Bennie walked toward the back hall closet. “I’ll go put on a tie.”
Eventually they crammed into Littlefield’s truck, sitting three abreast, Gwen in the middle. Knowing they’d be late, Littlefield insisted on driving. His studded tires were noisy on the dry road, and he kept the window rolled partway down so he could smoke.
Eleanor had been living off the island for only a year; Bennie knew she hadn’t yet found the friends she was hoping to find and she was spending too much time at home. She’d invited Bennie and Gwen and Littlefield to Clover Lake for the anniversary of Coach’s death. It had been eight years.
Gwen started to tell her brothers a little bit about how things were going at Vassar, and Bennie knew she was being careful: Littlefield had never had any interest in going to college and was critical of any lifestyle he considered leisurely, especially when he was actually working (these criticisms vanished when he wasn’t). Bennie also wondered if Gwen didn’t like talking too much about her studies because she knew Bennie had dropped out of Orono after a year of being bored with most of his classes. So she talked about her new interest in acting. She said it was a demanding major; she had workshops during the day and rehearsals at night, and she also had to find time to write papers. She said her director was a genius. He’d been on the faculty for twenty years, but he also worked occasionally Off Broadway. “He says I’ll do well in New York.”
“Sounds like he wants to sleep with you,” said Littlefield.
“Why do you have to say things like that?” said Gwen.
“I’m sure you’re good at acting,” said Littlefield. “I’m just saying you should be careful. You’ve got to watch out for guys like that. Think about it. He teaches girls. At a girls’ college.”
“Vassar’s been coed since the sixties,” said Gwen. “And so what if he wants to sleep with me? He thinks I’m talented.”
Littlefield laughed, and Gwen frowned and furrowed her brow, but then she started laughing, too. She punched Littlefield in the arm. “You’re such an asshole.”
“It’s true,” said Bennie. “You are an asshole.”
“Just make sure,” said Littlefield, “after you fuck him and he gets you a role in a play down in New York, that you set aside a ticket for me. I’d like to come down and see that.”
“You’d come down to New York to watch a show?”
“Of course. And afterward I’d take a ride around Central Park in one of those horse carriages.”
Gwen shook her head. “You’re such a butthole.”
“No. I’m serious. Okay, maybe I’ll just hire a taxi and have it run me around town. Either way, if you fuck your teacher and get a role, I’ll come down for it.”
“And if I don’t fuck my teacher but still get a role?” said Gwen. She sneezed.
“Sure.”
“You could always go see her in a show at Vassar first,” said Bennie.
“Yeah, you could, too, retard. I’m just saying, I’m waiting for her to make it to the big leagues,” said Littlefield.
“You sound like Coach,” said Gwen. She sneezed again, then opened the glove compartment, where she found a few Burger King napkins. “Are these clean?”
Littlefield nodded. Gwen blew her nose. “Did you ever notice that I sneeze when you smoke in the car?” she asked. “Do you care?”
“The thing about Coach,” said Littlefield, blowing smoke out the window, “is that he’d want to come. He’d want to be at every goddamn play you were in—at Vassar, in New York, wherever. You put on a puppet show behind your couch, he’d want to be there. But he wouldn’t leave the island to do it. That’s why I’m different. I’ll come to New York after you fuck your teacher. One hundred percent.”
At dinner, Littlefield was less talkative. Gwen carried the chicken into the dining room from the kitchen and placed it in front of Littlefield for carving. No one spoke directly about Coach, except Eleanor, who said that it would have pleased him to see everyone together. Gwen started talking again about her theater activities, though instead of talking about the brilliant director, she told their mother about the play she’d been writing—a side project, really, but something she was trying to work on for at least a few minutes every day. Her focus within the major was acting, but she was getting credit for an independent play-writing project, too. She didn’t want to discuss the details, but she mentioned it was set on an island, and it was about two brothers—a basketball coach and a hockey coach—and their competition with each other, both of them trying to recruit the same kids, both of them in love with the same woman.
“You know, your dad didn’t have a brother,” said their mother, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin.
“It’s not about Coach,” said Gwen. “It’s made up.”
