by C B Cox
I wait for him to elaborate, but his expression is inscrutable. He seems to look right through me. It’s a strange expression, part way between sorrow and resignation. Once again, I feel uncomfortable.
What is it with the people around here? They love pregnant pauses and blank stares.
I clear my throat. “I must get back. The tide…”
“I know all about the tides.”
“Yes, well, it’s been nice meeting you, Curtis,” I say, my voice rising two octaves. I cough. It comes out as a growl.
“I’ll help with your groceries … if you like?” He nods at the basket. “The causeway, it gets slippy. The tide has only recently turned. It can be dangerous.” His expression warms. His soft hazel eyes glisten.
“That’s all right, I’ll be fine.”
You’re being rude.
I change my intonation. “Perhaps, another time?”
He shrugs. “Goodbye, Mrs. Madison.” He nods and turns on a polished heal.
“Bye, Curtis.”
I catch myself staring at him as he walks away. He strides towards the big house. At the picket fence, he halts, turns and waves. He’s smiling. He’s waiting for me to set off in much the same way as my father used to check that I was safe inside the building, before leaving me at school.
I blink away his stare. Roll the pedal up. Push off.
Chapter Thirteen
Exhausted, but satisfied, I arrive at Tern Lodge to find Bella lolling around on the porch on her back. As I approach, she spins onto her belly and her ears flick up. I imagine her asking, “What took you so long?”
“Well, that was an interesting afternoon, Bella. Thank’s for sticking around to offer moral support. Appreciated.” I say, chuckling. “Tell you what… Why don’t we grab ourselves a bite to eat? Afterwards, we’ll take a walk along the beach. What do you say?” Bella’s ears prick up when I mention the word, ‘beach’.
I transfer the groceries from the basket to the kitchen. Organize the contents into the refrigerator and cupboards. Place the coffeepot on the stove. Make a tuna sandwich.
“We’ll take a picnic, Bella. It’s gorgeous out.”
I change into shorts and a T-shirt. Add fruit and a bottle of water to my picnic. Grab a blanket. Bella leads the way. She’s in her element. Free at last, she runs ahead of me, stopping every few yards to look back and check that I’m keeping up.
We stroll along the cove’s sweeping arc of golden sand towards a wooden jetty. Bella chases driftwood in the surf. Spooked sandpipers chatter and launch themselves into the air from the water’s edge, as Bella scampers towards them. I step barefoot into the cool water. The ocean tickles, laps at my ankles and fizzes between my toes. The warm afternoon sun caresses the back of my neck and bare arms. A gentle breeze strokes my face. In the distance, waves boom as they roll and crash onto rocky headlands. At the jetty, I turn and position my face to the sun. I stand there for several minutes, enjoying the rasp of the waves and warm sunshine. We mooch back the way we came, drinking in the salty air.
I can be happy here. I tell myself.
At five p.m., we sit on the soft sand gazing out across the ocean. The walk has been therapeutic. Not a trace of tension remains in my neck. I’m lost in a warm, fuzzy feeling. I exhale a sigh. Settle back onto my elbows. Bella snuggles up beside me. Places her weight against my side.
She’s my faithful companion. I love the very bones of her.
My eyelids become leaden. My mind replays the day. I’ve not seen a soul for almost a week, yet today, within an hour, I encountered two people.
In my half awake, half asleep state, I see Eliah Wiley in his frayed shirt and decades old smock with a pother of dust around his head. He reminds me of the cartoon character, Pig-Pen. He’s rubbing his bony hands together gleefully. Eliah’s image fades into the dust cloud and Curtis Jackson emerges holding a telescope. He’s looking down the lens straight at me. Something or someone catches his attention. He spins and turns the telescope at my unsuspecting heroine – the girl in my new novel – cycling down a moonlit country lane.
My consciousness ebbs and flows. Sleep takes me. My brain spirals into the abstract chaos of a new dream.
I hear my heroine’s scream.
I wake with a start. Reach out to Bella for reassurance. She stirs and pushes up on her hind legs. I must have slept for hours. The sun has lost its heat. The tide covers half the beach, almost reaching the blanket.
