“But where are you going?”
“Matt’s.”
“I’m sorry, Kyle.” She sees the way he doesn’t want to talk to her. He won’t meet her eye when he speaks.
“Right. Matt’s got a socket set I’m borrowing to work on my truck.”
She stands there, close, just waiting. “It really wasn’t a good time. Just now.”
“Yeah.”
“What about the kids?”
“What about them?” He looks out at the house, then glances at the rearview mirror.
“Are we taking them out later for burgers? Or an ice cream or something?”
Kyle puts the truck in reverse. “You take them,” he tells her and leaves her standing in the oil-stained driveway. The tires chirp as he switches gears and takes off. Lauren turns away, locks up the house and goes back to work without lunch.
“Maybe the valve covers need to be tightened,” Matt says as he rolls down the passenger window in Kyle’s truck that evening. “Or else the gasket might be bad. You’d have to bring it in then, if it’s the gasket.”
Leaving Stony Point behind them, Kyle eases the pickup into traffic. “I’m down a quart of oil, too.”
“Well, we’ll tighten the valve covers, add the oil and see what we can do. Pull in at the gas station there and pick up a quart.”
Kyle downshifts and turns into the station at the light. “Need anything else?”
“No. I’m good.” Matt spots Jason’s truck across the street when Kyle returns and sets the can of oil on the seat between them.
“Isn’t that Barlow’s truck over at the bar?”
Kyle shifts into gear and carefully crosses the lanes of traffic to The Sand Bar, parking beside Jason’s vehicle. “Let’s have a quick one and see what he’s up to.”
Inside, a lone jukebox stands near the door. Occasionally someone drops in a few coins and plays Jimmy Buffet or a slow Dave Matthews. Booths lining the side wall have high backs, forming deep pockets of privacy. The entrance door is propped open and the hum of passing cars comes in piecemeal with the warm summer air. Someone tuned the television to the evening news, the anchor’s voice filling the room like a thin haze of cigarette smoke.
Jason sits at the far end of the bar, wearing jeans and a ratty college tee, looking like he needs a shower and a shave. He nurses a drink while a short woman with red hair makes small talk beside him.
“It’s not good to drink alone, man,” Matt says from behind Jason, putting his arm around Jason’s shoulder. He takes the empty stool just past him.
Jason turns, eyes Matt and Kyle, and nods toward the woman. “I’m not alone.”
They turn to her. “He a friend of yours?” Kyle asks.
“He’s keeping me company while I wait for my ride. Is it true he’s an architect?” she asks.
Matt leans on the bar in front of Jason. “He told you that?”
Jason watches the television, looking only half interested in the talk around him.
The woman turns to Kyle standing beside her, sizing up all six feet two inches of him. “Well? Is he for real?”
“Oh he’s the real thing,” Matt assures her. “And I’m a Connecticut State Trooper.” He watches her check out his worn jeans, docksider shoes with no socks.
“And I’m a chef,” Kyle adds. Jason glances up at him.
The woman stands and shakes her head. “I think my ride’s here.” She lifts her purse to her shoulder. “Nice talking to you, Jason.”
“Same here,” he tells her. “Take care now.”
“That was easy enough.” Kyle turns and watches her go. A car idles outside the door. “You really need to find someone more challenging.”
Jason motions to the bartender for another drink.
“Make it a pitcher,” Matt calls to the bartender. “He’s buying. We’ll take it over there.” He motions to the booths. “Come on, guy. Let’s grab a seat.” Matt reaches for the basket of pretzels. Kyle leans against the bar until Jason stands. They shift in the booth, getting comfortable until the beer arrives with three frosted glasses. Jason lifts the pitcher and pours a round of drinks.
“Why don’t you get yourself married?” Matt asks him, pulling a glass close. “What the hell are you doing picking up broads in a bar?”
Jason takes a swallow of his drink. “She was picking me up.”
“Well knock it off. Don’t you have yourself a nice girl hidden away somewhere?”
“Nope. No one,” Jason tells them, taking another taste of the beer.
