Stumbling along, I imagined quizzing Sonny on his multiplication tables. Six times seven, nine times ten? Numbers beat time with the waves. There were no corpses, of course—not even a bone from an animal. The only tar was spillage from tankers, coating the rocks like asphalt.
Not even in my mind did Sonny answer the questions. He was asleep with the light on, the pup curled on his bed, when I came in at dusk. Turning in, I missed Hugh’s smell, his warmth in the bed. Don’t be a wimp, I told myself; see what habit does? Think propeller. Though things could never be as they’d been with Charlie.
***
At dawn I woke to Hugh’s breathing. Then the morning snapped into place: a lunch to be packed; Sonny roused, fed and marched to the pier. Maybe routine wasn’t so bad. Promising to watch Oreo, I kissed Sonny’s cheek and started back up the path before he and Wayne puttered out. I didn’t look back or wave.
“Come to town with me tonight,” said Hugh. He was in his Jockeys, lighting the stove.
For the first time in months, we were alone. “What?” I didn’t want to waste it.
“There’s a party in town. Food. Music. You’ll love it.”
I thought of the lighthouse, then of Sonny.
“What’s wrong now?” he said, before I could speak.
“I saw Reenie yesterday,” I started.
“No rule says you can’t. Not like you’re stuck out here.”
I pinched the flesh above his shorts, making him squirm.
“Nobody has to stay out here without relief,” he said, tickling me till I yelped uncle. “What was Reenie up to? There’s a piece of work, that one. A case.” He laughed. “And what a case you are.” He drew me close. “You’re a six-pack.”
“No. You are. And I’m thirst —”
“Sweetgrass,” he murmured and I blushed: it was how he described my taste. He drew his hand down my back, slowly, making me want more.
Next he was eating cereal with his fingers.
“Put milk on it,” I said, to hide my disappointment.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, “if you don’t come tonight.”
“And?”
“The dog,” he seemed to waver, “still got an ear?”
I wanted to tell him that his sewing reminded me of a toy rabbit Sonny had when he was tiny. But he had a funny look, like he was trying to remember something. He put down his bowl and went to the bedroom. He came back dressed, the sax in its case.
“So, you know where to find me, anybody calls.”
It was a joke, since the only people who phoned were his band mates and Wayne, and, once in a blue moon, the Coast Guard checking in.
The day yawned, suddenly blank.
“The dog—shouldn’t we have a vet take a look?”
He paused, his eyes puzzled. “Why?”
***
He was home by suppertime, but didn’t bring up the party again till we were doing dishes.
“There’ll be lots to drink,” he said.
Sonny glowered. He still hadn’t mentioned school, clamming up at my questions.
“Derek sit near you?” I tried.
Hugh stretched, wobbling in his shoes as if they were too big. “Who?” Sonny shot back, bending over his homework. Spelling, thank God.
Hugh made a face; it was time to leave.
“I can’t,” I said, eyeing Sonny.
“Free booze—not enough to entice you? Your loss, Will o’.” I put on the radio as he left. CBC was all we could get. For an hour or more, they ran a documentary about adobe houses and a colony of poets and the meaning of aging. When it was time for bed, Sonny switched it off and sat there stubbornly.
“And?” I sighed.
“How much longer?” he said, out of the blue.
“What?”
“Derek’s dad was there today. He said my dad drove by one day and waved.” His pause was filled with harbour sounds. “How come I can’t see him? How come—?”
“Sonny.” I avoided his eyes. “You should know —”
“Nothin’! I don’t need to know nothin’.”
“Anything.” I dragged it out, turning its sting on him. “Look. Your father knows where you are. It’s not our fault he hasn’t tried to see you.”
It was mostly true. What I hadn’t disclosed was the PS I’d left Charlie: I’m happy now, and hope you’ll respect that and leave us alone. The two of us. The fuck alone, I’d meant, but I could hardly explain that to Sonny.
He stared baldly. When his mouth moved, the look in his eyes like Oreo’s, I flicked the radio back on. When he started to cry, I turned it up till the voices swallowed the sound.
