Fire Point

by John Smolens

  Almost every day after work he’d go down to the harbor and row out through the jetties and into the open lake. He didn’t even pretend to fish; he’d just row and often drift. Sometimes he’d bring a few beers and sandwiches, which he’d take ashore on some uninhabited stretch of beach.

  One hot night while rowing across Petit Marais, he slipped over the stern of the boat and found the cold water a relief. He swam alongside the skiff, or just floated, keeping one hand on the gunwale. After a while, he noticed something in the water, bobbing about fifteen yards from the boat. The water was calm and there was no wind. He swam toward the object. When he was halfway to it, he looked back and saw that the boat was standing broadside to him, and he continued on with an easy sidestroke. The object turned out to be a faded beach ball.

  When he turned around the skiff was farther away than he expected. Now he realized that suddenly, just as the sun was setting, a breeze had begun to ruffle the water. He swam toward the boat, but he didn’t seem to make any progress and he soon had to admit that the skiff was getting farther away. He looked around and figured that he was at least a half-mile from any part of the shore. He kept swimming toward the boat, trying to maintain a steady pace that wouldn’t tire him out.

  Shortly after the sun set, Pearly could barely see the boat, which he figured was at least seventy yards away. And he was getting tired. His arms and legs were so heavy, he had to stop and just float. Eventually, he was floating more than he was swimming, and then he lost sight of the boat in the darkness. He was very cold. He concentrated on moving his arms and legs, keeping his mouth above water.

  PEARLY AND HANNAH called for an ambulance, which they followed to the hospital in Marquette, where they spent hours in the emergency waiting room. Hannah’s mother met them there sometime around two A.M. and talked with the doctors. Martin’s skull had suffered severe trauma. They had managed to stop the blood loss.

  At dawn Hannah’s mother sat in the waiting room and told her daughter there was no point in staying there any longer. She had to go on duty at seven and she would check on Martin’s progress. Eventually Hannah agreed to go home and Pearly drove her back to Whitefish Harbor. They were both exhausted. When they reached Martin’s house, they could see in the early-morning light a congealed pool of blood on the driveway. Hannah asked Pearly to stay. She gave him a blanket and pillow, then went into the bedroom and shut the door. He got on the couch and before he could untie his boot laces fell asleep.

  LATE MORNING PEARLY was awakened by voices. He got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, where Hannah was talking to Buzz Gagnon and Frank Colby.

  “Isn’t this convenient,” Buzz said pleasantly. “We went by your place looking for you.” He was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded over his perfectly round, smooth belly. He was in uniform; Colby was not.

  “There any change in Martin’s condition?” Pearly asked Gagnon.

  “Not the last time I heard.”

  Hannah, who was in sweatpants and a T-shirt, said, “I’m going to go change.”

  Gagnon and Colby seemed relieved to see Pearly, as though his presence had confirmed a suspicion they both held. They stared at him as they listened to Hannah walk through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom, where she closed the door. The furniture was still crowded in the middle of the kitchen and much of it was covered by a drop cloth. Gracie was perched on the table, casually licking her paws. Buzz studied this arrangement as though it were modern art and he couldn’t make up his mind what it meant.

  “Why don’t you tell us your version?” Colby said. He was wearing a god-awful Hawaiian shirt, complete with palm trees and sunsets. It was his way of saying, Look, I’m off-duty, I’m relaxed—which, of course, wasn’t the case at all.

  “My version?” Pearly said. “How many versions are there?”

  “Right now we’re only interested in hearing yours,” Colby said.

  Buzz had found a green apple on the kitchen counter. For a moment there was a look of doubt in his eyes, then he gave in and took a bite.

  “My version is that Hannah called me last night and said that Martin had gone to Superior Gas and Lube to find Sean. She was upset and she was afraid of what was going to happen. I went by the garage and Arnie told me Sean had just left. I drove all the way around Shore Road looking for them—”

  “Who?” Colby asked.

