“Yeah. Come on.”
Mya started through the parking lot. She had gone four or five yards when she realized Allen wasn't behind her. She turned to see that he hadn't moved. “Come on, chicken!” she yelled.
Allen took a quick look around for witnesses. “We'll probably get shot,” he said. He hurried across the dark parking lot to catch up with his date.
At the edge of the lot, Mya paused and inspected each cottage. She reached back and took Allen's hand. “Let's go,” she said.
The two jogged through the grass. When they got to the back of the third of three houses, a man sitting in a lounge chair on his deck rose up to look over his railing.
“Hey!” the guy hollered. “Who's over there?”
“No one!” Mya shouted back. She picked up her pace, and veered left onto a driveway that led to the street.
“Goddamn kids!” the guy shouted with his fist in the air.
Mya and Allen slowed to a walk. She let go of Allen's hand as they entered and crossed the street.
Mya snickered. “Goddamn kids, he said.”
“Yeah,” Allen replied, “I heard him. The old fart'll probably call the cops now.”
“That would be funny.” Mya walked up the cement steps to the sidewalk in front of the order window. She read down through the long list of available flavors. “What are you getting?”
Allen scanned the list. “Moose Tracks,” he said.
“Good choice. I think I'll get the Reese's Pieces.”
Allen stepped up to the window. “What size?”
“Just one scoop,” Mya answered.
“Cone?”
“Regular.”
Allen put in their order and stepped back next to Mya. He looked back over his shoulder the way they had come.
“He's not going to call the cops,” said Mya.
“I'm looking at the lighthouse,” Allen told her.
“Sure you are,” Mya joked. “Even if the guy did call the cops, your swinging partner, Paul Rose, is a cop. He'd get you out of trouble.”
“I had just forgotten about the swinging rumor.”
“I won't let that happen,” Mya said with a giggle. “As a matter of fact, you better call me as soon as you get back to your room Saturday night. I want to know what went on.”
“Nothing's gonna go on.”
“Reese's and a Moose Tracks,” said the young kid at the window.
Allen stepped up and took the cones. “Thank you,” he said.
Mya took a bite out of the top of her scoop. “Yummy. How's yours?”
Allen sampled his cone. “Mmm. Better than sex.”
Mya took a long lingering lick. “Then you must not be doing it right.”
For once, Allen was stuck for a witty response.
“Would you want to come with me to the Roses' tomorrow night?” Allen asked, as they turned and headed across the grass to the street.
“I gotta work. Besides, I'm not into that weird stuff.”
Allen shook his head. “There's not going to be any weird stuff.”
“That's what you say now,” Mya ribbed, “but when that cougar gets a few glasses of wine into you, and Paul gets out the video camera …”
“Now there's a video camera?”
Mya laughed. “Who knows?”
On their way to the lighthouse Allen and Mya decided to stick to the street, rather than trespassing on private property. This decision was mostly due to the fact that it was even darker on the return trip. They made a left off Nubble Road onto Sohier Park Road. They walked past Fox's and into the Nubble Point parking lot. They crossed the parking lot, and stood at the edge of the black top where massive boulders had been placed to prevent cars from driving over the edge of the cliff.
Mya pulled her phone out of her clutch and snapped a few pictures. The parking lot and lighthouse was well lit, providing for fantastic photos even at night.
“Turn around,” Mya said, “and let me get a selfie of us.”
She snuggled up under Allen's arm. “Smile,” she said, and snapped the photo. “Let me get a couple more just to make sure.”
Allen watched Mya's eyes as she inspected each of the four or five selfies she'd taken. He reached out and, with his fingertips, turned her head to face him. She looked up at him, and he kissed her on the lips.
“Aw,” said an old woman near them.
They both turned to look at her.
“What a perfect spot for a kiss,” said the old lady. She smiled and turned away.
Allen looked back at Mya. “Yes,” he said, “it is the perfect place.”
