Two If by Sea (40 page)

“You mean your husband, Supercoach Rad Cartwright, isn't ready,” said Claudia. “And maybe you aren't either. It might lead to a shortage of cheerleaders with their pointy toes and their pointy boobs.”

“They're third in the nation in their division, Claude.” Becca was a cheerleading coach—this, like football, was one of the Stations of the Cross in North Carolina.

Claudia flapped the towel at Becca. Then she nudged Frank and whispered, “Hey!” It meant,
Frank, do we tell them now?
Frank nodded, gesturing that first he would check on Ian. He did.

“Are you sick? Is that why you didn't want to eat that little chicken? It was a grown-up chicken,” Frank said.

“It icked me,” Ian told him simply. “I didn't like the slimy berries either and the rice had yellow stuff in it.”

“That was curry. You like curry,” said Frank.

Ian actually shuddered.

Claudia came in and said, “Eeny, are you better?”

Ian put the pillow over his face. “I'd be better if everyone would leave me alone but Dad.” If he had said this to Frank, Frank would have slunk away hurt, but Claudia, equable creature, just rolled her eyes and made jazz hands at Ian's fretful form. “I just want to go to sleep, Cloudy.” It was a massive admission for a kid in a house full of kids.

“Let me tuck you up,” Claudia said. “You don't have to brush your teeth.”

From down the hall, Frank heard Colin say soundlessly,
He doesn't have to brush
his
teeth?

“If he's sick, we'd just have to throw the toothbrush out anyhow. Bet you didn't brush all the time in the tree castle,” Claudia said, knowing Colin would hear. “And no, I am not spoiling him.”

Being able to sass with your mind had its advantages. As Frank watched Claudia tuck Ian in, he could not help but admire how capable she was—how she had gone from a presumably preening, pretty, pampered, and accomplished young academic darling to a loving and beloved . . . well, mother, in such a short space of time.

“Claudia,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Colin telegraphed to both of them,
UGH
.

“So, okay, if you stop talking. Cloudy, why don't you take Colin and go play with your sisters?” Ian sounded just like an impatient adult who wanted a moment's peace, telling a child to go upstairs and work on his puzzles. Whiny wasn't like Ian.

“I'll do that,” Claudia said.

Colin came in and said, “I think you're faking.” Mean-to-Ian wasn't like him either. Something was in the air.

Frank told Ian, “I can't stay in here all night. We're visiting Claudia's dad and that means they made all that nice food, which you wouldn't eat, for us. I have to go back and talk to them, because we're guests. But I'll be with them, right out there . . . okay?” With one hand, Ian was making a circling motion that plainly said,
blah, blah, blah.

“Just talk to me about something, okay?”

“For a few minutes.”

“About your gun,” Ian said.

“What about it?”

“Do you still have your police gun?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure. I have two guns.”

Ian sighed. “Good.” He said, “So, are you sure you never shot anybody?”

“I'm sure.”

“What would make you shoot somebody?”

“I guess, if somebody tried to take you.”

“Somebody might try to take me.”

“Who?”

“A bad guy. You took me.”

Frank's stomach rolled. He didn't always reckon on Ian remembering his deliverance. This was the first time he'd ever spoken of it.

“Yes. That was wrong, too, Ian. I don't know why I did that.”

“You wanted me.”

“You don't just take what you want.”

“
Did
you want me?”

“I wanted to help you,” Frank said.

“You didn't want me, to be your boy?”

“Yes, I did. But I don't know why I thought I could just take you.”

“Was it wrong for Collie, too?”

Frank said slowly, “If I really thought so, I guess I'd give you back to somebody who was related to your—”

Ian sat up, and began crying. “You'd give us to someone?”

“No, no, no. Didn't I just say no?”

“Promise. Never.”

“Never. Not ever. I promise.”

Despite his pallor, Ian then seemed energized. “Don't they have any PBJ here?”

“Yes. How about just some cornbread and a little turkey instead?”

“How about no. Can we get a PBJ? Or some Brie and jelly like Claudia makes?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “Those guys. How could they make you go with them to get things, Ian?”