  “Sean and Martin,” Pearly said. “In Sean’s truck.”

  Colby started to speak, but Buzz asked, “You find them?”

  “No.”

  “You see Martin in Sean’s truck?” Colby said.

  “No.”

  “So,” Buzz said, “you took this drive around. What exactly did you see?”

  “Nothing, until I got back here,” Pearly said, “and I found Martin in the driveway.”

  Buzz took another bite out of the apple. While he chewed, his eyes had the innocence of a child. Pearly could have been telling him a scary bedtime story.

  “What about Sean?” Pearly asked. “You get his version yet?”

  “Sean?” Colby said. “It hadn’t occurred to us.”

  “Well, you should, and talk to Arnie, too,” Pearly said.

  “Look, Pearly,” Buzz said. He stopped because they heard the bedroom door open. Hannah came back to the kitchen, wearing jeans and a man’s white dress shirt with a frayed collar, which she often wore when she was working out in the yard. When Pearly looked back at Buzz, he realized that the police chief had put the half-eaten apple on the counter behind him. “The only version we have,” Buzz said, “is that you knocked on the door here last night and Hannah went out and found Martin bleeding all over the driveway.” He turned to Hannah. “You called Pearly earlier?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You didn’t mention that to us before,” Colby said.

  She wouldn’t look at Colby, who was standing by the screen door, but said, “You didn’t ask. You only asked how I found Martin in the driveway.”

  “Why did you call Pearly?” Buzz asked. He still had one hand behind him as he leaned against the counter. He was dying to get at the rest of that apple, but embarrassed to let Hannah know that he’d taken it without asking permission.

  “Why?” she said. Her voice was high, nervous.

  “She called me,” Pearly said, “because she was worried about what might happen between Martin and Sean.” Colby’s expression didn’t change. “There’s been some bad blood between them,” Pearly said. Hannah seemed on the verge of tears. “Since he’s been back from the army,” Pearly added, “he’s been giving them a lot of trouble. You didn’t know that?”

  Colby seemed ready to come across the kitchen at him, and, sensing that, Buzz stepped in between them. “What’re you talking about, Pearly?” Buzz asked.

  “Frank doesn’t know what his kid’s been up to—not a clue.”

  Quickly, Colby stepped away from the screen door.

  “Frank,” Buzz said. He seldom inspired confidence, not to mention fear, in anyone, but now the tone of his voice managed to stop Colby. “Whyn’t you go on and wait out by the car now. I’ll be right along.”

  Colby hesitated but then pushed open the screen door and left the house.

  Buzz went back to the counter and picked up the apple. His ability to control his partner seemed to have helped him overcome his own embarrassment about eating the apple. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said to Hannah. She shook her head as she stroked Gracie’s head. He took the last bite of the apple and, chewing, said, “Frank’s got a lot on his mind right now.” It wasn’t an apology but merely an observation. “Well,” he said finally, “I must say this has been interesting, and that was one delicious Granny Smith.” He began to put the core by the sink but then looked apologetically at Hannah, who shrugged. The police chief put the apple on the counter and went out the screen door.

  HANNAH MADE SOME COFFEE, then they went looking for Martin’s car. In the village they saw mostly tourists.
When they reached Superior Gas & Lube, Sean was out back washing his pickup truck.

  “What do you think?” Pearly asked Hannah. “I want to talk to him, but . . .”

  “Pull in,” she said.

  He turned into the gas station and parked in the side lot near a row of used vehicles for sale. “You sure about this?”

  “I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

  They got out and walked over to Sean, who was wearing a pair of baggy red trunks and wraparound sunglasses. He had a garden hose in one hand, a beer in the other, and he was as wet as his truck. “Gonna rain, guaranteed.” He smiled as he tipped the beer bottle to his mouth.

  “What happened last night?” Pearly said.

  Sean hosed the front grill of the truck. “Last night?”

