Swim That Rock (24 page)

“Where you going with all these beauties, Jake?”

“The Riptide’s having a cabaret tonight. It’s twenty bucks a head. We’re having lobsters, chowder, stuffies, and live music. You should tell your friends inside.” They look a bit doubtful, so I add, “And all the beer and wine you can drink.”

“I thought you guys didn’t have a liquor license.”

“Who’s going to complain, you?” I press.

“Not me.” He laughs. “You gonna complain, Sam?”

“Definitely not,” Sam says, “I’ll be wearing my drinking shoes!” Sam looks down at my hands. “Jesus, those mitts of yours look like raw hamburger. I heard you worked the beach yesterday. I didn’t see you out there.”

“That would be like finding a needle in a haystack,” I say.

“How’d you make out?” he asks.

“I did fine, I guess.” I don’t really want to say. Gene always says don’t ever talk about what you caught, because if it was even one more quahog than they caught, they’ll be on you like flies on dog crap the rest of the week. So I don’t say anything more than that.

“Fine? Bainsey said you hauled in forty-eight bags, almost sunk Gene’s boat. That’s what Bainsey said. Is it true?”

“Something like that. Listen, thanks for your help with the lobsters. I gotta get ’em back to the Riptide before they die in this heat. Don’t forget to tell your friends about the cabaret tonight.”

As I wheel away, I can still hear them talking.

“There’s no way that kid caught forty-eight bags. I only got thirty-eight myself, and I was out there until dusk.”

“Quit your bellyaching and go buy me another drink, ’cause I only got thirty-five bags, you peckerhead.”

I just continue wheeling those lobsters down the street, but I can’t help smiling the rest of the way.

With the lobsters in the kitchen and my mom working away on the chowder and stuffed quahogs, I head out front to tackle building a stage. I swear to God, I am going to drop dead by the time the cabaret starts. Every muscle in my body aches.

Next to the jukebox I see five long two-by-fours leaning up against the wall and two sheets of plywood on the floor. Honestly, I don’t know where to begin. I’ve never built anything out of wood in my life, and now I have an hour to build a stage for Robin’s singing-career debut.

I know there are some nails and a saw and hammer in the basement, but as I turn to get them, I freeze. Standing in the doorway is Gene. He looks weak, but he’s smiling and holding his toolbox with his good arm.

“I heard we got us a stage to build,” Gene says.

“Gene, you’re home!” I run over to him and want to give him a bear hug, but I know he’s weak, so I give him a half hug and a pat on the back. I want to tell him all about the beach and how I caught forty-eight bags and almost sank his boat but didn’t, and that I was sorry I took his boat without asking, and how I got back too late to get a good price, and how crazy it was out there on the water, but I can’t actually say anything. I have a fist-size lump in my throat, and I just want to bury my face in his flannel shirt and cry, because I’m so glad he’s here right now.

“You look like you’ve been through the wringer. What happened to your eye?”

“Oh, that? I just fell. It was stupid, really.”

Gene takes both my hands in his and turns them over for inspection. He winces. “Did you slay ’em out there? I heard you slayed ’em.”

Gene and I spend the next hour putting together the makeshift stage. I do most of the sawing and hammering, while Gene is the brains of the operation. The whole time we talk about the beach as he lobs questions at me one after another.

“Were the quahogs layered up on each other?” Gene asks, handing me the pencil.

“Yeah, just like you said. It was mud but it felt like hard bottom, they were so thick.”

“And what about off of the seventeenth hole?”

“Yeah, as soon as the wind picked up, I went over there, right up by Rumstick Rock, just like you said. It was perfect.”

“I knew it.” Gene has a faraway look in his eyes.

“You should have been there, Gene. You would’ve caught a hundred bags.”

“Well, you were in my boat, using my rake, so it was just like I was there. And I don’t know about a hundred bags. That old Hawkline would’ve sunk for sure,” Gene says. I hammer in the last nail.

