‘Give me the number and I’ll do it.’ It made perfect sense for her talk to either Reggie or Mandy Armitage, but Oliver also felt sure she wasn’t eager to hand over her cell phone and give him the opportunity to call others and spill the beans about her treatment of him yesterday. There was no house phone at the Cully Mansion. Saying she would be back in a moment, she left the hall, to return shortly with the news that Brian’s father had said he would bring him over at seven that evening after he’d eaten.
So much for inviting him to dinner. But Elizabeth couldn’t become someone else overnight, and Brian would have a much better meal at home. Mandy and Reggie were both good cooks. Actually, the timing was good. He and Brian could go up to the bedroom shortly after the service, without Elizabeth and Gerard feeling they had to sit and chat for too long, which Oliver was sure they would much rather not be stuck doing.
Elizabeth made a further gesture by having breakfast with him. Cereal and toast. Gerard came in halfway through. ‘Looks like you two have made up,’ he said, pouring himself black coffee. ‘Onboard with her idea, Oliver? Not sure I go for it, but I’ll sit in. Don’t have to wear a suit, do I?’ This was clearly an attempt at a joke.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, hands gripping the edge of the table. Oliver produced a smile, but doubted Gerard noticed. Having made his attempt at helping along a return to normal, he was all too eager to escape to his office. Elizabeth was also clearly ready to make a break for it. Saying she needed to take a walk to clear her head, she too left the kitchen. This wasn’t unusual and this morning she did have reason to be distracted. Not only had the last half hour clearly not been easy on her, another concern might loom: the question of whether Gerard would stay sufficiently sober not to embarrass himself and her at the service.
After doing the breakfast dishes Oliver spent an hour cleaning the kitchen. If all of Mrs Poll’s efforts couldn’t get it to sparkle, he didn’t expect much from his, but it gave him something to do. He would miss her, but he could always go and see her. The fear that he wouldn’t get away from this house was gone. Sarah and Evan would make that happen. There was only this remaining day – and the start of the next – to be gotten through. And from seven onward he would have Brian at his side. He expected the time till then to drag, but it didn’t. Back in his bedroom, he took down his two suitcases from the closet shelf and began emptying his dresser drawers, the ones with the drawings of ships on the backs, and neatly packed his clothes. He didn’t take down the framed photographs of his parents, Grandpa and Grandma Olive, just in case Elizabeth or Gerard should come into the bedroom. This was unlikely, but he couldn’t take the chance of their noticing the photos were gone and realize something was up. The suitcases went back on the closet shelf.
Oliver returned downstairs. Elizabeth was neither in the living room nor the kitchen, so either she was still out walking or had retreated to be alone, unless she was in the office with Gerard. Earlier he had thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to go see Twyla today, but now he was feeling so much more hopeful that if the end was in sight he could go see her, Gwen and Sonny, without worrying about telling Elizabeth or Gerard. He left a note on the kitchen table saying where he was going and set off.
After a week of warm days and sunshine the weather had changed overnight. It was chilly under gray skies. The tall pines swayed and the other trees shivered in the sharp breeze. The patches of ocean he could see from the road showed waves scurrying along in the direction he was going, as if they too were eager to get somewhere else. Grandpa would have predicted a storm before nightfall. He should have worn a jacket, but Twyla or Gwen would lend him one if he took Jumbo for a walk, as he hoped to do.
He loved the house on Ridge Farm Rise almost as much as Bramble Cottage. Gwen let him in, delighted as always to see him, and led the way to the book room where Twyla was seated on the sofa with Sonny, reading to him from a magazine. She got up at once and held out her arms.
‘Come here, lamb baby, are you ever a sight for sore eyes!’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Gwen.
‘Where have you been?’ Sonny got to his feet as Twyla stopped hugging Oliver and stood up smiling. ‘I’ve missed you.’ The blue eyes were unexpectedly bright in contrast to the worn face and gray hair. ‘I like you being here.’ It was happily, not fretfully said and tears filled Oliver’s eyes. If Sonny could at times work his way through the confusion that had become his life to show the kind and gentle man inside, anything was possible with sufficient trust and courage. Oliver went over and gave him the same kind of hug Twyla had given him.
