The Cove (13 page)

“Never did.”

“Hmm … well, I — uh, we had a report of a coyote in the area. I thought I saw something and chased after it.”

“A coyote? Really?” Agnes wasn’t convinced. Something in his posture and attitude signaled that he was not being entirely truthful here. “I hope you’re not just saying that, and there’s a bunch of hoodlums out causing trouble.”

“Oh, no … no. Nothing like that.”

Tommy looked at her with a smile that looked like it was screwed on too tightly.

Mrs. Appleby leaned across the seat and looked past him at the
Capozza’s
house. It occurred to her that something might have happened to the old man who lived there with his daughter.

Mrs. Appleby decided not to push it. Police work was police work, and Tommy — whether he was “playing” cops or not — wouldn’t tell her what was going on if he thought she didn’t need to know.

But she knew Tommy Marshall all too well. She had never really trusted him. How he ever became a policeman was beyond her. More likely, he was one of the people the police should be looking for.

Mrs. Appleby was about to shift back into gear and drive away when the front porch light on the
Capozza’s
house winked on. A warm, yellow glow spread like a burst of sunlight across the lawn. Tommy Marshall tensed visibly as he turned again and glanced over his shoulder at the house. The front door opened, and a wedge of darkness inside the doorway widened.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

Mrs. Appleby almost said something to him about how it wasn’t proper for a police officer to swear, not in front of an elderly lady, but she let that pass.

“I — ah, I have to talk to someone at that house,” Tom said. “They — umm, they’re the ones who called in about the fox.”

“I thought you said it was a coyote.”

Tom appeared momentarily flustered, but then he said, “Coyote — fox — whatever,” and turned to make his way up the walkway to the front door.

For several seconds, Mrs. Appleby sat there in her car, watching him; but when he turned and looked at her as if to say
“I’ve got it under control … You can go now,”
she shifted into gear and drove away. It only took a quick glance into her rearview mirror to see all she needed to see.

The door opened wider, and the Meadows girl stepped out onto the small porch. With the light on in the house behind her, her figure had a luminous glow. Tom mounted the front stairs and reached out to her. Obviously, they were about to embrace, but she lost sight of them when she rounded the corner, and the scene was lost behind some shrubbery.

Mrs. Appleby was so filled with disgust she shivered. Shaking her head and clicking her tongue, making a
tisk-tisking
sound, she complimented herself for figuring out why Tommy Marshall was sneaking around the neighborhood so late at night.

She knew people did things like that all the time, but what galled her most was knowing that Tommy Marshall was married to Louise Brown, the only daughter of her best friend-and now patient — Lilly Brown. She never thought she’d ever feel this way, but she had to admit that she was glad Lilly was already so far gone with Alzheimer’s she would never have to grapple with what was going on.

“It would rip her heart out if she knew,” Mrs. Appleby muttered as she pulled into her driveway and stopped the car. For the longest time, she sat there, her hands hooked over the steering wheel like a hawk’s claws, her eyes wide as she stared at her reflection in the rearview. After a few minutes, Amos — who must have been watching from the kitchen window — came to the door and called out, “You
aw’right
out there?”

Mrs. Appleby sighed as she pulled her keys from the ignition and squeezed them in her hand. A hard edge dug into the palm of her hand, making her wince. She fought back tears. Feeling as though an invisible weight was strapped to her shoulders, she got out of the car and walked up the brick-lined walkway to the front door.

When all’s said and done,
she thought,
I could have done a lot worse than marry Amos
. He certainly had his faults. What man doesn’t? Many years ago, before they got married, her father’s only comment about Amos had been: “He ain’t much.”

And he hadn’t been … but through the years, he
had
been a loyal husband, a good provider, and — at least as far as she knew — he had never slept around on her. Of course, if he had messed around and if she’d ever found out, he’d be singing soprano.

“Y
ou can’t … Why are you doing this to me?”

Standing on the doorstep, Tom stared into Julia’s dark eyes. They were wide and moist. Reflected bits of light looked like tiny flames, but the flatness in her eyes made it clear that nothing he was saying was getting through to her.

“I don’t mean to hurt you. I really don’t,” she said and for the first time since they’d been talking, she placed her hand lightly on his arm at the bend in the elbow. The touch was reassuring, but there was nothing behind it — no passion … no affection.

“So why can’t we … I don’t see why we — you know, can’t keep on doing what we’re doing.”

Julia inhaled sharply through her nose and held her breath while looking past him, like there was something more interesting happening behind him.

“Because we can’t … It’s over … I … I don’t feel anything for you, Tom.”

“You never did. Did you? Admit it.”

