Home is a Long Time Ago

by William F Lee

  * * *

  The Belle Maria II docked. The boy home with his mother. The customers long gone and back home on the Mainline telling fish stories. Ponzio lies in his bunk aboard the boat. The gentle motion has not lulled him to sleep as usual. His mind is churning with internal distress.

  "Satan is at work as I lie here helpless. I know it. I know how he works. I pray God knows what He's doing allowing the Devil to play." The old man turns on his side toward the bulkhead, a tear slowly works its way down his cheek.

  Soon, God smiles, allowing the old man to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  Holli Callahan sits at the kitchen table with her son, Colt. Night's draperies have closed on Harvey Cedars. The kitchen door in the Callahan condo is open leaving the screen door to combat the pesky Jersey skeeters. The smells of the bay's marshes drift into the house through the screen door on a gentle westerly breeze. Holli uses his nickname, Colt, to address him unless she's upset. Then it's Colton. He's Colt to his classmates, his friends in town, and to Pete most of the time. Holli has finished her dinner, a fresh fillet of flounder that Colt brought home from the boat today. She wrapped it around a crab stuffing, baked it and served it with his favorite side dish, succotash, a dying commodity in the stores. That makes no difference to Holli since she makes her own when the lima beans and corn are in season. Colt is working on his second helping of everything, gulping cold milk as he goes. Even though he loves his mom's cooking, as a teenager it's merely fuel for his furnace.

  It is customary for the Callahan's to dine together during the summer when he's home from the boarding school he attends, Valley Forge Military Academy. Sometimes it's difficult with their schedules; however when they don't it's an exception. Today was close to one of those exceptions since Holli had a late Chamber of Commerce meeting, and Colt and Pete were later returning than expected. They had a banner catch, hence more fish for Colt to clean and fillet for the customers. And for Holli, a meeting not soon forgotten.

  Holli clears her throat.

  "You about to say something, Mom? You always do that when you've got something on your mind and don't know how to begin."

  "I know. I know. But it's nothing really. I was wondering how that old gossip is that you work for?"

  "Mister Pete? He's not a gossip, Mom. Just knows what's goin' on around the docks and town."

  "I suppose so. How is he anyway?"

  "He's fine."

  "Somebody told me today he's been acting strange lately."

  "I don't know. Don't think so. Seems the same to me, although . . . he talks to himself a lot lately. Caught him doin' it today and he said that old people do that. Come to think of it, you do too, Mom."

  "Hmmmm." Holli hears but doesn't actually listen. She fiddles with her teaspoon pretending to stir her iced tea. She clears her throat again. "Has he said anything interesting lately?" Holli Callahan, or in reality, Grace O'Reilly, has every reason to ask and to be concerned.

  * * *

  At the Chamber meeting earlier in the day, the young Mister Charles Barto, the banker and the Chamber President, made an announcement. And he made a big fuss before doing so, more or less a campaign-like speech that went on for several minutes. Then with continued fanfare, minus music, Barto announced that a hometown, home-grown, local boy was returning from the wars . . . no longer a boy of course, one Major Sean Padraig Gallagher, a highly decorated hero no less. Barto went on to say that Gallagher was going to start a business here in Harvey Cedars.

  Some members grinned and immediately clapped while others turned to their associates to learn more of him. Of course none actually knew Gallagher at all. Only Barto. Since this was true, the enlightening of themselves was nothing more than noisy chatter with one another and asking questions of Barto. Holli Callahan had long since fallen silent. She grew pale, then turned clammy. Finally, short of breath and gasping, she slumped in her chair. She tried to get to her feet to leave, only to faint dead away with a resounding thud and the clattering of her chair toppling over.

  When Holli awoke several minutes later, Chuck Barto was kneeling next to her, wiping her brow with his handkerchief that he had submerged in the water ewer on the meeting table. The others were hovering over the two of them. Barto said, "My God, Holli, are you all right?" Waving his hands at the others, he shouted, "Give us some air here. Move back. MOVE BACK." Of course people never do. Not natural for nosy folks, and by nature, Chamber people are. Naturally they only crowded closer.

  Holli looked up, trying to focus on the gaping faces leaning over her and Chuck Barto. Embarrassed and still unsettled she managed, "Yes, yes. I think so. Don't know what happened."

