SW01 - The Edge of Nowhere

by Elizabeth George

  He went to it and scooped it up. Best to return it. At least it would save her another trip to Casey’s Corner from the farm.

  SETH GOT STOPPED by both of the traffic lights on the highway before he got to the route that would take him to Smugglers Cove Farm and Flowers. So he was a couple of minutes behind Mrs. Cartwright and when he reached his destination, the SUV was parked and the grocery bags had been taken inside. The stuff from the back was still within the car, so with Mrs. Cartwright’s purse slung over his shoulder, he opened the back of the SUV and grabbed the cartons with the canning jars in them. As he went toward the door, he passed the woodpile. It still hadn’t been stacked.

  Mrs. Cartwright seemed surprised to see him. Then she saw her purse hanging from his shoulder. She said, “My heavens. I didn’t even miss it,” and she held the screen door open.

  He went to the kitchen, where she’d set the grocery bags on the floor. One of them had spilled out and the family cat was sniffing a cherry tomato that he proceeded to bat around.

  Seth set the boxes of canning jars on the counter and asked Mrs. Cartwright if she’d like him to stack the firewood. She said, “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, but don’t bother, Seth. Bill just hasn’t gotten to it yet.”

  Seth said, “No trouble. I sort of like the work. It’s a nice day and . . . I got nowhere I need to be.”

  Mrs. Cartwright cast a look in the direction of the barn, which could be seen in part from the kitchen window. She said, “All right then. Thank you, Seth. That’s very good of you.”

  “No worries.” He went back outside and approached the woodpile.

  The wood had become fairly heavy from the rain. It should have been stacked in the covered woodshed right after it had been delivered. Seth wondered if they’d have to buy another cord of it to use until these four cords dried out. He doubted they could afford it.

  He set to work. It was the kind of labor he enjoyed, making order out of chaos. That, his grandfather liked to tell him, was always pleasurable to the human mind.

  Seth worked steadily for about twenty minutes, at which point he paused and took off his flannel shirt. He turned back to the pile and picked up another load, and he heard a man’s voice call out, “Don’t tell me that woman’s put you to work.”

  Seth looked up to see that Mr. Cartwright was coming in his direction from the barn, carrying a bottle of water in his hand. He was walking slowly, in the way people walk when their feet are tender and bare and they find themselves suddenly treading on pebbles. Only Mr. Cartwright was wearing tough work boots and Seth wondered if he was breaking them in or maybe had blisters from wearing them too long.

  Mr. Cartwright said with a nod at the wood, “I would’ve gotten to that sooner or later, but I appreciate the help. I been working like a dog with a bone.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the barn, although Seth couldn’t imagine what he’d been doing there. He also laughed for no particular reason. “Anyhoosy, I brought you this.” He extended his hand, holding out the bottle of water.

  Seth reached for it, saying thanks, but before he made contact the bottle dropped between them. It was one of those weirdly perfect falls. It hit a piece of wood just right and burst, sending its contents out over the bottoms of Mr. Cartwright’s jeans.

  Mr. Cartwright began to laugh, but the sound of the laugh was high and strange. Seth saw that it wasn’t a laugh of humor because there was nothing like humor in either his face or his eyes. Seth also saw that Mr. Cartwright’s hands were shaking, and he realized that Hayley’s dad had probably been drinking.

  Mr. Cartwright dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. He said, “What the whoosey, let me help you here, Seth,” and he bent and picked up three pieces of wood. But he wasn’t able to carry them to the woodpile without dropping two of them, and the third he just dumped on the arranged wood in such a way that two of the pieces that Seth had stacked neatly ended up rolling off. Mr. Cartwright laughed that strange laugh again. He said, “Oops. Sorry about that.”

  Seth wanted to tell him that he would do the work himself. But it was Mr. Cartwright’s farm, and he figured Mr. Cartwright could do whatever he wanted. Even if he was making a mess of things, Seth could hardly tell him that.

  He was saved by the fact that Mrs. Cartwright came out of the house, then. She was carrying two bottles of water and an old faded blue canvas stool. She said cheerfully, “You boys are working too hard,” as she opened the stool. She added, “Have a seat here, Billy boy, and take a load off for a while.”

