Tainted

by Brooke Morgan

  “Good.” He patted Jack on the back, with true affection. He’d been a good companion, a quick learner who didn’t talk too much, who did what he was told, who didn’t get in the way. For a beginner, Jack had done surprisingly well. He would have made a good Marine.

  “They’ve disappeared.” Jack had turned back to look at the water where the pod had been. “They’ve gone. No seagulls, no nothing.”

  “They do that.” Henry checked the horizon for any other gulls, any other pool of swirling fish. There was no sign of even a single bird. “Sometimes they move on and you can see where they’ve gone, follow them. And sometimes they just vanish. Like magic.”

  “Wow. That was amazing. Really amazing.” Jack laughed. “I never thought I’d be doing this. Catching a fish.”

  “Your first fish. It’s always a big moment.”

  “It’s kind of crazy how exciting it is. Out in the middle of nowhere, with all this space. It’s so beautiful. I used to dream about this, this whole . . .” He swung his arm in the air. “OK, I’ll shut up now.”

  “No, it’s nice to have someone be so excited. Makes me remember catching my first fish when I was eight years old. Centuries ago.”

  “Yeah, right. Centuries.”

  “Almost. Anyway, the fish appear to have gone but I’ll fix my rod and then we can both cast for a while; you never know, there might be some loiterers. And you can practice more.”

  They stayed where they were, casting, as the sun rose further. Jack was diligent, working hard at throwing and reeling, concentrating on improving his technique.

  Most young men these days were more impatient, Henry thought. Casting with not much hope of catching a fish wasn’t exactly thrilling, but Jack reminded him again of his time in the Marines: you followed orders and never complained. Perhaps he hadn’t been fed a diet of video games growing up in England. He wasn’t addicted to instant gratification; nor did he babble on just to hear himself talk.

  Thank Christ he doesn’t find it necessary to “share.”

  After almost forty minutes of solid casting, Henry reeled his lure in and hooked it onto his rod.

  “I suggest we call it a morning now and head over to my house. I can anchor the boat on the beach and you can come up and I’ll give you some breakfast and show you how to clean your catch. What do you say?”

  “Sounds great. I have to admit, after all that casting and reeling, I’m feeling hungry.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Henry laid his rod in the stern, started up the motor, took off toward the dike.

  This, of course, was the part of his plan that might fail. Holly might have told Jack about the dike, and if he recognized where he was going, he might protest. But as they cruised along in the sun, Jack didn’t make any comment. He stood straight, occasionally looking back to the deck of the boat to see his fish, but otherwise gazing out toward the islands and the open sea. When he reached the bay and the Front Beach, Henry slowed down, timing his landing so he had enough speed to turn off the engine, raise it, and still get to shore. Jack hopped off the bow and held on to the boat, while Henry lifted the anchor, passing it over to him.

  “Take this a few yards up and bury it. The tide is going out so we don’t want to anchor it too far up the beach or we’ll have problems getting it back into the water later.”

  “OK.” Jack set off with the anchor while Henry gathered the rods and the tackle box, handing them to him when he came back to the boat. He lifted the fish from the deck and jumped onto the beach, grateful that he was still agile enough to make the leap. “Here. I’ll take the rods and the box—you take the fish. You put your finger inside the gill and out its mouth like this.” He showed him. “It feels a little slimy at first; you’ll get used to it.”

  “I feel like a hunter-gatherer, back from the wild.”

  “You look like one, too.”

  “I wish I could bring it into Figs, make it the special of the day.”

  “Catch a few more and you can some day.” Henry led the way, up the path from the Front Beach to his house.

  “Wow. What a view,” Jack exclaimed when they reached the lawn. “Amazing. And the house, too. Do all the houses around here look alike?”

  “Some.” Henry led him to the side of the porch where he had set up a fish-cleaning table. Picking up a hose beside it, he washed down the fish, then took out a knife from the tackle box.

  “You scale it first—like this,” he said. “And then you slit it open and take the guts out.”

  Jack turned away again.

  “I suppose this isn’t pretty either.”

