Ashes (31 page)

She went to stand by Gene, at the wheel of the boat. He was singing along to the music, in a remarkably good tenor voice. Hearing her, he stopped singing and turned to look at her. “How you like it so far?”

“I love it.”

“Not feeling sick, are you?”

“No, never better.”

“That’s good, you never know who’s going to get seasick. Though it’s real calm now, if there was a gale there’d be — oh, hello there.” He brought the boat to a slow crawl, then cut the motor. “Come on.”

They went out onto the boat, Matthew joining them, bringing in his kite. Gene pointed out to the water. “Look there.”

“I don’t—” and then she did, great gray backs and plumes of water, fins waving. About a dozen whales, big ones mostly, but she managed to spot what looked like a young one in the crowd. She watched, wished she could have a closer look, and then realized she was going to get her wish. “They’re coming this way.”

“Yeah. Here, come back to the stern.”

“Dad, can I touch one?”

“If they come close enough.”

Jennifer felt herself a total landlubber, but had to ask. “They won’t, you know, hit the boat or anything?”

“You’ve seen too many movies,” Gene said. What could have been scornful was amused, it was clear from his smile and his eyes. “Come on.”

It was different seeing the whales close up. They seemed to move both faster and slower, and she realized the great size of them. Despite Gene’s assurances she felt nervous; one of these things could smash the boat to pieces if it felt so inclined. But they were not inclined that way, in fact she would have sworn that the whales seemed to be friendly. One broke the surface right next to the boat, got them wet with the spray, seemed to linger alongside the boat, and they all reached out, Gene holding Matthew out and down so he could reach. She stroked the whale’s back, dark gray, smooth and rubbery-feeling in some areas, like an inner tube; grayish-white, rough with barnacles in others.

“Pretty neat, eh?” asked Gene after the whales had passed and were heading out of sight.

“You could say that,” she replied, and that night lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling in the dark, smiling to herself. This time last year she was listening to her answer machine and its messages of hate, picking up the phone only for her sister or for Amber LaSalle, wanting only to get away. And she had gone away. Gone home.

* * *

T
hat summer never did get very warm, but beyond a mild feeling of regret, Jennifer scarcely noticed. She bought a small gas grill for her backyard, had the Tallys and the Delacroixs to her house for barbecued chicken and shish kabob. Weary of spending so much time in her car, shielded from the elements, she bought a pair of roller skates and on sunny days skated to the library or the shops or the harbor. By summer’s end she had strong legs and a fine collection of scrapes and bruises, and had ended up on Gene’s wall of photos: ponytail flying in the wind as she skated along with Pete Puma, lanky and orange and no less cross-eyed, clinging to her shoulder, his tail like a banner, skating past Mr. Bradbury who stood with his inevitable umbrella and book, wearing a look of amusement as she went by.

“You are a crazy woman, you know that?” Gene said one day that summer. It was the day she wasn’t looking where she was going and hit a bump in the sidewalk, landed fortunately not on the sidewalk but in a flowerbed. Jennifer was none the worse for wear after this, but she couldn’t say the same for the tulips.

“True, very dreadfully nervous I have been, but will you say that I am mad?” she asked, grinning, brushing dirt off her knees.

“If you’re trying to change my opinion, it’s not working,” Gene replied. “I don’t know if I want an insane person teaching my son.”

“Why do you think I came up here? To corrupt impressionable minds.”

“Sometimes I think you’re corrupting my mind. But that’s OK.” He smiled and walked away before Jennifer could think of what exactly he meant or how she should reply.

* * *

J
uly, and Jennifer knelt by her flowerbeds one Saturday, looking over the basil she’d planted and wondering if it was supposed to be yellow, limp, and stunted. Her first guess was no. So far she’d been able to maintain what was growing here when she’d moved in — the roses and lawn were in fine shape — but had no success with anything she’d planted, except for the Venus flytrap, which so terrified Pete Puma that she’d ended up giving the plant to Matthew.

Still, at least her track record was better than Mr. Bradbury’s. Over the last six months she’d watched a steady parade of plants wither and die on his desk. Now he was trying his luck with an air fern. Jennifer didn’t hold out high hopes for it. Pulling up the basil, she saw the van pull up out of the corner of her eye but didn’t look up. Not until a voice said, “What’s a girl have to do to get a hello around here?”

