The River King

by Alice Hoffman

  “I don’t care,” Harry said. “I’m selfish and I want you there with me.”

  But Carlin could not be convinced. At five the next morning she was in bed when she heard Amy leave. The van Harry had hired was idling in the parking lot, headlights cutting through the dark, and when Carlin listened carefully, she recognized the voices of the lucky few Harry had invited along on the ski trip. She kept her eyes closed until the van pulled out of the lot; the rattle of the engine drew farther and farther away as it turned onto Main Street, passing the fences decorated with white lights, and the brilliant tree outside town hall, and the graveyard behind St. Agatha’s, where so many had already deposited wreaths to mark the season.

  On the first day of vacation, St. Anne’s was deserted, save for the mice. All of the girls had gone off with family or friends, and in the emptiness left behind there was a moment when Carlin felt lost. She went to the pay phone and called her mother, Sue, who cried and said it just wasn’t Christmas without Carlin home to celebrate. As much as she loved her mother, by the time they were through talking, Carlin was glad enough to be in Haddan. Sue Leander had sent Carlin a present of white musk cologne, which Carlin rewrapped and presented to Miss Davis.

  “You must think I’m trying to catch myself a man,” Miss Davis said when she saw her gift, but she was persuaded to try out a dab or two on her wrists. “There,” she proclaimed. “I’m a knockout.”

  Carlin laughed and set to work on the dressing for the goose, which she’d had delivered from the butcher in Hamilton. As it turned out, Carlin was a good cook. She, who’d been raised on frozen dinners and macaroni and cheese, could now julienne peppers and carrots in seconds flat; one afternoon she made a vegetable soup so delicious that when the aroma drifted through the dormitory several girls came down with a bad case of home-sickness and they cried themselves to sleep, dreaming of their childhood homes.

  “Pecans in the stuffing?” Miss Davis sniffed, as she peered over Carlin’s shoulder. “Raisins?” Her voice was grave with mistrust.

  Carlin held the goose up by the neck and asked if perhaps Miss Davis would like to take over. The goose looked rather naked and strange to Miss Davis’s eyes and, truthfully, the notion that she might fix anything more complicated than a cheese sandwich was far-fetched at best, while the idea of her taking a dead goose in hand was nothing short of ludicrous. Quickly, she reconsidered. When all was said and done, pecan dressing would be fine.

  Helen hadn’t wanted to like this girl who worked for her; it was foolish to begin attachments now, when it was far too late for such things. She would never have admitted how glad she was that Carlin had stayed for the holiday. The girl was good company and had an exceptional talent for solving problems that seemed insurmountable to Helen, arranging, for instance, for a cab so that Helen could attend mass at St. Agatha’s instead of going to the services led by Dr. Jones in the school chapel. Having been raised Catholic, Helen had always wished to go to St. Agatha’s but she’d feared local parishioners would be unfriendly to an outsider, particularly a lost soul such as herself, who hadn’t been to a proper mass for so long. As it turned out, the congregation had welcomed her warmly. Pete Byers helped her to her seat, and afterward some nice young man named Teddy had driven her back to St. Anne’s. When she arrived home, she found that Carlin had set out a real Christmas dinner, which brought to mind the holiday meals Helen’s own mother used to serve, with dishes of candied yams and brussels sprouts, and of course the goose with its lovely stuffing.

  Halfway through dinner, Helen Davis gazed out the window and saw that handsome man again. Abel Grey was standing by the rosebushes, even though it was snowing. He was just about the best-looking man Helen had ever seen, and she thought now that she should have found herself a man like that back when she was young, rather than moping around after that worthless Dr. Howe.

  “Look who’s here,” she said to Carlin, and she quickly sent the girl to fetch him. Carlin ran through the falling snow, the black coat flaring out over a white apron and her good blue dress.

  “Hey,” she called to Abe, who didn’t seem happy to have been discovered. “Miss Davis wants you to have dinner with us. You might as well, since you’re lurking around here anyway.”