  Seth said thanks for the water and drank his down while Mrs. Cartwright urged her husband to use the canvas stool. He cooperated well enough, but he groused, “You’re making me soft, Julie,” and he didn’t open his water.

  Seth went back to work. But he could feel that Mr. Cartwright was watching him, staring at him, really, and so hard that the force of the look seemed to bore into Seth’s back like a drill making a hole. He thought he might be doing something wrong, and he glanced over at the man. Mrs. Cartwright was rubbing his shoulders, her head cocked and her gaze affectionately resting on Seth. Mr. Cartwright made an irritated face, and pushed her hands off his shoulders. “I said you’re making me soft,” he told her. “Cut it the blazes out, Julie.” She dropped her hands and pressed her lips together, and Mr. Cartwright said to Seth this time, “Man slows down a bit and ends up with a bunch of women hovering over him like he’s an invalid.”

  “Bunch of women?” Seth said with a smile. “Sounds sort of nice to me.” He was thinking that he would settle for one woman, that woman being a girl-woman, and that girl-woman being Hayley, when something like a snort came from Mr. Cartwright. He looked over to see that Hayley’s dad was crying. He was making no other noise beyond that single snort, but the tears were streaming down his face. Seth turned away and stacked wood like crazy and waited for someone to say or do something, but no one did.

  “Well, now.” Mrs. Cartwright finally spoke. She clapped her hands as if to get their attention. “I’m going to go in the house and make you two some sandwiches. You’re growing boys. You need to be fed.”

  Seth wondered if she hadn’t noticed her husband was crying. That was surely possible because she’d been standing behind him. But the way she sounded and the way she gave Seth a sharp glance told him that she probably knew and was signaling Seth not to say anything about it. This was fine by him because asking a grown man why he was laughing and crying and stumbling and dropping things was pretty much the last thing Seth wanted to do.

  So he said, “Thanks. That would be nice.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ve got leftover ham.”

  She reached to help her husband to his feet. He jerked away from her. He said, “Julie, do I look like I need your help?”

  Her eyes got bright, but she stepped away and waited for him to struggle to his feet. Then she headed toward the house with him, close at his side. She was very careful not to touch him, but she kept glancing at him as if expecting him to fall.

  Something was definitely going on with him, Seth thought. Something was going on with Mrs. Cartwright, too.

  WHEN SETH GOT to his grandfather’s property later that day, he found Ralph lobbing tennis balls with an old wooden racket. He was serving the balls up the slope in the direction of the parking area, and Gus was tearing up the path to retrieve them. His tongue lolled goofily out of his mouth.

  He charged past Seth and knocked him off balance. Seth toppled into a large stand of Oregon grape. A few branches snapped off and a few sharp leaves scratched his face. He said, “Hey, watch it, Gus,” but taking care not to knock people over wasn’t on the yellow Lab’s mind. Seth got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  Seth called to his grandfather, “What in heck’re you doing?”

  Ralph called back, “Trying to wear that dog out so he’ll sleep tonight without getting up and chewing on your grandmother’s rocker is what I’m doing.” Ralph watched the Lab come tearing back down the hillside, ball in
jaws. He said, “We’ve been doing this for an hour. Any chance I’m close to wearing him out?”

  “Give it another hour,” Seth said. “Here, I’ll do it,” and he joined his grandfather on the lawn.

  “Change directions, then,” Ralph told him as he handed over the tennis racket. “Hit it toward the pond. I think he’s done enough damage to the shrubbery and there’s not much chance you or he can hurt anything else if you aim toward the pond. Or lob it into the forest, if you like. That’ll keep him looking for a while.”

  Seth chose the forest and whacked the ball in that direction. Gus hurtled after it, crashing through the bracken. In less than a minute he came running back, the tennis ball in his mouth. He chewed it energetically before dropping it at Seth’s feet.

  Ralph watched all this and then said, “So. What’s on your mind, favorite male grandchild? I’d like to think this is a social call, but lately you show up when it’s talking you want.”

