The Cove (27 page)

How could he expect her to believe him?

What he had to do was make sure he didn’t drink like that anymore … especially if he wanted to keep — or restore — his relationship with her. He feared it was broken for good.

“I know I was pretty stupid.”

“Stupid and hurtful,” Julia said. He was so used to avoidance in his family, he admired how direct she was being with him.

“So … Can you forgive me? I really …”

I really miss you
was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it.

“I really would like to spend time with you.”

“Spend time?” The edge in her voice was still there — harder now. “Is that all I am? A time-filler?”

A sudden stab of pain shot a flash of yellow light behind his eyes. He winced and closed his eyes.

“No … no …” he said. “It’s not like that … not like that at all.”

“What’s it like, then?”

Ben paused. After opening his eyes and blinking rapidly for a second or two, he focused on the distant horizon. A sailboat whisked into sight from around the headlands, moving across the water as fast as a cloud. Its sail was a small white triangle against the vibrant blue of the ocean. Further out, he could make out the outline of a lobster boat.

She’s hinting at something,
he thought.
She wants me to say that I love her.

“How ’bout I come over … maybe later today … and apologize to you in person?”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Julia said. Ben caught a definite teasing inflection in her voice this time as though she were toying with him. “I’m pretty busy today.”

Ben’s eyes went out of focus again. The view out the window became a blue and green blur with erratic white streaks.

“Look,” he said, after taking a breath and mustering up courage he wasn’t sure he had. “If you want it to be over, say so. All right? We’re both adults. I think we can handle it.”

“Technically,” Julia said, “yes. We’re adults.”

Ben wasn’t sure if he should take that as a joke or a slam.

“I’m just saying — if you don’t want to see me anymore, I can live with it.”

“Can you? Really?”

For the first time, Ben caught a frightened pitch in her voice, like someone had their fingers around her throat and was squeezing ever so gently. He considered carefully before he spoke next, but after he cleared his throat and, surprising even himself, he said, “No … Not really.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line — long enough for Ben to wonder if the call had dropped. But then she took a slow, deep breath that, at the very end, caught in her throat almost like a sob.

Jesus, is she crying?

“I might be able to get out later this evening,” she finally said.

“Are you sure you want to?”

After another long pause, Julia said simply, “Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“F
uck her,” Tom muttered between clenched teeth.

As he pulled to a stop in his driveway and killed the engine, he realized the same thing applied to both of the women in his life — Julia
and
his wife.

When he turned off the car’s headlights, the night collapsed around him like the inside of a coal mine. He stared straight ahead at the closed front door of his house. It looked impossibly far away, and with the car windows closed, the sudden hushed quality of the night was disorienting. He wondered if this was what death was like.

One moment you’re here … and the next moment you’re gone … gone so fast you never even realize it.

You’re … just …

Gone.

He’d stopped off at the liquor store earlier today and bought a bottle of whiskey. He was feeling the need to knock back a few and think things through. As far as Julia was concerned, she could go fuck herself along with Ben Brown and anyone else she might have been boning. And Louise? Well, maybe he had loved her once upon a time … back in high school, maybe, when he was “young, dumb, and full of cum,” as he and his buddies joked. If she wanted to move out on him, that was fine with him. Let her goddamned pirate of a father support her.

For the last hour or so, he had been parked out at Sand Beach, sipping from the whiskey bottle as he watched the sun set behind the pines. The wind blowing off the water had carried the smell of hot sand and seaweed at low tide. Then he drove home.

It hadn’t taken long for the whiskey to go to his head, especially drinking on an empty stomach. Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d been so upset about the direction his life had taken that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. The last thing on his mind, though, was food. He was filled with rage … pure and simple rage.

He spun the cap off the bottle with the heel of his thumb. It fell to the car floor, but he left it when it landed as he tipped his head back and took a long pull. The whiskey burned his nose and throat as he swallowed slowly, savoring the taste. His mind clouded, and anger churned in his stomach like a cauldron filled with molten lava.

He sighed and smacked his lips, knowing that sooner or later, he was going to have to try to get into the house. The door looked impossibly far away.

He took a deep breath and held it. Once he felt ready, he pulled the key from the ignition and fumbled for the door handle. After a few awkward tries, he got the car door open and spilled out onto the driveway. He banged his knees hard on the asphalt but was too drunk to notice. A tiny, lucid part of his mind was grateful only that he didn’t break the bottle or spill much as he heaved himself to his feet and started for the door, staggering and muttering to himself the whole way.

It took an inordinate amount of concentration to get the right key into the door lock and turn it, but — finally — he swung the door open and stepped into the kitchen.

His senses were alert as he looked around, trying to determine if his wife had been —
or still was
— in the house. When the thought struck him that she might have come back while he was out and taken the clothes she’d been packing, he stomped up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom. The door was closed.