  “Between you and Martin,” Hannah said impatiently.

  Sean shut the water off with the hand nozzle and turned his head until his sunglasses were aimed at her. “What?”

  “Oh, Christ,” she said. “Don’t pull this—”

  “Sean,” Pearly said, “Martin came here last night to see you.”

  “He did? What he want?”

  Hannah folded her arms.

  “I followed you when you left,” Pearly said.

  “You did?”

  “You drove all the way around Shore Road.”

  “Sounds like it’s you who’s got a problem, following people.”

  “You had Martin with you—”

  “Who says? You, Pearly?” He waited. “You didn’t see anything.”

  Hannah walked a small circle, trying to contain herself.

  Sean pulled the nozzle trigger and sprayed the truck, then shut off the water.

  Hannah started to walk toward him, but Pearly grabbed her by the elbow. “Wait in my truck,” he said.

  She shook her arm free. “This is— Sean, this is— You can’t—”

  “Hannah,” Pearly said. He walked after her. “Please.”

  She stopped. They were all standing close together, their feet in the large pool of water that radiated out from under the truck. “And that girl in the newspaper . . .” But she didn’t continue. She went back to Pearly’s truck, got in, and slammed the door shut.

  Sean took his sunglasses off and slid them on top of his shaved head. “Don’t you love it when they get rattled?”

  Pearly took a step closer to him. “In case you’re wondering, you put Martin in the hospital and he’s not in good shape at all.”

  “I’d say it looks pretty convenient for you, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The guy’s in the hospital? Pearly, I never thought of you as an opportunist. And you’re what—at least twice her age? But that can work. I understand that can sometimes be a real turn-on.”

  Pearly made a fist and was about to take a swing at him, when Sean’s expression changed and he stepped away. It was as though a kid had been caught tormenting a cat.

  Pearly turned and saw that Frank Colby had pulled his van into the lot. He got out quickly and walked over to them.

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s all right.” Sean put on his sunglasses again, but didn’t have a cocky grin now. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

  “You know why your father’s here, Sean?” Pearly said. “He’s going to ask you the same question we just did.” Then he turned to Frank Colby. “Maybe you can get a straight answer out of him.” He began to walk back to his truck.

  “Don’t you go anywhere yet,” Frank Colby said.

  “Fine. I’ll be right over here.” Pearly got in his truck.

  Hannah stared straight out the windshield; her hands were in her lap, shaking. She whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, well.” And he left it at that.

  They watched father and son talk for several minutes. Body language can be everything, and in this case Sean was getting the third degree. For a moment Pearly thought that Frank was going to take a poke at his son. He leaned forward and into Sean, who was a couple of inches taller, but they had the same bulkiness. Frank was still wearing the Hawaiian shirt, and with their sunglasses they looked like a couple of aliens—a mutant tourist and his frat-boy son from the dark side. Several times Sean shook his head, until finally his father strode away in disgust.

  Frank approached the Datsun, laid one arm on the cab roof, and leaned down to Pearly’s open window. “You have a problem with my son, you come to me, understand?”

  “You ask him where he was last night?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Pearly said. The muscles around Frank’s mouth were bunching up, and for a moment it looked as if he was about to spit. “You can tell when your kid’s lying, can’t you?” For just a moment Frank’s face revealed doubt. “Start with something simple, like ‘Why are you washing your truck?’ ”

  Frank tilted his head so he could look past Pearly at Hannah, and then he stepped back from the truck.

  FOR YEARS PEARLY believed that he didn’t drown that summer night out in the lake simply because his father had—that knowledge had kept his weary limbs moving just enough to stay afloat. For the longest time he could only see lights along the shore, but then he thought he saw something, a dark, angular form on the water. It came and went, but finally he was sure: It was the skiff. He realized that the wind had shifted, and that slowly they were now being drawn back toward land. The boat, more buoyant and graceful, was moving faster, and if he could just tread water a bit longer, it would catch up to him. Occasionally, he tried a feeble breaststroke toward the skiff. When the boat finally reached him, he managed to haul himself up over the transom.

