by Luanne Rice
Cass didn’t say anything right away. She fiddled with the top button of her cotton nightgown. At night Cass wore fabrics that left little to Billy’s imagination, that clung to her body and left him crazy to see what was underneath.
“You signed the papers? It’s yours?” she asked.
“All mine,” Billy said.
“Wow,” she said.
A lifetime of knowing Cass warned Billy that this “wow” did not indicate excitement.
“Your own boat,” she said. “You could have let me in on it.”
He exhaled. “I knew you’d say that.”
“What am I supposed to say?” she asked, sparks crackling just under the cool surface.
Billy shook his head. He wasn’t going to write the script for her. He watched her remove her watch. She fidgeted with it for a minute, twisting the metal band, then flung it on the bedside table.
“You asshole,” she said.
“Hey!” Billy said.
“God, your timing is lousy, Billy.”
“That’s the point,” Billy said, trying to stay calm. “I couldn’t predict Josie was going to get hurt. You’ve had so much on your mind.”
“Too much to let me in on the boat?”
“I didn’t plan it this way.”
“It feels exactly as if you went out and bought a house without me,” Cass said, a trace of bewilderment in her voice. “We’ve been talking about your boat since we were kids.”
Billy felt like he’d been punched in the mouth, and deserved it. “This sounds lame, I know, but I thought I’d surprise you.”
“You’re right. It sounds lame.”
“You knew I was looking at George’s boat. You told me it was a chump Southern shrimper.”
“I would’ve changed my mind,” Cass said.
Billy knew that. He shrugged.
“I thought looking for a boat would be half the fun,” Cass said. “Maybe more fun, for me, than owning one. I’m not even sure this is a good time …”
“It’s the only time for George’s boat,” Billy said, riding over what she’d been about to say. “Look, some fisherman in Newport wants to go independent, and he made George an offer. George feels loyal to Mount Hope guys, so he gave me a chance to beat the offer.”
Cass’s expression said she didn’t want to believe him, but she knew Billy didn’t lie.
“He pulled that on you?” Cass asked.
“It’s legit,” Billy said. “There are lots of guys in Newport who want to go independent. Hell, there are plenty around here. Just look at John—he wants his own boat. We all do.”
“Still, George shouldn’t have played you against someone else. It’s not right.”
“He wanted his price, and he was tired of me stalling for time.”
“Why were you stalling?”
Billy couldn’t tell her that he had been ready to make this move for a long time but that, deep down, he’d figured Cass wouldn’t approve. She would listen to his late-night boat fantasies, and even encourage him. But buying his own boat meant that Billy would leave the Keating fishing fleet, and Cass would see that as disloyal. No matter what, Cass believed in keeping the family together.
“I didn’t think you’d like it,” Billy said after a long silence.
“Well, I have mixed feelings about you going solo,” she said. “It’s what I meant before when I said I’m not sure this is the best time.”
“You mean money?” Billy asked.
Cass flexed her shoulders. She reached behind her neck to rub a spot, but Billy took over. He worked the muscle steadily, waiting for her to answer. “The chair I sit in at the hospital,” she said. “It’s too high. I have to bend way down to talk to Josie.”
“Is it money?” Billy asked. “You think I won’t make a good enough living on my own?”
“Oh, Billy,” she said, sounding discouraged. “You’re the best there is. If there are fish, you’ll catch them. But when you add up insurance, dockage, fuel … you’ll have to spend more time out than you already do. You’ll never be home.”
“I’ve totaled it up. We can swing it.”
“Dad gets a pretty good group rate for health insurance. And it’s a good plan. Finding a company to cover Josie will be impossible.”
“Not impossible. Besides, you’re the Keating bookkeeper. You know I’ll be making a lot more when I sell the fish on my own.”
“Exactly, Billy. But you’ll be it. There won’t be anyone else to fall back on. If you come back dry one trip, what about the bills that month? I’m just part-time. I’ll help, but I can’t carry us.”
