by Steve Gannon
Travis frowned. “Nobody. Some football buddy of Tommy’s named Junior Cobb. For some reason he’s decided he hates my guts.”
“He’s not my friend,” Tommy objected. “I just know him from the team. He played defensive line—graduated a few years back. He’s just a loser looking for someone to pick on.”
Still brooding over Catheryn’s perceived insurrection, Kane leveled his gaze at Travis. “Listen, sport. I’m gonna tell you something about guys like this, what’s his name—Junior?”
Travis nodded.
“There’s always at least one like him on every job, and they always find somebody to bully,” Kane said, venting some of his anger. “Makes them feel big. Take it from me, if you back away, they’ll just keep coming. What you have to do is get right in their face the first time they come at you. Otherwise they own you.”
“Somehow I can’t picture a guy like that ever picking on you,” Tommy noted.
“Dad was that guy,” whispered Allison.
“I heard that, Allison. I’ll ignore it for now,” said Kane. Then, to Travis, “Believe me, kid, handling punks is one thing I know. Don’t give ’em an inch, not one damn inch.”
“You’re not suggesting that Travis fight this boy?” asked Catheryn, looking appalled.
Kane glared back. “If he has to, yeah. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Then, turning again to Travis, “So he kicks your ass. It won’t be the worst thing that ever happens to you. Just make sure you get in a few good licks. Believe me, this Junior will come to the conclusion it’s more fun to pick on someone else.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Just do whatever it takes to make him change his mind. Whatever it takes. You understand what I’m saying here, Travis?”
“Yes, sir.”
Catheryn shook her head in exasperation. Angrily, she pushed away her plate. “That’s wonderful, Dan. Any other gems you would like to pass on? How about karate lessons? Or maybe Travis should start carrying a gun?”
“Jesus, Kate. I’m just telling the kid to stick up for himself. Hell, if it were up to you, you’d probably have him kissing any mean ol’ bullies who decided to pick on him.”
“Dan, when I agreed to let Travis take this construction job—”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Travis interrupted. “It won’t be a problem.”
“It had better not be. You could be badly hurt in a fight, not to mention the danger of injuring your hands. Contrary to what your father thinks, every difficulty in life can’t be handled with your fists.”
“Always worked for me,” said Kane.
“Fortunately for the rest of the world, everyone isn’t you, Dan.”
“Yeah. That’s a crying shame, isn’t it? Now, as I’m sure we’re all in agreement on that, let’s drop it. Who’s ready for dessert?”
“Me!” answered Nate, raising his hand.
Catheryn turned to Nate, sensing he had been unnerved by the argument and deciding to let it go. “Okay, okay—dessert. Right after we clear the table.” Then, glancing at her husband, “Not that I have any appetite left, but what is dessert?”
Kane smiled. “Probably nothing you’d like. Fresh strawberries, peaches, and blueberries over Häagen-Dazs butter pecan ice cream, ringed with Pirouettes and, for those with discerning palates and a valid ID, a little Grand Marnier drizzled on top.”
Kane’s description had an immediate and salutary effect on everyone’s mood. Catheryn rose and started stacking dishes. “Funny thing,” she said. “I think I just found some room for dessert.”
As Kane assembled the final course, the rest of the family cleared the remains of dinner. Minutes later, when all had regathered at the table, Kane made an announcement. “I have some things to take care of at work tomorrow, but we’ll be launching the raft on Sunday, right after church. I checked tide tables. High tide’s at one. We’ll shoot for that. Trav and Tom, see if you can get some of your friends down here. We’ll need all the muscle we can get.”
“Sorry, Dad,” said Tommy. “We’re working all weekend. One of the units has to be ready for inspection Monday morning. Everybody’s on overtime.”
“Damn,” said Kane, glancing around the table.
“Don’t look at me,” said Catheryn. “I’ve scheduled private lessons with several of my students following church on Sunday, and after that I’m getting together with my chamber group at the university.”
“I’ll help,” cried Nate.
“Me, too,” said Allison.
“What good are you two gonna be?”
