by John Casey
“Walt,” Dick said, and shook his head. “Phoebe. Poor Eddie. A motorcycle bum for a son and a la-di-da girlfriend. He can’t tell if he’s coming or going.”
“Phoebe’s been good about his business,” May said.
“The better things go for his business, the more Phoebe and Walt have to fight over. It’s not like Walt’s decided to settle down. The only reason he shows up when he does is to keep his hand in. He knows Eddie’s soft on the idea of Wormsley and Son. And Phoebe’s chewing on the other side of him.”
“Scylla and Charybdis,” Charlie said. Dick looked at him. May was startled that the boys were paying such close attention. Charlie said, “It’s from the Bulfinch’s mythology Miss Perry read to us.”
“So that’s where that’s from. Captain Teixeira said it one day and I couldn’t place where I’d heard it.”
Tom said, “Bet you don’t know which is the rock and which is the whirlpool.”
May was afraid Tom was asking Dick, but Charlie said, “Scylla’s the rock.”
“That’s just ’cause I said ‘rock’ first. Bet you don’t know where the word tantalize comes from.”
Charlie said, “Sure I do,” but Dick said, “Wait. I remember that one. Hold on a second.” May couldn’t think of the last time Dick had played with the boys like this. “It’s in there somewhere,” Dick said. “In that same book.”
“Tantalus,” Charlie said. “He did something, I can’t remember what, and the gods got mad and put him up to his neck in a pool of water, but when he bent over to get a drink, the water went down, so he was always thirsty and always an inch from drinking.”
“There you go,” Dick said. “Like Eddie with Phoebe.”
Charlie and Tom laughed. May said, “Dick—”
“They’re not kids anymore.”
“It’s not that,” May said. “Phoebe’s getting to be a friend of mine.”
“All right,” Dick said. “But leastways you can see the boys paid attention to Miss Perry’s books.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you boys had that. I’m not saying you’d have turned out like Walt Wormsley without it, but I guess part of how you turned out so good is on account of Miss Perry.”
May was stunned. She was so stunned she didn’t notice for a bit that Charlie and Tom were stunned, too. Dick had sometimes looked over a piece of work that Charlie or Tom had done and said it was good—a sheet bend or an eye splice, or how they’d gutted a mess of flounder. Nothing as big as this. May was glad for the boys. She was so glad that she snipped off a bud of suspicion that Dick was setting things right with them against the day they’d learn about Rose.
Dick didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at the corner of the table. “Wormsley and Son won’t work out. But neither will Pierce and Sons. Different reason. There’s not an Atlantic fishery has a future you can count on. Not cod, not scallops, not lobster. The government gave away half of Georges Bank to Canada just to get some oil pipeline, so there goes the cod and pollack. They’re overfished, anyway. Red crab is an oddity. Nobody knows much about them. If the red-crab plant loses the Boston market, then Captain Teixeira and I are out of luck. I won’t grouse about it, least not if I get another few years. But what about you boys?” Charlie and Tom shifted in their chairs. Dick heard either the creak of the wood or the change in their breathing. He looked at them, and May saw he was still far off, as if this was how his mind worked when he was lying in his bunk aboard Spartina. Dick said, “I don’t know any more than you. You’re going somewhere I don’t know much about. We know some college-educated people. There’s Miss Perry, of course. And there’s Jack Aldrich. There’s the guy who started the packing plant. Some folks with sailboats, that whole crowd. Walt Wormsley went to URI and so far as Eddie can tell he learned to drink beer, chase girls, and ride his motorcycle. It’s not like the Coast Guard, where there’s rules about everything down to how you put your socks in your footlocker. You’ll be on your own. What’s more, you’ll be on your own with a little money in the bank. When I was your age, I felt things squeezing in. The only place I didn’t feel squeezed was on the water. I joined the Coast Guard like a dumb cluck—thought I’d put the uniform on and they’d give me a boat. Being dumb is one thing, going on being dumb is dumber.”