“Home time,” I tell Bella, gathering up the blanket and picnic basket. We saunter back to the lodge where, to shake off my lethargy, I busy myself sweeping the porch, wiping down the kitchen counter and fluffing cushions.
I send a text to Martha:
Great day. First two chapters written. I’m happy here! H xxx
A kissing lips emoji pings back immediately. I return a GIFF of Kermit the Frog, bashing away at an old-fashioned typewriter. Martha pings a thumbs up. I hover my thumb over the keypad. A moment passes. Deciding against getting into a five set text tennis match with her, I set the cell phone down on the counter.
With my dream still rattling around my head, I settle at my desk and add five hundred words to my novel. It’s an excellent word count. I press ‘SAVE’. Shut the lid. Strip naked. Pad into the shower. The hot water cascades over me. Steam fills the room. I stand cocooned in its warmth.
Relaxed and contented, I curl up into bed and fall quickly into a dreamless sleep.
It’s still dark when my eyelids flicker open. Half awake and half asleep, I lay gazing at the ceiling. I hear a floorboard creak. Bella – having assumed her position at the bottom of the bed while I slept – whimpers as she chases seabirds across an imaginary beach in her doggy dreams. I flip over onto my right side and listen to the lodge creaking under the hand of the wind. Content that all is well, I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Day 8
My days on Tern Island are taking on a gentle rhythm. I’m writing in the mornings and early evenings. Taking inspiration from the view beyond my desk. The light is wonderful. The skies are vast. Seabirds arc and swoop on the currents. From where I sit, I can hear the melodic caress of the ocean over the sand. There’s a brisk and invigorating freshness to the air which fuels my imagination. It’s at the opposite end of the spectrum from the subtle toxicity of Manhattan.
I’ve stopped wearing my watch and rarely look at my cell phone. The only exception being regular and brief text message updates to Martha. I measure the time by the sunrise and sunset and by the tides that cut Tern Island off from the mainland every morning and evening.
In the afternoons, I walk with Bella to the beach or the woods to the south. Often, I dangle my feet over the cliff top and watch the magnificent sunsets.
My writing is flowing. I’m making good progress on my novel – my characters live and breathe. I’ve slept more in the last week than I have in the previous five months. I feel renewed. Invigorated. Like I’m hooked up to an oxygen tank.
Life is good.
It’s days since I visited Eliah Wiley’s store.
Bella grumbles to be let outside to pee. We pad downstairs past the photograph frame turned against the wall. No steely eyed glare witnesses our descent. I allow myself a smirk. Bella does a little hind leg bounce of gratitude as I fling the front door open.
A man stands on the porch. Man-boy would in fact be more apt.
“Holy crap!” I exclaim without thinking. My heart leaps in my chest and steals my breath. Bella hunkers down, tail between her legs.
Some guard dog.
The man-boy stands stock still, saying nothing. He supports a cardboard box under thick forearms. He’s thickset and muscular, like a human pit bull. I put him in his early twenties, perhaps a little older. A thick mop of greasy brown hair extends over his eyes. He addresses the timber deck. He’s wearing a red and black checked shirt that’s a minimum of two sizes too big for him. His jeans are worn and faded. Along the edges of his shoes, the soles are detached from th
e tops. His right foot turns in at an awkward angle.
We stand on the threshold. I look at him. He continues to address the deck. After a long minute, he thrusts the box at me. I think I hear him grunt.
“Are you, Levi?”
“Yup.” His voice is deeper and older than his years. His words are monotone. He thrusts the box forward again.
“I’m sorry … only … you took me by surprise. Would you mind bringing the delivery inside?” I don’t know what I expected the delivery boy to be like, but it certainly wasn’t someone like Levi.
Levi takes a high stride over an invisible step and enters. He wipes his worn-out shoes on the welcome mat. Wipes and wipes. His head bobs as he wipes.
Is he counting each movement?
When he’s finally convinced his shoes are clean, he says, “Ten.”
He seems a little slow.
He nods. Flicks his chin.