“It better not fall apart when Robin hits her high note.” Darcy gracefully leaps onto our newly built stage. I am currently eye level with her bare knees as she pretends to be doing a guitar solo, and Gene and I whistle as she bounces around like a rock star.

I grab a Coke and head toward one of the stools by the counter. I choose the one that’s got silver tape across the top holding the cushion in place, figuring if I sit on this one, the rest of them don’t look so bad. My mom swishes from table to table, lighting candles and humming to the song on the jukebox. Trax and Robin are rolling silverware into paper napkins. Darcy is helping Gene carry his toolbox.

I wish it could stay like this forever.

There’s no way we’re going to get forty-three hundred dollars to Vito by the end of the month. I’ve done the math in my head a bunch of times. It’s over, and I’m trying to accept it, but the feeling is like someone has just drained all the fluid from my body, and I’m moving through life in a dry, brittle shell. The slightest breeze is going to carry me off in a million pieces, like dust in the desert.

Here I come, Arizona. Dad, I hope you can find me there.

I pedal slowly down New Meadow Road toward Gene’s house. I can’t see much out of my right eye, and I don’t want to crash my bike. I don’t think my body can take any more punishment.

Ten minutes later I drop my bike onto his shell driveway and start jogging down to the dock.

Good. They’re still there.

I climb aboard the Hawkline and carefully remove my dad’s glasses from the bungee cord holding them to the console. The lenses have tiny circles of salt on them, and I lick them clean and wipe them off on my shirt. The salt tastes good on my tongue. I’m sure I have salt water in my veins now too.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I wanted to save the Riptide, but I couldn’t.” I’m sitting on the gunwale, staring at the glasses in my hand. “I know that if you were here, you wouldn’t let this happen, but you’re not.”

I miss you, Dad. I miss you so much.

I put the glasses on and everything goes blurry. I slump down onto the deck so I don’t fall overboard, and I let the tears come.

It feels good to cry until there’s nothing left. I’m dried out like that plant in the window my mom keeps forgetting to water. Empty.

And then something happens. It feels like the tide is coming into my body and filling me up. I can feel the strength returning to my arms and legs, and that empty feeling is starting to leave me. I stay there like that, without moving for a while.

Suddenly, I feel a peck on my leg. I take the glasses off and see that it’s Jessy. She’s staring at me as if she wants to say something.

“Hey, girl.”

Jessy cranes her head around, pecks at the knots of fishing line wrapped around her leg, and then stares at me expectantly.

A final test.

I reach into my pocket for my knife. I open the blade and place it on the deck. “It’s okay, girl. I’m just gonna cut that fishing line off your leg. It’s all right.” I’m inches away, closer to her than I’ve ever been, and Jessy hasn’t moved at all. I touch the feathers behind her head, and she jumps a little bit, but stays within reach. On the next try, I start behind her head, then move my right hand farther down her wing feathers and gently cradle her under my arm. She seems calmer as I stroke her head with my hand. I shift her body to expose her chafed leg, which is red and raw. The clear fishing line is thick and knotted but loose enough to slip the knife blade beneath. She kicks her other leg as if she’s paddling while I work the knife blade. The fishing line is cut through, and I remove the monofilament cuff from her leg. She’s ready to fly. I leg go, and she catches herself in the breeze, just off the starboard side of the boat, hovering there for a few seconds. With a shrill caw, Jessy lifts to the sky, and now, we are both free.

I don’t have to swim that rock anymore.

When I finally get up to leave, I feel okay. Not great, but okay. I pick up my dad’s glasses and look at them. “Dad, we’re having a cabaret at the Riptide tonight. I don’t want you to miss it.” I fold the frames carefully and put them in my shirt pocket, grab my bike, and head home.

When I arrive at the Riptide, I see Gene sleeping in an old beach chair by the seawall. He awakens when I roll up.

“Where have you been?” He gets up slowly, leaning heavily on his good arm. His eyes are red against the driftwood-colored paleness of his skin.

“I had to get something from the boat. What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you inside? Are you okay?” I rush over and help him get up.