Julia’s focus shifted closer, but she lowered her head and looked down at the doorstep. He wondered why she wouldn’t look him directly in the eyes.

The silence lengthened, but after a while she said simply, “It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.”

“What if I don’t
want
it to be over?”

Now — finally, she looked at him, but he could tell by her expression that she had already checked out. He meant nothing to her.

“You’re married,” Julia said.

“I was married when we first got together.”

“Yeah?” Julia narrowed her eyes as though something internal pained her. “And it was a mistake. I … I don’t know what I was thinking, but I … I should have known better. I shouldn’t have let you —”

“Let me?”

A sudden rush of anger made the light behind her shift to dark pink. The night sounds suddenly collapsed on him, and the air was too thick to breathe.

“You never
let
me
anything!
” Tom yelled. “
You’re
the one who came on to
me
, remember? That night I stopped you for speeding …? You came onto me faster than that
friggin
’ Saab you were driving.”

“It’s an Audi,” Julia said.

“Whatever!” Tom shouted, clenching his fists so tightly the blood pounded in his hands.

After a moment, she shifted her gaze down and said, “And I was wrong. I was —” Her body stiffened, and she raised her head, spearing him with her steady stare. “Okay, you want the truth? I was never interested in you … not the way you wanted, anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” Tom said, stung by her words.

“I mean it. You were … Look, I knew it was wrong at the time, and I never meant to hurt you, but it’s got to stop. Now.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tom said. He took a single step closer to her so he was towering over her.

“What question?” she asked.

“What if I don’t want it to end?”

Julia considered, but only for a moment. Then she stepped back inside the house. The knuckles of her hand gripping the door edge were as white as chalk.

“You don’t have a choice,” she said. Her voice was cold. “You’re married. You could lose your wife and your reputation in town will suffer. Me? What do I have? As far as I can see, I’m just the outsider who will
never
be accepted in this town.”

“But we talked about … You said how you wanted to go away with me.”

Julia shook her head and started easing the door closed. He could tell she was bracing herself so she could slam the door shut and lock it when … if he lost his patience. A heavy pounding sound filled his head, and he told himself that’s exactly what he should do.

Who would blame him if he lost his shit on her?

She deserved it for stringing him along the way she had.

“
So’s
that all I was to you? Just a fuck buddy?”

When Julia didn’t answer him, he clenched his fists, doing all he could to choke back his rage, telling himself he couldn’t do it … Not here … Not now … An off-duty cop can’t just stop by someone’s house and wail the living shit out of them.

“You know what?” He twisted his head to the side, hawked deeply in his throat, and spit into the darkness. “Up yours. I don’t need you.”

“
Au
revoir
.
”

Snorting loudly, he turned and walked away. His neck flushed, and his fists were tingling. A part of him wanted her to say something … to call him back and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. The skin behind his ears prickled like he was standing with his back to a roaring campfire as he waited to hear her voice, but she still hadn’t said a word as he left the yard and stepped out into the street.

The darkness sucked in around him, clinging to him like a wet shirt. Sweat ran down his sides from his armpits, tickling like a trail of ants.

Fuck her!
he thought as he braced himself and stopped. He began to turn around and look back at her.

The sound of the door closing and the faint click of the bolt turning in the lock finally convinced him that she had nothing more to say to him, but he was determined to change that.

She’d talk to him, all right.

Suitcase

B
en was sitting at the kitchen table, his elbows resting on the table and his head in his hands when his brother sauntered downstairs and into the kitchen. Pete was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and plaid boxers that drooped down the back of his legs.

“What’re you doing up so early, Cracker?” Ben asked.

“Don’t call me that,” Pete said as he reached inside his boxer shorts and scratched his ass. He blinked and looked around like a mole that had just burst out into the sunlight. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“
Li’l
Crackah
…? I like it.”

“Well I don’t.”

“I heard you and Pops come in wicked late last night. Must’ve been close to dawn.”

“Maybe,” Pete said.

Without another word, he wandered over to the counter, fetched a cup down from the cupboard. He sighed as he poured a steaming cup of coffee from the pot Ben had brewed earlier. He took a tentative sip, wincing at the heat or the taste — or both.

“You wash the pot before you brewed this?”

Ben nodded.

“No wonder it tastes like shit.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why’d you get home so late?” Ben asked. “You finally get lucky with Bunny?”

Pete scowled but didn’t say a word.

“Fuck, man,” Ben went on, “the other day down at The Local? She was all over me … all but had her hand in my pants right there at the bar.”

Pete’s expression was flat, unreadable as he leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee. The slurping sounds were starting to get on Ben’s nerves, but before he said anything, Pete turned his back to his brother and stared out the window. From where he sat, Ben could see the tops of the trees swaying in the wind and a long stretch of blue ocean.

