Water Dogs (11 page)

When they were done, Handelmann said, “It might take you a while before you’re ready to come back to this, Bennie. You’re out of practice.”

“Do you even have a heart?” asked Gwen. She was still kneeling on the floor, holding the dog.

“Gwen,” said Bennie. “This is what we do all the time.” He was embarrassed about her comment, but it was true—he’d somehow forgotten what it was like to kill a dog, and Handelmann seemed especially cold.

“Ollie was in pain,” said Handelmann. He pulled the dead dog by the collar, sliding him off the table and into a sling.

“I’ll carry him,” said Gwen. “This is just horrible.”

Managing the crematorium was a big part of Bennie’s job. Handelmann tried to help Gwen as she carried the dead dog, and Bennie mounted his crutches and followed them out back. The door to the crematorium was open and Littlefield was inside. Handelmann said, “Look at this. He showed up.”

In the middle of the little wooden shed, beside the cinderblock kiln, was a pile of dead animals, and Littlefield was kneeling beside the bodies, waiting to fit the next one into the incinerator. He turned to Gwen. “Just drop that one over there,” he said, pointing to the far side of the pile. Once they unloaded Ollie from the sling, Gwen started holding her nose. She asked if she could go wait in the car. Bennie told her he’d be along in a few minutes.

After she left, Handelmann asked, “Your sister. Remind me. Is she married?”

“No,” said Bennie. “Unfortunately, though, she lives in Brooklyn.”

“Is that right?” said Handelmann, smiling politely. “She’s a beautiful girl.”

Littlefield said, “You’ve got no chance with her, bub.”

Handelmann shrugged. “I’ll leave you to your work here, gentlemen.” He closed the door behind him.

“Why be such an asshole?” Bennie asked.

“Just stating facts,” his brother said.

It was always better in the crematorium when the fire was at full power; the burning smell was much better than the fetid stink of rotting organs and congealing dog blood. Littlefield had the fire cranked up and the dogs were burning fast. You’d think it’d smell mostly of burning fur, but what struck Bennie always was how much it smelled like any other fire—a bonfire or barbecue—just earthy smoke.

Ollie had struck an awkward pose when he tumbled from the sling—his back was twisted around and his legs were angled wrong. Bennie tried straightening him. Littlefield said, “I can’t fit him in yet. He’s too big.”

“I’m just getting that weird twist out of him.”

“Leave him right there. Let go of him.”

“Where have you been?” Bennie asked.

“Since when?”

“Since I got out.”

He seemed bored by Bennie’s concern. “Around.”

“You’re sleeping in the basement?”

“Gwen needs a bed. She says her room has that mouse smell. And apparently there’s a big hole in the ceiling of Coach and Mom’s room.” Littlefield picked up a boxer by two of his legs and stuffed him into the incinerator, headfirst. “Besides, the basement is fine. Gwen pisses me off.”

“She doesn’t try to.”

“She’s nosy. She wants to talk about everything.” He kept his eyes on the pile. He picked up a small shaggy mutt next.

Bennie knew it wouldn’t fit in the kiln. “Will you slow down?”

Littlefield dropped the dog. “I’m doing okay here on my own, Bennie. I’m doing the work you can’t do. Why don’t you hit the road? Gwen’s waiting for you.”

Bennie said, “Hold on a sec. You need to tell me about Ray LaBrecque.”

“LaBrecque? Never mind it, Bennie. I chased him, but he lost me. They went looking for him and nothing turned up. That guy has never been in the same place for more than a few days anyway. He probably went back up to Canada.” Littlefield picked up the iron poker from the floor and jabbed it into the fire.

“Do you know him?”

“Not really. Some people I know know him, and they don’t like him.”

“Doesn’t it seem weird—”

“Goddamn it—put it to rest, Bennie. I have no idea where he went. What do you think happened? I chased him. It was the game we were playing, remember? And he’s good at it—he’s damn good at the game. We both got lost. It took me a while to get out of the storm.”