‘I love you, Sonny,’ he said. ‘You’ve taught me so much.’
‘Wish could’ve had you in my life longer. Teach . . . yes, what I do. Teach you a new piece. Come to the piano. Never know – could be the last time.’
‘It won’t be. I promise I’ll come back.’
‘I may have moved away by then.’
Oliver didn’t know what to say to this. Sonny knew he was disappearing into himself; that time was robbing him of those on the outside day by day until he would be entirely, utterly alone. Oliver saw the grief on Gwen’s face and the sadness on Twyla’s. He took Sonny’s extended hand and went to sit with him at the piano. For nearly an hour music flowed through the house; lifting it, thought Oliver, toward heaven. The final piece was The Swan. When the last note ebbed away Sonny got up abruptly and, without a word, went to his room.
Gwen stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up, before turning to Oliver. ‘Have I already told you it’s by the French composer Camille Saint-Saens and that it’s always had a special place in Sonny’s heart and mine?’
He nodded, too moved to speak.
‘So hauntingly beautiful. He played it at a students’ piano recital when he was twelve. I remember how the hall rang with applause.’
‘I’ll never forget hearing him play it today.’
‘Neither will I, dear. A sea glass moment,’ Gwen touched his cheek, ‘if ever there was one.’
They went into the kitchen where lunch was waiting. Twyla had made her special ham and asparagus casserole. The three of them sat talking for a while afterward about nothing important, just ordinary, cozy conversation. Then Oliver took Jumbo for a walk down to the beach and sat on the steps leading up to Bramble Cottage. It was growing colder, the waves darker and faster-paced, frothing with dingy gray foam. But the rain had held off and he had the jacket Twyla had lent him. Even if this hadn’t been the case, Oliver wouldn’t have budged. He needed to feel this closeness to Sarah and Evan. Each time he twisted round to look at the cottage he felt sure, as Sarah had told him she had done the moment she saw it, that it was waiting for him with open arms.
It had just started to rain in slow drips and drabs when he returned with Jumbo; by night it would be storming. Gwen and Twyla invited him to stay for dinner. They were having fried chicken which Gwen said she hadn’t eaten in years but had been suddenly yearning for out of the blue. He said he wished he could but Brian was finally getting to come for a sleepover. And it wouldn’t do not to get back till the last minute and spoil things with Elizabeth and Gerard. Also, given the weather Brian’s parents might want to bring him in from Ferry Landing earlier than planned. So, at four thirty, Twyla drove him to the Cully Mansion, as always watching him mount the steps and go in the front door.
Typically, as opposed to yesterday evening, his return suggested he was entering an empty house. The overhead light was not on and only a couple of small table lamps fought back against the shadows. Then he heard Elizabeth’s voice, overflowing at high pitch from Gerard’s office. Any response was inaudible, but the source of the argument immediately became obvious.
‘I begged you, begged you to stay sober for once. How does this look? I made this overture and now we’ve got this kid coming!’ Silence, then: ‘Oh, what does it matter? With luck we’ll be out of here soon. I’ve taken the necessary steps to drag us up from the depths, while you’ve sunk further and further int
o the bog.’
‘For God’s sake, Elizabeth, you know why!’ Gerard’s voice finally broke through in tones of anguish.
‘We’ve been through this way too many times. I’m done! If you insist on going through life believing you’re a murderer, you’re on your own from this point out!’
Only the certainty that the office door was about to open got Oliver moving. He was halfway up the stairs when Elizabeth’s voice caught up with him. ‘Have you had a good day?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Unfortunately Gerard is deluged with work, so it doesn’t look as though he can make it for our little service at seven.’
‘That’s OK.’ Oliver almost said it would be fine with him if she cancelled what for him still loomed as a hurdle, but then she might take that as an opportunity to put off Brian’s visit, using the weather as an excuse. ‘It doesn’t matter how small it is, does it?’