“What things?”

“Things the bad guys wanted, like money or to win a race.”

“They would say Get up or I'll kill Colin or Cora.”

“Why didn't you . . . make them be nice?”

“I did, lots of times.”

“What happened?”

“The guy who was nice, another guy shot him . . . Can we
please
have food?”

“Aren't you sick anymore?”

“I wasn't sick. I was mad. I don't want to go see that lady Cloudy knows.”

“Cloudy says she's really nice.”

“They will for sure kill her, then.”

“Huh.” Frank couldn't swallow. He stood up.

“Plus, Colin says someone is thinking some goddamn bad things,” Ian added.

What a hallucinatory quality life had. Frank walked out into the dining room. “Ian, yeah . . . he wants to know if you have any peanut butter and—”

“Picky eater,” Becca said.

“He's tired, is all.”

“Let him go to sleep hungry once . . .”

Frank said, “No.” Becca widened her eyes.

Claudia got up and began cutting slices of the thick bread.

“Would he rather have Brie and jam?”

“He would, actually.”

Miranda said, “We should go soon. I thought Mark would be here! We're cooking out tomorrow night, right, Dad? No baby chickens?”

“Just trout. And steak,” said Dr. Campo. “You know, Frank, Claudia's been fishing all her life.”

Just then, Becca's husband, Rad, hipped his way in, a case of Buried Hatchet ale under one arm. Hellos rippled around the room, and Claudia gave him a kiss, and teased him, “I hear congratulations are in order. Another championship season.”

“Fingers crossed,” Rad said.

What had Claudia told Frank about this guy? They got married when they were both twenty years old? In college? No, that was Miranda, the younger sister, the chef's wife. Becca's husband was a coach, but he'd been an all-American Tar Heel. They got married the day after graduation, because Becca was pregnant with Angela. Kind of an asshole, Claudia said, who still blamed Becca because he hadn't gone all the way to the pros. Frank pointed out that other guys with kids had done that. “Could he really have done it?”

“I don't know that much about football. He was a running back. He didn't have that much size or that much speed. Good, but not
that
good. Good enough for a full ride. Smart enough to stay in. But he's one of those guys who's still living the dream of that championship season when he was a freshman at UNC. So now he's a math teacher, coach at St. Michael's, where we all went. And Becca feels guilty, so he's got that going for him, too.”

“They always do.”

Now Frank made his own assessment. A drunk. Though he was younger than Frank by a few years, Rad's nose and cheeks already had the stamp of the drinker, like the tiny lines on a map that symbolized rivers. Whatever looks he'd had were roughened, maybe by the outdoors, maybe by the booze. Before he stowed the cans in the iced cooler, he popped open a brew for himself.

Albert began pouring sweet after-dinner wine into ornate miniature glasses.

“Hold on to those for a moment, Dad,” Claudia said, taking Frank's hand. “Rad, come to the table. Let's give some thanks. Frank and I have something to tell you.”

“No way!” said Becca.

“Oh, Sissy!” said Miranda. “That's why you're so shiny and pearly!”

“I didn't even say anything yet,” Claudia said, pretending to pout.

“I'm a lucky man,” Frank said, summoning up the nerve to make the equivalent of a speech in front of strangers. “This terrific woman says she'll put up with the likes of me.”

The sisters applauded. Dr. Campo said, “That's good news, Claudia. When is the big day?”

“We're not going to have a big wedding. I'm training, you know. But soon. In a few months. Then, in the spring, you'll all come to the farm and we'll have a huge party.”

“I've never been that far north,” Becca said. “What's it like?”

“People eat roots from the ground they dig up with their teeth,” Claudia said. “You never came to see me, that's right. And you've never been even to Chicago? Not even for a competition?”

“As far north as Kentucky,” Becca said.

“Well, you will love Frank's farm, and his sister and her husband, and their mom, Hope . . .”

“She's a widow, Albert,” Frank said, and the sisters applauded again. “And she's got multiple graduate degrees.”

