herself. Rhoda didn’t want to think this. She wanted to stop her thoughts.

A long delay, far too long, before Jim came to the bedroom. He sat beside her and put a hand on her lower back. They’ll be fine, he said.

No they won’t, she said, and she knew this was true. She didn’t know how she knew, and she couldn’t explain it to Jim. He wouldn’t believe her. She sat up and wiped her eyes. Jim wasn’t holding her. He was worthless to her. No help at all. Why was she with him? For the first time, she thought of not marrying him. Maybe she would be fine without him. It was only an engagement. I need to call Mark, she said. I need to get out there tomorrow.

Rhoda, Jim said.

Can you please just be quiet? She was holding her hands to her face, her eyes closed. She waited and he finally left. She scooted closer to the phone and dialed Mark.

Karen answered, but Rhoda didn’t feel like chatting. She waited for Mark.

A call from the higher-ups, Mark said. How goes the fiefdom?

Rhoda knew she had to be careful. Mark, she said. I know this will sound unreasonable, and I know I’m asking a lot, but I really am begging. This is very important.

Wow, Mark said. I can’t wait to hear. You’ve decided to live in a tent, like the rents, and you want me to take Jim’s house?

I bought a satellite phone for Mom, and I need to take it out to her tomorrow.

That’s cool. Can you get one for me? I’ve needed one for like, I don’t know, five years now, for the boat. How the fuck did you afford a satellite phone? Just a rhetorical question. I know the answer, of course. Jim the minor saint.

Please.

I don’t know, Mark said. I know Mom’s a freak and you’re worried, but they really are coming in soon for supplies, and it’s cold out here now. The shore is icing up. It would suck to launch a boat.

It’s thin ice, though, right? You can break through it?

Yeah, but they’ll be in, probably just a few days.

Please, Rhoda said.

There was a long pause. Rhoda afraid to say anything more.

All right, Mark finally said. Don’t say I never did anything for you. But I can’t do it tomorrow. It’ll have to be Sunday.

Thank you, she said. Thank you. But can we do it tomorrow? I’m really worried. I need to talk with her.

Sorry. Karen’s family. We have a get-together tomorrow.

Okay, she said. Okay. Thank you. Rhoda knew this was as far as she could push. She would just have to wait. But she didn’t know how she would get through two days. Her mom holding her at the kitchen sink, telling her she was alone. Telling Rhoda that she would be alone, too. But what was really frightening was how calm her mother had been. You can’t say things like that and feel calm and not have something wrong.