He was about to go by the turn to his house. He thought, They’ll ask what I saw.
He parked the truck at the head of the driveway. So far so good. The boys had done a good job with the front windows, boarded them up good but left some room to breathe. The chimney was toppled. The silt line was above the windowsills. It could be worse.
When he got to the back he took one look and sagged. He looked again and sat down on the end of the driveway. He picked up a handful of gravel and let it trickle out.
It was his own goddamn fault. It wasn’t the boys’ fault, he hadn’t told them. He hadn’t thought of it, no reason for them to have thought of it.
There was a piece of Spartina’s old cradle sticking through the wall, half inside the house. Through the hole around it, he saw a flap of black paper, broken studs. The broken clapboard had been plucked away. Must have happened early—a lot of wind had worked it over.
Another piece of cradle had cracked into the southeast corner post. It wasn’t as obvious as the hole in the wall, but the post was probably broke. He didn’t get up to go look.
He couldn’t have put the shed and cradle in a worse place if he’d meant to. Due southeast. Might as well have aimed a cannon at the house.
He made a right angle of his thumb and forefinger and held it up toward the corner of the house. No question about it, the roof was off line, the corner was sagging.
He sat there. The longer he sat, the better it got. The house was insured, the bank holding the mortgage had seen to that. The boat hadn’t been, so if something had to get hurt, this was the place.
The boat was okay, May and the boys were okay, he was okay. He owed something to the storm. He might as well pay here.
The kitchen door was gone, the screen door too. There was a last bit of light coming from the sky shining on the wet slime on the kitchen floor.
His butt was getting cold. He was tired. He’d only been up a couple of hours and he was ready to climb back in bed.
May would take it hard. First thing she would take in—well, maybe second thing after the hole in the wall—would be what was all over her nice kitchen floor.
He got up to go look at his wharf. He’d better go look now, May wouldn’t take it right if he wandered off to see it tomorrow.
The wharf was fine. He couldn’t believe it. It had mud, weeds, and sticks all over it, but all four posts were solid. Why shouldn’t it be, dummy? It let the water through, nothing to push against. The flat part was flat, nothing sticking up, the water just flowed flat across the top.
Of course that was what got Spartina through too. There wasn’t anything solid sticking up on her but the wheelhouse. And what there was of her to push against was curved—her hull was as curved as a pumpkin seed. He thought, We did okay, Uncle Arthur and me.
He stood on the wharf and looked across Pierce Creek. A few big trees were down, and the smaller stuff was stripped. He could see clear across his bit of land, across Sawtooth Creek, and onto the salt marsh, rustling and silver in the last light.
He began to cry in gratitude. He stopped and washed his face in the creek. He laughed at himself. He said, “I could have had lots more swept away. I could have been swept away along with them fornicating ants in tennis shoes.”
He started for the truck. He’d tell May it wasn’t so bad, could be worse. Get her to have a drink with him. Get her tipsy on a drink or two. Get in his lawful bed.
Dick heard an engine. It was just dark enough to see headlight beams swing through the trees. He went back up the path and recognized the close-set squint of jeep lights.
Elsie got out the passenger side and asked Dick if he could give her a ride home. He said yes and Elsie sent her partner away with the jeep.
By the time Elsie walked to him, the jeep was in third gear on Route l. She took his hand and said she was sorry his house was so hard hit.
Dick said, “It could be worse. How’d your house do?”
“The greenhouse roof has a hole in it. Mary and I got the big window covered. It’s okay.” Elsie let his hand go and said, “I’m bushed. I’ve been chasing folks out of their wrecked houses all afternoon. Some people wanted to spend the night in houses that would cave in if someone sneezed.”
It took Dick by surprise that she leaned in to him just then, pulled herself in with her arms around him. He’d forgotten how short she was, how compact and strong. She put a hand on his chest and tilted her head back. “I’m glad to see you. I’m glad I saw your truck just now.” She touched his cheek. “Come on, Dick. You can be a little glad to see me. A little gladness isn’t going to kill you.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Okay,” she said, “I don’t mind a more chaste tone, just so long as you’re glad to see me.”
