Things We Fear (3 page)

Chapter Six

Aaron drove around the bend to Cable Street. The warm June air flavored with all of the scents of the salty Atlantic welcomed him home. On his left, he passed a plethora of small cottages and stores, some vacant, some landmarks of the beachfront town, like the OOB General Store and Harriet’s Ham and Eggs Café, and then the new comic book shop that opened last summer, MB3 Comix. He hadn’t figured out what MB3 was yet, but he was sure it had to do with the owner, Max. All of the properties were in dire need of fresh paint jobs, but the worn vintage look definitely added to the town’s seaside charm. To his right were quaint, slightly fresher cottages set side by side, every one festooned with an American flag jutting out from the nearly identical porches with perfect green lawns and red picnic tables. In the driveways sat gas-guzzling SUVs—the required mode of transportation among his fellow seasonal residents. He wondered if they came with the summer homes on the right side of Cable Street. If so, he’d have to consider moving across the road.

His summer rental for the third straight year was the last one on the left. The cottage studio was the cheapest on the market, and cheap was a relative term. From the outside, it reminded him of a Happy Meal. Four square walls beneath a slight A-shaped roof. The inside wasn’t much bigger. It was a mostly open space, complete with a few complimentary furnishings—a cozy tan love seat set behind a round wooden coffee table that stood two feet high, and a teeny weenie night stand painted a very rustic red that was set between the love seat and the bed. The bed was covered with a well-worn blue comforter that the owner Mary Hersom claimed belonged to her eldest son, Jake, when he was a child, and next to that stood a tall comforter-matching blue armoire. The walls were freshly painted white and decorated with numerous paintings in nine-by-eleven frames. As was customary for Aaron, he would remove the generic seaside portraits of fishermen, beaches and lighthouses and stash them carefully and neatly atop the armoire until the last weekend of summer vacation.

He placed his suitcase of clothes on the bed and opened the door to the corner bathroom. There was a plain-white toilet, a shower for one with a horrendous flower-patterned curtain, and a minivanity: mirror, sink and just to the right a tiled countertop dressed with two vases of faux flowers. He pushed the vases to the wall to make room for his toiletries.

He turned the crystal-looking knob for the cold water and cupped his hands below the faucet. He bent over and splashed the cool water on his face. It was a refreshing sensation that gave a short reprieve from this early summer heat wave. Mid eighties. Nice and hot, just the way he liked it. He shook his hands off in the sink and stared at his face in the mirror. Maybe this would be the year he stepped into the cold Atlantic. The thought slid a frozen tendril down his spine. No. Not yet. And probably not ever. He was suddenly back in the river. His feet kicking at dark water that demanded his breath. The light above so far way. His arms pulling, reaching…

Knock, knock.

“Hello? Mr. Jackson?”

Mrs. Hersom.

A cold sweat had broken out over his back and chest. He returned to the sink for another splash of water, wiped his hands off on his shorts, and met the elderly woman at the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Hersom.”

“Hello back, Mr. Jackson. Are you all right?”

“Sure, why do you ask?”

“Oh, you just look a tad peaked. Well, we’ve got plenty of sunshine in the forecast. That should do you some good, I imagine.”

Aaron rubbed his neck and gazed out at the beach not forty steps from his door. “Yep. I’ll be out there as soon as I get the rest of my things inside. How’s Gil?”

“Oh, he’s same as he ever is. Still sippin’ beer, watchin’ the Red Sox and complainin’ about the Democrats. How was the school year?”

“Great. I got to be with a great group of kids and an excellent teacher.”

“Now there’s that smile I love to see. What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Mr. Jackson. Your teacher, the one that put that little lift in those hazel eyes of yours just now.”

“Ms. Young. Emily Young.”

“That little sofa in there sits two, you know?”

“I do, I do,” he said. He felt the warmth hit his cheeks as he bit the corner of his lip, and he glanced at the beach beyond Mrs. Hersom.

“You sure you don’t want to have Gil bring the television and stand back in here. Make a nice little date night?”

“Appreciate the offer, Mrs. Hersom, but I like my summers without the boob tube. Plenty to watch right out there. Plus, I bought me a nice new stack of paperbacks for the season.”

“Oh, anything for me?”

“I might have snuck a couple of Stephen King and Anne Rice books for you.”

