Zed (Dovetail Cove, 1975) (Dovetail Cove Series)

by Jason McIntyre

  A sharp crack lit the air. And then another. Down below, it was Nurse Karen in her whites, at a distance but closing fast while she clapped her hand in short, staccato bursts. She had left James who now stood under their shared tree. “Come now,” Nurse Karen called. “Time for lunch. If everyone has lovely behaviour, we can have another dip in the spring after our picnic.” Then she caught sight of Tom, half-way up the rock wall and leaning in to speak with the girls. With as pleasant a voice as she could muster, she pierced the air in Tom’s direction. “Come now, Tom, we don’t have all day.”

  That’s what she said, but what Tom heard was, “Listen here you little shit I’m not paying you to fraternize with the Lennon Sisters got it?”

  Tom slid down the wall, catching himself in a clumsy stumble. “Gotta run. Nice chatting,” he said in a flurry.

  “Okay,” Farrah said. “See ya,” she added lightly, though Tom had already turned to tip-toe across the divide between the shallowest pool and the middle pool.

  He thought he should get Farrah’s last name, but knew how silly he would look after Nurse Karen had already called him over so he didn’t turn back. Girls didn’t make Tom Mason nervous, not like a lot of guys his age. But Ms. Banatyne did. Still, he didn’t need to give her any more excuses to let him go. Not this close to the end of the summer.

  Behind him, Farrah call after him. “I hope you get your camera!”

  5

  Ocean View’s new bus trundled along Main Street, driven, of course, by apprehensive chauffeur, Tom Mason. On the awning over the Kresge hung a big white sign with blue lettering. Back to School, it read, as if any kid in a ten thousand mile radius needed to be told that such a season would soon be here.

  Still nervous to be driving this scrapyard monstrosity, when before, he’d only piloted his dad’s Chev and his own two-door hatch, he reached a quivering hand to the rear view mirror. The guests all chattered and fussed with each other. They were full on their picnic lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and warm lemonade so they were mostly sleepy and docile.

  Tom readjusted the mirror again. This time it showed him Nurse Karen, sitting with a mute smile on her face next to James Roundtree. Now and again, Mary would let out a squeal and Karen would cringe at the volume, then look sideways at Roundtree, who periodically wiped his brow with his off-white hanky. Tom overheard them making arrangements to walk over to Karen and Chris’s house so James could have a look at Ocean View’s check register.

  This did not sit well with Karen. Tom adjusted the mirror again. He saw Karen’s clasped hand in her lap. Each of her bony fingers were stark white and she was rubbing her thumbs over each other, taking turns, this one, then that one, over and over. He readjusted his mirror so it would show him the rear view of the bus and caught her biting her lip and blinking quickly as if she had a grain of sand in each eye.

  They got onto the shallow end of Lannen Lane and there was Ocean View Manor, easily the largest Georgian house in this end of town and towering over the rest in sight. Its clapboard walls wore a dark hunter green, chocolate brown accents and stark white frames on windows and doors.

  James and Karen got out first. James said, “You get things settled here, then we’ll head over to the house and chat with Chris.”

  Karen smiled the way she smiles: warmly. “Great idea, only be a tick...” She spied Tom helping the others down the steps. “Oh, Tom,” she called in a high pitch of sing-song voice. Tom perked up, wondering what she could possibly want of him now. He’d hoped Roundtree’s visit from the mainland today would keep her artifice of cool intact and her mind occupied. So far, she’d managed to insult Tom a handful of times, call into question his driving skills and make one very strong demand on him that made him uncomfortable to the Nth degree. Seeing the Lennon Sisters—as he now thought of them—at the hot spring had easily been the highlight of the day.

  Karen did that thing she seemed fond of and that made Tom uncomfortable. She leaned in close and peered over her glasses at him with those beaded and veiny brown eyes. He held his breath to avoid the coffee stink of hers and the ever-present waft of her L’Air du Temps. Did she bathe in the stuff?

