As soon as he spoke that name, Julia froze.
“You don’t have to tell me ’cause I know.”
“Know what?”
“That you been screwing him.”
Again, Julia couldn’t speak. The directness of his statement stunned her. Her eyes stung as tears gathered, distorting her vision. The night swirled around her.
Ben turned and placed both of his hands on her bare arms above the elbows. His touch wasn’t so reassuring any more. He squeezed her upper arms, and the tips of his fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to make her wince.
“Stop that,” she said.
Ben eased up the pressure but didn’t let go of her.
“I been wonderin’ if you were gonna ’fess up,” he said, “or if you weren’t gonna tell me ’n just hope I’d never find out ’bout it.”
“How did you …? Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
Ben threw his head back and almost lost balance again. He had to let go of her as he wind-milled his arms to keep his balance. His eyes were glazed in the glow of the starlight overhead.
“A town like this? You have to remember there ain’t many secrets. None, in fact. Everybody … everybody makes everyone else’s business their business.”
“You’re all Cove-ah’s, huh?” Her neck got heated as she flushed with embarrassment. A tiny voice in the back of her mind was telling her that no one — not even Ben — was ever going to accept her.
“You bet’chur sweet ass we’re all Cove-ahs.”
He grabbed her arms again, but it was more to help him maintain his balance than anything else.
“You can’t get away with doin’ shit like that.” Ben said. “You were — Maybe you still are sleeping with my sister’s husband. You know he’s married, right? ’Least he was.”
Julia winced at the accusation. For an instant, she considered denying it, saying Tom had never confessed that he was married; but then, ever so slowly, she nodded and said, “Yeah. I knew.”
“And you — what? You didn’t care? You didn’t give a sweet shit how my sister feels when … not if …” He let go of her with one hand and poked her in the chest with the tip of his forefinger. “… when she found out about it … You never even gave it a second thought, did you?”
Julia twisted to one side and broke his hold on her. In a sudden rush of anger, she almost slapped him across the face but checked herself.
Okay … That’s it … I blew it … It’s over even before it started.
Tears filled her eyes. Ben was standing so close to her she could see the harbor lights reflected in his eyes. His breath reeked of beer, but as much as she wanted to convince herself he — like every other man in this Godforsaken town — was a good for nothing drunk with PTSD to boot.
But Ben was different.
“I didn’t know,” she said, fighting back tears. “I mean, I knew he was married, but I never … I —” She paused and took a gulp of air through her mouth. It burned in her throat like she’d swallowed a flame. “I was so lonely, and I didn’t know you then. You were still overseas.”
“And that makes a difference, how?”
“I guess not, but if I had met you first, I would never have done it. I never meant to hurt anyone.” She hoped her pleading would get through to him, but he seemed to be oblivious to what she was saying. He gazed at her with un-focused eyes and a thin, cruel smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, “but no one … no one hurts my family and gets away with it.” He hawked up some mucous and spat into the dirt at his feet.
Julia fought the impulse to hug him, to hold him close and beg him to believe that she was sorry, that she loved him and wished with all her heart she could take it all back, but her pride was too strong. Leaning away from him, she crossed her arms over her breasts and regarded him with a cold, steady stare as she shook her head.
“I was an idiot,” she said, her voice mixed equally with sadness and disgust. “A complete idiot even to think I could … could —”
But she let it drop, unable to finish.
What was the point?
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because Ben turned his back on her and started walking away. She stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him stagger down the path toward the road. The light from the row of streetlights alternately lit and shaded him until he rounded the corner and was out of sight.
Julia wiped the tears from her eyes with the flat of her hands. Her heart felt like a cold stone suspended in her chest. Once Ben was gone, and the only sound in the night was the waves on the shore, she started walking back to where she had left her car. Even the dog had stopped barking.
It was a little past midnight. Tom was upstairs, undressing for bed when heavy knocking sounded on the front door.
Louise had tucked in earlier, before Tom got home, but she had awakened when her husband trudged up the stairs, his boots clumping on every step hard enough to drive in any loose nails. She feigned sleep under the blankets, not wanting to give Tom any reason to pick a fight with her. She wasn’t convinced that Ben’s threat to charge Tom with domestic violence would be enough to stop him … not if he got into “a mood.”
“What the fuck is that?” Tom shouted.
“Someone’s at the door.”
Louise’s voice was thick with sleep and muffled by the blankets she had pulled up over her face to shield herself from the bedroom light.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Wearing his white-strap t-shirt and boxer shorts, Tom left the bedroom and went downstairs as more heavy knocking sounded on the front door. He flipped on the light in the foyer. Curious, Louise got out of bed and came to the head of the stairs and looked down to see what was going on.
Tom eased the curtain away from the sidelight next to the door and looked outside. When he saw who it was, he froze for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head before he threw the switch for the porch light. A bright wash of yellow light flooded through the window.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he drew away from the door.
