The Salt House

by Lisa Duffy

  There was a dry sweatshirt in the crate, and I pulled it on, sat on the edge of the cushion. The rain drummed against the boat, and the wind had picked up, rocking her from side to side. I thought about getting up and going back to the house, but I wanted to fix the drip from the faucet that I’d been ignoring. Might as well take advantage of the rain and get it done.

  But my body refused to move. The jar was on the table in front of me. I reached out, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to my lips. I took a sip and winced, the alcohol masked by the cherry smell sliding down my throat, settling like a small fire in my stomach. It wasn’t exactly good, but it wasn’t bad either. My head felt lighter in two sips. By the third, the ache in my back was just a tingle. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the warm liquid made my limbs feel weightless. My legs stretched out in front of me, my head tipping back.

  I closed my eyes, rested the jar on my chest, and sipped from it until it was gone. There was a thud, and I opened my eyes to see the glass jar rolling on the floor. I thought I’d only dozed off for a moment, but when I looked at my watch, two hours had passed.

  I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Hope to say I’d be late, and she was quiet on the other end.

  “Just come home,” she said, but whatever Manny had put in the tea had my tongue thick, my vision blurry. Not drunk exactly, but numb. I can’t, is all I could manage to mumble before I hung up the phone. I thought of shutting my eyes again, just for a second, and before I could muster the energy to stand, my body slid down on the bench and my eyes closed.

  I woke to the sound of an engine revving, slow at first, up to full throttle, then down again. I had no idea how long I’d been sleeping, but it was dark, and the fever was back by the way my eyes were burning.

  I looked at my watch and swore. It was almost one in the morning. My mouth was dry. I thought of the painkiller I’d taken at the shop. Apparently it hadn’t expired. Add in the alcohol in the tea, and the combo had knocked me out for hours.

  I pulled on my boots and went up to the boat deck, still half-asleep. Calm Cove was a working dock during the day, noisy and full of boats. But at night, after the Wharf Rat closed, it was typically quiet, even on a Friday night.

  The Wharf Rat was dark except for a faint light in the back window, most likely Eddy closing up for the night. The noise was coming from the other end of the dock. I followed the sound to a boat that sat in the last slip, its dual engines rumbling.

  The boat was dark, not a light on that I could see. I yelled out, but my voice disappeared, lost in the noise. I walked toward the engines. It wasn’t until I was standing with the full moon behind me, giving light to the wheelhouse, that I saw a man in the captain’s chair, sitting with his head down.

  I yelled again and stood so close to the boat that it bumped my thigh.

  I considered walking away, but whoever was in the chair seemed to be asleep, with twin engines churning up the black water.

  I slapped the side of the boat, two hard whacks with my open hand. The boat rocked, and the man turned, but in slow motion. I saw his hand fumble with the key, and the engine went silent. He turned in his seat, and I caught the shadow of a woman in front of him, standing between his legs, her arms around his neck.

  Her long hair shielded her face, but her shirt was open. I backed up from the side of the boat. The light in the wheelhouse went on, and when the captain’s chair swiveled to face me, I was looking at Ryland Finn. A drunk Ryland Finn. His eyes tiny slits in the dim light.

  “Caught in the act, Chief,” Finn slurred, giving me the thumbs-up. The woman in front of him fiddled with the buttons on her shirt, but she swayed from side to side, too drunk for the task. She seemed to realize it and settled for pulling the sides of her shirt closed and crossing her arms across her chest.

  She had an angry patch of acne on her chin. She was young, maybe in her early twenties. Her eyes were wide and vacant. Pink lipstick was smudged halfway across her cheek, and when she moved away from Finn, she stumbled and went down on one knee. She used the seat next to her to pull herself up, but it was a slow, clawing process, as if she were climbing out of a deep ravine instead of merely standing up.

  “Go wait in the truck,” Finn said to her, and she stumbled over to the side of the boat. She threw a leg over the rail and almost toppled back into the boat. I grabbed her wrist before she fell. Finn didn’t move, just sat in the chair, his chin resting on his chest, his eyes barely open.

