Tempest Rising

by Nicole Peeler

Page 12

 

  Grizzie had forced me to leave work an hour early, presciently doubting my ability to make myself presentable, so I’d come home to find my dad still gone. He’d taken the car to Covelli’s to get it serviced, which I knew entailed him and Joe sitting around for a few hours shooting the shit.

  I had taken lasagna out of the freezer that morning and had put it in the oven to bake for my dad’s supper when I’d gotten home. I had just gone downstairs to check on it when I heard our rattling old car pull up our long drive. Dad came in through the back door and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re home early,” he said, noticing my lack of work uniform. “And you look very nice. ”

  “Yeah, Grizzie let me go at four,” I said, busying myself by fussing with the lasagna, checking to see if it was cooked through. It needed about another fifteen minutes so I put it back in the oven.

  “Someone I know from college came into Read It and Weep, today. We’re going to dinner. To catch up,” I finished, lamely.

  “Oh, how nice,” my dad responded, slightly confused. I’d done a part-time undergraduate English degree at the University of Maine in Machias, which was about an hour and a half away. I’d commuted two days a week because I couldn’t afford to live on campus. Not that I would have wanted to, anyway. For about two weeks I’d been anonymous, until someone had made the connection and the whispers and pointing had started. Of course, it was nowhere near as bad as it had been in Rockabill for the years after my little “accident,” but it still wasn’t pleasant. I felt labeled, and as such I never really tried to make any friends. My professors had been great—despite the fact that my file had a warning on it, something like “keep an eye on this one to make sure she doesn’t show signs of going postal”—and there’d been a few girls with whom I didn’t mind going for coffee or lunch. But I had to be careful not to get close enough that they were comfortable asking about what had happened to me. I certainly couldn’t tell them the truth, and I refused to lie, so I had to keep my distance. Therefore I never made any real friends at the university—the story of my life.

  So, no wonder my dad was slightly taken aback.

  “Well, I’m glad that you have plans this evening, and that you’re seeing a friend from school. That’s really great,” he said, nodding his agreement with himself. “You should go out more. ”

  I busied myself washing up a few stray glasses that had found their way into the sink, unable to look at my dad. I couldn’t believe he didn’t think it odd that I’d never talked about anyone from school, and yet I was claiming that somebody had shown up in Rockabill, of all places? I wondered if I had some sort of unconscious glamour power, but then I thought about my dad’s reaction and what Ryu had said about human minds filling in gaps. I didn’t need a glamour to make my dad want to see me happy. I’ve made such a mess of things, I thought, angrily scrubbing at an already clean glass.

  I realized what I was doing and forced myself to rinse and release the glass back onto the draining board. I got myself together and had managed a smile when I turned around to face my dad again. He was sitting at the kitchen table, watching me quietly.

  “Yes, well, you’re probably right,” I answered him. “I should go out more. ”

  He knew better than to push the subject. “So, who’s your friend?”

  “His name is Ryu,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s a man,” my dad replied, almost gleefully. I blushed.

  “Yes, a man. From school. ”

  “And his name is Ryu?”

  “Yup, Ryu. ”

  “Like kanga-roo?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’m not sure how it’s spelled, actually. ”

  “Neat. Is it a family name?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m assuming it is. ” If by “family” my dad meant the genus things-that-go-bump-in-the-nighticus.

  Speaking of family, I thought. What is Ryu, anyway?

  “What does he do?” said my dad, bringing me back to earth.

  “Um… he’s an investigator. ”

  “Oh, okay. With the police?”

  “I’m not really sure. I think he might be private. A private investigator,” I finished, lamely.

  “Ah, a gumshoe. Well, that must be exciting. ”

  “I think it must be, yes. ”

  The timer on the stove pinged and I nearly leapt over to the oven door. Our conversation was getting decidedly awkward. I knew suspiciously little about this good friend of mine.

  I made a big production of taking the foil off of the top of the lasagna and turning up the oven to let it brown. I set the timer for another ten minutes. “How was Joe?” I asked, using the opportunity to change the subject.

