“A quote?” said Sarah.
“Who said that – No coward soul is mine?” Nathan’s eyes squinted in thought.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize it.”
He groaned in frustration and spoke to himself, “No coward soul is mine, no … something. Something trembling…”
“Just give it a second. It will come to you,” Sarah assured him as he squeezed his hands into fists. “I have one I can read while you figure it out. This one might cheer us up. I can skip the middle stanza.” She flattened the spine of her book and read.
“An awful tempest mashed the air,
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre's cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.The morning lit, the birds arose;
The monster's faded eyes
Turned slowly to his native coast,
And peace was Paradise.”
“Emily Dickinson. And it’s fitting. We just had a storm. But all is well. All cleaned up. And look how beautiful this night is.” I tossed my eyes to the horizon which had faded to a murky green dripping into the dark blue twilight. I couldn’t feel the beauty. Couldn’t feel anything but the numb disappointment of – of nothing. To think he saw me as nothing. He was thinking of sweaty gardeners and my line, my words, my thoughts all meandered back to him!
“‘
No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere!
’” Nathan declared triumphantly. “It was a Bronte.” His voice sparked with excitement and I turned reluctantly, my heavy mind unable to untangle one word from the next. My gaze rested on his stained t-shirt. It still looked like blood. But it should have been my shirt. My breast. My bleeding heart. His eyes found mine over the garish glare of the porch light and his secretive smile puzzled me. “Is that better than dirt?”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
Before Nathan said his good-byes my cell phone detonated with a keening ring, jolting me out of my thick cloud of pity. I grabbed it and looked in dread at my father’s cell phone number on the screen. “It’s my dad. I’ll take it inside.” I hurried through my words, shut the door behind me and flipped the phone open to say a breathless hello.
“Somebody loves you,” is the first thing he said.
“Why? Who?” I tripped on the stairs as I tried to hop over Chester who was sprawled across the second step.
“I’m just saying that somebody in high places is rooting for you or helping you out because your mother either started taking valium today or she’s coming around.”
“Are you serious?” I lowered myself on the top step with a view of the hundreds of faces along the wall. “She’s okay with it?”
“Not okay, but not … is freaking out what you still say? Or does that make me sound like a dweeb?”
I laughed. “Freaking out was fine, but dweeb made you sound like a loser,” I suddenly wished I could elbow Cleo and watch her roll her green eyes.
“Anyway, I’m supposed to be taking out the trash and I can’t talk for long. I just wanted to let you know that she told me about your phone call today. I’d never believe it if I didn’t hear it myself, but tonight she asked if I thought she should go to Smithport.”
“You have got to be
kidding
me! What did you tell her?” Chester stretched his large, ginger head over his back and eavesdropped with a mildly interested look.
“I told her that I would be proud of her if she did. Even if she just “knocked on the door” like you told her. I told her that I thought she could do it.”
“That’s perfect, Dad. You said the right thing.”
“Well, that’s a first!”
I finished the conversation quickly, dazed by my sudden turn in fortune. My eyes traveled through the maze of photographs stretching below me and didn’t stop until they came to the one of my grandfather beside his boat. Sitting in his house, looking at his face, remembering the story of my mother’s iron bed, made him feel very close. I tried to imagine what he would say to me if I brought his youngest daughter back home, but all I could imagine were his hands throwing fish into the ice chests on the dock.
And when I pictured the dock I remembered Glenn’s face as he stroked the Misses.
I’ve never been loved as much as that boat
. It was too unjust that a homely little tugboat had a better love story than I. I wouldn’t have cared a year ago, a month ago, a week ago. But that was before Nathan touched my face. Surely, I could say something, do something, to soften his voice again. If he complimented me once, if he touched me once, he could do it again. I gave the picture of the fishing boat on the wall a defiant glare. I would not be out-loved by floating scrap metal. I jumped up and thumped down the stairs, hopping over Chester who twisted and rose with a hiss, not trusting me to spare his precious person. “Oh, stuff it,” I mumbled.
Sarah and Nathan were discussing Claude when I returned, their voices low and fervent. Sarah finished saying that she would talk to Will’s father, but after that they both killed their private conversation and turned to me. “Everything okay?” she asked me.