“You
fuckin
’ better not be here …” he called out as he slammed his shoulder against the door without turning the doorknob. The wood around the latch plate splintered, and something in his neck or shoulder made a crackling sound. He was barely aware of what was going on around him as he pushed the door open and all but fell into the dark bedroom.

“
Fuckin
’-a,” he muttered. He fumbled around for the light switch until he found it and turned the ceiling light on. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes, but he smiled when he saw Louise’s clothes still piled up on the bed, exactly the way she had left them.

Tom belched, and the burning taste of whiskey and vomit filled his mouth. When he realized he was still clutching the whiskey bottle, he tossed back a mouthful, gasping with satisfaction as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re goddamned lucky … I’d
fuckin
’ kill you if you
wuz
here.”

Satisfied that Louise hadn’t been back, he raised the bottle as if toasting her and took another huge gulp. The alcohol fumes exploded inside his head, and the room rocked like the deck of a boat tossed about by a storm.

Staggering and muttering obscenities, and punctuating his verbal stream with an occasional watery belch, Tom lurched over to the window between their two bureaus. He set the bottle down carefully on Louise’s bureau, knocking over a photograph of her and her family in the process. His vision kept going out of focus as he unlocked the window and ran it up.

Then he wheeled around and lunged back to the bed. Scooping up an armful of clothes, he carried them to the window. A few things dropped along the way, but he barely noticed. Forgetting about the screen in the window, he twisted his body to one side, mentally counted to three, and then, swinging around to gather momentum, heaved the clothes out the window. The screen ripped from its frame as the clothes cascaded out into the darkness.

“Serves yah
fuckin
’ right!” he bellowed as he shook his fists at the gaping window.

Snorting with laughter, Tom went back to the bed and grabbed another armful of clothes, which he also carried to the window and tossed outside. The room filled with his maniacal laughter. Once the bed was clear, he scooped up the few items that had fallen to the floor — a bra, some panties, a lime green t-shirt, and some mismatched socks. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, he threw these out the window, one at a time, making a game of it and calling out “Bulls eye” every time something shot out into the darkness.

When he was finished, he grabbed the bottle off the bureau and took another drink. His knees were rubbery as he stumbled over to the window. Bracing both hands on the sill and crouching low to try to stop the room from spinning, he stuck his head outside. Inhaling sharply, he filled his lungs with the clear-smelling night air. The darkness spun crazily around him, zooming in and out of focus as he looked down at the clothes, strewn on the lawn and hanging from the shrubbery that bordered the house. They looked like a tangle of shredded ghosts.

“There yah go, you lousy cunt!” he shouted. His voice echoed in the night like a lost soul calling from the woods behind the house. “Come ’n get ’
em
if you want ’
em
!”

Gripping the windowsill with both hands, he stared into the night, no longer capable of clear, conscious thought. An unaccountable sadness suddenly welled up inside him, and tears filled his eyes. He let out a heart-rending sob that ended with a resonating belch, and then a hot gush of vomit spewed from his mouth. The sickly sour taste almost gagged him as his stomach convulsed until it was empty, and then he started dry-heaving, hacking like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball.

Finally, when he was done, his head dropped forward and banged hard against the windowsill. He slipped to the floor onto his knees and then collapsed over onto one side and sprawled, unconscious, on the floor.

Rampage

“C
op or no cop,”
Capt’n
Wally said, “I say we go over there and have a little chat with the cocksucker.”

In the living room, Wally was ensconced in his worn leather easy chair. The TV was on, but the sound was down. The remote dangled loosely in his hand. No one was paying much attention to the ballgame, even though the Red Sox were beating up on the Yankees for the second night in a row. What made it even sweeter was they were playing at Fenway.

Louise sat on one end of the couch with both of her feet tucked up beneath her butt, the way she had always sat to watch TV since she was little. Ben, beer in hand, was at the other end of the couch. He couldn’t stop glancing at the digital clock on the cable box. He was already more than half-an-hour late, picking up Julia.

“I don’t want you to do anything, Pops,” Louise said in a thin, quavering voice. “This is between me and my husband.”

“Husband? Hah!” Wally snorted and made a hawking sound deep in his throat. If he’d been outside, he would have let fly a
louie
. “What kinda husband does shit like that to his wife?”

You did a lot worse to Ma over the years, but at least you never beat on her,
Ben thought but didn’t say. He suspected by her expression that it was Louise’s immediate thought, too.

“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Louise said. “I’m sure he’ll at least let me take some of my personal stuff.”

Wally sighed and shook his head before taking a sip of beer. His gaze shifted to the TV for a moment in time to see
Youk
field a hot grounder at first — “a worm burner” — for an easy out.

“Fucking Yankees can’t hit to save their lives tonight,” he muttered and then shifted his attention back to his daughter. “Either Ben or Pete
oughta
go with yah … just in case.”

