Water Lessons (32 page)

"Remember this joint, Jim? On The Vine Marketplace. Maureen, your boyfriend probably spent a few thousand bucks at this place in his first months in Exeter. Oh, they love him in there!"

"Let me guess," Maureen smirked. "Seafood?"

"You've got that right," Liam said.

Inside they navigated through the rows of vegetables toward the rear section, which boasted a great variety of meat and local seafood. Basket in hand, Liam veered away from them into another aisle. Jim toted his handbasket back to the produce section and selected some asparagus, a couple of lemons, and a large bag of salad greens. He led Maureen over to the seafood and meat counter.

Jim approached the curved glass. The large bowl of sea scallops, the tank boasting lobsters even twenty-five pounds in weight, and the section of filet mignon, prime rib, haddock, halibut, bluefish, swordfish, and a wide variety of clams sparked remembrance of many great meals that previous autumn.

"Hey, I remember you," said the young man from behind the counter. He was a Mainer, from the Casco Bay area. He wore a slightly stained apron. His black hair was austerely shorn in a half-inch-long crew cut, topping a pale face that drooped with an unmistakable somberness.

"Tommy, whatcha say, man? I was just thinking how long it's been. You haven't been around the last few times I shopped here."

"I'm usually in Durham, at UNH. Classes taking all my time. Hear you moved down to the big city."

"I did. Tommy, meet my girlfriend Maureen." Jim placed his hand gently on his girlfriend's back. "Maureen, this is Tommy."

Maureen gave him half a nod and even less of a smile.

"I've witnessed quite a few of Jim's record purchases here. I've seen him buy a ten pound lobster, but his friend there never buys more than a pound and a half."

"I ate the ten pounder by myself," Jim laughed. "I got quite sick. After five pounds, you feel queasy."

"Gross," Maureen said. "I've seen the photos. Unforgettable."

"Ha!" Jim said. "And we haven't addressed all the clams I've bought off y'all!"

"Littlenecks, mahoganies, cherrystones, quahogs, steamers, Essex clams," Tommy said. "Jim here was the human vacuum cleaner! Well, what can I get you guys? Five lobsters and thirty pounds of clams?"

"Actually, Tommy, let me consult with my queen here," Jim said, swinging his gaze slowly around to Maureen. "Want a lobster? And some clams? Or would you like some breaded haddock or some swordfish?"

"I'll take a little swordfish and some clams."

"Easy 'nuff," Jim said. "I'll take lobsters: a pound-and-a-half and a four-pounder, then a half-pound of swordfish."

Tommy paused, his eyes twinkling with humor as they fixed expectantly on him. "That all, chief? Just that?"

"And I'll take five pounds of steamers, and two pounds of littlenecks."

Tommy laughed. He grabbed the littlenecks with his gloved hand and began tossing them into a hanging scale.

Liam appeared beside Jim. "Recognize this distinguished gentleman of Exeter? An old friend of yours."

Jim turned and felt his heart leap, and then begin to pound within his chest.

That morning Jim had feared he would run into Father Ben around town. But Exeter wasn't a tiny country hamlet, and Jim gambled he could slip in with Maureen and show her around and not introduce her to his first new friend and employer in New England, a man who had fervently prayed Jim would join the ranks of the priesthood.

"I recognize this guy," Father Ben said. "But does he recognize me?"

"Of course, Father Ben." Jim gave him a warm hug.

He spotted the disappointment in Father Ben's face. So he was still frustrated with him after all, that Jim vacated the parish house and moved into the oldest neighborhood of the very worldly city of Boston, to end his religious discernment and resume dating.

"Parishioners ask about you all the time. Ken Stockbridge, Elizabeth, Father Francis, and all the others. You should stop by and see us sometime."

"I will, I promise. I'm sorry, Father," Jim mumbled, glancing about. "I've meant to."

"Is this your new lady?" Father Ben smiled warmly at Maureen.

Tommy continued to toss the clams into the scale, casting curious glances at the scene before him.

"Maureen Henretty," Jim said. "I've written you about her. Good things, Maureen, don't worry." Jim winked. "Meet Father Ben Shaughnessy, pastor of St. Stephen's Catholic Church here in Exeter."