  Jack’s sensitivity when it came to killing and cleaning the fish slightly surprised Henry; he hadn’t struck him as someone who would have a queasy disposition. After finishing the job as quickly as possible, he washed off the fish fillets, hosed down the table as well. “Now we can have breakfast. I’ll put these fillets in some aluminum foil and into the fridge.”

  “I like these posts,” Jack commented as they climbed the porch steps. The porch was held up by old, whitewashed pieces of trees, with branches coming off them. “They look ancient.”

  “They are. It’s an old house. But I would guess what’s old to Americans is not old to you English.”

  Jack smiled. “We do go back a while.”

  “I can’t find fault with him” had been one of Henry’s mother’s expressions. As if she were always looking for a fault to find. Which she may well have been: she had a highly honed critical side. But when she couldn’t find any fault, she gave overwhelming approval, taking that person into her heart with an abundance of zeal.

  Henry couldn’t find any fault with Jack. Except his inability to accept Katy. Which was a major, huge fault. But a fault that might just be rectified.

  “I’ll make us some fried eggs and bacon,” he said as he opened the front screen door. “Meet my dog, Bones.”

  The Lab rose from the living room rug and padded over to them.

  “Hello, Bones,” Jack said. “Nice to meet you.” He reached down to pat him, but Bones turned around and headed back to the living room.

  “That’s not very polite of you.” Henry gave Bones a disapproving look.

  “I’m invading his territory. He’s allowed to be suspicious. You know, I always wanted a dog when I was very young. My parents didn’t want one, though.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “It was.” Jack was behind Henry, following him into the kitchen. “They said I wouldn’t walk it and they’d end up having to, but they were wrong. I would have.”

  “Well, Bones doesn’t walk as much as he used to. He used to be able to walk for miles. Old age.” Henry grunted. “I know it’s better than the alternative, but sometimes it’s shit. A real pain in the ass. And the knees. And every single joint. Sit down. I’ll get us our breakfast.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No. Thank you. I’m a pro at after-fishing breakfasts.”

  Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Jack was silent as Henry prepared the eggs and bacon and some toast.

  “Did you live in the country in England?” he asked as he took the orange juice out of the fridge and poured two glasses.

  “No.”

  The abruptness of the answer made Henry decide not to ask any more questions. His parents had died tragically; not wanting to talk about the past was understandable. The eggs and bacon were cooked; Henry served them to Jack, took the toast from the toaster and put it on a plate in the center of the table. While they ate, Jack asked him questions about fishing: how he knew which lures were best, what other types of fish he caught, whether he ever fished on rivers. In the middle of a story about fishing for salmon once in Alaska, Henry snuck a look at his watch.

  “Enough about my youthful exploits,” he announced. “Let’s take our coffee out on the porch in the sun.”

  Within minutes of sitting down outside, Henry saw Holly and Katy appear at the end of his drive. Holly shaded her eyes as she approached, peering at the
m; Katy broke into a run, then stopped at the foot of the steps. Jack half-rose from his chair, sat back down as Henry said, “Good morning, girls. Come join me and my fellow fisherman. Katy, come up and shake hands with Jack. Jack, this is my great-granddaughter Katy and my granddaughter Holly.”

  This time Jack stood up and stayed standing, staring at Holly.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Holly, who had approached and was beside Katy, said, “Jack. What are you . . .” she looked up at Henry. “Henry?”

  “I met this young man last night at Figs and we’ve just been fishing. He caught his first fish today. A very nice-sized blue. Katy—come shake hands.”

  She mounted the steps slowly, her eyes on Jack.

  “Hello,” she said, holding out her hand. Jack leaned down and shook it.

  “Hello—again. Katy.”

  “Are you the Explorer?”

  “Katy!” Holly ran up the steps, put her hands on Katy’s shoulders. “What’s going on?” She looked wildly from Henry to Jack, a blush rising so fast it engulfed her face in a second.

