Reprisal (29 page)

Tired from beach walking, her face windburned, halations of bright sunlight still seeming to linger in her sight, Joanna started to sit on the front steps, and saw a white envelope tucked half under the black rubber welcome mat. It was a short plain drugstore envelope, unsealed. There was a folded piece of ruled notebook paper inside. THANKS, printed in large letters, was the only word on it.

An appreciation, from Captain Lowell she supposed, for the absence of any federal agents today, swarming on Asconsett's docks. ... She wondered how the captain's arm was doing.--And even with this courtesy, of course, Manning's goods would certainly be off-island as soon as that could be arranged.

Joanna put the note in her jeans pocket, and sat on the front steps looking down Slope Street--gazing down the cobbled lane past other cottages descending the hill ... looking out over the docks and harbor, out to the sea and its sinking sun.

She imagined a life here, on Asconsett, imagined never going back to White River to stay --only to sell the house, or rent it, to get her things and dispose of Frank's. There would be just enough money to rent this cottage year round--or buy it, if Nancy Evanson would sell.

She could live here, perhaps get a part-time job teaching or assistant-teaching at the school. Could live out here and write. And perhaps, if the Wainwrights could be persuaded, buy Percy for company.

A widow and her one-eyed dog, sharing island summers and the long, cold, stormy winters, when sea sleet hissed folding and unfolding over Asconsett.

They would take walks in that windy weather, she in Frank's duffel coat--and Percy wearing a dog sweater, blue to set off his short red fur.

They would walk together, companions ... and age, year by year, would come for them both on the Atlantic's tide.

Tar Beach was empty under a rising moon.

Rebecca had come up the library's south stairwell--the heavy door out onto the roof unlocked as usual. The administration had given up trying to keep students working or studying in the library off the only flat roof on campus--and big, perfect for sunbathing on breaks during the day, or just hanging out, scoping the landscape ... some people smoking.

She was almost an hour early; it was just past nine o'clock. Greg was supposed to finish work and come up at ten. ... Rebecca walked over pebbled asphalt to the south parapet--only a couple of feet high--and looked out over the campus.

Some graduate students were leaving Glaser Hall, walking under the light from the lampposts along the paths. Math people just coming out of evening classes--so she definitely was up here early, and wished she hadn't come at all.

In the first place, the whole thing about Greg suddenly liking her was absolutely surprising, because he hadn't ever said anything to her--except

"Hi," which was the same as nothing. ... And then there was the question of why he would like her better than Charis, anyway, since Charis was very pretty--well, beautiful--and was also an adult, not just another college kid who wasn't especially good-looking, and didn't even know who she was yet.

It seemed to Rebecca the whole Greg thing--the Greg Thing--was just another oddness, as if her father's death and her grandfather's death had changed everything the last few weeks, twisted the whole world out of shape--and changed her, too, so she could never be the same as she was. And also, her mom was acting absolutely bizarre, so there was nobody she could depend on.

And there was the weird but definite feeling that she was changing a little day by day, waking up slightly different, a slightly different person each morning. That, and everything else, was becoming very peculiar. ... A perfect example being this sudden really off-the-wall thing with Greg. When Charis mentioned it to her--and Charis was still very angry, hadn't spoken to her for three days--but when she'd mentioned it, it had been upsetting ... but, face it, exciting too.

Now, however, a couple of days had gone by-and maybe she was just growing up, getting too grown up to stay excited and think it was going to be a great thing with Greg.--And that this nice guy, and really nice-looking, had secretly liked her so much he was dumping Charis for her. Dumping Charis.

Did that make sense? No, it did not make sense. So now, what had seemed to be so surprising and great had just become strange. ... In a way, it was like her father suddenly dying, being gone forever--it didn't make sense. The Greg Thing was like that, could almost be a sort of cruel joke--except that Charis didn't have much of a sense of humor.

... The moon. It was a beautiful moon. You could see it better up here, without the lights. Moonlight on the tops of the hills all around-like snow, summer snow.

The roof door squeaked open behind her, and Rebecca said, "Oh, God," to herself ... to somebody. But when she turned to look, it was a girl, not Greg.

