Summer People (27 page)

The older man's leaden eyes searched Nathan's face. Licking his lower lip, he murmured, “I don't know.”

“I was just wondering.”

Mr. McAlister ran his hand over his widow's peak and said, “It could have been. Anyway, I was just stopping by to make sure Ellen had somebody who was watching over her.” As he turned to walk off the porch, he added, “Do you know how soon Glen is planning to take her back home?”

“I don't know.”

“I imagine this is probably the end of her summer.”

“Maybe.” Nathan shrugged. “Have you been able to find someplace else to stay?”

Mr. McAlister glanced out at the sunlight glinting between the yachts in the harbor. “No. No, I'm looking, but every place is booked up at this time of the season, so I'm staying with a friend for the time being.” Raising his hand in farewell, he forced a smile. “Anyhow, tell Ellen that I'm thinking about her and that I'll try and get back up there to see her soon.”

 

I
n the early evening, Nathan decided to call his father and fill him in on what had happened. They talked in low, somber tones at first, but when his father started asking about Nathan's future—about what he intended
to do when he returned home, and, more specifically, about whether or not he would try to return to his job at the library—their voices grew strained and Nathan fought the urge to hang up on him. Implicit in the conversation was the idea that Nathan needed to quit fucking around. He'd had his fun working only part-time for a few years, indulging his love of drawing, but now he needed to start thinking about what he was really going to do with his life. In junior high, playing goalkeeper for the school soccer team, Nathan's ability to bark commands at his fullbacks had instilled within his parents the absurd belief that he could be a great manager. Had Nathan ever considered managing a hotel? If he wanted to go back to school, his father would pay his tuition. The generosity of this offer, however wrong-headed, quieted Nathan for a moment. But when his father suggested a career in advertising, Nathan asked, “How about your plans?”

“What about my plans?”

“I mean, what is
your
plan?”

“I have a job, Nathan.”

“Yeah, but how about a life?”

His father chuckled. “I have a life.”

“Yeah?”

“I may not be jet-setting around the world, but I have my garden out back, and…Paul and I go do something every once in a while.”

The Stuebners, Paul and Linda, had been longtime friends of his parents, but since Nathan's mother's death, he knew his father's contact with them had grown less and less frequent. “When's the last time you saw him?”

“It's been a little while, but I don't need you setting my social schedule for me.”

Nathan said, “That's great to hear, because I may not be around for much longer. I'm thinking I might move to New York.”

The announcement had its intended effect. Hesitating, his father cleared his throat. “New York? What do you plan on doing there?”

“I plan on living there, and I know a guy who's involved in cartoon animation. I showed him some of my drawings and he wants me to work for him.”

“What's the name of the company?”

“Uh, Animatronix or something…I think it's new.”

“Well,” his father said. “Well, I sure would miss having you around here, but you've got to live your own life, I guess.”

Nathan offered his father nothing.

“New York's expensive, though, Nathan. Is he going to pay you enough to live in a decent place?”

“Yeah, we're talking about that. But listen, I've got to get going here.”

They hung up and Nathan stared out the French doors at the glittering water a long time. In the kitchen, he picked up an old
New York Times,
then opened the door to the back porch. The sky was releasing its first stars, and the air smelled of the ocean. Nathan read a few articles, then closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the rattling rigging and snapping sails in the harbor. It was still early in the evening, but it was late enough that Nathan could stop brooding about his father and start wondering why he had not heard from Leah. He had tried to call Eldwin's from the hospital, but there was no answer, so he'd left a message on their machine saying he would try to reach her later that evening. But why hadn't she tried to reach him? There was no answering machine in Ellen's house, so maybe she'd called that morning. But, still: Why hadn't she called again that afternoon, or left a note expressing concern about Ellen's accident?

He opened his eyes and read more of the paper. Not long afterward, a car pulled into the gravel driveway, and assuming Glen had arrived, Nathan decided to wait in his chair. When he heard knuckles rapping on the screen door, however, he walked around the corner of the house. He found an unshaven young man in cutoff army shorts and a black T-shirt, peering with cupped hands through the window.

