“Right, Mrs. Murphy.”
Hester, disappointed she wouldn’t be able to see Al and disgusted by this latest scandal, went back to her classroom and licked two melted Hershey bars off their wrappers for lunch. Why can’t these men just keep it in their pants and leave these poor kids alone? She just didn’t get it.
When Al wasn’t home by nine, Hester called his cell phone, and as the night progressed she kept hitting Redial. By eleven she was angry and screamed into the phone, “Don’t bother to come home!” She went to bed. She was reading The Winter of Our Discontent. The fictitious troubles of the married couple in the novel did little to distract her. She heard the front door open and footsteps on the stairs. Al tripped. “Fuck,” he grunted and hit the wall.
“I’m retiring. I fuckin’ decided. I’ve had it with that fuckin’ place.” He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, bracing himself with both hands. He banged his head into one side of the doorjamb. “Do whatever ya want, but I’m fuckin’ through.” Hester knew better than to say anything when he was like this. He turned away and went into the front bedroom. After Hester heard the thud of his body on the mattress and the sound of his snoring—wind rustling through dried cornfields was what it reminded her of—she got out of bed to look at him.
He was on his back fully dressed. Through the slats of the blinds, the street light ran in stripes across him. His mouth was open. His teeth caught the light like small dull moons. What he said might just be the booze talking; but that something terrible happened in Glatton’s office was a fact. Her mind went back to the summer they went horseback riding along the rim of the Yellowstone Canyon. Al was in front of Hester; and for one hour, which seemed more like an eternity, she worried that the old horse Al was on would misstep and Al would plummet off the edge of the precipice. How frightened she’d been—not for herself, she wasn’t worried about herself—but for Al.
How would she survive if anything ever happened to him? He was everything to her. Then…and now.
Hester went back and sat on the end of their bed to look out the window. The lights in the shopping center across the river glowed, and the almost full moon cast an eerie white path over the lawn. It was too light out to see the stars. She wouldn’t know if one were falling or not.
Forty-Two
The night started with mojitos at Eve and Marvin’s place. Then Hester, Al, and the Bridgefords went to the beach and fired up the grill by the clubhouse. Hester cooked pork chops, corn, and slices of zucchini. Al opened two bottles of pinot grigio, and the four friends, sitting on one side of the picnic table, watched the ocean and ate dinner. The sun was setting behind them, and when it was dark, they took the wine onto the beach and sat in the sand. Marvin and Al talked about how much gasoline was going to cost by summer and who might eventually replace George W. as president. It was obvious to Hester they were trying not to talk about the sale of the trailer park. That didn’t last long. Back and forth they went about it. Marvin was all for it. Al had reconciled himself to the idea. They were like broken records. Hester wanted to shout, would you guys shut up? It’s after the fact.
The conversation did eventually shift, but now it was about how much money they were going to make. The estimates the two men came up with varied wildly, but by the sound of their voices, the number of digits involved satisfied them.
Eve hit Marvin gently on the arm. “I think the whole thing is a huge mistake,” she said, “There’s not another place in all of Florida like this. Trailer park or not, those developers—”
“Eve, be—”
“Marvin, would you let me finish?” She smacked Marvin’s arm again, only harder. “Those developers know it. I think they stole this place out from under us, and we’re just too blinded by greed to notice.”
Marvin leaned over and kissed his wife. “Whatever you say, honey.” And he began rummaging in her beach bag for something. Al stared out at the only thing to be seen, the whitecaps in the moonlight. The closing was only days away. Hester wondered why everybody wasn’t sick and tired of talking about it. She sure was. And, as if there wasn’t enough on her mind, Frances Middleton called that morning out-of-the-blue to ask if she’d seen the news, there’d been a stabbing at Sourland.
Al stood up to stretch, and Marvin, having found a cigar, lit it. Eve poured herself and Hester more wine.
“Brandon Lynch stabbed Ernest Colburn to death,” Hester blurted out.
“What?” Al looked down at Hester.