Chapter Fifteen
Allen opened his eyes at six fifteen Friday morning. He was lying in his bed. Frankie was curled up on the sofa. He rolled over onto his back, and after a yawn and a few stretches, he got up and lumbered to the bathroom. When he walked out of the bathroom, Frankie was waiting patiently by the door.
“Gotta poop?” Allen asked the dog. He walked to the door and pulled it open. “Ya think you can go by yourself?”
Frankie walked outside, turned around, and waited.
Allen looked down at his boxers. “Hold on,” he groaned. “Let me put on some pants.”
Walking around to the side of the bed, Allen bent over and picked up the dress shirt he'd wore the night before and put it on, along with some jeans. Barefoot, he stepped outside.
“Come on, dog.”
Allen opened the door at the end of the walkway and Frankie bounded down the stairs. He waited patiently at the office door. Allen pushed open the door, and Frankie sprinted for the grass.
“There ya go,” Allen grumbled. “Write if ya find work.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Donnie was sitting in the same spot he was the night before. He wore flannel pajamas, and a matching red robe. His glass of wine had been replaced with a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Donnie,” said Allen. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “You haven't been there all night, have you?”
“Morning, Blue Eyes,” Donnie replied. “And, no, I just walked out here.”
“How's the lip?”
Donnie reached up and gently tapped his lip with his fingertip. “The swelling went down. Only hurts when I laugh.”
“Reminds me of a joke. Kid runs up to his dad and says, 'Dad, Mom just got hit by a bus.' The dad winces in pain and says, 'Son, you know I have a cold sore.'”
Donnie chuckled. “Ouch! That's horrible. Don't do that.”
“Sorry,” Allen said. “I couldn't resist.”
Donnie checked his scab for blood. There was none.
Coffee?” Donnie asked.
“No thanks. I gotta get writing.”
The door to room four opened, and Jacob stuck his head out. “Hey, Allen,” he said.
“Mornin', Jacob,” Allen said.
“Can I get my money?”
“Sure.”
“What money?” Donnie asked.
Jacob stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
“For watching my dog,” said Allen. “What do I owe you?”
Frankie finished his business and ran to Jacob's side.
“Let's see,” Jacob said, doing the math in his head, “watching Frankie the last two times. Twenty each. That's forty bucks.”
“Forty bucks!” said Donnie. “Looks like I'm in the wrong line of work.”
“Jacob, this is Donnie Peppitone. Donnie, Jacob Palmer.”
“It's nice to meet you, young man,” said Donnie.
Jacob nodded. “You too,” he said. “What happened to your face?”
“I was involved in a scuffle.”
“Was it a hate crime?”
Donnie cocked his head. His eyes went from Jacob to Allen, and back. “A hate crime? What makes you say that?”
“Well, 'cause you're gay.”
Donnie locked eyes with the boy and adopted on a serious tone. “What makes you think I'm gay?”
“Well, I … I just meant—”
“Do
I speak gay?” Donnie demanded. “Do I act gay?”
“I just—”
“Do I walk gay?”
“I—”
Donnie chuckled, doing his best not to crack his lip. “I'm just busting your balls, kid.”
Allen burst out laughing.
“Yes, I'm gay,” said Donnie, “And yes, they hit me because I was gay … so, yeah, I guess we can call it a hate crime.”
Jacob exhaled. “Did you call the police?”
“For what?”
“To turn them in.”
“No, kid, I fight my own battles.”
Allen counted out two twenty dollar bills and a ten, and handed them to Jacob. “There's an extra ten in there. Can you pick up this morning's turds?”
“Frankie's?” Jacob asked, taking the money.
“No, mine,” Allen shot back. “Of course, Frankie's.”
“Do you have another dog I can take care of?” Donnie asked. “I'd like to make a few bucks.”
“Sorry,” said Allen. “Just the one dog.” He stepped back and opened the office door. “Come on, Frankie, let's get back upstairs. Have fun at your sleepover, Jacob.”
