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Chapter 20

“Y
ou've been walking in the garden of the dead again,” said Isaiah.

This was the first time Isaiah had been in Rocky's newly purchased house since she'd signed the papers. She had asked for his advice about local contractors.

“That completely does not sound like an old Maine proverb,” said Rocky.

Isaiah's face and arms turned darker in the summer, the sun painting his skin somewhere between a rich mahogany and walnut. The white hairs along his brow stood out in amplified contrast.

“When my mother's people came from the Dominican Republic, they brought a saying for every occasion, but most of the sayings had to do with birth, sex, or death. I'm going to spare you the fables about sex. But am I right about the garden of death?” he asked.

Rocky had been pulling back old brown lineoleum in the kitchen, only to reveal more old lineolum. She knew exactly what he meant by the garden of death.

“How did you know?” she asked.

Isaiah bent down, took out his pocketknife, and cut through a loose flap of dried-out flooring. He held it up to the light and examined it. Rocky felt the house twitch under such close inspection, the way dogs do when they first meet each other.

“Isn't it odd how things have their own time in glory when everyone wants them and we can't see beyond them? Like this god-awful kitchen flooring that a woman thought was beautiful at one time,” Isaiah said. “Asbestos house siding, there's another example. These were once grand and admired, and people were proud to have them in their homes. Now they're dreaded by homeowners who can't wait to rip them out. They had a beginning and an end, a life span,” he said as he tossed a section of the lineoleum out the kitchen door. He turned his head slightly to look at her, and one bushy eyebrow rose.

“You don't exactly have a poker face when it comes to emotions. No wonder Tess and her little granddaughter can beat the daylights out of you at poker,” said Isaiah.

Rocky paused and leaned into the long handle. “How did you hear that I lost at poker? That was only two days ago.”

“Two days ago? In island time, that's old news. Now everyone wants to play poker with you. Don't accept any poker invitations where they play with real money,” he said. “You're as easy to read as a seven-year-old kid. Oh, that's right—you got beat by a seven-year-old,” he added, letting a laugh ruffle up through the deep registers of his chest and echo off the walls of the empty house.

Rocky shoved the scraper along the floor with renewed energy. “I think they cheat. That would be just like Tess. She's probably teaching Danielle a slick move with synesthesia.”

“Poker is a game of skill and good fortune, combined with the ability to refrain from telegraphing every thought. But you, Madam Dogcatcher, are not good at masking your feelings. You either got very little sleep or distressed sleep. You've just made one of the most anxiety-provoking decisions of your life. Buying a house is right up there with the holy trinity of death, divorce, and public speaking. The dead often visit us when we make huge decisions. They also visit us when we take in wayward children.”

Rocky had a red-and-white cooler near the door to the basement filled with Coke and beer. She pulled open the lid, put her hand on two Cokes, and offered an inquiring look toward Isaiah. She had hoped that they would skip the conversation about wayward children.

“Sure, I'll have one too, although Charlotte says the only safe thing for me to drink is water. We've got diabetes in our family, and all this sugar is tempting fate,” he said, reaching for the cold can.

Rocky popped the lid on her can. “I know why I've been thinking so much about Bob again. This is the first time I've had to make this kind of decision without him. I'm not just ticking off time while a job waits for me back in Massachusetts. I've bought a house, such as it is, and there is no job waiting for me, since I let go of a perfectly good position that I actually loved, complete with health insurance, dental, an eventual pension, and all the accoutrements that American workers long for,” said Rocky.

“What would Bob think? That's the question. I need to get you a bumper sticker that says W
HAT WOULD
B
OB THINK
?”

“I don't need the bumper sticker because it's already stamped on my brain and I wish it wasn't. It shouldn't matter so much what he thinks. This is my life without him,” she said.

Even as she talked with Isaiah, some of the nocturnal dread poured off her. Her lungs expanded and she exhaled deeply.

“You're a full-service friend, not to mention former Methodist minister, boss, and public works director. I'm skipping some of your professions. What I really wanted to know was, who would you recommend to do a remodel on this place? You know everyone. Let's take a break outside while you pontificate.”