“Who is it?”
He turned and shot an angry glance up the stairs at her; then he rubbed his face with the flats of his hands as though splashing his face with water.
“It’s your goddamned brother,” Tom said, but the last word was lost beneath the rapid banging on the door.
“My what?”
“Your brother … Ben.”
“What the hell is he …?”
Louise started down the stairs but stopped halfway, her hand gripping the rail as she watched Tom undo the lock and throw the door open wide. Ben was obviously drunk and, barely able to stand, was leaning against one of the porch support posts.
“Come outside, you fuckin’ useless piece of shit,” Ben said, slurring each word so he was barely intelligible.
“Ben, my man, you are trashed.” Tom kept his voice low and mild, but Louise knew by his stance that he was ready for Ben to do something stupid.
“I want you out on the lawn … right now … ’n face me like a man … one on one … mano a mano.”
Tom leaned casually against the edge of the open door, ready to slam the door shut in Ben’s face if he had to. He shook his head and said, “It’s late, Ben, ’n you obviously have had a bit too much to drink —”
“Don’t think I dunno it was you.” Ben belched and then spat against the side of the house, missing Tom in the doorway by a few inches.
“Go home, Ben. Sleep it off,” Tom said.
“You comin’ out or not? You gonna face me like a man, or are you gonna act the little chicken shit pussy I know you are?”
Tom raised his hand and then pointed his forefinger at Ben.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said mildly, as if he was lecturing a child. “You don’t want any trouble, either.”
Louise had the distinct impression he would have punched her brother square in the face if she hadn’t been standing there.
“Yeah, Ben. It’s me.”
She came down a few more steps but didn’t go to the door to meet him. Tom blocked her, and she didn’t want to do anything to piss him off.
“You aw’right in there?”
“Of course I’m all right,” Louise said.
She frowned, thinking this wasn’t at all like Ben. He could party with the best of them, but he rarely if ever got falling-down drunk and belligerent like this. She cast a fearful glance at Tom, wondering what he was going to do.
“I think the best thing for you right now would be if you went home,” Louise said. “Do you need a ride?”
“I gotta score to settle with your husband, first,” Ben said. He was about to say more, but he belched again, wrinkling his nose at the taste that flooded his mouth. Without warning, he spun around and vomited into the garden beside the steps. Tom didn’t move to help him.
“We don’t have a score to settle,” Tom said once Ben was through being sick after several wrenching heaves. “You got something to say to me, wait until —”
“No! Fuck you, and fuck waiting! I want you … out here … on the lawn … right now so’s we can’t settle this once ’n for all. If you don’t, I swear to Christ I’m comin’ in.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Tom said, “’specially drunk on your ass.”
“You think I’m scared a’ you? You think I won’t pound the living piss out of you for what you did?”
“What, exactly, do you think I did?”
“You know damned right well.”
Tom leaned forward and lowered his voice so Louise was barely able to hear what he said.
“If this is about that deal I was talking to you about … Forget it. Just keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“What deal? I’m talkin’ about my tires. Out at Sand Beach. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Tom said, sounding genuinely dismayed.
Louise had been at the family house when Ben called for road service, so she knew exactly what he was talking about. She wasn’t sure what this had to do with her husband, but now was not the time to ask questions.
“You think I wouldn’t find out? … You think I wouldn’t know?”
Tom sighed and shook his head as though deeply saddened to see Ben in such a condition.
“I haven’t got the faintest clue what you’re talking about, but if you don’t get off my porch right now, I swear to God I’ll fuckin’ —”
“What? You’ll fuckin’ what?” Ben’s voice echoed from the surrounding night. “You’ll arrest me? Or beat the shit out of me?” He snorted. “Go ahead! Try!
When Tom didn’t move or speak, Ben started to laugh, but the tone was so hollow and sinister it frightened Louise.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’re fucking chicken shit pussy. You hide behind your badge because you can’t act like a real man.”
”And you do?”
“Fuckin’-a, I do.”
Ben lurched to one side and had to struggle to stay on his feet.
“You mean like right now?” Tom said, his voice thick with disgust. “This is what you call being a man?”
“You ain’t nothing but a coward … a cheating, lying piece of shit!”
Suddenly energized, Ben clenched his right hand into a fist, cocked back his arm, and threw a wild, arcing punch at Tom. Before it landed, Tom stepped back and half-closed the front door. Ben’s knuckles raked across the wooden surface, leaving behind a long, thin streak of blood on the white wood.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted as he bent over and shook his skinned knuckles. Beads of blood welled up like little rubies where the skin had peeled away.
Tom opened the door wide again and, without a word, surged out onto the porch. Without any warning, he landed a hard jab to Ben’s stomach.
