The Cove (23 page)

He knew it was here … somewhere …

He reached under the bed and skinned his knuckles on the underside of the bedsprings. His yelp of pain was shrill in his ears, and it hadn’t stopped when a sudden blast of bright yellow light filled his vision.

“Get down … Get down … Incoming!” he shouted at the three indistinct figures standing before him, lost in a watery blur.

It was impossible to make out their features, but he lunged for the one closest to him, wrapped his arms around the person’s legs, and twisted his weight around to try to bring him down.

“What the fuck —?” someone shouted.

Ben didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded almost like
Hadlock
, but it couldn’t be
Hadlock
. His CO had died when an IED took out his Hummer in
Ramadi
.

“Jesus H. Christ,” another voice said. This was a woman’s voice, and Ben was confused why a woman would be here in the barracks.

“Get down!” he shouted as he slapped the hardwood floor with the flats of both hands. His vision was swimming with swirls of bright light mixed with shadows so sharply defined they looked like razorblades.

Then one of the figures bent down and, reaching forward, grabbed Ben by the shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers dug into his skin hard enough to make him wince.

“Jesus, Ben! Snap out of it.”

Somehow, he recognized his father’s voice, and he shook his head, trying to imagine how in the world his father had made it to Iraq. But as his vision adjusted to the bright light, he gradually realized that he was down on the bedroom floor on his hands and knees. His breath roared in his lungs, and he was panting like he’d just finished running a marathon.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” someone else asked, and now he recognized his brother’s voice.

Ben flushed with embarrassment, his skin burning as he slowly rocked back onto his heels and crouched on his haunches, wrapping his arms around his legs. His throat was raw. It felt like he’d swallowed a gallon of seawater, but somehow, he managed to take a deep, steady breath and look around as the familiar surroundings of his sister’s bedroom gradually came into focus.

”You were wailing like a goddamned banshee,” his father said.

Ben looked up at him and Pete and only then realized that the third person standing there was Bunny Dawkins. She was wearing nothing but an old yellowed strap t-shirt that reached halfway down her thighs, which were white and dimpled with cellulite. The rounded sides of her breasts were hanging out the sides. The expression on her face was one of pure shock.

“Damn,” Ben said as he cupped his hands over his face and rubbed hard.

“Sounds like one hell of a
doozy
,” Wally said.

Ben nodded but said nothing as took a few deep breaths through his fingers. He focused on the whistling sound the air made. Then, once he was ready, he looked up at the three nighttime visitors.

“Sorry about that,” he said. He knew he sounded lame, and he was embarrassed by what had happened.

“What the hell was it,” Pete said, “a flashback or something?”

Still breathing through his cupped hands, Ben nodded and looked at him.

“Yeah … something like that,” he said.

“You okay now?” Wally asked.

He regarded Ben with a long, steady stare. The earnest concern in his father’s face was obvious, but there was something else. Not disgust, really. A certain amount of disappointment mixed with worry that there might be something seriously wrong with his son. It didn’t matter that his son had seen and done things nobody should have to see and do. He shouldn’t be letting his emotions show like this.

“Yeah … I …” He stood up slowly as cold aches throbbed deep inside his joints and muscles. His bruised hand ached. “I’m fine.”

“You want me to get you a glass of water or something?” Wally asked.

Ben shook his head, embarrassed that Bunny Dawkins was seeing him vulnerable like this. It was one thing if it was among family members, but because Bunny had witnessed it, word would get around that he wasn’t holding his shit together very well.

“I can get my own damned water, thanks,” Ben said, scowling as he waved Wally away.

Pete snickered and regarded Ben with a long, sly look.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” Ben said. He took a threatening step closer, ready to wipe that smirk clean off his little brother’s face if he had to.

“Me? No … Nothing,” Pete said, raising his hands and taking several steps back.

Still, he was wound up, and the note of mockery in his brother’s voice irritated him more than it would have ordinarily. He squeezed his fists so tight his wrists began to throb.

“Why don’t you and your girlfriend go back to bed?” Ben said to him.

Wally chuckled and, moving up close to Bunny, slid his arm around her plump waist and said, “What makes you think she’s with Pete?”

Honey Pot

“I’
ve been looking for you,” Julia said.

Shouting to be heard above the Alice Cooper song that was blasting from the sound system, she sidled up to the bar next to Ben. She smiled as she placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. His biceps were tight beneath his shirt sleeve, and the mere touch of his skin reminded her of their afternoon on the beach.

Ranged along the bar at The Local, clustered around both sides of Ben, were several men. Julia recognized a few of them from around town, but none of them had ever done more than nod a silent greeting to her whenever she passed on the street. She noticed the way their gaze lingered on her breasts now, and it made her skin crawl.

“Oh … Hey … Yeah, hi,” Ben said. “Whatta surprise seeing you here.”

It was obvious he’d already had more than a few beers. His eyes were glazed, and his voice was slurred.