“Who are they?” asked Eve.
“Former students,” Hester answered. “A lot of kids didn’t like poor Ernest. He was a loner, an odd young man, to say the least.”
“Odd? Aren’t we all odd in one way or another?” Eve sounded tipsy. “But that’s no reason to kill…”
“What in the hell happened, Hester? Would you get to the goddamn point,” Al insisted.
“Where Brandon got the knife, nobody knows, but they got into a fight over some girl.”
“How the hell did you find out, Hester?” Al seemed perplexed.
“Frances called this morning.”
“She called you and not me? And you’re not telling me till now?”
“Didn’t think you’d give a damn. Wasn’t sure you knew those two.”
“I knew every single kid in that whole goddamn school. It was my job to know every single kid, and I took my job seriously, and you knew that. Who was the girl?”
“Frances wasn’t sure. Her guess was Kimberly Ramsay.”
“That Ramsay girl was on my radar. She was a regular in my office. Drove her teachers nuts. She was addicted to her cell phone. Couldn’t get through a class period without checking it. I threatened to throw it out the window. It was pouring rain, and she said it would be ruined if it got wet. I told that was too bad, and she burst into tears. Of course, I gave it back to her at the end of the day, and she was so goddamn happy I was afraid she was going hug me. She was alright. I could see Ernest and her together, but Brandon? No, Brandon was out of her league. So what the hell was he beating up Ernest for? Christ, these kids could drive you nuts. They are so fucking stupid, and they make the most goddamn stupid mistakes.”
“Don’t I know,” Hester agreed.
“I think CNN carried the story about the school stabbing this morning, right after the report on Iraq. How about that mess over there? Seems to be out of control, like things were in ‘Nam,” Marvin changed the subject.
“Vietnam? Were you there, Marvin?” Hester asked.
“He went alright,” Eve answered for her husband, “but he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“But if it weren’t for ‘Nam, I would’ve never been interested in plumbing and hot water heaters.” Marvin leaned back in the sand on one elbow. “Found out when I got there, the government didn’t draft plumbers. So as soon as I got stateside, I signed up for plumbing school. They weren’t going to send me back into hell a second time.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that.” Al sat down, crossed his legs, and massaged his ankle.
Eve noticed. “Is your ankle bothering you, Al?”
“Yeah, old football injury…” his voice trailed off.
They all grew silent, and the sound of the crashing waves seemed to mesmerize the four Pleasant Palmers. Over the ocean a gibbous moon glowed and stars punctured the black dome of the sky. The extraterrestrial light blurred the outer edges of things, made everything colorless, made the earth dwellers appear ageless.
To save the evening from ending, Hester suggested Al tell a couple of jokes.
“You’re such a great joke-teller, please?” She said light-heartedly.
So he rallied and did, and, even though the ones he could remember were gross, they all had a good laugh. When the wine was gone, Eve and Marvin went home.
Al and Hester were pleasantly loaded and tired. It was hard to tell which had the greater bearing on their unspoken but mutual decision to stay put. It had been a hot March day, near eighty-five degrees. Now a breeze was coming off t
he water. All they could see when they looked out were the phosphorescent white caps, dollops of meringue folding again and again into the black batter of the ocean. Hester pushed the warm sand around with her feet and laid back in its lingering heat. It felt like a caress. Al had his knees up, his elbows resting on them, and his head on his forearms. Hester thought he was falling asleep until he said he was still hungry.
They went back to the trailer. She rummaged in the fridge and took out some leftovers. Al lit a candle on the patio table, and they sat down to eat. Between them was a platter of cold chicken and two bottles of Corona.
Al took a long swallow of beer. “So why do you think we haven’t heard from her?”
“Who?” Hester knew who, asking was a reflex.
“You know who.”
“No, I don’t,” Hester lied. She didn’t want to talk about Nina, not now when she was feeling good, and not to Al.
“Don’t lie, Hester. You most certainly do know who.” He paused from fingering the lip of his beer bottle, and looked up at her. “Nina Tattoni, that’s who.”