“We’ll manage. You know we will.”
“When did you make the deal?”
“The morning of the party.”
“Before Josie had her accident,” Cass said, sadly. “You could have told me before we left the house. You could have, but you didn’t want to.”
Now Billy saw how bad an idea it had been. How could he actually have planned to announce his big news at Nora’s party? Seeing the hurt in his wife’s eyes, he realized how she would have felt, hearing about the boat at the same time as the rest of her family.
“I have to get some sleep,” she said, then added pointedly, “I want to get to the hospital early. She’s having tests in the morning, and I should be with her.”
Billy wondered why Cass deliberately tried to make him feel guilty. Didn’t she know he loved Josie? He would give anything to call back the moment when he’d looked away.
But he and T.J. and Sean had been having a rare talk, and Billy hadn’t wanted it to end. It wasn’t the sort of heavy-duty conversation parents always think they should be having with their teenagers, about sex, drugs, drinking, and report cards. No, the night of Nora’s party, Billy, T.J., and Sean had been talking about cars. How T.J. wanted a Jeep when he got his license. How much fun it would be to drive through the dunes at Spray Cove.
Cass rolled over so that her back was to Billy. He wanted to touch her shoulder, run his hand down her silky side, make her want to twist around, kiss him goodnight. He stared at her shoulder, at the spot he wanted to touch, for a long time. After a while, he didn’t want to touch it anymore.
Tomorrow, on the noon tide, he’d take the Norboca out for a quick, seven-day trip. Before leaving, he’d give Jimmy notice. Jimmy wouldn’t be thrilled, but he wouldn’t hold Billy back; he had known that this day was coming. Fishing-fleet owners could bank on the fact that fishermen—even sons-in-law—would go solo the first chance they got.
Billy lay on his back, dreaming of his new boat. While he was gone, he would have the boatyard haul her, make her ready for winter. Billy would give them the paint he’d bought, the soft red color he’d chosen because it reminded him of his wife’s hair, and he’d have them paint his boat’s new name on the transom.
The next morning, Cass set out orange juice, boxes of cereal, and a half gallon of milk. Billy sat at the table, reading the paper. Belinda and T.J. wandered sleepily into the kitchen, said good morning, and ate their breakfast. Usually Billy joked with the kids, tried to pump them up for the school day. But today, angry at Cass, he didn’t speak. He stared at the local-news page, occasionally checking his watch. Belinda noticed.
“What time are you leaving, Daddy?” she asked.
“About noon,” he said.
Cass knew Billy liked to sail with the tide, as early as possible, so he would waste as little of the day as possible. She watched him, his shoulders tight, a tense frown on his lips, and she imagined him trapped at the breakfast table. Maybe he felt nervous about meeting her father. Or maybe he just wanted to escape the whole family.
“Have a good trip,” Belinda said, giving Billy a kiss before easing out the door.
“Yeah,” T.J. said, trudging after her.
When they had gone, Cass waited for Billy to start talking. He didn’t; she reached across the table and jostled the paper.
“What?” he asked, finally looking up.
“You sti
ll upset about last night?”
“Thinking about the trip.”
“Nervous about my father?”
“Not really.”
Cass knew they were just filling the air with words. “You’re mad at me,” she said.
“If you have something to say,” Billy replied, “you should say it.”
Cass fiddled with her coffee spoon. She knew she had something to say; she just didn’t know what it was.
“It’s just …” she began. “You’re about to leave for a week, and we’re both mad. As soon as you walk out that door, I’ll probably think of ten things to say to you.”
“They’ll still be there when I get back.”
Cass gave him a long stare, to see if he was teasing her. But there didn’t seem to be any humor in his expression. “Nothing ever changes?” she asked. “Is that it? Things are so difficult, so unpleasant?”
He shook his head. “Cass, don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then say something.”
“I love you. How’s that?”
Strange, but Cass already knew that Billy loved her, and his saying so only made her feel worse. Love wasn’t their problem; it never had been. But Cass wanted to ride through the hard times together, learning to tell each other everything.