Tom laughed. Charlie was too wide-eyed to laugh. Dick didn’t appear to hear Tom’s laugh. Dick said, “I somehow had the idea it was wrong to ask questions. I thought it was better to keep what you knew and didn’t know to yourself. I knew a couple of things I’d picked up here and there. I watched what was going on. But I didn’t want anyone finding out what was going on inside me. I thought if you ask about things someone’ll get inside you. Keeping myself clammed up like I did was dumb. All I’d’ve had to do was ask. I wasted a lot of time.” Dick closed his hands tightly, then opened them. “So when you go over there to your college, you learn to ask.”
Charlie said, “So how did you get to know all the stuff you know?”
“Too slow. And that was just the nuts and bolts. I didn’t begin to figure out what other people are like until …” Dick turned away. May’s head lifted, and she thought, Elsie. Dick said, “I get along with my crew. Course that could be ’cause they’re good at getting along with me.”
May tried to keep on being glad for the boys that Dick was talking to them, but she felt bleak. If he was keeping away from Elsie, it wasn’t on account of the comforts of home. His comfort was at sea. He’d told Tom, “Don’t be a smart-ass with your mother,” and she’d gobbled up that crumb. Then there was Charlie, all admiring, saying, “So how did you get to know all the stuff you know?” She could bring it all down in a second.
It was terrible to be that close to wickedness.
chapter twenty-four
Elsie woke up with all the symptoms—the languor from hip bone to hip bone, fractions of scenes as jumpy as movie previews. Some were of her own movements, her hands reaching out. Others of him (not necessarily but probably Johnny Bienvenue), medium close-ups of him turning toward her, touching her hip, her shoulder, or, more shyly, her elbow. Various dresses, various places. Some calculations of when and where. Then further reveries—the stammering of undressing, the fluency of skin.
As she brushed her teeth she saw one funny part. The poor guy still asleep in Woonsocket without a clue that he was being considered for the role. As she fed Rose, she cooled. She carried Rose up to Mary’s room and put her in bed with groggy but welcoming Mary, and she started thinking again: she wouldn’t call him. See how energetic he was about calling her.
She spent the morning at her desk, in a better mood than if she’d just been filling out reports. She alternated official paperwork with thinking of possible babysitters, wondering if Jack and Sally would give a party—Sally wouldn’t mind if she asked that Johnny be included. Elsie saw herself in her red dress, her blue dress, a blouse and skirt—deflecting any old suitors in favor of Johnny in his not-off-the-rack but rumpled brown suit. Or would it be simpler to arrange a tennis lesson, not in her sweat suit. But even on the indoor court it wasn’t warm enough for a tennis dress. Maybe one of her bicycling outfits, the red spandex uni-suit. If she still wasn’t thin enough for the uni-suit, meet him at the court in a dress, let him think about that. Come out of the changing room in tights and a sweatshirt.
By lunchtime she felt clogged with fantasy.
At the end of the day she felt herself stir again when she pulled the seat belt across her lap.
When she picked Rose up at Sawtooth, she asked Mary if anyone had called during the morning.
“Anyone?” Mary said. “Look, he left his number yesterday. Don’t be coy. Or if you’re going to be coy, don’t be all jittery about it. And that reminds me—Rose needs a bigger playpen; she crawls back and forth in this one like a caged animal. Maybe one of those expandable baby corrals. I saw one in Wakefield—it’s like an old-fashioned elevator gate—not the door but the lattice thing that the operator folded to one side and said, ‘Fourth floor, ladi
es’ lingerie.’ Except the baby corral is a circle and it’s made of wood and—”
“Fine.”
Mary stiffened and stared at her. “Ah, well,” she said, “perhaps it’s a detail the staff should take care of without bothering the upper echelon.”
Elsie took a step back. Even so, she had to look up. She hadn’t realized how this irritated her. She said, “Don’t pull that shit.”
“Oh? And just what—”
“Your poor-little-me, I’m-just-the-scullery-maid-to-the-gentry shit. Look. I work. You work. Just because Jack patted your ass—”
“This is nothing to do with Jack, it’s you and your flouncing around. Any calls for me? No? Then I’m off. Something about Rose? Don’t bother me.”