Dick said, “Yeah, I’m glad to see you.”
Elsie said, “In spite of yourself,” and shook his upper arm. He’d forgotten she had tomboy gestures like that, especially when she was in uniform. They were as surprisingly off center as when she got dolled up in lipstick and her backless dress.
“Oh,” she said, “Captain Texeira’s back. He stopped by to see Miss Perry.”
“Did he leave flowers?”
Elsie laughed. “Yes. I don’t know where he found any, but he did.” Elsie added, “Oh, hey, could you do me a favor? While it’s still light enough?”
What Elsie wanted was to go into the salt marsh with his truck. She said, “I know you know where the old causeway is.” She laughed. “I want to get something I saw from the beach.”
They drove into the bird sanctuary and then out onto the marsh, slithering a little in the debris that had caught on the slight rise made by the submerged slabs and boulders of the old causeway. They got to the little plateau of marsh where the Spartina patens gave way to Spartina alterniflora, a little salt meadow between the salt marsh and the back of the dunes.
Dick turned the truck so the beams shone where Elsie pointed.
“Do you see it?” Elsie said. “There it is. The blue canoe.”
Dick shut off the light and they walked out to it, their feet squeezing up water through the matted stalks. Dick called to Elsie, who was ahead of him, to slow down. “There may be some funny holes in here.” She waited for him and took his hand. They walked another fifty yards, steadying each other hand in hand, but when they got close, Elsie hurried ahead.
She walked around the canoe bent over, her hands on the gunwales.
“I don’t believe it! It’s whole!” Elsie’s voice sounded girlish. “It must have just surfed up here on the surge. Or sailed along in the wind. And caught here in the grass. When you think of everything else that’s smashed …”
Dick peered toward Sawtooth Pond. In the evening light he could just make out the silhouette of the rocks on Sawtooth Island. He said, “It must be a mile from the point.”
Elsie came round to his side of the canoe and began to cry, holding on to him like a crying child.
After a bit Dick said, “What is it? What is it, Elsie?” He thought she might be about to tell him she was pregnant. He felt his worry about her turn, just a little shift that changed it from being hard-pressed and taut to being tender.
Elsie said, “Jesus. I don’t know why.… I’ve only cried two times in ages, and both times it’s been with you.”
Dick shifted his foot that was getting wet in the hole it had made.
Elsie said, “Maybe you’re the only person I know who’s as tough as I am, maybe that’s why.”
“I don’t think so.”
Elsie wiped her eyes. “This was just old, old stuff. Sally and me. And poor old Mr. Bigelow. And everything.”
Dick said, “I thought you were going to tell me you’re pregnant.”
He was instantly sorry. She went stiff and turned away.
After a bit he said, “Here, you sit in the canoe. I’ll slide you along.”
Elsie sat in the canoe facing him. When Dick pushed it, his feet sank in six inches. The canoe lurched forward a yard, bu
t Dick couldn’t get his feet free, and he fell on his knees. Elsie laughed. Then she said, “Come sit with me for a minute.”
They sat in the seats, facing each other, their hands on the gunwales. Elsie said, “I’m glad we’re here. I like the marsh.”
“Wait till the mosquitoes come out.”
“I think the storm cleared them out,” Elsie said. “How’d you guess I’m pregnant?”
Dick lowered his head.
Elsie said, “I’m glad you guessed.”
Dick had been about to lie a little, tell the truth a little—say that his truck had stalled and he’d heard her talking to Mary Scanlon. He let it go by.
“I’m going to have the baby,” Elsie said. “I want to. I’m glad you’re the father.”
Dick looked up at the sky and got dizzy. Elsie said, “No one will know. Well, Mary will know. And I’ll tell my sister. I don’t have to tell Jack.”
“If you tell your sister, she’ll tell Jack. You can’t be married and not tell.”