  “Oh, fine,” my dad said, and then he rattled off to me what he and Joe had talked about that afternoon, and what Joe had said about our old car.

  I set my dad a place at the table after making him a small salad. Then the lasagna was done, and I served him an oozing hunk—I make a mean lasagna—and sat at the table with him while he ate. As usual, I told him about Grizzie’s outfit that day. He thought of her as some sort of exotic bird and he loved to hear about her ever-changing plumage.

  My dad was just finishing dinner when our doorbell rang.

  I leapt up, nearly knocking my chair over. My dad gave me a funny look, and I managed to smile. “Guess I’m a little nervous,” I said, weakly.

  Luckily, he let it go, and I forced myself to walk calmly out into the hallway and to our front door.

  Ryu was wearing gray trousers and another crisp button- up with two-toned gray stripes, one stripe the exact color of his trousers and the other almost black. His belt and shoes were black. No coat, my mind whispered approvingly. And you’re underdressed, it chastised.

  He grinned at me and I noticed he was carrying a large rectangular box. He handed it to me and I took it gingerly by its handle. “I couldn’t find a florist,” he explained.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks. What is it?”

  “A lobster. ”

  “A lobster?”

  “A lobster. ”

  “Right. Well, thanks again. C’mon in. ” I held the door open and told my stomach to quit it with the butterflies as he edged past me. He smelled good—like freshly scrubbed man with a hint of balsam and something darker. Maybe cumin…

  My father was standing in the doorway between our kitchen and family room, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Ryu, this is my father. Dad, this is Ryu. ” I used the lobster box to gesture awkwardly between the two. Something rattled inside and I silently apologized for my rough handling, lowering the box gently to my side. The two men shook hands, exchanging pleasantries.

  “Well, Ryu, it’s nice to meet someone from my daughter’s school days. ” If my dad was surprised at just how posh Ryu was, he did a good job of hiding it.

  “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your daughter often talks about you. ”

  “Well, she’s really something special,” my dad said, and I blushed.

  “Yes, she certainly is,” Ryu said, slipping me that naughty wink of his. If I was blushing before, I now thought my cheeks would burst with the blood surging through them.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, Jane?” my dad said, noticing my embarrassment.

  “Ryu brought us a lobster,” I said, hoping Ryu had not noticed my embarrassment.

  “A lobster?”

  “A lobster. ” Déjà vu, my brain cackled, slightly hysterically.

  “Well,” my dad said. “Isn’t that nice. Let me take that for you. ”

  I handed him the box with relief. I had a funny feeling that the lobster was going to end up back in the ocean as soon as I left with Ryu. Both my dad and I loved seafood but neither of us could abide the squealing of a lobster being boiled alive.

  The three of us stood there in awkward silence until, as if on cue, we all started to speak at o
nce. Ryu and I quickly ceded the floor to my father.

  “You kids have fun, tonight. And be careful. See you in the morning, Jane. ” He kissed me on the cheek and shook Ryu’s hand, and then retreated to his recliner to watch the Food Network.

  Ryu turned to face me. “You look very nice, Jane. Do you need a coat?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, without thinking. “Oh wait, yes. And thank you. ”

  He looked at me curiously, but I ignored him and got my jacket.

  We walked out into the crisp November night, and I noticed he still had the top down on his Porsche. He opened the passenger door for me, and I sank into my little seat. I’d never been in a car this fancy in my life, and I had to admit that I was a little excited.

  He got in and started the car. “I’ll put the top up for you,” he said as I belted myself in.

  “No, don’t,” I blurted, blushing again as his curious look returned. “I don’t really get cold,” I tried to explain. “But I have to wear a coat so I won’t stand out. Anymore than I already do. ” I had no idea if he could understand my need to fit in, but I hoped he did. “I’d really like to ride with the top down, but if we could put it up before we get to town, I’d appreciate it. ” It sounded lame, I realized, and he would probably be disappointed with my stupid human concerns.