The Cove (32 page)

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned your goddamned tires. I don’t have the faintest
fuckin
’ clue what you’re talking about, but if you don’t get out of here now …” He waved the gun around, inscribing small circles in the air as if to encourage Ben to move along.

Behind him, Ben heard the car door open and slam shut. Once he knew Louise was safely inside the car, he started backing up, his hands raised, all the while keeping a wary eye on Tom.

“Get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back,” Tom said.

“I’m gonna file a complaint with the department about this,” Ben said. “You wait and see.”

Tom snorted with laughter and spat onto the rain-soaked ground.

“Look at me shaking. I’m so scared.”

Ben’s body was coiled with tension, and a chill reached deep inside him. He was shivering by the time he got to the driver’s side of the car, opened the door, and sat down on the front seat. Rainwater ran down his face, blurring his vision. He was so tense he thought he was going to vomit, but as he gripped the keys and started the car, the feeling soon passed.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Louise said.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

B
en was glad when Louise agreed that they couldn’t very well show up at Harbor’s Edge soaking wet and covered with grass stains and mud, so they went home, started a load of laundry with their muddy clothes, and took showers.

“You still might want to go buy some new stuff,” Ben suggested once they were dressed in clean, dry clothes and sitting in the living room. He was sprawled on the couch. Louise sat in the armchair that used to be their mother’s, one leg slung over the padded arm. Fitful gusts of wind drove rain hard against the windows, making the living room feel warm and cozy with a single table light on casting soft shadows across the floor.

She heaved a deep sigh as she gazed off into the distance, her eyes fixed on the large picture window as she watched the trees across the way bend and sway in the wind. Gray clouds shifted rapidly across the sky.

“It can’t keep up like this for long,” Ben said.

“You mean the rain?”

Ben nodded but realized that wasn’t all he meant. After a lengthening moment of silence, he said, “So … I guess you and
Tom’ll
be heading for a divorce.”

“You think?”

Louise kept staring out the window, her jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as though she was chewing a wad of gum. The patter of rain hitting the picture window sounded like tiny pellets hitting the house. Ben exhaled as he eased back on the couch and closed his eyes. He wanted to relax and absorb everything that had happened this morning. He was particularly concerned about the flashback — there was no other word for it — he’d experienced when Tom shot at them.

He was still angry enough about being shot at that he considered reporting the incident to the police. If it hadn’t been raining so hard, he might have gone down to the station right then, but he convinced himself that it wouldn’t do any good. In a small town like The Cove, the police department wouldn’t do a damned thing. They’d take his complaint, file it away, and then forget about it. Ultimately, nothing would come of it. That’s how things worked.

If Ben was going to get even with Tom — and he had every intention of doing so — he was going to have to do it on his own terms.

The only question was how and when?

He thought to call Julia and see how she was doing. He wanted to understand what had happened last night at her place, but the way he had reacted out at Tom and Lou’s house only made matters worse. He wished there was someone to talk to about it all — his sister, his brother, his father, Julia, or a friend — anyone, but he was absolutely alone with this. The anxiety and stress churned and twisted in his gut as if he’d gulped down a gallon of spoiled milk.

As if she was reading his mind, Louise spoke.

“So you gonna talk to someone about this war stuff? The dreams and whatever the fuck happened today?”

“What dreams?”

Fucking Pete and his big mouth,
thought Ben

“Pop told me last night, after you left. He hears you at night. And then the other night you thought everyone was under attack or something and you were sleepwalking — “
sleepcrawling
,” he said — all around the room looking for your rifle and screaming to wake the dead.”

“Lou-Lou, I’m readjusting to being back in civvies after four years.”

“The hell! You never talk about what you did over there. I watch the news. I read the newspaper. I know about guys who lose it and go crazy over there and rape and kill people or off themselves. I’m not stupid. I’m worried about you, Ben. I really am.”

They sat in silence, listening to the storm. Sometime later, a car pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel.

“Goddamn! If that’s him … I swear to Christ,” Louise said.

In a flash, she was out of the armchair and running to the front door. She was trembling as she looked out one of the sidelights. Ben got up from the couch, but before he reached the door, he heard Louise call out, “It’s only Pete.”

Moments later, their brother clomped up the steps to the kitchen door. Relieved, Ben and Louise went back into the living room and sat down.

“Christ on a crutch,” Pete muttered. He slammed the kitchen door shut behind him hard enough to make the pictures on the living room wall vibrate. He stomped his feet a few times and then he scuffed them on the throw rug; but Ben knew from a lifetime of experience that Pete wouldn’t remove his shoes — no matter how wet and muddy they were — before he walked into the living room.

Sure enough, Pete walked in, leaving wet, dirty streaks in the entryway and on the carpet.

“You raised in a barn or something?” Ben said, indicating the mud on the rug.