  19

  TO SEAN, it was simple: Martin couldn’t follow through.

  Martin had shown up in a tight rage and doused Sean with gasoline. Obediently, Sean drove them down along the shore. Though Martin still held the Bic lighter close to his face, during that drive Sean came to realize he wouldn’t use it.

  When Sean asked where they were going, Martin seemed undecided. He said to just drive. Eventually, without being told, Sean pulled into an empty turnout overlooking Petit Marais.

  “What’re you doing?” Martin said.

  “If you were going to burn me,” Sean said as he opened his door, “I’d be a potato chip by now.” He climbed out of his truck and went to the edge of the bluff. After a moment, Martin got out, too. He walked around to the front of the truck. When Sean turned Martin punched him in the stomach. It knocked Sean to the ground. He stayed there. Martin didn’t even have it in him to kick Sean.

  “You’ll always know,” Sean said, gasping for breath.

  “Know what?”

  “Who got there first. I’ll always be there—in that fucking house.” Sean managed to get to one knee, both hands still on the ground. “You’ll never be alone.” He stood up, and with the rock he’d felt under his hand on the ground he took a full swing at Martin. “Never!”

  The first blow struck the left side of Martin’s head. He staggered and then went down on all fours. Sean stood over him and beat him on the back of the head with the rock, which was about the size of a softball. It made a dull knocking sound against Martin’s skull. He didn’t stop even after Martin was motionless in the dirt. Sean’s arm simply got tired and he quit. He hurled the rock out into the water, then went back and got into his truck. For several minutes he just sat there, the key in the ignition. He could leave Martin where he was, or he could roll him over the bluff and down to the beach. But instead he got out again, dragged Martin by the feet around to the back of the truck, and lifted him up into the bed. This was the hardest part. Martin was limp weight, and getting him into the truck was difficult, particularly because Sean’s stomach muscles were sore from the punch he took. But he got him in, shut the tailgate, and went back for the gas can, which was lying on its side. It was empty. Sean got in the truck and continued along Shore Road. When he reached Martin’s house, he backed the truck in and quickly rolled M
artin out into the driveway.

  As he pulled out into Shore Road and turned north toward the village, Sean was certain Martin was dead. He was only sorry that he couldn’t be there when Hannah came out—first thing in the morning, he imagined—and found the body in the driveway. Sean’s stomach was killing him, but driving through the empty village, he turned on the radio and sang along with the Led Zeppelin song “Stairway to Heaven.”

  WHEN HANNAH AND PEARLY got back to Martin’s house, she spoke for a long time on the phone with her mother. Martin’s condition hadn’t changed. During the conversation, Hannah’s face settled into an expression that is reserved for the besieged and weary. It was as though all her facial muscles had ceased to function; her lips barely moved when she spoke, and her gaze held that vague middle distance for long periods of time.

  After she hung up she said she needed to sleep and picked up Gracie and went to the bedroom. Pearly stood in the kitchen for a while, considering what to do. To go back to his house seemed pointless, but then to remain there at Martin’s house felt awkward, even intrusive. What was his role here? Moral support, guard dog, or both? Then he thought about the work Martin and he had left unfinished upstairs merely a day earlier. They had been re-hanging raised panel doors. He went up to the third floor and got busy. It felt good to run his block plane along the edge of a door, thin curls of wood piling up on the back of his hands.

  Mid-afternoon Pearly heard a car pull into the driveway. He went to the window and looked down and watched Buzz Gagnon getting out of his cruiser. He was alone this time. Seeing Pearly, he said, “You don’t expect me to climb all those stairs, do you?”

  “Be right down.”

  They met on the front stoop, which was in the afternoon shade. Buzz stood with his hands on his hips. “We found the Mercedes.”