Harrison Squared

by Daryl Gregory

  I didn’t know what to do with myself. I watched the phone, waiting for word from Detective Hammersmith or Chief Bode that someone had found my mother. I itched to take action. To do something, anything. If Mom was lost in the forest I could have searched for her. If she’d disappeared down an abandoned mine, I could have roped up and rappelled into the dark. But she was somewhere out at sea, and I was a kid with no boat. It was up to the Coast Guard, Hammersmith had told me yesterday. Just sit tight.

  But I could not sit. I paced, and flipped through my mother’s books, and dragged her footlocker first to one corner of the room, then another. It didn’t fit anywhere. It was a heavy, waterproof hunk of plastic three feet long and almost as tall. It had been with us as long as I could remember, following us from apartment to apartment. She’d kept adding to it all through grad school. There were marine fossils in there, shark teeth, squid beaks. But most of it was paper—articles, printouts from the web, pictures, drafts of her dissertation—even though she could have probably scanned everything and stored it on a single flash drive. Mom’s an old-school scientist.

  I walked around and around the outside of the house. I think I was daring the pointy-toothed stalker to come back, just so I would have someone to punch.

  The taxi pulled up over an hour later, and I went out to help him unload. It was indeed the same driver as last night, the bald man with the jaw too big for his face. He didn’t look any happier to be here than the first time. But at least he wasn’t pale and hollow-eyed like everyone else I’d met in town.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I live here because it’s cheap, but I do most of my driving in Uxton.”

  “Not for long.” Aunt Sel had appeared in the doorway, now wearing a silk kimono. I thought it was possible that 90 percent of her wardrobe was silk loungewear. “He’s got an ABD in astrophysics.”

  ABD stood for All But Dissertation. It was a common condition among grad students. “So almost a doctor,” I said.

  “Almost is not enough,” Aunt Sel said. She opened one of the grocery bags, found a bunch of grapes, and popped one in her mouth. “He’s going back to school in the fall.”

  “I never said that,” Saleem said. “You said that.”

  “We’ll discuss it later. Did you bring the sorbet?”

  “They didn’t have any. I brought ice cream.”

  “That’s completely different,” she said. “But I suppose we must adjust.” She took the credit card from me and handed it to him. “Add fifty.”

  “That’s too much,” he said.

  “It’s called a tip, dear,” she said. “You may not get them very often out here among the Yankees.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Oh, and you’re officially on retainer. Don’t take any fare further than ten miles.”

  “You can’t be serious,” he said.

  “As the proverbial, my dear. Go on now. I have to get dressed.”

  Saleem hesitated at the door. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he said to me.

  “You know about that?”

  “It’s all over town,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll find her.”

  I really wished people would stop saying that.

  As the taxi pulled away, another car rolled toward the rental. The vehicle was long, black, and finned like a shark.

  * * *

  I went inside and told Aunt Sel that company had arrived.

  “You don’t look happy about it,” she said.

  “You’ll see.”

  The doorbell rang. I didn’t know the rental had a doorbell.

  Aunt Sel opened the door to find Principal Montooth, almost as tall as the doorway. Behind him were Mrs. Velloc and Mr. Waughm. What were they doing here? Trying to bust me for truancy?

  “How do you do?” Montooth said. “I’m Eston Montooth, principal of Dunnsmouth Secondary.”

  Aunt Sel was now dressed in a red blouse, black flared pants, and a black-and-red bolero jacket. Her hair and makeup were fully in place. Montooth, with his gleaming hair and perfectly pressed suit, was her match in style. When they shook hands it was like two full-page ads reaching across the staples to each other.

  “I’m Selena Harrison,” Aunt Sel said. “Harrison’s aunt.”

  “This is Mrs. Velloc, one of our senior teachers,” Montooth said. “And Mr. Waughm, our vice principal.”

  “Go Threshers,” Waughm said.

  He seemed to be ogling Aunt Sel’s cleavage. Or maybe the kitchen table. With his walleyed look it was difficult to tell.

