A Dead Market

by CeeCee James

  I texted back. —I’m by the house next to Kari.

  He slowly spun in the house’s direction, searching for me. When he found me, he raised his hand and I raised mine back.

  We didn’t have time for more than that because the crowd at the bank shouted and cheered. Two heads poked above the water’s surface like seals. The rowboat moved towards them.

  The newscaster turned on her reporting voice, “As you can see, the diver’s have returned from their search. This is very exciting!”

  Speculations flew up and down the beach. I heard snippets. “He’s got something, did you see it?”

  “I knew it!”

  “Naw, he’s moving too slow. He doesn’t have anything.”

  The answer came nonverbally. One of the divers looked toward the tent. Bobbing up and down as he tread water, he made a thumbs down.

  A collective groan echoed around us as we all heaved a disappointed sigh. It didn’t matter what the divers were going to say to the reporter, it was obvious they’d found nothing.

  “Well, there goes our town’s future claim to fame,” Kari said, bouncing in place to warm her legs. “We were this close to being the realty that sold the property where an ancient artifact was found. I knew it was nothing but an old wives’ tale.”

  “Someone died because of that tale,” I reminded her. After a second, I realized, “and this just could be proof that it was found during his dive after all.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “So, you think Lenny really found something, then.”

  “Statistically, it’s possible,” I said, half prompted by David.

  “So it could have been him, after all,” she said, glancing at Roy.

  I wrinkled my nose as I considered the old man. “It’s hard to picture him diving, let alone wrestling and stabbing someone to death in the water.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kari asked. “Just because you’re retired, doesn’t mean you can’t do things. Half this society’s advancements and treasures have come from people who had retired.”

  Suitably scolded, I nodded. “You’re right.”

  “You better believe I’m right. He could be a killer if he wants to,” she nodded emphatically.

  “I’m sure that’s every retiree’s goal,” I teased.

  “Honey, by that age, I’m sure you’re done taking crap and you’ve started to realize you wouldn’t serve that long of a sentence in prison anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes as we started to walk toward Uncle Chris, joining a crowd of people who were heading the same way, like a human amoeba.

  “Anyway, it appears we’re back to business as usual. You shouldn’t have any more trouble here with people trespassing now that they’ve debunked the myth.” She clapped me on my shoulder. “Let’s get this place sold!”

  Chapter 15

  The divers did give an interview. The blonde reporter held the mic to their mouths and nodded empathetically with a concerned pout to her lips.

  The first diver said that from what he could tell, the house hadn’t been disturbed since soon after it had originally flooded. In fact, he said, there was no way into the building without some major excavating because the structure had collapsed.

  More groans met his statement. The human amoeba that we were, slowly shifted back to the cars, even while the divers were still being interviewed. It was a disappointing end to the morning for all of us, even though this let me off the hook as far as a house sale going through.

  I left Uncle Chris still talking with the divers and drove back to town. I figured I’d see him later in the office.

  I passed the Fast Lanes car dealership again, and spotted the purple Challenger that had first caught my eye. It would be fun just to take it for a test drive. I pictured myself sitting behind the wheel, windows down, the rumble of the engine as I got ready to take off. And purple too! One of my favorite colors. She was beautiful.

  Yep. I was going to do it. I was going to at least take it for a spin. And, if I ever sold a house, I’d start socking some money away.

  Dad might not like it but I’m sure Uncle Chris would approve.

  Thinking of Uncle Chris reminded me of our conversation where he’d brought up Oscar. It started awkward, with his mention of some secret woman he’d once loved. I’d really love to get to the bottom of that story. What type of woman would have fallen for him? He was so rough around the edges, kind of a boozer, definitely out of shape.

  However, if it had been back in his car racing days, I could see the attraction. Fast cars, the excitement of winning, the camaraderie and respect of the fellow drivers. He probably had the pick of the groupies.

  It was sad that Uncle Chris had never fallen in love again. But the important part was that he’d also commented about how all the O’Neils were one-woman men. The fact that he was finding even a tiny bit of common ground with his dad made me feel like I was making progress in bringing this family a step closer toward reconciliation.

  Oscar was quite the character. Gruff and grouchy, but I could already sense the soft interior he kept hidden inside. Despite my reservations, I was starting to trust him. I knew there was another side to the story; Dad’s side, Uncle Chris’s side, and Oscar’s side. I had a feeling they weren’t so different, after all.

  It was noon now. After everything that’d happened—or hadn’t happen—this morning, I really wanted to talk to Oscar and get his view. I had some time. Maybe I could stop by.

  I figured, since I was coming unannounced, I’d better get a peace offering first.

  I drove to Darcy’s Doughnuts and walked inside to their sugary heaven-scented haven. It was a hard choice, but I finally picked out a half dozen that I thought he’d like, including a cherry turnover. Thus armed with goodies, stomach growling, I headed for Baker Street.

  Nerves tickled my backbone as I turned down the driveway and parked the car. I was half on the edge of thinking this was the dumbest idea ever, and hoped he would be okay with me just showing up. I walked up to the door. A comforting, homey scent wrapped around me…. spaghetti.

