“No. But there’s more to life than money, Dad. I don’t need that life anymore. I don’t want it.” Jonathan wanted to crawl out of his skin, suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here, trying to explain what even he didn’t understand.
“How can you not want that life!” his father yelled. “You had everything!”
“Jon, stop yelling,” his mother ordered.
“No, Margaret, I won’t stop yelling. He sounds as ridiculous as when he was younger, wanting to run off with those friends of his, playing on the beach when he needed to be here learning, working on his future.”
Jonathan frowned as he thought back on all the times he asked, begged to go off with Caleb and Aryl, but his father refused to let him, insisted on molding him into a financial child prodigy.
“A lot of good it did me,” Jonathan said.
His father was fuming now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything I own is in a trunk upstairs, Dad. The life I had was an illusion. It wasn’t real.”
Jon Sr. snorted. “Well, it looked pretty damned real all the times we came to visit.”
Jonathan shook his head. “You don’t understand. The way I did things, the way it was all set up, it wasn’t really mine. If it was, it couldn’t have been taken away so easily. I do have a plan. But this time I’m going to restructure my life better. I know that what’s mine is truly mine and can’t be taken away.”
“Look, son, I know you’re probably traumatized by what happened.” He shifted his tone to sound more convincing. “A lot of folks were. But that doesn’t mean you should give up and run away. Just come with me next week. Talk to these people. You won’t be so afraid after you see what they are seeing.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said indignantly. “And your friends are wrong. I’ve been watching with morbid curiosity, and I can tell you that this rally is false. More smoke and mirrors. Your friends are making a huge mistake, and you will, too, if you follow them.”
Margaret stood and started clearing away plates of uneaten food. Ava offered to help, begging with her eyes to get away from the tension-filled table. They disappeared into the kitchen, grateful for the busy work.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” Jon Sr. asked directly. “How am I supposed to recoup my losses? I had invested everything with you, you know.”
Jonathan felt a stab of guilt so strong it brought on a wave of nausea. “I know you did,” he said quietly. He had nothing to offer or suggest, and so he remained silent. His father stared at him, waiting. When it became obvious that Jonathan wasn’t going to offer him a solution, he slammed his glass on the table and stormed out of the room.
Margaret and Ava reemerged from the kitchen with mugs of coffee. His mother sat across from him and took a deep breath. “I know I have some explaining to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell him, Mom? It would have made all this so much easier.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I had my own selfish reasons. It was wrong and I regret it now. But you have to understand, he was pinning all his hopes on you, Jonathan. Every day, even as things got worse and worse, he would talk about how you were going to fix everything, you would get back what he’d lost. After a while, I found it impossible to dash his hopes.” She stared at the rose pattern on the tablecloth as she spoke, “He had to sell the car you sent him. And the clock. Most everything of value is gone, and what little is left will be gone soon. When so many businesses went under, he lost many accounts. Some of his biggest accounts have yet to pay him for last quarter’s work. It’s impossible to pick up any new clients, although he goes to Boston once a week and still tries. The few accounts he keeps now are for local businesses. Nothing that pays much.”
“Are you in debt?”
“Not much. It’s just a matter of making ends meet. You can’t tell him that I told you this, but he’s been working part-time at the quarry. It’s terribly hard work for someone as old as your father, Jonathan. He can’t secure a full-time position because the younger ones work circles around him. He’s only still there because one of the supervisors is our friend and he feels bad for him. He’d die if he knew I’d told you. He’s so ashamed.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ava spoke up, frustrated. “He’s doing whatever it takes to get by and that’s commendable.”
“Jon Sr. doesn’t see it that way, dear. He sees it as a personal failure.” She turned her head slightly toward the door Jon Sr. had stormed out of with a worrisome frown and troubled eyes that Ava recognized.
“I know how he feels.” Jonathan pushed away from the table. “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow. I think that right now I’m going to get some sleep.”
∞∞∞
“How are you, Ahna, did you have a good trip?” Hubert asked.
Ethel put out a large dinner and Hubert joined them late, sitting down in a business-like manner, ignoring Caleb, but acknowledging Arianna.
“We did. The scenery was beautiful.”
“And the baby? Everything going well?”
“Yes. I was very sick at first, but everything is fine now. Caleb’s worried I’m getting too big, though.”
Hubert snapped his head up, looking at Caleb for the first time, his expression horrified. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed loudly. “You’re thin as a rail.” He took his hateful expression off Caleb and looked kindly at Arianna. “Me and Ethel will see to it that you gain some weight for that baby. If your husband doesn’t like his women on the plump side, he’s just going to have to get over it for the next few months.”
“It’s not that, Dad.” He shifted uncomfortably, and Hubert went back to pushing his food around his plate.
Caleb stared at the top of his head when he spoke. “I know she’s too thin. I’m concerned about her stomach. It seems like shortly after we found out, it just got bigger by the day. Seems like it’s growing too fast.”
Hubert's response was to put another biscuit on Arianna’s plate and smother it with white gravy, laced with tan puddles of bacon grease.
