Pulled Beneath

by Marni Mann

She was insinuating that Marilyn had done just that, and she was drawing the contrast between their parenting styles. My mom leaving Maine wouldn’t be reason enough for Marilyn to stop loving her or to stop being a caring mother. I couldn’t imagine what would be extreme enough for Marilyn to take such a hard stance.

  I wondered if Marilyn had ever written back, if at some point my mom had enveloped replies that responded to each call she’d sent out. There’d been nothing when Gianna and her family had cleaned out our house. Maybe the responses never came, or worse, my mom had burned them or buried them somewhere beneath her flowerbeds.

  There was nothing in these letters but me. Nothing about my father, about life in Florida. I wondered if these had been the only letters Marilyn had kept, if there were missing pieces between the ones that remained. Maybe my mysterious Aunt Shirley would have some of those answers. She still hadn’t gotten in touch with me. The last time we’d spoken, the lawyer told me he hadn’t been able to reach her. He could have been lying. And she could lie, too, when I finally reached her.

  I think we’re both thankful there isn’t another teen pregnancy in the family.

  Who was she referring to? Was it…her? My mom was twenty-three when she had me. That wouldn’t have made her a teen mom. Still, something didn’t feel right about that statement.

  An unsettling feeling entered my body and it wouldn’t leave.

  I dropped the letter and rushed straight out to the garage. The Coswells’ belongings had been removed from the house, but the paperwork had been boxed and placed in here. I combed through each file, looking for a hint, an answer, a date.

  And then I found one.

  Photocopies of each of their birth certificates were hidden in one of the last files.

  A month and day that I knew all too well were listed directly next to my mom’s name. Not the year, though. It wasn’t one that I recognized. It wasn’t the one she had told me.

  She had lied about her age, too.

  My mom wasn’t forty-five when she died. She was thirty-nine… which meant she was only seventeen when she had me.

  She left Maine because she was pregnant with me.

  Everything was a lie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “MARILYN.”

  I heard a man shouting my grandmother’s name from outside, followed by a pounding on the front door.

  “Marilyn, it’s Dennis, open up.”

  Dennis?

  I lifted my face off my arms; I had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, with my forearms serving as a pillow. I swiped the screen of my cell phone and saw that it was a little past four in the morning. The overhead light was still on. A warm half-empty beer sat in front of me. Mom’s letter was next to the bottle.

  “Marilyn!” he shouted again, followed by two bangs, then a loud thud. It sounded like he’d crashed into the wooden door. “It’s cold, Marilyn. So damn cold…I’m freezing my ass off. Let me in.”

  Bella hadn’t left my side; she sat on the floor pressed against my thigh. The hair on her neck and in the middle of her back stood straight in the air. That only happened when she sensed something was wrong or she was spooked. This stranger had clearly caused both.

  She followed me and peeked through the glass panel while I opened the door just a crack. “Where’s she at?” he asked into the space. His breath slapped me. It was a strong mix of booze, cigarettes, and tooth decay.

  “She’s not here.”

  He stuck his hand through the crack, pushing it fully open and squeezing in past me. He stopped in the entryway and looked up to the second floor, his eyes scanning the catwalk. His feet wobbled. “She ain’t sleeping, is she?” He was gaunt, haggard and covered in filth. Stains camouflaged his boots; his jeans were full of holes and burn marks peppered his flannel button-down. A wool cap covered half of his greasy hair; the rest hung down his back in knotted clumps.

  I reached into my pocket and found it empty. I had forgotten my cell phone on the kitchen table. I needed to get away from him.

  I carefully tiptoed to the other side of the foyer, gripping the molding behind me. Bella stayed directly at my side; she didn’t take her eyes off him. I didn’t either, but my mind took me to another time: the moment when the intruder, who’d killed my parents, was standing at our kitchen table. I thought of the details: that it had been days since he’d eaten or slept, that he’d been high on meth and was tweaking out when he broke in. And within his reach was a pile of cash that would buy him even more shit. My dad had died trying to protect his family.