Movies. Two words. First word, one syllable. Second word…
Late into the night the radio played news of Haiti, an insurrection. I tried to read, a mildewed copy of a romance, one of those girl-running-from-burning-castle types of books. Another relic from past keepers—or the kept, I thought, getting into bed.
The instant I put out the lamp, it was obvious something was wrong. The darkness at the window was steady, a country darkness. No intrusive flare or cruising softness, only blackness. Shit. I felt almost sick. The goddamn light—a bulb? My first thought was of Hugh wailing away on his sax in some smoky living room. I pictured those wholesome women, Paula and Emily, swaggering around loaded, their eyes on him. Their kids with babysitters. I imagined them shouting over the music, the jungle rhythm of drums. Then I thought of the light, of ships skinning the nose of the spit.
Call me alarmist, but I felt like a kid lost in a mall. My first impulse was to wake Sonny, as if he’d know what to do. Tripping to the kitchen, I dialled Wayne’s number, but the line just rang.
“A light bulb,” I said aloud. A fuse.
But the flashlight, too, was dead. Tearing upstairs to that rat’s nest storeroom, I dug another from under some tangled rope and decrepit gear. I kept digging, for what, I wasn’t too sure. An instruction manual? A maintenance guide? Good luck.
From the window at least, the night couldn’t have appeared calmer. Never mind the phrase shit creek pumping through me.
If there was a manual, surely it’d be here?
Under a pile of oilskins I found a bag—blue canvas, army surplus. I ripped it open, but it contained nothing useful. Only some clothes, a camisole, and an Indian cotton top with faded blue embroidery. As I stuffed them back, something crinkled. It was a photo of a woman, a girl really. She looked young and not all there. Pretty, in a spacy way, with small, even teeth. Airy-fairy; playing with half a deck, Charlie would’ve said. Her eyes smiled vaguely; her long auburn hair was pulled back from her forehead. It looked like a school photo, posed like Sonny’s, with fake books for a backdrop. There was no name on the back, only a date—21/6/85—in bubbly writing, and a heart with an arrow through it. Someone’s kid sister, or daughter; the daughter of some other keeper. The one Hugh had mentioned, maybe, the daredevil tobogganer.
I tried to picture a girl growing up out here, a girl like the one I’d been. I tried imagining Hugh with a daughter, or a sister. He’d grown up in a house of boys, he’d said; like me. Maybe that girl with the toboggan had, too; that was what had driven her to such crazy things.
There was a noise downstairs. The dog at the garbage, not a raccoon or rats, I hoped. Replacing the picture, I shoved the bag under the sticky heap of old rubber jackets.
Then I remembered the shed.
The pup had got a can and licked it clean. I pried its jaws open, hoping it hadn’t sliced its tongue. Already the ear had started to heal, the zigzagged blue thread like a decoration.
“Stay,” I hissed, grabbing the shed key from the hook and venturing outside.
The flashlight poked a skinny beam through the dark. There wasn’t much of a moon. The only sure things were the granite boulders along the edge of the point, the sloshing behind them. I
thought of that foolish girl coasting there. She must’ve had a name.
The darkness pressed in, with a hint of rain. In the curve of Hangman’s Beach, stones clattered, like marbles in a purple velvet bag. The Crown Royal bag my father’d let me have. I thought of gibbets and the noises from my dreams.
The key wiggled in the padlock. Crowded by the dark, I rooted around, fighting a quiet, spreading panic. Be practical. Fuses, spare bulbs. Where did Hugh keep them? Idiotic, since I hadn’t a clue how to replace either.
Shit. Fuck. I’d have to call someone. The Coast Guard.
The shed door bumped behind me. I almost tripped over something—a can. Gas or kerosene. Something flammable anyway; I could see the blazing logo on it.
How had Hugh taken off without leaving so much as a number? My stomach knotted. I hadn’t bothered to ask. “Shit shit shit,” my voice rattled from the shelves. In a jumble of stuff, surprise surprise, I stumbled upon fuses, several kinds. A bulb, too, but when I shook it, it sounded like there was sand inside.
I’d broken into a sweat. Letting the door thud shut, I traipsed to the tower, tripping on my nightie. The flannelette felt clammy. The white concrete loomed like a massive tree. The tower was locked, a fucking Fort Knox.
