Bystander in Time

by Richard Stockford

  Arriving back at the house, Dex backed his truck in and unloaded a leather recliner and a small kitchen table with four chairs and carried them into the house. He was scratching his head at the large couch the store owner had helped him load onto the back of his truck, when a voice broke the afternoon stillness.

  “Need a hand?”

  Dex whirled around to see a woman walking across the back lawn. “Uh, hi... sure,” he said, “I guess, uh, I mean, thanks...”

  The woman laughed at his obvious confusion. “Hi, I'm Annie Badger. I'm camping down there,” she said pointing towards the dead end of the road, “and I was just out for a walk in the woods. Are you the new owner?” A fit-looking five feet six, Annie looked to be a couple years younger than Dex. Startling bright green eyes sparkled beneath the mop of light brown hair that framed a pretty oval face.

  Bemused, Dex held out his hand. “I'm Dex,” he said. “I'm sort of a live-in caretaker. I'm going to be teaching at MDI this year.”

  “Oh, well it'll be nice to see some life in the old place.”

  “Do you live around here?” Dex asked.

  “Well, actually I've been living in a camper in the woods all summer,” Annie said. “I'm an artist, or at least I'm trying to be, and when my boyfriend and I split up I just sort of dropped out. Come to think of it,” she said, “my camper's probably on your land. I hope you don't mind.”

  Dex waved his hand dismissively. “I've got no idea where the property lines are, but I'm sure there's room for both of us,” he said, “and if you want to help me with this couch, I'd call it even.”

  After they'd wrestled the heavy couch off the truck, through the ell and into the living room, Dex gave Annie a tour of the house.

  “Looks like you're camping out, too,” Annie remarked eyeing the sleeping bag Dex had spread on the antique brass bed in one of the bedrooms.

  “Well,” Dex said, “I haven't checked out of my room at the motel yet, but they hooked up the phone this morning and I've got power and well water, so I guess I'm ready.”

  “Sure,” Annie chuckled, “All you need is food, bedding, towels, dishes, silverware, and who knows what else. Look, I tell you what; my car's dead, so I was going to walk down and get some get some supplies tomorrow. Let's figure out what you need, and we can go shopping together.”

  Dex laughed. “OK,” he said, “I'll make a list and meet you here in the morning.”

  The next day, Dex checked out of his motel room and got to the house at eight thirty to find Annie waiting on the front step. She took his list on the short ride into town and laughed out loud as she read it. “Beer, bread, bologna, and popcorn. Really?”

  “Keep reading,” Dex said. “I got mustard, ketchup, spaghetti-O’s, paper plates... all kinds of stuff.”

  “You don't have a single vegetable on here, and you wrote down beer twice... no, three times”

  “Well, I didn't want to forget, and besides, beer's good for you.”

  Annie was still chuckling when they got to the supermarket, and Dex found himself trying to remember the last time he had made someone laugh.

  Inside the store, Dex produced his real list and between them they filled two large shopping carts to overflowing.

  After they dropped his groceries at the house, Annie directed Dex to her camper. Parked in a small clearing twenty feet off the right side of the road, it was about twenty-four feet long with its eight foot width extended by a pop-out center section. Inside, there was a kitchen and bath area at one end, a raised queen size sleeping area at the other and the center living area was dominated by a large easel and a table covered with painting supplies. As Annie put her groceries away, Dex admired several woodland scene paintings sitting up against the back of the couch.

  “Wow, you really are an artist,” he said. “These are great.”

  Annie shrugged and walked over to stand beside him. “They're ok, I guess. I sell them in a couple of shops in Bar Harbor, and the tourists seem to like them. I've got to get these over there, but my damned car still wouldn't start this morning.”

  “What's wrong with it?”

  “I don't know. It just makes a stupid clicking sound when I turn the key.”

  “Well, let's take a look. If we can't get it started, I can give you a ride to Bar Harbor.”

  The problem with Annie's car proved to be a simple case of dirty battery terminals, and it started right up once Dex had cleaned them and reconnected the cables.

  “You're all set, but I was thinking of taking a look around Bar Harbor myself. If you want to come with me, we can drop off your paintings and maybe you could show me around a little.”

  As it turned out, Dex and Annie spent the afternoon exploring the Arcadia Park Loop Road and the top of Cadillac Mountain before enjoying a leisurely supper in Bar Harbor. Annie proved easy for Dex to talk to and he found himself explaining his recent melancholy and his anticipation of a new beginning. It was eight o’clock before Dex dropped Annie off at her camper and drove back to Quill House grinning at the way the day had turned out. After spending a moment checking his email, Dex went upstairs to bed. He had washed the large windows in the bedroom the day before, and a nearly full moon filled the room with a pearly radiance that hid the faded paint and worn furniture with a ghostly suggestion of the room’s past elegance.

  Dex was almost asleep, lying on his side on top of his sleeping bag drowsily reviewing the pleasant day he’d spent with Annie when he felt the sudden pressure of a weight on the edge of the bed and then a firm touch on his back. Heart pounding and arms flailing, he shouted in primal fright as he twisted onto his back tangling his legs in the bag. Eyes wide, straining to see in the dim light, he scrambled to a sitting position against the headboard and looked wildly around the bed. There was no one there.