  We moved into the small living room, then paused for an awkward moment as we took in the single couch and two chairs, assessing the etiquette of the situation. Eventually we all came to the same conclusion, and Montooth, Waughm, and Mrs. Velloc perched together on the couch. Montooth and Velloc were so tall that Waughm, squashed between them, looked like their ugly son.

  “I’m so sorry about this accident,” Montooth said to me. “How are you holding up?”

  Holding up? I was barely up, much less holding.

  “He’s doing as well as anyone could, under the circumstances,” Aunt Sel said, covering for my silence.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Harrison’s only been with us a few days, but we consider him a part of the Dunnsmouth family.”

  “That’s so nice of you to say,” Aunt Sel said, somehow making it clear that she didn’t believe the sentiment, yet appreciated the attempt at a good lie.

  “The entire school was shocked at the news,” Montooth said.

  “Shocked,” Mr. Waughm said.

  “Though, sadly, this kind of thing has happened before,” Montooth said. “We’re a fishing village, and lobstering is a dangerous business. The fact that someone inexperienced in boating might—”

  “She’s not inexperienced,” I said. “She’s spent more time on the water than most sea captains.”

  “And she didn’t go out alone,” Aunt Sel said. “She went out with a local fisherman, didn’t she?”

  “Hal Jonsson,” Mrs. Velloc said, not bothering to hide her disapproval. “An unfortunate choice. He hasn’t worked on a boat for years. Spends his days drinking and telling stories.”

  Silence descended. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hands.

  “So,” Montooth said. “Is there any word?”

  “Nothing yet,” Aunt Sel said.

  Montooth nodded. “Well I’m sure they’ll find her—”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  Four adult heads swiveled to look at me.

  “Don’t say it,” I said.

  Waughm looked up at Montooth in surprise, but Montooth’s face softened. “Of course,” he said quietly. “Nothing is sure, is it? You’re smart enough to know that.” He rose from the couch and shook Aunt Sel’s hand again. “We don’t want to inconvenience you. Just let us know if there’s anything we can do. And of course Harrison can take off as much time as he needs. The school will be waiting for him when he’s ready.”

  Aunt Sel thanked them and escorted them the short distance to the door. She said, “With all this talk of lobstering, I’m getting hungry. Is there a good seafood restaurant in town?”

  “A good restaurant?” Mrs. Velloc asked.

  “Try Sophie’s,” Principal Montooth said. “It’s not very sophisticated, but it’s right on the water, and the fish is extremely fresh.”

  Mr. Waughm held out his hand to Aunt Sel. “It was such a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

  She patted his wrist. “I’m sure it was,” she said.

  When they’d driven off she turned to me. “Well,” she said. “I don’t think they’re creepy at all.”

  * * *

  Every time the phone rang it was like a fire alarm. The ringer seemed to be actual bells. When a call came in the whole table vibrated.

  The first call, just after noon, was from Detective Hammersmith; and the second, a few hou
rs later, was from Chief Bode. The message each time was the same: the Coast Guard and the half dozen volunteer boats hadn’t found my mother or Hal Jonsson, but they were checking the open sea, and also looking into each bay and inlet. Both men expressed confidence in the skills of the Coast Guard and offered reassurances.

  I was tired of the lies.

  The ocean was a killer—I’d learned that when I was three years old. My father was by all accounts a strong swimmer who’d spent many hours on the water. But even the most sea-savvy human couldn’t survive long in that environment. We were interlopers there. There was no need to fear imaginary monsters with tentacles, or oil-black creatures with razor teeth who munched on toddler legs. Stinging jellyfish were enough to take us down. Hypothermia and dehydration could sap our strength. Gravity could drag us into the depths.

  We were chimps. We had no business out on the water.

  “Would you please sit down?” Aunt Sel asked. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  I realized I’d been pacing. “I can’t sit down,” I said.

