The River King (29 page)

“How nice that you happened to be passing by,” she said. “Just in time for dinner.”

Still wearing the black coat, Carlin hurried to the cupboard for an extra plate. “He was lurking.”

“Lurking,” Miss Davis said, pleased.

“I was walking.” Now that he saw the food before him, Abe rubbed his hands together like a starving man.

Carlin was searching through the cutlery drawer for silverware with which to set another place when she felt something move in her pocket.

“Take off that coat and sit down,” Helen Davis instructed. “We can't very well eat without you.”

Carlin put down the silverware. She had a funny look on her face. She had forgotten the cranberry relish, but she didn't move to rectify that mistake. Midnight leapt onto Helen's lap and began to purr, low down in the back of its throat.

“What is it?” Helen said to the silent girl.

The worst part of caring about someone was that sooner or later you were bound to worry, and to take notice of details that wouldn't otherwise be apparent. Helen, for instance, now saw that Carlin had grown pale, a wisp of a thing wrapped up in that old black coat she insisted on wearing.

“What's wrong?” Helen demanded.

Carlin reached into her pocket and brought forth a small fish, which she placed upon the table. Helen leaned forward for a better look. It was one of those silver minnows found in the Haddan River, small and shimmering and gasping for breath. Helen Davis might have dropped the little fish in a tumbler of water had Midnight not pounced on it and eaten it whole.

In spite of herself, Carlin laughed. “Did you see that? He ate it.”

“You bad, bad boy,” Helen scolded. “You rascal.”

“I told you Gus left me things,” Carlin said to Abe. “But you didn't believe me.”

Abe leaned back in his chair, baffled, but Helen Davis was far less surprised. She had always believed that grief could manifest itself in a physical form. Right after Annie Howe's death, for instance, she had been covered by red bumps, which itched and burned into the night. The doctor in town told her that she was allergic to roses and must never again eat rosewater preserves or bathe in rose oil, but Helen knew better. She'd had nothing to do with roses. It was grief she was carrying around with her, grief that was rising up through the skin.

Recalling these times caused Helen immeasurable pain, or maybe it was her illness that was affecting her so. It was so awful that she doubled over and Carlin ran to get the tablets of morphine hidden in the spice cabinet.

“There's nothing wrong with me,” Miss Davis insisted, but she gave them no further argument when they helped her to her room. Afterward, Carlin put up a plate for Miss Davis for tomorrow's lunch, then she ate her own dinner between bouts of cleaning up. Abe bolted his food, then checked to ensure that Miss Davis was sleeping. Thankfully, she was, but Abe was disturbed by how lifeless she appeared, pale as the deepest winter's ice.

When Carlin and Abe left Miss Davis's, the air was so cold it hurt a person's throat and lungs just to breathe; the sky was alight with constellations swirling through the dark. It was possible to see the Pleiades, those daughters of Atlas placed into the Milky Way for their own protection. How lovely it was with no people in sight and only the stars for company.

“How come you're so rarely lurking around anymore? Doesn't Miss Chase miss you?”

“She's got a fiancé.” Abe had learned the constellations from his grandfather and as a child he'd gone to sleep counting not sheep but all the brilliant dogs and bears and fish that shone through the window.

“That didn't stop you before,” Carlin reminded him.

“I guess the better man won.” Abe tried to smile, but his face hurt in the cold.

“I'm in Mr. Herman's history seminar. Believe me, he's not even the second-best man.”

The snow had stopped; it was the brilliant sort that made every step squeak.

“Christmas.” Abe watched his own breath form little crystals. “What do you think Gus would have been doing right now?”

“He'd be in New York,” Carlin said without hesitation. “And I'd be with him. We'd eat too much and see three movies in a row. And maybe we wouldn't come back.”

“Gus couldn't have put that fish in your pocket. You know that, don't you?”

“Tell that to your friend.” Carlin nodded to the cat, which had followed them from Miss Davis's. “He has fish breath.”