  Frozen for an eternity in superstitious fear, Dex gradually became aware of a loud purring from his side. He squirmed to the edge of the bed and looked back to see a large tiger-striped cat industriously kneading the soft lining of the sleeping bag.

  Chapter 22

  The following morning, Dex stopped at Annie’s camper early. “I’m headed back to Bangor to finish moving,” he said when she answered the door, “but I’ve run into a little snag. Apparently, the Quill House comes with a cat and I wondered if you could feed him for a couple of days.”

  “Sure, what’s his name?”

  “We haven’t been properly introduced,” Dex said. “He looks like a miniature tiger and he just sort of appeared in the middle of the night and scared the hell out of me. I found a little swinging panel in the door leading out into the woodshed, so I guess he mostly takes care of himself, just comes and goes as he pleases, but I’d like to at least put out some food and water for him.”

  Dex gave Annie some money for cat food and his spare house key and then drove back to Bangor to tackle the tedious chore of packing the last of his belongings for the move. He had enjoyed the previous afternoon with Annie and was once again feeling optimistic about the move. He called D.J. to let him know he was home and asked him to come and help. Twenty minutes later, D.J. came through the back door with a wave and a “Hi, Dad,” but as he headed for the stairs to his room, Dex noticed that he was limping.

  “What happened?” he asked. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “Oh, nothing. I guess I just twisted my back a little,” D.J. said. “It’s no big deal.”

  Later D.J. came down with a big box of his clothes, and as he bent to put it down with the other boxes Dex had stacked by the door, his t-shirt rode up a little and Dex spotted a large bruise on his lower back.

  “Come over here and let me look at your back,” he said

  Head down, D.J. limped over to Dex and turned to present his back. Dex lifted the t-shirt to expose a large purple and yellow bruise extending from the top of D.J.’s hip halfway up the left side of his back.

  “Just twisted you back a little, huh?” said Dex, lightly running his fingers over the bruise. “One mor
e time, what happened?”

  “We were swimming and I fell,” D.J. said. “I hit a rock.”

  “You didn’t get a bruise like this from falling down,” Dex said, fighting now to control his temper. “Last chance, D.J., tell me what happened.”

  D.J. turned around and looked at his father. “I went to the quarry,” he said quietly. “I jumped off the cliff and I hit a rock under water. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry,” Dex repeated. “You’re sorry. Well, I’m sorry too. I thought I had your word that you wouldn’t go to the quarry anymore. You’re fifteen and I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can trust me, Dad,” D.J. said. “It’s just that the high school kids all make that jump and I’ll be in high school next year and… and…”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you’ll be in a different school next year; a school where no one’s even heard of that quarry? D.J., you know that kids have died jumping off that cliff. What the hell were you thinking? Why would you risk your future that way?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I promise I won’t go there again.”

  “You’re damned right you won’t. We’re moving in a few days and you’re grounded until then. Now, get upstairs and finish your packing.”

  Dex’s anger cooled quickly as he watched D.J. trudge up the stairs. He knew the courage it took to jump off that cliff, having done it himself many years ago, and he found himself trying to suppress a small grin of admiration for his son.

  Two days later, Dex locked the front door to his house for the last time. His parent’s house had sold quickly and the realtor said he had interested parties for this house as well. Dex was a little overwhelmed at the prospect of the sudden wealth the sale of the two houses would bring.

  The mood on the ride out of Bangor was somber. Dex knew that D.J. was apprehensive about the move; a new school, new friends, new challenges to be met without the peer support he was accustomed to.

  “You’re going to like our new house,” Dex said into the uncomfortable silence. “It was built in 1779 and it overlooks the ocean.”

  “I liked our old house,” D.J. responded, “I still don’t see why we have to move.”

  Unable to explain his desperate need for change, for a new start in life, Dex let the moody silence envelope the truck cab once again.

  In intellectual terms, D.J was perfectly familiar with the ocean. He had read about it and seen it on television and in movies and it was an accepted part of his world…but he had never experienced it firsthand. When the truck pulled onto the causeway that led from Trenton to tiny Thompson Island and then on to Mount Desert Island itself, D.J. sat up in amazement. The shallow waters of Goose Bay opened on the right and the larger expanse of Eastern Bay on the left with brilliant sunlight sparkling off small wavelets in a freshening breeze which brought the primordial smell of the sea into the truck. The alluring odor of brine, fish, seaweed and ancient mud flats combined to flood D.J.’s senses with a racial memory of home and creation. In an instant, his captivation was complete and, like untold others before him he was, suddenly and completely, a man of the sea. For the remainder of the ten mile drive to the small town of Southwest Harbor he squirmed around in his seat, wincing at the pain in his bruised back as he vainly tried to catch more glimpses of the ocean. In the confines of the truck, Dex could not help but notice D.J.’s abrupt change in mood. “I’m hungry,” he said as they neared town. “Want to see if we can find some burgers and take a look around?”

  “I want to see the harbor and the boats,” D.J. said. “Can we eat outside?”