When his brother said this, Bennie realized he wasn’t sure what he was after. Littlefield was an obstinate prick sometimes, but he was telling the truth. Bennie decided to let him stew in his bad mood—right now, burning the pile was probably the best thing for him to do. He still didn’t understand how Littlefield had been outrun by LaBrecque. How could Littlefield have lost track of him? Bennie was often reminded, though—especially in the last few years—that his brother didn’t mind being misunderstood.

“All right. Later,” said Bennie.

Littlefield poked the fire and didn’t look up. When Bennie left the shack and made his way to the Skylark, it was a relief to be out of the confined space of the crematorium, to see the ocean, a snowy field leading to the seaweed-covered rocks of Esker Cove.

He climbed in and closed the car door. Gwen said, “Oh, gross. You smell like dead-dog smoke.”

“Sorry,” he said.

The car was already warm. She shifted into gear. Bennie told her Handelmann thought she was pretty.

“That guy is completely inhuman,” she said. “How can he do that day after day? Seriously, he might not have blood in his veins.”

Bennie had been over to Handelmann’s house only once. He was extremely neat, and regimented about his workout routine, which he did in his garage, regardless of season. He had a cold way of relating to people, but Bennie knew that he ultimately did a lot of good for the animals. “He’s not a bad guy. It’s a hard job,” said Bennie.

“Man, what a nightmare it was in there,” she said. She drove them toward the island and they didn’t speak the rest of the way. He loved his sister and he felt the ache of wanting her to move back home.

Just before they got to the causeway, late-afternoon orange light stretched across the snowfields, each long glowing finger distinct against the dark gray shadows. The feeling had been popping up, again and again, since he’d been released from the hospital: everything could have turned out differently. When he’d fallen, he could have easily died. He felt this in his stomach first—a warm glow that spread to his chest and his shoulders and his legs.
I’m alive
.

7

R
eturning from the animal hospital, Gwen drove on the Weehauk Road, along the Weehauk River, and Bennie asked her if they could stop at the restaurant to say hello. That way she could meet Julian—and Bennie knew they’d like each other. He wanted to find more reasons for her to spend time on the island.

“Eddie’s son?”

“Yeah. We’ve become friends.”

“I remember him, kind of. The tall freak.”

“He’s got other attributes.”

“Well, I can’t meet him like this,” she said. “My hair’s been under this hat all day.”

“Keep the hat on,” he said.

“No dice,” she said. She kept on driving when they got to the causeway, past the turn for the restaurant. “Oh, you know what? I forgot to tell you. Helen—is that her name? She called.”

“Yeah, Helen,” said Bennie. Saying her name brought some warmth to his body, and nervousness. He felt his legs go dead when he remembered how startled she’d been by his head bandage and the big cast. It seemed like she was thinking about the possibility of his death, too, and they hadn’t been dating long enough to have to contemplate those kinds of thoughts. He wanted to go to her house, show her he was okay and that it wouldn’t be long before everything would return to normal.

The rain was so heavy that Bennie and Gwen couldn’t see the harbor, only fog. The water by the road was hammered silver. They saw a bird on the rocks near the far side of the causeway, and Gwen asked, “Is that one?”

“I think it’s still too early in the season.” Looking for light blue herons was hard without Coach; they didn’t know exactly what they were looking for. They knew the birds were stocky and quick and they hunted for fish in the shallows, but otherwise it was a process of elimination.

When they got to the Manse, Gwen parked the Skylark in the snow and helped her brother out the passenger side. For the first time since his return, he thought about all the bills he needed to pay. Littlefield chipped in occasionally to help with the oil bill, but he was always broke. Bennie crutched his way to bed. Plaster from the ceiling above had sprinkled the bedspread. He didn’t even brush it off before climbing in. Before he dozed, Gwen came into the room with a small green envelope. “Looks like Helen was here while we were out. She left this.” Gwen bent down and kissed him on the cheek, handed him the envelope, then turned and left the room.