“In case what?” Louise said, as if she didn’t know. Without thinking, she raised her hand to her cheek and rubbed it.

“I’ll go with you,” Ben said, focusing for a moment on their conversation. “Maybe I should go alone.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Louise scowled and shook her head. “So you and Tom can go at it? Get real.”

“I can wait until he goes to work,” Ben said.

Louise narrowed her lips and shook her head in adamant denial.

“No way. This is my shit to deal with, and I’ll deal with it. I don’t want either you or Pete getting involved. Got it?”

“You know I’ll always stand up for you,” Ben said.

Wally sat there, staring at her and not saying a word. She wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind, but she knew she didn’t like it. Ben knew exactly what their father was thinking … He was thinking, if he had his druthers, he’d go over there with a baseball bat and beat the living shit out of that asshole … maybe even kill him.

“I can handle this,” Louise said. “Seriously.”

“Maybe, but I’m going with you,” Ben said. He knew not to stand up to Louise once she had her back up, but he was thinking maybe she didn’t realize how serious this was.

“No,” she said. “You’re not. I’m a big girl and I don’t need you or anyone else standing up for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re still my little sister,” Ben said.

“Well no one — and I mean
no one
treats my daughter like that and gets away with it,” Wally said, as much to himself as them. A dull glow lit his eyes like hot coals smoldering inside his head.

“We’re not gonna solve a damned thing, sitting here
bitchin
’ about it,” Ben said.

The instant he said that, the back door banged opened and then slammed shut. They all tensed and listened to the heavy clump of approaching footsteps. Ben noticed that his sister’s face was lit up with expectation mixed with apprehension.

Is she really hoping Tom’s come over to find her and apologize?
he wondered.

With the kitchen light behind him, a shadow stretched down the hallway and seeped into the entryway. A second later, Pete walked into the room. He paused and looked around, obviously confused by the way everyone in the room was staring at him.

“What? Why’s everyone looking so pissed?” he asked, and then his expression froze. “Oh, Jesus. Did Mom wander off again and —?” He stopped before he finished the thought.

“No. Mom’s fine,” Ben said. “It’s Lou. She’s been having some —
ahh
… some domestic issues.”

“Domestic issues,” Pete echoed. He tipped his head to one side and regarded his sister for a second or two, then shrugged as if to say there wasn’t a darned thing he could do about it.

“Where the hell you been, anyways?” Wally said, a little snappishly. Before Pete answered, he drained the rest of his beer.

“Out,” Pete said. “What’s it to you?”

Ben noticed that, as he spoke, Pete lowered his gaze and, shifting his eyes to the side, looked slyly at him. He had that same stupid guilty look he always had whenever he did something wrong that usually involved Ben. Ben decided not to pursue it.

“Speaking of out,” Ben said, glancing at his wristwatch. He burped as he leaned forward and placed his empty beer bottle on the coffee table in front of him. “I’ve gotta head on out. Got some plans of my own.”

He stood up and, stretching his arms over his head, looked from his father to his sister to his brother.

“Kinda late to be going out,
don’t’cha
think?” his father said. Now that the family issue was resolved — at least for the time being — he was focusing on the baseball game again. The Sox had increased their lead.

“You popping down to The Local for last call?” Pete asked, brightening. “I’ll go with yah if you —”

“Nope,” Ben said as he patted his jeans’ pocket to feel for his car keys. “Got other plans.”

He noticed that his brother’s expression hardened.

“Oh, I get it. You’re hooking up with that slut,” Pete said.

It wasn’t so much what he said as it was the way he said it. Or maybe it was the lingering smirk on Pete’s face that set Ben off. Whatever it was, he clenched his fist at his side, took three quick steps across the living room floor and without a moment’s hesitation punched his brother in the gut.

Pete’s eyes opened wide as he grunted and doubled over. His mouth made a large
O
, and his face turned purple. His breath whooshed out of him as he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach.

“Watch your goddamned mouth,” Ben snarled. He didn’t back down an inch as he stood above his brother, his fist still clenched and raised.

“Fuck … you,” Pete gasped, his voice so broken it was barely audible. A thin string of drool hung from his lower lip and dangled over the floor.

Ben drew his arm back, preparing to swing again, but Wally shouted, “Jesus H. bald-headed Christ! Enough of this bullshit!”

Ben glanced over his shoulder at his father and then stepped back, relaxing his guard as he eyed Pete. He didn’t offer to help him as he clutched the doorframe and hauled himself back onto his feet, moving hand over hand like he was hauling a lobster line. Broken blood vessels covered his cheeks like tiny red threads, and he was puffing like an overworked engine as he tried to catch his breath. A silvery gleam filled his eyes, and Ben knew — if their father hadn’t been there — they would have gone at it again until one or both of them was sprawled on the floor, bleeding and breathless … or unconscious.

