Esperanza (58 page)

Kate wondered if it was only the alcohol, or if Marian’s past had finally worn her down. She had been the librarian for only six or seven months. She was in her fifties, attractive except for the tragedy in her eyes. Kate had heard that her husband and two kids had died in a car accident in Gainesville a few years ago.

Maybe she had simply succumbed to the same thing that ailed so many of the locals: alcohol as a way of life. A lot of them drank too much, Kate thought, while she scooped their tips. They claimed at one point or another that they were on the wagon, and promptly fell off that elusive wagon five minutes later.

Kate sensed that the fact that she cared about all of that—about all of them—meant she was getting strongly attached to the place again. She’d been born here, then left for 13 years, and now was back again. She’d never intended to stay, but more and more, it felt like
home
to Rocky, as it did to her.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

She didn’t have time to puzzle through it. She was alone at the bar tonight, one of the waitresses had called in sick and Richard, her lover and the other bartender, was visiting friends in Gainesville. Since the hotel kitchen had closed hours ago, the only available food was from the bar menu, sandwiches and soups, mostly, that she prepared in between making drinks.

Kate finished an order for a table in the back room, put everything on a tray and set it down in front of her boss, Bean.

Ted “Bean” Dillon, was a scarecrow of a man who owned the hotel, had renovated it and put it back on the tourist map. He was 60 years old, divorced, a teetotaler who took no guff from drunks.

She gave him an affectionate and tired smile.

“Hey, boss,” she said over the blare of conversation and music. “Can you give me a hand here and take this to table three?”

Bean was sitting on a stool at the bar next to Marion, the two of them howling with laughter. He didn’t acknowledge Kate’s presence, much less answer her question, so she slapped her hand on the bar, playfully, to get his attention. He stopped laughing and looked at her, bushy brows rising into little peaks.

“What?” he said irritably.

Kate pulled her chin in, not liking his tone, but then she realized that he was undoubtedly tired, too.

“I’ve got four more drinks to make, Bean. Could you deliver this to table three?”

“Oh, really,” Marion said with a roll of her pretty brown eyes. “That’s what he pays
you
to do, Kate.”

Taken aback by the patronizing tone, Kate still managed to joke about it. “And not nearly enough, right, Bean?”

“More like too fucking much,” he shot back at her, and it didn’t sound like a joke.

“What?”

“Get us another round, Kate,” he ordered, in a most un-Bean-like way. "Make it a pitcher of Skip and Go Naked for both of us, and more tequila for me.”

He leaned in to whisper something in Marian’s ear, and whatever it was made her laugh raucously again.

Kate stepped back, confused by this change in both of them. But the bigger surprise was that Bean clearly meant for her to bring him a drink, too. It was then she noticed that he had an empty shot glass in front of him, the kind they served to the straight tequila drinkers.

“You’re drinking?” she asked him, dumbfounded.

Bean didn’t drink. Ever. He was nearly religious about it, having been raised by drunks. And then something strange happened to her boss’s face, something that made her draw in her breath and back off another step, so she felt as if she were about to fall off of something high and deep. It was a little thing, subtle, and she might not have noticed it if Bean hadn’t leaned forward at that moment and glared right at her. She was accustomed to looking into drunks’ eyes to see if they were tracking, to check if they could still drive home. Bean’s eyes looked like nobody’s eyes she’d ever seen before, just as the fog was like no other: his eyes, his kind and sea-blue eyes, turned cruel black and shiny, like smooth, damp stones.

A chill washed through her.

He gave her a hateful look that shocked her more than his drinking did. He snorted. “You’re such a prude. I don’t know how Rich stands it.” Her mouth dropped open.

“Our
drinks
, Kate?” he reminded her, with a mean sarcasm that made the librarian laugh again.

She turned her back on him, on them, hurt and angry, and a little scared, and glanced at the wall clock. Just past eleven.

She tried to convince herself that she hadn’t seen what she’d thought she’d seen.

That was the answer: it hadn’t happened.

Eyes couldn’t do that. Bean
wouldn’t
do that.

Could she make it another two hours? If she left now, Bean might fire her, given the strange and awful mood he was in, and in spite of their long family history. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. Even though she worked at Annie’s Café three days a week, she doubted she would get more hours there. Business was too slow. The scary truth was that she needed both jobs to support herself and Rocky. Without this job, there’d be no gas for her own car, much less wheels for him.

She’d been born and raised on Cedar Key. The island was in her blood, just as it had been for both of her parents. She’d left here once before, to attend Florida State in Tallahassee, but returned two years ago when her relationship with her son’s father fell apart. She was qualified to teach high school English, had applied for teaching jobs on the island and in Gainesville, but neither school system was hiring. She would make some calls tomorrow, she decided, get her name on the substitute list. She needed a backup plan. The fact that it made her heart hurt to think of leaving the island was going to have to be irrelevant.

Suddenly, Bean stood beside her, shoulders twitching as though his pullover sweater was too small for him. She nearly said, “What’s
wrong
with you?” But before she could, he set a bottle of tequila down hard on the counter. “I delivered the meal, now you make Marion and me another round of drinks.” He leaned toward her, his gaunt face so close to hers that she smelled his reeking breath. Air hissed out through his clenched teeth. “We clear, hon?”

WTF? Hon?
What was
that
about? Before she could think of a snappy reply, he winked at her, patted her cheek as though she were a young child, and swung around the corner of the bar. He settled again on his stool, head tilted toward Marion, who giggled like an infatuated teen.

The jukebox came on again, someone shouted, “Hey, Kate, where’re our drinks?”