Elsie looked surprised. She said, “Does that mean you’ll tell May?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Dick said. “But it seems like I ought to. It might end us.”
“You mean you and May,” Elsie said.
It took Dick a second. He said, “Yes.”
“I don’t want to have an abortion,” Elsie said. “I’ve thought about that, and I won’t do it. I have friends who’ve done it.” She hesitated and said, “I did it once, and I won’t do it again. And I won’t give the baby away. There’s not anything I’m sure of, but I’m surer about this than about anything else.” She leaned forward and put her hands on the thwart between them. “But what I can do is say to the people I have to say something to that I adopted the baby. I’ve talked about that enough so it’ll fly. And I’ll raise the child. I’ve got enough money. And if it’s not enough, one of Jack’s virtues is that he’s generous. If Sally asks him to help, he will. And eventually I’ll have some money from my mother’s side. My father may have some too. And of course Mary will be around. I won’t ask her to pay for the child, but she’ll help with the house. But mainly I can do it myself. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” Dick said. “That’s what it comes to. No matter what.”
“Oh, Dick, I know. I know it must seem to you I’m being highhanded.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Dick said, “I didn’t mean you’re getting your way no matter what. I meant there’s a life no matter what. No matter what you or I think. I got to admit I’ve worried some. I’m still worried about how it’s going to work out if I tell May. If I tell the boys. If they forgive me or don’t forgive me. And I worry how I’ll feel having a kid who’s not in my life. You got pregnant. I got you pregnant. No matter how we say it, you’re pregnant. No matter whether you should have said what you were up to. You were up to something, weren’t you?”
Elsie said, “Yes. I wasn’t as cold-blooded as … I mean, in some ways it was an accident. I could make a case that in the heat of the moment I forgot I was off the pill. And that the next time it should have been okay. But in some way, yes. I knew it might happen. But I’m going to take care of it. That’s what I meant by ‘no matter what.’ I mean to handle it. I’m in a position to take care of—”
“Yeah,” Dick said. “You said that. You’ve got the money.”
“I don’t just mean money. Though I’ve thought a lot about my being a rich kid. Not so rich, but I know what you mean when you think ‘rich kid.’ I’ve made fun of myself too, I mean, I’ve asked myself how brave I’d be, how full of mystical life force I’d be, if I were completely broke. Is the life force another middle-class privilege? Suppose the answer is yes. Then I say, so what? But now, you tell me something. You don’t want me to get an abortion, do you?”
“No.”
Elsie sat up straight. “I’m glad about that. I … By the way, are you mad at me?”
“No. I have been. I’ll tell you what’s hard for me. The way I feel about the boys. I’ve been hard on them, I haven’t done everything just right, but I know what it’s been like being a father.”
“Yes, you’re a good father.”
“There’s the way I feel about the boys … and then there’s this. You can talk about your life force and your money, but all this … I don’t know what to call it. It doesn’t fit with anything I know.”
“I know. I know what you mean.” Elsie’s voice was soft. “I’ve done at least one thing I didn’t want to—I’ve disturbed the pattern of your good habits.”
“How do you mean that?”
Elsie said, “I mean the balance of your force field, your network. The way you care for your family, the way you get along with someone like Eddie, the way you are with Miss Perry. And, I suppose, the way you were angry about Sawtooth Point and the toy-boat people.” Elsie hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms as though she felt a chill. “I suppose what I mean is I haven’t been a good ecologist.”
Dick snorted. “What the hell does that mean? You’re the ecologist and I’m some endangered species? You’re the game warden of my, what-do-you-call-it, my habitat?”