  She managed to get her other leg over, and when she slid from the boat to the dock, she stumbled into me, her polka-dot bra crushing into my arm. Now that she was in front on me, she seemed even younger.

  “Did you come with him?” I asked, bending to look at her face. She pulled her arm away, but I stepped closer to her. Her wrist was tiny in my grasp. I loosened my grip but held her there.

  “I’m not letting you go until you tell me you came here willingly with him,” I said.

  I glanced at Finn out of the corner of my eye to see if he would react to this, but he sat in the chair, his legs out in front of him. His shirt was unbuttoned and a black tattoo ran the length of his hairless chest.

  “Yeah, daddy, I did,” she sneered, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

  I dropped her arm, and she walked backward, still facing me, not bothering to close her shirt. She waved her fingers at me, turned, and weaved down the stretch of dock. When she reached the gangplank, she used the railing to pull herself up the steep incline before she disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot.

  The dock dipped, and Finn’s shoulder grazed me as he stumbled by. It was a slow, halting walk, as if he knew he might end up in the water with one misstep.

  When he reached the Hope Ann, he paused, his body swaying from the sudden stop.

  I was twenty feet behind him when I saw him climb over the side, the boat rocking when he boarded her. My body tightened.

  “Ah, the famous Hope Ann,” he said when I reached the boat. “Your wife’s namesake.”

  “Get off the boat, Finn.” I stepped over the side of the boat onto the deck.

  He ignored me and leaned against the railing, pulled a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket, fished one out, and lit it. He took a long draw on his cigarette before he stuck the pack out, offering me one. I crossed the distance between us and slapped the pack out of his hands. The lighter hit the floor and skidded across the deck. He followed it with his eyes, then looked at me.

  “Relax. You’re the one that interrupted us. I thought maybe you were lonely, looking for some company.”

  “I was sleeping before you ran your engines at one in the morning. Idiots like you shouldn’t be allowed to own boats.”

  “Simmer down. She asked me to start her up.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “And who am I to say no to a lady?”

  The light from the tip of his cigarette glowed in an arc. He almost missed his mouth when he brought it to his lips. He was beyond drunk, his eyes red and watery under the glow of the dock light above.

  “But you know what I mean. You never knew how to say no to the ladies either.” He chuckled, his eyes closing for a moment, then his head jerked, and his eyes opened again.

  I felt my fist close. “You have two seconds before I help you off the boat.”

  He held up his hands, looking amused. “Ah, Kelly. Always serious. I’m just screwing with you.”

  “Go home and sleep it off. Last warning.”

  Headlights from up above in the parking lot flashed. Apparently, the girl was still waiting for him.

  It looked as if he might take my advice. He arranged himself, one leg at a time, into a standing position. I stepped aside to let him pass, but he stopped in the center of the boat and turned, pointing at me.

  “I meant to tell you Hope’s pretty. Your wife. And smart. I can tell. One smart, pretty woman.” His words were jumbled, his eyes pinched.

  His breath hit me, reminding me of the last time he’d been on my boat. How he’d woken me u
p that night too. Him and three other morons, drunk and throwing punches at me before I was even standing, before I was even awake.

  Maybe it was the burning in my back, or the pounding in my head, but suddenly there was a rage inside of me.

  He’d forced my hand, putting his traps in my water. If I’d been thinking straight that day, his traps would have been empty, the door left open. A warning. The smart way to handle it. But I’d cut them. Stupidly. Like an amateur. All because of this asshole. Now he was on my boat, drunk, talking about my wife. How smart she was. How pretty.

  I put my hand in the pocket of my pants, slipped my middle finger through the thick brass key ring, and closed my fist in my pocket.

  He didn’t see me coming. His eyes were closed when I grabbed him by the collar and tugged as hard as I could. He grunted, and stumbled forward, my fist slamming into his nose. There was a crunch of bone, and my hand lit up, the key ring cutting into my knuckle, but it did what I wanted: the bridge of his nose exploding under my fist.

