Next To You (22 page)

***

Alex dug out a cigarette from the pack he’d swiped from his mother. He was outside freezing, and Caroline and her fairground attraction boyfriend were inside the Wellington, having breakfast. He flexed his icy fingers a few times, lit the menthol, and inhaled its coolness. He exhaled, his thoughts as hazy as the smoke cloud. The vapor formed a picture only he could see, and he saw himself strangling that white Goliath eating French toast inside, strangling him with his bare hands.

Alex studied his narrow hands. Would they actually fit around that big pale neck? Logistically speaking, before he set to work strangling, he’d have to find some way to knock the man down first.

The lug wrench in the Mustang’s trunk could be useful for that.

One swift wrench blow to the kneecap would take any man down, no matter how large, and once the man toppled, Alex would hit him again and again.

After that, he could use his belt, or the discarded plastic shopping bag that rested like a puffed-up dead jellyfish beside the rear wheel of a battered old Datsun station wagon. He’d pull the bag taut over the broad face and watch if there was any change to that complexion, beyond the bruising. That face would go pink first, then red, and wind up a shade that matched those eyes, and those eyes would bulge, and a tongue would protrude from that pink, pink mouth.

Yet there was one thing he realized he’d missed. If he really wanted to see the color change, he’d have to use a clear plastic bag, the kind from the grocery store for fruit, instead of an opaque shopping bag emblazoned with a red bull’s-eye.

Alex lost himself, grisly pictures of his handiwork in his head until he started laughing, wishing the gruesome images were something he could capture and load on his work computer along with the old photos of Drew and Caroline.

Drew and Caroline. Caroline and Drew. Drew and Caroline.

A blinding flash of that dimpled smile turned into a ceaseless strobe light that flickered the picture of Drew. All Alex saw was
Drew.

Drew.

Drew.

A coiling wisp of smoke punctuated the bright staccato photograph in front of his face. Alex began to cough. The combination of oxygen and smoke caught in his chest. Choking, he dropped the cigarette in the gutter and staggered to his Mustang half a block down the street. His stomach bloated with squirming maggots, flittering blowflies, and leaden slugs because he realized he had been deliberating murdering a total stranger.

Stunned, shivering with cold, he sat in his car with the driver’s side door wide open until the sound of car’s horn jolted him. He slammed the door, and started to cry.

Plagued by inability to find resolution, by guilt, by memories of Drew’s life cut short, by unappeasable thoughts of Caroline, he discovered the insufferable person he’d become was even more freakish than the boyfriend who sat across from her in the diner.

***

The
In-As-Free
slipped across the water below a brilliant azure sky. Quincy apologized for the perfect fall weather that was far from perfect for sailing, ‘I’m afraid we’re not actually going to be getting in any real sailing. There’s not much wind, so we’re only going to bob around for a few hours. We’ll have a nice lunch out on the lake. Murph, did you remember to stick sunscreen on your neck this time?’

‘Aye-aye, Skipper, already taken care of.’ Will popped open the tube of sunblock again and turned to Caroline. He crouched, tipped back the broad-brimmed straw hat on his head, and squeezed a tiny blob of SPF-50 onto his fingertips. ‘You can get sunburn out here too.’ He placed a dot of cream on the bridge of Caroline’s nose, and ran his finger to the tip. She crossed her eyes, gave him a buck-toothed smiled, and the blood rushed to his chest, the warmth proliferated every capillary. He snatched back his breath before it came out in a gasp. ‘You’ve got to make sure your nose is covered. A red, peeling nose is only vital when fishing for sympathy for a head cold.’

‘Last time he came out, Care-o-line, Murph’s neck blistered.’

Will whistled. ‘Oh, boy did it ever.’

‘No, you mean oh
gull
did it ever,’ Quincy chuckled.

‘You’re not going to start with the crappy sailor jokes already, are you?’ Will blobbed dots of cream across Caroline’s cheek. Her expression went from goofy to puzzled to something he didn’t expect: frightened.

‘Hey, Erika thinks my sailor jokes are funny, don’t you, hotness?’

‘Quinny, I think Will’s busy.’

Will pretended he didn’t hear Erika. He dropped his hands and straightened. Caroline rose, turned to look out over the water, and rubbed in the sunscreen. A moment later, she followed Erika down to the ship’s galley to organize lunch, and Will wondered what the hell just happened.