“Don’t get mad,” Elsie said sharply. “You’re just as high and mighty as I am. And you’re meaner. You practically spit when you say ‘summer people,’ or ‘toy boat.’ At least I’m sympathetic to your getting on your high horse.” Elsie stopped herself, took a breath. “I admire what’s good about your life, for God’s sakes. I don’t look down, I admire just about everything I mentioned—you and your boys, you and how you work and your boat and going to sea. The time you took Miss Perry and the boys fishing, that whole afternoon was one of the reasons I …” Elsie stuck her hands up in the air and then held her head. She said, “That and the way you talked to me about being scared of sharks when I got stuck in that little boat.… I didn’t pick you out of a catalogue, for God’s sakes. I know you. I mean, in my own fucked-up, neurotic way, I fell for you.”
Dick was alarmed but satisfied to hear her say this. He still had Parker and Marie on his mind.
Elsie said, “What got more complicated—I mean I could have let that go by—maybe just gone back to having a little crush on you. But then I wanted to be friends too, and that kept me bumping into you. So here I am going to be a mother. It takes my breath away too, you know. So naturally I see it’s not easy for you. I can see how this last part isn’t your idea. I can see that my child and I—or at least this child—is going to make a claim on your thoughts. I’m to blame for that, for what it does to you, no matter how completely I take care of the child.” Elsie said this carefully, and even submissively, and then stopped. Dick didn’t see what she was submitting to.
She said, “I could go away. I mean I’m going away anyway, before it shows. But I could stay away. If you decide not to tell May, it might make it easier if I’m not around.”
Dick said, “If I do tell May, it’ll be hard on her if she has to keep running into my bastard.” Elsie winced. “If I don’t tell her, she’ll believe what everyone else believes. You went down to Boston and adopted a baby.”
Elsie looked surprised. Dick didn’t see why until she said, “What makes you think I’m going to Boston?”
She was too quick for him. He didn’t flinch. No sense in weaseling anyhow. And for some reason he didn’t mind letting her stick him on this one. It crossed his mind that they must be friends if he didn’t mind letting her take a swipe at him, if he trusted that, after she tore into him for a bit, she’d settle down, go on with him.
He told her she’d talked about Boston when she was talking to Mary Scanlon.
“Mary?” Elsie said.
“Mary didn’t tell me. I heard you talking to her. The night she came from her father’s funeral. I came back up—”
“Where were you?”
“I was walking back up your drive.”
“And you heard us.”
“That’s right.”
“So you just stood there listening in.”
“I did.”
“You sneaky son of a bitch!”
“What I heard sounded sneaky enough.”
That stopped her. Dick wished he hadn’t said it like that, but it stopped her.
When she spoke next, she was careful again. “I don’t know what you heard me tell Mary, but what I just told you is true. Do you want me to say it all over again? When we made love that first time, whatever I was thinking, it wasn’t cold-blooded.”
“No,” Dick said.
“Good.” Elsie cocked her head. “Of course maybe it would be easier for you to think it was all my plan. I just siphoned it out of you, you know, like someone stealing gas out of your gas tank. A sly little succubus stealing your seed. Maybe I’m an alien and I came down on a flying saucer and flew away with a specimen for our earthling exhibit. You like it better that way?”
Dick said, “Okay. I got the point.”
Elsie said, “Listen, earthling. You have been selected as a suitable type to release your earthling essence.” Elsie switched into a squeaky robot voice. “For this experiment I have assumed a receptacle-type earthling body. Beep. You are injector-type earthling? Beep. You will now begin process. Beep.”
“I got the picture, Elsie.”
Elsie laughed and laughed. When she stopped, she said beep once more and knocked herself out all over again. Dick waited.
The sun was long down, and the sky was losing its glow. He could just see her face when it tipped up, her single pearl earrings little moons in the dusk of her dark hair, her teeth as white as the moon.
He got out of the canoe. He said, “I got to get home.” He took her hand to help her out. When she got to her feet on the soft earth of the marsh he put his arms around her. He felt awkward. “I don’t know, Elsie.” She felt small and cold. As he pulled back, his hand caught on the handle of her revolver. “Damn, Elsie. What’re you wearing your gun for?”
“We’re on special duty. They even called up the National Guard. In case of looting.”
Dick said, “Pistol-packing mama,” and began to laugh.
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