by C B Cox
I silence the voices as best I can. The ocean stands before me. A warm salty breeze caresses my face. I breathe deep savoring the warm, moist air. I close my eyes and feel the tension in my shoulders slowly release; stretch my arms out to the side and roll my neck.
You’ve got this Hope.
Arriving at the steps leading down to the beach, I draw up and blink my eyes closed. Several minutes pass. I open my eyes and gaze out across the ocean. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I blink again. My eyes don’t lie.
It’s him.
Anchored ten yards from the beach is the sleek, gleaming white hull of a sailing yacht. I recognize it, instantly. It’s the Storm Petrel. Its owner is Charles son-of-a-bitch Madison. He stands at the stern as large as life, fiddling with lines and getting ready to hop into the launch.
What the…
In shock, I slip to a halt on the bottom step. I launch myself onto the beach and bound over to the ocean. Bella – ears flapping in the breeze – thinks it’s a game.
Charles has seen me. He waves, animatedly. He’s an automated shop manikin in a Ralph Lauren store. His dress sense is laughable. Even from fifty yards away, I see his familiar smile.
“Hope. Darling. Ahoy,” he calls. He considers himself an invited guest. Stop press: he isn’t!
“What the hell are you doing?” My hands settle on the top of my skull. Hearing his voice, Bella bounces on her hind legs.
“Sit,” I yell. The ‘T’ ricochets off the rocks. Ignoring me, Bella races into the surf, yapping excitedly.
“I’m coming ashore. Wait there,” he shouts.
“No!”
“Stay where you are,” he yells, voice dissipating on the breeze.
“Don’t you dare,” I holler. I’m on the verge of crying. “This is my island. Don’t you dare set foot on it!”
This can’t be happening. He wouldn’t dare come ashore.
He’s having none of it. He lowers himself into the launch. With a sharp pull on the outboard, he’s underway. Bella is beside herself. She bounces into the surf to greet him. I stand at the water’s edge, stunned and angry. The launch enters the shallows. Charles, ignoring me, dumps the anchor overboard. His pants are wound up to the knees. Shirt sleeves to his elbows. He hops out of the launch into the ocean. Five steps later, he has my dog in his embrace. She licks his face – she’s missed him. He releases Bella. Waves lap around his ankles. He stands, gazing at me. I’m reminded of Daniel Craig in those trunks. Throwing his arms wide, he strides towards me through the surf.
No, you don’t…
“I’ve missed you,” he says.
“Piss off. You’re trespassing.” I take a step back. Pray my eyes burn with sufficient venom that he gets the message, turns and leaves.
“You’ve ignored my texts.”
“I know.”
“I’m worried about you. This is no place for a woman, alone. I know how isolated it is. How vunerable you are.”
“I’m absolutely fine. Turn around. Go away.”
He lunges forward. Tries to grab me by the shoulders. I rear away. He smells of cigars, malt whisky and the ocean.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” My thoughts swim. I glower, glance down at the beach, see a rock projecting from the sand and commit its position to memory.
“Hope. You and I. We need to talk. Please. Just a few minutes…”
“I’ve nothing to say to you. Turn around. Get back in the launch. And go away!” The firm hand of panic takes a firm grip around my throat. I’m choking. I can’t cope. “Go!” I bellow.
“Hear me out. You can’t stay here on your own. It’s inadvisable. Look at you … you’re a mess.”
He’s trying hard to moderate his voice.
“What part of go away don’t you understand? I don’t want you here.” I’m yelling, now.
He moves forward. “You’re not well. I’m taking you home.” He’s patronizing me. I see red.
I collect the rock. “I’m a mess because you won’t leave me the fuck alone. I am home!” I raise the rock. The sudden move surprises him. He steps back into the surf. Raises his palms to shoulder height, making a calming gesture.
“Hope. Chill… I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Get out of my sight,” I snarl, feigning to throw the rock. He ducks.
“Darling, stop! I only want to help.”
“I don’t need yours, or anyone else’s help. I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”
He frowns. Shakes his head. His face twists into an ugly sneer. “You stupid bitch. You can’t cope on your own. You never could. You never will be able to. You need me.”