  And now, here I was in a potentially similar situation.

  This man—this Dennis—wasn’t holding a baseball bat, and he appeared too fucked up to really be able to hurt me. But I could see the hunger and the need in his eyes. I didn’t get the sense he was looking for Marilyn because she was a friend. She’d given him something for whatever reason, and he was back to collect more.

  “She’s not sleeping,” I said gently, hoping not to provoke him. “She’d dead. Didn’t you hear?”

  His unsteadiness seemed to worsen as he stared at the second story. He breathed through his mouth, his stench filling the room. When he scratched his forehead, tiny bits of dirt floated into the air. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he slurred. “She ain’t dead…she’s always been ‘round. Has been for me, at least.” He circled the center of the room, his knees threatening to give out. “So where she at?”

  Through all the muck that covered his face and the full beard, there was something wildly familiar about his eyes…the way their soft brown light glared back at me, lost.

  “It’s true. She’s dead.”

  “Nah,” he spat. He nodded, but the movement didn’t seem intentional. “I don’t believe you.”

  Dennis wasn’t just drunk. He had taken something with his booze, something that shrank his pupils to the size of a pinhole and caused his body to sway and dip as if he was a buoy on the ocean. I had a feeling there was no way to reason with him. My words had to be carefully chosen and spoken.

  “How would you like me to prove it to you, Dennis?”

  He took several steps closer and stopped a few feet from me, squinting. His neck craned back, allowing his eyes to travel all over me. “Hey…I know you.”

  I shook my head. My palms were slick with sweat; I wiped them on my jeans and placed them right back on the molding. “That’s impossible.”

  “Nah. I know you.” He lifted his hand in the air, and pointed at me. “You’re…Rebecca?”

  My heart was pounding so fast, I could feel it in my throat. “Rebecca was my mother.” It came out in a whisper, but he heard me. Just as I opened my mouth again, the front door burst open and Saint rushed into the room. Dennis turned around, but his feet moved too quickly for his body and he wavered in the air. Saint caught him just before he fell. He pulled the old man’s back onto his chest and wrapped an arm around his throat.

  “Did he hurt you?” Saint asked. His voice was so hard and so stern, even rougher than he had sounded when he’d argued with Brady.

  “How did you know this was happening?” I asked.

  Saint ignored my question. He tilted his head so he could look Dennis in the eyes. “Did you fucking hurt her?”

  Dennis’s lips parted just a little. His eyelids were heavy with sleep. He didn’t say anything.

  “Answer me!” Saint demanded. He glanced at me with his teeth clenched together and his brows furrowed. “One of you better answer me right now.”

  “No,” I said, trying to find my breath. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  Saint’s stare shifted back to Dennis. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Dennis choked from the tightness of Saint’s grip. Saint didn’t loosen his arm, though. “Sometimes Marilyn gives me a little extra so I’m not so hungry. That’s all, son.”

  Son?

  “Saint…” I took a step toward them.

  “Drew, stay where you are,” Saint warned me. “I don’t want you getting any cl
oser to him.”

  Dennis didn’t put up a fight when Saint started pulling him. His body was limp in his son’s arms, his feet dragging over the wooden floor. Saint freed a hand to turn the doorknob. “I’m sorry, Drew. This won’t happen again.”

  “Saint, I—“

  “Not now,” he said, interrupting me. “Lock the door behind me.” He continued down the front steps.

  Bella and I watched the two men disappear into the darkness, the sound of broken leaves filling the early morning silence. I glanced from her to the open door, to the woods and back. It wasn’t just the freezing air that sent a chill through my body. It was everything that had just happened.

  Saint’s father was an addict…and he’d known Marilyn.

  What else didn’t I know about this town and this house? And the Coswells?

  The questions multiplied in my head. I really knew nothing about Saint’s family, and now it seemed that they intertwined with mine. I needed to ask him. And I would, but he didn’t get out of work until three o’clock. I had no idea how I would keep my mind occupied until then.