“It just seems like that, dear,” Ethel patted Caleb’s hand, as he stared at his father’s bent head, waiting for his comment or presence to be acknowledged. Caleb pushed his plate away and sat back, irritated with Hubert. He glanced at Arianna and reminded himself that she was the reason he was here. As long as he could put up with his father’s resentment, Arianna would eat well and their baby would be healthy.
A short time later, Hubert tossed his napkin, announced he was going to bed. Ethel gave Caleb an apologetic grimace. “Give it time,” she whispered after Hubert had left the room.
February 24th 1930
“I’m sorry I stormed out last night. It was rude,” Jon Sr. said quietly several minutes into an early, silent breakfast. Margaret had been glaring at him, but relaxed after his apology, which told Jonathan that it was one of those female-forced apologies.
“It’s fine, Dad. I know it must have been hard to hear.”
“If you’re not going to change your position, I would appreciate being able to consult with you about my investments. I have to recoup my losses, Jonathan. If I don’t, I’ll be working until the day I die.”
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Jonathan offered. He knew his father well, however, and was fully prepared to withstand the pressure he would surely keep on him to return to the investment world. “We’ll talk about some ideas later, all right?”
February 25th 1930
“Just look at that sunrise.” Aryl was already on the boat, separating lengths of rope. Caleb was yawning despite the invigorating five-mile walk from his parents’ farm, and Jonathan was still half-asleep as they stumbled on board.
“Today,” Aryl said, “I’m just going to get you guys used to the boat and equipment. We’ll go out together for a week or two. Then if you feel comfortable enough,” he said as he pointed to other boats tied to the dock, “we’ll split up, and you guys can take your own boats out.” Aryl ran through a basic list of terms
, pointing as he spoke. “Bow, stern, port, starboard–” He grinned as he held up a lobster pot. “money.”
“What do we do?” Jonathan asked, standing on the deck, feeling completely lost.
“Well, we need to scrape and tar these pots. Looks like it’s been awhile since my uncle had tended to them, some of them need fixing, and we need to untangle all these ropes. I need to study the charts to be sure of where my uncle’s territory was. Don’t want to go starting any trouble or losing any pots.” Jonathan stared at him, clueless. “My dad talked to the other fishermen in the area. They all agreed that I, well, we could take over my uncle’s territory.” Jonathan looked out, the orange glow of sunrise shimmering on the vast sea, and his groggy mind tried to understand.
“Sometimes it amazes me that you grew up here and yet manage to know so little about this life.” Aryl laughed, shaking his head.
“Hey, my face was in a book most of the time, remember?”
“Okay, look, we all have our own territory. It’s agreed among us. If someone muscles in and tries to take over a spot without permission, it causes a lot of animosity. Lines of lost pots are very expensive to replace. But, like I said, it was agreed that we would take over his territory. And we can always go out further if it gets too crowded. Blue with a white band around the middle. Those buoys are my uncle’s. We’ll stick with it to avoid confusion. Come over here and I’ll teach you guys basic knots and show you how to bait the traps. Then we’ll head out and drop a string, just to get you guys familiar. Later, we’ll do more maintenance on the equipment.”
He set Jonathan to untangling ropes and Caleb touching up the paint on the buoys. He looked over the pots, found two dozen that were in good repair and set them aside. When they pulled in the lines and set out, Jonathan intently watched everything Aryl did. He was anxious to learn as fast as he could, so he could set out with his own boat. He watched as the shoreline became more distant and then turned, squinting into the rising sun.
Aryl checked his chart and compass, teaching Jonathan and Caleb as he refreshed his own memory. The sun was fully up when Aryl showed how to brick and bait the traps, tying them together in a string beginning and ending the line with a buoy. He had each of them take turns steering the boat and gave a crash course education on the engine maintenance and the sails used for backup.
Jonathan’s head was swirling with new information by the time they edged up to the dock close to lunchtime. Kathleen was waiting on the dock with a basket of sandwiches and fresh coffee.
“You are a lifesaver,” Aryl said with a huge smile as they bumped lightly into the pier, and Jonathan threw the rope to secure the boat.
“How’d it go out there?” she asked.
“Pretty good, they’re fast learners.” He turned to grin at Jonathan, who had jumped onto the pier to secure the rope. “I might keep ‘em,” he teased.
“It’s wonderful,” Jonathan said to Kathleen. “I’m going to love this. The sense of freedom out there, it hardly feels like working.”
She laughed. “Just wait till it’s ten below and ice rainin’ sideways. It’ll feel like work, all right, but ya lucky today. It’s beautiful, much warmer than usual. Enjoy it, it won’t last.”
Aryl helped her onto the boat and she sat on a pot, visiting with her son.
“Has everyone named their boats?”
Jonathan looked up at her, and then at Aryl with a mouth full of sandwich. “Name them?”
“Well, yes, you need to name your boat. Can’t take it out till ya do. It's bad luck.”
“They’re your boats, Aryl,” Caleb reminded. “You should name them.”
“No. Each of you needs to name the boat you’re going to be taking out. It doesn’t matter who technically owns the boat. It will be your boat, essentially. Think of a name.”
“What did you name yours?” Jonathan asked Aryl.