  My mouth watered. I shuffled the box of doughnuts to my other hand and, after hesitating for a second, knocked on the door.

  Barking welcomed me in the form of a puffy yellow tornado as Peanut raced down the hallway. Bear, I mentally corrected myself, remembering what Oscar called her.

  My pale face reflecting in the window appeared like I was in pain. It was obvious I’d had too little sleep and was steeped in disappointment. I smiled, and the image only grew worse, a strange grimace, like strings were pulling up the corners of my lips. Good grief, I looked like a puppet straight out of the movie, Dark Crystal. I loved the movie, but not enough to be a character.

  While I was thinking all of this, I realized I was making faces at Oscar. He was on the other side of the glass about to open the door. I flushed and glanced down, and then back up and tried to smile again.

  “Well, now. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Oscar said, as he opened the door. The scent of spicy meatballs and garlic rolled out like a red carpet.

  “Hi.” I offered out the box. “I was at the bakery and thought of you.”

  He blinked as he stared at the box. “What’s this?”

  I was tempted to make a smart remark, tell him it was a box of crickets or something, but I couldn’t. We just weren’t there yet.

  However, if he offered me a plate of spaghetti with a few meatballs, I’d consider us family bonded forever.

  “Pastries,” I said. “Chocolate eclair and a cherry turnover.” I shook the box lightly, hoping it would tempt him.

  “Mmm,” he said. “One of those moments, huh? Well, I’ve never been one to say no to a doughnut. Come on in.”

  I entered the house, dancing around Peanut in an attempt to not step on her paws or trip over her body which seemed attracted to my feet like a magnet.

  “One of those moments?” I asked, repeating what he’d said.

  He didn’t answer, instead
he shuffled into the kitchen. He had on the same plaid slippers, and baggy jeans as I last saw on him. But this time he’d snazzed it up with a blue-checked shirt and a pair of red suspenders.

  Bubbling on the stove was the spaghetti sauce that had lured me in, along with a pot of noodles. There was even a frying pan in the sink where I detected the evidence of pan-fried meatballs that were presumably now in the sauce.

  I was no match for such deliciousness. My mouth watered as I set the box down and picked up Peanut.

  “Bear, missed you,” Oscar said in his gruff voice. He used a fork to fish out a noodle and tested it by throwing it against the wall.

  He nodded when it stuck. “Dinner’s ready.” He glanced at me over the tops of his glasses. “And you’re just in time.”

  Okay, this was getting weird. It was almost as if he had expected me.

  He whistled as he got out a strainer and drained the noodles. His whistle was light and at the same time soothing. He returned the noodles to the pot and stuck in a pair of tongs. To the sauce, he added a ladle.

  “Plates are over there,” he nodded. “I’m not dishing you up.”

  I set down the dog, who scampered off, washed my hands in the sink and then got a plate. It was white with tiny goldenrod flowers circling the edge. Oscar scooped sauce over his noodles. I was pleased to see there were meatballs.

  He got me a glass of water while I dished myself up. Then we sat across one another for our second meal together.

  I was dying to ask him what he meant when I came in. He bowed his head for a moment, so I held my tongue. Finally, as he spooled up noodles, I prodded him with the question again. “What did you mean, one of those moments?”

  “A talking moment. When something’s really weighing on your heart. You bring doughnuts, I know it’s a big weight.”

  His words hit hard, in a scary place. This was eerily close to what I’d been thinking. He couldn’t know me that fast, could he? I twisted my fork in the pasta. There was no sound for a few moments other than the clink of our silverware against the plates.

  I couldn’t stand it any more. “How did you know?”

  “How did I know? How did I know what? That you would be showing up? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry has been playing that interview from the diver up there at the Johnson’s place. How’d I know it’d weigh heavy on you? Because I know you want to get to the bottom of what happened to Lenny Johnson. How did I know you’d show up here, having a moment?” He glanced at me then, and then his jaw jumped as though he were clenching his teeth. As if he couldn’t take it, he poured his attention back into the spaghetti before him. “Because you’re like your dad. And you’re like your grandma. You keep words locked inside of your head that need a sounding board in order to come out.”

  I blew out my cheeks, realizing how true his statement was. And I realized I had so many things to ask. Suddenly, I could barely breathe as they all bubbled to get out, like a herd of cattle rushing a tiny gate. Did Oscar ever try to contact my dad? Did he miss me? Did he know about my great great grandmother’s letters? So many things.

  “Okay…I guess I do have a question for you,” I murmured slowly. The only way I was going to get answers was to go for it. I might as well take the plunge.

  Oscar raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. I think he was slightly concerned at what might pop out of my mouth, because he cut his meatball with a little extra gusto.

  I twisted the napkin on my lap then saw what I did with it and tried to unfold it.

  He cleared his throat. “You nervous? Ask away.”

  Uh. I didn’t know how to answer that. “Mm, a little.”

  “Well, I won’t bite. At least not without my good denture glue.”

  I choked back an unexpected laugh. My emotions were all over the place, all of a sudden. Nerves like wet noodles, I tell you. Why was I so scared of a man whose body had been bent by age and wore glasses thick enough to start fires if left in the direct sunlight?

  Because of what my dad had told me.