“Cindy!” Jennifer jumped to her feet and ran to her sister. Cindy stood there with a suitcase in one hand and a carry-bag in the other. She dropped both and ran to Jennifer, the sisters embraced. “You wench!” Jennifer said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I meant to, but the day after I made the reservations the airline went on strike. And I would have changed but the only other airline with a good fare went belly-up. It was looking like the trip could get canceled any minute and I didn’t want to disappoint you. Besides, thought you’d like a surprise,” Cindy said with a grin.

“Hey, as long as the surprises are good, I’m always game,” Jennifer replied.

Cindy stayed a week. Jennifer felt bad, leaving Cindy at home during the days — she was saving her vacation time for Christmas — but Cindy said she didn’t mind. She prowled around the town while Jennifer was at work, did shopping, went out to lunch with Suzanne. In the evenings, Jennifer came home and they oohed and ahhed over what Cindy had bought, then some nights they went out, some nights Jennifer made dinner. Cindy’s last night they went to the Blue Moose, met up with Suzanne and Bill, and Gene and Matthew, and Mr. Bradbury.

Afterward, Jennifer and Cindy took a walk down by the harbor. It was quiet, save for the lapping of the water and the creak of boats. “I have to tell you, Jen, if it weren’t for pesky things like a husband and kids and a mortgage, I might kiss the States goodbye and come out here.”

“Well, it’s not as warm as California. But so far that’s the only problem I’ve been able to find.”

“You think you’ll ever come back to the old US of A?”

Jennifer was silent, looking out at the ocean for a bit. “I don’t know. I mean, I do miss some things. Little things, mostly. Disneyland. Mexican food. But I think about going back, and I just don’t know if I could do that. The way life is so fast down in California. I used to like that. Now I think about it and it just seems busy and frantic. Too crowded and noisy. Like things are always coming at you. I want a place where I can see what’s coming at me before it gets there.”

“Things will always sneak up on you, Jen. I mean, no matter where ... well, you never would have seen that bombing come up on you.” Cindy shut her mouth with a snap. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jennifer shook her head. “It’s OK.” She didn’t talk about it, unless circumstance forced her to it, but it was different with Cindy. She had nothing to hide from Cindy. “No, you’re right. I guess it just feels that way here. And if that’s all I can get, that’s what I’ll take.”

“Amen to that,” said Cindy. “So what’s going on with you and this Gene fellow?”

“Nice way to change the subject! We’re friends. I’m tutoring his kid.”

“Still on the Harry Potter books?”

“We're alternating them with the Narnia ones. Mr. Bradbury’s recommendation.”

“He’s good-looking.”

“Mr. Bradbury?”

Cindy poked her in the ribs. “I meant Gene.”

“I guess. Don’t look at me like that. He’s just a friend. That’s all.”

“Why? He’s nice as well. And his kid’s cool. Not a brat like most of them are nowadays, except for my own of course. Don’t tell me you think a fisherman’s not good enough for you?”

“Nothing like that, Cin. Trust me.”
Yes, trust me, because if one of us isn’t good enough for the other, it’s the other way around.

“OK, whatever makes you happy. But I think you’re missing out.”

Jennifer shrugged. “None of us are going anywhere. Time will tell, I guess.”

* * *

A
ugust, and she sat with Suzanne one evening in Suzanne’s backyard. August, and she in a dress and a cardigan sweater. It was rather funny, in a way, to see the locals grousing about the heat when in her opinion it was still too cold for shorts. Jennifer said as much to Suzanne, who snorted. “Jen, this our island in the sun right now.”

“I know, I know. Great white north.” They were outside, watching Hannah Reisman and Matthew Tally in a hot game of tetherball while the Joplin twins played on the swing set. The twins had apparently just gone through that time-honored school ritual, learning the song about the place called France, and were singing it repeatedly as they swung.

“That’s not the version I heard when I was their age,” Jennifer said.

“I went to a girl’s school, I think that’s why my version had ‘where the naked boys dance’ instead of ‘the naked ladies’. I really should shut them up, Ruth will kill me if Hannah starts singing that,” said Suzanne.

