Martin’s eyes narrowed to slits. He lifted his arms and screamed, “You deserve this, bitch.” He took a single step forward.
Good.
Gabrielle threw the knapsack at him, square into his chest. He caught it in both hands, then laughed scornfully. “Not so smart now, huh? Think you’re gonna knock me over with-”
With his hands occupied, Gabrielle stepped forward and smashed him in the nose with her elbow, feeling the cartilage collapse in a spray of blood that covered her face as well his. Her brother, Peter, had made her practice elbow strikes for what seemed like hours. “Never hit with your fist,” he’d warned her. “All you’ll do is break your hand and make ‘em mad. God gave you elbows for a reason.”
Martin staggered but didn’t fall, so she swung a leg behind his ankle and pushed him hard. Off balance and still holding the knapsack, Martin toppled backwards onto the asphalt, nose gushing blood and his head smacking hard against the ground.
Out of it for a few seconds. Now the others.
Gabrielle turned to the two Juniors, who were wavering between jumping in to help their friend and shock at what they had just seen. If she tried to run, they would be all over her. Had she scared them enough to make them back off? Maybe, but as she looked, she could see resolve building on the face of one of them, so she turned and viciously kicked Martin in the side. “This is what happens to punks!” she screamed, then stepped over his body and kicked him again on the other side, not coincidently putting Martin’s prone form between her and the Junior she thought might jump her.
But the Junior made up his mind and sprang forward.
Oh, crap!
“Hurry!” Lois shouted into her phone.
Before she could duck away, the Junior grabbed Gabrielle by the hair and slapped her hard across the face. Once. Twice.
Then the gym door burst open and Vice Principal Nolan burst through. Without a word he tackled the Junior who was busy hitting Gabrielle, lifting him into the air and smashing him into the ground, a football tackle Gabrielle’s brothers would have admired. The other Junior sized up the situation, sprinted around the corner of the building and was gone.
Meanwhile, Martin groaned and tried to sit up, but the pain in his ribs was excruciating, so he rolled onto his side and vomited.
Vice Principal Nolan stood up. When the Junior tried to get up, he stepped hard on the boy’s chest and forced him back down. He looked at Gabrielle in alarm. “You okay?” he asked with real concern.
Gabrielle suddenly realized that her face was covered with Martin’s blood, plus her cheek was cut open from when the Junior slapped her. Then Lois was there, gently taking Gabrielle’s face in her hands.
“Oh, Gabs, your poor face,” she wailed. “I’m so sorry, I called Mr. Nolan as soon as I could. Oh, you’re going to have bruises, but I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Oh, I hope they’re gone in time for the Prom!”
One of the local policemen came around the corner, taking in the scene at a glance.
Vice Principal Nolan pointed to Martin and the Junior. “Officer,” he barked, “arrest these two for assault.”
The officer nodded judiciously, then called on his walkie-talkie for backup. “Just what happened here?” he asked.
“I’ve got it all on my phone video!” Lois exclaimed. “They wouldn’t let us through to go into school, then Martin attacked Gabrielle.”
The police officer looked a little puzzled to see the attacker on the ground, looking the worse for wear, while his skinny female victim was still standing.
“You the victim?” he asked Gabrielle.
Gabrielle looked at him evenly. “I am not a victim,” she said.
The officer looked startled, then pushed back his hat and laughed, a deep belly laugh that shook his entire torso and made him look surprisingly boyish. “No, Miss, I don’t think you are,” he wheezed through the laughter. “I really don’t.”
______________
Later, after the two boys were taken to the Police Department and Lois and Gabrielle were walking to their class, Lois looked at her friend, a smile tugging her lips.
“The police asked for the video I shot on my cell phone. I gave it to them. But you know, Gabs, I think I screwed up the audio somehow. Most of it’s gone.” She shot a glance at Gabrielle. Wouldn’t do for the police to hear how Gabrielle baited Martin. Wouldn’t do at all.