“I never read those scary books except when you come around, but I do love them. Gerald thinks you’re making me sick. He’s just jealous of our reading-buddy liaison.”

Aaron smiled. “I’m all over the map genre-wise, but I know you like to walk on the dark side when I’m around. You want me to stop by with one tonight?”

“Oh, don’t bother yourself. I’ll swing by after supper tonight. Gil’s promised to take me for a walk down the shore.”

“A hot date.”

She smacked his arm. “As close as we get these days. Ah to be young again. Well, I just wanted to stop and say hello. Give us a holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“And we’ll see you around six, okay?”

“I’ll be here.”

Aaron folded his arms over his chest and watched the tall grass, which separated his beach shack from the hot sand, sway with the summer breeze. He wondered if Emily would call.
Better not get my hopes up.

He went to his car to gather the rest of his things.

* * * * *

An hour later, with a bucket of Lisa’s Pier Fries in hand and a cooler of cheap light beer in tow, Aaron found his first spot of the season. Just right of the pier, just past the farthest-reaching blades of grass. He would keep his distance from the cold ocean and perch his ass where he could watch the backsides of all the pretty young things coming and going.

He set the red Igloo cooler in the sand and pulled the Superman towel from around his neck. He couldn’t risk placing his fries in the sand. He tipped the cooler over on its side and placed the basket of fries safely atop it, while he fanned out the towel, and got it just the way he liked it. He plopped down on the towel, grabbed his salted and vinegar-drenched treats and put them between his stretched-out, white-as-a-ghost chicken legs. Aaron set the cooler back up, grabbed it by the handle and slid it next to him. Inside there were three cans of Coors Light, a koozie that read “Runnin’ on Empties” and a John Connolly paperback. He slid a silver bullet in the koozie, popped the top, took a long, pallet-satisfying haul and gazed out at the gathering crowds.

Three beauties in string bikinis, at eleven o’clock, were lying out, tanning their exposed perfections; at twelve o’ clock, an older couple, laughing and getting very touchy-feely under a big blue umbrella, warmed his heart; at one o’ clock and closest to him were a couple of gravity-stricken grannies. The one on the left with giant sunglasses leaned back in a lawn chair that Aaron gathered must be a lot stronger than it looked to hold this woman and her two large breasts off the ground. The petite one on the left wore a gray- and white-striped button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a large off-white hat over her crop of short gray hair. Sisters? Widows?
Lovers?
He couldn’t quite tell.

Beyond the groups that formed his front line, children ran to and fro armed with pails and shovels, beach balls, foam noodles and various-shaped bodyboards. The workout jocks who’d started out on the other side of the pier, tossing the pigskin, continued to creep closer and closer to the trio of babes. Their six-packs made him look at his early makings of a beer belly. He wondered what Ms. Young would think of his little pot?

Aaron smiled as he switched out beers and grabbed the paperback. It was great to be home.

Chapter Seven

“I need you to work for the next two nights.”

Heather pulled the phone from her ear and held back the irritation thudding through her temples. She locked eyes with Shannon whose thin eyebrows looked frazzled upon her scrunched brow.

What,
Shannon mouthed.

Heather placed the phone back to her ear and held up a finger to her roommate. “So, which days do I get off this week then?”

“That’s the thing, Heidi quit. Called out yesterday, interview I’m guessing, and then she called this morning and told me the Hilton Garden offered her a position with more pay. I need you,” Bill said.

She’d never heard Bill plead. He’d always been like a commander—strong, firm, regimented; she actually felt a pang of sympathy for him. She was ecstatic to hear Heidi was gone, but that meant that she and the rest of their fellow coworkers would have to cover the pretentious, inconsiderate bitch’s shifts for the next week or two.

“Look, it’ll be good money for you, and it will only be until I can get someone new. We have plenty of qualified applicants on file.”

“Okay, but I have plans tonight.”

“I’ll be here with Richard, covering the desk for Heidi’s shift tonight, but I
will
need you for the next two nights.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Heather. You’re really doing us a favor. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Heather hung up and tossed her phone to the couch.

“So?” Shannon said.

“Heidi quit. I get to work extra for the next couple of weeks. Yay.”