“What’s it called?” asked Bennie.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve been calling it Coach.”
Littlefield chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” asked Gwen.
“If you’re drawing from your experiences with your dad,” said Eleanor, “I think that process can be very difficult. If you want to talk with me about it, I’d be happy to.”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything about it.”
“You don’t need to be rude to me, Gwennie,” said Eleanor.
“Just lay off, Mom,” said Bennie. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a project she’s working on.”
“I’m with Mom, actually,” said Littlefield. “Stick to acting, kiddo. I don’t think Coach would be too pleased to know you’re using him to please that big-dick teacher of yours.”
Gwen’s mouth hung open. She slapped the table, rattling her plate.
Eleanor said, “William!”
Bennie shook his head, looking down. “Nice one, man.”
Gwen stood up, her face red with anger. “Since when are you the only one who knows what Coach wants? That’s such bullshit!”
“He’s dead,” said Littlefield, calmly. “He doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t care. Which means I was wrong. You can go ahead and write about Coach, and you can enjoy your teacher at Vassar, Mr. Big Dick. There’s nothing to worry about. The world is your oyster.”
Gwen picked up her glass and threw her milk at Littlefield, splashing it in his face. “You’re a fucking turd,” she said, and walked out of the room.
“William, go to your sister. Apologize to her right now,” said Eleanor.
Littlefield wiped his face with his napkin. “What a baby.”
“Go find her, Littlefield,” said Bennie.
“There’s nothing I can say that’ll change things,” said Littlefield. “She’s in her own little world.”
“You don’t need to be so harsh to her,” said Bennie.
Eleanor began to cry. “This is not what I had in mind when I planned this dinner.”
“God, Mom,” said Littlefield. “Why do we need to pretend that everything’s the same? You put out the nice china and everything, but it’s a joke. Isn’t it obvious?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, William.”
Bennie put his arm out, as if to hold his brother back. “Just stop being an asshole, okay?”
“No!” yelled Littlefield, standing up. “I will not stop being an asshole! I hate coming here! I hate pretending this family is anything at all without him! You people are insane!”
They heard Gwen call from the other room, “You’re insane.”
“Nobody is insane!” screamed Eleanor, with tears on her cheeks.
“Whoa, Mom, are you okay?” asked Bennie.
“I want everyone to sit down right now,” said Eleanor. “There will be no more yelling. You are not insane. I want you to eat your chicken. It’s getting cold. Sit down, William. Gwen, come back in here.”
Almost instantly, Gwen returned to the dining room and sat down. There was a point in every family meal—even upsetting ones, like this one—when silence arrived. Everyone chewed, looking around at each other. A few minutes pa
ssed.
Bennie was the first to speak. “Hey, Mom, did I tell you? I’ve started to repair the plumbing. In the Manse. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. But still, I think it’s going to take a while.”
“Thank you, Benjamin. This is good news. Are you helping, William?”
“I’ll tell him when he starts to make big mistakes,” said Littlefield.
“Thank you, William.”
“I’ll help, too—when I’m around,” said Gwen. “Maybe after graduation.”
“Thank you, Gwen,” said Eleanor. “I’m glad to hear this. Your father would be happy to know you’re working together on the house.”
“Hey, kiddo,” said Littlefield, his mouth full. “You really shouldn’t make plans to come back to the island after you graduate. We need you to go to New York. We need you to be a star.” He swallowed, then stood up and collected a few of the dishes, bringing them out to the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a plate of Eleanor’s cookies and a pot of coffee.
After another period of silence while they ate dessert, Eleanor said, “I have something I want to say, and I don’t want any of you to argue with me. Okay?”
Littlefield shrugged. Gwen said, “Okay, Mom. What is it?”
“He loved you three more than anything. He loved you so, so much.”
15
It was four a.m. when they heard the pounding. Bennie woke up, convinced Gwen was having a nightmare. But a voice was shouting, “Benjamin! Open the door! Benjamin!”