  “No, I’m afraid I’m not an explorer, Katy.” Jack kept her hand in his. “But it’s nice to meet you. And it’s nice to see your mother—again.” He put out his hand to Holly. “Remember me? The bloke on the bus who can’t crack a lobster open properly?”

  Holly stood, speechless, still grasping Katy’s shoulders.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this, honestly . . . I had no idea . . .”

  “Henry says we should shake hands with the left hand,” Katy said. “Because it’s closer to the heart. I forget sometimes.”

  “Ah, yes,” Jack smiled, raised his eyebrows. “I remember someone telling me that. I forgot too. Let’s start again.” He put his left hand out, shook Katy’s, then offered it to Holly. “Should we start again too?”

  Henry watched as Holly put her left hand out and shook Jack’s, seeing how shyly she acknowledged his touch. She was her age, suddenly, had transformed into a twenty-three-year-old woman right here in front of his eyes. By George, I did it! He wanted to shout and do a little jig on the porch. Because he knew enough about men to know Jack was not going to run away this time. Not the way he was looking at her now. Jack, this time, was a keeper.

  “I’ll go get your coffees,” he said. “You stay here and let Jack tell you about catching his first fish.”

  “Can I sit beside Jack?” Katy asked.

  “If it’s OK with him,” Holly responded.

  “Here.” Jack pulled the smaller chair up beside his. “Please do me the honor, Katy,” he said, in an endearingly serious tone. Henry could feel Holly’s pleasure, her maternal pride almost tangible in the air as Katy smiled at Jack and sat down.

  It could be, he thought as he went back to the kitchen. It could work. A nice young man. Who was uneasy at the idea of a child, certainly, but when faced with the reality, with the sweet, lovely Katy, changed his mind. Even if it doesn’t last forever, isn’t this progress? A man who is not only attractive but also a good man, a thoughtful, polite one, one who understands, too, what Holly has been through. Not that smug coward Billy who knows fuck all.

  I could start a dating service. I could be an old Cupid, arranging love matches. A whole alternative career. Why didn’t I think of it before?

  True pleasure, those moments when all was right with the world, had, since Isabella and John and Julia had died, almost entirely vanished from his life. He could get snippets of it playing with Katy, or sometimes when he and Holly and Katy were sitting chatting on the porch on a beautiful day. But then the sad weight of what was missing crept into the joy, making him reflect on how much happier they all would have been if everyone who should have been there was. When he went back out onto the porch with Holly’s coffee and Katy’s apple juice, he didn’t feel that lack, only delight in what he had wrought.

  Katy was telling Jack about their clam-digging and chowder-making: every single detail of it. Jack was listening intently, occasionally interjecting a question. He got it right, too. Unlike many adult questions where children were concerned, Jack’s didn’t try to bring the subject back to an adult theme and they weren’t patronizing. He was helping Katy with her story, not taking away from it. Henry could tell, by Holly’s face, her posture, her whole being, that she was thrilled and amazed at how quickly Katy had taken to him.

  As he handed the coffee mug to Holly, he winked at her. She gave him a quick “I don’t believe you did this” shake of the head, but along with it a smile.

  I’m a fucking genius, Henry told himself. I rock.

  Chapter 7

  “Jesus, Holl. You’re traveling faster than the speed of love.” Anna sounded incredulous. “You’re breaking barriers. You met him what? Three weeks ago? And he’s moved in? Isn’t that a little—what’s the word? Precipitive?”

  “Precipitate. And I know it’s fast. But we spend all our time together except when he’s working. It’s stupid for him to live in that tiny apartment. Besides, he paid rent in advance, so he has it for two months and he can move back there if he wants to. We spent a long time talking about it, Anna. It wasn’t a quick decision.”

  “Depends on your definition of quick. Katy really likes him?”

  “They’re down on the beach now, as we speak, having a swim. You should see her with him. It’s so amazing to watch. He has this way with her, it’s so sweet.”

  “I want to meet this guy.”

  “You will.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Soon.”

  “You want to keep him to yourself, don’t you?”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Well, you’re allowed to. But not for much longer. I—”

  “They’re coming in the door now. I have to go. Talk soon. Bye.” Holly hung up the phone, turned to see Katy rushing in, Jack behind her.