“Ralph?”

“There you are,” Ralph said. He grinned as he shook Nathan's hand.

“How did you get here?”

“I drove the beast.”

“But Jesus, we were just talking last night, and you were in Cleveland.”

As they walked out to Ralph's pickup, Ralph repeated what he claimed to have already told Nathan on the phone: He'd been getting ready to leave for Portland, anyway, and when he heard of Ellen's accident, he'd decided to swing by on his way up.

“But you must have left right after I called.”

“Nah, I got a few hours sleep. Dude, what happened to your head?”

Nathan touched above his eyes until he felt the familiar soreness. “Ah, I got in a fight with some guys. I'll tell you about it later.”

“You got in a fight
here
? You didn't punch anyone in their pacemaker did you?”

“No, they were younger guys.”

Ralph shook his head. “How's the monkey holding up?”

Nathan had heard him use this nickname before, on the phone, but he paused and repeated the word before remembering that Ralph was speaking of Ellen. He told him of her prognosis as Ralph pulled a large gym bag from the front seat of the rusting Ford Ranger. The back window of the truck cab was plastered with bumper stickers and Nathan read them as they talked. A few advertised bands including the Misfits and the Pogues, others demonstrated support for the FOP and NRA, and one in the center declared, “This Truck Protected by Angels.”

“So Glen doesn't know I was coming?”

“No, man. I wasn't expecting you so soon, but I can't imagine it'll be a problem. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you.”

In the living room, Ralph set his bag down and spent a moment gazing out the French doors. “Fourteen hours,” he sighed as he walked over to flop down on the couch.

“You drove it straight?”

“Except for hitting a few drive-throughs and taking a major-league shit.”

Nathan stepped out onto the porch to grab his glass and newspaper, then returned to the room. “Well, you wouldn't know it by looking at you—that you drove that long, I mean.”

In truth, Ralph looked as if he had just been thrown from a bull. One leg was draped over the arm of the couch, and he removed his old Yankees cap to wipe the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “I thought I'd stop by here before heading on up to the hospital, but it sounds like she's doing okay, huh?”

“Well, I mean she's stabilized, but we don't know how much she'll recover yet.” Nathan glanced down at his watch. “It's seven thirty, though. I think visiting hours are over around eight o'clock, so it probably wouldn't make much sense to go up there now.”

“The monkey is tough.”

“She is tough.”

“Tough monkey,” Ralph sighed, shaking his head.

Nathan held his nearly empty glass aloft and asked Ralph if he wanted a drink. When he returned from the kitchen, Ralph was stretched out on the couch, a pillow tucked beneath his sweaty head. Nathan made a mental note never to use that pillow again.

“Aaaaaah,” Ralph said, wrapping both hands around the glass. He sipped and nodded his head appreciatively. “So how's it been going up here, all in all?”

Nathan felt too fatigued by his conversation with his father to express his frustration at not being told the whole story about Ellen. So he just shrugged. “It's been all right.”

“Yeah? What have you guys been doing up here?”

“Watching fuckloads of tennis.”

“Yeah. I warned you about that.”

“We spice it up every once in a while by raising hell in town.”

“You have to be careful when you let the monkey out of her cage.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Crazy monkey.”

Nathan gingerly touched his forehead. “Speaking of crazy monkeys,” he said, taking a deep breath. He told him about the fight, and Ralph laughed with disbelief.

“Fuck, man. How do they look?”

“I don't know,” Nathan admitted. “I haven't really seen them.”

“I should have brought some heat for you.”

“Heat?”

“A burner, man, a gun.”

Nathan smiled. “Has Ellen ever done any crazy stuff around you?”

“Does the pope shit in a funny hat?” Ralph fingered the bristles on his chin and explained how his living arrangement, receiving free room and board from Ellen, also required him to take her out to dinner once or twice a week on her dime. A few months ago, he had taken her to a Tex-Mex restaurant where Ellen had repeatedly asked Ralph if the bearded bartender—a man wearing a gaudy sombrero—was in fact her son, Glen. Although the details of the story were not by themselves hilarious, Ralph's impersonation of Ellen was so exact—with his shoulders slightly hunched and a tight-lipped, quizzical expression on his face—that Nathan nearly exhaled rum and Coke through his nose.