Later that night, Carlin was still thinking of Gus as she went into the gym, using the key every member of the swim team was granted. She switched on the emergency lights in the entranceway, then went to the locker room and changed into her suit, grabbing for her cap and goggles. Abel Gray didn't want to believe the fish at Miss Davis's dinner had come from Gus, but Carlin knew that some things never disappeared completely, they stayed with you for better and for worse.

Down at the pool, light reflected from the glassed walkway, and that was bright enough. The water looked bottle green, and when Carlin sat on the edge and swung her legs over, she was shocked by how chilly it was. Clearly, the heater had been turned off for the holidays. Carlin eased into the water, gasping at the cold. Her skin rose in goose bumps; her goggles steamed up the moment she slipped them on. She set about doing laps, using her strongest stroke, the butterfly, falling into her rhythm naturally. It brought relief to swim; Carlin felt as though she were out in the ocean, miles from land and all the petty concerns of humankind. She thought about the stars she had seen in the sky, and the snowflakes that had dusted the stone walkways, and the New England cold that could cut right through a person. By the time she was done, the action of her stroke had created a current; little waves slapped against the tiles. With her elbows resting on the edge of the pool, Carlin removed her goggles, then pulled off her bathing cap and shook out her hair. It was then she saw that she wasn't alone.

There was a greenish mist of chlorine rising from the surface, and for a moment Carlin thought she'd only imagined a figure approaching, but then the figure took a step closer. She pushed herself away from the edge; as long as she stayed in the center of the pool there was no way anyone could catch her, if catching her was what this individual was after. Whoever it was, he'd never be as fast as Carlin was in the water.

She narrowed her eyes, already burning with chlorine, and tried to make out his face. “Don't come any closer!” she commanded, and then was somewhat surprised when he did as he was told. He crouched down on his haunches and grinned, and that was when she saw who it was. Sean Byers from the pharmacy. Carlin could feel her heartbeat slow down, but the funny thing was, her pulse was still going crazy. “What do you think you're doing here?”

“I could say the same to you.” Sean took off his watch and carefully placed it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I'm here two or three times a week, after closing. I'm a regular. Which is more than I can say of you.”

“Oh, really? You swim?”

“Usually in Boston Harbor, but this does fine. No shopping carts or half-sunk boats to dodge.”

Carlin continued to tread water; she watched as Sean took off his jacket and tossed it on the tiles. He pulled off his sweater and his T-shirt, then gave Carlin a look.

“You don't mind, do you ?” he asked, one hand poised by his fly. “I wouldn't want to embarrass you or anything like that.”

“Oh, no.” Carlin tilted her head back, challenging him. “Go on. Be my guest.”

Sean pulled off his jeans. Carlin couldn't help herself, she looked to make sure he was actually wearing a bathing suit and was amused to see that he was. Sean let out a holler as he jumped into the far end of the pool.

“You're a trespasser with no legal rights,” Carlin said when he swam over. “I hope you know that.” In the deep end, the water was so black it appeared bottomless.

Sean's face was pale in the dim light. “There's nothing to do in this town. I had to find some way to occupy myself. Especially with Gus gone. You're a good swimmer,” he noted.

“I'm good at everything,” Carlin told him.

Sean laughed. “And so modest.”

“Well? Do you think you can keep up with me?”

“Definitely,” he said. “If you slow down.”

They swam laps together and Carlin didn't change her pace to suit him. To his credit, Sean managed to do fairly well; he hadn't been lying, he really was a swimmer, and although his stroke was awkward and wild, he was fast and competitive. It was lovely to be in the dark, alone, yet not alone. Carlin could have gone on this way forever, had she not noticed flashes of reflected light glittering before her. She stopped to tread water, thinking her vision would clear, but they were there, a stream of tiny minnows.