“I said it was fine about whatever that thing is. It’s fine. It’s your babbling on about elevators and women’s lingerie that’s boring.”
Mary stood still for a second, then walked away. Elsie picked Rose up out of the playpen. Rose squirmed and reached back for her teddy bear. Elsie fumbled with the knob on the door. One of the kitchen staff opened it and held it for her. Had he enjoyed the show? No—he looked sheepish and scared. Not a good night to be working for Mary. Fine.
It wasn’t until Elsie finished strapping Rose in that she stopped being too mad to think. Now she felt the first cold aftermath. She should have stopped at “Don’t pull that shit.” “Babbling” and “boring” would linger with Mary. She looked at Rose, who was far too quiet, sucking her thumb and clutching her teddy bear. Her head was tucked to one side, as if she’d understood everything and was having her own dark thoughts.
“Aw, come on, Rose. I love you. Mary loves you. You’re the darling of the whole kitchen. I can’t even get a date.”
When she got to her house Dick’s pickup was idling in the turnaround. He shut off the motor, got out, and came over to her car. He had an envelope in his hand.
She said, “Let me get Rose inside. Come on in.”
When they got to the front door, Dick said, “You want me to get the door or hold the baby?”
She handed Rose to him. “She knows her name,” Elsie said.
Dick walked around the room with Rose, jiggling her. Rose held her arms out to Elsie. Elsie said, “She’s not in a good mood right now. I’ll get her a bottle. You can put her down. She likes it if you get on the floor with her.”
Dick handed the envelope to Elsie and sat on the bare floor.
“What’s this?” Elsie said. “She likes it better if you lie flat.”
She read the note. “Dear Elsie, I want to talk about Mary bringing Rose over to the house. Is this your idea? Dick.”
Elsie put the bottle in a saucepan of hot water. She said, “May and I talked about it. Mary said she might do it this week. Did May talk to you?”
“I just walked in and there was May and Rose and Mary.”
“I didn’t know—Mary didn’t … I just saw Mary, but I guess other things came up.”
“So who’s in charge? I figured you’re the one in charge.”
Rose crawled across the floor to Elsie and pulled on her pants leg. Elsie said, “She’s not used to a man’s voice. You’ll have to talk softly.”
Dick lay down on his back and put his hand over his face. She picked Rose up and gave the bottle a couple of shakes.
“Jesus, Elsie,” he said into his wrist.
“Still too loud.”
He lifted his hand and whispered, “Jesus, Elsie. Now I’ve got every female in South County telling me what to do.”
Elsie laughed. Dick turned his head and stared up at her. She gave Rose the bottle and walked over to Dick. She turned Rose around, held her under the armpits, and lowered her feet onto Dick’s chest, jouncing her up and down. Rose got into it, taking little prancing steps, making her little laughing noises.
“Put your hand on your face again,” Elsie said. “She likes peekaboo.”
But when Elsie sat Rose on Dick’s chest she crawled off and began to suck on her bottle. Elsie knelt. She leaned over and kissed Dick. She lifted her head and said, “Oh, God,” and kissed him again. She pressed into him. He rolled away.
She felt a cold shock. It stopped her from scrabbling after him.
He lay on his side, his back to her. He gave a groan that made her feel a little better. She got to her feet and sat in a chair. She said, “I guess you’re right.” He lay still. Rose looked at him. With the nipple in her teeth and the bottle dangling, she crawled closer to him. Dick sighed and started to get up. Elsie said, “Careful. Rose is right beside you.” Dick rolled onto his back. Rose studied him and then dropped her bottle onto his stomach. Dick picked it up and slowly handed it back to her. Rose sat up and started sucking again, holding her bottle with both hands and watching Dick.
Elsie felt a tenderness that dizzied her and numbed her. She was afraid it would make her cry if she didn’t do something. She said, “That’s right, Rose. At least one of us knows how to behave.”
Dick seemed to ignore her. He put his hands over his face, opened them, and said, “Peekaboo.” Rose swayed a little but didn’t take her bottle out of her mouth. Dick said, “That’s good, Rose. You’re no pushover.” He looked at Elsie. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It’s not that I … It’d be too much.”