“The Lisa-Lynn. After my great aunt.”
Caleb and Jonathan looked at each other, instantly knowing what names they would each use.
“I got it.” Caleb stared off with a goofy smile. “I’ll name it the Ahna-Joy.” Aryl looked at him with a cocked eye, and Jonathan suppressed a laugh and admired Caleb’s ability to love his controversial wife so unconditionally.
“What about you?” Aryl asked Jonathan “Need time to think about it?”
“Oh, no. I know what it’ll be,” he said. He smiled at the boat he would soon be in charge of. “The Ava-Maura.”
∞∞∞
Ava was working in the garden with Margaret, preparing for the upcoming planting season. She looked up, saw Jonathan come round the side of the house, and smiled widely. She pushed off her knees, tossed her gloves and trowel, and brushed dirt off her skirt and coat. She walked quickly to meet him and jumped up to hug him.
“Careful, I’m covered in tar.”
“I don’t care.”
He held her off the ground for a moment.
“How was it?” she asked excitedly.
“Oh, it was great, Ava. I was worried at first, but I think this is going to work out just fine.” He gave her an exaggerated kiss. “What about you? How was it here today?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off his smile as they walked back toward the garden. “It was great. We got all the laundry dried and ironed, and we’ve been out here since after lunch. I’m helping her expand the garden and trying to plan what will go where. I’m learning a lot for when we have our own garden.”
He pulled her to his side and kissed her head. “Soon, I promise.”
After dinner, Jonathan found his father in the detached garage. He noticed a small crate with dusty boots and work clothes in the corner, half-covered with a blanket.
“It was great out there today. You should come out with us sometime.”
“If I'd wanted to be a fisherman, Jonathan, I would have bought a boat.”
“I didn’t say you should work. Just come enjoy the sights and smells. I honestly didn’t expect to like it this much,” he spoke through a smile that irritated his father.
“You’re new and being romanced by the sea. I’ve seen it many times. You get caught up in the salt air and crashing waves, the sense of freedom–now that’s an illusion, Jonathan. The freedom,” he snorted sarcastically. “But before you know it, you’re tangled in those pot ropes so tight you’ll never get out.”
“You sound bitter.”
Jon Sr. ignored him and began tinkering with the engine of the antique vehicle.
Jonathan sat on an apple crate in the corner and watched his father. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Self-taught mainly. Mechanic friend in town gives me pointers when I’m stuck.”
Jonathan watched his father with narrowed eyes, the obvious discrepancy opening up the opportunity to get his father talking honestly. “I thought it never broke down.”
Jon Sr. stopped working and sighed heavily. He wiped grease off his hands, frustrated and slightly embarrassed. He was hesitant in his confession, sitting down on a crate alongside Jonathan to avoid his eyes. “When I got this, it was in pieces. The engine was shot. I’ve rebuilt it from the ground up.”
“That’s impressive.”
“No, that’s sad. A man, my age, after all that I have accomplished in my life.” He continued reluctantly, his pride visibly distressed. “I had to sell that car you sent us. Paid some bills and had enough left to pick up this old thing, get it running.”
“And the other things? The clock, art, all that was sold, too?” Jonathan tried to push his father past his pride, knowing all too well what a paralyzing vise it could be. He sighed with a reddened face and turned away.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I feel awful. They were things you wanted us to have.”
After a long silence, Jonathan began his confession, “I didn’t deal with the crash well, Dad. Not at all. I hated where I lived, where I worked, hated myself for a brief time. I think I even hated Ava.” Jonathan scoffed at what now seemed like an atrocity
coming from his mouth. His father looked up from his own shame and concentrated on his son’s words. “While the others were looking for a way out and seeing the tiniest bit of good in everyday things, I felt sorry for myself. And I sunk really low.”
Jonathan stood and leaned against the car, facing his father.
“I don’t want to see that happen to you. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is, Dad.” He paused, reflecting on his own inward spiral into oblivion. ‘I almost lost Ava, my friends,” he lowered his head and spoke quietly, “my life.”
“Your life? I don’t understand.”
Jonathan nodded, deciding in that brief second to reveal everything. “I was so wrapped up in what I lost that I couldn’t see what I still had. It was an ugly descent, really, and I ended up in a bathtub, ready to call it quits.” He pulled his sleeve up with a slight jerk that got his father’s attention, revealing the thin, white scar across his wrist.
His father’s eyes widened and he looked up with concern. “Son, you don’t mean–”
“Yes. I’m not proud of it.” He lowered his sleeve and placed his hands in his pockets self-consciously. “Only Aryl knows. Ava thinks it was an accident at work. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to her or Mom.”
“Of course,” his father said. “But I don’t understand?”
“Aryl found me. Stopped me. Maura helped open my eyes.”
“Maura, your maid?”
“No, Maura, my friend.” One hand touched the edge of the cross. “In her own way, she helped me see that I couldn’t lose what wasn’t mine to begin with. But I stood to lose everything that was still mine by wallowing in grief for what wasn’t.”
Jon Sr. took a moment to contemplate his son’s profound words until they wrapped themselves around his own struggles.
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