Chapter 35
Monday Afternoon – Stanley’s Secret
Every day before he went to Mr. Dumas’ studio to work, Stanley peddled Big Moose to the dock in North Harbor. There were two docks actually, a large one for the commercial fishing and lobster boats, and a smaller one for the few pleasure boats that North Harbor lured away from Stonington by offering cheaper docking fees and, some would say, more bars.
Stanley liked to look at the boats and feed the seagulls. The seizures that had robbed him of much of his intelligence when he was an infant had left one little quirk that greatly enriched Stanley’s life: Stanley had a deep appreciation of natural beauty. He didn’t really understand that this wasn’t the norm, or even particularly common, but a serene sunrise could bring him to tears and a sky rollicking with cumulus clouds would make him laugh and break into dance. The sea was endlessly fascinating to him. He would marvel for hours at the subtle colors and textures as the light shifted across its surface. He had no interest in painting the sea or even taking photographs; he just liked to look at it.
It gave him a sense of peace. It soothed him on those days when he couldn’t get over the feeling that he was missing something, something others had that he did not. Everyone else seemed to know what it was, except Stanley, and try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on it.
But he had the ocean, and trees, and clouds and the birds and the whole sky and the flowers that just grew alongside the road that were so perfect in their color and shape it might have made his heart sing with joy, if hearts could sing. Which they couldn’t. He knew that, but that was how he felt.
And oddly, no one else seemed to notice. Except Mr. Dumas, of course, because he could see really neat shapes in blocks of stone and carve them out. And maybe Calvin, who loved the ocean so much, but Stanley still doubted that they saw the incredible beauty all around them. As far as he knew, most people couldn’t. It was all so rich, but they couldn’t see it.
It made him feel sad for them. And made him giddy at his good fortune.
He knew who made these treasures for him – it was God. His mother used to tell him as a child that God did everything for a reason and that you had to put your faith in the Lord. Stanley believed that with all his heart. Sometimes it got confusing, like the time he heard his parents arguing about how to best care for him when they got old. His mother said God would provide, but his father said God had abandoned them, or worse, played a cruel trick on them and then abandoned them. Stanley wasn’t sure what he meant, but he knew that it was God who created all the incredibly beautiful things he saw, and that was good enough for him.
Today, he drank in the salt smell of the harbor and watched as the boats chugged in and out of the dock area. He knew all of the boats by name and could identify them as soon as they were in sight. When they tied up for fueling, he waved at the crew. Some of them waved back. It made him feel good.
And there were clouds today. Fluffy cumulus clouds sailed around the entrance to the harbor, while high, high overhead there were cirrus clouds that made great horse tails sweeping the sky. The cirrus clouds were made of tiny little pieces of ice. He couldn’t remember who told him that, but someone did and it must be true. Little pieces of ice, way up in the sky. He didn’t know why they looked like horse tails, but they did and it was beautiful. And there was a seal lying on a rock by the shore, sunning itself and looking all sleek and glossy. And best of all, there was an osprey nest with three chicks and a mother osprey that caught really big fish in the harbor and took them back to the nest for the babies to eat. It even carried the fish fore-and-aft to make it
easier to fly. And he saw it all and–
Somebody smacked him on the side of his head.
“Hey, dummy, I’m talking to you!” Little Guy LeBlanc snarled. “Listen to me when I’m talking.” His cousin, Paul LaPierre, stood just behind him, his face impassive.
Huckleberry stood up abruptly in his basket and growled menacingly at the intruder, baring his teeth. When Little Guy turned to look at him, Huckleberry lunged forward and snapped his teeth, causing Little Guy to flinch back, then flush with embarrassment at having been frightened by so small a dog.
Stanley chuckled – a mistake, although he did not appreciate it.
Little Guy flushed dark red. “Hey, you fuckin’ retard, what are you laughing at?” He pushed Stanley in the chest hard enough to stagger him. “Huh? Somethin’ funny? ‘Cause you’re the only thing funny on the dock right now, dummy.” He pushed Stanley hard again and Stanley retreated a couple of more steps. Stanley had no idea how to fight, nor the temperament for it. He didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body.