Nathan asked, “Do you think Glen knows—you know, how fucked-up she acts sometimes?”

“I don't know,” Ralph answered. He said it could be difficult to speak with Glen about his mother—that, once, after Ralph had taken Ellen to an Indian restaurant, she had ordered something spicy and shit herself on the way home. “I tried to tell Glen about maybe getting her some of those diapers for adults? But he just exploded at me and said that maybe I should stop taking her to such stupid fucking restaurants.”

“Were those his actual words?”

Ralph nodded, saying, “Don't let the scholarly, gentle outdoorsman shtick fool you. The dude has a fucked-up temper. He talks with Dora about Ellen, but I think Dora probably doesn't tell him everything because she doesn't want Glen to get upset and take Ellen to Wyoming.”

They were talking about what it meant to have a mini-stroke when the nurse phoned to set up an appointment for Ellen's bath. Nathan knew the nurse did not think well of him, so he took some pleasure in telling her how he had been there to hear Ellen's cries and escort her as
quickly as possible to the hospital. The call took no more than ten minutes, but when it was over, Ralph was already asleep. He had turned on his side, mouth open, loudly snoring into another pillow Nathan would not use again.

 

I
n case Glen arrived at the house, instead of staying at a hotel near the hospital, Nathan wrote a note explaining that Ralph was upstairs sleeping and that he himself was taking a walk. His hopes had been lifted by recent thoughts as to why Leah still had not come over to see him. Perhaps, not seeing Ellen's car in the driveway, she assumed he was not home; or perhaps, seeing Ralph's truck, she thought that since family had arrived, it would be an inappropriate time to visit. He looked forward to sorting out the misunderstandings when he found her.

Outside, the air was warm and carried the faintly sweet scent of a neighbor's flowering bushes as Nathan walked up Harbor Avenue. The lights in the living room of Eldwin's house were on, so Nathan knocked lightly on the door and was surprised when Rachel answered. Her straight blond hair hung wispy and uncombed, and her pale, angular face squinted beneath the orange porch light.

“Hey,” Nathan said. “I'm sorry if I woke you. I was just wondering if Leah was around.”

Rachel turned to glance up the house stairs. Rubbing the side of her mouth, she said, “No, I don't think she's here.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you know where she might be?”

“I don't have any idea.”

“Do you know how long ago she might have left?”

“About an hour ago?” she said, as if asking for affirmation.

A nearly full moon hung in the starry sky as Nathan continued up the road. On Big Beach, the ocean shimmered like molten lead. Older men and women walked along the shore with him as he strolled west toward Mariner's Rocks. The only young people he saw were joggers and, on his way back, a group of young men surrounding a few burning logs near the dunes. Their laughter reminded Nathan of Thayer and his friends, so he
walked far away from them—near the tide's edge—and trailed an old couple up the boardwalk onto a neighborhood street.

He had been gone over an hour, and worrying that Glen might have returned, wanting to talk about his mother's condition, Nathan decided to head home.

He followed Shore Road along the rocky edge of the Atlantic, glancing through warmly lit windows into maritime-theme living rooms. But the old couple he'd been following began to seem oddly familiar.

The slender woman was wearing rolled-up tan chinos and a white, round-brimmed hat. When a robust wind blew from the ocean, she clamped her hat down with one hand to keep it from blowing away. Nathan would not have paid her much attention if it hadn't been for her companion. The older man had changed clothes since Nathan had last seen him, but his broad shoulders and bald spot were the same, as was the generous, barking laughter Nathan remembered from listening to him at his party. Squinting at Mr. McAlister and his wife, Nathan slowed to follow them. They were not holding hands, but strolled together down the street, then up the winding driveway toward her home. Nathan lost sight of them behind the tall hedgerow separating the house from the road. But hustling a few yards up the driveway, he watched them walk inside the front door.