Elsie knew him. The way she knew him was even more powerful than the pang of tenderness that had just touched her. She forgot herself, and as if she were floating in the air around him, she absorbed what he felt—his pleasure when she kissed him, his alarm, his regaining his balance. And, from what seemed a horizon in him, there came the reason he feared losing his balance—the turbulence he would have to weather when Charlie and Tom found out. And another distant glimmer that was puzzling until it touched what she herself felt when she was alone in the Great Swamp knowing more than she could name. He, too, sometimes knew more than he could name. He depended on coming into grace when he went to sea. He was careful about being in a state to receive it. There had been a time when he thought her sense of things was attuned to his. Of course, he’d been at odds with almost everything and everybody then, so fiercely desperate that she’d been the only person to want him as fierce as he was.
She came back to herself. She leaned against the arm of the chair. She wasn’t as saddened as she’d been afraid she’d be. What the hell, no worse off than other days.
She said, “I guess you’re right.”
Rose crawled closer to him and swung her bottle onto his stomach. This time he didn’t pick it up. He moved his hand toward it and then stopped. Rose stared. Dick touched the bottle and then pulled his hand away. Rose put one hand on his stomach and with the other pushed the bottle onto his chest. He ran his fingers over it as if his hand were a mouse. Rose climbed onto him and grabbed the bottle. She sat on his chest and started drinking. He pulled his knees up to give her a backrest and held her hips. He said, “Charlie used to do that. Except you had to watch out for when he’d throw it. Catch you in the face if you weren’t looking.”
“All coming back to you, is it? A dad all over again.” Every time she opened her mouth she sounded either glib or lame.
The phone rang. It was Johnny Bienvenue. It took him a while to get around to saying, “Any chance of some tennis?”
“I’ll have to see. I want to, but I’m in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?”
When she hung up, Dick was sitting in her chair jouncing Rose on his knees. “ ‘Trot, trot, to Boston, trot, trot, to Lynn,’ Look out, Rose, you’re going to fall … IN!” Rose laughed as Dick swooped her down and caught her. No question about it, a real laugh.
Elsie said, “That was Miss Perry’s lawyer.”
When Dick got to the front door he handed Rose to her. “It’s good the way you’re looking after Miss Perry. You’re putting me to shame. Charlie is, too. He’s been going over there pretty often.”
Elsie’s eyes flicked open so fast there was a pop of light. She blinked and looked at his face. “I’m
glad you came by.” She touched his cheek. “And don’t worry. Everyone’ll get to know Rose, and then Rose will just be Rose. Don’t worry. Go see Miss Perry. Go out in your boat. It’ll be all right.”
When he got to his truck she said, “Be sure to call first. Before you go see Miss Perry.”
She closed the door. “You’re a minx, Rose. I saw you. He made you laugh, you little minx, and now you’re too excited to eat your supper.”
chapter twenty-five
Elsie had learned very early how to separate things—one day from another, one place from another. Herself at one time and place from herself at another time and place. When she had Rose inside her she didn’t have any reason or any wish to move in space or time. Now that Rose could tell the difference between herself and her mother, and, although it wasn’t quite the same process, now that Elsie could tell the difference between herself and Rose, Elsie’s skills at compartmentalizing reemerged. Not the simple difference between her in her green uniform on this side of the bay and herself in her red dress on the other. The new array of possibilities would be more complicated and less clearly marked. One new variable was her house: from being hers alone, whether as toybox or the place she’d seduced Dick, it changed into a nursery, a more serious kitchen, a place where Mary Scanlon sprawled on the sofa, offering comfort or annoyance, a place that instead of being empty when she left was full of Mary with Rose.
So her old gray Volvo station wagon was where she kissed Johnny Bienvenue. While they were playing tennis it snowed again. The Volvo was a mound of new snow. The Wedding Cake was dark except for a faint glow from a chandelier in the front hall. Elsie locked the door to the tennis court and turned off the outside light. Johnny opened the passenger door. He said, “If you’ve got a scraper I’ll get your windshield.”
“Get in for a second. It’s like being in an igloo.”
He said, “When were you in an igloo?”