  Barto replied, "Great Scott, you scared the liver out of me . . . us. Think you can get up? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

  Holli said, "No, I'm not hurt. At least I don't think so." She sat up, moved her head side to side and with her hands checked her arms, shoulders and so forth. Muttered, "I'm fine. It must have been something I ate for lunch. Yes, probably those soft shell crabs. They might have been tainted. Bad. I just became suddenly ill. Dizzy. And that's the last . . ." Holli's voice trailed off as she got to her feet with Barto's help.

  The meeting continued with more being said about the return of the town hero. Holli excused herself and hurriedly stuffed items in her briefcase, walked to her car in the parking lot. She sat, key in the ignition, not moving for more than several minutes. Holli remembers thinking, My God, what am I going to do? I can't run again. Colt mustn't know. Mustn't think he's a . . . God, I can't even say the word. I'll have to hide in my own town. Good Lord, I can't do that either. Perhaps our paths won't cross. He's probably forgotten anyway. All these years. I look different. I'm thirty-seven now. My name's changed. He's not a kid either anymore. Maybe it'll pass.

  Holli's trance-like thoughts were broken by a tapping on her car window. It was the Chamber's receptionist saying, "Mrs. Callahan, are you all right? Mrs. Callahan?"

  Holli waved her hand in a flicking motion. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking." Holli smiled, started the car and left for home in a cold sweat.

  * * *

  Sitting at the table in her self-created daze she hears, "Hey, Mom. Where are ya? Did you hear me? I'm goin' in town and hang out with the guys. See ya later. Geez, you're acting strange . . . looked like you were mumbling to yourself. Like Mister Pete."

  She clears her head with a shake, more of a snap to attention. Looks at Colt and mutters, "Just lost in my thoughts, Colt. Don't worry . . . and don't be late."

  "Are you sure, Mom? I mean you're acting really weird tonight. I can stay home if you'd like?"

  "No. No. I'm fine, Colt. Go. Have a good time."

  "Okay, see ya," and he leaps up from the table, takes his plate, bowl and glass to the sink and bounds out the screen door letting it snap back with a resounding crack.

  Holli shudders at the noise of the door. She gets up from the table, mutters, "I'm fine? Have a good time? Don't be late? Yeah, right!" She clears the table and stands staring out the kitchen window overlooking the bay.

  My God, what am I going to do? This can't be happening. Oh, Colt, what are we to do?

  * * *

  Sean lies staring at his image in the ceiling mirror. He shifts his eyes slightly to focus on Rachael's mirrored image as she lies next to him, naked, asleep. My God, she's beautiful. Her, her... the contrast is fantastic. Love it.

  To him, Rachael, while looking peaceful, appears to have a coy grin spread across her face. He continues to stare at the mirror above. Man, what a night. The woman's fantastic. Harvey Cedars can wait.

  With his mind still serene the noise of the city, although muffled, reaches his ears. Neither harsh nor loud, it's Sunday, but a city is a city; always bustling, never at peace. Rachael stirs, rolls over and drapes a leg over one of Sean's, her arm and one breast on his chest, snuggling close with her head on his shoulder. He watches her image in the mirror. Great ass. Checks the mirrors on the sliding closet door.
Yep, great ass and . . . his thoughts are interrupted.

  She murmurs, "Good morning." Opens her eyes, gazes up at him, stretches her neck and kisses him on the cheek. Purrs, "I think I've fallen in love."

  "Already?"

  "Well, perhaps with your love making." A sound follows. One of those contralto moans she emits along with squeals. The moans take on the attitude of the moment in which they are secreted. The squeals are forms of release, notable by volume. All are lyrics in her aria of love making. She moans again, then murmurs, "No, it's love. Oh my God, what a night." She kisses him again; he returns it with equal softness.

  Rachael props herself on an elbow, whispers, "Let's go christen the tub, and then have some breakfast." She glances across the bed to the clock on the bedside table. "Well, brunch anyway. I know a great place."

  "Okay, but I'm more of a shower guy, especially in the morning."

  "Pick your poison, the shower it is. We'll do the tub tonight, and it will be an encore performance . . . I hope."