Little Guy knew this at some level and seized upon it. “I tell you what’s funny, dummy. What’s funny is that you think you’re funny, but you’re not. You are nothing but a dummy and you keep bad company. You hang out with the Finley kid, right? Calvin? You got bad choice in friends, but then, you’re a fuckin’ dummy. And you know what else, you’re fuckin’ weird. Who rides a tricycle for Christ’s sake?”
Stanley was flustered and almost speechless. This was one of those times that something was happening, something, but he couldn’t understand what. He wanted to sit on the pier and look at the water and feel calm, but he knew that turning his back on Little Guy LeBlanc was never a good idea.
“I– I can’t drive a car, so I ride my bike,” he explained reasonably, but there was sweat on his forehead and in his armpits.
Little Guy kicked the tricycle hard enough to make it skid sideways. “It’s not a bicycle, you fuckin’ dummy, it’s a tricycle, like little kids ride. You’re forty years old, you should be fuckin’ ashamed to be riding this piece of crap!”
Now anger flared up. “Big Moose is not a piece of crap!” Stanley hollered, arms flapping. “Don’t you go callin’ Big Moose a piece of crap!”
And with that, Stanley sealed his fate.
Little Guy smiled, a perfectly vicious smile that slowly transformed into a knowing smirk. “Oh, it’s Big Moose, is it? This piece of junk important to you, dummy? Think it’s a pet or something? Huh? Cat got your tongue?” Little Guy was elated. This was going to be fun.
Stanley stared at him in horror, sensing that whatever it was that was happening, it had just gotten worse.
And he had no idea what to do.
“Well, I think Big Moose is a dirty piece of junk,” Little Guy continued matter-of-factly. I think we would all be better off if your crappy tricycle took a bath.” He picked up the tricycle. Huckleberry jumped from the basket and tried to bite him, but Little Guy gave him a kick that sent him sprawling.
“No!” Stanley screamed. He tried to grab Big Moose from Little Guy, but Paul LaPierre restrained him. Little Guy swung the tricycle around like a discus and threw it off the dock into the harbor, where it disappeared with a splash.
“No!” Stanley wailed, puling free of LaPierre and running to the edge of the pier. All he could see was the splash mark and some bubbles floating to the surface. “Big Moose!” he screamed again.
Then Stanley jumped into the water to save his treasured tricycle.
Not caring that he could not swim.
Huckleberry ran to the edge of the pier, barking furiously, then jumped in after Stanley.
Little Guy slapped his thigh and howled with laughter. “Jesus Fucking Christ, look at that dummy!” But it was Paul LaPierre who noticed that Stanley had not surfaced.
Oh, shit, he thought.
______________
Calvin was spoiling for a fight. Not just with anyone, but with Little Guy LeBlanc. He’d heard about Gabrielle’s run-in with Martin LaPierre at lunch, but there was no way in hell that Martin would initiate anything on his own – he was mean, but he was a follower, and he danced to Little Guy’s tune.
Worse, he hadn’t been able to talk to Gabrielle about it. She had left school early to have her face wound checked by a doctor. When the last bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Calvin decided to walk home, which would take him through the docks along the harbor.
You never knew who you might meet.
Maybe if he hadn’t been so caught up in his own thoughts of revenge, he would have noticed the commotion at the end of the dock sooner. It wasn’t until a kid he knew, Marc Gagne, the son of a lobsterman, came running up to him that he knew anything was wrong.
“Cal, c’mon, we’ve got to help Stanley!”
Calvin blinked in confusion. Stanley? What was Stanley doing down here?
Gagne grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him, and Calvin saw for the first time that there was a small crowd of people standing at the end of the dock, looking into the water. “They threw his bike into the water and Stanley jumped in after it, but the current’s got him and I don’t think he can swim,” the boy gasped.
And then Cal heard barking. The unmistakable barking of a frantic beagle.
The two boys ran flat out to the edge of the dock, where Calvin could see Huckleberry frantically swimming in circles and barking to wake the dead.
There was no sign of Stanley.
“Where is he?” Calvin shouted.
Gagne shook his head. “He was right there, right where the dog is!” He clutched his head with both hands. “Oh, Christ, he’s drowned! Oh, Christ!”