Sean came up beside her. His wet hair looked black and his eyes were black as well. He had a scar beneath his right eye, an unfortunate reminder of the car he'd stolen, the one that had wound up crashed on a side road in Chelsea and had landed him in juvenile court and then in Haddan. In spite of his injury, he had a beautiful face, the sort that had always brought him more fortune than he deserved. In Boston, he was known for his daring, but tonight, he felt uneasy. The pool was much colder than usual, but that wasn't the reason he'd begun to shiver. There was some movement grazing his skin, fin and gill, quick as a breath. A line of silver went past him, then circled and came back toward him.

“What are those?”

Sean had been wanting to get Carlin alone since the first time he saw her, but now he was far less sure of himself than he'd thought he'd be. Here in the water, nothing looked the same anymore. He would have sworn he saw fish darting through the pool, as ridiculous a notion as if stars had fallen from the sky to shine beneath them, giving off icy white light.

“They're only minnows.” Carlin took Sean's hand in her own. His skin was cold, but underneath he was blistering. Carlin made him reach out along with her, so that the fish floated right through their fingers. “Don't worry,” she said. “They won't hurt us.”

* * *

PETE BYERS COULDN'T BEGIN TO COUNT THE times he'd hurried to his store during snowstorms, called there by frantic mothers whose babies were dehydrated and burning up with fever, or by old-timers who'd forgotten to pick up a much-needed medication without which they might not make it through the night. He opened when necessary and closed down when appropriate, locking his doors, for instance, to honor Abe Grey's grandfather when Wright was laid to rest. On that day, there was a funeral procession that reached from Main Street to the library; people stood on the sidewalks and wept, as if one of their own had passed on. Pete also came in after hours on the day Frank Grey shot himself, to fill a prescription for tranquilizers to ensure that Frank's mother, Margaret, would finally get some sleep.

Pete had told Ernest Grey it would be no bother for him to drop the prescription by the house, but Ernest must have needed to get out, as he insisted on coming down himself. It was late, and Ernest had forgotten his wallet; he went through his pockets, pulling out change, as if Pete wouldn't have trusted him to make good on whatever he owed. Then Ernest sat down at the counter and cried, and for the first time, Pete was grateful he and Eileen had never had children. Perhaps what people said was true, that any man who lived long enough would eventually realize that the way in which he was cursed was also the blessing he'd received.

Since the town had changed so much in recent years, with so many new people moving in, it was difficult for Pete to know everyone by name, which meant service wasn't what it once was. But towns don't remain the same, they go forward, like it or not; there had even been talk about building a town high school, out near Wright's old farm, for there would soon be too many students to send to the Hamilton school district. It wasn't the way it used to be, that much was certain, back when a person would meet the same people at the Millstone on a Saturday night as he'd see at St. Agatha's on Sunday morning, knowing full well what there was to confess and what there was to be thankful for.

Lately, Pete had been puzzling over the issue of confidentiality, and it was this topic he was contemplating when Abe came in for lunch on the Saturday after Christmas. The few regular customers—Lois Jeremy and her cronies from the garden club, and Sam Arthur, a member of the town council for ten years running-all cried out a greeting to Abe.

“Happy holidays,” he called back. “Don't forget to vote yes on the traffic light by the library. You'll save a life.”

Anyone looking closely would be able to tell that Abe hadn't been sleeping well. Over this holiday break, he'd gone so far as to phone half a dozen hotels in Maine, like a common fool, searching for Betsy. At one hotel, a party named Herman had been registered, and although it turned out to be a couple from Maryland, Abe had been distressed ever since. Sean Byers, on the other hand, looked just fine. He was whistling as he filled Abe's order, which, like everyone else in town, he now knew by heart—turkey on rye, mustard, no mayo.

“What are you so happy about?” Abe asked Sean, who was practically radiating good cheer. It didn't take long for Abe to figure it out, for when Carlin Leander came into the pharmacy Sean lit up like the Christmas tree outside town hall.

Carlin, on the other hand, was cold and bedraggled; she had just been at the pool and the ends of her hair were a faint, watery green.

“You went swimming without me?” Sean said when she approached the counter.

“I'll go again,” Carlin assured him.