“Well, if Gene catches Matthew singing that and finds out where he learned it, he’ll probably kill me, so we’ll end up in heaven or hell together.”

Suzanne poured them another round of iced tea. Jennifer cherished what warmth there was. She’d heard tales from Gene of Newfoundland, of snow appearing at any time of year, even the middle of summer, of watching icebergs cruise by on the horizon and the bay becoming a sheet of ice. She tried to imagine it, did not want to. Too much cold. Too hard to find comfort.

Hannah lost the game of tetherball, looked downcast. Matthew said, “Come on, two out of three.” Hannah agreed, and in the ensuing game, it was clear to Suzanne and Jennifer, if not to Hannah, that Matthew was letting Hannah win.

“What a kid,” Jennifer said. “Gene should be really proud.”

“God knows I would be, if he was mine,” Suzanne replied. There was a look in her eyes Jennifer had seen before, but now it was more intense than usual. Longing, and resigned melancholy. The look of someone who wants what they will most likely never have.

“Ask me,” Suzanne said. “It’s all right. I know you’ve wanted to.”

“How come you and Bill...” Jennifer trailed off.

Suzanne took a sip of iced tea. “Back in high school, I was kind of wild. Not very wild, but wild enough. The usual story, you know, you’ve heard it so many times before. Parents split up, shuffle you back and forth every month. I started looking for someone who would pay me attention of some kind. You get the idea. And somewhere along the line, I ended up getting attention from the wrong person, and I also got one of those unpleasant things that are like the greatest joke on women. You know, no symptoms and for years you’re none the wiser. And then, you meet the right guy, and get married, and you find out that the joke’s on you, and you’re most likely not ever going to...”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

Jennifer’s hand hovered over Suzanne, looking for some place to lay comfort. Touched the red-brown curls, then took Suzanne’s hand in hers. Thought about secrets, about the way the past shapes the future. For Suzanne, the wrong boyfriend. For Gene, the price of a marriage made without love. For herself, the knowledge that her life was saved by a broken photocopier and a brave fireman. She almost told Suzanne her own tale, not the abridged version she’d given Mr. Bradbury or Gene, but the whole thing, entire, from the morning when she’d thought the worst that could happen was a dressing-down from her boss, to the moment of nauseated clarity in Alex Salto’s back field.

But in the end, only said, “I’m sorry.”

Suzanne turned her gaze away from her charges, looked at Jennifer. Smiled sadly. “Thanks. So am I.”

Jennifer said nothing else, only thought of what Cindy had said. That you really couldn’t see what was coming next, or where it was coming from. Much as she wanted to think she could see further up here in Haven Cove, she couldn’t. Nor was she sure she wanted to. For surely if she could have avoided the bombing she would have. But then, she would not be here. Had what she gained made up for what she’d been through?

“Cold? You’re shivering.”

She looked down at her forearms. She was. “Nothing. Goose walked over my grave. That’s all.”

S
ean had just come back from dropping off half of the apple pie with Tess Perkins the landlady — no insult to Anna’s cooking, the pie was fabulous but he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to eat it all before it went off — when the phone rang. Richard’s voice on the other end, and he felt his sense of alertness quicken.

“Sam,” said Richard. “I know it’s short notice, but can you meet today?”

“Not a problem. How did your trip go?”

“Hold on a minute.” The sound muffled as Richard put his hand over the receiver. He could hear Richard saying
No, I don’t think so
and
By the way, we’re out of eggs.
Sean repressed a smile, lest Richard hear it in his voice. “Sorry. Some interesting news has come my way.”

“Interesting in a good way or a bad way?” He wondered if someone had gotten curious about that sedan with its unpleasantness locked in the trunk, at Green Bay airport.

“Best if you hear about it in person. Can you make it?”

“Sure.”

They hung up. Sean slipped keys into his pocket, felt the weight of the gun in its holster, reassuring. Trotted down the steps to the parking lot, and as he headed toward his van, Steve Wickersham appeared from behind it, grinning like an evil jack-in-the-box. “Hey there,” Steve said. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d catch a ride with you to Richard’s.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied
.
There was an unhealthy glow in Steve’s eyes that Sean didn’t like. The same glow Steve had back in January, holding his rifle to Carl Miller’s head.