  Oscar watched me now, his fork held in mid-air. It was as if he could read my mind. He caught my eye and smiled, and lowered his fork. Slowly, he twirled the noodles. “My grandmother always told me you couldn’t cry in the rain. It wastes water.”

  I swallowed hard, having read that very quote in her letters. “What do you think that meant?”

  “It means what it needs to mean at the time,” he said. “You tell me."

  “Were you close to your grandma?” I asked.

  “She was an amazing woman. She died much too young.”

  “Did she get a chance to meet your wife?” I asked, referring to my grandma.

  “No. But she would have loved her.”

  “What was Grandma like?” There, I’d asked the big kahuna. Would he be able to tell me?

  His head dropped, and I was horrified to see his hand tremble. He set down his fork and his hands folded into one another. After a moment, he swallowed hard to compose himself. “Your grandmother—” His voice cracked and he stopped. He cleared his throat and began again. “Your grandmother was a saint. She raised two boys nearly alone, and was always there for me. I wasn’t the best father. My job took me away from the family time and time again. I loved hunting those bad guys. It’s what I did. It’s what I was good at. But it was a huge sacrifice for her. The world will never know what she gave.”

  “Is that why…” I hesitated, scared to offend him. “Is that why my dad and Uncle Chris are so angry with you?”

  “Your grandma asked me to quit many times. But it was my identity. It was all I knew. I couldn’t do it. They never forgave me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The atmosphere felt heavy. I waited, not sure of what to say next.

  “You know, I saw you in track,” he said simply.

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  “You know, your races. Things you did in school.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I kind of felt like I’d just been swept up into the Twilight zone. He’d slammed the brakes and turned the conversation around so fast, I was reeling.

  “You saw me?”

  “Yeah. I kept tabs on you guys when you were in Washington. Tried to always keep out of sight. You did well. I was proud.”

  “I can’t believe you were there.” Maybe I should have been freaked out, but instead I felt shame. Tears stung my eyes and I blotted them with my napkin. He didn’t know how I’d failed in college. I couldn’t tell him.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I said.

  “What could I say? Your dad didn’t want anything to do with me. He was trying to protect you from me.” He stopped abruptly and glanced around. “Peanut!” he bellowed. I was surprised he didn’t mess around with calling her Bear. He must need her fuzziness right away.

  The dog came running, her little nails scrabbling against the hard wood floor. She danced on her hind legs until he lifted her up. His arthritic hand rested on her head.

  “I did send flowers,” he said. “Three of them every Valentine’s Day.”

  I covered my mouth. “That was you?”

  Our school did single rose deliveries for Valentine’s Day. Students and parents ordered them for each other. I’d always get four and assumed they were all from my dad.

  I stared at my plate, my eyes filling with tears. Hurriedly, I dabbed at them with my destroyed napkin. I was overwhelmed to know the effort he’d made, to know he’d even cared. “Thank you.”

  “I did what I could. I was proud of you.”

  I couldn’t take it any more. “Please don’t say that.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was really nothing to be proud of.” I laughed, feeling sardonic. “When I arrived at college, I quickly realized I was nothing special.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Will you knock it off.”

  “What?” Here I was coming clean with this gut wrenching truth, and he was eyeballing me like I was being prissy over not getting designer
shoes.

  “I mean, you need to quit feeling sorry for yourself.” He forked a mouthful of spaghetti in and chewed.

  “I’m not! It’s something serious that I’ve really had to come to terms with.”

  He shook his head. “You’re trying to wrap up a bad feeling in a smart package, but no matter the paper, it’s pouting through and through. Your problem is that you hooked your value on an action. Listen sharp, girlie. There’s always going to be someone who’s better, prettier, smarter, and faster, but it doesn’t devalue what you can do. Don’t you know that you have to love yourself enough to appreciate when you give your very best?”

  My mouth opened, and shut, and then opened again. I’m sure I looked like a goldfish greedily chasing after fish flakes. I hadn’t thought of it that way, and I honestly was kind of stunned.

  I had no idea where I’d learned that if you weren’t the best, you were nothing. I thought back to Dad, but he’d never told me that. In fact, he’d cheered just as loudly at my last race, as my first.

  A lump grew in my throat at the thought of Dad. Memories of how he’d taken care of me flashed through my head. He wasn’t perfect, but he was the perfect dad for me. “You’re right, I know you are. Dad did try to teach me that. I’m not sure why it didn’t stick. I’ll try to hang on to that truth now.” I spun my fork in the noodles, playing with them. “You know, Dad may not like to hear it, but his parenting is partially to your credit. He is half you.”

  “Well, he got all my good stuff then.” Oscar grinned.

  “Hey, what about Uncle Chris?” I smiled back, happy to feel the mood lightening.

  He rolled his eyes. “Now that boy is a pancake short of a Denny’s breakfast meal.”

  I choked on a noodle and laughed. “He’s funny, but he’s been really helpful getting me settled here.” I cut a meatball and speared half. “I think he might be open to talking with you. I actually think he would like that.”

  Oscar scratched Peanut’s ears. “No rush.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. If you want to talk with him, we don’t have a whole lot of time to waste.”