  "Yeah, if I can recover. But for now, let's go." He starts to get up saying, "Last one in--"

  His words are cut off as she yanks him down on the bed, rolling over on top of him, smothering his chest and face with kisses. She lifts her face away from his just a breath, lips still brushing one another, and whispers, "There're nooners, and then there are these, dawners. . ." her whisper trails off into another hungry kiss, and the morning begins as last evening ended.

  CHAPTER 8

  The old man, up before dawn, staggers to the galley on his boat to heat the leftover coffee. He's more tired than plantation dirt from his restless night. The few hours of sleep he did get were punctuated with his own manufactured nightmares of Satan's efforts in the form of Jezebel or that of Rachael. Pete hopes the strong, stale java will help him stay awake this morning. While waiting for it to heat, he wanders topside in bare feet and boxer shorts to check the weather for the fishing party coming this morning . . . to ensure the sailors' weather vane of "red skies at night" is following the myth. He squints skyward and mutters, "Yep, it's a delight." The sun is poking at the horizon, like a baby chick trying to get out of its shell. Birth is but moments away, and a new day will crest over Harvey Cedars and Ponzio's salty slice of the world.

  "You shouldn't walk around in public like that, Mister Vaccaro."

  The old man jolts to attention, hand snapping up to shield his eyes from the rising ball of fire on the horizon. At first he can only see a silhouette but slowly recognizes Colt's mother, Grace, or as she's known now, Holli Callahan. She has brought her son to work this morning. She's wearing a pale blue skirt and a long sleeved white blouse, open at the collar giving her a relaxed look which is betrayed by her fierce stare. The boy blurts out, "I told her not to come down here this early, Mister Pete."

  "You shoulda listened to Colt, Mrs. Callahan. Excuse me . . . I'll be back in a jiffy." Red-faced he scurries back into his galley and disappears into the berthing area mumbling all the way. Louder as he goes but still indistinguishable.

  Colt scolds his mother, "Told you, Mom. What do ya want anyway, for Pete's sake? We've got a trip this mornin', a big group."

  "I want to talk with him for a moment . . . alone, young man, and don't use that tone of voice with me."

  "But, Mom--"

  "Colt. Enough."

  Ponzio reappears on the aft deck and clambers up on the dock fully dressed, his right hand to the tip of his sea worn and grease stained Captain's cap, and with a nod says, "What can I do for you, Mrs. Callahan?"

  "I need to speak to you in private for a few minutes. Do you have the time?"

  "Sure do. Colt, come aboard. Go below and turn the coffee down. Then get topside, ready the rigs and start cuttin' bait."

  "Aye, Mister Pete." The boy leaps aboard and heads for the galley.

  Pete shuffles and the woman marches along the dock out toward the deeper end and out of earshot of the boy. They stop; Mrs. Callahan turns toward the old man. She shifts uneasily from foot to foot searching for a way to start. She clears her throat.

  Ponzio says, "Mrs. Callahan, ma'am, if you got something on your mind, or if I've done something to upset you, best way is to just spit it out. You can't hurt ol' Pete's feelings. Besides, I've known you for near twenty years, and me and your Uncle George were tighter than clams."

  "I'm not sure where to start. I . . . I--"

  "Have I done or said something to the boy that has you upset?"

  "No, not exactly."

  "Well, Grace, ma'am, the--"

  "It's Holli. Holli, Holli, Holli. Holli Callahan. Don't call me Grace! How dare you? My name is Mrs. Callahan to you. I told my uncle he should have never said anything."

  Ponzio takes a step back as if hit by a crashing wave. His heart starts pounding. His face flushes. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. It just slipped out." His eyes mist. A knife in his heart would have wounded him less.

  "Well, don't let things slip." She glares at him. Then, "Have you said anything to Colton about this? Ever? And I mean, ever?"

  "Oh no, Mrs. Callahan. Never. I wouldn't. And I won't. Ever. I made that promise to George. And that's the same as a vow to me. My word. To him, and now my word to you, ma'am." Pete's tone is warm and melodic like the gulls gliding and swooping pattern over the docks looking for a morning meal. The birds flight pattern however is in sharp contrast to the atmosphere at bay level.