  He dropped to his knees and moaned, cupping his face in his hands, dark blood pouring through his fingers. The sight of it should have stopped me. But I felt my leg pull back and shoot out, my boot connecting with his side. There was a thud, and he rolled across the boat. He didn’t move then, his body a lump in the corner. I walked over and nudged him with my foot, and he held up his hand, as if to ward me off.

  “Get up,” I said, grabbing the fillet knife from the sheath fastened to the rail behind him. He rolled onto his knees and tried to stand. But he was either too drunk or too hurt or too stunned, and he stayed on his hands and knees, blood running down his face onto the deck.

  “You’re bleeding all over my fucking boat.” I yanked him up by the back of his shirt, but his enormous body just wobbled, his hand slipping in the blood. I leaned over and pressed the knife against the side of his neck. He felt it and froze.

  “Get. Up. Now,” I said, and he reached up with one hand and grabbed the rail, hoisting himself up on one leg, then the other. When he stood, he looked at the knife and took a step back.

  “Jesus,” he sputtered, his eyes wild, blood splattering against the deck like raindrops.

  I grabbed the front of his shirt and held the knife against the side of his neck again. He put his hands up. I pointed the knife at the dock, and he threw a leg over the side, climbed off, and stared at me.

  “That was a warning punch. You mention my wife again, I won’t be so gentle. And you come near my water again, I won’t just cut your traps. Next time, I’m coming for you.”

  He was pressing the sleeve of his shirt to his nose, and when he heard this, I saw his face contort. He seemed confused, as if the blows had stunned him.

  When he let go of the shirt, a thin line of blood still ran out of one nostril, and he tilted his head back, looking at me out of the corner of one eye.

  “Whatever traps you cut aren’t mine,” he said. His hand touched the side of his ribs. He winced and swayed on his feet.

  “These are my waters. And I know every buoy in them. So you can deny it all you want. Be a man and own up to it,” I said.

  “A man like you? You get Boon to fight your fights or you wait until I’m shitfaced.” He leaned against the piling for support, slack jawed and blinking furiously, throwing his head back now and then to staunch the blood dripping from his nose.

  “You came on my boat once without an invitation. Now you know what happens if you do it again.”

  “You got a screw loose, Kelly. I heard about that kid of yours. That baby. I didn’t know about that when I came to your house. Peggy told me after. And you know what? I decided to not mess with you. Let you have my water. Figured, you know, you probably got enough on your plate.”

  “Leave,” I said, pointing to the parking lot with the knife.

  “That’s why I brought up your wife. How pretty she is. That’s all I was trying to say. That you still got a lot of good stuff. But I can’t get it out of my mouth before you haul off and break my nose. Probably a rib too.”

  The headlights from the parking lot flashed again, and he backed up, not taking his eyes off me.

  “You know what, Kelly? You deserve everything that’s coming to you.”

  He disappeared into the dark, and a few minutes later, I heard tires crunching against the gravel up above.

  There was a large circle of blood on the deck. I put the knife back in the sheath and felt my head spin. I heard the crunch when my hand hit his face. I stumbled to the side of the boat, and leaned over, my stomach heaving, the brown liquid burning as it came up and hit the water with a splash. I grabbed a rag and wiped my mouth. Then I leaned over, dipped it in the ocean, and pressed it against my knuckle, expecting the salt to light the gash on fire.

  But I didn’t even feel it, just felt the pounding in my head. The way it seemed to pulse even with my heartbeat.

   18

  Kat

  The new thing that happened this summer was Jess got a boyfriend. She didn’t think I knew, but I did. And she was a traitor. This she did know, because I whispered it to her every time she got close to me. This morning she got the milk out of the fridge for her cereal, and when she sat next to me, I said it to her, long and drawn out, traaiiittoooor, with a dip in my voice at the end for what my teacher, Mrs. Whitley, calls emphasis.

  Jess looked up at me from her cereal, so I knew she heard me. She waited until Mom left the room to hiss at me.

  “What are you whispering?”

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “That’s the point. I don’t know.”

  “You’re such a liar.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying to me? That I’m a liar?”