“What the
fuck
is wrong with you?” Ben said, glaring down at Pete. He clenched his fist and raised it, ready to strike if he had to.

“With
me?
” Pete was still laboring to take a deep enough breath, but impotent fury colored his face. “What the fuck is wrong with
you?
All I said was —”

“I know what you said.” Ben took a single step forward, and Pete shied back, hunching his shoulders. “And if you
ever
say
anything
like that again about Julia, I swear to Christ I’ll mop the goddamned floor with your ass.”

All the while, Louise was staring openmouthed at her two brothers. While they were growing up, she had played the role of peacemaker between them, but they hadn’t gone at each other like this since high school.

“Will you two
please
stop it? You’re acting like a couple of bullshit macho shitheads.”

She unfolded herself from the couch and walked over to Pete.

“You okay?” she asked, but when she reached out to touch him, he pulled away from her. Without a word, he walked over to the couch and sat down. When he put his feet up on the coffee table, he knocked Ben’s empty beer bottle onto the floor, but he either didn’t notice or care.

“Don’t wait up,” Ben said, and without another word, he walked out into the kitchen. As he was going out the backdoor, he heard his sister ask no one in particular: “What the fuck’s up
his
ass?”

T
he curtains in Julia’s bedroom windows billowed in and out like lacy wings. A warm breeze flowed across the floor and over their naked bodies like velvety water. A single candle on the bureau lit the room, but it had burned down so the orange flame wasn’t much larger than a fingernail.

Ben had been lying on his back, but he rolled over onto his side and gently ran his hand along the soft, rounded curves of Julia’s hips and waist. They had just finished making love, and her skin was slick with sweat. He paused to lick the salty taste from his upper lip.

“Wow,” he said, smiling at her in the dimming light. Her face stood out in sharp relief against the whiteness of the pillowcase, her dark hair fanned out like a splash of black ink. She was smiling, her eyes narrowed and crinkling at the sides as she looked at him with a look of total contentment.

“Yeah,” she said with a tiny exhalation followed by a light chuckle. “Wow.”

“Sheets are so much better than sand.”

They both laughed, and then she ran her fingertips lightly across his cheek. She shifted her hand down across his sweat-slick neck, chest, and waist until she held his manhood lightly but firmly. She gave it a gentle squeeze. Ben responded immediately. He remembered his last home leave and the time he’d spent with Kathy Brackett, but this was so much better he quickly pushed such thoughts from his mind.

“Let’s give it a rest for a sec, huh?” he said, grinning like an idiot as he slid his hands between her legs and started rubbing her gently. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, thrusting her hips forward and pressing herself against his hand.

“Look who’s talking ‘give it a rest,’” she said in a husky whisper.

Ben responded immediately. Rolling her over onto her back, she needed little urging to spread her legs for him. Shifting onto his side and then getting up on to his knees, he leaned over her, kissing her full on the mouth. Their tongues darted playfully in and out, but then he broke the kiss off and started kissing a winding trail down her neck to her collarbone and then lower, to her breasts. He took his time licking each nipple in warm, wet circles before moving lower. His tongue flicked across her ribcage and stomach and then moved even lower, going down on her.

Julia clasped the sides of his head with both hands as though to guide him, but he didn’t need any directions. Before long, he was kissing and lapping and applying pressure with the tip of his tongue to the soft, moist folds of her flesh. She twined her fingers in his hair, moaning softly as she twirled his sweat-dampened locks. The sounds of ecstasy gradually built in volume and intensity. Ben couldn’t help but wonder briefly if the bedroom walls were thick enough or if Julia’s father was sleeping soundly enough for him not to hear them.

But he didn’t let that slow him down.

After bringing her to a climax so hard she clamped his head between her thighs as if to never let him go, he shifted up so he was leaning over her, resting on his elbows. He was as hard as an iron spike when he entered her with a long, slow thrust that was so intense he got dizzy. Pinpoints of white light spun like tiny comets across his vision. He began moving in and out slowly, trying to control his tempo, but it wasn’t long before he found release impossible to resist. With a sudden shudder and groan, he reached orgasm and then collapsed onto the bed beside her.

He was totally spent.

Sweat ran in thin streams down his face and neck. For a long time, they lay beside each other, not saying a word … breathing heavily. Julia trailed her fingertips across his chest, ribcage, and hips, caressing … exploring … soothing. Ben wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with an edge of the pillowcase and then, rolling his head to the side, gazed at her. In the dim light of the candle, she looked gorgeous beyond belief. He decided right then and there that, at least as far as he was concerned, he wanted to go to bed with her every night and wake up every morning just so her face would be the first thing he saw every day.

“So,” he finally said, his breath coming in fast hitches, his pulse still racing. “Do you forgive me?”

Julia regarded him in silence until she smiled, making her eyes narrow. They looked like two beads of hot tar.