"You have a very good man here. He can sleep and eat and drink too much at times, but he's a good soul, no doubt. And Jim, you have a lady of charm and poise. You two feel free to visit us sometime. And you, too, Liam."

"We will, Father," Jim said. "We'll see you soon, definitely."
 

Father Ben gave Jim a look that mingled skepticism, sadness, and affection. "Now I must return to my shopping. I'm having Dave Emmersley over for dinner. We're still planning the construction of the new church."

"Good luck with the project. And please tell Dave and the others I said hey."

"I'll do that…
No Blood
," Father Ben said.

Maureen shot a quizzical glance at Father Ben, then Jim.

Father Ben laughed. "Ask your boyfriend for the source of that old moniker. Nearly the entire town of Exeter called him that. Now take care. God bless." He turned back toward his cart, and wheeled it around a corner toward the bread section.

"
No Blood
, eh?" Maureen looked with amusement at her boyfriend.

"Yep, I remember No Blood," Liam said. "This bayou boy didn't adjust very well to the cold. As they sometimes say here in northern New England, Jim
had no blood
."

Jim stared in silence at the spot his old friend had left. Had it merely been a refuge, that period of priestly discernment months ago? Or had it been a period of serious introspection? Or had Father Ben pressured him into a discernment program once he learned it was something Jim had lightly considered for years?

Jim knew all three were true, to some extent.

But perhaps he should have told Father Ben his thoughts last year in real time: that he increasingly did not feel the priesthood or even the diaconate was for him. Had he led on Father Ben? He didn't think so.

Had he led on Maureen? His growing sense of their relationship being threatened—was he keeping that from her?

Jim looked over at her. She was staring uncomfortably at the ground.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

"So, Liam." Maureen broke her silence, cutting herself a small slice of Cabot Extra Cheddar and placing it on a shredded wheat cracker. "You must give me the tour I've been hearing about from No Blood here. Let's begin with this room." She pointed behind Liam, her glass of Chardonnay in her other hand. "Say, with that print on the wall."

"Oh, that daguerreotype? That's Colonel Elmer Ellsworth," Liam said. "Lincoln's friend. He was the first reported casualty killed in action in the Civil War."

"He's kind of handsome," Maureen said, "in a mid-nineteenth century way."

"The ladies of the North agreed. He was a cross between a heartthrob and a war hero—"

"Nah, Liam!" Jim said, already halfway finished with his first beer. "First you should show her your man room!"

Liam led them through the cellar door and down the stairwell, and flipped the light.

"In-ter-es-ting," Maureen said, drawing out the syllables with sarcasm. She stood with one arm on her waist, the other lifting her glass of Chardonnay like a diva. "Actually, this is neat. In a
guy
sort of way."

The basement spanned the entire outline of the house. Brick pillars punctuated the floor every twenty feet in each direction. Despite the low ceilings and the concrete floors, Liam had expended much effort in outfitting the room. Against the wall, topping a wide dresser, rested a flat-screen television. Black leather couches formed a square in the basement's center. Inside this formation lay a grizzly bear rug. Liam's late grandfather Norman, an avid hunter, had brought it from Alaska decades before.

Against the other wall stood a dark oak hutch containing a few bottles of high-end bourbon and Scotch. Beside this stood a 1960s-era refrigerator, in remarkably good condition. It contained enough cold beer, Jim and Liam often joked, for a post-game celebration by the entire Boston Red Sox.
 

Next to it rested a large wine rack holding an eclectic and expensive assortment of wine. Beside the rack stood an antique table topped by a square humidor, with two compartments. Cigars from the Dominican Republic, Brazil, and other countries filled one, and in the neighboring compartment, strictly Cubans. Liam often opened the basement windows and puffed one after he made a big sale, or scored a big purchase, in his antiques and militaria business.

The walls displayed all manner of treasures: old metal signs advertising Smuttynose beer and Remington and Browning firearms, and an old wooden sign advertising
"Bayley's Lake Winnipesaukee Boat Rentals."
A painting of Portsmouth in the eighteenth century hung near the 1865 lithograph of Lincoln that Liam's grandfather had found locked in the attic closet. Taxidermied small game also decorated the walls: beaver, muskrat, fox, and squirrel, hunted or trapped by Liam, his father, and grandfather. Liam once complained to Jim that his collection contained no moose. He also lamented that all of the Eastern Cougars once populating New Hampshire were no more, that one would have been the perfect addition to the man room.

