In the Midst of the Sea

by Sean McCarthy

  Part of her loved it out here—she loved the landscape, loved the sea—and part of her wanted to leave it behind so badly, she was crawling out of her skin. But she couldn’t have the island without the price tag of Ford. She knew that for certain—he would never give her peace, never let her rest. The only thing to do was get away. Collect the few things she needed, and leave the rest for him to do with as he pleased. So little was hers to begin with—he made sure of that. Everything belonged to either the house, or to him, and she wanted nothing to do with either. Ford couldn’t have her, and neither could the house. She was not going to be part of its history, locked inside the past. Now she looked up at the sky, dark, blue, and immeasurably distant, and she listened to the sound of the sea.

  She was going to need a plan.

  44

  Ford sat in the dining room, waiting. It was dark out now. He poured himself another glass of Jim Beam, stirred what was left of the ice with his finger, and then looked at it a moment before taking a sip. He liked the dining room. He liked the candles and he liked the mirror. He liked it when they ate their meals in here together, sealed off and quiet from the rest of the house. A family together. It was how things should have been, if only she had allowed it to be. Not been so pigheaded about everything. Stubborn. Selfish. So fucking selfish. Bitch. So much like the rest of them. No one ever cared what he thought. Wanted. Needed. He invited them into his life, and they turned around and backhanded him. Always the same outcome, always the same story. He gave, and they took. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that the thing with Al was maybe pushing things a little too far, but so what? All she had to do was say no, and that was it. Everything done, everything forgotten. But she could never do that. Everything always had to blow up, become bigger than it was. She was only happy when things were going bad, things were going wrong. That was her problem.

  Things had to be a little clearer.

  She needed to understand.

  Ford sipped his whiskey. He hadn’t slept. He had dropped Al off to finish the shift alone. If anyone asked, Al was instructed to say he didn’t feel well. He had rushed back to the house. There was a chance, slight, that she would come right back to get her things, figuring he had gone back to work. Slight. And it didn’t happen. He thought about checking the local inns downtown in the morning, but that wouldn’t work either. She would cause a scene, and there was no need to call attention to things.

  No need.

  At all.

  No. She wouldn’t leave the island with nothing at all. Couldn’t. She didn’t have it in her to start all over with nothing but the clothes on her back. And besides, one thing with Diana, she always needed to have the last word, to foil him, somehow. She didn’t necessarily even need to see him, speak to him, but she would need him to know—she had the last word, finished on her terms.

  No, he thought, she would be back.

  He had sat out on the back porch until dusk, wondering if she might come walking up the road. He knew it was unlikely—she wouldn’t trust herself to be quiet enough while he was sleeping—but there was a chance, and from up on the hill, he would see her coming before she would see him. He drank a bottle of champagne, and then a few PBRs, and then he finished what was left of the vodka, listening to his Walkman. The Eagles, “Wasted Time,” and Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U.” That used to be his song for her, and now that it had come to all this, it just made the song all that much sadder.

  As soon as it was dark, he had retreated to the dining room, and started in on the whiskey. It felt safe in the dining room tonight. And it was the only room in the house right now where he felt truly alone. The house was bothering him, more than usual. He had been hearing voices. Whisperings. Each time he went to turn a corner, he felt as if there was someone on the other side. Waiting. Some voices muffled, impossible to understand, and others seeming to come from a great distance. Echoing as if being carried down a great tunnel, fleeting and hollow. But then he would turn the corner and there would be no one there. The house the same. But it was his house. His. They needed to under stand that. She needed to understand that. And he would make things clear.

  But first things first.

  He needed to think.

  And he needed to deal with Diana.

  It was just after seven when the phone rang.

  The lights were all down. They needed to be down—he needed to keep the illusion of an empty house—and Ford stumbled through the dark to get to the kitchen. The phone was hanging by the back door. He reached about, put his hand on the phone, not sure if he should answer it. If it was her, she might be calling to see if he was home, and if he answered, she would know. But no, it wouldn’t be her. Not this time of night. She would assume he was home. If it was later, maybe. Not now. Not this early. The moon had risen above the cemetery, and everything was silver and blue. Trees, tombs, and the worn path across the lawn where he sometimes walked with Samantha.