“Oh, Nina? How would I know why we haven’t heard from her?”
“The least that girl could do is pick up the fucking phone and leave us a message.” Al cursed more than usual when he was drunk, or annoyed. Now, since his mood had shifted, he seemed to be both.
“Yes, Al, she could, but she’s probably busy with classes and everything.” How easily lies rolled off her tongue.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Look, she’s barely eighteen years old. Be a little realistic, would you? Besides, what makes you think she would call us?”
“Because…” He hesitated and took another swig of the Corona. Before he could finish his sentence, Hester butted in.
“Because she cares? Come on, she has her own life. It’s not like we’re her parents or something. Don’t get so upset. Eventually we’ll hear from her.” Hester watched Al gnaw off the last little piece of meat from a chicken bone. “Hey, we could go for ice cream. You want some ice cream?” Hester said this the way she would’ve said it to a toddler. Anything to get off the topic of Nina, anything to prevent Al’s temper tantrum from escalating.
“Hester, get real. It’s late. You’re drunk.”
“Speak for yourself, mister.” She said this to be smart. The truth was she was feeling no pain.
“It’s just that she left in such a hurry. What was the big rush?” Now Al was pulling the skin off a thigh. “You’d think she’d let us know how she’s doing.”
“We’ll probably only hear from her if something goes wrong, so don’t waste your time worrying about her.”
“I’m not worried. Damn it. Did I say I was worried?” He turned the thigh over and took a bite of meat. A large chunk came loose, so he had to push it into his mouth with his finger. The flickering candle illuminated Al’s face and made his nostrils look like someone had shoved olive pits up them. His mouth was too full and half open. Deep lines ran like thin wires across his forehead, his nose had several dark spots on the tip, there were downward creases at the edges of his eyes, and his chin was drooping. For the first time since she’d known him, Hester looked at him and thought, he might not age well.
Still tackling the meat on the thigh, he waited until he swallowed and said, “Look, wife, I’m sick and tired of you always telling me what I’m thinking or doing. You don’t know anything about what goes on in here.” He tapped his thick pointer against his temple hard enough that Hester heard a hollow thump.
Hester wanted to say, Al, can we please change the subject? But she knew she wouldn’t, because he was already irritated and at this late hour arguing with him wasn’t the brightest idea. She picked up a chicken breast, bit into it, and chewed slowly and deliberately. The less she said, the better, but the needle in Al’s brain was stuck in a bad groove.
“Look, Hester, by the time I got out of the hospital, Nina was gone. In my mind what happened is a freaking blur. I was hurt pretty bad. I think I remember seeing her lying there, but I don’t know how she got there. Shit, all I know is what you told me. Nina went back to school. That’s it. That’s all you said.”
“She’ll probably call tomorrow. It’s Sunday and she’ll probably have some spare time.” Hester’s voice was nonchalant, while she was thinking, what in the hell am I saying.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached across the table. Now the candlelight fell on his hairy arm. Next to the plate of cold chicken parts, it looked grotesquely alive, like a giant, hairy chicken leg. He put his hand on top of Hester’s hand and squeezed gently.
“Hester, I am fucking lucky to have a wife like you who is so…What I mean is, you could’ve assumed things. You could’ve panicked and done something stupid, but you didn’t. You believed me and now because of that, because of your trust, we’re here together. You knew I could never do anything like that, especially to Nina.”
Hester drank some beer and leaned back like the Queen of the Calm Exterior, while inside she trembled with anger.
“Like what?” It hopped out of her mouth like a tiny toad, and as soon as it did, she was sorry.
“What in the hell do you mean, ‘like what?’ Like you know what. She was like a goddamn daughter to us. You know that.” His voice was loud, but earnest, not angry, just emphatic, emphatic enough for Hester to almost believe him all over again. His hand was still on top of hers. It was heavy and warm. He kept it there for a moment longer as he tilted his head to look into her eyes. His were glazing over, but he had the most soulful way of lifting his eyebrows up in the middle that made him look ardent, or maybe, contrite. He took his hand away and crossed his arms.