  “Now, Tom, like we planned, okay. Get them inside and have Fidela take them for their naps. Make sure Mary gets a second dose of her vitamins beforehand. She’s awfully perky and nearly cost me a lot of money with her incessant giggling. Second dose for her, remember that, cowboy. Now, you can handle that, can’t you?” Tom nodded. “Right. Good. And then head over to town and take the 3:15 ferry like we discussed.”

  She peered sideways in both directions to confirm that James had moved off and was sauntering on the road under the big oaks. He looked off at the sky as if he’d already had himself a long day and needed a drink before dinner. Karen reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a wad of what looked like hundreds banded by a blue rubber band, the sort that Harlow’s usually had around their bunches of broccoli and asparagus stems. The Foodway on Broadway Avenue used green rubber bands. “Got it?” she asked, palming the wad into Tom’s hand. Hers were smooth and oily, as if she’d just rubbed hand cream on them.

  It wasn’t her skin that bothered Tom. Or the massive mound of money—he’d expected it based on their conversation from yesterday. It was her voice that seemed off. She was more even-toned than before and Tom knew what that meant.

  Nurse Karen was concocting something.

  6

  Fidela was the Latina cook and housemaid. She was paid less than even Tom and worked much harder, keeping the house ship-shape. Her English was worse than even her husband’s. He was Miguel and worked on Main as a fry cook at the Highliner. Both had been brought up from Mexico by the Banatynes, on work visas that had expired at least a half decade ago. When Karen realized she could get a string of cheap students from university work programs to come for a few months at a time, she downsized to only Fidela, who picked up Miguel’s cooking duties. It meant room and board for neither, since they opted to move out and find a big room on Beacon, above a pub. The appeal? The place had no kitchen, only room for a coffee maker and a hot plate. The last thing either of them wanted to do in their off hours was cook.

  Karen couldn’t believe her good luck when Miguel had translated for his wife that Fidela would be moving out. They asked for an increase for her since she’d be doing double-duty and not requiring a room. Karen cautioned her that because Fidela was so important to Ocean View, she would overlook this show of greed and not have her exported to her own government. She gave Fidela a small increase but expected her to work an extra fifteen minutes in the morning and an extra fifteen at the end of her day shift.

  Luckily, keeping track of illegal and migrant workers on the island was no one’s priority. Chief Birkhead had enough to do with managing the lengthy summer tourist season, and by the odd bar fight involving any of the steady stream of trawler men and fishers who rolled in through the whole year.

  Miguel had a sister and brother-in-law who worked at one of the farms on the north island and they were kept in check by stories of how bad it could be if they worked up north as a farmhand. Miguel and Fidela bided their time.

  Tom left his crew in the living room which was filled with games and puzzles and a big TV that Smitty promptly switched on, citing it was nearly time for The Price Is Right. Tom wheeled Dar up to a card table where a world map puzzle was laid out, only a third completed. He’d been staring at it since Tom was hired on as Activities Director in May. That title meant he was in charge of keeping the guests friendly, breaking up the odd fight—not unlike Police Chief Birkhead’s duty list—and taking lunch requests—even though it was almost impossible to relay these requests to Fidela. He also tried to make things fun, knowing that Karen gave him no budget for recreation. He managed to get some throwaway materials from both the Foodway and the Kresge, plus the drug store, for craft projects. He did weekly bingos with prizes he funded from his own paycheck and also organized scavenger hunts on the Lane which required the guests to g
et some of their clues from the neighbours. Those that participated thought it great fun and Tom received warm accolades from more than a few on being so proactive.

  One of the happy neighbours had said he had been the most visible and pleasant of all of Ocean View’s seasonal employees. That had been Mikey Dean’s mom who had stopped by with fudgy brownies for him. He shared them with his crew, of course, but soon regretted the sugar high of five adult handicappers. They weren’t even allowed juice unless it was diluted by ninety percent. That was the day that Dar got so excited he peed his pants.

  Now, always with the pee and poop accidents top-of-mind, Tom asked if anyone had to go to the bathroom. When they each reported they had all done their duties, he left the living room, satisfied that everyone was settled into an activity and out of the heat. Nurse Karen was gone for a while so he didn’t bother forcing the issue of a nap. It only made getting them to bed more difficult and since Fidela would leave after the supper dishes were washed, it was usually his responsibility for teeth brushings, pyjamas, nighttime TV rations and Ingrid’s bedtime story.