“Maybe you’re better off,” Kyle says.
Matt looks at Kyle. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Paradise, like shit.” He drags a hand through his hair, then finishes off his drink. “If you call no sex, no money, no fun, paradise.”
“Paradise is open to interpretation,” Jason answers.
“Not in my house, it isn’t.” Kyle pours himself another glass. “Something’s got to give. It’d help if a job came up before I have to tap into my severance money.”
“Watch it, Kyle,” Matt says. “It’s easy to piss through that money. All of a sudden you’ll be wondering where it went.”
“A little here, a little there. Next thing you know, nothing’s left,” Jason adds.
“Moving’s not the answer,” Matt says. He doesn’t like the way Kyle is drinking and slides the pitcher to the other end of the table. “It’ll be the same down South. You might get a job and get settled there, lulled into a false security with that overtime cash. But sooner or later there’ll be a fucking pink slip with your check. No warning. Contract’s up, the sub’s built. Only you’ll be a thousand miles away from here. It’s your line of work. Shipyard welding, pipe-fitting. It’s up and down, man.”
“Can’t you get a job at the casinos?” Jason asks. “They must need chefs in the restaurants there. They’re busy.”
“I don’t have that kind of experience. You know,” he says. “I’ve got The Dockside.” Kyle pauses. “I need a cigarette.”
“That’s bullshit. You haven’t smoked in years,” Jason says.
“I think I’ll start up again, what the hell. I read it’s easier to quit the second time around, okay?”
Jason gives him an irritated look. “Where’d you read that shit?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like a smoke. You got a fucking problem with that?”
“Yeah, I do,” Jason tells him. “Just calm down already.”
Matt sips his drink, watching Kyle put his away before reaching over for the pitcher, topping off his glass and adding more to Jason’s. He perspires the whole time. “I don’t know how you do it on one income,” Matt says, shifting in the booth. “Eva’s taking over the real estate business pays a lot of bills. It’s a good thing you’ve got Jerry and that diner in the meantime.”
“What a goldmine he’s sitting on,” Kyle says. “He bought that place for next to nothing back in the day. You could do shit like that back then.”
“It’s different today,” Jason says.
Matt turns sideways and leans against the window ledge, looking Jason dead on. The heavy curtains behind him block out any sense of outside life. “And what about you?”
“What about me? I have a job.”
“You need someone to keep you out of dumps like this one.”
“How about Maris?” Kyle suggests.
“Maris?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Maris got away a lifetime ago. The small town girl went big city.” Jason turns his glass on the table.
“Then what the hell’s she doing hanging around here all summer?” Kyle asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” Matt says. “Eva says she’s got some big job offer in New York, and some corporate dude waiting for her back in Chicago.”
“Maybe she does, maybe not,” Kyle says. “She didn’t seem spoken for on the Fourth.”
Jason stands. “Let’s shoot some pool.”
“Grab another pitcher,” Kyle tells him.
“Is everything okay?” Eva asks when Lauren calls looking for Kyle.
“I hope so. I just want to be sure the guys are all right. Kyle left here really pissed off.”
Eva hears the worry in her voice. “Did you call his cell?”
“Yeah, right. I wish. We cancelled our service. Would you have him call me if he shows up there?”
So Eva checks in with Matt, but he can’t talk and tells her he’ll call back when he gets a chance. And when Kyle’s pickup pulls into the driveway, Eva definitely knows something is wrong when she sees Matt driving, with Jason pulling in behind them. Kyle practically falls out from the passenger side and trips coming through the doorway.
“Easy, man. Easy.” Jason grabs Kyle’s shoulders from behind and steers him to a chair on the porch. “Sit down and stay down.”
“Eva. Place looks great,” Kyle says, motioning to the freshly sheet-rocked wall. “Really great.” Then he sits back and closes his eyes. His face looks pasty and his brown hair disheveled. Jason stands beside him, as though blocking him from going inside the house.
Matt walks in and motions her back into the living room. “Would you put on a pot of coffee? Kyle’s so shot, man, he’s not going anywhere tonight.”