“Cool, more money.” Shannon grinned before re-sparking the joint in her hand. “Wake and bake?” she wheezed. She offered the smoke to Heather.

Heather plopped down on the couch across from Shannon and reached out for the joint. Shannon took another puff and handed it over.

“We still going to OOB tonight?” Shannon said.

Heather held in the hit until her head started to tingle, then exhaled. Try as she might to staunch it, the coughing fit burst out. Her throat felt as if it were coated in embers. Shannon laughed as she took the joint back.

Heather grabbed her bottled water from the coffee table and took a swig. The wetness dampened the heat in her throat but did little against the desert-sand dryness coating her mouth in the hit’s wake. “Yeah, might be my last night trip to the Park for a little bit.”

The Park was the nickname for the small amusement park along the boardwalk by the beach. Its official name was Palace Playland, but at some point in their teens her and her friends began to refer to it as the Park. That was about the time it went from the place your parents took you for cotton candy and kiddie rides, to the place you went to hit on boys and get high.

“Well, I’ll see if Harry can get Jesse to come up.”

Jesse was Harry’s cousin from New Hampshire. Heather had slept with him during spring break. They’d intended to make something official of it ever since, but life had a way of deciding such things. Portsmouth was only a couple of hours away, but Jesse worked for a power company that sent him all over the East Coast for weeks at a time. Heather really liked him. He was sweet, rugged and into the same shit she was—rockabilly, horror movies, shitty furniture (he’d helped her pick out the ugly couch under her ass).

“Is he already back? I thought he wasn’t due for another week?”

Shannon passed the joint. “Yeah, Harry mentioned that he would be back this morning. Said he already mentioned wanting to come up and asked how you were.”

“Well, all right, all right, all right,” Heather said, doing her best Matthew McConaughey imitation. She and Shannon busted up laughing. Heather felt the tears building in her eyes. Shannon fell forward and rolled on the floor, cackling for the world to hear.

Heather wiped the tears from her cheeks and dumped the roach back into Shannon’s coffee tin on the table. Her cell phone rang.

She cleared her throat and checked the number: the hotel. She stifled another round of laughter as she nudged Shannon with her foot to do the same. “It’s my work again, hush.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, Heather. It’s Bill again. I hate to ask this of you. My mother’s doctor just called. I need to get to the hospital. She’s not been doing well lately with her dementia. Is there any way I could get you to come in right now? I’ll relieve you as soon as I’m freed up, but that most likely won’t be until around five or six tonight.”

Heather’s buzz was officially killed. “Yeah, I guess. Let me get ready. I’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.”

“Thanks again.”

“I’m a company girl,” she said, hitting the End button and laying the phone in her lap.

“What now?” Shannon said climbing back into her seat.

“Bill’s senile mother is having some sort of fit. I need to cover for him.”

“Tonight? Shit.”

“Yep, pretty much.”

* * * * *

Emily opened her driver’s side door and sighed. Her back tire was flat. How the hell did that happen? She’d have to postpone her trip to Portland. She set her tote bag down on the car’s hood and walked behind the car. She scanned the driveway for any shards of glass, or nails, or anything that she might have run over yesterday on her way in. Nothing.

Honk.

She startled at the horn. She turned to find Matt and his Escalade pulled up on the side of the road. For once, his presence was welcomed.

“Everything okay?”

“Ah, yeah, well, just a flat. I must have run something over on my way home yesterday.”

“You need a hand throwing on the spare?”

She was ashamed to admit that she’d never changed a tire before.
How much more damsel in distress could I be?
And that she wasn’t even sure if she had a spare. Didn’t all cars come standard with one? She thought so.

“Sure. That would be great.”

She watched him pull up on the lawn. He stepped around the back end of the penis extension and smiled. He wore Oakley sunglasses and was dressed in a tight V-neck T-shirt, which she had to admit showed off his nice physique, and Adidas workout pants. Sandaled feet peeked out below.

“Can you pop the trunk? The spare must be back there, right?”

“Ah, yeah, sure.”

Emily opened the driver’s side door again and crouched down at her knees, being sure not to give Matt something to look at.
No need in making this any better for the guy.
She reached for the latch and pulled it.

“Yep. Right here,” he said.

She glanced down at the empty trunk.

“You just pull this handle and lift.”

“Hmm. Never noticed that handle.”