They all lifted their glasses, and when Frank caught Colin's eye, Colin was smiling. He let himself nurture a spear of hope. They would never be the kind of family made from the usual materials; but they would be a family. To look at them now, they already were. For a while then, Frank nearly dozed, as Becca and Rad, and to a lesser degree, Albert, watched two teams from somewhere south of Peoria bash away at each other.

“So you're Claudia's latest?” Rad said. It took Frank a moment to wake up and realize that the man was really expecting a reply.

“And greatest,” Frank answered. “I don't get the impression that I'm part of a long tradition of boyfriends, not that we talk about it much.”

“Last one was a doctor, though.”

“I'm just a farmer.”

“But you train those horses like hers.”

“The riders, too.”

Rad hunched forward in his chair, one hand entirely encircling the can of ale sweating into his thick, denim-skinned thigh. “If I was a psychiatrist, I'm saying, and making good money like she makes, would I take two years off to try to dress up in white pants and one of those sissy coats and be in the Olympics? You bet no, sir, I would not. And what if she don't make it? There's two years and your pay right down the shitter.” Rad sat back with an approving nod, as though that were that.

“She's on a sabbatical year, this year, for starters, so she gets paid, and I guess it's what she always wanted. She wanted to do it before—”

“And she broke her damn neck! What if she kills herself this time? That old man can't take care of a disabled daughter, and she's got no husband.”

“If she killed herself,” Frank said, as unable to resist what came next as he was sure he should keep his mouth shut, “nobody would have to take care of her. And you heard what she said. It won't be long before she has a husband.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you're concerned, sure. Horses fall, sure. Riders fall. It has its risks. And now that her horse got hurt, the young horse she's riding is pretty spooky. She's a game horse but she needs a lot of rider. I would worry more if it was any rider but Claudia.”

“You put her on a wild horse?”

Frank felt his knee bite him; it was like what he'd heard people describe as the aura they saw before a migraine, lightning flashes from the corners of their eyes. His leg was just heralding a storm, which he hoped would blow itself out tonight so they could get back to Wisconsin, which suddenly seemed like the end point of a pilgrimage. But the sharp pain was an alert; it felt like a gut reaction to Rad's challenge. Slowly, Frank said, “I didn't put her on anything. Look, you've known Claudia longer than I have. She does what she wants.”

“Becca does what I want.”

“Hmmmm.”

“So you make a good dollar training horses? And women?”

Desperate now, Frank glanced around for an exit plan. Dr. Campo was snoring, and Colin was pitching fly balls to Angela, and Ian was nowhere in sight. Just getting up would be downright un-southern-hospitable, although maybe the guy would think that Frank was going outside to smoke or something. Not once in his life had he ever provoked a confrontation.

“So, your team is doing well,” Frank said, imploring Claudia to come to his side. But Miranda's husband, Mark, had just come in, and exchanged an exhausted greeting with Frank in the full minute before Claudia commandeered him to discuss a wedding cake, gold, like a medal, and blue flowers, five layers, but nothing tacky . . .

“You weed out the pussies who're afraid to hurt their little fingers . . .”

“Dad,” Ian said, appearing, his hair as wet from running as if he'd taken a shower. “We were playing under the porch, and, Dad, I'm not making this up, you can ask Ray, we saw a bear! I know it was a bear, because it was black. Ray said to yell, ‘Go away, bear!' because they wouldn't hurt you, they're actually, actually scared of you, but the grandfather guy has binoculars down there, and we got them out . . .” Ian went still.

“Who's this?” Rad asked.

“My son, Ian. Say hi, Ian. Shake hands.”

“You married, too? On top of everything else?”

“Widower. My wife died a year ago. Ian, this is Rad, Mary and Angela's daddy.”

“You don't have to hit Cloudy's sister,” Ian said. “Be nice.”

Rad's hand closed around the still-half-filled can, nearly crushing it.

“Be nice. Be happy. It makes her sad because it hurts.” Ian turned to Frank. “Dad, do you want to see if we can look out the top floor and maybe see more bears?”