  ***

  I hadn’t seen Brady since Saint had carried me away from him. Now he stood on the rocky peninsula and I saw him every time I surfaced to take a breath. The guys usually arrived at the house during my morning swim, though they never came out to the water. I had no doubt Brady came down here because he was wondering why I hadn’t returned his calls or texts. There had been several of each. I’d thought about it, even considered writing him back to tell him I needed a break. But somehow that seemed colder than just ignoring him.

  “I’m glad to see you’re alive,” he said as I approached.

  I stretched the goggles off my eyes and placed them at the edge of my cap, treading a few feet from where he stood. Bella was next to him getting her head scratched. Since I was wearing Saint’s wetsuit, I could tolerate the temperature of the ocean. I would have gone in without it, though, because I needed something to busy my brain. I still had seven more hours until Saint was out of work.

  “Yeah, well…” I answered. “The last few days have been horrible.”

  At least that was partly true.

  “Sorry for the other night,” he said. “That guy brings out the worst in me. I didn’t mean for you to get in the middle.”

  Hat Boy had brought out the worst in him, too. It seemed like he was always apologizing for things like this.

  “You can’t fight every man who tries to talk to me. It makes you appear jealous. And it shouldn’t because we’re just friends.” He didn’t respond. “We are just friends, Brady…right?”

  I was much snippier than I needed to be. I was still freaked out by Dennis coming into the house and turning out to be Saint’s father. I really just wanted to swim and clear my head. He was keeping me from doing that.

  “Yup,” he agreed. “That's all we are: just friends.” The skin around his nose was turning red from him rubbing it so hard. “I drank too much, and I fucked up. Saint and I have a past—you know that.” He kneeled onto the rock, but I stayed where I was in the water. If he wanted to bridge the gap between us, he’d have to jump in. For now, this was as close as I wanted to be. “I know that’s not an excuse,” he added. “I really just came out here to make sure you’re okay.”

  Despite Brady’s attempt at showing me he cared, I couldn’t get Saint’s words out of my head when he suggested that Brady really wanted to get in my pants. Was that all this was, some weak attempt at softening my defenses before he made a move on me?

  I was too full of emotion for those questions.

  When I compared everything that had happened in the last few days—the letters I had found from my mom, the things I had learned about her, the fact that she wasn’t even the age I’d thought, the gaps that lay between everything that was and wasn’t said—what had happened between Brady and Saint was as insignificant as what Brady thought of me. He was nice enough most of the time, and as long as I kept Saint away from him I could at least hope there wouldn’t be any more fighting. And regardless of what Brady’s motive was, he always made an effort when it came to me. I couldn’t forget that.

  “I’m okay,” I answered. “Thank you for checking on me. And for caring so much.” I swam a bit closer to the rock and curved my fingers around the edge by his feet.

  He grinned. “I see you finally got a wetsuit?”

  “It’s…borrowed.”

  By the ice that overtook his eyes, I could tell he knew who I had borrowed it from. “How about we go into town tonight and get you your own suit? I’ll even buy you dinner.”

  I wanted to do both, but I didn’t know how long I’d be with Saint—if I’d even be able to find him at all.

  “How about tomorrow night?” I asked. The ice turned to disappointment, so I added, “I’ll buy you dinner.”

  I saw in his face he was drawing his own accurate conclusion about tonight.

  “Tomorrow works just fine,” he said. He placed his hand in front of me, his fingers wiggling for me to grab. “Let me help you out.”

  I smiled and pushed myself off the rock, floating several feet into the pool. “Thanks, but I have a lot more swimming to do.”

  He laughed a little. “Then I guess I’ll see you inside when you’re done.”

  ***

  The tourist season was almost over in Bar Harbor, which meant I was able to park in a spot directly in front of the Trap House. I didn’t know if Saint would be here. He could have already dropped off his catch for the day and left, or maybe he didn’t end up fishing at all. I figured I could ask Rae.