“Screw you. This ain’t your house.”

Obviously Pete hadn’t forgotten or forgiven that punch in the gut last night. The way Ben was feeling right now, he’d be damned if he was going to apologize.

“What you two been up to?” Pete asked as he dropped down onto the other end of the couch, bouncing it hard enough to irritate Ben.

“Nothing. You?” Ben said.

Pete shrugged but didn’t say a word.

“Still on the outs with Mona?” Louise asked.

Pete frowned and shook his head. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he got up off the couch and, without another word, clomped into the kitchen. Ben and Louise listened as he knocked around, getting himself something to eat.

“We out of mayo?” he shouted from the kitchen.

“There’s some in the cupboard, I think,” Louise said with a tone in her voice that asked:
Why is it always the woman who knows these things?

They heard Pete walk over to the cupboard and open the door, but then he called out, “Christ. There’s just this mother-fucking industrial-sized jar. Why does Pops buy these big fucking things?”

“Saves money, I guess,” Ben shouted back, thinking it was just like Pete not to offer to make a sandwich or something for them.

“Not if half of it spoils before you use it.” They heard the clink of a dish and glass as he set them out on the counter. “So what happened to your car?” Pete called out.

Louise started to say something, but Ben caught her attention and hushed her with a quick wave of the hand.

“What
d’yah
mean?” he said.

“You got one helluva dent on your rear panel. Looks like you might’ve been hit by a bullet.”

With that, Pete leaned around the edge of the doorway and looked at Ben as though trying to gauge his reaction. Ben shrugged as if he had no idea what he was talking about.

“Someone
takin
’ pot shots at you now?” Pete said.

Ben caught the malicious glee in Pete’s eyes, but he still played the innocent.

“I’ll have to check it out once it stops raining,” he said.

Before Pete said anything more, the telephone rang. He shouted, “I got it,” and disappeared from sight. Ben, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, eased back against the cushions while exchanging meaningful glances with Louise.

“Why not tell him?” she asked.

They heard Pete say into the phone, “What? … Right now, you mean?”

Ben frowned and shook his head.

“’S none of his business,” he said. “That’s why.”

“You afraid he’ll say something to Tom?”

Ben pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Jesus
Christ!
” Pete said, and then they heard a heavy
clang
as he slammed the phone back onto the hook. After some muffled sputtering and other noise as Pete slammed around, knocking things over and throwing things around, Ben called out, “What’s the problem?”

At first, Pete didn’t reply. He kept banging things around, making one hell of a racket. Then he stormed into the living room, his face pinched with anger.

“
Fuckin
’ Pops.”

“What about him?” Louise asked, looking suddenly fearful.

Pete glanced at her, then at Ben, and then he looked out the window. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, looking like he was about to punch a hole in the wall.

“He wants me to come down to the wharf.”

“Now?” Ben asked.

Pete nodded, too angry to say anything more.

“He can’t be heading out.” Ben looked at Louise as if for affirmation. “It’s
stormin
’ a bitch. Did he say what he wants?”

“Fuck, no. This is Pops we’re talking about.”

Ben cast another quick glance at Louise and then said to Pete, “How ’bout we all grab a quick lunch, and we’ll go with you?”

Pete didn’t say a word as he turned and strode back into the kitchen. They heard him kick the cupboard door shut hard enough almost to split the wood.

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Ben said, smiling thinly as he looked at his sister.

Undertow

L
ouise decided to stay at the house and keep the laundry moving while Ben and Pete went down to the wharf to see what their father wanted. As soon as they were out the door, though, fearing the worst from Tom, she went up to her father’s bedroom and got the shotgun from his closet. She and her brothers had known it was there since they were kids. A few times — when they were sure their father would be out
lobstering
all day and their mother was off running errands — Ben and Pete had taken the gun and gone out to the dump to shoot cans and bottles and — if they were lucky — some rats.

After loading it with shells from a box on the top shelf, she went back downstairs, confident now that she could protect herself if Tom was stupid enough to show up at the house. She hoped he wasn’t that far gone, but she kept the shotgun close by her side, carrying it from room to room as she set about dusting and tidying up just to keep herself busy. When she went down to the basement to get the first load of laundry from the dryer, she brought the gun with her. She filled the laundry basket and was bending over to shift a load from the washer to the dryer when the telephone started ringing upstairs. She ran over to the foot of the cellar stairs but stopped before going upstairs to answer it.

“Go fuck yourself,” she whispered, positive it was Tom calling to harass her.

She held her breath and stood there, damp clothes in hand, and listened to the phone as it rang three more times. She craned her head to hear the answering machine click on, but when it did and the greeting started playing, the caller hung up without saying anything.

All the more convinced it had been Tom, she was scowling as she finished shifting the load from the washer to the dryer and was about to put a third load into the washer when the phone started ringing again.