“I will,” Jacob said.
“It was nice meeting you, Jacob,” Donnie said.
“You too, Donnie,” said Jacob, as he ran, cash in hand, back to his room.
“Seems like a nice boy,” Donnie said.
“He's a good kid,” Allen agreed. “Talk to you later, Donnie.”
“Yes, you will, Blue Eyes. You'll have to come back down for a drink later. I want to hear all about your date last night.”
“You got it,” Allen said, and up the stairs he and Frankie ran.
Frankie was already lying on the bed when he reached the door, which Allen had left open.
“How about if I make breakfast this morning?” Allen said. “We've still got eggs and sausage in the fridge.”
He flipped on the television on his way to the cupboards. He opened the base cabinet. “Hallelujah, we've got frying pans.” Allen placed the medium-sized pan on the front burner, and the smaller one on the rear burner. He dropped four sausage patties into the smaller pan and turned the knob to three. He grabbed a bowl, scrambled six eggs, and poured them into the medium pan. He set the front burner at three as well. He opened his loaf of bread and dropped two slices in the toaster. Lastly, Allen made a pot of coffee.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Allen walked back to the open door and gazed across the street at the ebb tide. Other than one faraway gray cloud on the horizon, the sky was clear. A thirty-foot Pearson sailed along halfway between the shore and Boon Island. Allen sipped his coffee and watched as the sailboat dipped out of sight, and then rose back up into view.
“The sea's a little rough for such a nice day,” Allen observed, talking mostly to himself.
He returned the two-burner range to flip his sausage and stir his eggs.
“A few more minutes, Frankie.”
Allen grabbed the remote control off the nightstand and turned the channel to the Weather Channel. A small craft advisory scrolled across the bottom of the screen. He glanced out the window at the Pearson. The craft was just about to disappear behind the Nubble Lighthouse. He made his way back to the stove, pushed his eggs around the pan with a rubber spatula, and lowered his toast into the toaster.
“Two minutes, Frankie.”
“Good morning, Crane,” came a voice from the doorway.
Allen spun around. “Bobby Jordan,” he said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“May I come in?”
“Didn't your mama ever tell you it's rude to answer a question with a question?”
“You know, Crane, I've killed guys for less than that.” Jordan took a dramatic pause, then belly-laughed and stepped through the door. “Just shittin' ya. What are ya makin' there?” he asked, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down.
“A little breakfast.”
“Sausage?”
“And scrambled eggs.”
“Smells good.”
“Are ya hungry?”
“Look at me, Crane. I'm always hungry.”
“Have you been watching your blood pressure?”
“You sound like my girlfriend.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Of course I have a girlfriend. Just because I'm fat and ugly doesn't mean I can't get a woman. Remember, Crane, I'm also wealthy.”
Allen chuckled. “Nice.”
Allen scooped some eggs onto the plate that was originally intended for Frankie, and then added two sausages. The toast popped up and he buttered it. He put two more pieces of toast into the toaster, and then handed Bobby his plate.
“Thanks, Crane. You're alright, even if ya did try to off me.”
“Any time,” Allen replied, giving Bobby his fork.
Allen fixed his own plate, only taking one sausage. He tossed the other one to Frankie, who caught it in mid-air. He took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Is your brother fa—I mean, a larger man, as well?”
“You can say fat, Crane. It ain't a dirty word, and I know I'm fat. Yes, my brother is larger … a little larger than me.”
Allen shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “You didn't just come for a visit, did you?”
“I would say this is a social call. I just wanted to let you know that I spoke with my brother Wednesday. I didn't want to, but I did it for you. You won't be hearing from him again. I was right, he just wanted to know what you and me's dealings were about.”
“We didn't have any dealings.”
“That's what I told him. I told him you and me just got into a little scuffle, and that we'd worked it all out.”
“And that you came here looking for something of yours that you thought I had.”
“I left that part out, Crane. And you'll leave it out also. Understand?”