The real Charles puts in an appearance.
“Need you? I need you like I need a hole in the head.” Spittle runs down my chin. My heart pounds. I raise the rock, again. “Get off my island!”
“Look at you. You’re a disgrace.” He growls, looking me up and down, like I’m something that’s crawled out from under a rock.
There’s no love. Was there ever? Every word he utters fuels the inferno burning inside me. My fists clench. My teeth grind. I explode with rage.
“Son-of-a-bitch, you brought other women here, to our special place.” I give the accusation wings. I didn’t want him to know that I knew. “My special place… You abused the trust I placed in you.”
Damn it.
“What? Are you crazy?” He tries for innocence. Eyelids batting. In hindsight, he was always a bad liar.
“I know you did. Eliah Wiley told me.” I’ve got to calm down. I’ve involved someone else in our argument, unnecessarily. I’m annoyed with myself.
Damn it.
“Oh my God, you believe that sick old bastard! He’ll say anything to get back at me.” He’s laughing at me. His head reels back; a snort sneaks out.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask him to show you what’s on the collection of VHS tapes he keeps in the back room. I caught him acting real strange. He’s been weird with me ever since. I strongly suspect he’s into hardcore porn. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s into children.”
“You’re lying.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. I’m telling you the truth for your own good. You’ve never been a good judge of character. You need me to protect you from sickos like Eliah fucking Wiley and his crazy, retarded son, Levi.”
“Shut up. I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you. Stop stalking me.” Bella cowers in the sand behind him. Her eyes are half-hidden under her paws. If she could cover her ears, she would.
“I’m not stalking you. You’re psychotic.”
“Get off my island. Now!” I yell. I feign to throw the rock again. “I mean it.”
He steps forward. Swings his arm. Halts his flattened palm mid-air. Thinks better of it. He’s never struck me before.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. You’re nuts. What do I want with a crazy bitch like you, anyway? You’re a fucking liability.” He turns toward the launch, drags it around on the swell. The waves roll up his back. He’s soaked to the skin. He climbs aboard. Four angry tugs and the outboard roars to life.
I hunker down and console Bella. She’s fine, but confused. Charles arrives alongside the yacht, swings onto the deck, ties the launch off, climbs aboard and stomps around to the stern. He drags up the anchor and steps over to the helm. His confident, calm feathers are ruffled. The yacht’s diesel engine stutters to life. Black noxious smoke belches from the exhaust.
I slump back against the boulder and realize I’ve been holding my breath.
That was scary.
I lay. Breath real slow. Try hard to quiet my broken heart and mind. Tears roll down my cheeks. I’ve always known Charles has got an edge, an acute sense of entitlement and legendary arrogance. Some people call it ego. His self-assuredness has served him well in his business dealings. He’s a ruthless negotiator. And is always quick to boast that he’ll crush anyone who crosses his path. Today, I witnessed another side of his character. Today
, I saw pure evil.
I check myself. I’m overreacting. The only rational explanation is: he’s a spoiled boy trapped inside the body of a man. A brat that’s throws his teddy out of bed when things didn’t go his way. He’s having a tantrum.
Me… I’m doing what I always do. I’m making excuses for him. I can’t believe he has the arrogance to turn up at Tern Island and expect me to swoon, listen to his bullshit and fall into his arms.
Does he have an iota of respect for me? Did he ever have any? I missed so many signs. Why was I so blinkered? So gullible?
I recall when I found a lipstick-stained wineglass on the yacht. He explained it away. Suggested, it must have belonged to the wife of a business associate.
Unlikely…
Or the time he rejected an incoming phone call from ‘SHURN’. He lied through his back teeth about that one. Insisted it was a Sean Hurn, a business associate from Ireland. He forgot his lie when, a week later, we ‘bumped’ into a beautiful brunette in Cafe Boulud. He introduced her as Sara Hurn; a client. She never removed her eyes from his, other than to look down her plasticized nose at me. Charles gazed longingly at her voluminous faux tits.