Jim's gaze swept back and forth across the walls, and he reflected that the room seemed like a rustic version of Walter Henretty's garage workshop.

Liam steered them through the room, showing them various curiosities, including a samurai sword Liam's grandfather captured in Okinawa. Propped in the corner was a flintlock musket, perhaps five feet long, from the French and Indian War. Liam showed them a large, rusty bear trap his father once found while hiking in northern Maine. Two snowshoes, once worn by Liam's great-great uncle in the Yukon gold rush, protruded from a basket in another corner. A faded, framed campaign poster bearing a black-and-white photographic image of FDR hung on one of the brick pillars. Underneath the image were the words,
"Carry On With Roosevelt."

Liam led them upstairs. They passed through the kitchen, into the dining room, and across the creaky but finely finished boards to a closet. Inside hung several American uniforms, mostly from the First and Second World Wars, complete with insignia.

Maureen said nothing. Liam led Jim and her into the sitting room. "We were in this room earlier today, but I want to call attention to one small feature."

Maureen and Jim drew alongside of Liam, who stood right before a window.

"If you look closely at the panes here, and on many of the other windows, you can see etchings of initials, even some names and dates."

"What are they?" Maureen said.

"Those were done by Phillips Exeter students. As early as 1844," Liam said, fascination in his voice. "My grandpa Norman bought this house in 1946, but it had only been a house for twenty-seven years. Before that, it was a dormitory, run by a resident dorm master. Generations of Exeter students scratched their names, initials, nicknames, dates, even tiny cartoons into the glass. See this one here?" Liam pointed at one set of numbers.

"1-21-1905," Maureen said. "January twenty-first, nineteen oh five."

"Rough Ridin' Teddy Roosevelt," Jim said, "had just been inaugurated commander-in-chief for his second term the day before. It was probably the talk of the town when that kid etched that one. He was probably tryin' to pass time in the dead of a New England winter."

"Good job," Liam said. "You're probably right on that one. Now let's make a little detour back into the corridor to see the TV room."

Liam led them into the hall, then hooked right into the neighboring room. "I refurbished those Victorian couches myself. Tried to make 'em look more authentic with that fabric."

"My," Maureen said. "I like that crimson one."

"Thanks. Come and see the foyer you first entered." Liam led them back into the hallway, past the sitting room, and then into the main foyer. "I just put a nineteenth century doorknob on that front door. Got it in Brimfield, Mass. Excellent place to buy antiques and solid military items. The sellers often don't know what they're selling."

Liam then led them up the stairwell. The wooden rail was just above waist level, and had been sanded down.

"Hold tight to it, but don't count on it to support you if you fall," Liam said with a cackle. "Hey, just being honest! You may want to hold on to Jim, too!"

"You've been sanding that rail," Jim said as they ascended to the second floor.

"You're peeling off that old wallpaper?" Maureen said.

Liam paused just above them. "It's a work in progress. I'm trying to turn the dial back well into the nineteenth century on this entire place, peeling off all three layers of wallpaper and applying Victorian-era design." He pointed to the wall. "That red wallpaper's from the late forties. My grandparents put that stuff up. The yellow one's from the 1880s. That blue layer dates from before the Civil War. Probably the original stuff, dating to 1844."

"Didn't the really old wallpaper contain arsenic?" Maureen wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know, Maur." Jim clapped a hand onto her shoulder. "There's only one way to know. Lick!"

Maureen cast Jim a mock-furious glance.

"Hey, you lick it, Jim," Liam said. "It really might give you a good buzz!"

They proceeded to the top of the creaking stairwell and turned left down the dark corridor. To their immediate right was a closed door, which Jim had rarely seen open.

"How's Ms. Gloria these days, Liam?" Jim whispered, pointing to the door.

"Keeping to herself as always. Quiet as a church mouse."

"Oh, Liam! Liam!" Jim whispered in a witchlike voice, impersonating the eccentric, reclusive old widow. "Maureen, Gloria is Liam's only tenant. And her son crashes here. Often. She relishes any opportunity to torment poor Liam with unsolicited advice."