  “No. That goes without saying. What I’ve been whispering is that you’re a traitor.” I rolled my eyes. Sometimes she was so dense.

  She drank the milk out of the bottom of her cereal bowl, took it to the sink, and walked out of the room.

  I followed.

  “You said you’d tell me what happened at Smelliot’s house, and you didn’t. So you are a liar,” I said to her back.

  She turned and folded her arms across her chest. “I did tell you what happened. Which was nothing. I saw the kid you were talking about, but that’s it. I don’t know why he told you Mom and Dad were getting divorced. Case closed.”

  “Case not closed. You left out that you met his brother. And you also didn’t mention that he’s your boyfriend. Friend of the enemy. So that makes you a liar and a traitor.”

  Jess walked past me and shut the bedroom door. When she turned around, her face was pink, and she had a crazy look in her eye.

  “Who told you all of this, Kat?” she asked.

  “Told me what?”

  “About Alex. That he was my boyfriend?”

  “No one you know.” I hated that she never told me anything. I told her everything.

  “Kat. Cut it out. Tell me how you know about Alex.”

  “So he is your boyfriend,” I said, pleased that I had the right information.

  “First, he is not. And second, tell me what you know about it.”

  I looked out the window, yawned, like this was all very boring. See how she liked having secrets kept from her.

  But I also wanted to know about this Alex person. And I could tell by the way she was staring at me that whoever he was, whether she called him her boyfriend or not, he mattered to her.

  “You promise to never not tell me something again?” I asked, hoping this moment would at least buy me something in the future.

  “No.” She scowled at me. “Why don’t you promise to not be so nosy?”

  “Okay.” I shrugged. “Well, my nosiness just so happens to know something that you don’t about your boyfriend. Namely, that you may not be his only girlfriend.”

  That did it. If I thought she had a crazy look before, this made her even crazier. What Boon called batshit. She grabbed my forearm and yanked me into her bedroom and slammed the door beh
ind us, locking us in.

  She led me over to the chair and sat me down and leaned over me, her arms on either side of my chair.

  “Talk,” she said, her eyes drilling a hole into my face.

  “Jeez, relax, will you?” I pushed the chair back, rolling on the wheels, but she grabbed my arms and pulled me back to her.

  “Now,” she growled at me.

  Jess had the brownest eyes, and long lashes, like Mom. Dad always said they were like a pair of does, the two of them. Now her eyes were mean looking. I brought my knees up to my chest and pressed my face into them. What started as me teasing her had turned somehow, and I was sorry I’d brought it up at all. I pushed her hands away.

  “Kat,” Jess said, softer now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you.” I felt her hand on the back of my head, her fingers patting my hair.

  “I know you were just fooling around. But it’s important to me. How about this?” she said, tugging my hair playfully where her fingers intertwined in the back of my head so my face came off my knees. She was calmer now. “You tell me everything you know, and I’ll tell you everything I know. Deal?”

  “Everything?” I asked. She nodded, but it was a side-to-side movement that let me know she was lying. But it was something. Something was better than nothing.

  “Okay,” I agreed, hopping off the chair. “I was at camp, and the counselors always make us have snack time all together on the picnic tables. And they usually sit under the big willow tree—you know the one near the parking lot.” I glanced at her to make sure she knew the tree, and she nodded.

  “But I won first place in the relay race, and the prize was that I could choose where to sit and have ice cream. So I chose to sit with the counselors under the tree because they’re always giggling and fooling around, and I always wonder what they’re talking about.”

  Jess motioned with her hand for me to hurry to the good part.

  “So we’re sitting under the tree, and my counselors are all standing together under the long branches looking at this guy who is sitting on the hood of his truck. I didn’t see what the big deal was—he was just some guy with a baseball hat on looking at his watch every two seconds. But Abby, my counselor, was going on and on about him. She said she’d seen him around town but didn’t know his name or where he was from. She goes, ‘Oh my God, he is so cute,’ and Alyssa, my other counselor, says, ‘So, so, so cute!’ ”