The girl walked out of shadow, her face and hair shining pale in moonlight. It was Charis, in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, walking across the roof toward her.--Charis didn't seem angry, didn't look as if she was there to make some grim scene when Greg showed up. She didn't look upset at all.

"Hi. ..." Rebecca hoped Charis wasn't going to keep on with the not-talking.

"--Greg told you he was going to come up?" She started to say something more, about how weird this whole thing was--but Charis just smiled as if she understood all that, and it wasn't important and she wasn't angry anymore. She came up to Rebecca at the parapet, and kissed her cheek.

"Forgive me, Rebecca," she said, and was definitely smiling. Then she hugged her, a big hug; Charis was very strong, for a girl.

It was such a relief things were okay. Before Rebecca could say anything, Charis asked, "Do you forgive me?" and she held Rebecca's arms, stepped back a little, and began to turn them both, whirl them around as if they were dancing. They spun, and Charis leaned back, turning, and swung Rebecca around and around so fast that Rebecca's feet weren't touching the roof "... Forgive me, Rebecca." It was so much like the way Daddy had done it when Rebecca was little, that it wasn't scary when Charis suddenly let her go.

It was just surprising to be over the parapet, out so far. ... Then she realized ... and saw Charis watch her fall.

Joanna slept as if her bed were warm sand that smoothed and stirred and turned with her through the night, so she was always comfortable. In this softness and support, she dreamed of weather, of being able to call up clouds to shadow a landscape she'd seen from the mountain, but had never descended to.

She drifted through leafed greenery in her dream, peering down through its foliage along the slope of her mountain, to see the cloud shadows she had called by name--names she'd already forgotten in her dream--to see those shadows slowly shade the valley below ... turn its fields to forest green, darken its sinuous river from silver to bronze.

Joanna woke still seeing a veil of rain, distant drapery, sweeping slowly across the valley she knew so well, though she'd never gone down from her mountain.

She stretched--her muscles slightly stiff from gardening, her knees still a little sore--then got up and went to a window, stepping into a rectangular block of white-gold sunlight to look out at a perfect morning, and the distant sea.

She went into the bathroom, peed, and changed her Tampax. Though she'd showered the night before, she showered again to wash her hair ... stepped out to towel ... then stood blow-drying at the sink, combing her hair up for the hot air, and studying her reflection. Her face was still a little flushed from yesterday's sun and sea wind. There were familiar lines at the outer corners of her eyes ... at the corners of her mouth. Sunblock--foolish not to use it.

Joanna brushed her hair, pulled it back and through a maroon elastic tie into a ponytail, then went to the dresser for underwear ... the closet for worn work pants--caving pants till the knees gave out--an old T-shirt and weary sneakers. Paint clothes.

Dressed, she went downstairs considering breakfast, and decided on cold cereal. There'd be island blueberries with it, later in the summer. ... In the kitchen, she made tea--Russian Caravan--then sectioned an elderly orange for eating out of hand, and used the last of the milk on a bowl of shredded wheat.

She ate sitting at the kitchen table, looking into the backyard ... looking past the sea grape out along Sand Hill's irregular crest, the dune ridges lit various colors of toast by the morning's slanting light. ... The orange sections were seedy but sweet, the cereal richly coarse.

When she was finished, she sat awhile longer, sipping the dark, complicated tea, and trying to remember her dream ... what the names of the clouds had been, that came when called. When she finished her tea, she got up and went to the sink, washed the cup and cereal bowl, and put them in the drainer.

Then she spread pages of last week's edition of The Islander out on the table with a half-roll of paper towels and an old mixing bowl full of water, for cleanup. She brought her small can of paint and the brush from the counter and set them out.

The paint can was hard to open. Joanna pried the lid up with a table knife ...

then stirred the paint carefully to keep from spilling any. The brush was not a great stirrer; paint got on the handle. ...