“Look,” Billy said, rising, pulling her to her feet. “Don’t be mad at me. I don’t want to leave like that.”
“I know,” Cass said, shaking her head, trying to convince herself. “We can’t say goodbye mad.”
Billy began kissing her. He kissed her eyebrows, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her lips. Her eyes closed, Cass let her fingers trace his hair curling at the nape of his neck. They stood there for a long time. Then it was time for Billy to go.
“Better?” he asked.
Cass nodded, smiling.
“Kiss Josie for me.” He exhaled, gave an oddly violent shake of his head. “I want to be here when you bring her home.”
Cass touched his hand to comfort him, knowing he meant it. Sometimes she envied him, being able to leave. But right now he seemed to wish just as passionately that he could stay.
Then Billy gathered his things, slipped on his jacket, and kissed her again. Cass stood at the back door, waving as he backed his truck out of the driveway. She watched him drive down the street. Whether he wanted to or not, he drove away. And by the time he turned the corner, the anger his kisses had soothed out of her had started to smolder again, and then burn.
As soon as T.J. came home from school, he went straight upstairs. He lay on his bed, waiting for the house to clear out. These family visits to the hospital reminded him of when he was little, back when everyone would go to church on Sunday. His mother would wake up Belinda and him, help them pick out their clothes, make sure their shoes were shined. If his father wasn’t out fishing, he’d warm up the car. No matter how early they got up, they always left the house with just enough time to spare. That made going to church a race, kind of exciting.
At the doors to the church, T.J. always felt nervous. Maybe because the doors were so big, or because they were almost late, or maybe because the smell of incense was leaking out, and incense smelled so mysterious. That was before Josie got sick. At first, only their mother had stopped going to church—because, she said, Josie was too much of a handful during Mass. But gradually the rest of them had stopped, too.
“T.J., hurry up,” his mother called. “We’re leaving for the hospital.” The hospital: like church, another family outing from which they’d all return better people.
“I’m not going,” he said. He heard her footsteps coming down the hall. She stood in the doorway of his room with a look that said he’d better have a good reason. Maybe he should tell her he wanted to play darts.
“You haven’t once come to visit Josie,” his mom said.
“She’ll be home soon, won’t she? What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that she’s alone and scared in the hospital, and seeing us makes her feel better.”
“You go every day.”
“And so does Belinda, and so did your dad until he had to leave. Now get ready.”
“I’m not going. I’m studying with someone.”
“You just got home from school. Take a break and study later.”
“I already made plans.”
“Josie’s worried about you. She can’t understand why you haven’t visited her.”
“And of course that’s more important than me!” The words spewed out before T.J. could stop them. “I just have to study, that’s all.”
His mother gave him a long, cool stare. He knew she could get very intense in these situations. He could see she realized that a split-second decision was called for, and she was weighing all the factors. This could go either way. She might yank him by the hair and scream at him to get moving; even though she had never before yanked him by the hair, T.J.’s guilty conscience could picture her doing it now. On the other hand, she might believe his study story, kiss him goodbye, and leave. Or she might not believe him, kiss him goodbye, and leave anyway.
“What subject?” she asked.
“History.”
She nodded hard, so her chin just about bumped her chest. T.J. could tell that she didn’t buy it, but she’d decided not to argue. “Okay, then,” she said. “Anything you want me to tell your sister?”
“Nothing special. Just ‘hi.’”
His mother kissed him and left. The funny thing was, T.J. sort of wished she had yanked him by the hair. The second he heard her and Belinda leave the house and start up the Volvo, T.J. grabbed the spare truck keys and headed out.
The October air felt chilly. He rode his bike into the wind, weaving down the long hill toward the wharf. He sped through red lights, bounced over cobbles, dodged slow-moving tourists. You needed a mountain bike in Mount Hope just to avoid hazardous old people. Pedaling onto Keating’s Wharf, he tried to act nonchalant. He parked his bike beside a few others locked to the chainlink fence.