“Don’t worry about me. I was just taking a little catnap before the big party. They still got me on a bunch of pills, and I get tired real quick.” Gene looks out over the water. “You sure have a nice view of the river.”

He turns back to me, and that’s when he notices my dad’s glasses sticking out of my shirt pocket. “He was out there with you, at the beach?” Gene smiles.

“I guess he was looking after me.”

“He’s looking after all of us, Jake,” Gene says with a quick glance skyward.

“Should we go in?” I ask.

“You lead the way.” Gene smiles.

I head inside with Gene, and I can’t believe how many people are here. I have never seen it so full, not even the day after the hurricane. Everyone is here: Dave Becker, Bainsey, C. J., Brendan Tooley, Jay Miller, even Russell. I see Tommy’s dad behind the counter, pouring drinks into plastic cups, and Billy Mac is sitting on a stool near the door, collecting the money as people walk in. A few of the guys come over to talk to Gene and ask him how he’s doing, and I go and find my mom sitting at a table near the jukebox.

“What can I do, Mom?”

“I told you, Jakey, you’ve done enough. Everything else is taken care of. Trax is back there in the kitchen dealing with the food; Mr. Clancy is working the bar; Darcy and Robin can handle the rest. You just relax. Dance, eat, and for God’s sake, have fun!” she orders jokingly, then smiles at Gene, who is making his way over to the table.

“This is quite a spread, Maggie.” My mom pulls back a chair for Gene and places a cushion behind his upper back as he gingerly sits down next to her.

“Hey, Jake, nice shiner.” Tommy comes over, balancing a large Coke and a plate full of stuffed quahogs. “Oh, hey, Mrs. C. These stuffies are wicked good.” Tommy pulls me aside and whispers in my ear. “Don’t look now, Jake, but check it out. Twelve o’clock.”

I follow Tommy’s eyes across the room. In booth number three is Janna Miller. She is sitting with her dad, eating lobster and laughing with Dave Becker and some other quahogger. She is completely relaxed and smiling, with those brilliant white teeth that glow from her tanned face.

“I am totally going to ask her to dance,” Tommy says.

“Since when do you dance?”

“Since tonight.” Tommy elbows me, and we go find some empty folding chairs near the back, where we both have a good view of Janna. Suddenly my view is blocked, and I look up, and Darcy is holding a lobster dinner in front of me.

“Where have you been, Stretch?” she asks, handing me the lobster. “This is the last one, but I saved it for you.”

“Thanks, Darce, that was nice.” I smile.

“How’s your eye? Do you want me to get you some ice?”

“I’ll take some ice,” Tommy says, holding up his plastic cup. “For my Coke.”

Darcy glares at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t know your legs were broken. The bar is right over there.” Darcy points to the counter, where Tommy’s dad smiles back at us and waves. Tommy looks at me with a wide-eyed smirk as Darcy pulls another chair over next to mine and sits down so that our legs are just brushing up against each other. My ears get hot. The three of us sit in the back and look out over the scene while we eat.

“This was a good idea, Darce.” I look over at her, and her eyes meet mine.

“Thanks, Jake.”

My stomach does a little flip because she never calls me Jake, unless she’s really mad about something. I have to look away, so I focus on my dinner, trying not to fling lobster juice on her clothes.

“Hey, where’s Robin? This is her big night, and I don’t see her anywhere.” Darcy stands up and scans the room.

“I saw her heading out back,” Tommy says with a mouth full of quahog stuffing. “She was looking a little green.”

“Let me go get her. I have to thank her anyway,” I say as Darcy sits down and grabs a stuffed quahog off of Tommy’s plate.

“Yeah, go ahead. Help yourself,” Tommy says to her mockingly.

“I’ll be right back.” I head through the double doors and into the kitchen.

Trax is pouring hot water into the double sink, and the steam is circling his head like a halo. He sees me and nods toward the back door. I step outside and see Robin sitting by the seawall. She’s wearing a green silk dress, and her hair is down, and she’s sitting on her hands and rocking back and forth. I hesitate for a second, thinking she might want to be alone, but then I head over.