He sat up in bed. Light from the moon, reflected off the snow outside his window, was making the walls of his room glow. Everything felt luminous and liquid and blue. At first he thought he was in the hospital, or deep inside a snow cave. Then he heard the voice yell, “Get out here! I know you’re there!” That got him to turn his bedside light on, and then he had a better sense of where he was and what was happening. Ronald was barking in the kitchen, snapping his jaws.
Bennie pulled on a sweater and sweatpants and hopped around the corner from his bedroom into the living room. Gwen was staggering from the purple couch to the front hall closet, where she rummaged for a baseball bat. She gripped it in both hands and went to the front door. Without hesitating, she flung it open and there was Vin Thibideaux. Ronald continued to bark. Bennie stayed out of view, far enough from the light of the fire.
“Mr. Thibideaux?” asked Gwen.
“Hey, Gwen. I’m on police business,” he said. He was wearing a black wool cap but no jacket—just a Patriots T-shirt and jeans. The dog stopped barking.
“I’d like you to quiet down, Mr. Thibideaux,” she said.
“Where’s your brother?”
“My head hurts,” she said. “Please quiet down. Do you know what time it is?” The bat rested on her shoulder, but she still held it with both hands. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Bennie was standing in the corner of the room with his back pressed against the wall so he couldn’t be seen.
Vin tried to take a step inside the door, but Gwen poked him in the belly with the bat. She didn’t put much into it, but her aim was impressive. He stumbled back.
“Let me talk to Benjamin,” said Vin.
“Wow, you stink,” said Gwen. “Is everybody in this town drunk?”
“Everybody in the goddamn world,” he mumbled.
“I’ve got a question for you, Mr. Thibideaux,” said Gwen, poking him again with the end of the bat. “Did you send Jamie Swensen over here?”
He smiled, then pushed the bat away with a quick swing of his forearm and stumbled into the kitchen. It was dark enough that Bennie just saw his thick outline, a big bear up on hind legs. When he made his way into the living room, Gwen jumped on his back and put him in a quick headlock. Ronald went crazy, grabbing Vin’s pant leg, tugging it back and forth. Vin tried to shake Gwen off his back but couldn’t, and they tumbled onto the floor, near where Bennie was hiding. It wasn’t long before Vin was on top of Gwen, pinning her arms while Ronald snarled and tugged. Gwen thrashed her head back and forth, but Vin held the rest of her body still, and then Bennie jumped from the shadows and hurled himself at Vin, cast and all, bashing him to the floor. Vin knocked over the long line of empty beer bottles. “What?” he cried. The only light in the room was from the smoldering fire.
Swensen was in the back hallway, dead asleep on the runner carpet.
“Grab the bat, Gwen,” said Bennie.
They were grappling on the wood floor—Bennie had one of Vin’s arms and was trying to crank it toward the middle of his back, but with his other arm Vin was pulling Bennie’s good leg up toward his chest. Bennie told Gwen to hit Vin with the bat if he wouldn’t let go.
Gwen had the bat held high. “You guys are too tangled up,” she said. “Want me to call the cops?”
“I’m the cops, you assholes,” said Vin, who was now on his back, everything tensed, his face a reddish purple. He turned his head to the side and vomited on Bennie’s hand. A hot, raw smell filled the room, like the carcass of a freshly slain animal.
Gwen said, “You’re not a cop. You’re a fat, gross, pigheaded turd. You went to school with my father and I know how stupid you are. Rosebud whiskey? Is that what you’ve been drinking, Mr. Thibideaux?”
Vin stopped struggling. His face was slack, still purple. He burped, then relaxed on his back. He was winded. Ronald let go of his pant leg, walked up to the puddle of puke, and sniffed it.
“No!” yelled Gwen.
Ronald scampered over to the purple couch, hopped up, and curled into a ball on the far end.
“I’ll get some paper towels,” said Bennie, pushing himself up from the floor, workmanlike, shaking the warm puke off his hand.
“I’ll get them,” said Gwen.
“No,” he said. “You stay and break Vin’s kneecaps if he tries to get up.”
She held the bat like a samurai sword. “You used to have a crush on my mom,” she told Vin.
As Bennie hopped out of the room, Vin retched again, curling onto his side.