The air whooshed out of him like a broken accordion. Ben staggered backwards. He stepped down, jolting when he hit the ground as if he had miscounted the number of steps. He staggered like a marionette, his body jerking and twisting awkwardly in space. Then he went down hard, landing flat on his back on the grass with his arms splayed out on either side of him. His eyes looked dim as he stared up at the stars as though trying to figure out exactly what they were.
“Jesus Christ, Tom!” Louise rushed down the stairs and outside and knelt beside her brother. “You didn’t have to sucker punch him like that.”
“He threw the first one,” Tom said, eyeing her with a cold, steady detachment that told her he knew he had never been in any real danger. “You heard him. He threatened me.”
“What was he talking about — that deal? What deal?”
Tom bit down on his lower lip and shook his head but didn’t answer her. Louise eyed him, her body trembling with repressed rage. She immediately suspected this had something to do with the suitcase of coke she’d found, but she wasn’t going to push it now.
Ben needed help.
“He’s drunk, for Christ’s sake,” she said, staring down at her brother. His eyes were closed now. He was out cold. His breath came in short, watery gasps that sounded like he was drowning. “I have to get him home.” She glanced at Tom, who hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Can you please give me a hand?”
Tom snorted and waved his hand at her as if he was shooing a bothersome fly.
“Leave him where he is. He won’t even remember how he got here when he comes to.”
“I can’t leave him outside all night,” Louise said.
“Probably not the first time … or last.”
She stared at him for a moment, but when Tom made no move to assist her, she pushed past him and went into the kitchen where she grabbed her car keys and purse. She threw on a long overcoat over her pajamas and then, still barefoot, went back to Ben, who was still unconscious on the front lawn. Sliding her arm under his head, she raised him a little. His breathing altered, getting deeper and less raspy. His head lolled from side to side, and his eyes flickered open a little when she slapped him lightly on the cheeks.
Still standing in the doorway, Tom folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her.
“For God’s sake, Tom. At least get me a cold washcloth or something.”
“I’m telling yah, Lou. Leave him be. He’ll sober up fast once the morning sun hits him.”
Screw you, she thought but didn’t dare say. If Tom got pissed now, she might end up unconscious on the lawn, too.
Her knees were damp from kneeling on the lawn, but she kept trying to bring Ben around. After a short while, Tom muttered something under his breath that she didn’t hear and then went back into the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
Louise glared at the closed door, wanting to scream out loud how much she hated Tom, but she stuffed her emotions down and turned her attention to Ben.
After another five or ten minutes, he started coming around. Lying on his back and groaning, he kept rolling his head from side to side. The bones in his neck popped like someone cracking their knuckles. When he exhaled, his breath reeked of sour beer.
“Hey … hey there,” Louise said as she ran her fingertips across his brow and down the sides of his face. Ben started groaning softly, but he didn’t say anything that made much sense. Once his eyes opened to narrow slits, he looked at her and smiled tightly. When he tried to speak, the only sound he could make was a wet smacking of his lips.
“Come on, Big Ben,” Louise whispered as she shifted around and slid her hand around his back and under his armpit. “You gotta get on your feet.”
“What the — Where am I?” His voice sounded like his mouth was full of gravel.
“Let’s see if we can get you down to my car. I’ll take you home.”
“Good question,” Louise said.
Having grown up with Capt’n Wally for a dad, Louise was used to dealing with people in this condition, but it pained her to see her brother like this. Of everyone she knew, he was the least likely to tie one on and end up having a blackout. She wondered if he was doing crap like this because of his time in Iraq.
Without saying a word, Louise struggled to get him to his feet, cursing Tom under her breath for not helping, and then started walking him toward the driveway where her car was parked next to Tom’s. He leaned heavily on her shoulder, like she was a crutch.
Ben was still unsteady on his feet. Even the slightest change in elevation made him stumble and cling to her for support. Once she got him into the car, draped like an old suit across the front seat, she got in, started it up, and drove away casting a quick backward glance at the house before it receded from sight.
They drove in silence, but long before she pulled into her father’s driveway, she had decided that this was it.
She wasn’t going back home to Tom.
Nobody treats my family like that and gets away with it, she thought … a Cove-ah through and through.
The pain behind Ben’s eyes was much worse than the hangover he’d had the day before. This one radiated out like an exploding star, sending shockwaves through his head every time he moved. Lying in bed, squinting at the sun-lit window, he tried to piece together what had happened last night. Not much of it came to him, and the little that did was hazy and confused. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had been mean to Julia when they went for a walk by the harbor.
After that … he had no idea except that the knuckles on his right hand were skinned and swollen. He’d punched something hard enough to hurt himself. He wondered now if it had been a person and if so, then who?
Someone was stirring around downstairs, and the aroma of frying bacon and fresh-brewed coffee wafted up the stairwell.
His first thought was that his mother must be down in the kitchen, making breakfast for him. A second later, the memory that his mother was in the nursing home came back with a jolt.
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