“I thought you had to stay home and take care of your old ma — your father,” Ben said.

One of the men at the bar — a skinny guy with thinning dark hair, white beard stubble, and a serious gap between his two upper front teeth — started to say something but then apparently thought better of it and took a sip of beer instead.

“He’s doing better,” Julia said. She leaned close enough so the warmth of his breath washed over her face. It reeked of sour beer, and she realized the folly of meeting up with him here tonight. She should have waited until morning. “I was … Can we go outside and talk?”

A couple of the men at the bar perked up at that. One of them — a chubby guy who was wearing a stained wife-beater t-shirt — gave Ben an “
atta
-boy” punch on the arm. It looked hard enough to hurt, but Ben didn’t wince. He glanced at his beer, which was almost gone, tossed his head back, and drained what was left and then slammed the empty glass onto the bar. Kicking away the barstool, he hooked Julia by the arm and walked with her to the front door. He staggered, but only a little.

Even though the night air was tinged with the smell of mud flats at low tide, the fresh air was a relief from the sour smell of booze and men’s body sweat. The moon was hiding behind a raft of high, fast-moving clouds. Far off in the distance, she could hear waves slapping gently against the wharf pilings.

Neither of them spoke as they walked down the side street, their feet scuffing the gravel as they passed a collection of dilapidated fishing shacks. At the end of the dirt road, they took a narrow, winding road leading out onto a point of land that overlooked the harbor. Lights in the houses across the bay rippled in the water, and the air was fresher, tangy with salt and moisture.

Julia was glad that Ben held her hand, lacing his fingers between hers and gripping her firmly but not too tightly. He was unsteady on his feet, and she told herself that it was a mistake to try to talk to him when he was like this.

“You’re the center of attention down there,” she said, indicating the path leading back to The Local with a quick flip of her head.

“
Awhh
… just
talkin
’ a load of bullshit about what it’s like over there.”

She didn’t need to be told where “over there” was. Since they met, she had wanted to broach the subject with him. Besides being curious about what he had experienced over there, she wanted to know how he felt about what he had seen and done … Was it as bad as the news showed? She sensed he carried wounds from the war … that he had demons banging around inside his head … that he struggled to keep them under control and not let anyone see.

For now, anyway, she decided to leave it alone.

They walked past a few houses, most with the lights off except for the outside lights, until they came to a bluff overlooking the water. There, they stopped. The riotous sounds coming from The Local had long since faded away, and the night was filled with the rhythmic rush of waves against the shore. In the distance, a dog barked. Ben stumbled and almost fell as he leaned his head back, took a deep breath, and then belched.

“How romantic,” Julia said, smiling.

“Sorry ’bout that.”

Julia laughed, but her stomach was tight with tension. She knew she had to say what she had come here to say. It was going to be tough, but if she was going to have any kind of chance with Ben like she hoped, she had to get this out of the way.

“I …” She started, but her throat constricted. “There’s …
ummm
… there’s something I have to talk to you about … something I have to tell you.”

For a moment or two, Ben was so silent she began to wonder if he had even heard her. The only sound was the waves washing against the rocks somewhere below them in the dark.

“Don’t bother,” Ben said. Suddenly, he didn’t sound nearly as drunk as she thought he was. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

Julia was stunned.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Ben covered his mouth with his fist and belched again. “You think you know who slashed my tires yesterday.”

“How do you —?”

“Is that what you were gonna say?”

“No. I mean — Yes, but I …”

Her voice faded away as a sudden rush of dread took hold of her. Even more than in the bar, she regretted her decision to try to talk to him tonight.

“’S Tom Marshall, right? That’s who you think did it?”

As soon as he spoke that name, Julia froze.

“You don’t have to tell me ’cause I know.”

“Know what?”

“That you been screwing him.”

Again, Julia couldn’t speak. The directness of his statement stunned her. Her eyes stung as tears gathered, distorting her vision. The night swirled around her.

Ben turned and placed both of his hands on her bare arms above the elbows. His touch wasn’t so reassuring any more. He squeezed her upper arms, and the tips of his fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to make her wince.

“Stop that,” she said.

Ben eased up the pressure but didn’t let go of her.

“I been
wonderin
’ if you were gonna ’fess up,” he said, “or if you weren’t gonna tell me ’n just hope I’d never find out ’bout it.”

“How did you …? Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

Ben threw his head back and almost lost balance again. He had to let go of her as he wind-milled his arms to keep his balance. His eyes were glazed in the glow of the starlight overhead.

“A town like this? You have to remember there ain’t many secrets. None, in fact. Everybody …
everybody
makes everyone else’s business
their
business.”

“You’re all Cove-
ah’s
, huh?” Her neck got heated as she flushed with embarrassment. A tiny voice in the back of her mind was telling her that no one — not even Ben — was ever going to accept her.

“You
bet’chur
sweet ass we’re all Cove-ahs.”