Once again, after four rings, the answering machine kicked on, and the caller killed the call without leaving a message.

Balancing the shotgun on top of the load in the laundry basket, Louise carried everything upstairs. She considered calling Tom and telling him to stop harassing her, but she decided not to.

Carrying the laundry basket, she bumped the cellar door closed with her hip and was about to go upstairs to fold the clothes when the phone started ringing for a third time. Unable to take it any longer, she dropped the basket and grabbed the receiver of the wall phone. Pressing it to her ear, she shouted, “Will you
please
leave me
alone?
”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Louise suspected Tom was playing some bullshit mind games with her when she heard a sharp inhalation in her ear.

“I … I’m sorry,” a woman’s voice said. “Is this … Do I have the Browns’ residence?”

Louise flushed, her eyes widening as she stared at the wall in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were — Ah, geez. Yeah. Yes. This is the Browns’.”

“Is — umm — Ben home?”

“No, he’s … he had to run a quick errand. Can I take a message?” she asked.

“Do you know if he has his cell with him? This is his … Julia. I tried calling his cell, but it goes straight to message.”

Louise finally calmed down enough to realize that the caller was upset. Her voice was high-pitched and wavering. It almost broke at the end of each sentence, like she was having a difficult time getting the words out.

“When he gets back, I’ll tell him you called. I can give him a message if you want.”

“I — umm, no … Just tell him I … tell him Julia called, and I can’t see him tonight. I–I’ll explain later.”

“Yeah … Sure thing,” Louise said, trying to sound nonchalant. She had no reason to care, but she felt a sudden twinge of sympathy for the woman and, after a brief pause, she added, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

For the space of a few heartbeats, she got no answer. Then she heard the woman’s breath hitch as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

“Tell him I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, and I … I don’t know when I can see him. Thank you.”

With that, she ended the call, leaving Louise with the buzzing phone pressed against her ear. Wondering what this was all about, she replaced the phone gently in its cradle and stared at it for a long time. She jumped when the phone rang again. Convinced it was Tom this time, she controlled herself as she picked up the phone and calmly said, “Hello?”

“Louise? Hi. This is Kathy.”

For a split second, Louise didn’t quite believe it was the Kathy she thought it was — not Kathy Brackett — but she was at a loss to think of anyone else it might be.

“Oh … ah, hi,” she said.

“Hi, Lou. I was wondering if Ben’s around,” Kathy said. Now that she had spoken again, Louise realized it was Kathy Brackett, but that raised the immediate question —
Why the hell is she calling Ben?

“No, he — umm, he’s out. Can I take a message?” She was beginning to feel like her brother’s social secretary.

After a pause that was long enough for Louise to suspect that maybe it wasn’t as over between Ben and Kathy as Ben had indicated, Kathy said, “He asked — I wanted to talk to him about going over to Harbor’s Edge and visiting your mom.”

“Really?” Louise said, unable to mask her surprise.

“I … umm, I just thought it’d be a nice thing to do, you know? I … I’ll never forget how nice your mum was to me when Ben and I were … you know, seeing each other.”

And making babies,
Louise thought.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be around for a while, but I’ll tell him you called.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Kathy said. She paused, and Louise sensed that Kathy had more to say, so she waited until she added, “You think it would be okay if I went over there by myself?”

“I don’t see why not.” A sudden chill wound around Louise’s heart. “I mean — the truth is, she probably won’t even recognize you, but — yeah, I think that’d be nice if you did that.”

Kathy grunted and then said, “Thanks … ah, you don’t have to tell Ben I called. I — he doesn’t need to know.”

“Sure thing. Catch yah later,” Louise said, and then she hung up the phone.

For a few moments, she stood there, her arms folded as she leaned against the kitchen wall and stared at the shotgun on top of the pile of clean laundry. Then she looked up and saw her reflection in the mirror her mother had put next to the kitchen door.

“So I can make sure I don’t look a fright before I leave,” her mother used to say.

Well, I look a fright now,
Louise thought. Her hair was lank and untrimmed, her face pale and still splotched purple and green where Tom had hit her. Her lips were cracked and raw. She was twenty-four and looked forty.

“God damn it!” Louise shouted to the empty house. “That bastard isn’t sucking the life out of me anymore!”

Muttering that the laundry could go fuck itself, she grabbed her purse and car keys, and drove down to
Monica’s Hair By The Sea
. She parked her car and got out. Rain beat on her back and shoulders as she pushed the door open. Bells tinkled as she entered and slammed the door shut against the wind.

“Well, if it ain’t Louise Marshall. How you
doin
’ there?”

Monica was a big woman with a big smile. She was wrapping Edna
Chadbourne’s
hair in pencil-width perm rollers. Before she sat down in one of the white wicker chairs, Louise inhaled the warm, uniquely feminine smell of the salon — fragrant floral shampoos, acrid perm solution, the chemical tang of nail polish. The salon was airy and relaxing, painted in tones of green and blue with dozens of hanging plants. After the male-dominated nightmare of the past few days, Louise felt as if she had found a haven.