  The phone stopped ringing. Ford waited a moment. And then it rang again.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “Is this Ford?” said the voice on the other end. A man’s voice. Slightly gravely.

  “Who wants to know?” Ford said.

  “Hey, Ford, don’t be an ass,” the man said. “This is Freddie.”

  “Freddie who?” Ford searched his head, but his memory was shutting down. Everything was shutting down.

  “What do you mean Freddie who? Freddie Palmero, Diana’s cousin. I need to talk to you.”

  Freddie, Ford thought, his head switching back on. Freddie was calling. If Freddie was calling, looking for him, then Diana was gone. Already off the island. Ford had underestimated her. Fuck, he thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And now this little shit was calling to what? Threaten him or some shit like that, give him an ultimatum. Please.

  “What do you want?” Ford said.

  “It’s Diana. She’s got me worried. She’s not acting right. She’s acting crazy.”

  Ford sipped. “Oh, yeah? I haven’t seen her tonight. I was wondering where she is.”

  “You gotta talk to her,” Freddie said. “Talk some sense into her.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  “Yeah. I can’t do it anymore. I got too much shit on my plate already, you know what I’m saying?”

  Ford paused. “She with you?”

  “No. Not yet. She wants me to drive to Woods Hole to get her. She’s at the ferry.”

  “At Woods Hole?” Ford asked.

  “No, Oak Bluffs. She hasn’t left yet. She’s taking the eight thirty-five, I think. Listen, this is all crazy. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you have to work it out. She’s not making any sense.”

  “They rarely do,” Ford said.

  “She wants to come stay with me, but to be honest, I barely have room for me in this place—it’s a tiny little one-bedroom—never mind both her and Samantha. And I got a chick, now, you know? I just don’t want to get her pissed at me—you know what I’m saying? I want to say no, but I can’t. She isn’t talking rational. I know you guys have some stuff going on, but most marriages do. There’s always two sides to every coin, and the truth is Diana doesn’t understand that. Nine times out of ten the truth is usually in the middle, but Diana always thinks she is the victim. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, I love her to death. She’s my favorite cousin, hands down, but Diana’s problem isn’t you. Diana’s problem is herself. She always runs away from everything. First that kid who was Sam’s natural father, then her mother, her whole fucking family practically.”

  Ford heard him light a cigarette on the other end.

  “And now this,” Freddie said.

  Ford hesitated. “Well, she knows where we live,” he said at last. “There’s not much I can do, chief.”

  “She’s your wife. Sam is your kid.”

  Ford sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Well, can you do me a favor?” Freddie said.

  Ford lit a cigarette himself. “What?”

 
; “Can you at least go talk to her? Before I get on the road, I mean.”

  When Ford hung up the phone, he snubbed out his cigarette. He went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water, snubbed out his cigarette, and looked out the window. The moon was higher now, and the house was quiet. The quietest it had been in an awful long time.

  45

  The car was gone. Diana checked twice, up and down the road, nothing. Looked out over the cemetery but it was too dark to see if he had parked out there. Ford had left the porch light on, but the rest of the house was dark. Nevertheless, she was cautious—he had tricked her before.

  Freddie had called her back the moment he hung up the phone with him.

  “Clock is ticking, Cousin,” he said.

  “You think he believed you?” she said.

  “Hook, line, and sinker.”

  Diana looked at the clock. She should have just enough time to get over to the house, get a few things, and then get out before Ford figured out they weren’t at the ferry at all. Before he figured out what had happened. And then with a little luck, she could get over to the boat to catch the ten thirty, the last one out. But it had to be timed perfectly. She told Freddie she could stay at an inn on the mainland for the night, and would call him first thing in the morning.