She started with the inside members of the window frame, standing holding the small can in her hand, and dipping and wiping the little brush for every two or three strokes. ... She covered the slender sticks with great attention, enjoying the paint's perfect white--brushing lightly up and down-dressing so nicely the fir's coarse grain. As she painted, and as if the smooth white were smoothing over her, perfect as a field of snow, Joanna began to imagine at least the possibility of limited happiness.

She painted carefully ... dipped a little twist of paper towel into the bowl of water to clean the few small streaks of white smeared onto the window glass.

Finished in the kitchen, Joanna took her paint out on the steps, and closed the door behind her to get at its window's other side. She begin again the careful dipping into paint, neat strokes to cover the whatevers ... what Bobby had called them. The muntins.

... She was sorry when the job was done. The window frame, fresh white, looked better than it had before Bobby broke it.--Poor Bobby. She'd have to check with Tom Lowell, make sure he hadn't been mistreated, only sent into exile.

...

Joanna was cleaning the bowl and little brush at the sink when the doorbell rang. And of course her hands were wet and she still had paint on them.

"Shit. Just a second. ..."

The doorbell rang again. She rinsed the brush once more, left it in the sink, and called "Be right there ...!" Drying her hands on her trousers, she went up the hall to the door, and opened it.

Chief Constable Carl Early, in a gray summer suit, was standing on the front steps. An elderly woman--short, plump, and plain--was standing beside him. She was wearing a dark-blue dress, white shoes.

"Mrs. Reed ..." The constable was looking older, less handsome.

Trouble, Joanna thought. Trouble over that goddamn marijuana. I should have called the police. ...

"I'm Marilyn Early," the plump woman said. "People have been trying to call--I think something's wrong with your phone."

"I brought my wife." Early was wearing a shot-silk tie to set off his suit.

"What is it?"

Neither of them answered her.

"Is it ... am I going to be arrested?"

"Oh, my dear," Marilyn Early said. "Oh, my dear, it's your girl."

"What do you mean, "my girl"?"

"Mrs. Reed," the old man said, "I received a call this morning from Captain Fetterman, with the state police. ... Your daughter was found last night. She fell from a building on the campus over at White River. She fell three stories, and was killed." He stopped talking, to clear his throat.

"--Apparently, people have been trying to call you all night, and I can't tell you how sorry we are. Everyone out here is just terribly sorry." He took a clean, squared handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped his forehead. "It is the worst goddamn thing on top of everything else."

"Carl," his wife said.

"Well, it is. It's outrageous."

It seemed to Joanna that she was dreaming and they were speaking a dream language she didn't understand. She supposed she looked like a fool, standing looking down at them.

"I'm sorry to be so stupid," she said. "Rebecca ..." She turned her head to stare down the cobbled street at the sunny cottages descending, their small yards bright with what seemed strange flowers. It was all part of a new world, not the one she'd known. The air was different, hard to breathe. The light hurt her eyes, pulsed in slow rhythm.

"What's happening?" she said, and was asking what had happened to the world to change its air, its light and colors.

"Oh, you poor thing," Mrs. Early said. Joanna understood that--and as if it were the signal she'd been waiting for, leaned out from the doorway to darkness, and fell into the constable's arms.

Waking to light that hummed, she sat up shouting "Oh ... Oh ... Oh," until someone came and stung her left arm so she slowly slid away ... and when next she woke, it was night. Joanna woke, but drove herself back down into sleep as if a wakeness-tiger would catch and kill her, otherwise.

She didn't rouse again until fading afternoon. And when she did--careful to open her eyes slowly, so as not to see too much, know too much--a girl was sitting by the white bed in a white room. A pretty girl with dark-blond hair was sitting in a white chair beside her bed, holding her hand.

"Are you awake?" the girl said. "Are you awake ...?"

And there was no answer to make but yes ... to nod yes. Of course she was awake; her eyes were open, and seeing. ... The girl was stroking Joanna's hand. She seemed very sad, very concerned. And familiar, Joanna knew her from somewhere.

"Do you remember me? Charis Langenberg?"

"I think so." Joanna was surprised by her own voice. It was a hoarse and harsher voice than she was used to hearing.

"I came out with Rebecca that time. I'm ... I was her roommate."