The two friends walked out the kitchen door and stood in the driveway, looking at the white exterior of the old house as if information could be read from the clapboards. The side entrance to the house opened on the kitchen, and Rocky knew that everyone except company came in through the kitchen, not the larger entrance from the front porch. She wondered if Isaiah could feel the house pulse with expectation. Rocky wanted to make sure she found a carpenter who understood the old house and took time to work with it respectfully.

Without a pause, Isaiah said, “Russell Barry. Good, solid carpenter, as long as you're not in a hurry. And he writes poetry that I can understand. I'll call you with his phone number tonight.” The older man surveyed the house, looking at it from top to bottom. “The skeleton of the house looks solid. I'm guessing it was built early in the twentieth century. Those were good building years. They used good wood and they didn't skimp.

“Remodeling this house might be a good way for you to focus your energy,” he remarked. “You've got a lot going on, and I can't figure out how you keep everything sorted out. Where's your handsome archery instructor these days? I haven't seen him lately. Hill is a teacher, and he's levelheaded. I like him. He works with all kinds of teenagers and could offer advice about teenagers appearing on your doorstep looking for a biological father.”

Isaiah shaded his eyes with his hand, his skin glistening with the fog, soon to be followed by brilliant sun. “By my reckoning, school is out, unless Brunswick goes by a different calendar.” He glanced at Rocky, and a sting of tears erupted in her eyes.

Rocky wanted to say that Hill was teaching a summer course, or that he had never come back from the camping trip, but too many beats had already passed. Isaiah picked up the crowbar and sledgehammer that he had just brought Rocky to use on the house. Even without a contractor's advice, Rocky had said she wanted the old wallboard taken out.

Rocky kicked a white plastic bucket, and it skittered along the gravel drive.

“That's only a partial answer,” said her friend. “Now use your big girl words. No more kicking defenseless buckets aside.”

Rocky set the bucket upright. She wore shorts, a tank top covered by a thick blue workshirt, and hiking boots.

“Since you already knew that I lost at poker, I thought you knew about Hill.” Rocky noted new admiration for Melissa: she had not spread juicy romantic gossip when she had the chance. “He's back in touch with his supposedly soon-to-be-ex-wife, Julie. I would never have gotten involved with him if I'd thought there was even a tiny chance of them getting back together,” said Rocky.

Isaiah tilted his head and looked up at the treetops, as if absorbed in the process of divination. He picked up a bag from the building supply store and nodded toward the house. They went back inside.

“It was too soon after Bob's death for me to start up with someone new. I made a mistake, thinking that I could skate through the labyrinth of grief and fall in love. I know that was against the rules of inevitable agony.” She turned away from her friend, pulled up her shirt, and wiped her eyes.

“Okay, the real thing is, I didn't see it coming,” she admitted. “I mean, she'd been gone for so long, and I thought I could tell if the chemistry was good and solid. Now I have to factor in that my relationship radar is shot,” Rocky said, going straight for the long crowbar, drawn to it like a moth to a porch light.

“You knew he was married right from the start, even if they hadn't lived together for nearly three years. Those were the facts, and he didn't hide them. I brought you some protective eye goggles. If you're going to do demolition work, which is not the best idea you've ever had, then you need to wear them. You're mad and hurt, and now you're going to swing a crowbar around at the walls. Did Hill tell you he was going back to his wife? I thought they both had lawyers.”

Rocky dug into a paper sack from the building supply store and extracted a new pair of goggles. She pulled them over her head and let them rest temporarily on her brow.

“He didn't have to tell me. I saw them,” she said. She snapped the glasses into place. The plastic was not 100 percent clear, and she tripped over a stack of wood. Isaiah followed behind her with the sledgehammer.

“Let's think about your demolition approach for a minute. I'll take a pop at this wall. This is one of the walls coming down, right? Just to get it started, mind you, then you can tear at it. Get the sections off in big chunks if you can. It saves time. You saw Hill and Julie doing what exactly?”