“’S ’not really any of your goddamned business what I do, now, is it?” Pete shifted around and stared at Ben for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he placed his coffee cup down on the counter, poured some sugar into it without benefit of a spoon, and swirled it around before taking another sip. All the while, Ben looked at him with a steady stare. Pete had always kept to himself when he was a kid, but as an adult, he was a total dick.

“You really wanna know where I was? Pops and me took the boat out ’n got stopped by the fucking Junior Navy.”

“The Coast Guard? … No shit.”

“Yes, shit.”

A tingle of tension ran through Ben’s body. It took some effort not to say:
I knew it! … I knew this was coming!

“You taking it out for a late-night spin?”

“What the hell you think?” Pete snorted and spat into the sink.

“Wash that down,” Ben said, and Pete did as he was told.

Ben closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, telling himself not to say what he wanted to say.

But he couldn’t help himself.

“Pops is up to his balls in debt to Richie Sullivan, isn’t he?”

He opened his eyes and stared at Pete, who looked back at him with a perfectly neutral expression. Then he sipped some more coffee and shrugged.

“I don’t tell Pops how to run his business, and maybe you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into ours.”

“Why are you being so
pissy
?”

“I’m not
pissy
.”

“The fuck you aren’t.” Ben sat back and took a breath, wanting to clear the tension in the air. “You pissed Mona dumped you?”

“Fuck, no.”

“It’s okay if you are —”

“Screw her. She’s
fuckin
’ history.”

“What is it, then? You aren’t pissed because you had to go out with Pops and try to pick up those bales, are yah?”

Pete bit down on his lower lip, pressing the blood out of it as he looked at Ben.

“He needed help,” Pete said, “and — what the fuck? I got bills to pay, too, you know? I just don’t see why —” He cut himself off, leaving Ben hanging.

“See why
what?
” Ben asked.

“Nothing … nothing.”

Pete turned away, as if that ended the discussion. The kitchen grew so silent Ben could hear the wall clock ticking in the entryway.

“So is Pops going out to haul today?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “he’s probably gonna try ’n make the pick-up you guys missed.”

Pete didn’t say anything, but they both knew the answer. All Ben could do was shake his head. It wasn’t worth the breath to tell his brother how “The Crowbar” was going to pry everything he could and then some out of
Capt’n
Wally. He’d end up paying for two or three boats by the time Richie Sullivan was done with him … if Wally didn’t end up getting busted and doing jail time … or worse.

“What you up to today?” Pete asked. “You gonna start looking for a job?”

Ben didn’t like the way his brother had shifted the topic, but what could he do? Trying to reason with Pete was like trying to reason with a tree stump. You’d probably get further with the tree stump.

“I’m in no hurry,” Ben said, easing back in the chair and folding his hands across his belly. “I got some savings I can live on so as long as Pops is good with having me here for a while. I’m not gonna jump into anything just yet.”

“’
Cept
maybe into bed with that Meadows chick,” Pete said, looking at Ben with a twisted smile.

“How did you —? Who told you about that?”

Pete took a sip of coffee, eyeing him over the rim of his cup. Then he swallowed and said, “Word gets around.”

“I guess the fuck it does.”

“So how is she? She nice and tight?”

“Up yours.”

“She looks like she’d be nice and tight.”

Pete’s smirk widened into a goofy, gap-toothed grin. He put his cup down on the counter and scratched the side of his nose.

“It’s not like you don’t wanna bang her, though. Right? I mean — if you haven’t already. Am I right? Come on. I mean, the tits on her …?” He cupped his hands and bounced them in front of his chest like he was hefting two grapefruits. “Whoa.”

“You know what? Seriously … Fuck you,” Ben said.

He got up slowly from the table, his fists clenched. He was ready to fight, but then he caught himself. He wasn’t going to revert to the old days when he and Pete squabbled over everything and fought pretty much on a daily basis.

Pete’s face froze, his eyes glaring at Ben from beneath his shaggy fringe of bangs. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rolled his head from side to side like he was working out a kink. He inhaled loudly through his nostrils and then let his breath out in a sigh.

Ben knew his little brother all too well. He could tell that Pete had something else to say but was holding back, getting ready for a fight. Only now, they were adults, and they could really hurt each other. Ben was confident he could still beat up Pete, but Pete wasn’t the wimp he used to be.

“Come on,” Ben said, using as mild a tone of voice as he could muster. “Out with it. What have you got up your ass?”