I was almost to the house when a whistle pierced the dark.
“Sweetie?” The sound of his voice was medicine. A lifeline.
“What’s going on?” It lilted on the wind, all in fun, as if he’d caught me playing hide-and-seek, and it was my turn to be it.
I waited by the stoop as his face lit the dark. He was grinning. “What’s happening?” he asked again, like someone who’d been lying in the sun all day. That way of his so unlike Charlie’s, a warmth that loosened my limbs and soothed: Tomorrow’s another day, why fuss over stuff you can’t fix? We have no control, Tessie. What a concept, eh? Get used to it.
Coming closer, he looked a little different, not quite disheveled, but more relaxed than usual. Not drunk, of course not. All I could smell was the canvas of his coat. He read my look. “Don’t panic,” he said, squeezing my arm.
Oreo whinged and Hugh swung up onto the step to let him out. The dog skittered around in circles, his white patches glowing in the dark.
“Go on in, now, and I’ll git ’er,” he said, mimicking Wayne?
“You’ll git ’er, will you?” I mimicked back, a shiver in my voice. It was way past midnight; Sonny would have to be up in a few hours.
“Cuppa tea?” Hugh called. “Put on the kettle, Tessie, I won’t be long.”
Instead I stumbled back to bed and when he crept in to kiss me, closed my eyes and was soon asleep.
But strangers dogged my dreams—people in ships, waving as they sailed by. Their faces were blank at first, murky. Then they took on features. Couples: Wayne and Reenie, my father and his wife. Then Hugh. It must’ve been me beside him, with all these women—wives—calling out advice. Advice on diapers and weaning, which I had no interest in. All of it ebbing away as I woke to Hugh’s rising, falling breath, and that liquid, gliding flash that picked me up and spun me, and placed me back inside myself.
***
Hugh didn’t go ashore again, not for a couple of weeks. The band needed a break. Kenny’s wife wanted some “quality” time and another guy was up to his eyeballs in home improvements.
“Did Reenie get that job?” I asked, one afternoon.
“Say what?”
“At the bank,” I prompted, and he snorted.
“Lordie. She had to be shitting you. A bank?” He laughed, calling Reenie a hard ticket. A little hilarious, given her hobbies. “She’s fucked, that one,” he said. “She’d tell you the sky’s green, Tessie. Scary thing is, you’d believe her. Piece of work, that lady. Like I said.”
Since the day I’d dropped in, I’d started to feel a bit sorry for her, considering who she was saddled with.
“How’s Wayne?” I asked, and Hugh looked surprised.
“Ahhhh, I see!” He went for my ribs, merciless. “You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you? Don’t you!”
“Right. It’s gotta be the way he steers.” Twisting away, I rolled my shoulders, thrust out my hip. “My morning fix, don’t you know—going over with Sonny.” Narrowing my eyes, I flicked my hair. We were by the window, getting dressed.
His face clouded, or maybe I imagined it. “Watch out for him,” he said, tugging my ponytail.
“Oh, yeah, as if I’d—”
“What?” His grip tightened, a playful threat. “As if you’d what?”
I leaned my cheek against him, felt the tickle of his chest.
“I don’t like it,” he whispered, teasing.
“What? What don’t you like?” I could hear Sonny on the stairs and the scrabble of claws.
“The way you need people, things.” He breathed into my ear, stroking my nape. We heard Sonny check the fridge, the squeak of the can opener. I wanted to ask, Like who? but then Sonny bellowed, “Mooooom?”
18
BY THE STARS
Fall slid up Thrumcap like a sleeve, starting at the end nearest the city and moving over the headland that pushed beyond us into the sea. Frost gathered in the hollows. The fog vanished, giving way to sharper days and nights, and Sonny settled into his weekday routine. He wouldn’t talk about school, simply answered yes, no, and nothing to my questions. Just him being a boy; when had he been different? Girls, not boys, gave details; who talked, who had trouble reading. As the weeks passed, Sonny actually became agreeable. It wasn’t long before he asked to sleep over at Derek’s.