Rocky twirled her dark, thick hair and tucked it into the stretch band of the eye gear. Her hair was a difficult length—long enough to be a nuisance, but not long enough to tie up on top of her head.

“I drove up to his house unannounced and saw them. She was inside the house, and he had his arms around her.” Even as she said it, the words sounded less substantial than the gut-twisting slam she had felt when she saw Hill framed in the light of his kitchen.

Isaiah said, “Stand back.” He tapped the wall, listening for the location of the studs, then swung the sledgehammer and cracked a hole between two of the studs. He made several more holes above and below it.

“Take it away, crowbar queen. Go at it, but avoid the studs. I know you want to destroy something. But what did Hill say? And as far as the hugging goes, there are national leaders who hate each other and they hug and kiss every time they meet. They have missiles aimed at each other and they still hug when they meet, regardless of politics or religion. So tell me, what exactly did Hill say? I assume that you talked this into the ground with him.”

Rocky inserted the sharp curved end of the crowbar under the edge of the plaster wall. Every few inches a piece of lathe had been nailed to a stud, and she experimented with the best way to pop off the maximum number of slats at one time.

Yes, one would think that they would have had a good long conversation about hurts and betrayals. “I didn't exactly give him a chance. I didn't want to hear it, and I didn't know that I'd be taking such a chance with Hill,” said Rocky. Her feet spread wide, knees slightly bent, she yanked hard and a three-foot section of the plaster board popped off. “It's possible I acted like a three-year-old.”

Dust filled her nose, harsh and smothering, depositing decades of remembrances from the former occupants into her lungs. She closed her eyes and tasted Hill, the creamy insides of his arms, the scent of pencil shavings that seeped off him, the way she had tasted the slick presence of guacamole along his tongue when she had once kissed him.

“Didn't they teach you anything in graduate school? Sit down and talk to the man, for God's sake. You didn't know that love was a high-risk business? It surely is. But not taking the risk is terrible,” said her friend. Isaiah put his soda can on a windowsill. “Stay away from poker. Good fortune doesn't seem to be on your side right now. I'm sorry about Hill. I didn't see that one coming either.”

R
ocky called Russell Barry that evening and set up a time for him to look at her place so that he could give her an estimate. When she told Isaiah the next day, he said, “I'll come over and introduce you two, in the time-honored tradition of Maine carpenters.”

Rocky had resisted the idea, but Isaiah had insisted. By noon on Tuesday they were both at the house waiting for Russell. She felt the house changing already, filled with expectancy and longing, the ragged curtains fluttering by some internal wind, unaided by any breeze from the windows.

“You'll be glad that you've got the cottage while the house is being remodeled. I can't think of much worse than living in a construction zone. Charlotte and I nearly had a double homicide on our hands when we had our kitchen remodeled,” said Isaiah.

“It's not like I need you to broker this deal for me. I can figure out how to talk to a carpenter. I mean, I have before,” she said. That was a lie. She had left carpentry negotiations to Bob, who had loved to speak man-talk even though he couldn't have hammered two pieces of wood together.

Bob had explained to her, “I get my manly needs met by talking the talk with the tool belt crowd. I accept my actual limitations in carpentry, car mechanics, and plumbing, but I love the talk. Indulge me.” If Bob ran into trouble with carpentry, he always consulted with Caleb. When Bob the veterinarian sought advice from Caleb the housepainter/sculptor, Caleb glowed for days. Rocky had marveled at the transmission of male ranking.

Now that she had purchased a house on her own, Bob was dead, and Caleb was three hours away, she was secretly relieved that Isaiah wanted to hang around and establish some ground rules with the builder.

The two friends took another tour of the house while they waited for Russell to show up. They started in the basement. The floor was dirt and the walls were fieldstone. Old canning jars remained on the shelving, waiting to be filled with sugary syrup and fruit. The rich smell of earth filled her nostrils, a mixture of overripe mushrooms and decaying leaves.