  “Talking’s social,” Seth pointed out.

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  So Seth told his grandfather about the Cartwrights: how he’d gone out there on Ralph’s suggestion but had seen the place didn’t look quite right, how he’d gone again to take Mrs. Cartwright her purse, and how Mr. Cartwright had acted while he was there. He ended with, “Grand, I think he was drunk. Really blitzed. He couldn’t walk right. He couldn’t even put wood on the woodpile without dropping it.”

  Ralph considered this as Seth wacked the ball into the forest again. He said, “Drunk doesn’t sound like Bill Cartwright. I used to see him having a beer at the Dog House when it was open, but he never got drunk that I can recall.”

  “He’s drunk now,” Seth said. “And I was thinking that maybe that’s what’s been going on with Hayley. Like she doesn’t want me to know her dad’s drinking. Like she’s embarrassed I might find out.”

  Ralph said, “Seth . . .” in that way people speak when they’re disappointed. This made Seth remember what his grandfather had said to him about this kind of thinking, and he added quickly, “I know, Grand. Everything’s not about me. I know you’re thinking that I’m thinking—”

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, grandson.” Ralph took the tennis racket from Seth and lobbed the ball for Gus once again, this time toward the pond.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “You’re thinking Bill Cartwright’s a drunk because of what you’ve seen, right? But that’s just like people thinking you’re a druggie because of how you look, isn’t it?”

  “Totally unfair,” Seth protested. “Just because I’m not in school, just because my jeans are loose and my hair’s long and I got ear gauges—”

  “You take my point. That things aren’t always what they seem. That could be the case here.” Ralph waited as Gus came dashing up from the pond. He’d found an old rubber rain boot in lieu of the ball. This was a delicious diversion and the dog set about chewing on it. Ralph said, “Get that darn thing away from him before he chokes,” and as Seth went to do this, he said, “Seth, you want some advice on this matter? I ask because people rarely do want it and I’d rather save my breath to throw that damn ball for another hour or two if you’re not going to listen.”

  “I’ll listen,” Seth said.

  “Then hear me. Don’t rush to judgment on this matter of the Cartwrights. And don’t say a word about what you’ve seen to Hayley.”

  * * *

  TWENTY-SIX

  Becca was sitting in the new commons, around the corner from the lunch line. On the other side of the room, Jenn McDaniels was waylaying kids on their way in and out of lunch. She had her sign-up sheets with her, and she was taking names of anyone willing to go up to Coupeville.

  Jenn was worried about Derric. Becca could hear this in her whispers whenever she talked about him. Becca knew that the doctors were worried, too. On one of her own visits to Derric, she’d managed to hear one of them quietly talking to a nurse about some kind of brain bacterium that could put its victim into a deep sleep for years. But she refused to believe this was what had happened to Derric. Regardless of Jenn’s dislike of her, Becca figured the other girl felt the same way.

  As if knowing she was being watched by Becca, Jenn looked in her direction. She lifted a hand as if waving to her and half-rose from her seat. Becca was startled, thinking Jenn’s attitude toward her had undergone a massive change, but then she experienced a jolt of reality as the undersheriff passed right by her. He’d come into the commons from the opposite direction, behind Becca’s back. She ducked her head and pretended she needed to get a book from her backpack. He passed her table and went to the one three tables away, where he sat down with the kids and started to talk.

  Across the room, Jenn had picked up her clipboard with its sign-up sheets. The undersheriff looked intense, and Becca could tell that Jenn was worried that Derric’s father was telling the kids something that she herself ought to hear. She’d pretty much dominated Derric’s recovery, after all, letting everyone know that she was spending more time than anyone at his bedside, riding the bus up to Coupeville practically every afternoon. She’d been filled with stories of her visits to Derric, which Becca had overheard in Eastern Civilization and English: how she’d been in the room when Derric’s father had come to see him; how he’d cried that time after talking to one of the doctors. He’d confided in her about being scared, she’d declared, and he felt terrible about not having been there for Derric all the time. Wow, he’d even told her about having had his doubts about adopting a kid from Africa in the first place and bringing that kid to lily-white Whidbey Island and expecting him to fit in. But that had happened a long time ago, which was what Jenn explained that she’d said to Dave Mathieson, and he sure didn’t need to worry about it now.