His father had left just yesterday morning, which meant he would be gone for a week. There was the truck, parked in a lot his grandfather reserved for fishermen. T.J. glanced around; you didn’t really have a clear view of this spot from either Lobsterville or the warehouse, but you never knew who might be on the prowl. He wished his father hadn’t parked right here in the middle of the lot, but what was T.J. going to do? Ask his father to leave the truck in a nice dark alley so T.J. could steal it easier?
The engine fired up. His heart pounding, T.J. hunched low in the seat, so no one would see him. He stepped on the brake, the clutch, the gas, getting a feel for the pedals. Without moving, he shifted through all the gears. Then he backed out of the parking spot, shifted into first, and pulled carefully into the traffic cruising down Memorial Highway.
T.J. had known how to drive for two years. His mother had taught him one summer afternoon when he was thirteen. She’d let him drive up and down a dead-end street in the industrial park for an hour. “This’ll be our secret,” she’d said, letting him know he shouldn’t tell Belinda or his father. T.J. had kept his word; he had already promised his father he wouldn’t tell anyone he’d taught T.J. to drive two months earlier.
Until now, he’d never driven without one of his parents in the front seat. He hadn’t even planned to take the truck until last night. He’d been lying awake, thinking about stuff, when suddenly the idea hit him: the truck’s just sitting there, no one will ever know. And once the idea took hold, he couldn’t shake it. The details just burned in his mind: wait till they leave for the hospital, get the keys, ride your bike down to the wharf, get in the truck, and take off.
He wanted to take off from Belinda, dressed for the hospital in her church clothes. It bugged the shit out of him that she was visiting Josie every day. Like she even cared. She probably had a crush on some young doctor; she was probably just hanging around Josie’s room hoping Dr. Wonderful would drop by. When Belinda came home, she’d talk on and on about how tiny
Josie looked in her hospital bed, how brave she was, and Belinda would have a worried, reverent look in her eyes, like she considered Josie a saint.
But what really got T.J. was seeing his mother so freaked out. His aunts didn’t even want her driving to the hospital alone, that’s how upset she was. Now that his dad was away, Aunt Bonnie took her in the mornings and Aunt Nora at night, but his mother insisted on driving in the afternoon, because she thought it was important “the other kids”—meaning Belinda and him—see their little sister.
T.J. had heard all this last night, when Aunt Nora came for a cup of tea. His mother had thought he and Belinda were asleep, but she kept her voice low, anyway. Then he heard Aunt Nora say, “That’s okay, let it out,” and his mother said in an icy voice, “Sometimes I hate it so much, I want to leave. Just leave.”
After that, only Aunt Nora talked, and T.J. figured his mom was crying. From then on T.J. kept thinking about the plates crashing on Josie, how it was his fault she’d almost died. That was when he decided to take a long ride.
So it actually amazed him when he found himself driving past the Slow—Hospital Zone signs. He drove once around the zone’s outer block, then slowly past the hospital itself. There was his mother’s car, parked on the street. He searched the hospital windows, hundreds of them, as if he might actually see Josie, and he nearly ran a stop sign.
“Whoa!” he said out loud, coming to a complete stop. Then he peeled out the way his father used to, laying rubber like Mario Andretti. His father never drove wild with T.J. anymore, and he talked about “responsible driving”—probably because T.J. would be getting his license next year, driving for real, and his father wanted to set the right kind of example. T.J. thought it would be neat if Josie had been looking out the window at the exact moment of his burnout, but that would mean that his mom was looking, too.
Since he was in the neighborhood, he cruised down Marcellus Boulevard. He could hardly believe people lived in these mansions. They were castle-sized, with stone towers, statues in the yard, and turnaround driveways. Some of them were open to the public, like museums. T.J. was looking around, wondering which one Alison lived in, when he saw her riding her bike. He did a wicked U-turn.