“Actually … it really is, believe it or not. My dad just wanted to tell me that my mother is doing okay. I can stay for now.”
Nathan gave me a significant glance while Sarah said how happy she was. “I wanted to get one of the boys to take us out in a boat before you go – get you on the water.”
I pulled my mouth into a thoughtful frown, “Speaking of fisherman,” I said as I turned to Nathan, “you lied to me today.”
“Me?” he asked.
“Yes. You said you’d tell me why I couldn’t mention politics to the Jacks.”
“Aho!” Sarah exclaimed, “He’s not kidding!”
“They do bodily damage,” Nathan said.
“Only if they’re drunk,” Sarah amended.
“No, if they’re drunk they do serious damage. If they’re sober they keep it to minor injuries,” Nathan corrected.
“Why?” I asked, glad to see his body relax, his voice natural.
“Diabolical opposites. No common ground”
“Yes, but why do they
hurt
each other?” I asked. I took advantage of the moment when Nathan turned to Sarah to study his profile. I mentally touched his cheek, feeling the soft skin that concealed his hard jaw. I looked down to my hands, surprised that my fingertip tingled.
“Because they’re drunk sailors,” came Sarah’s flat reply. “They get drunk, which makes them sentimental. When they get sentimental they start talking about their true loves – Reagan and Roosevelt. It’s practically inevitable. But last year was the worst.”
Inside the house the telephone gave a shrill yell. Sarah turned to the door and Charlie jumped up from her feet. “That wasn’t your cell,” she said as she rose. “I’ll get it.” The screen clattered shut behind her and the night grew closer, more aware, as Nathan and I sat in silence, listening to Sarah answer. “Yes, Judith, I called earlier,” Sarah said. She turned back to us, giving us a nod and sat on the couch.
“My mom,” Nathan said. “Sarah’s going to talk to her about Claudia. She’ll probably be on for a while.” Sarah’s mumbled voice filled in the spaces between his words. “I guess I should go. It’s getting late.”
My heart leaped in panic. He was just loosening up. I couldn’t let him leave yet. “But I didn’t get to hear what happened last year with the Jacks.”
“Oh. Oh yeah.” He cast his eyes toward his home.
“I’ll walk halfway with you and you can tell me,” I said, praying it sounded casual. So fast that I almost missed it, a trapped, frightened glint passed through his dark eyes. I never knew blue eyes could be dark, but his were the color of midnight with black threads running through the murky shade.
He stood and took the porch steps slowly, waiting for me at the bottom. His consent. “So last year was ugly,” he started and my shoulders relaxed. Nathan steered his feet in a curved path around the house. I silently rejoiced that he chose the romance of the beach instead of the practical street. “Those fools got messy drunk right before midterm primaries. No one knows what they said, including them, but apparently it made Russ mad enough to grab a bottle off the bar and club Pete right in the mouth.” Nathan shook his head in disgust. “Unfortunately, it was the tip jar. Full of coins. It fractured his jaw… Idiots.”
“Was he okay?” I asked.
Nathan snorted. “Well, they’re all still flapping their mouths, so I guess he recovered.”
“And they’re all still friends?” I asked in disbelief.
“People are … crazy. They’re like brothers. Stupid, stupid brothers.” He looked up and folded his arms across his chest. “I think this is half way.”
The moon had come out of her dressing room arrayed in a streaming, white gown. A dark circle surrounded her in the sky where no stars dared to stand too close. As we neared the water I halted on the uneven sand and looked out where the tips of the waves blazed with white light. “That’s the prettiest I’ve seen the moon since I’ve been here,” I said. I doubted even Nathan couldn’t resist the pull of that wild, fractured shore.
“How long have you been here? A week? Two?” His eyes swept quickly across my face, darting as they went from side to side.
“I think tomorrow will be ten days.” How could ten days, ten tiny days, see the birth of these new feelings? Surely whatever gripped me now had to have a longer gestation than ten days?
“It seems like a lot longer,” he said. I scanned his face, certain for a moment that he was thinking something similar. Feeling the same. “It’s been fun,” he admitted with a miniscule lift of his lips.