  Carlin jumped up and down to keep warm, but at least the boots she’d bought at Hingram’s were doing the job, and Gus’s coat was a blessing in weather such as this. Those big snowflakes were still falling, and Abe’s hair had turned white. He looked sheepish under all that snow, the way any man would be who’d just been caught peering through windows.

  “I’m just out for a walk,” he insisted. “I’m not lurking.”

  “Miss Chase went to a hotel in Maine with Mr. Herman. So you might as well have your dinner with us.”

  Abe had already had his Christmas lunch at the Millstone—two drafts, a burger, and a large order of fries.

  “Come on,” Carlin urged. “I’ll pretend I never saw you sneaking out St. Anne’s at three in the morning and you can pretend you’re polite.”

  “What are you having for dinner?” Abe asked grudgingly.

  “Goose with pecan stuffing and candied yams.”

  Abe was surprised. “You cooked all that?” When Carlin nodded, he threw up his hands. “I guess you talked me into it.”

  By now, the light had already begun to fade. Abe hadn’t really expected Betsy to be home, nor had he planned what he might say should she be there. Would he have begged for her to reconsider? Was he that far gone?

  As they approached St. Anne’s, Helen Davis opened the back door; when she saw Abe she waved.

  “I think she’s got a crush on you,” Carlin confided.

  “I’m sure she’ll dump me before dinner’s over.” Abe waved back. “Hey there, Helen,” he called. “Merry Christmas!” The black cat slipped out onto the frosty porch. “There’s my buddy.” Abe clucked as if calling chickens, but the cat ignored him and went instead to rub against Carlin’s legs.

  “Pretty boy.” Carlin leaned down to pat the cat’s cars.

  “Again your cat has failed to recognize you,” Helen noted as they all traipsed into the kitchen, cat included. Helen had placed a cover over the yams and she’d shoved a plate atop the bowl of vegetables to keep them warm. A few small exertions and those brief moments on the porch had left her exhausted. Standing there at her own dinner table, holding on to the back of a chair, Helen seemed likely to topple over, exactly like Millie Adams over on Forest Street, who had been ill for years before she passed on, so weak that Abe often stopped by on his way home from work to make certain that Millie had made it through the day. Now, Abe helped Miss Davis to her chair.

  “How nice that you happened to be passing by,” she said. “Just in time for dinner.”

  Still wearing the black coat, Carlin hurried to the cupboard for an extra plate. “He was lurking.”

  “Lurking,” Miss Davis said, pleased.

  “I was walking.” Now that he saw the food before him, Abe rubbed his hands together like a starving man.

  Carlin was searching through the cutlery drawer for silverware with which to set another place when she felt something move in her pocket.

  “Take off that coat and sit down,” Helen Davis instructed. “We can’t very well eat without you.”

  Carlin put down the silverware. She had a funny look on her face. She had forgotten the cranberry relish, but she didn’t move to rectify that mistake. Midnight leapt onto Helen’s lap and began to purr, low down in the back of its throat.

  “What is it?” Helen said to the silent girl.

  The worst part of caring about someone was that sooner or later you were bound to worry, and to take notice of details that wouldn’t otherwise be apparent. Helen, for instance, now saw that Carlin had grown pale, a wisp of a thing wrapped up in that old black coat she insisted on wearing.

  “What’s wrong?” Helen demanded.

  Carlin reached into her pocket and brought forth a small fish, which she placed upo
n the table. Helen leaned forward for a better look. It was one of those silver minnows found in the Haddan River, small and shimmering and gasping for breath. Helen Davis might have dropped the little fish in a tumbler of water had Midnight not pounced on it and eaten it whole.

  In spite of herself, Carlin laughed. “Did you see that? He ate it.”

  “You bad, bad boy,” Helen scolded. “You rascal.”

  “I told you Gus left me things,” Carlin said to Abe. “But you didn’t believe me.”

  Abe leaned back in his chair, baffled, but Helen Davis was far less surprised. She had always believed that grief could manifest itself in a physical form. Right after Annie Howe’s death, for instance, she had been covered by red bumps, which itched and burned into the night. The doctor in town told her that she was allergic to roses and must never again eat rosewater preserves or bathe in rose oil, but Helen knew better. She’d had nothing to do with roses. It was grief she was carrying around with her, grief that was rising up through the skin.