  “And hey,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it, or even worry about it a little,” he said. “The dude is an asshole. I’m just happy to finally be able to say it.”

  She went over everything again in her head. Mental inventory. She just needed to pack two small suitcases, toiletries, cash, credit card, coloring book and a few toys, and that was all. The rest could stay. She had debated leaving Samantha at the inn, but then thought better of it—it would just mean losing more time, racing back to get her, and she couldn’t risk missing the ferry. She had to be off the island. Tonight.

  She put her hand on the front door, listening, and trying to feel for a presence, a body inside, a vibration, but there was nothing. She still had an old can of mace in her purse from when she lived in Brockton, and she was prepared to use it if need be, but she was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Please God, she prayed now, please don’t make me have to use it.

  Sam had asked her where they were going, and Diana had tried to keep it brief, direct. Back to Cousin Freddie’s, just for a while. Freddie had told her they could stay with him as long as they wanted, but she told him it wouldn’t be too long. Two months, maybe three tops. Out by mid to late summer. She could get a job, then an apartment, do what she needed to do through the courts, and leave Ford in her past.

  Now, she pushed her shoulder against the door, cringing as she did, the wind chimes singing. Nothing.

  Stillness.

  Dark.

  She flicked on the light, and pulled Samantha in behind her. She didn’t want to turn the corner. But after taking a deep breath, she did. Past the dining room, through the kitchen, and then into the back parlor. She lifted Samantha, and hurried up the stairs. Seeing the house for the last time, she thought. Her house. Or at least what she had thought had been her house. What she now knew was not the case. Never could be. He wouldn’t let it.

  And neither would they.

  She crouched down in front of Sam when they reached the top, took her by the shoulders, the hairs on her arms standing on end, every second feeling as if there were someone behind her. “Just grab a couple things that you want to keep, okay? I promise once we get our own place, I’ll buy you whatever toys you want—it’s just that right now we don’t have enough arms to carry them all. We’re only going to be here a couple minutes, and then we’re going to go catch the boat.”

  “I have to get Louie some clothes,” Sam said. “And a coat in case it’s cold on the boat.”

  “You wouldn’t want her to be cold.” Diana listened for sounds downstairs, anything, but other than the wind outside, the house creaking, everything was silent. “I’ll pack your clothes as soon as I finish in my room, okay?”

  The girl nodded. “What if Daddy comes home?”

  “If Daddy comes home, or if you hear anything—anything—just come and get me right away, okay? Right away.”

  Samantha nodded, looked around a bit, pensive. “Cassie’s not here.”

  “No?”

  “Uh-uh. I don’t know where she went.”

  “Well, maybe you can say goodbye to her before we leave, or you can leave her a note.”

  Sam smiled. “I’ll leave her a note. And I’ll draw her a picture of a puppy. Or a wolf.”

  Diana kissed her on the cheek. “Well, we might have to mail that one. I’ll get you in five minutes, okay?”

  Sam nodded again, stepped into her room, hesitating a moment in the threshold as she flicked on the light. Diana slipped the mace from her purse into her pocket. She hurried to her own room, checked her watch, and pulled open the drawers of her dresser. Bras, socks, underwear, two sweaters. She went to the closet, and pulled down a few of her blouses. A skirt, two pairs of jeans. She hadn’t bought any new clothes since they moved to the island, and that would be one of the first things she would do once she was working, had some money. Her own money. She would buy all new clothes for both her and Samantha. Not in the budget, Ford always said. If it was ever anything Diana wanted, it wasn’t in the budget.

  But it hadn’t always been that way.

  She remembered when they first met. The first birthday she spent with him. He had taken her to the South Shore Plaza in Braintree. “Buy whatever you want,” he said. “As many outfits as you want. This is your day.” But she hadn’t bought as many as she wanted, she had only bought one outfit, and a pair of shoes. He was too nice, she remembered thinking, and she didn’t want to take advantage of him. Her mother was wrong about him, she was sure of it. She remembered he bought her roses once a week for the first two months, had taken Samantha to the movies, to the park, out to Chuck E. Cheese’s. “If she’s going to be my daughter,” he had said, “I’ve got to spend some bonding time with her.” He had dropped to one knee when he had asked her to marry him. He had written a poem to propose to her with. It wasn’t very good, even she knew that, but he had written it and that made it beautiful. Everything was going to be beautiful. She had never been more convinced of anything in her life.