“I know.”
He stood still long enough for me to lose my breath. Just as I wondered if I should inch closer he retreated a step. “You’ll be leaving soon,” he said, a trace of anger souring the words that were already so bitter for me.
I wanted to argue. “I know. But I’ll be back.” It was the best I could do.
A sullen curtain closed over his face and after rippling over his expression it came to a stop, smooth and blank and terrible. “Well, you’ve had a nice adventure.” He blew his breath out to the sky and before I could respond he said, “I’ve got to go. I have other girls to worry about.” The cold defiance of his tone was like falling into a snowdrift on a warm day. I shivered and leaned back.
Just another girl. Another person to trouble him. Another problem.
“Nathan?”
“Good night,” he grumbled miserably and turned with fast, stiff steps. I waited until the trees hid his black silhouette to fold myself onto the cold ground, too numb to cry. Too wretched to want to. The haughty moon glared through her round crater eyes and I felt the chilly breeze as she brushed her brilliant skirt aside to avoid me as she stepped across the night.
The next two days fumbled past me like a slippery ball that I couldn’t quite grasp. I spent more time alone by the water where I discovered the calming effect of putting my face against the shard-like sand and watching the surf leap toward me and recede while the sharp grains bit into my cheek.
No matter how often I gave myself a rousing pep talk, none of my platitudes helped in more than the most transitory ways.
He’s not worth it
empowered me until the caustic voice in my head retorted,
then who is?
You just need to give him time
loaned me a bit of comfort until I remembered that time was the one thing I didn’t have. Now when I dreaded it most my plan showed real potential to bring my Mother home. I tried to tell myself to put it all in God’s hands, but that rang the emptiest of all. When I thought of hands I thought of Nathan’s calloused fingers, scraped knuckles and thick fingernails. And then I remembered his touch on my face and I never did get around to God again until much later.
I thought my worst fear was facing him again. I even planned a few excuses for skipping lines. That is, until he beat me to it and called Sarah to tell her that he was too tired after his irrigation job and needed some extra rest. I nearly put my head down on the table to moan, but I managed to restrain myself by imagining what it would look like to Sarah. Only then did I realize that his anger, his resentment, his distance, was nothing – nothing- compared to his absence. “Does he do that often? Skip?” I asked her.
“Oh, sure. We both do. If the weather is too nasty, snow too deep, something else to do, we just call it off.” She said it with such ease. Like it didn’t mean the death of the best part of the day. “You and I can still do it,” she assured me with questioning eyes.
“No, that’s okay. We can take a break.” I rose and started washing the dishes so she couldn’t see my face.
On my third day of not seeing him Claude found me at the beach. I listened to her mention the most trivial things: a fourth of July party with her friends, Darcy’s attempt to attract a stray cat that actually attracted a stray opossum, a new song she liked- all the while praying that she would mention him. If she would just say his name I could say it back. And it seemed to be the only word I wanted to say. I screamed at Cleo inside my head as Claude spoke.
I know, Cleo. Less than two weeks. I know I’m an idiot.
But then I remembered how Nathan’s gentle face twisted with consternation when he called the Jacks idiots and I lost my train of thought.
“Did Nathan tell you about Will?” Claude asked, jerking my thoughts back to her so suddenly that my brain seemed to crash into itself.
“Nathan? Will? Oh, yeah, he mentioned him. He said you liked somebody.”
Claude’s tiny, sharp nose flared beneath her turquoise eyes. “He probably said awful things about him. Nathan hates Will. He needs to get over it.”
“Nathan did make him sound a little … a little like …” I shuffled, trying to make
uneducated jerk
sound more diplomatic.
“Ugh! See what I mean? I knew it!” She gesticulated angrily. “He doesn’t even know him. They got in a fight in Junior High.
Junior High
, Jennifer! And Nathan can’t get over it. How smart can you be if you can’t get past Junior High?”
Some lesser, rejected part of me wanted to rail against Nathan, and join in Claude’s complaints, but the rest of me, the most of me, the
me
of me, couldn’t do it. “Fought over what?” I asked, figuring that was the best way to find out if she knew what Will used to say about her without implying any knowledge, myself.