Gagne was on the swim team with Calvin. A strong swimmer. “Strip down,” Calvin told him, pulling off his shoes and ripping his shirt over his head. Gagne followed suit. Out of the corner of his eye, Calvin spotted Little Guy and his cousin, Paul LaPierre. Little Guy was laughing and pointing at the dog. Paul just looked frightened, like a kid who has watched a joke get out of hand.
“The current will pull him out through the pier. Water’s maybe ten or twelve feet deep, so we should be able to spot him. Take turns, but we’ve got to move fast,” Calvin said, stepping to the edge of the dock.
“Water’s going to be fucking cold,” Gagne warned.
“We’ve got eight, maybe ten minutes, then we’ve got to get out.” Calvin could hear a siren somewhere behind him, but they’d never arrive in time to help.
“Go!” he shouted, and they both dove into the harbor.
Without his thick wetsuit, the water was brutally cold. He came up gasping for air and spent a moment just treading water, hyperventilating. Gagne was beside him, doing the same. Calvin took a deep breath and swam under water, heading out along the pier pilings, but after a few seconds his lungs were burning and he surfaced, desperate for air. Gagne surfaced next to him, lips already blue, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes. “Fuck, that is cold!”
Calvin felt breathless. The cold was like a living, malevolent thing that was sucking the life out of him. He was having trouble getting a good breath. He went under again, this time forcing himself to go a little deeper and stay under longer, but there was still no sign of Stanley. He swam under the pier, halfway around a piling and then towards the next piling, before sputtering to the surface, panting to get air. He could feel his heart race in his chest.
“Anything?” Gagne called from about ten feet away.
Calvin shook his head. For the first time he was aware that Huckleberry was swimming alongside of him, still barking his head off. He took a breath and went down again, making it to the next piling. In the shadows under the pier, the water seemed even colder, tightening his chest and making his movements sluggish. Couldn’t take much more of this.
Gagne surfaced next to him, teeth chattering.
“Marc, you’d better get out,” Calvin told him, pushing him toward one of the ladders. “If you stay you’re going to cramp up and I might not be ab
le to help you.”
“Don’t stay too much longer,” Gagne panted. “Goddamn cold.” He did an awkward breaststroke to the ladder and pulled himself clumsily out of the water.
Calvin took two deep breaths and held it, then dove under again. Shafts of light pierced the water here and there, creating an odd strobe-like image. Rather than just swim, he turned in a circle, looking carefully all around. Stanley was nowhere in sight. Calvin could feel the current pull him through the pier pilings and wondered bleakly if they would even be able to recover Stanley’s body.
He surfaced, gasping through chattering teeth, feeling his leg muscles twitch with the cold. If he cramped up here, alone… It was time to go.
He had failed.
He was almost at the far end of the pier now. No one was out there and if he got into trouble, well, he didn’t want to think of that. He swam slowly, economically, letting the current carry him to the next ladder. Grabbing it with one hand, he reached for the next rung, but there was something blocking the way.
“They threw Big Moose into the water, Calvin,” Stanley said mournfully. He was crouching on the ladder, just above the water line, arms wrapped about a rung. He was sobbing.
“I tried to save him, but I couldn’t find him and then I was under the pier and thought I was gonna end up in the harbor. He’s gonna get all rusty and he doesn’t like cold water. No sir, Big Moose hates cold water. How am I ever gonna find him, Cal?” He rubbed a wet hand across his runny nose, then repeated, “They threw Big Moose in the water.”
Calvin Finley fought back tears. “Stanley, I was afraid you were going to get all rusty, too.”
Stanley looked at him in confusion. “I can’t get rusty, Calvin, I’m not a tricycle.”
“Stanley, can you climb up the ladder a little? I’m freezing and I’ve got to get out of the water.”
“Oh, oh, I can do that,” Stanley said loudly, and climbed up the rungs to the pier. Behind him, groaning with the effort, Calvin gratefully climbed after him. Huckleberry swam up to him then, barking hoarsely. Calvin reached down and caught him under his chest, lifting him up to the pier, where the dog promptly shook himself dry in a spray of water, then lay down and went to sleep.
North Harbor Page 19