“The kitchen. Follow me.”
I enter the kitchen and stand aside. Levi halts beside me.
“Thank you, Levi. Just there,” I point to the kitchen counter.
He observes me with suspicion from under his mop of hair. At the counter, he sets the box down with care. Takes a half step back. Scrutinizes it. Huffs. Places huge calloused hands on both sides of the box. Adjusts the box’s position until it aligns perfectly with the edge of the counter.
He repeats the ritual three times.
My lips make a thin smile. I massage the back of my neck.
He’s exhausting.
I scratch nervously at my scalp and realize that my hair-grip holds my bangs off of my face. Releasing the curls, I place the hair-grip on the counter.
Levi moves towards the box. Checks himself. Squeezes his fists together. Moves back.
“I’ll fetch my purse,” I say, moving away from the huge man-boy, half filling my kitchen.
“Yup,” Levi says, arms limp down by his sides.
I pull out a ten-dollar bill and thrust into his huge hand. Turn and hurry towards the front door and wait for him to leave. He doesn’t move.
“Thank you, Levi. That will be all for now,” I say, angling my head towards the opening. A cog clicks into place inside Levi Wiley’s head, and he lumbers towards me.
He steps past me. Negotiates the invisible step. Leaves the building.
“Bye then, Levi,” I call after him.
“Yup,” he says, striding off along the path towards the causeway, clubfoot dragging a quarter of a pace behind him.
I lean against the lodge and watch Levi disappear around a corner. His departure leaves me pondering the encounter. Anyone can see he has learning difficulties, but despite his awkwardness and strange manner, he seems harmless enough. Still, an uneasy feeling lingers in my gut.
“He’s a strange one, isn’t he, Bella? I thought he was a mad axe man.” Bella flicks her ears and pads away.
She’s supremely unconcerned.
I put the groceries into the cupboards. Earmark a delicious looking filet mignon for supper. I step outside and spill birdseed on the bird table. None of us will go hungry, thanks to the greatest salesman and his son.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I tell Bella, dragging the door closed. The latch clicks into place. Bella bounds off towards the cove. I call her to heel. “Not this time, Bella. We’re going to the woods.”
Chapter Fifteen
The woods on my island are as old as America. Huge pines create an impenetrable canopy through which little sunlight can pass. I transition through the tree line – it’s like someone has turned off the lights. At ground level, the darkness is almost complete. Strolling along the footpath, the scents of wet soil and pungent pine enter my nostrils. Roots the thickness of a man’s arm twist alongside the footpath. I shuffle through a thick layer of freshly deposited needles. Bella nuzzles her nose deep into the mulch, hunting out rabbit scent. I laugh as she sneezes when the dust tickles the back of her throat. I hear birdsong, the shuffle of the breeze through the canopy and branches creaking under the hand of the wind. Somewhere close by, a woodpecker pecks industriously at a tree trunk. The telltale tapping reverberates around the wood and seems to come from every direction.
Ahead, the trees thin and peter out. The canopy gives way to open sky. We pass through the tree line, and within four paces arrive at the cliff top. Rocks, the size of coconuts, litter the ground at my feet. Hard earth replaces pine needles underfoot. Bella edges towards the edge. She’s been here before. Knowing that our walk has reached its outer limit, she sits. I join her. We sit and take in the view. Gaze across an impressive panorama of inlets, islands, ocean and sky. In the middle distance, two sailboats float serenely past. A small motorboat – skippered by a solitary figure – motors past. The heading suggests its destination as the sandy cove due south of Tern Lodge.
I peer down and scan the rocks. Whilst vertical in places, other areas are not so precipitous. I identify a route down to the rocky foreshore. Just as quickly dispel the notion of scaling the cliff. Only the most intrepid of climbers would attempt to scale the cliff. I’m no adventurer. Fifty feet below – where rock meets the ocean – boulders the size of small cars, worn smooth over millennia, huddle together and form a natural barrier and a series of deep ravines. Quartz peppers the bedrock. Close to the ocean, it sparkles in the sun.