  “Hmm. We’ve got to get out of here. Time for dinner.” She used the monster phone to call Saleem.

  “I’m not going,” I told her. “They could call back any time.”

  “You’ve got to eat,” she said. She called a second number and asked for Chief Bode. “Chief, Selena Harrison. I was wondering if I could ask a favor.” She told him they’d be going out to dinner, and unfortunately her cell phone was getting no service. “If you receive any news, could you call us at the restaurant? It’s a place called—what’s the name—Sophie’s. Oh, of course you have. Really? You don’t say.”

  She hung up. “He says we’ve got to have the chowder.”

  It went against my instincts, but I let her put me in the taxi. Saleem drove us down a narrow, winding road that hugged the coast. The dark came down as we drove, and the ocean gleamed through the trees.

  After perhaps twenty minutes we stopped at a little gravel parking lot. Sophie’s turned out to be a long shack at the edge of the water.

  “I’ll come pick you up after you’re done,” Saleem said.

  “I told you, you’re on retainer. You can’t just leave us here. And I can’t let you sit in the car. We’re going to come out of there stuffed with food, and you’re going to give me that look.”

  “What look?” he asked.

  “Come on now,” she said. “Table for three.”

  “I’m not going to let you buy me dinner,” Saleem said.

  “What I’m buying is a relaxed ride home with a happy, contented driver. Harrison, explain to Saleem that he’s not going to win this.”

  “You’re not going to win this,” I said.

  “Listen to him; he’s a smart boy,” Aunt Sel said. “Tell you what—let’s pretend that we’ve argued for thirty minutes, and that you only gave in to get me to shut up.”

  “Oh, I’m already there,” Saleem said.

  “Perfect!”

  The inside of the restaurant was tiny but cheery. The tables were bare wood, no tablecloths, but Mason jar oil candles were set on every table. There were only eight other diners in the place, but they seemed to be in a good mood.

  An old white man in overalls brought us baskets of garlic bread dripping with oil and set them down without a word. He started to turn away, and Aunt Sel said, “Could I get some wine?”

  “No liquor license,” he said.

  “Oh sweetie,” she said, laughing. “If you don’t ask me about my age, I won’t ask about your license.”

  The man did not quite smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” A while later he came back with a big bottle in a kind of macramé holder and set out two juice glasses. Saleem waved it off, saying he didn’t drink.

  “More for me then,” Aunt Sel said, and filled her glass.

  “What’ll you have?” the old man said.

  “I don’t like fish,” I said.

  Aunt Sel and the old man stared at me.

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Sel said. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” She ordered three cups of chowder, then lobster for each of them.

  After he’d gone I said quietly, “Really, I don’t like fish.”

  “Lobster is not fish,” she said. “It’s life.”

  The only time I’d eaten lobster meat was by accident, when it turned out that the chunks of chicken in my salad weren’t. I couldn’t remember what it tasted like.

  The old man returned a few minutes later with the chowder. It was creamy and chunky, but the consistency reminded me too much of the stuff the lunch ladies were stirring in the school kitchen. I swallowed a few spoonfuls, then set my cup aside.

  “You used to love fish when you were little,” Aunt Sel said. “Your father would feed you sushi. You were both crazy for it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not my dad. You know Grandpa thought I was him when I called?”

  “Your voice is as deep as his now.”

  “But he’s dead. Grandpa was all mad at me for coming back to Massachusetts.”

  “Can you blame him?” Aunt Sel said. “It was a horrible trip. Why your mother would come back here after—ah! The guests of honor.”

  The old man came toward us, somehow managing to balance three huge platters on two arms. Each dish held a small wooden bowl of drawn butter, a dozen hushpuppies, and a red, armored creature who’d just crawled out of the Jurassic period. Evidently it was steamy back then.

  Aunt Sel and Saleem cracked open their victims and dug in. “Oh my God,” Aunt Sel said. “This is amazing.” She pointed a knife at me. “You will eat, Harrison.”

  “Seriously, dude,” Saleem said. “I mean—seriously.”