“I can lift as well as anyone,” Allison declared indignantly. “And so can my friends. McKenzie’s already said she would like to help.” She looked over at Travis, adding, “Of course she’ll be very disappointed that dear Travis isn’t present. Anyway, her dad has a Zodiac with an outboard motor. I’ll bet I could get him to help, too. As for Nate—we could always use him for an anchor.”
“Real funny, butt-munch,” said Nate.
“Give it a rest, you two,” Kane ordered. Then, grudgingly, “Maybe you have an idea there, Allison. Using Milt’s boat might help. I’ll call him tonight, then get ahold of Arnie and some of the guys from work.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, I have something to show you all,” said Catheryn with a mysterious smile. “It came in the mail today.” She reached under her seat, pulled out a glossy magazine, and placed it squarely in the center of the table. The picture on the cover depicted a strange, unworldly scene in which twin moons hung suspended in a star-filled sky, their glowing crescents rising behind jagged mountains that tore like fangs into a distant horizon. Across the top, above a series of gigantic domed structures rising like mushrooms from the alien landscape, read the words: Asimov’s Science Fiction.
“Your story!” said Travis, turning to Allison.
Allison stared at Catheryn, futilely trying to extinguish the flush rising to her cheeks. “You opened my mail?” she managed to squeak.
“Oh, Allison, it’s just a magazine, not a letter,” said Catheryn. “When I saw it, I knew it had to be the issue with your story.”
“Congratulations, sis!” said Tommy, thumping her soundly on the back.
Nate picked up the magazine and examined the cover. “Is it scary? Are there monsters?”
“Of course. It’s science fiction.” Travis grabbed the magazine and flipped it open. “Here it is on page fifty-eight,” he added. “Have you read it yet, Mom?”
“Not yet. I though I would wait till we were all together.”
“Read it to us, Allison,” suggested Travis.
Before Allison could respond, Tommy spoke up. “Uh, I told Christy I’d meet her at the Pizza Hut after dinner,” he said apologetically.
“It’s a short story,” Catheryn pointed out. “It’ll be over by the time you finish dessert. Allison?”
“Mom, I don’t want to.”
Catheryn took the magazine from Travis. “Then I’ll read it,” she said firmly. “Getting published at your age is a tremendous accomplishment. You should be proud to share your efforts with your family, not embarrassed.”
“Mom, please …”
Ignoring her daughter’s look of pleading, Catheryn opened the magazine to page fifty-eight. And as the rest of the family listened, she began to read.
“Well, I really liked it,” Travis declared later as he and Allison stood washing dishes at the kitchen sink. “Nate was disappointed there weren’t any monsters, but personally, I thought it was—”
“If you say ‘touching,’ I swear I’ll tear out your throat with my bare hands,” Allison warned.
“Touching? Hardly. I was going to say weird. The science stuff, anyway. But the story itself was great, even if Mom and Dad did look sort of puzzled by it. Especially Dad.
“Puzzled? Is that what you’d call it?”
“Well, considering how tense things got at dinner, the story was a little …”
“A little what?”
; “Close to home?” suggested Travis. “The tale of a father who can’t accept a deformity in his child and winds up losing everything because of his actions. You even called it ‘Daniel’s Song.’ For anybody with half a brain, the connection isn’t too hard to figure.”
“Half a brain? Guess that lets you out,” Allison retorted testily.
“Everything considered, Mom liked it, and I think Dad took it fairly well,” Travis continued, ignoring Allison’s gibe.
“Dad hated it.”
“He said he kind of liked parts of it.”
“Right.”
“Well, I think it took guts to write it, and even more to sit there while Mom read it out loud, especially with Dad present,” said Travis. “Just be glad that as a writer you usually don’t have to be present when someone judges your work.”
“Like you do when you play the piano?”
“Yeah.”
“Gee, Trav, you’re breaking my heart.” Allison grabbed a handful of utensils from the rinse water and jammed them into the dishwasher rack. “The poor little prodigy is complaining about all the praise he gets.”