“You lookin’ for a trim today? If you can wait a few, I’ll be right
wit’cha
,” Monica said, squirting perm solution on Edna’s rollers. “Weather like this, everyone’s got a bad hair day.”

“I need a haircut. A real haircut. And maybe a makeover, too,” Louise said, scowling at her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, you’re gonna surprise Tom tonight?”

“You might say that,” Louise replied. Then her shoulders dropped, and she added, “You haven’t heard? Tom and I are — I left Tom.”

Monica looked at her sympathetically. Edna peered at her over her coral-shaded glasses. Louise felt exposed … vulnerable, like she was onstage in her underwear.

“Okay, dear. So what’s his name?”

“His name?” Louise let that sink in. Then she smiled and said, “I don’t know yet, but he’s gonna be either a lawyer or a hit man.”

Monica laughed and winked, and then bellowed, “
Lina
!”

An Asian woman, as small and petite as Monica was tall and large, came out of the back room. She had inky black hair spiked high in a
punked
-out short cut with bright blue
sideswept
bangs. Louise smiled at the thought of blue bangs on herself.

“
Lina
is my makeover expert,” Monica said. “Hair, face, nails — she can do it all.”

Lina
smiled at Louise. “So, what are you looking for?” She had a lilting Asian accent.

“Not quite what you have,” Louise said, “but close.”

Lina
laughed, a sound almost as
tinkly
as the bells on the door.

“Have a seat, then.” She motioned to a chair in front of a mirror. “Let’s have some fun.”

“G
ot no choice, boys” Wally said as he looked back and forth between Ben and Pete. He cocked one eyebrow up high so it looked like a furry white caterpillar crawling up to his hairline. “
Soon’s
the weather lets up, we’re
goin
’ out. Gotta go.”

He was standing in the wheelhouse of the
Abby-Rose
, leaning to one side with his elbow propped on the helm. Rain slashed the windows and washed the deck as the boat heaved with the swells. It was obvious he’d been drinking for a while, now. A hazy, distant glaze frosted his eyes, like he was focused on the far horizon. In his right hand was a bottle of Myers’ dark rum that looked about half-empty. It was hard to tell, looking through the dark glass.

Ben narrowed his eyes and shook his head, looking from his father to his brother and then back to his father. The rain was making a thunderous racket on the roof of the wheelhouse. The surface of the ocean was dented like a sheet of metal that had been hammered repeatedly. To the west, past Martin’s Hill, the sky was clearing. Thin lines of a deep, rich peacock blue showed through swift-moving rafts of charcoal-colored clouds.

“No we don’t. What you have to do is grow some onions and tell Sullivan to go fuck himself.” Ben was trying hard but was unable to keep his anger in check. “He thinks he’s got you by the
cojones
, and he’s gonna keep squeezing.”

“He doesn’t think he’s got me by the balls … he
knows
it.”

Wally sneered before taking a swig of rum. Then he smiled and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

For the first time in his life, Ben saw vulnerability in his father. It was lurking below the surface, almost hidden, but it was definitely there. This both surprised and bothered him. His father had always been so strong, so savvy, so confident. Maybe he wasn’t book-smart, but he was smart enough and clever enough to make a damned decent living doing what he loved … going to sea. It didn’t matter if it was fishing or
lobstering
or taking a gaggle of tourists for a cruise of the bay. He did things his way, and the whole town knew it.

“How much do you owe him?” Ben asked. He began pacing back and forth in the narrow confines of the wheelhouse. His sneakers squeaked on the wet deck every time he turned around.

“The Crowbar?” Wally said and then sighed, casting his eyes downward as he took another drink. “
More’n
you can imagine, my boy.
More’n
you can imagine.”

“You think if we scrape together all the money we can — my savings included — we could pay him off?”

Wally looked at Ben, his eyes vague and unfocused, as if his memory was a book, and he was idly flipping the pages.

“I don’t like the idea of you being under his thumb like this, Pops,” Ben said. He knew his father didn’t like him seeing him up against the wall like this, either. It wounded his pride, and if there was one thing
Capt’n
Wally had in spades, it was pride.

“I ain’t the only one,” Wally said. “There’s plenty of
fellas
working the docks
carryin
’ water for Sullivan.”

“That don’t make it any better,” Ben said, “and that sure as shit don’t make it right.”

“
Aww
— hell!” Wally curled his upper lip in disgust and bit his inner cheek. “I got other debts that’re
killin
’ me just as much. You know I ain’t got any insurance for your mother, being in that nursing home. The bills from that
fuckin
’ place are enough to … to …
Aww
,
fuck
it. You don’t want to know.”