Coming back from the kitchen, he flipped on the overhead light. They all squinted in the brightness. He tossed the paper towels at Vin. They bounced off his chest and rolled into the fireplace. Bennie stared down at him, disgusted by the old, drunk cop. He felt some relief, too. For the moment, he had no reason to fear him.
Vin got to his knees while Gwen kept the bat cocked and ready. But he crouched down and vomited a third time, a small amount that spattered the puddle he’d already made. “I’ve got to get home,” he said.
“Run along,” said Gwen.
Vin tripped on the door jamb, then struggled to his feet and ambled through the mudroom, through the door, and out into the yard. He stumbled in the deep snow and fell on his side. He pushed himself up, glanced back at the Manse, then walked in a curved line to his cruiser. As soon as he started it, he revved the engine, spinning in the snow, and nearly sideswiped the stone wall. When he made it out of the driveway, though, his headlights disappeared quickly. The house felt calm again.
Swensen stumbled into the living room wrapped in a blanket, rubbing his swollen eyes. “Who was that?” he asked.
“Your buddy,” said Gwen. “Mr. Thibideaux.”
“That guy knows how to party,” said Swensen.
16
When Bennie left in the morning, Gwen was asleep on the purple couch. Swensen was snoring in the hallway, lying on his stomach, his arms and legs spread wide.
Bennie arrived at Helen’s house just after nine. She was peeling an eggplant and Martha was sitting next to her at the kitchen table. Helen didn’t say anything when Bennie pulled a chair up next to her; she just continued to peel. He knew Helen was expecting news—perhaps even good news. But all he said was “Hi.” He took off his hat and scratched the top of his head.
“They’re due in sometime tomorrow,” said Helen, slicing a long thin peel from the fat eggplant.
“Who?”
“The fucking urchiners,” said Martha.
“That’s when Ray was supposed to get off the island.” She was hunched over, holding her hands in her lap. She looked exhausted.
Bennie suggested they go down to the docks, ask around, see what kind of information they could gather. It was possible they’d find someone who’d seen him, heard his plan. If he wasn’t lost in the snow, maybe there were other answers. It was a desperate idea, and Bennie could tell Helen was upset that he’d even suggested it, but without Littlefield or any other leads, there wasn’t much to do. He could tell Helen knew by then that Gwen had been wrong: Ray LaBrecque was not alive and well at the Manse. She put the eggplant down. Martha said, “Let’s get going.”
Bennie called Julian to see if he wanted to come along. He said it was a dumb idea, but if they were going he wanted to captain the boat. “We need to get the heat off your brother,” Julian said. “Where is he, by the way?”
“I haven’t seen him for a few days. Gwen saw him yesterday, though.”
“Maybe he took off?” asked Julian.
“I doubt it,” said Bennie, but earlier in the morning he’d been concerned enough to call Skunk Gould’s trailer—which is where Littlefield always spent his drunken nights—and Skunk hadn’t seen Littlefield for a few days, either.
Bennie and Martha and Helen arrived at Kearney’s Lobster Cooperative a few minutes before Julian, and stood in the cold beside the stacked green wire traps. Bennie had called Handelmann from Helen’s house about using his outboard, and Handelmann consented immediately, though he warned Bennie to bring a shovel, because the boat would be full of snow. Handelmann kept his boat at the lobster co-op; a few of the guys who fished out of Kearney’s had pets that Handelmann cared for, and they let him tie up to their wharf in the off-season.
Julian arrived in his Silverado, which had dents in the front panels and the hood from driving into the back of his barn, which is what he’d done a few times late at night after drinking at the restaurant. Julian was carrying fishing lines—hand lines—and while this annoyed Bennie, he realized it was probably not the worst idea. Looking for information about Ray’s whereabouts and trying to find the urchiners was likely a fruitless mission; at least they could troll for mackerel along the way, which, during the wintertime, would also be fruitless, but it would give them something to do. Again, it looked from the color of his face as though Julian had recently swilled a few beers, though he wasn’t drunk, just slightly subdued. He hadn’t seen Martha in a while, and though Bennie feared he might say something inappropriate, Julian didn’t; he just said hi and bowed his head.
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