Travis frowned and concentrated on the dishes without responding. “Look, I’ve been trying to compliment you,” he said at last. “Why don’t you just shut up and take it? And despite what you think, I haven’t been getting all that much praise in the music department lately.”
“From Dad? What do you expect, Einstein? By the way, I came close to puking at your little dinner speech. ‘Framing a house is fun.’ What a kiss-ass.”
“Damn, Allison. Why are you picking a fight with me?”
“I’m not.”
“Well, you could have fooled me. Look, I was just trying to say that I know how it feels to be judged.”
“Don’t compare your music with my writing,” said Allison quietly. “I’m depressed enough already.”
“Join the club,” said Travis.
By now the dishwasher was completely filled. Travis hand-washed the remaining plates and glasses while Allison dried and stacked them on the counter. Although Travis finished first, he stayed while his sister finished. “What’s your problem?” Allison asked dully, looking up from her task when she noticed Travis hadn’t left.
“I thought I’d hang out. Anything wrong with that?”
“No.” Then, returning to her drying, “So what are you depressed about? That guy Junior, Mom and Dad fighting over the Philharmonic, or just being a member of this screwed-up family?”
Travis didn’t answer.
“What is it, Trav?”
Travis hesitated, trying to decide whether to confide in his sister. Finally he spoke. “When I said I wasn’t getting much praise in the music department, I wasn’t talking about Dad. I meant Petrinski.”
“What? Mom’s always said you were his prize student.”
Travis shrugged. “Things have changed. That new piece I’m working on? It’s get it right or don’t come back.”
“I can’t believe this, Trav. Does Mom know?”
“Not yet. Don’t repeat this, but I … I’m thinking of quitting.”
Allison whirled. “You idiot! If you quit, what are you planning to do with your spare time? Play football?” She wiped her hands on the dish towel and tossed it angrily onto the counter. “Come to think of it, that’s just perfect. With Tommy away at college, you can move up to the number-one-jock position. Really kiss the ol’ dad’s ass good.”
“Jeez, Allison,” said Travis. “What’s with you?”
Allison stepped forward, her eyes darkening with fury. “I’ll let you in on a secret, genius-boy. Day after day, for my whole damned life, I’ve been listening to you play. And for as long as I can recall, it’s made me feel … small.” She paused, embarrassed by her revelation. Then, with a wry smile, “Guess you could say I have a case of piano envy.”
“Come on, Allison. You’re going to be a great writer someday.”
“No. I’m going to bust my ass to be as good as I can, and someday, if I’m really lucky—maybe I’ll be a decent writer. But great? Never.”
“I think you’re—”
“Shut up,” Allison yelled, close to tears. “You know something? If I had your talent, I wouldn’t give a damn what anyone thought, especially Dad. You have something unique, and now you want to throw it away. Look out, Travis. With very little effort, I believe I could learn to hate you.”
And, scowling, Allison turned and ran from the kitchen.
12
Following Friday’s dinner, Kane and Catheryn engaged in a private discussion involving matters left hanging at the table. Hesitant to worsen his already shaky position, Kane postponed a confrontation over her playing with the Philharmonic, but he staunchly maintained that Travis should stand up to Junior … whatever the cost. Catheryn remained emphatically opposed, and things did not end well.
Grateful for the diversion, Kane spent most of the next day at the station catching up on paperwork and cases that had been temporarily shelved during the Bradley investigation. Upon returning home that evening he spent another restless night with nothing resolved with Catheryn, and on Sunday he attended six a.m. Mass alone. Afterward, without waking his family, he made himself a pot of coffee and descended to the lower deck. There he stood for several minutes in the early-morning light, still running over the argument with Catheryn in his mind. Finally, with a shrug, he resolved to let it go—at least for the time being.
After kicking off his shoes, Kane stepped over the seawall and sat on the edge of the raft, sipping from his steaming mug and gazing out over the wide expanse of beach to the ocean’s edge. During the past week the tides had been confined by a seasonal berm, leaving a large section of sand untouched, and in it Kane could see written a chronicle of the preceding days. Scores of footprints circled the raft, giving silent testimony that the latest addition to the beach had been wondered about, commented upon, walked around, stared at, jumped off, strolled past, urinated on (numerous dogs, one possible human), climbed over, leaned against, and safe sex practiced beneath—becoming, even before being launched, a focal point of prepositional interest for the entire shoreline community.
