The Cove (28 page)

“Yes,” she said. “Of course I do.”

Ben smiled and shifted around so he was lying flat on his back next to her, looking up at the ceiling.

The feeling of peace and contentment vanished in an instant, as if a switch had been thrown in his head. Cold, winding tension filled his belly. The sweat on his skin went icy, chilling him. Deep in his bones, he felt suddenly threatened … that some unknown or unseen enemy was closing in on him. The urge to leap out of the bed … to
go
somewhere … to
do
something got steadily stronger until it was almost too much to bear.

“Are you all right?” Julia asked. She sat up and leaned over him, her eyes widening with sudden concern.

Ben tried to speak, but his chest felt constricted as if being squeezed by iron bands. He was unable to take a deep breath, and his pulse was suddenly racing a mile a minute, thundering in his ears like distant bomb strikes. He pushed her away and twisted around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor. Julia touched him lightly on the back, but he flinched at her touch and pulled away. His legs felt brittle, and his knees were like un-oiled hinges as he stood up and began pacing back and forth, pausing at each pass by the window to peer outside as if expecting gunfire.

“There’s something out there. I know there is. I
know
it,” Ben said, his voice guttural with fear.

“Ben? … What is it? You’re scaring me.” Julia pulled the bed sheets protectively up to her chest.

Each step Ben took jarred him, making his vision bounce. The candle shot shadows across the floor and walls at dangerous angles. The air in the room was dense, and it was only with effort that he inhaled deeply enough.

“Ben … Tell me. What’s wrong?”

Julia’s voice had a cold echo effect as if it was coming from far away … from the throat of a deep, stone-lined well.

When he looked at her, her fear-widened eyes frightened him all the more. For a split second, he expected to see a swarm of insects flooding from her opened mouth. She looked like a jungle cat prepared to pounce.

“I … I … I don’t know,” he managed to say, but that was all before his throat closed off. The thin piping of his voice sounded strange to him, like someone else … someone he couldn’t see in the shadows … had spoken.

Julia remained in bed, watching him as he paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists and gritting his teeth as he repeatedly punched his upper thighs while making soft, chuffing sounds in his throat.

“It’s … I — I … Jesus, my heart’s beating like crazy.”

“Sit down and relax,” she said. “You’re stressing.”

Her voice was mild and soothing, but there was an edge to it that cut through Ben’s rush of panic. He stopped pacing and looked at her, trying to let the sight of her calm him down and anchor him. His hands were shaking with deep tremors that felt like mild electric shocks. His throat was as slick and dry as sheet metal.

“Come on, Ben. Please.” Julia let the sheet slip away, exposing her breasts and stomach as she patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down. Get a grip.”

“Get a grip? … Get a grip?” Ben muttered, shaking his head. His skin was prickling with cold. What he really wanted to get a grip on was a gun. Then he’d certainly feel better. He took another breath and held it for a while before letting it out in a slow hissing whistle between his teeth.

Try to stay frosty, man,
he thought, but he said, “Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

Julia didn’t say a word. She continued to stare at him, her dark eyes swelling in the orange glow of the candle.

“I …”

Ben stared pacing again, but he moved more slowly now … more deliberately as the rush of adrenalin gradually subsided. He shivered from the cool night air on his skin, and when he looked at Julia again, he felt suddenly embarrassed.

“Jesus,” he said, lowering his gaze.

He stopped pacing and stood at the foot of the bed, looking directly at her. The worry and concern reflected in her eyes touched him deeply.

“You’re stressed, is all,” she said.

“I guess to fuck I’m stressed.”

“Is it … Do you need to talk?”

Ben knew she had been about to ask him if this was in any way related to the war, but — thankfully — she didn’t. He considered in silence for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not really,” he finally said. “It’s just … You know. It’s some family shit.”

“Come on,” she said, patting the edge of the bed again. “Sit down.”

This time, he did as he was told and sat down on the edge of the bed, but he kept his feet on the floor. She shifted close to him and wound her arms around his waist, clasping her hands like a low-slung belt in front of him below his navel. Sighing, she leaned her head against his sweat-slick back, holding him close, her lips brushing lightly against his back. The embrace was almost too tight, and another cold rush of panic filled him, but soon enough it, too, faded away. He took a few deep breaths and willed his rocketing pulse to slow down.

“If you wanna talk about it — about anything, you know you can,” she said. “You’re safe here.”

Her breath made a warm spot on his back between his shoulder blades. He felt something wet trickle down his back and knew she was crying. The thought of her concern for him touched him deeply, but it also made him angry with himself.

What the hell just happened?
he wondered as he sat there leaning forward, his elbows resting on his bare legs. The tingling sensation was subsiding, too, thank God.

He knew he had lied. This had nothing to do with Louise’s situation. And it didn’t have anything to do with what his mother was going through. As for his father — well, he would have to deal with whatever shit he was in with Richie Sullivan on his own. It was none of Ben’s concern. And as far as Pete was concerned … Screw him, too. They had drifted apart over the years, especially once they hit high school, but what did it matter? Like they say: “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your family.”

No.

Whatever was bothering him was much more than any family problems. And as much as he might want to avoid it … as much as he might pretend it wasn’t happening to him between the dreams and now this panic attack, he had to face the cold, hard truth that he, Ben Brown, the invincible Gunner of
Catawamkeag
Cove, was being eaten alive from the inside by PTSD. Of course, he might excuse it by telling himself no one could be unaffected by the things going on in the war zone. But he couldn’t admit to himself that he might be cracking under the strain. And, he told himself, there was no way he could let Julia see him weak like this … weak and vulnerable. He had to hold it together no matter how much it took.