  “How was it? Was the water nice?”

  “Beautiful.” Katy stood in the middle of the living room, with her towel wrapped around her, dripping water onto the rug.

  “No, princess. It wasn’t beautiful. It was perfect.” Jack rubbed the top of her head.

  “Come on out, let’s sit on the porch in the sun and you two can dry off.”

  They went out the side living room door to the porch. It wasn’t as big as Henry’s, but her chairs were more comfortable than his and you could actually lie down in two of them. Holly towel-dried Katy and put some sunscreen on her while Jack threw his towel over the rail and then hopped on beside it, facing them.

  “Have you ever thought of clearing some of these trees?”

  “All the time.” Holly stretched out on her chair, luxuriating in feeling the sun on her face and the warmth of Jack’s presence.

  “I could do it for you. A little of it, anyway. It’s a shame to hide the view.”

  “Feel free.” She’d finally made the decision. It was time now.

  “I’ll consult with Henry about it.”

  He’d slipped into her life with hardly a ripple. One day it was she and Katy and Henry, the next it was she and Katy and Henry and Jack. The only requests he’d made were that they have a cooked breakfast at seven-thirty sharp every morning and lunch at twelve-thirty on the dot. For someone changing his life to accommodate a young child, Jack seemed to be asking for very little. Agreeing to stick to a schedule for breakfast and lunch was relatively easy. She kept waiting for the hard part to start.

  My present. The gift of Jack. Who has come into the woods and woken me up from my stupor.

  Holly closed her eyes, crossed her legs. She was thinner. Sex and happiness had made her thighs thinner and her hair shinier and her skin softer. There were probably magazine articles written on the benefits of wonderful, passionate sex, but she’d never read them. And now she didn’t have to. She was her very own “Before” and “After”: she could feel the transformation, she could see it in the mirror. The right kind of touching made miracles happen. Real sex. Nothing like the sex she and Billy had h
ad on the beach, but making-love sex, when you felt excited, wild, out of control and safe, all at the same time; when, for the first time in your life, you felt attractive and desired.

  The thrill of the beginning of a love affair might be a cliché but she didn’t care if it was. Because she was walking around in a constant state of wonder. Small things amazed her: Jack taking out the trash, Jack making her a cup of tea at four every afternoon. Little gestures like this were infinitely touching, but then when he’d help her read a bedtime story to Katy on his night off, or when he’d come home late from work, climb into bed and pull her to him, whispering and teasing and embracing her, she’d lie in a haze of joy. At first she wouldn’t let herself truly believe in it. It couldn’t last. She’d wake up one morning and he’d be gone. Back to Sophie or Chloe or whomever he must have left behind in England. Now, though, she was beginning to believe in a future. After all, he had moved in, a decision prompted by Katy asking one morning, “Why doesn’t Jack have any clothes here?”

  “Because Jack has his own apartment where he keeps his clothes,” Holly had replied.

  “Why does he need his own apartment?”

  Jack and Holly had exchanged a glance then, and she saw the question mark in his eyes, making her guess that, if she suggested it, he might actually welcome a move. Later that afternoon, he brought the subject up himself: “It makes sense for me to move in, you know. But only if you and Katy want me to.”

  So she’d told a white lie to Anna. They hadn’t discussed it at length; but they didn’t have to. Every step forward came naturally. He fit in naturally. Holly didn’t have a flicker of unease when he said he’d consult Henry about the trees. Her body now belonged to him: every time they made love, he possessed her entirely. There were no boundaries in her life with him and she wanted him to know that.

  Today was Sunday, his night off. She’d promised Katy a trip to Friendly’s for an ice-cream cone; after that they’d go down to the beach and swim some more, maybe drop by Henry’s for a glass of wine in the evening. She’d make something nice for supper, they’d put Katy to bed and Jack and she would watch a DVD together. He’d tease her about her love of old black-and-white films, he’d make funny comments as they watched, and then they’d go to bed.