One Friday night all by ourselves, Hugh and I perched on the rocks, watching the stars. Pointing out constellations, he taught me how to find the North Star, which I forgot, gazing at the spritz of light.
When we went inside, he kept his coat on. “That gig is next month,” he said.
I’d forgotten all about it. “Coming?” I expected him to say, getting back into my jacket. I’d started dressing in layers, my warmest things marooned like hostages on the base.
Hugh shrugged. “Dunno how long I’ll be, Willa. Don’t wait up.” Then he disappeared into the dark.
Disappointment—anger—stole my breath. There was his sax, the case in the corner. He’d be back, surely, and he’d realize I didn’t want to be alone, that I was terrified of something happening with the light.
I made myself turn on the radio. He had things to discuss, that was it. Of course. There was more to playing an instrument than music. The eleven o’clock news came on as I shuffled about the kitchen. The puppy nipped at my ankles, then squatted on his paper. Housebreaking was worse than training a child; how much longer? I wondered. How much longer? I watched from the window, listening. Radio voices burbled; something about an accident, something happening at sea. A helicopter ditching, the third such accident in as many months, the announcer said pleasantly. Just outside the harbour; search and rescue, no reports of…There was a beep and a dash of silence, and the voice gave the time: eleven-o-five, Atlantic Standard.
The chances—what were the chances?
My fingers stumbled dialling Derek’s house. I needed to hear Sonny, one grudging but familiar syllable, just in case…
Derek’s mother picked up, clearly ticked off at my calling so late. “Alex and them are watching a movie.” There must’ve been a bunch of kids, then, sleeping over. “Something you’d like me to tell him, or were you just checking up?”
“He’s okay, then? Everything’s all right?” My mind skipped; what was it her husband did, again? “Everyone there’s, um, okay?”
“Yeah?” She sounded incredulous; I felt like an idiot. “Like I said, they’re all cosied up to the screen?”
I promised to pick Sonny up by noon, with no clear idea how.
“Take care now,” she said, as if she could see me through the phone, miles from nowhere.
&nbs
p; I went in and lay on the bed, and almost without knowing it, started to cry. It unplugged a dyke, a reservoir held back for ages, possibly years. They weren’t tears of sorrow so much as a breathless gratitude, in spite of everything, for the feeling of having slipped through a mirror. Blowing my nose, I’d forgiven Hugh. I would never lose him the way I’d lost Charlie, though it was a free world and Hugh would come and go as he pleased. A poster came to mind, enough to make me laugh, the type with a sunset, gulls, and the slogan, If you love something set it free … Like most clichés it had a kernel of truth. Don’t be so clingy, a voice like Sonny’s trilled inside, and a beat later: If it’s brown flush it down. If it’s yellow let it mellow. Trust Sonny to come up with lines like that.
Proverbs aside, I hardly slept, hounded by dreams of disasters. Shipwrecks, plane crashes. Fitfully I combed the island’s circumference, salvaging rubble from a downed jet. Pulverized Styrofoam washing ashore, clinging to rockweed like bits of snow. Ribbons of clothing decorated the mess, floating on a red tide. A wallet. Part of a harness, a long greyish strap—a monkey tail from a helicopter, tethered to a vest. In the dream I rescued the wallet, and Charlie’s picture was inside. Yes, it was Charlie all right, with a beard. But even as I held it his face dissolved to Hugh’s, and when I woke he was spooned against me.
***
The call came not long after, the Coast Guard telling Hugh the operations at Thrumcap were being reviewed. He wasn’t surprised. Keepers were an endangered species, he said, lighthouses everywhere being automated, run by computer. No reason to think ours was special. Ours, he called it, which made me want to pick up the phone and blast someone; had they no idea, the lives they were disrupting? Risking?
Hugh seized my hand and pressed it. His look was the Sargasso Sea, calm and reedy. “Whatever, Tessie. I’ve been expecting this, you know.”
“But…when?”
He shrugged, as if it hardly mattered. “Might they shut ’er down? Whenever. Won’t be overnight, though. No point worrying. Their minds’re already made up. Look, things happen. Things come up.” He drew me close, pretended to gnaw on my neck.
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