Caroline glanced back to the narrow staircase that led to the deck above and frowned. In the sailboat’s small kitchen, she sprinkled pine nuts over a spinach salad while Erika cut up a roasted chicken. Although she didn’t begrudge others eating meat, Caroline disliked watching the preparation of animal flesh. ‘Where are you from, Erika?’ she said, not watching the woman crack apart bones.

Erika washed her hands, drying them on the apron she wore. ‘Riga, in Latvia. I came here when I wass twenty-two, and I’m never going to loose my accent.’

‘It reminds me of Ingrid Bergman.’

‘Ingrid Bergman. I like that. Quincy says I sound like the Frida and Agnetha from ABBA. When Will and I first met, he told me I sounded like Eva Gabor. You know, from that old TV show
Green Acress
?’

‘Will likes TV, doesn’t he?’

‘He likes syou too.’

Frowning again, Caroline twirled the package of pine nuts closed, securing it with a twist tie. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘You don’t want him to like you?’

Caroline pulled the barrette from her hair to re-clip strands that had slipped free. ‘No … yes … I don’t know …’

‘Did your last relationship end so terribly?’

Terribly?
Terribly
wasn’t a strong enough word. ‘I like Will too,’ Caroline said. ‘Quite a bit, but I have to be fair because my last relationship was something of a nightmare that isn’t exactly finished with me yet. I’m done with it, but it’s not done with me. Who’d want to let that kind of baggage in their life?’

Erika laid a motherly hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t be afraid off him, Caroline. He may look like a big white bear, but Will iss very gentle. Trust me. He’ss a very good dancer, a very good boyfriend, and he would be good for you. You’d be good for him too.’

With a nod, and a half smile, Caroline left the woman in the galley and took the salad on deck. A sudden, sickly-sweet acrid smell clung to the back of her throat. It had the filminess of cream and it added to the thickening sensation that began spreading up her chest when Erika cut up the chicken. She set the salad on a table beneath a blue and white striped awning and coughed to try to clear the thickness. The odor got worse and she moved past the open hatch, stepped around a reading William, and went toward the starboard hull where Quincy stood, smoking a joint.

Well, this was hilariously unexpected. Head shaking, she said, ‘Are you really …’ she looked back to William. ‘Is he really …’

‘Yes, the old hippie.’ William said, without glancing up from his magazine.

‘Want a hit, Care-o-line?’

She waved a hand. ‘No, thank you. The last thing I want is to get tossed in the clink for possession.’

‘You sound like Murphy, the officer of the court,
you know if I’m caught with you doing that it could get me disbarred
. Man, you two need to live a little. Jeez, it’s just a little dope.’

‘Quinny, put that little dope off yourss sout and come get the champagne, instead off rotting your brain.’ Erika called from below.

After one more draw, Quincy pinched out the joint with his moistened fingers, slipped by with a grin, and made his way to the galley.

‘Interesting idiot, isn’t he?’ William had laid aside his motorcycle magazine and come to her side, without making a sound. His hand settled on the back of her neck.

It was an action that had become a familiar, affectionate gesture, but something about the weight of his palm was uneasy. It wasn’t his touch; that was pleasant, wanted even, but hot, clammy perspiration began to form on her skin. William’s hand was bizarrely heavy, weighted with anxiety that belonged to her alone, and Caroline understood this moment with him was shining in a direction lit with change.

She had grown comfortable with how they were, with how easy it always was with him, but she was uncertain about making a modification to the safe haven of friendship. It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was hot. The uncertainty was overheating. She was beginning to burn up in the autumn sun, and nausea was kicking in. Did people get sunstroke in October?

He said, ‘I’m leaving very early tomorrow morning, so we won’t be able to do coffee.’

‘When will you be back from India?’

‘Very early Thursday. Think you’ll miss me?’

Caroline wanted to ignore the flickering ember she’d detected behind his eyes. She didn’t want to pay attention to the suggestion Erika made. She didn’t want to address the flutter in her chest, the weakness in her knees, or the queasiness in her stomach. She didn’t want to find out what kind of dancer William was, or the kind or boyfriend he could be. She didn’t want a paramour who kept ties to an ex-wife.