‘No, of course not. There has, however, been an increase in numbers.’ The face below was veiled by the dim lighting. ‘I got a call this afternoon from Emjagger’s and Rolling Stone’s mother, asking if it would be all right for them all, including her husband, to stop by this evening. When I told her about the memorial service she said both boys are such great animal lovers they’d really hate not being present, offering their support at what has to be a very sad time for you.’
‘Right. I can picture their faces when she tells them of this golden opportunity . . . to do good, I mean. Is it all right if I go and read until Brian gets here?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll send him up when he gets here, if that’s what you’d like.’
‘Yes, please.’ The moment Oliver got inside his room he flopped down on the bed without bothering to turn on the reading lamp. The shock of what he’d overheard was fading. Believing you’re a murderer is one of those figure of speech things. If you really are one it’s not the sort of thing you can be unsure about. Clearly Gerard felt horribly guilty about something – that would account for his drinking and sleepwalking – but at this moment Oliver had enough to think about without trying to work out the cause. Those two coming with their enmity rekindled, if it had ever faded, by his taking the inhaler out to Rolling Stone in the kayak! They’d think he’d done that to make them look even smaller, and now here was the opportunity to get even by sitting smirking as he fumbled not to look ridiculous when struggling for what to say about Feathers – or just as bad, sanctimonious. With so much else going on in his life this shouldn’t matter, but it did; perhaps the case of one seemingly small thing stretching to become the final straw. He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t think he slept, but he must have done, because when he opened his eyes the bedside lamp was on and when he sat up there was a boy sitting on the window seat. It should have been Nat because his voice still lingered inside Oliver’s head. Remember, the time has come . . . the time has come . . . His own question: The time for what, Nat? The repeated whispered answer: Phone Evan . . . phone Evan . . . phone Evan. Not Nat on the window seat looking at him with concern, but Brian.
‘You OK, Ol? You must’ve been dead to the world, because I sure couldn’t wake you, not without tossing something and giving you a black eye.’
‘Fine. Well, not really – it was pretty bad about Feathers.’
‘What happened?’ One of the great things about Brian was that he didn’t waste time starting off with useless stuff.
Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Elizabeth met me in the hall when I got back from being with Sarah most of yesterday. She told me Feathers was dead and accused me of killing him while she’d been gone in Boston. I asked her how she thought I’d done it and she said by squeezing the life . . .’ Oliver choked, unable to go on. When he prised his hands away from his face Brian had joined him.
‘Hey, I’m here now and I’m getting you out of this creep house. We’ll slip out and run to Sarah’s.’
‘She went to Portland for the day and may not be home.’
‘Then we’ll go to Aunt Nellie’s.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Thanks, Bri. That’s what I wanted to do last night, but then Nat came and talked me out of it. I’ll tell you what he said and how this morning it began to fit together when Elizabeth apologized and suggested the memorial service.’
Brian listened with few interruptions, not bothering to readjust his glasses when a poke of the fingers sent them askew. At the conclusion he sat staring at Oliver as if needing more time to take it all in. ‘Wow!’ he said at last. ‘There has to be an important reason for Nat wanting us to explore the cellar. And I don’t think it can be to find a picture of him because by now he knows you’re sure he’s real. Talk about Walker Plank and Captain B. Curdle preparing for a midnight raid.’ A flash of lightning briefly lit up the room in suitably eerie fashion. ‘Where do you have the cellar key?’
Oliver patted the bed. ‘Under the mattress, right about where we’re sitting.’
‘Awesome. What does stink is those two coming over.’
‘I felt like throwing up when Elizabeth told me. And I think it was she who called their mother rather than the other way round. From what Mrs Poll says both parents like their drink, so they’d be a sort of cover for Gerard if he couldn’t resist having a few, but she found him so far gone already he now has to be kept out of the way.’
‘Got you! I know it’s an illness, but Gerard could try getting help.’
‘I wonder if Elizabeth’s tried to persuade him, or pushed him to man up and do it on his own.’ Oliver decided not to say anything about the snippet of conversation he overheard earlier. Brian would have made much of the scarily thrilling idea of Gerard’s really being a murderer. And it was not one Oliver wanted to be talking about as the time drew near to descend to the basement.