The dirtbag never once apologized for his behavior. Come to think of it, I can’t ever recollect the word ‘sorry’ passing his lips.
“Well, I’m no longer one of your chattels, Charles son-of-a-bitch Madison,” I shout after the white dot disappearing over the horizon.
I heave up from the sand, wipe snot and tears from my face with the back of my hand.
I yearn for the sanctuary of Tern Lodge.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time I reach the porch, Bella has claimed her favorite spot by the rocker. I imagine – no hope – the events of the last hour have evaporated from her memory. My soon to be ex-husband’s display of arrogance and entitlement continue to prey on my mind.
I have to stop him from stalking me; from coming anywhere near me and Tern Island. I’ll call my attorney. Ask him to meet Charles and have an informal discussion, man-to-man. If Charles is unresponsive, then I’ll have no option but instruct my attorney to seek an injunction. I desperately need a cell phone that works. And for that, I need transport. The Explorer. I need the damn thing in working order.
This is ridiculous.
I check the time. There’s almost two hours of daylight remaining before high tide. I’ll go get a status update from Curtis. It’s been almost a week since he said it would take him a couple of days to get the parts. Surely, he’ll have the Explorer repaired by now?
“Back soon, Bella,” I say, leading her inside. “It’s time I asserted some authority around here.”
I arrive at the parking lot to find the Explorer hasn’t moved an inch. I try the door. Find it unlocked. I open the hood and peer inside. I’ve no clue what it is I’m looking for, or at. To my untrained eye, everything appears untouched. An undisturbed layer of dust and oil covers the engine bay.
“Curtis?” I call without reply.
My blood pressure is rising. Panic rears within me and tightens around my throat. I throw open the gate, stomp up the path and rap out a tune on the front door. I knock till my knuckles turn red; growl with impatience. I close my left eye, squint, and set it against the keyhole. A half minute later, my eyes have adjusted to the gloom. I gaze along an empty hallway. A pair of men’s shoes sit against the wall on the right. A small occasional table with Queen Anne style legs stands against the wall opposite. The hallway possesses an air of faded grandeur.
“Curtis,” I call through the keyhole. My voice echoes back.
I step left and peek inside the window. The curtains are closed. I give up. I walk around back. Knee-high weeds cover the entire yard. Wilderness has taken over. An unkempt vegetable patch has gone to seed. There’s a dried out flower bed. Rusted tools sit inside an abandoned wheelbarrow laid on its side, in the center of an overgrown path. I imagine Angela Jackson spinning in her grave.
Curtis is notable by his absence.
I give up the search. Wrack my brain.
What do I do next? Will Eliah Wiley be able to shed some light on the whereabouts of the illusive, Curtis Jackson?
Chapter Twenty
I find Eliah sweeping the sidewalk by the store entrance. The neon sign still buzzes. He seems oblivious to it. It would drive me nuts, listening to it every day. Hearing my approach, he props the broom by the door. He looks pleased to see me, a potential customer. I’m sure I glimpse dollar signs flashing behind his glasses.
“Morning, Mrs. Madison. Good to see you. Did you bring a list?” He beams. I can’t stop myself from staring at the gap in his top teeth. It grabs my attention like a brick missing from a wall. He wipes weathered hands down his smock coat.
“Hope. It’s Hope … Eliah.”
“That’s right,” he says. “Hope…”
I may have to give up. He doesn’t do informal.
“Do you have any idea where Curtis Jackson is?”
“Curtis?” He rubs his chin. Pouts. Frowns. Shakes his head. I wait. “Nope. I haven’t seen Curtis for quite a while. Weeks. Months. I can’t be sure.” He addresses the floor, rolls back on his heels.
“Any idea where I might find him?”
Eliah shrugs. Pulling teeth would be easier. Several minutes pass.
He says, “Chance, he might have gone fishing. Likes solitary pursuits. Tends to keep himself to himself.”
I shake my head. Glare. “He was going to repair my car. That was several days ago.” Eliah, noticing my annoyance, leans in a little closer.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Madison? You look a little … upset.”