  I walked around the side of the building, searching for her in the place where the hostess had told me she’d be. But before I reached the porch, I heard Saint’s voice.

  “Rae, I’ve already told you all this. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said.

  I stopped and clung to the building, my shoulders shrinking and my hands shaking. They were just feet from me, standing at the back of the restaurant. The wall hid me from their view and them from mine, but they would hear me if I wasn’t quiet.

  “I don’t understand what I did wrong,” she said. She was trying to keep her voice down, but it couldn’t mask the whining tone that came through.

  “That’s because you refuse to listen.” It almost sounded as if he was speaking to his father. There was no compassion, no patience in his words.

  “I have listened, Saint.”

  “I’m not going to keep repeating myself, and I’m not going to get into this right now, either. You’re working, and I’m running late.”

  Their conversation sounded distinctly personal, which surprised me.

  “I’m not busy,” she cried. “I only have one table, and your catch is all unloaded. What could you possibly be late for?”

  “We’re done—here, now, permanently.”

  Done?

  “But, baby,” she whined.

  Baby?

  “Stop!” He sighed. There was even anger in the way he breathed. “We’ve been done for a long time, Rae. What’s it going to take for you to realize that? You’re acting even crazier than usual.”

  His words rang through my head: I thought she was a good friend. Turned out she wanted my dick, too. And when I finally gave it to her, things just got messy, so I ended it.

  Rae…

  “Saint, I just want—“

  “I know what you want. Our problem is that we don’t want the same thing. If you can’t handle that, then I’ll find someone to replace you here, but I can’t keep dealing with this shit every day.”

  “Shit?” Her voice started to rise. “That’s what I am to you?”

  “You’ll do anything to drag this out, won’t you? I told you this was a bad day for me and you just won’t take no for a fucking answer.”

  “It’s Drew, isn’t it? She’s the reason you’re acting like this.” My back straightened against the building from the sound of my name. My heart began to beat even faster. I would
n’t have been surprised if they’d heard it. “I can’t believe she’s gotten to you, too. I can see it all over your face. You’re just as whipped as Brady.” I knew Saint couldn’t have liked hearing that. "I don’t get it…she’s not your type at all. She’s a nice girl; you don’t like nice girls.”

  “You have no idea what I like.”

  “I know what it is…I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.” Her voice completely changed and so did her confidence. It sounded like she was suddenly full of it. “You’re in competition with Brady: who can get the girl, and who can fuck her first. She’s new around here and no one’s had her. You figure it’ll be one of the two of you. It makes perfect sense.”

  Who could fuck me first?

  I’d heard enough.

  “I’m not going to tell you again, Rae. Get the hell out of my way.”

  “Brady’s going to win.” Her voice had turned acidic. “He’s the nice one.”

  I hurried down the side of the building as quietly as I could. They were still arguing, but I stopped listening, their voices growing fainter the farther away I got.

  As I reached my car, I stuck the key into the lock and quickly opened the door. That was when I heard my name. Saint was calling me, jogging straight toward me.

  If I got in the car and sped off, he’d suspect something. But there was no way I could hide my emotions. I could feel them on my face; I could sense them in my posture.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. His tone was so soft. He reached his hand out to graze my cheek, and his mouth followed his fingers.

  I held on to the hood of the car and turned my head away from him.

  He ran his hand over his messy strands of hair. “So you heard that, huh?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to lie…I told him I’d never do that to him. I didn’t want to add to his pain either. But I didn’t think I could ignore this.

  He took a deep breath and glanced at his feet, his fingers clenching his key. He rubbed his thumb over the sharp edges, flicking the tip like it was a lighter. “We need to talk.”

  “Do we?” It came out rougher than I’d meant it to.

  “Yes, we do.” I didn’t move. “You can either get in my truck or we can take your car, but you’re not leaving here unless it’s with me.”