  Recalling these times caused Helen immeasurable pain, or maybe it was her illness that was affecting her so. It was so awful that she doubled over and Carlin ran to get the tablets of morphine hidden in the spice cabinet.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Miss Davis insisted, but she gave them no further argument when they helped her to her room. Afterward, Carlin put up a plate for Miss Davis for tomorrow’s lunch, then she ate her own dinner between bouts of cleaning up. Abe bolted his food, then checked to ensure that Miss Davis was sleeping. Thankfully, she was, but Abe was disturbed by how lifeless she appeared, pale as the deepest winter’s ice.

  When Carlin and Abe left Miss Davis’s, the air was so cold it hurt a person’s throat and lungs just to breathe; the sky was alight with constellations swirling through the dark. It was possible to see the Pleiades, those daughters of Atlas placed into the Milky Way for their own protection. How lovely it was with no people in sight and only the stars for company.

  “How come you’re so rarely lurking around anymore? Doesn’t Miss Chase miss you?”

  “She’s got a fiancé.” Abe had learned the constellations from his grandfather and as a child he’d gone to sleep counting not sheep but all the brilliant dogs and bears and fish that shone through the window.

  “That didn’t stop you before,” Carlin reminded him.

  “I guess the better man won.” Abe tried to smile, but his face hurt in the cold.

  “I’m in Mr. Herman’s history seminar. Believe me, he’s not even the second-best man.”

  The snow had stopped; it was the brilliant sort that made every step squeak.

  “Christmas.” Abe watched his own breath form little crystals. “What do you think Gus would have been doing right now?”

  “He’d be in New York,” Carlin said without hesitation. “And I’d be with him. We’d eat too much and see three movies in a row. And maybe we wouldn’t come back.”

  “Gus couldn’t have put that fish in your pocket. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Tell that to your friend.” Carlin nodded to the cat, which had followed them from Miss Davis’s. “He has fish breath.”

  Later that night, Carlin was still thinking of Gus as she went into the gym, using the key every member of the swim team was granted. She switched on the emergency lights in the entranceway, then went to the locker room and changed into her suit, grabbing for her cap and goggles. Abel Gray didn’t want to believe the fish at Miss Davis’s dinner had come from Gus, but Carlin knew that some things never disappeared completely, they stayed with you for better and for worse.

  Down at the pool, light reflected from the glassed walkway, and that was bright enough. The water looked bottle green, and when Carlin sat on the edge and swung her legs over, she was shocked by how chilly it was. Clearly, the heater had been turned off for the holidays. Carlin eased into the water, gasping at the cold. Her skin rose in goose bumps; her goggles steamed up the moment she slipped them on. She set about doing laps, using her strongest stroke, the butterfly, falling into her rhythm naturally. It brought relief to swim; Carlin felt as though she were out in the ocean, miles from land and all the petty concerns of humankind. She thought about the stars she had seen in the sky, and the snowflakes that had dusted the stone walkways, and the New England cold that could cut right through a person. By the time she was done, the action of her stroke had created a current; little waves slapped against the tiles. With her elbows resting on the edge of the pool, Carlin removed her goggles, then pulled off her bathing cap and shook out her hair. It was then she saw that she wasn’t alone.

  There was a greenish mist of chlorine rising from the surface, and for a moment Carlin thought she’d only imagined a figure approaching, but then the figure took a step closer. She pushed herself away from the edge; as long as she stayed in the center of the pool there was no way anyone could catch her, if catching her was what this individual was after. Whoever it was, he’d never be as fast as Carlin was in the water.

  She narrowed her eyes, already burning with chlorine, and tried to make out his face. “Don’t come any closer!” she commanded, and then was somewhat surprised when he did as he was told. He crouched down on his haunches and grinned, and that was when she saw who it was. Sean Byers from the pharmacy. Carlin could feel her heartbeat slow down, but the funny thing was, her pulse was still going crazy. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I could say the same to you.” Sean took off his watch and carefully placed it into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m here two or three times a week, after closing. I’m a regular. Which is more than I can say of you.”