A sound startled Kane from his reverie. He turned. Sam’s dark form stood at the top of the seawall, waiting to be helped down. “Finally decided to get up?” said Kane, moving to help his dog over the drop. “Just couldn’t hold it anymore, eh? I know the feeling, pup.”
Sam wagged his tail and gratefully licked Kane’s face while being lifted down. “You’re welcome, but keep that tongue to yourself,” Kane chuckled, thankful there was at least one member of his family whose loyalty never flagged. With a grin, he set Sam on the beach. His smile faded as he watched the old dog struggle painfully across the sand.
Upon reaching a 55-gallon drum supporting one corner of the raft, Sam made a valiant, arthritic attempt to lift his leg. At last thinking better of it, he gave up and squatted like a puppy to relieve himself. His hindquarters shook pitifully as he tried to rise. Unable to regain his feet, he looked up at Kane with a poignant mix of embarrassment and pain. Finally he surrendered his dignity and, whining, settled to the wet sand, collapsing in his own urine.
“Aw, damn, Sammy,” Kane said softly. He knelt beside his dog, running his hand over the Lab’s head. “It’s that time, isn’t it, boy? It’s that time.”
Kane climbed the stairs to the kitchen and made a phone call, waiting impatiently to leave a message with an answering service. Next he took two long-handled tools from the work shed and placed them in the back of the Suburban, along with an old woolen blanket. When he returned to the beach, Sam still hadn’t moved. “Come on, pup,” Kane coaxed. When Sam didn’t attempt to rise, Kane bent and lifted the old dog in his arms.
Kane carried Sam to the car and drove north on the deserted highway, passing the pier and climbing the incline to Pepperdine University. As he topped the hill, the rising sun glinted briefly in the mirror. After passing the manicured lawns of the university, Kane made a
n illegal U-turn farther on and stopped on the west side of the road, parking in an area where a geologically unstable bluff ran between Pacific Coast Highway and the ocean. Most of the undeveloped acres in this parcel of land had been zoned unsuitable for building, and as a result the land still displayed a green blanket of indigenous coastal flora: thick native grasses, anise, sage, scrub chaparral, low bushes, and trees. It was here, years ago, that Kane had trained his dog. Each morning over those months, long before Sam had been old enough to go on his first hunt, they had worked these fields together at first light. Over those months early commuters had grown accustomed to seeing a large man and his black pup ranging the acres bordering the highway. And gradually, over those months, Sam had become a gun dog. Working with training dummies and bird wings and an occasional pheasant carcass, Kane had taught him to mark and retrieve multiple falls, to respond to hand and whistle signals, and to hunt in a close, quartering pattern. But most significant of the things he’d accomplished, over those months Kane had formed a bond with Sam that had lasted a lifetime.
Kane carried the old Labrador to the top of a knoll overlooking the field. To the west an endless gray expanse of Pacific stretched into eternity; behind them the encroaching sounds of the highway crept slowly into the morning silence. Kane spread the woolen blanket on the ground and placed Sam on it. Then he sat beside him, and together they gazed out over the ocean.
For several hours that morning, drivers who happened to glance across the field saw a large man and a black dog sitting together on the hilltop. The man appeared to be talking. Occasionally he would gesture with his hands. Most travelers continued on without a second thought, but a few veteran commuters puzzled over the scene as they proceeded down the hill. And one, a lone woman who had been driving the highway for years, even managed to remember.
She slowed as she passed, pleased with herself for recalling. Yes, she thought. It was the same man she had seen years before, working the field every morning at first light, his dog in front silhouetted black against the ocean, quartering joyfully into the wind.
*
“This is it? Nobody else?” Arnie surveyed the callow young faces surrounding the raft. “Good luck, ol’ buddy.”