  Now she took a step back from the closet, and as she did, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hi, honey,” he said.

  Diana pulled away, and spun around.

  Ford put a finger to his lips. “Shh …” he said.

  And then he slapped her.

  Diana stumbled backward, losing her balance. She pulled out the mace, holding it out before her, but the spray stuck, and then he knocked it away, the can skidding across the floor.

  “Are you kidding me?” he spat. “Pepper spray?”

  She made to run, but he was on her immediately. He grabbed her arm, the bicep, to stop her from hitting the floor, pulled her forward and smacked her again. The smell of him assaulted her nostrils. Whiskey, cigarettes, and sweat. Diana swung out her own free hand, tight in a fist, hoping to connect with him, but he grabbed her by the wrist, and then pushed her against the wall, pressing his body tight against hers as she struggled. He bared his teeth, clenched.

  “What the fuck do you think this is? I marry you, adopt your kid, and take you out here to straighten out your fucked-up life, and then you turn around and think you’re going to hit me with some pepper spray and leave me? You? Leave me? After you go out and fuck half of goddamn Oak Bluffs? Is that what you think, you goddamn little cunt?” He let go of her arm for the briefest of moments, and slapped her again.

  Diana winced from the pain of the slap, pins and needles, and she felt dizzy for a moment, her thoughts spinning, cloudy. Samantha, she had to get Samantha and get out, she never should have come back, nothing was that important, it was a mistake, all a mistake. How could she have been so stupid? Ford slapped her a third time, and this time she resisted after the hit, t
rying to push him away. She swung out herself, trying to connect with his jaw, but he quickly had hold of her, and he was much too strong.

  “Uh-uh,” he said, “not this time. You think you’re going to slip out again, and play your little games? Trying to set me up with your nitwit little cousin calling me? You think I’m that stupid? That I’m going to fall for that? Really? No fucking way, Diana, no fucking way. You’re not going anywhere. I’m angry this time, really angry. I give and I give and I give, and this is the thanks I get. It’s no wonder that kid’s father didn’t want to marry you. You’re a selfish little bitch who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.” He pressed his elbow against her chest, her sternum, and Diana could feel the tears flooding her eyes.

  “And you’re a piece of garbage,” she stuttered. “Just like your father.”

  He slapped her again. “You know something? Maybe I am. Maybe I had the old man all wrong. Maybe he understood you fucking little bitches better than I ever could.” He reached for the button of her jeans. “Won’t let me fuck you, huh? Will let plenty of other people fuck you though, won’t you? Well, I got news for you, Gladys, I’m going to fuck you tonight.”

  Diana pushed him, and Ford lost his balance for a moment, but then he grabbed her by the shoulders, and tossed her against the bed, jumping atop of her as he did. He straddled her, and slapped her, and then once again began pulling at her clothes, pushing down her jeans. Diana’s face was throbbing, her head.

  “Just leave us alone,” she said. “Please, Ford. We’ll go. You won’t hear from us again. I promise.” She looked up at him. His eyes. Automatic pilot. Nothing there. He was out of his mind, drunk beyond reason. Any trace of humanity was gone, lost in craziness and intoxication. She wasn’t going to get away this time, wasn’t going to reason with him. He was going to rape her and kill her, she was sure of it. But she had to get Samantha out, somehow. She inhaled deep and started to scream the girl’s name, telling her to run. The door was open, the girl must be hearing her, she thought. Must have already heard most of everything—Ford coming up the stairs, sneaking, and then attacking her. Maybe she had already run. Please God, Diana thought, let her have run.