  To Becca, it had all sounded like a girl declaring her territory. She felt strange about it, so she kept her distance even while she picked up what information she could about Derric’s condition.

  Becca saw Jenn leave her table, clipboard pressed to her chest. Jenn started to come across the new commons in the direction of the undersheriff. The students being talked to by him all shook their heads with a solemn-looking no to whatever questions Derric’s dad was asking them.

  Undersheriff Mathieson rose. Jenn picked up her speed and raised her hand in a wave. He didn’t see her, or he didn’t care. He moved on to the next table, where he sat and started his questions again.

  Becca wished she could hear what the undersheriff was asking because once again the students were shaking their heads no. She figured when he reached the table directly next to hers, she’d have a chance as long as Jenn didn’t get in his way.

  Jenn’s expression said she wanted to, though. Becca had the AUD box plugged in because of the noise inside the commons, but she didn’t need it to hear Jenn’s whispers since her face was so easy to read. It said I’m the one and Why aren’t we talking? and What about me when I’ve done so much? But the undersheriff noticed none of this. Instead, he left the table where he was sitting, came to the table closest to Becca’s, and asked a question that felt like a hand grenade placed in the center of Becca’s life.

  “I’m looking for someone called Laurel Armstrong,” he said. “Is that name familiar to any of you?”

  Becca felt herself turn into a block of concrete with a pounding heart. She knew the need for instant escape, but nothing about her body worked except her eyes and her ears. The kids would say no, of course, and then the undersheriff would be at her table, and she didn’t know how she would keep her face from broadcasting everything she was trying to hide.

  But then a little miracle happened. Halfway across the new commons, a table of stoner boys started to give Jenn McDaniels a bad time. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed the undersheriff’s coming into the room because one of them grabbed Jenn by the arm and made kissy faces at her while another wailed at top volume, “Derric, oh Derric, be tah-roo to me now,” as if he was singing a country song, to which he added, “F
or Jenn misses you like a calf misses a cow,” and the rest of the boys began laughing like hyenas.

  Becca recognized the boy with a grip on Jenn’s arm. She’d been with him on the ferry. He’d hassled Derric during lunch one time, too. Dylan, Becca thought. His name was Dylan.

  Jenn jerked away from him. She snarled, “Get a grip, Dylan,” to which Dylan replied, “Hey, you get a grip.”

  Another boy said, “What a dyke,” as a third said, “Grip what? Bet we know, freak.”

  Undersheriff Mathieson saw all of this. Most everyone heard it, too. The undersheriff got up from his seat and went over to the boys. He said, “What’s this all about?” and the way he said it told everyone that he meant business of the you’re-in-trouble kind.

  Dylan turned the color of eggplant. The other boys started to stammer. The undersheriff leaned over their table and got right into Dylan’s face. He said in a loud voice, “I asked you what this was about. You were singing about Derric, so how d’you know him? What’re your names? Were you there when he was injured in the woods?”

  Dylan went instantly from eggplant to white. Jenn sneered, “Yeah, Dylan. Were you there?”

  This set the undersheriff off even more because he said, “Was Derric meeting you there? You better damn well tell me if you—”

  “Hey. Chill, dude,” one of the other boys said.

  Dave Mathieson made a move toward him. That was when Ms. Primavera intervened. Becca didn’t know where she’d come from, but she put her hand on Undersheriff Mathieson’s arm, and she said something to him in a very low voice. Then she said to the boys, “You have some place to be, I think,” and she ignored Jenn McDaniels altogether.

  The boys got up like kids with their pants on fire. The undersheriff put his hand briefly on Ms. Primavera’s where it still rested on his arm. Becca saw their fingers interlock, and then Ms. Primavera dropped her hand to her side. The undersheriff said something to her and, just like that, they left the commons. Jenn remained, a lone figure with the stares of the other students resting upon her. She spun around and left by the doors that led to the theater corridor and the band rooms. No one said another word to her.