“I’m here for you,” Julia said. “You know that, I hope.”

“I do,” Ben said even though — right now — he had no idea what he knew or felt.

She spread her hands out and started rubbing his chest and stomach. Her touch was like magic, soothing and arousing him, but Ben was so drained he wasn’t at all surprised that he didn’t respond.

He pulled away and turned around to hug her, their arms wrapping around each other and pulling each other close. Their skin was sticky with sweat as he clung to her so tightly her pulse beat against him. When he pressed his lips to her neck, she was shaking. He was afraid she was crying and wanted to reassure her, but words failed him. All he could do was hold her close, no matter how far away from her he actually felt.

An hour or so later, after he had calmed down at least enough so he was breathing normally, he got up from the bed, picked his clothes up off the floor, and started dressing. Julia was still awake. She watched him, looking wounded.

“You’re not going to stay the night?” she asked.

Ben grunted and shook his head. He didn’t like that she had seen him with all defenses down, but he also sensed that it had further cemented the bond growing between them. Walking over to the bed, he leaned down and kissed her, long and passionately on the mouth. She moaned softly.

“I have to leave … for now,” he said, “but don’t worry, I —”

He had been about to tell how much he loved her, but he held back the words he knew, from the expression on her face, she wanted to hear.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” she asked in a fragile voice that sent pain stabbing through his heart. He wanted desperately to throw down the rest of his defenses and tell her how he felt — tell her that he loved her and wanted to spend every day and night with her.

His arms and legs felt like they were filled with sand as he slowly finished dressing and then, with one last hug and kiss, walked out the door.

T
om woke up sprawled on the bedroom floor by the opened window. A cool breeze that smelled like fresh-cut pine was blowing in, chilling him. The left side of his face was pressed against the threadbare carpet. Drool had leaked from the corner of his mouth and dribbled onto the floor. It had dried, and his cheek was crusty now. He wiped it away quickly as he sat up and looked around, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened.

The room was dark.

Once he recognized his bedroom, he still had no idea what time it was or how he had come to be lying on the floor, asleep … passed out was more like it. A sour churning in his stomach was an all too clear reminder that he’d had too much to drink, but his memory didn’t go much beyond that.

When he shifted to get to his feet, his hand knocked against the now-empty whiskey bottle. It spun around as it rolled across the floor until it clunked against the baseboard somewhere in the darkness.

“Goddamn,” he whispered when he raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed it. The pain between his eyes was as sharp as a honed steel blade. He shivered wildly. He didn’t remember opening the window, but what had happened was starting to come back to him as he heaved himself up off the floor and went to close the window. A pair of his wife’s panties was caught on the edge of the windowsill. To confirm his dim memory of what he had done —

Did I really thrown all of her crap out onto the lawn?

— he looked outside at the pile of clothes strewn about in the yard beside the house.

“
Fuckin
’ goddamned …” he muttered as he straightened up. When the sourness in his stomach churned, he reeled away from the window and ran into the bathroom.

He winced when he turned on the light and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His cheeks were pasty white splotched with thin lines of broken blood vessels. Above his left eyebrow was a purple bruise about the size of a half dollar rimmed with broken blood vessels. It looked like an exploding star. His bloodshot eyes stared back at him, watery and sticky.

After studying his reflection for a long time, he turned on the tap, letting the water run until it was lukewarm. Then he filled his cupped hands with water and splashed his face a half dozen times. The water felt as though it barely penetrated, and he was only marginally better when, sputtering, he wiped his face on a hand towel.

His upset stomach settled, and he was glad that at least he didn’t puke.

Shuffling back into the bedroom, blinking his eyes in amazement, he turned on the bedside light and sat down on the edge of the bed. When he leaned forward, something popped in his shoulder. His chest ached something fierce, and he wondered if he might have cracked a rib or two either in a brawl he didn’t remember or from tossing all of Louise’s clothes out the window.

His eyes weren’t adjusting well to the light, and he squinted as his gaze shifted around the room until it came to rest on the telephone. It took him another few seconds to register that’s what he was looking at. When he finally did, he considered calling his wife’s cell phone to find out where she was.

Would she even answer?

If she had half a brain — which, to tell the truth, he doubted — she would ignore his call because … well, because he deserved to be ignored.

“Man, you fucked up big time,” he whispered to himself, sighing as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

He never reached for the phone.

As far as he was concerned, their marriage was over. Dead. He’d seen to that.

But that didn’t dispel the bitterness and anger welling up inside him. It took a while to figure out that most if not all of his anger wasn’t really directed at Louise or that bitch Julia Meadows. He wasn’t even that pissed at Ben Brown for getting the girl Tom wanted.

No.

He was pissed at Tony Gillette.

That’s who had
really
fucked him over.

“Women? … Screw ’
em
…”

Women come and go, but Gillette … now,
that
cocksucker had screwed him out of a hundred thousand dollars. That was some serious cash. So what if he had done something illegal to get it? So what if he had a hundred thousand in hand? There still should be …

What was the expression?

“Honor … honor among thieves,” he muttered.

Gillette had fucked him over, and there was no way Tom was going to let that slide. Stealing cocaine from the evidence locker was a felony. If he got nailed for taking it and then selling it, he’d end up in jail, for sure. He certainly couldn’t stick around town after what he’d done, but he needed all the money he could get so he could get the hell out of The Cove and never come back.