  “Oh, really? You swim?”

  “Usually in Boston Harbor, but this does fine. No shopping carts or half-sunk boats to dodge.”

  Carlin continued to tread water; she watched as Sean took off his jacket and tossed it on the tiles. He pulled off his sweater and his T-shirt, then gave Carlin a look.

  “You don’t mind, do you ?” he asked, one hand poised by his fly. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you or anything like that.”

  “Oh, no.” Carlin tilted her head back, challenging him. “Go on. Be my guest.”

  Sean pulled off his jeans. Carlin couldn’t help herself, she looked to make sure he was actually wearing a bathing suit and was amused to see that he was. Sean let out a holler as he jumped into the far end of the pool.

  “You’re a trespasser with no legal rights,” Carlin said when he swam over. “I hope you know that.” In the deep end, the water was so black it appeared bottomless.

  Sean’s face was pale in the dim light. “There’s nothing to do in this town. I had to find some way to occupy myself. Especially with Gus gone. You’re a good swimmer,” he noted.

  “I’m good at everything,” Carlin told him.

  Sean laughed. “And so modest.”

  “Well? Do you think you can keep up with me?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “If you slow down.”

  They swam laps together and Carlin didn’t change her pace to suit him. To his credit, Sean managed to do fairly well; he hadn’t been lying, he really was a swimmer, and although his stroke was awkward and wild, he was fast and competitive. It was lovely to be in the dark, alone, yet not alone. Carlin could have gone on this way forever, had she not noticed flashes of reflected light glittering before her. She stopped to tread water, thinking her vision would clear, but they were there, a stream of tiny minnows.

  Sean came up beside her. His wet hair looked black and his eyes were black as well. He had a scar beneath his right eye, an unfortunate reminder of the car he’d stolen, the one that had wound up crashed on a side road in Chelsea and had landed him in juvenile court and then in Haddan. In spite of his injury, he had a beautiful face, the sort that had always brought him more fortune than he deserved. In Boston, he was known for his daring, but tonight, he felt uneasy. The pool was much colder than usual, but that wasn’t the reason he’d begun to shiver. There was some mo
vement grazing his skin, fin and gill, quick as a breath. A line of silver went past him, then circled and came back toward him.

  “What are those?”

  Sean had been wanting to get Carlin alone since the first time he saw her, but now he was far less sure of himself than he’d thought he’d be. Here in the water, nothing looked the same anymore. He would have sworn he saw fish darting through the pool, as ridiculous a notion as if stars had fallen from the sky to shine beneath them, giving off icy white light.

  “They’re only minnows.” Carlin took Sean’s hand in her own. His skin was cold, but underneath he was blistering. Carlin made him reach out along with her, so that the fish floated right through their fingers. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They won’t hurt us.”

  * * *

  PETE BYERS COULDN’T BEGIN TO COUNT THE times he’d hurried to his store during snowstorms, called there by frantic mothers whose babies were dehydrated and burning up with fever, or by old-timers who’d forgotten to pick up a much-needed medication without which they might not make it through the night. He opened when necessary and closed down when appropriate, locking his doors, for instance, to honor Abe Grey’s grandfather when Wright was laid to rest. On that day, there was a funeral procession that reached from Main Street to the library; people stood on the sidewalks and wept, as if one of their own had passed on. Pete also came in after hours on the day Frank Grey shot himself, to fill a prescription for tranquilizers to ensure that Frank’s mother, Margaret, would finally get some sleep.

  Pete had told Ernest Grey it would be no bother for him to drop the prescription by the house, but Ernest must have needed to get out, as he insisted on coming down himself. It was late, and Ernest had forgotten his wallet; he went through his pockets, pulling out change, as if Pete wouldn’t have trusted him to make good on whatever he owed. Then Ernest sat down at the counter and cried, and for the first time, Pete was grateful he and Eileen had never had children. Perhaps what people said was true, that any man who lived long enough would eventually realize that the way in which he was cursed was also the blessing he’d received.