  In the end, they did just that, taking burgers, fries and ice cold drinks from a small diner out onto the town dock and finding seats at a weathered picnic table amid a hectic scene of working fishermen, camera-toting tourists and the ever present, always hungry seagulls. They lingered in the warm sun, and when they finally finished their meals, they walked around the small business district for a while, looking in windows and stopping at several shops before going back to the truck and driving up to their new home.

  When the paved road turned to gravel and narrowed under crowding trees, D.J. lost some of his enthusiasm. He sat quietly as they broke out on top of the ridge and pulled into the overgrown driveway. As it had the first time Dex saw it, the old house seemed to huddle in gathered shadows and he noticed a chill in the air as he got out of the truck. D.J. remained silent as he climbed out, staring first at the house and then turning to look out over the town and harbor below. He walked to the back of the truck and lifted his bicycle out of the bed and started wheeling it toward the road.

  “Don’t you want to check out the house?”

  “Yeah, I will in a minute. I just want to take a little look around.”

  “Well, I need your help to unload, so make it short,” said Dex.

  D.J. started down the road toward the dead end without replying.

  Dex had the truck about half empty when D.J. returned. “There’s nothing down there but a camper and another old house at the end of the road,” he said. “I waved at an old lady by the house, but she just stared at me. It was creepy.”

  Dex laughed. “Well, I’ve met the lady in the camper and she’s cool. The old lady probably figured you’re just another vandal from the city, here to make her life miserable for the summer. Maybe you should take her some flowers.”

  D.J. snorted and grabbed a box from the truck. As they finished the unpacking, Dex was happy to see D.J. begin take an interest in the history of the house. He seemed morbidly interested in the overgrown cemetery at the back of the lawn. “It guess it’s cool, the house being so old and all, but it’s spooky having dead people in the back yard,” he said.

  “Well, it’s a little unusual now days,” Dex said, “but we could clean it up and probably trace the history of the house by the names on the gravestones…might be an interesting project.”

  They spent the afternoon putting things away and organizing the house. At one point, the cat showed up, investigated the food dish Annie had left in a corner of the kitchen and then jumped up on the table and meowed loudly at D.J.

  “Wow, we got a cat?”

  “I guess so. He showed up the first night I was here,” Dex said.

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want to call him?”

  D.J. thought. “How ‘bout Stanley?”

  “Stanley?”

  “Yeah. He kind of looks like Mister Stanley, my geography teacher last year.”

  Dex laughed. “Stanley it is,” he said.

  They’d finished the chores and D.J. had just mentioned that he was hungry again when there was a knock at the kitchen door and Annie Badger stuck her head in.

  “Welcome wagon,” she chirped. “We can’t have our new neighbors going hungry.” She came in and placed a large covered basket on the table.

  “D.J., this is Annie,” Dex said. “Annie, this is my son Dexter Jr., better known as D.J.”

  Annie stepped forward and held out her hand. “Hi, D.J.,” she said.

  D.J. nodded curtly. “Hello,” he muttered turning towards the door to the living room. “I’ve got to get my room cleaned up.”

  Annie turned to Dex. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked with a frown.

  Dex shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “He’s still trying to deal with the loss of this mother and sometimes he gets like this. Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”

  D.J. stayed in his room while Dex and Annie ate dinner, fried chicken, potato salad and fresh bread, washed down with iced tea, coming down only after she had left.

  “That was pretty rude, D.J.,” Dex said

  D.J. was contrite. “Sorry, Dad,” he said, “I just didn’t want to talk to anybody tonight.”

  “D.J.,” Dex hesitated. “Look, Annie is my friend. She’ll probably be around quite a bit this summer and I’d like to think you’re ok with that.”

  “I am, Dad. I guess she just took me by surprise.�
� D.J. said. “I’ll apologize to her.”

  Dex faked a grimace. “I guess that’s two women you need to bring flowers to,” he said.

  Dex and D.J. were in bed early that night, but the next morning, Dex woke feeling groggy and tired, as though he had hardly slept at all. He went downstairs to find D.J., also looking somewhat bleary eyed, huddled over a bowl of cereal.

  “I hope you slept better than I did,” Dex said as he filler the coffee maker.

  D.J. shook his head. “I slept all night,” he said, “but I just can’t seem to get going this morning.” He pushed back from the table. “Maybe some fresh air will help. If it’s ok, I’m going to bike down and check out the town some more.”

  Dex nodded. “I’m going to try and find a library and check out some local history,” he said, “and then see if I can fix that screen door. Make sure you’ve got your phone, and watch out for traffic.”

  Chapter 23

  Dex did find a small library in the center of town and there learned about the larger Jessup library and still larger College of the Atlantic library in Bar Harbor. He found a couple of texts on local maritime and town history, and spent the rest of the morning reading in a small park near the waterfront. He was a little surprised at how frequently the family name ‘Quill’ appeared in the town’s history, but he understood well that many small towns were founded and nurtured by one or two prominent families. Finally growing tired of the wooden park bench, he grabbed a hamburger and coke from a small diner and then stopped at a hardware store and purchased a battery-powered grass trimmer before heading back to the house.