  My lobster’s claws were bound like a prisoner’s. A few minutes ago the big guy had been alive. Probably earlier today he’d been swimming in the water somewhere outside this restaurant. What crime had he committed, to be sentenced to death by boiling?

  Aunt Sel showed me how to crack open the shell. I poked the tiny lobster fork into the white meat and dipped it into the butter. It took only one bite to lose all sympathy for the prisoner. The meat seemed to melt on my tongue, and it tasted nothing at all like fish.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the lobster. “You’re guilty of deliciousness.”

  * * *

  Aunt Sel was feeling tipsy on the way home. I wasn’t sure how she was remaining conscious. She was not a big woman, and she’d drunk an entire bottle of wine on her own. We leaned against each other in the cab, and she kept talking about the amazing food.

  “So why was the trip horrible?” I asked her.

  “What trip, dear?”

  “The one my dad took. When was he here?”

  “The last time he was here, well, that was the last time he was anywhere, wasn’t he?”

  I moved so I could see her face. “My father died here? In Massachusetts?” I met him when he visited the area, Montooth had said.

  “Just miles from here,” she said. “Where did you think?”

  “I don’t know—California?” Mom and I didn’t talk about Dad’s death too much, but I’d grown up thinking he’d died in the Pacific, off of San Diego. Mom had never corrected that impression. “Are you sure he was here?”

  “Not just your father—you all were. Of course, you were too young to remember that shark attack, thank God.”

  From the front, Saleem said, “Shark attack?”

  “It’s bad form to listen to the passengers,” she said. Then: “Harrison lost his leg when he was three.”

  “I wasn’t attacked by a fish,” I said. I remembered tentacles. Tentacles and teeth. But that was a false memory. “A piece of metal from the ship’s bulkhead came down. Some part of the boat.”

  “Hmm,” Aunt Sel said. She gazed out the foggy passenger window.

  “Aunt Sel?”

  “Of course,” she said sleepily. “A metal … thing.”

  Her eyes closed, and that was the end of the conversation. I didn’t know what to think.
Had I really been attacked by a shark? And here, in Massachusetts?

  If that was true, Mom had been hiding the truth from me for my entire life. And not just when I was little. We’d been planning this trip east for months. And all that time we’d spent in the truck together on the long ride across the country, she still couldn’t mention, Hey, this is where it all happened.

  Yesterday morning she’d looked at me like she was going to tell me something. It was a mistake bringing you here. And she still hadn’t said a word.

  Saleem helped me guide Aunt Sel into the rental house. She poured out of our arms, into the bed. She pointed at me. “You probably have regular kid things to do before you go to sleep, yes? Brushing teeth and all that?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Then let’s pretend you’ve done all that. Now, pay the man.” She fell back, instantly unconscious.

  I rooted through her handbag until I found her wallet. There was only forty dollars in cash, but a dozen credit cards. I handed him the top one, a MasterCard.

  “Not that one,” Saleem said. “Try the green Visa.”

  “What’s wrong with this one?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “We had a little trouble with that one the other day. Same with the Diners Club.”

  Saleem took the Visa, went out to the car, and came back with a receipt. I signed it, even though I had no idea what Aunt Sel’s handwriting looked like. I locked the door behind him, then went to my bedroom. Once I was in bed, I suddenly wasn’t sleepy. Was Mom sleeping now? Was she dreaming of me?

  The window was directly across from my bed. Moonlight seeped between the green curtains, gauzy old-fashioned things that had come with the house. I was looking at a gap between the curtains when a shadow passed on the other side of the window.

  I didn’t move.

  A moment later came the creak of wood. The sound came from the back porch, just outside my window.

  I slipped out of bed. Fortunately, I’d kept my leg on.

  I crouched beneath the window, then slowly raised my head. I could see nothing through the curtains but a glow off to the right. The kitchen light I’d left on, illuminating the backyard.

  I couldn’t remember if I’d locked the back door.