Everything with William was wonderful, exactly as it was. It was simple, it was normal, and she wanted to hang on to that. It was easy to rationalize away the crush she had on him because she also had a crush on Hugh Jackman when he played Wolverine in the
X-Men
movies. That was just as idiotic as this, except, in reality, this moment was making her edgy—and queasier instead of pleasantly giddy.

All at once, things became intensely bright. Although they stood under a sailcloth awning, the shade didn’t offer any relief. The clear sky and autumn sun glinting off the slate-blue water hurt her eyes. The polarized sunglasses she wore suddenly weren’t dark enough. Caroline turned her gaze to William’s chest, but the brilliant, robin’s egg blue of his loose-fitting shirt and white satin luster of his hair was as dazzling as the sunlight.

She looked down to the wooden deck for some relief. While she didn’t find relief, the dark, aged wood beneath her shoes gave her courage to speak up. ‘William,’ she said. ‘I like being your neighbor. I needed a friend, and it’s been such a fast friendship with you. It’s amazing how comfortable I am around you in such a short period of time. I like having you drop by unannounced; I like watching movies with you. I like having coffee, I like how my dog likes you, and the fact you wind up finishing whatever I order in a restaurant. I like how I can talk to you about anything, and if I had an argument or falling out with my neighbor that would be easy enough to deal with, but if I had one with my friend … it wouldn’t be so simple. I don’t have many friends and I don’t want things to turn from
this
to awkward, phony chitchat about the movies by the mailboxes downstairs because we … if you and I … well you have your life and … I like you very much Will …’

She wasn’t simply nauseous, she was woozy: her face had been sucked into the back of her head, the vacuum pressure forcing her eyes to bug out in a way that felt as if she’d spent an afternoon sitting doing shots of tequila instead of an afternoon gliding across gently bobbing waves for ninety minutes. Dizzy, she took a deep breath.

‘I like you too.’ William’s fingers brushed down her cheek and under her chin.

‘My head’s spinning, William.’

‘So’s mine.’

‘Erika’s bringing the chicken and I’ve got this.’ Quincy appeared on deck, a bottle under his arm. He held out champagne flutes.

Caroline’s hand shook as she took a glass. She squinted against the glare reflecting off the crystal and tried to keep the dizziness at bay.

As Quincy began removing the cork from the bottle, Will stepped forward. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He slipped the bottle from his friend’s grasp and leaned in, turning slightly, saying very quietly, ‘Hey, Skipper, I was having a discussion that might have been leading to an uncharted desert isle for two. Can you make like you forgot something?’

‘You mean to say, Gilligan, you two are only getting to that stage
now
?’ Quincy murmured. ‘What have you been doing all this time? Hell, you better hurry up.’

‘I know you’ve got the munchies, but is it too much to ask for a minute?’

‘You may not have a minute. Look at her.’

‘I’ve been looking at her.’

‘Well, you better look again.’

Will glanced over at Caroline. ‘Aw, shit.’

Quincy said it loudly, ‘I didn’t think it was possible, but you are actually whiter than Murph, Caroline.’

‘I feel awful,’ she said.

‘Clearly. Was it the grass?’

Erika stepped up on deck with the platter of chicken and vegetables, and Caroline’s eyes widened. She looked at the platter of food, at Quincy, then at Will, and back again to Quincy. She swallowed convulsively. ‘Is it all right? Can I … can I … just … over the side?’

Quincy smiled. ‘By all means. Make some fish very happy.’

Caroline handed Will her champagne flute, sagged over the port side, and threw up.

***

The Dramamine Erika had mother-henned Caroline with had kicked in. She was asleep.

Will peered down at her as she lay in the bunk below deck, curled on her side. He set the glass of water on the built-in table and sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to think of a movie where Tom Hanks had crawled into bed and snuggled up with his female co-star.

Tom’s image was inched out by James Bond—the Timothy Dalton James Bond, the Bond who had been something of a gentleman with the ladies, unlike Connery, Lazenby, Moore, Brosnan, and Craig. Will figured he could act like the more gentlemanly version of the spy, but then he laughed at himself for thinking he could be like Tom, Tim or fictitious 007.

There was a part of him that wished he wasn’t always such a gentleman, and a part of him that was impressed he’d always maintained a courteousness when it came to women.