They sat staring at each other, and it felt to Hester like they were alone in the universe, maybe even falling faintly through it, for all she knew. She forgot about Nina for a second, and since Al had leaned back out of the light and had stopped eating the chicken, he was handsome again. She thought about the way practically every woman they’d met this season at Pleasant Palms Trailer Park had fallen all over him. Nancy Ettinger, who was practically old enough to be his mother, had the nerve to tell Hester she’d better watch out, or someone would snatch a handsome guy like that right away from her. What else was new? After almost three decades of marriage, she was still going to have to fight off other women. It was getting tiresome, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that in Florida old women on the prowl outnumbered alligators and pit bulls combined, and were deadlier to a married woman than both carnivores put together.
Al stuck his lower lip out the way Brad Pitt does in his movies, and Hester almost giggled. His toes were moving up and down on her calf, and she could feel the sand falling off her skin. He sank back in the chair, took a sip of his beer, and moved his foot between her thighs, where he gently pushed his heel as far as it would go. Automatically, involuntarily, she slid down toward him, her legs fell open. He bent his foot forward. Hester reached down and pulled her shorts to the side.
The thought of stopping him flickered and dimmed in her mind. She didn’t. His face had grown serious and determined. Looking in his eyes was like looking down the barrels of a gun. But Hester just wanted to feel good, drift away, love and be loved. She wanted to escape into what was being done to her, and not think about the fact that it was Al who was doing it. She turned her head, closed her eyes. She had read on a blog about a place in San Francisco called the One Taste Urban Retreat Center where every morning about a dozen women get naked from the waist down and lie with their eyes closed in a quiet room while fully clothed men stroke them into what the group calls an “orgasmic meditation.” Well, that was what Hester wanted right now, an anonymous one-sided explosion. She wanted it for once to be all about her.
She rolled her head back, her body tingling down there where Al was pressing. Her arms dropped to her sides. Her eyes opened. Between the two trailers, there was nowhere else to look but up. Stars layered the sky, some close and brilliant, others distant and blurred. It wa
s magnificent, like seeds sown across the blackness, and Hester felt as though she were drifting up toward them. She was aroused, her breathing shallow. She slid forward. Suddenly the stars seemed to be falling, a blow to the head, scattering teeth. Where the distracting thought had come from, she didn’t know, but it made her twitch.
Al stopped, pulled his foot away, leaned across the chicken and put his hand around Hester’s throat. The move, made so quickly, scared Hester. She tensed until he ran his hand down her neck, over her chest, and caressed her breasts. She was ready now for Al to do whatever he wanted to do, then someone coughed. In the semi-darkness Hester saw Chet’s shadow through his screen window. She straightened up, and Al did the same.
“Thought I heard something. Just checkin’ to make sure everything’s alright. You know how we all look out for each other here. I see there’s no problem, so I guess I’ll just try to go back to bed now.” Though Chet claimed concern, the tone of his voice betrayed his impatience with his neighbors. He’d probably been spying on them all night, and he might as well have said, why don’t you go inside so I can get some goddamn sleep?
The moment between them over, Hester adjusted her shorts, stood up, and picked up the platter of chicken.
“Wait. I want to tell you something.” Al put his hands on her hips and pulled her toward him.
“Go ahead, Al. I’m listening.”
“No. Sit down.”
What now? Hester thought. It was after midnight. The carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“No, goddamn it, Hester. No, there’s something I have to get off my chest. I should’ve told you this a long time ago.”
“Jesus, Al. We’ve been married almost thirty years. What can you tell me tonight that I don’t already know? Let’s just go to sleep.” Hester didn’t want to listen to him confess something she already knew, but that he didn’t know she knew. There were lots of cans of worms she didn’t want him opening up. The creepy-crawly truths, once out in the open, would eat away at her carefully fortified illusions.
On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) Page 21