We while away an hour, gazing out across the vastness of the ocean. I toy with Bella’s ears. She swishes her tail, contentedly. Scenes from my novel play out in my mind’s eye. Connections clarify. Plot twists solidify. I’m in my happy place.
“C’mon, Bella. Time we got back. It’ll be dark soon,” I say, rising up, stretching sleepy limbs.
Back at the lodge, I prepare the steak and eat outside on the porch. It’s delicious. I pull my favorite cardigan tight around my shoulders against the chill of the evening. I close my eyes and hear the low though distinctive sound of trickling water. Trickling water? Where? An expedition beckons. I open my eyes and see a song thrush strutting at the bird feeder and a robin nervously guarding its territory.
It’s too late for coffee. Deciding that it’s wine o’clock, I pour myself a crisp glass of chardonnay. It’s sublime. It eases me into the evening.
No more writing today.
A chattering blackbird scuttles into the undergrowth. Reluctantly, I move from the comfort of the porch and head for the kitchen.
A text alert breaks my torpor. My cell phone vibrates and dances across the kitchen counter.
Who can it be at this hour?
Hello gorgeous. Are you missing me? Can I come over? Tonight? Keep you company? C xxx
It’s from Charles.
I snatch the cell phone from the socket and dump it on the counter. I do it too quickly. The handset slides over the granite, pitches over the edge and crashes against the floor. It splits apart. The battery pack skittles away. The screen fades and dies.
“No!” I scream.
I’m such a loser. I gather up the pieces and fumble to re-attach the battery. One of the plastic tabs has broken off. The pieces of the jigsaw refuse to fit together.
My neck burns red. An invisible hand grips my throat. Hot angry tears stream down my face. My hands shake. There’s a braying behind my temple.
You monster!
If Charles is hoping for a reconciliation, he’s out of his tiny mind.
He has no right to occupy my thoughts.
Who does he think he is?
I’m so angry. I stomp around the lodge. Pick things up. Put them down. I can’t stay still. My fists clench and unclench.
My angry strop continues for a half hour. When it does finally abate, I fight the urge to punch the wall. My peace of mind, just like my cell phone, is shattered.
“I could kill you!” I roar at the frame turned against the wall above the mantel. “Leave me alone, you bastard.”
Exhausted, I crawl into bed. I don’t have the energy to undress. I curl into the fetal position fully clothed, and cry myself to sleep.
; Demons haunt my dreams.
I’m chained to a bed in complete darkness. Absolute silence surrounds me. A door swings open and stark bright white light floods in. A man stands silhouetted in the opening. He clutches a bunch of flowers in his right hand. He raises his hand and throws the flowers toward me. They land on my face. Hidden amongst the blooms is a slab of maggoty meat. The putrid odor of death fills my nostrils, my mouth and lungs. I can’t breathe... I grab at the flowers. The rancid meat is slimy. I can’t breathe…
I bolt upright. Sit and sway. At the bottom of the bed, Bella stirs. I reach down and stroke the top of her head.
The nightmare passes.
I lay back. Try hard to steady my breathing. After a while, sleep takes me.
Chapter Sixteen
The bedroom is hot and oppressive. My eyelids flicker open. Blinding shafts of sunlight stream in through the window. Dust motes dance in golden rays. The remnants of dreams float away and join the dust motes. I hear dull thuds. The lodge walls vibrate. I realize it’s the window shutters flapping against the frames in the breeze. I lay staring at the ceiling. The wooden fan in the center is stationary.
Why isn’t it working?
I’ve no energy to get out of bed. My head throbs to the rhythm of the shutters. My breathing is shallow and raspy. I’m thirsty. Dehydrated. The motivation to go downstairs and get a drink eludes me. The shutters tick like a metronome in my chest.
I drift off to sleep. The day passes in a blur of fitful semi-consciousness. When I do finally wake, it’s dark outside.
I wonder what time it is?
The smatter of rain against the window replaces the dull thud of the shutters. The air is cooler. Fresher. I run my fingers over parched lips. Recollect that I promised myself a drink. But that was hours ago. Wasn’t it daylight? An owl screeches.