Allen nodded. “I understand.”
“That asshole brother of mine don't need to know any more than what he already thinks he knows.”
“Got it.”
“Good.” Bobby picked up both pieces of sausage with his fingers and shoved them into his mouth at the same time. “Fwhat bran er dees saushage?” he asked with his mouth full.
“Jimmy Dean.”
“You ever buy the plastic tube of Jimmy Dean? They got regular and hot.”
“Nope.”
“The hot is really good. You should try it sometime.”
“Thanks. I will. So, what was it you thought I had the day you came here?”
“It's none of your concern, Crane. I had something. I went to the toilet, and when I came back, it was gone. Vinny said he didn't know what happened to it, but I dragged his ass into the toilet to make sure.”
“And he didn't have it?”
“No, but you were sitting at the next table, so, I thought maybe you had picked it up.” Bobby shrugged. “Don't matter anyways. The item in question wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me and Vinny. I'll chalk it down as a missed opportunity.” He lifted his plate and put the edge up to his mouth and gobbled down the last morsels of egg.
“Up.”
“What?”
“You said chalk it down. It's chalk it up.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“I'll keep that in mind, Crane. I hate soundin' stupid when I talk. Say, you ever write one of those autobiographies?”
“Nope.”
“You think you could write one about me?”
“You want me to write an autobiography about you, Bobby?”
“I was just wondering. Be nice for my kids to read some day after I'm gone.”
“You got kids?”
“Not yet, but I'd like to someday.”
“Your brother got kids?”
No, he can't have children. Bicycle accident when we was kids. It's a long story.” Bobby set his plate down next to Allen's laptop. He leaned forward and looked at the screen. “How
's the writing going?”
“It's gotten a lot better in the past few days.”
Bobby read to himself what he was looking at. It was a scene at a lighthouse where the hero kisses the girl. “He gonna bang that chick?” he asked.
“Nope,” Allen answered. “She's going to drop him off at his motel. They'll kiss again, and then she'll drive away.”
“I'd have nailed her,” said Bobby.
“Because you're wealthy?”
“Now you're catchin' on.” Bobby stood. “Well, I better get to the office.”
“Can I ask you a question, Bobby?”
“Shoot.”
“Where's your office?”
“York Street—right across from York House of Pizza.”
“That's handy.”
Bobby slapped his belly. “Too handy.”
Chapter Sixteen
After Bobby Jordan left, Allen tossed a couple more pieces of sausage into the frying pan, and scrambled up a couple more eggs for Frankie. He spent the next few hours writing, and then, around one o'clock, Allen slipped on his board shorts, grabbed a towel out of the bathroom, and headed down to the beach.
Allen and Frankie hopped down the seawall's steps to the sand and maneuvered in and out of the many sunbathers.
“How's this spot, Frankie?” Allen asked, spreading out his towel.
He sat down on the towel Indian style, and Frankie plopped down beside him. Allen took out his cell phone and checked for messages. There weren't any. He wondered how long he should wait before texting Mya to tell her he had a great time on their date. He wondered if he even had a cell phone the last time he went on a first date. He did the math in his head. I must have had one, he thought. Let's see, it's a little after one now. I'll text her at three. Three's good.
Allen removed his T-shirt and laid it aside. He clasped his fingers behind his head and lay back on his towel. “Don't run off if I fall asleep, dog,” Allen warned. “Just stay put right here.”
He closed his eyes and was sound asleep within minutes, and when he reopened his eyes a half hour later, Frankie was gone.
“Goddammit,” Allen whispered.
He scanned the beach for his dog. There he was, chasing some kid's Frisbee down the beach. The kid, nine or ten, Allen guessed, ran after Frankie, laughing as he tried to recover the plastic disk.
The kid's father stood nearby watching his son, and probably wondering who the asshole was who didn't have his dog on a leash. Allen got up, put on his T-shirt, and walked toward the man.
The Maine Events Page 14
