Generation Loss (38 page)

A
few scattered snowflakes melted against the windshield as we headed toward
Burnt Harbor. After a few minutes Gryffin glanced at me.

"That
looks like it hurt."

"Yeah."
I took a deep breath. He looked awful. Not merely exhausted but ravaged by
grief and, I knew, something worse. "I—I don't know what to say. Just, I'm
sorry about everything."

He
was silent for a moment. Then he sighed.

"Thanks.
It's bad. Denny—well, you know. My mother was so enraged when he dumped her for
that girl Hannah, his name isn't even on my birth certificate. But I knew.
Everyone knew. And the way they do things up here—well, no one ever talked
about it. I haven't had any contact with him since I was really young, but the
police have been talking to me now, I can tell you that. It's horrible. Beyond
horrible. But—"

He
peered out through the thin snowfall to the dark road winding ahead of us.
"He's gone now. I guess. I hope so, anyway. Now it'll just be forensics
and trying to figure out who all those other people were."

"Will
you be leaving too?"

"Leaving?
I wish I could. I've got to stick around and go through my mother's stuff. The
state office is calling it an-unexplained death with alcohol as a factor. But I
still have to deal with her estate. And the police. And lawyers. Try to figure
out what they can and can't confiscate as part of the investigation. It's a
mess."

We
rounded a turn too fast; the car skidded toward the woods before Gryffin eased
it back onto the road. He slowed to a crawl, reached into his pocket, and
tossed me something. "Here. I think this belongs to you."

I
caught it and looked down: a roll of Tri-X film. Before I could open my mouth
he said, "My box turtle shell—it had been moved, I noticed first thing
when I got up that morning. I picked it up and I could feel something inside. I
meant to give it to you then—I guess it was some sort of joke, right? But then
I found my mother, and ..."

He
looked away. "I forgot about it."

I
ran my fingers across the roll then tucked it into the pocket of my leather
jacket. "Well," I said. "Thanks. I, uh—"

"Forget
it." For a moment he was quiet. Then he said, "That box turtle
shell... it was the only thing he ever gave me. Denny."

He
glanced out the side window at snow slanting through the trees. "When I
heard, I took it down to the beach and threw it into the water. It's gone now.
They're all gone."

He
downshifted as we approached a curve. "These old Volvos are terrible in
the snow. Rear wheel drive. Every year I tell myself I'll buy a new car. Why'd
you come after her?"

"Kenzie?"

"No.
My mother. Why'd you come here to talk to her?"

I
stared outside. "Because I loved those two books," I said at last.
"Deceptio
Visus
and
Mors
—they changed my life. When I saw them, that's when I
decided I wanted to be a photographer."

"What
made you stop?"

When
I didn't reply, Gryffin said, "I found a copy of your book online. I
ordered it from ABE. It goes for two hundred dollars now. Did you know
that?"

"Really?
No shit? Two hundred bucks?"

"No
shit. With all this stuff going on, I bet you could get a reprint deal if you
wanted." He gave a harsh laugh. "Good career move, Cass, all
this."

He
glanced at me. "Cass. Listen. Why don't you stick around here for a
while?"

"I
have to get back to work."

"Oh
yeah, right. The stockroom at the Strand. Like they're going to miss you? Look,
I've started going through my mother's stuff. Her photos and letters and things
like that. She kept everything. I'm already getting calls from dealers and
collectors—this horrible thing with Denny, all of a sudden everyone is
interested in Aphrodite Kamestos again. Not to mention Denny's stuff. Some
agent contacted me about a book.

"But
I can't stand to look at any of it. So I was thinking. If you were interested,
if you could stand it—you could stay and help me collate things. Get a catalog
together. I know about rare books, but I don't know enough about photography,
and it seems like you do. I couldn't pay anything right off, but you could stay
at the house, and then if we got a deal we could work something out. What do
you think?"

I
stared out the window into the woods, thinking. I shook my head. "No.
Thanks, but—"

"But
what?"

"Well,
for starters, I don't think I could hack living here."

"Really?
Seems to me you've hacked it pretty good so far." He gave me that odd
furtive look, shot with annoyance but also regret. "Well, okay. I thought
it was a good idea. Keep it in mind, all right? I'm probably going to end up
hiring someone. It would be good if it was someone like you."

Ahead
of us the lights of Burnt Harbor began to shine through the snow. We coasted
down to the Good Tern and parked alongside Toby's red pickup. A few people
stood by the pier, looking across the water and talking. As we got out they
turned—Toby, Suze from the Island Store, Ray Provenzano and Robert.

"Hey,"
Suze called. She kicked through the snow to join us, hiking her long peasant
skirt above clunky boots. A knit cap covered her blond dreadlocks. "That
was a nice service, Gryffin. You did the right thing. As always."

She
hugged him then looked at me. "How're you feeling?"

I
shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Under the circumstances."

She
smiled. "You're a local hero. You know that, right?" She tipped her
head, indicating my eyepatch. "That looks nasty. Will you be able to
see?"

"Yeah.
It's just till I pull the stitches out."

She
stood on tiptoe to kiss Gryffin's cheek. He smiled wanly, and Ray put an arm
around him.

"You'll
be okay, Gryffin. We'll take care of you," said Ray. He looked at me then
added in his hoarse voice, "Well, you've had quite a little visit."

Toby
lit a joint and held it out. I shook my head. He passed it to Ray then said,
"So. You got everything, Cass?"

"Yeah.
I guess so."

Suze
rocked back on her heels and stared at the snow whirling down. "You oughta
stick around. They already got eight inches in Portland, had to close 95 cause
a semi went off near Bangor. A tombstone every mile.' Just like the song."

Robert
nodded. "We're gonna get hammered."

"Come
on." Gryffin touched my elbow and gestured to my car, parked in the
shadows a few
yards off. "You better get going if you're going to
beat the storm."

We
walked, my boots sliding on the greasy blacktop. I kept my head down so no one
could see my face. We reached the car.

"Uh-oh,"
said Suze.

I
looked up. "What the fuck?"

The
Rent-A-Wreck sagged, its carriage resting on the ground. I crouched to stare at
the front tire. It had been slashed.

"Looks
like they got 'em all," said Toby. He walked to the rear, shaking his
head. "Huh."

"Robert?"
Ray's braying voice echoed across the empty harbor.
"Robert?'

"It
wasn't me! I swear to God, it was Bip—"

"Bip?"
I stared at him in disbelief. "Who the fuck is Bip?"

"That
guy you beat up. He was wicked pissed," he added, and shrugged sheepishly.

Ray
punched his shoulder. "You're gonna fix her tires, understand? You and
frigging Bip! First thing tomorrow. Or well, whenever the storm lets up."

"Shit."
I stared at the car. Suze came up beside me.

"Hey,
don't sweat it," she said. "This kind of stuff happens all the time.
We'll get you fixed up."

I
turned and looked out across the whorl of white and black, to where the lights
shone on Paswegas Island, all but indistinguishable from the falling snow.

"Come
on," said Gryffin. He put his arm around me and pointed at the Good Tern.
"I'll buy you a drink."

The
others started toward the bar. I watched them go, then looked up at Gryffin.

He
smiled, and for a fraction of a second he looked exactly like the young man in
the photograph—not ecstatic, maybe, but still open to the possibility of
happiness.

The
possibility of something, anyway. I stared at him then slung my camera bag over
my shoulder.

"Oh,
what the hell," I said, and we followed the others inside.