  "You better not, Mister Vaccaro. You don't want me for an enemy. Not in this town. Not in this lifetime." She pauses and takes a deep breath, lets it out like a slow tress of smoke. She glances far out into the bay, then slowly turns her head back to focus her icy glare on Ponzio. Holli brushes her skirt downward with both palms and curtly says, "I'm sorry, Mister Vaccaro." Then calmly, "I spent a lifetime protecting Colton. Colt's reputation, his character, my reputation . . . I can't have it destroyed." She pauses again. Thrusts her hands in front of her, palms down, as if attempting to settle an imaginary air turbulence. "And I've worked extremely hard to build a life for myself . . . for Colton, both of us." Her voice rising at the end of her remarks. She paces around as if circling her boat, chumming. Composed again, she continues in a stern voice. "Now then, I heard a rumor yesterday. Well, to be truthful, Mister Vaccaro--"

  "It's just Pete, ma'am. Please."

  "Yes. Yes." She lets out an exhaustive sigh. "Now then, Pete, the truth is what's important here this morning. It wasn't a rumor, but to a certain extent an announcement . . . yes, an announcement. At the Chamber of Commerce meeting yesterday, Mister Barto said that a Major Gallagher is returning to Harvey Cedars. Have you heard that? Is it true?"

  "I haven't . . . wait a second, ma'am." He takes a step around the woman, and says in less than a shout, "Colt, you stay put. Your mom and I will be done in a minute. Count the poles. Make sure we have twenty-five ready." He turns to the woman, "I thought he was comin' this way, ma'am."

  "Thank you." She stands staring at the old man. "Well?"

  "I haven't heard anything except from Sean. Yes, ma'am. He's comin' home . . . to stay. And no, ma'am, I've never uttered a word to him, or anyone alive in this ol' world about what I know. And I won't. I made a vow to George, and I keep my word. It's all I have, beside my Sean and my boat . . . and Anna of course."

  "Anna. Anna, who? Never mind, that's not my point. What's--"

  "Anna is the woman that lives in Mister Gallagher's cottage all these years. She and I are engaged." He pauses, smiles, "I think."

  "Fine. Fine. I don't care. What's important is that you are a man of your word. That's especially imperative to me."

  "Imperative?"

  "Yes. Yes, crucial. Essential. Vital." The gulls still glide gracefully on the air currents but are squawking louder now, and in harmony with the lady. Holli pauses. Looks up in annoyance at the gulls, then continues. "Damn important. Understand? Colt and I have a life. I don't want it destroyed. As far as he knows his father died in an airplane crash, and that he was a fine, fine man. A hero in his own right
. Everything was going along just fine, and getting better, until this . . . development. I intend to keep it that way, and I hope and pray you don't have another 'slip', Mister Vaccaro."

  "Pete."

  "Yes, Pete. But no more slips, understand? In front of me, or in front of Colt, or in front of, or to, anyone. Are we clear? I can't have Colt think he's a . . . a . . . or that I'm a . . . never mind. You know what I mean."

  "Yes, ma'am. But I can't stop the Lord's plan."

  "The Lord's plan? Exactly what does that mean?"

  "It means that God has a plan, and I believe it is to get you three together."

  She half turns and looks skyward as if searching for help or guidance. Then turns to face Pete again, left hand on her hip and right arm extended with her index finger pointing at the old man. "Mister Vaccaro, we three were never together. And we won't be. And further, I better not hear of any plan other than mine. Are we clear?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am. But I don't have any input on the Lord's plan."

  She frowns. Now both hands are on her hips, and her chin slightly jutting out. "And don't. After today, I'm going to ask Colt to find another job."

  "That's up to you, ma'am. But my word is good. Good as live bait." He glances down at the wooden planks of the dock, then back recapturing Holli's eyes. "But, I can't speak for the Lord. And I believe He knows best."

  "I know best, and I'm sure He agrees with me, Mister Vaccaro. I, too, am close to the Lord, and He will protect Colton and me as He has for the last eighteen years, even though I lost my way once. Now then, good day, Mister Vaccaro."

  Holli Callahan, or is it Grace at this moment, turns and strides back down the dock heading for her car. Athletic calves rippling with each step. Hips swaying. Her auburn hair picking up the glint of the morning sun as it softly bounces around her shoulders with each stride. Even the gulls have left, looking for better feeding grounds since this area has been picked clean by a red-headed tern on the dock.