She heads to the kitchen with Matt following her to the counter. “What are you doing risking a DWI for those two?” she finally asks, not turning around. “You put your job on the line for them.”
“It’s not like that. I’m fine, really,” he says, turning her and taking her hands in his.
“Well where the hell have you guys been? Lauren’s called everywhere looking for Kyle.”
“We ran into Jason at The Sand Bar.”
“The Sand Bar? See? I knew I smelled liquor on you.”
“Come on, you know me better than that. I only had a couple.”
She checks his eyes. They are clear. So are his words. “The designated driver?”
“Something like that.”
“Why didn’t you at least call me?”
“We had our hands full with Kyle.”
“We?”
“Jason, too. He’s fine. It’s Kyle who’s a mess. It’s taking the both of us to keep him relatively conscious.”
“Well what about Lauren? She’s waiting up for him.”
“He can’t drive, that’s for sure.” Matt glances over his shoulder when Kyle starts moving around on the porch.
“And I don’t want him here, waking up Taylor,” Eva says harshly.
Jason leans into the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Matt. Kyle’s going outside to clear his head. Give me a hand, would you?”
“I’ll catch up. Don’t let him get far.” He turns back to Eva. “Can you call Lauren? Tell her his truck broke down or something and he’s spending the night here. Or at Barlow’s.”
“What if she wants to talk to him?”
“Make something up. Tell her we’re outside working on the truck.” Matt starts to leave, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got to help Barlow.”
“Want me to make something to eat? It’ll soak up the alcohol.”
“Not now,” Matt says, rushing out. “Maybe later, with coffee. Just call Lauren.”
Eva fills the coffee pot with water and measures in the scoops of coffee. The house is still, so still, now that the guys left. It’s that same kind of stillness that falls upon a steamy, humid summer day, the kind that makes you alert, that draws attention to something happening that you can’t really see yet.
“Hey! Wait up,” Jason calls after Kyle heading down the beach.
Kyle spins around once, eyes Jason, then keeps walking.
The beach is dark and the waves choppy with the high tide coming in. Kyle sits himself in the sand near the water, kicks off his work boots and rolls up his pant legs. All the while, he never stops talking to himself.
Jason catches up to him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking my shoes off. What’s it fucking look like?”
Jason hears the words slur. “No swimming,” he warns him. It’s bad enough that Kyle is drunk. Drunk and drowned they don’t need.
“Shut up and leave me alone,” Kyle says under his breath.
Jason watches him for a second before trying just that. He walks down the quiet beach, and just like he thought, it doesn’t take long for Kyle to spook. He pulls himself up and jogs barefoot to catch up.
“Hey. It’s Lauren who wants to be alone. Not me.”
“Yeah, right. It’s all Lauren’s fault, guy.”
They walk half the length of the beach. Kyle sloshes ankle deep in the breaking waves, but Jason stays on the packed sand further up. The firmer sand eases his gait. As long as he hears Kyle talking to himself and wading in the water behind him, he’ll be all right. Kyle just might walk it off and sober up that way.
“Hey!” Matt eventually calls from behind them. “Eva’s making coffee, let’s go.”
Jason turns back and heads toward the boardwalk. “You ready for a coffee?”
Kyle tries to follow, but stumbles and falls in the shallow water. “Damn it,” he says, moving out deeper, splashing and falling again as he struggles to stand with unsteady feet pulled by the waves.
Jason turns to see Kyle wet head to toe, on his knees in the water. “Come on, you idiot,” he says as he wades into the dark water. The worst thing for his prosthesis is to get it wet, but Kyle needs serious help. With the rising tide, the water nearly reaches his knees by the time he gets to Kyle. He lifts him by an arm, pulls it around his shoulder and tries to stand him up without losing his own balance. Kyle stands taller than Jason and is clumsy in the water, nearly falling to the side. They stumble through the waves back onto the beach.
“That’s enough already, Kyle. You’re really screwing up my leg. Now stay out of the damn water!” Jason gets him far up onto the sand and shoves him in the direction of the boardwalk.