The temptation to water down Bean’s order quickly gave way to making a pitcher of Skip and Go Naked. Kate set it and the bottle of tequila in front of them, without a word, and hoped they wouldn’t noticed her hands trembling.
It’s just the booze,
she told herself. Bean wasn’t used to it; as for the librarian, Kate didn’t know what her excuse was for acting like a bitch.

Still feeling stung, she turned back to the blender to add more ice. It churned constantly for the next half hour. The music and noise got louder, the room grew warmer, her feet ached from standing so long.

Her cell vibrated and beeped, and she slipped it out of the back pocket of her jeans. A text message from Rocky read:
Mom, you getting off at 1?

That’s the plan.

You need a ride home? I’m over at Jeff’s, got the cart. I can pick u up if u need a ride.

Kate had forgotten he was spending the night out. His friend lived on the other side of the island. Even though Cedar Key had practically no crime to speak of, she felt uneasy about Rocky being out and about by himself at one in the morning, driving the electric golf cart.
It’s a short walk 2 the houseboat, I’ll be fine. Luv u

Text if u change yr mind. We’ll be up late
.
Luv u 2!

Her heart swelled at the affection in his text. “Love u2!” That was pretty good for a fifteen-year-old boy, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t be caught dead saying it to her face or in public, but he could safely say it in a text.

Kate smiled down at her cell phone.

She wondered if his girlfriend, Amy, was part of the staying-up-late equation. Kate liked Amy, but worried about her and Rocky’s raging hormones. From the time her son was old enough to understand what sex was, Kate had been utterly frank about safe sex. He knew enough to use condoms.
But. What if. Maybe.

As Kate slipped the cell back into her pocket, she caught sight of herself in the window, the pallor of her skin, the circles under her eyes. Strands of her blond hair had worked loose from the large clip that held it off her neck and clung to her damp cheeks. This job, she thought, was aging her quickly. She cracked open the window for some fresh air. Ribbons of fog slipped through the screen and curled quickly around her wrist and forearm like a snake seeking warmth. It felt damp, slimy, cold, deeply unpleasant. She shuddered at its touch and then frantically slapped at it. She was startled to see the ribbons break apart, like the mercury in a thermometer had done one time when she accidentally dropped it.

“That’s weird!”

She knew it was an understatement even as she said it.

It wasn’t just weird. It was impossible.

Kate looked up, afraid of what she might see the fog do next.

Bits of the fog hung in the air the way smoke does on a windless night, and finally dissipated. Kate slammed the window down, disturbed that she could still feel the slimy cold on her skin. But when she looked out again, she saw the fog was back, pressing against the glass, looking as if it was trying to get in, to get at her.

“Bean’s nuts, and now you’re losing it, too,” she told herself. She loaded a tray with drinks and sandwiches and carried it into the back room, to a table of four boisterous tourists, and looked at the clock again. Just an hour and fifteen minutes before she could close up.
And go out in that horrible fog,
her spooked mind said to her.
Oh, shut up,
she snapped back at it. Fog was fog. She was just nervous about losing her job and it was making her jumpy.

As she headed back into the main room, she had an unobstructed view of Bean and Marion. He was cupping her face in his hands, kissing her passionately, then his fingers roamed across her throat and breasts and slid through her hair. Marion responded like a young woman of twenty, head thrown back, exposing her throat, where Bean planted his mouth and sucked at her skin like a mosquito.

As Bean succumbed to whatever urge this was, his stool tipped back and he crashed to the floor and lay there, laughing. Marion got down on her hands and knees and leaned over him, kissing his cheeks, eyelids, nose, his mouth. His arms wrapped around her, their bodies pressed so closely together that his arms looked as if they were growing out of her back. Customers kept glancing at them; some laughed nervously, one of the locals called, “Hey, get a room, dude.”

“Bean,” Kate said, feeling deeply disturbed.

Her boss—her “older brother”—was making a fool of himself. She hurried over to see if she could distract him enough to get him outside and then get him home. He’d feel mortified in the morning, on top of being hung-over.

But before she reached them, Bean ripped open Marion’s blouse. The buttons popped off one after another, his hands slipped over her breasts as she reared back, her face seized with ecstasy, her eyes rolling back in their sockets. She unzipped his jeans and fell on him again, both of them now grunting, groping, moaning, rolling. Most of their clothes vanished with their decorum, his butt the color of a full moon, her pendulous breasts bouncing, dancing.

It happened so fast, that for an instant, Kate just stood there, gaping along with nearly everybody else in the bar.

It was like watching a porn movie come to life.

Bean thrust himself into Marion and they rolled across the sagging floor, faster and faster, crashing into tables and chairs. People shouted, scrambled out of their way, tried to get past them to the door. They were oblivious. Kate ran toward them, shouting at Bean to knock it off, and someone else hollered to call the cops. Bottles and glasses tumbled off the tables, shattered against the floor. Kate grabbed Bean’s shoulder, he shoved her away, and she stumbled back into the jukebox. The needle tore across the record, the old Wurlitzer went silent.

In desperation, Kate picked up the pitcher of Skip and Go Naked and hurled what remained of it over Bean and Marion. She squealed, he yelped, they fell away from each other. Kate snatched her bag off the counter, ushered the last two customers, inebriated locals, out of the bar. She killed the lights and slammed the door. Let Bean clean up the place. Let him sweep up the glass, clean the grill, restock the shelves, load and run the dishwasher. Let him explain to the cops what the hell happened and what had come over him.

All she wanted to be was out of there!