“Not really, no.” I’ve let my guard down. I might as well tell him.
“I’ve broken my cell phone. I need it fixed ASAP. The starter motor on my truck is bust, too. Curtis offered to repair it so I could get to Portland to sort out my cell phone.” I realize I’m babbling. Speaking way too fast.
“Probably explains it then, don’t it? He’ll be out of town sourcing parts. There’s no garage in Shallow River. No mystery to it.” His shoulders relax. He seems pleased with himself. Satisfied with his explanation.
“Of course… I’m sorry, Eliah. I’m overreacting. It’s only a cell phone.” I feel better. A chuckle escapes my lips.
“You ought to ditch technology and get back to nature. It’s good for the soul. It’s the reason you city folk came here in the first place, I suppose.” It’s a statement, not a question. Eliah is right.
“Never a truer word’s been said,” I say.
Eliah smiles a lizard smile. “Shall we get down to business? What can I do for you? I’ve got new-laid eggs and fresh baked bread. Melts in the mouth it does.” And that’s that. The conversation has moved on. The greatest salesman is back on point.
“To be honest, I forgot to bring a list. I’d better get back before the tide turns. Any chance Curtis will come by?”
“No. None. You won’t ever find him here.”
My nerves jangle. “What do you mean, Eliah?”
“Don’t mean nothing… Only… Curtis Jackson… He takes his business elsewhere.”
“I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Now, I’m embarrassed. My cheeks flush.
“Look, Mrs. Madison, truth is…” He stalls. “Curtis Jackson, he’s not welcome here. Him and my Levi, they’ve had run-ins. It’s easier all around if he stays away. I’ve told him to his face, directly after his parents passed.” He nods past my shoulder.
I turn around. Levi Wiley approaches. He’s carrying a bloody, white-tailed deer over his right shoulder. Lifeless coal-black eyes address the dirt. Levi strides with purpose towards the barn next to the store. He waves with a free hand. I’m unsure if he’s acknowledging Eliah, or me. Either way, he has his hands full. He disappears through the barn door.
“He’s been hunting. There’ll be venison available, once it’s hung,” Eliah says.
“I’ll remember that.” I’m not satisfied. “What kind of ru
n-in with Curtis did Levi have?” I say, my curiosity getting the better of me. Eliah’s lips tighten. He seems cagey whenever Curtis Jackson’s name is mentioned. I’ve entrusted the guy with my truck. I need to understand who I’m dealing with.
“Hunting rights,” he says, flatly. “Not that there are any around these parts, mind. Curtis thinks there are. But there ain’t none.” The inflection of his voice suggests he’s keen to close down my line of questioning. “If you’ve not brought a list, then why don’t I put together a box of fresh produce? I’ll pop in one of Dorothy’s homemade cakes. No charge for that. I’ll send it over later.” It’s another statement.
“Thank you, Eliah. That will be great. I’d better get back.” There’s no point arguing. The greatest salesman wins again.
I can’t deny his superlative business acumen. He inspects me over his glasses. The edges of his mouth turn up. He settles a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t you worry about Curtis and Levi. It’s none of your concern. I think of the acrimony between them as young bucks tangling antlers. In any small town, there’s a pecking order. My Levi, he’s got little in the way of emotional intelligence. There’s no harm in him. It’s just … sometimes… It’s fair to say, he’s a little slow on the uptake.”
The compassion in his voice stirs something in me. I choke away the tears. My problems are no concern of his.
“I’m sorry. Like I say, I’m overreacting. It’s been quite a morning.”
“And don’t you let that Jackson boy upset you, young lady. He’s not worth it.”
“Believe me, it’s not Curtis’s fault. I had to send my husband away this morning. There was a scene. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
Why did I mention that?
“You’re well shot of him. You’re too good for him. Mark my words, he’s not worthy,” Eliah says, with conviction. Realizing he’s crossed a line, he adds, “I won’t say another word on the subject. It’s not my place. Now off you go.” His benevolent smile exposes the gap in his teeth. I find myself shocked by his candor. I can’t bring myself to press him any further. It’s all too much.