“Nothing … Not a goddamned thing,” Pete said. He paused, the air in the room suddenly dense and hushed. “It’s just … I hear you ain’t the only one who’s trying to get into her pants.”

“What?”

“From what I hear, she’s been spreading her legs for a couple ’a people in town.”

“You’re
shitting
me.”

“Would I shit you?”

Ben was stunned, and he remembered thinking how it didn’t make sense that a woman as attractive as Julia wasn’t with somebody.

“You know who it is?”

Pete shrugged, now looking all innocence.

“No clue, but … you know how things are around here. You hear things.”

“Like what?”

“Things.”

“Fuck you, man. Tell me. Who else is she fucking?”

But Pete only smiled and shook his head. Ben felt a sudden urge to jump him and start wailing away on him to force him to tell him what he knew, but he stayed seated. He wanted to forget all about what Pete had said, but he was convinced that Pete was talking about the person — it
had
to be the same person — who had sandbagged him out behind The Local.

Remembering that Julia had not been exactly straightforward with him when he asked if she was seeing someone, he stood up, kicking his chair back so it clattered on the floor. Pete cowered as though expecting him to attack.

Ben stood there a moment, trembling inside, but then, without another word, he strode to the door and grabbed the keys to his car from the hook on the wall next to the phone. Clenching his teeth to keep from yelling, he swung the kitchen door open. He wished he could tear it off its hinges. The sudden blast of warmth from the sun hit him, making sweat pop out on his face and arms. Before he left the house, he turned and locked eyes with Pete, who was leaning against the counter and watching him with a faint, satisfied smile.

“It’s tough when you don’t get everything you want, ain’t it?” Pete said.

“Tell Pops to call me on my cell if he wants some help hauling today, ’
kay
?” Ben said, ignoring the taunt.

“Sure thing,” Pete said, raising his empty coffee cup as though toasting his brother.

Ben slammed the door shut behind him as he walked out. His ears were burning as he went down the driveway to his car and got in. As he sat behind the steering wheel, he realized he was breathing so hard and fast his body was shaking. Forcing himself to move slowly, and feeling every muscle and nerve in his body twitch with tension, he slid the key into the ignition and started up the car.

He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew for sure was that he had to get out of that damned house and away from his brother.

He needed some time alone so he could think things through. He needed to figure out why he had reacted like that, as if he was jealous of Julia Meadows … like he had any kind of claim on her in the first place.

He didn’t like feeling as though he had fallen for her so hard and so fast a simple comment like Pete’s would set him off. It might be a good idea to take the advice of whoever had jumped him out behind the bar and forget all about her.

The only problem was, it was already too late for that.

“Y
ou want to explain this?” Louise Marshall said.

She was standing barefoot on the front steps, wearing a tattered pink bathrobe as she greeted Tom, who was striding up the walkway to the house. She held up a battered brown leather suitcase in one hand.

“What the fuck?” Tom said, drawing to a stop.

“I was doing laundry, ’n I dropped a sock behind the washing machine. When I went to fish it out, I found
this.
”

“Yeah?”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah?’ Would you care to explain why there’s a suitcase filled with what sure as shit looks like cocaine in our basement?”

“What’s to explain?”

“What the —?” Her voice choked off, and something pulsed painfully behind her eyes. “You brought
how
many bags of cocaine into
my
house?”

“Oh, so now it’s
your
house?”

Tom mounted the steps and stood beside her, towering over her.

“I live here, don’t I?” she said. The pain behind her eyes blossomed, and pinpricks of light swam across her vision. She coiled back, expecting to be hit, but she somehow found the strength to say, “You don’t think you owe me an explanation?”

“I don’t owe you
doodley
-squat.”

He grabbed the suitcase from her, then pushed past her and entered the house. He walked down the short hallway to the kitchen and let out a long groan when he dropped the suitcase to the floor and sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Louise followed a few steps behind, clutching the neck of her bathrobe closed at her throat.

“Gimme some coffee, will yah?” Tom said.

Louise considered for a moment, then said, “Get your own damned coffee.”

“Jesus H. bald-headed
Christ!
I come home frigging exhausted after pulling a double shift, and you can’t even get me a goddamned cup of coffee? You should have a whole fucking breakfast waiting for me.”

Louise clenched her fists, wishing she had the courage or strength to go at him. She stared at the suitcase on the floor, her mind churning with things she could say.

Over the last few months … ever since she miscarried … something fundamental had changed in their marriage. She was positive he must be seeing another woman, but she hadn’t found any real evidence.

No lipstick stains on his shirt collar … no strands of hair that weren’t hers … no late night, muffled phone calls …

But that’s the only way she could explain the nastiness, the violence, the way he treated her like he hated her now.