Helen had written on a small piece of yellow construction paper, in red ink:

He missed Helen more than he probably should have, considering they’d only met in January. He knew it was wrong to postpone seeing her, but he wasn’t ready. He still didn’t feel quite himself.

A few days later, the same afternoon a case of oranges and grapefruit arrived from Florida, Gwen took Bennie to Dr. Miner’s office, where he removed the bandage and took out his stitches. As he peeled off his rubber gloves, the doctor said he was glad to see some color in Bennie’s face, and he rested a hand on Bennie’s shoulder and told him he was lucky to be alive. There was something about hearing this out loud that made Bennie wish the doctor had kept it to himself. He liked the guy—he’d treated him well in the hospital—but Bennie knew he’d been lucky, he knew it more and more each day, and he didn’t want someone else telling him so. On his way out of the exam room he glanced in the mirror beside Dr. Miner’s diplomas. They’d shaved his head when they’d put in the stitches. His hair had grown back some, but the scar was plainly visible, a meaty line just above his forehead. The marine cut made him look a little lost. He tried remembering the blood—there must have been a lot of it—but his mind was empty. He thought about his brother, running through the snow, in the opposite direction from where Bennie had fallen. It felt like years had passed since they’d all been at the quarry.

When Gwen pulled up in front of the Manse, Bennie told her to keep the engine running. He scooted across the bench seat toward the driver’s side.

“You’re not ready to drive, are you?”

“It’s an automatic, Gwen. I can do it all with my right foot.”

Her eyes looked pathetically sad. Gwen and Bennie didn’t often have to explain themselves to each other. She said, “Okay. Just be careful.”

She got out, shut the door, and through the window she gave him the same look. He rolled down the window.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re getting better, that’s all.”

As he pulled away from the house, he waved and she waved back, looking like a parent watching her child swim in the ocean for the first time. It felt odd to be worried about, but he was so happy to have Gwen on the island. He was just getting used to it again.

He had Helen’s note in his pocket, and when he pulled up to the restaurant he took it out and unfolded it.
I’m looking forward to seeing you, Bennie
. On second glance, this seemed oddly formal. He felt like a royal jackass for being out of touch with her. She had actually had to drop off a note at his house because he hadn’t called her.

He clicked on the Skylark’s hazards and fumbled his way out of the car, grabbed the crutches, and hopped up the steps to the side entrance. It was before the dinner rush, though the bar was crowded, and when the loud sounds of conversation hit his ears he realized he didn’t want to talk to anyone except Helen. Julian had his back to the bar, mixing drinks, and Bennie thought about the phone conversations he’d had with him since the accident. Julian was unnerved by Bennie’s injuries, uncomfortable talking about them, which made Bennie grateful his friend hadn’t visited the hospital in person. Julian had been lost in the storm when Boak and Shaw scrambled down into the quarry in the dark to retrieve Bennie after he’d fallen, and Julian said they hadn’t known if Bennie was dead, even after they’d found him. Boak and Shaw had carried Bennie out to the South Road, and they flagged down a logging truck to get him to the Adventist Hospital. On the phone Julian told Bennie he was sorry he hadn’t been there to help. He’d been on
the verge of tears. “It’s just—I got so lost. I wish I’d been there to haul you out.”

“I made it out okay, right?” Bennie had said.

“I should have been there to help,” said Julian.

Vin Thibideaux was slouching at the bar. He was Coach’s age—they’d been classmates—and Coach had disliked him, though he’d always been respectful of Vin’s athletic talent. Coach talked often with Bennie, Littlefield, and Gwen about Vin’s prowess—he’d been the town golden boy: a soccer star, a hockey star, the ace pitcher for the baseball team. Coach said he could have been great at any sport, including biathlon. Vin had a shaved head and a goatee and his cheeks were bright crimson. He looked less like a cop than a strip club bouncer. He was telling one of his stories: “…  and there she was—she’d just puked on my bed …” but then Julian and a few others noticed Bennie had walked in and they turned and Julian smiled, saying, “Looking good, you stud, looking real good.”