Lights illuminate the long boardwalk at either end, and Matt sits waiting for them. He watches the two men emerge from the shadows. “Jesus Christ, what’d you do now?” he asks. “Go swimming?”
Kyle climbs up onto the boardwalk and sits dripping beside him. “I fucked up, man.”
Kyle smells like the ocean and it is enough to move Matt over a few inches. Jason sits on the edge of the boardwalk itself, rather than on the bench that runs along it. He looks exhausted. “Hey Barlow. You work in the barn today?” Matt asks.
Jason turns sideways while brushing sand off his prosthetic leg, glancing up at Kyle, too. “All afternoon.”
“Must be shaping up. You need a hand with it?”
“Anytime.” He bends over, still trying to clean off his leg. “There’s a lot of paint scraping left to do.”
“I think Lauren’s leaving me,” Kyle says. He sits back and drops his hands in his lap.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Jason tells him.
“You don’t understand,” Kyle continues. “She doesn’t love me anymore.”
Jason sits back then, looking at the Sound spread out in front of them, the moonlight catching ripples in the water. “She loves you just fine, Kyle,” he says over his shoulder. “Who could resist?”
“No she doesn’t,” he says. “I can tell.” He turns around and looks at the boat basin behind the boardwalk, his hands hanging over the seat back.
“You’re going through some hard times,” Matt adds. “She’ll come around.”
“She won’t even sleep with me. I heard on a talk show that fifty percent of marriages end in divorce today.”
“Never mind those talk shows.” Matt stands and turns then, resting a knee on the seat. “You’ve just got to straighten up, man. Fly right, you know. Take control.” He runs his hand over the names and initials carved into the boardw
alk’s weathered wood. Behind him, the boat basin, a pretty good-sized marina, holds about fifty boats in a circle. At the far end, it narrows to a wide creek that feeds the lagoon, and on the other it widens and flows out to the Sound. But the marina itself is a safe harbor for the boats and the swans. He looks over the top edge of the rail, directly down to the concrete walkway below that the boaters take to get to their docked vessels. A fine layer of sand covers the concrete. If he squints a little and focuses, especially on a night like this, oh there are ghosts down below too, images from the past, shadows running by the boats, hushed voices whispering.
Now, in the dark, rising and falling imperceptibly against their moorings, the subtle pull of the current brings the boats to life as they creak against the pilings. Matt turns to Jason. “Hey. Remember when we were about twelve?”
“I don’t think I was ever twelve.”
“Yeah. You were. It was a long time ago, but I remember. You and Neil had that little Boston Whaler. Remember we’d take it out and horse around on the Sound?”
Matt takes a step, listening to the boats creaking and those hushed voices and laughter from the past. As he walks, his hand runs along the damp top rail of the boardwalk. Like reading brail, the initials, dates and messages carved into the wood speak to his hand. Somewhere along the way, he knows he passes over MG & E, knicked deep into the wood. He takes his time walking down the boardwalk, giving Kyle a chance to sober up. At the far end, Maris walks up the granite stairs with her dog.
“Maris, hey.” Matt stops and pats the dog’s head. “You’re out late.”
“Matt? What’s going on? Is Eva with you?” Madison pulls on her leash, sniffing the salty air in noisy bursts.
Matt motions behind him. “No. I’m sobering up Kyle. He’s in rough shape tonight.”
“Kyle?” She looks past him. “What’s he doing? He’s going to hurt himself, Matt.”
Matt turns around, but Maris reaches for his arm. “Don’t yell,” she says. “He’ll look up at you and lose his balance.” She pulls Madison in and holds the dog close beside her.
Kyle, still barefoot, sits on the top rail of the seat back. He has turned sideways, lifting one foot at a time to the top rail. Then, just like mounting a balance beam, he slowly rises to a standing position, his arms wavering in an attempt to keep his balance. One foot moves in front of the other while he walks the beam not quite eight inches in width, with no barricade to prevent him from falling twenty feet to a concrete landing.
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