‘They’re sure one messed-up couple, but not your problem, Ol. I wonder if he’ll come sleepwalking in on us tonight. It would be something to see.’
‘About that dream I just had, or the tail-end of it.’ Oliver spoke over a rumble of thunder. ‘Do you have your cell phone with you?’
‘Natch!’ Brian dug into his pants’ pocket and handed it over. ‘Want to call Evan, right? I’ll leave you to it,’ he said nobly, ‘while I hunt for the bathroom.’
‘Three doors down on the right; this side.’
Brian departed with his Captain B. Curdle swagger and Oliver took Evan’s card from his pocket; originally it had been given to have on hand in case of trouble from Emjagger and Rolling Stone. That need had not arisen until now, so this was Oliver’s first time phoning Evan from the Cully Mansion. He tried the cell phone number first and held his breath for two rings. Then the enormous relief of hearing the familiar voice answer with a ‘Hello?’
‘Evan, it’s me, Oliver. I’m in my bedroom calling from Brian’s phone. I had to talk to you. Nat told me I should.’
Evan was like Brian in that he didn’t waste time asking such questions as What’s wrong? Or, How can I help? He said simply: ‘Tell me.’
‘Feathers died, but there’s more, a lot more. Nat told me to call you or, I should say, I woke from a dream still hearing his voice.’
‘I’m listening. I’ve got all the time in the world. Keep going until you’ve got it all out.’
It was amazing how simple it was; Evan might have been right there in the room; his strength and comfort wrapped itself around Oliver. Things that he had forgotten from last night’s visit from Nat slipped into place. ‘You do see I have to go down to the cellar tonight with Brian after Gerard and Elizabeth go to bed? I know I’ll always be sorry if I don’t.’
‘Yes. I’d feel the same in your place. Just make sure you take a flash light, a couple if possible, in case the lights go out in this storm that’s heading your way, or because someone turns them off. And keep that cell phone with you. If anything causes the least anxiety make sure you dial nine-one-one.’
‘Promise.’
‘Now back to Feathers. From the sound of it Elizabeth’s heading for a breakdow
n. I’m sorry the little bird died and know you are too. I’ve had my regrets about feeling I didn’t love sufficiently, but I think you’ll realize on looking back that you gave all you could, possibly even more than was required. So let’s get down to this memorial service and your role in it. I think I know what Nat was getting at about Through the Looking-Glass. I have the lines following the one starting out The time had come . . . memorized and think we can make a small alteration that will put a smile on Feathers’ beak, while we wipe the smirks off those two idiotically named boys’ faces. Do you have a notepad and something to write with handy?’
‘Right here.’ Oliver reached toward the bedside table. ‘Ready.’
When Brian returned to the bedroom his best friend was off the phone and looking much better.
‘Big help?’
‘The best, but that’s Evan. After helping me out with the service for Feathers, he told me that he’d just spoken to Sarah and she’d agreed not to head home from Portland tonight if the weather gets too bad. I’m glad because I’d be worried too. Even good drivers have accidents when it gets ugly. He said he also hopes to get here in the morning. And he told me something else to keep me going till then. Twyla’s found a lawyer to help protect Grandpa’s rights in planning my future. Nothing was going to be said to me until it’s settled, but he said,’ Oliver’s face brightened still further, ‘he thought the time had come. Sorry, Bri, but you’ll have to wait to find out why I’m no longer worried about those two, watching me turn to jelly when I speak about Feathers . . . Hey, it’s six twenty. I’d just as soon not have to go downstairs a minute sooner than necessary, but I’m suddenly starving, which means searching the kitchen for something to eat.’
‘No need for that, matey,’ said Brian in his best Captain B. Curdle voice. ‘I told Mom that if you don’t want to half starve in this house you have to get your own food much of the time, so she sent along packets of sandwiches, peanut butter cookies and cartons of juice. All in my backpack on the window seat.’ He looked toward it. ‘Wish Nat would join us,’ he added wistfully.
Sea Glass Summer Page 33