  He didn’t bother with vitamins either. Not Mary’s double dose or the others’ single. He thought they made them sleepy and less apt to follow directions. Yes, they would be calm and much quieter, but it did something to them that he found... unnatural. When he knew Karen wouldn’t be back ‘til later in the day, he figured he could tell a white lie about it if she asked. He always preferred to let them be natural. Their lives already seemed so limited to Tom. He liked his retards, though he’d never use that word to them or about them.

  And he knew he’d miss them when the summer was over and he was heading back to the mainland for the school year.

  He went into the kitchen where Fidela was chopping vegetables. She had a radio program blaring in Spanish, but it was either a distant signal or not quite on the station because it was filled with static.

  “Fidela,” he said, trying not to startle her.

  “Hmmm?” she said, not looking up from her cutting board.

  He spoke slowly and in disjointed English with Fidela, having discovered that three or four words at a time, much like Tarzan did in that old black and white, worked better with her. “I-go-now,” he said, loudly and with great enunciation.

  Fidela looked at him and scrunched her brow.

  “To-ferry,” he said. Then he added, “Back-to-morrow.”

  Fidela tilted her head.

  “You-watch... them?” he said, even louder.

  Still, Fidela said nothing.

  “Ms-Banatyne... home-soon.”

  Finally, her face broke into a smile, a broad grin and happy, upturned cheeks. “Okaaaaaay!” she said, nodding profusely and with great joy.

  Relieved, Tom echoed her. “Okay,” he said. He turned and headed downstairs to his cot in the old furnace room. It was dusty and dirty down here, but Tom had set himself up in a corner and cleaned like crazy. He had crisp white sheets, having sneakily appropriated the newest of the bed linens and towels for himself. He hadn’t left rags for the guests upstairs, by no means, but this was a tiny place where he could study his photography books and look at comics after his troop finally dozed off to sleep. He wanted it to be at least a touch nicer than a furnace room in an eighty-year old block basement.

  About a month ago, though, Nurse Karen had announced that Zeke would be Tom’s new roommate until Tom left at the end of August. Zeke was their cash cow, Karen had explained early on in his tenure with Ocean View. He was here, not because he needed real care. He was the smartest of the bunch, though he did score strikingly below average on all the aptitude tests required for inclusion in a home like this. No, Zeke was as close to independent as one could get in a retard, Karen told Tom. But he’d had a few too many run-ins and so his elderly father spent most of his pension check to have Zeke here and keep him out of harm’s way—plus out of the way so he couldn’t harm anyone else.

  Tom hadn’t pressed that any further but had still been uncomfortable having Zeke in his space with him. It had been hard falling to sleep with the bristly old man snoring next to him—knowing that Karen had specifically mentioned the old codger was here to keep him from harming someone.

  But Zeke and Tom had developed a strong rapport. Out of all of them, Tom could probably be the most honest with Zeke who had an understanding of the world underneath his simple facade. Hell, Zeke had his own truck and would give Tom a ride now and again, like the time he went to the beach bonfire with Mikey Dean.

  So, while Tom was throwing a change of shirt and underwear, plus a Louis L’Amour paperback, into his army duffle for his trip, it was no surprise that Zeke came down to see him.

  “Yous not going, Mr. Tom. Are you going, Mr. Tom? Are you?”

  “Not to worry, Zee,” Tom said, smelling the shirt and reaching for his toothbrush from the crate he used as a nightstand. “I’ll be back tomorrow on the 10:15, I think.”

  He bundled the toothbrush in the t-shirt and threw the wad into the duffel.

  “Why?” Zeke asked.

  “Why’m I going on the ferry?”

  “Yah.”

  “Two reasons, champ,” Tom said, as if he was talking to a little boy. “One, Nurse Karen needs me to do a favour for her. And two, she’s paying me extra—”

  “—I have money, Mr. Tom,” Zeke said, interrupting Tom.