He grabbed her arms again, but it was more to help him maintain his balance than anything else.

“You can’t get away with
doin
’ shit like that.” Ben said. “You were — Maybe you still
are
sleeping with my sister’s husband. You know he’s married, right? ’Least he was.”

Julia winced at the accusation. For an instant, she considered denying it, saying Tom had never confessed that he was married; but then, ever so slowly, she nodded and said, “Yeah. I knew.”

“And you — what? You didn’t care? You didn’t give a sweet shit how my sister feels when … not
if …
” He let go of her with one hand and poked her in the chest with the tip of his forefinger. “…
when
she found out about it … You never even gave it a second thought, did you?”

Julia twisted to one side and broke his hold on her. In a sudden rush of anger, she almost slapped him across the face but checked herself.

Okay … That’s it … I blew it … It’s over even before it started.

Tears filled her eyes. Ben was standing so close to her she could see the harbor lights reflected in his eyes. His breath reeked of beer, but as much as she wanted to convince herself he — like every other man in this Godforsaken town — was a good for nothing drunk with PTSD to boot.

But Ben was different.

“I didn’t know,” she said, fighting back tears. “I mean, I knew he was married, but I never … I —” She paused and took a gulp of air through her mouth. It burned in her throat like she’d swallowed a flame. “I was so lonely, and I didn’t know you then. You were still overseas.”

“And that makes a difference, how?”

“I guess not, but if I had met you first, I would never have done it. I never meant to hurt anyone.” She hoped her pleading would get through to him, but he seemed to be oblivious to what she was saying. He gazed at her with un-focused eyes and a thin, cruel smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, “but no one …
no one
hurts my family and gets away with it.” He hawked up some mucous and spat into the dirt at his feet.

Julia fought the impulse to hug him, to hold him close and beg him to believe that she was sorry, that she loved him and wished with all her heart she could take it all back, but her pride was too strong. Leaning away from him, she crossed her arms over her breasts and regarded him with a cold, steady stare as she shook her head.

“I was an idiot,” she said, her voice mixed equally with sadness and disgust. “A complete idiot even to think I could … could —”

But she let it drop, unable to finish.

What was the point?

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because Ben turned his back on her and started walking away. She stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him stagger down the path toward the road. The light from the row of streetlights alternately lit and shaded him until he rounded the corner and was out of sight.

Julia wiped the tears from her eyes with the flat of her hands. Her heart felt like a cold stone suspended in her chest. Once Ben was gone, and the only sound in the night was the waves on the shore, she started walking back to where she had left her car. Even the dog had stopped barking.

I
t was a little past midnight. Tom was upstairs, undressing for bed when heavy knocking sounded on the front door.

Louise had tucked in earlier, before Tom got home, but she had awakened when her husband trudged up the stairs, his boots clumping on every step hard enough to drive in any loose nails. She feigned sleep under the blankets, not wanting to give Tom any reason to pick a fight with her. She wasn’t convinced that Ben’s threat to charge Tom with domestic violence would be enough to stop him … not if he got into “a mood.”

“What the fuck is that?” Tom shouted.

“Someone’s at the door.”

Louise’s voice was thick with sleep and muffled by the blankets she had pulled up over her face to shield herself from the bedroom light.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Wearing his white-strap t-shirt and boxer shorts, Tom left the bedroom and went downstairs as more heavy knocking sounded on the front door. He flipped on the light in the foyer. Curious, Louise got out of bed and came to the head of the stairs and looked down to see what was going on.

Tom eased the curtain away from the sidelight next to the door and looked outside. When he saw who it was, he froze for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head before he threw the switch for the porch light. A bright wash of yellow light flooded through the window.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he drew away from the door.

“Who is it?”

He turned and shot an angry glance up the stairs at her; then he rubbed his face with the flats of his hands as though splashing his face with water.

“It’s your goddamned brother,” Tom said, but the last word was lost beneath the rapid banging on the door.

“My
what?
”

“Your brother … Ben.”

“What the hell is he …?”

Louise started down the stairs but stopped halfway, her hand gripping the rail as she watched Tom undo the lock and throw the door open wide. Ben was obviously drunk and, barely able to stand, was leaning against one of the porch support posts.

“Come outside, you
fuckin
’ useless piece of shit,” Ben said, slurring each word so he was barely intelligible.

“Ben, my man, you are trashed.” Tom kept his voice low and mild, but Louise knew by his stance that he was ready for Ben to do something stupid.

“I want you out on the lawn … right now … ’n face me like a man … one on one …
mano
a
mano
.
”

Tom leaned casually against the edge of the open door, ready to slam the door shut in Ben’s face if he had to. He shook his head and said, “It’s late, Ben, ’n you obviously have had a bit too much to drink —”

“Don’t think I
dunno
it was you.” Ben belched and then spat against the side of the house, missing Tom in the doorway by a few inches.