“You never even knew you had a spare?”

She waited for his
Just like a woman
comment. It never came.

“Give me a second. This one comes with a jack, but my Escalade has a power one that’s much quicker.”

He scrounged in the back of his truck and slid the space-age-looking device under her car frame near the rear tire.

“I ordered this baby online. See that little wire there.”

She saw the black leash aimed at the flat, and nodded.

“I hit this button and that tells it when the rubber is free from the ground. Sweet, huh?”

“That’s pretty handy.”

He changed the tire within a couple of minutes and tucked his space jack back in his truck.

“Well, that should get you wherever you were heading.”

“I don’t know. Can you drive on the highway with one of those? It looks like a toy wheel.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t go too far or over thirty-five miles an hour. Where you headin’?”

“Oh, I was going to Portland to grab some stuff at the mall. Guess I’ll have to put it off.”

“I could drive you down?”

“Oh no. That’s okay. Really, you’ve done enough, Matt. Thank you.”

“You sure? It’s really no problem. I’ve got no plans today.”

“Nah, I couldn’t. Besides, I need to go get the tire fixed. I think Walmart does it for pretty cheap.”

“Okay. Offer stands, though. Here.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his stuffed wallet, and then a card.

Matthew J. Holmes

Service Agent

627-7878

“Service Agent?”

“Yeah, it’s really just to hand out my number. I know, it’s another cheesy, macho thing. They had a limited order of two hundred of ’em so I still have half a box at home.”

“Half? Impressive.”

“Well, that’s my number. If you wanna hang out, get an ice cream, need another rescue or something. Give me a call.”

“Thanks.”

His eyes drank her in one last time. “Well, have a good day. Good luck with the tire.”

“Thanks again.”

She watched him drive away. She wondered what the chances were that he just happened to be there now? Must have been at the ice cream shop again. Or maybe he knows someone in the area? She didn’t think to ask.
Hmm. The curious case of Matthew J. Holmes, Service Agent, part-time skeez, part-time hero.

She got into the car and started toward Augusta. If she could get it fixed within the next couple of hours, she might be able to make it to Portland today.

* * * * *

Matt pulled his Escalade in behind the Gary’s Fried Chicken Shack. If he was right, Emily should be passing by any second, heading for Walmart. He was melting that icy shield she carried, one charming lie and staged act of valor at a time. Her car zoomed by between a wagon and a degenerate on a motorcycle. He slid his Oakleys back in place and pulled out onto Main Avenue.

* * * * *

“You’re all set, ma’am,” the tire associate said.

“Thanks, Hank.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Um, one thing,” Emily said.

“Sure.”

“Did you find what caused the flat? A nail or glass or something?”

“Oh, I thought you knew already. Yeah, it was slashed.”

“Slashed?”

“Someone stabbed your tire. You should probably report it to the authorities. Could be a one-off act. Some kids vandalizing their neighbors or…”

“Or what?”

“Or someone could have done it to your car on purpose.”

Her spine went soft.
On purpose?
Who would do such a thing? She didn’t have any enemies, least none she could imagine.

Hank must have seen the shock on her face.

“Probably just kids, but you should still notify the police. Other than that, she’s as good as new and ready to roll.”

Emily paid him, took her keys and the receipt, and parted through the tire shop’s bay doors. She wanted to head to Portland, but she should call the police first. They might need to talk with her. She sank into her car and used 411 to find the nonemergency number.

The police promised to check the area and have a patrol car do a couple extra rounds today and tonight, but also asked if she had any enemies or people upset with her for any reason. She thought of Matt’s convenient appearance this morning. Weird, but no. No way would he do something like this. Maybe Hank the tire guy was right. Maybe it was just a random act of teen angst. She knew there were teens in the neighborhood. That seemed more likely. Whatever the case, someone had been in her driveway with a knife last night while she was inside unaware. The thought alone ran imaginary spiders over her neck.

She decided to skip going home. Portland would be filled with tourists and locals. She’d feel much more comfortable in the company of others.

She threw on her blinker, pulled off Western Avenue and onto I-95.

Matt watched Emily turn for the interstate.
Perfect.
Her house should be free for him to inspect. He drove by the on-ramp and turned around at the next gas station. Maybe he’d be waiting for her when she got home.