  “Do ya, buddy, that’s great. Well, she’s paying me a bit extra to run this errand. And that means I’m going to have enough for my new camera. You remember. Snap, snap, taking pictures?”

  “Uhm, yea, I member,” said Zeke. “Snap-snap.”

  Tom threw his duffle on the floor by the doorway that led back upstairs. He had plenty of time to make the 3:15. It was chilly down here, not like the heat upstairs. Zeke went and sat on his own cot. He made his bed every morning. All the guests did but Tom never got in that habit. He only made his bed when he changed out for fresh sheets. That was usually on Tuesday mornings, the day after Monday which was Fidela’s wash day.

  Tom stood by the door. “Hey, Zee?”

  “Uh-huh,” Zeke said.

  “Can I ask you a favour?”

  “Sure-shootin you can, Mr. Tom. Sure-as-shootin.”

  “Cool, now do you know what a secret is, Zee?”

  Zeke sat silent for a moment, considering. Then he said, “I sure do, Mr. Tom. My Daddy, he taught me some secrets.” Only he said secrets like sickrits, as though the word rhymed with crickets.

  “Good. So you have to remember, what I’m about to tell you is top secret, that’s like the biggest of the secrets. Can you do that? Keep it top secret?”

  “Sure-shootin I can. Biggest sickrit, got it. Is it about Nurse Karen and Chris-topher?” He said Chris’s name like he was mimicking Nurse Karen. He said Chris-topher, like it was two words with a space in the middle and the second word rhymed with gopher.

  “Uh, no,” Tom said. “Nothing to do with the Banatynes. This is about Mary. You like Mary, don’t you, Zee?”

  Again, Zeke hesitated. He was at least twenty years older than Mary and he knew what his daddy told him to be true: you can’t never like a girl who’s littler than you. Can’t never. Zeke’s face strained. He wore a look that made him seem like he was passing stool. His body tensed. His memory was bad, and getting worse the last eighteen months since he’d been at Ocean View, but he could remember that tone of his daddy’s. He had said, ‘It gets both you and the little girl into big troubles, don’t it?’

  And Zeke doubted if he’d ever forget his daddy saying those words to him.

  “No, suh, Mr. Tom. No, nuh-uh. I don’t like Mary at all. She’s a icky girl.”

  Tom tilted his head at that. He smiled. “Oh come now, Zee. I know you do. It’s okay. Nothing wrong with it. Nurse Karen says we keep our hands to ourselves and you, big guy, you always follow that rule—”

  “—That’s cuz I don’t like to touch no one, Mr. Tom. I don’t like touchin or bein touched. Handshakes are not good. I like them
about as much as I like tubbin.”

  Tom came and sat beside Zeke on his bed. In a placating tone, he said, “That’s fine. That’s fine. Nobody has to shake anyone’s hand. Listen, you know I’m a photographer, right, Zee?”

  Zeke fussed up his brow. Now he was confused. What did this have to do with handshakes?

  “Yuh,” he said, with hesitation.

  “Well, I’m going to bring my new camera back with me. Snap-snap,” he reiterated.

  “Snap-snap,” Zeke agreed.

  “And tomorrow, if it’s not raining, I want to go out to the hot pool, remember the hot pool from today?”

  “—Yah—”

  “It’s beautiful. I want to take some pictures of the scenery, the rocks, the water. But I also need some pretty pictures of people.”

  Zeke considered this.

  “It’s okay, Zeke. I know you have a teeny crush on Mary. It’s fine. You’re so good about keeping your hands to yourself. That’s not a worry at all. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think she likes you too.”

  Zeke widened his eyes at that. He stiffened his back, put a sizeable arch into it and made the cot springs squeak beneath him.

  “I think if you asked Mary to let me take some pictures of her, she’d love it. If you and Mary came out to the hot pool with me, you could have some time alone with her and I could get some pictures for my portfolio. Do you know what a portfolio is, Zee?”

  “No,” Zeke said, still pondering the idea of time alone in the hot pool with Mary.

  “It’s what’s going to get me into a good program at university. You know what that is?”