I want the ghosts go away.
In the bright sun, Brett detected the dusting of freckles across Serena’s nose and cheeks, and noticed that her eyes vividly mirrored the ocean. She looked haunted. Beautiful and haunted. He fought that tortured image. Serena was the only potential antagonist in his brother’s life…at least that Alan had made him aware of.
"That makes two of us. Why would Alan be fishing for sharks in the middle of a storm?"
"Sharks? You keep asking about sharks? Why?" Serena seemed genuinely perplexed, or an incredible actress.
"Harriet said he purchased a Gorilla hook or something like that. She said that these hooks were used for catching sharks."
"He wouldn’t be going after sharks. That would have been too ferocious a prey for him." She shook her head. "He had to be after something else."
Brett searched the ocean. When he turned back his eyes were narrowed.
"I don’t think my brother died in an accident, Serena. You have to know more than you’re letting on."
Serena reached for the frame of the cabin. He could tell his comment hurt her, but she lifted her chin.
"I know Alan talked to you," she said quietly, "but did he really talk to you? Do you really know what your brother has been doing all these years, or has he lied to you all along? I mean, I didn’t see you bailing him out of jail the last time, so I’m going to assume he didn’t share that little excursion with you. He probably didn’t tell you about the other times either, did he?"
Serena tried to glare, but the fatigue overpowered her. "If you’re so concerned about your brother, Brett, find out where he was the past two months. Find out where he was, and maybe that will explain what motivated him that afternoon."
Jail?
Serena was certainly not the only one Alan had lied to. Brett knew his relationship with Alan wasn’t the best, but he never anticipated that his brother would secret a jail sentence.
Subdued, he asked, "Why was he in jail?"
Serena sighed and dropped down onto the vinyl holding container. "It was brief, but he tested the limits too much. He’d sell land that wasn’t his to sell. Sometimes he’d get away with it; other times they’d toss him in jail until I came along with the bail money."
"What do you mean he’d sell land that wasn’t his to sell?"
"He would make an offer to a landowner for $10,000 an acre, and because their land had not sold in so many years, they would accept it. Meanwhile, he didn’t have that sort of cash, so he would turn around and find a buyer that was willing to give him $25,000 an acre for the property." Serena gave a feeble shrug, "He’d take their money, pay the other guy his ten thousand, and hope that he could close the deal before either was the wiser. Sometimes it worked, other times—" she looked away, "well, let’s just say our lawyer got tired of the act."
Alan had boasted to Brett in the past about what a game the real estate market could be, and Brett knew enough about his brother to be skeptical, but he never suspected Alan would end up in jail. What other schemes had Alan engaged in that he was not aware of?
Serena’s accusations stung because of their precision. Retaliation became Brett’s only defense.
"Maybe he kept doing it because you kept showing up with the bail. Did you try any discipline? Did you explain that it was a strain on the relationship?" His eyebrow cocked and his fingers clenched around the balustrade. "Or was it?"
Busying herself with the controls to buy enough time to consider her response, Serena felt there was some validity to Brett’s charge. Initially she thought that Alan could be reformed. His schemes were usually harmless, and after each scandal he doused her with words of love and affection. As a young girl she reveled in Alan’s attention. But she grew old quickly. Eventually his false testimonies no longer incited her devotion.
Still, she was married to Alan, a sanctity that she had to maintain if only to save face amidst a town that disapproved of the union.
"It was a strain," she conceded. “Every time he promised it would be the last. I grew out of believing his promises, but he was still my husband. He needed help and his family never seemed to be around—"
"I was around." Brett snapped. "He called me all the time, and never let on that any of this was happening. Tell me Serena, who am I inclined to believe, the brother I grew up with, or you?"
Sad eyes gripped Brett as Serena turned around and whispered, "You should believe your brother. You don’t even know me."
Dammit. She looked so tragic with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. If she were any other woman, he would reach for her and comfort her. But this was his brother’s wife and the only person Alan had cast in a negative light.
"Maybe you consider it a blessing that he’s gone?"
Serena blinked against the salty air that made her eyes brim with tears. In a husky voice she uttered, "We better start heading back. We’re not going to find anything out here."
Frustrated, Brett slammed his fist down on the wooden hull and watched as she turned away.
How dare she make him feel guilty? Even she had said to trust his brother and not a woman he barely knew. Yet when he looked into her soulful gaze, he felt like he had known Serena for an eternity. A decade made no difference. He still wanted her. But the situation was as impossible now as it had been then.
Serena was Alan’s wife.
Brett shook his head and reached up to massage a pain at the base of his skull. Despite himself, his eyes trailed the slim dip of her back, and he opened his lips to apologize, but the words never sounded. Instead, he tried for innocuous conversation to ease some of the tension.
"You said you hadn’t been out on the water in a long time," he hesitated, "when were you out here last?"
Brett swore he saw Serena’s shoulders flinch and her fingers clutch the helm. Other than her body’s brief signal of distress, she remained mute, and no amount of goading on his part could draw any more out of her.
"We really needed to do this, Alan. We needed to get out here and talk."
"About what?" Alan’s gruff reply was not about to dissuade her
Alan had been gone for two months, and when he returned, had not even noticed that Serena now dressed in oversized flannel shirts and favored her back.
Spring touched Maine and the day was sunny, warm and inspiring. She would not be deterred by Alan’s somber attitude. Instinctively, her fingers settled on the slight swell of her abdomen and she smiled a private smile that only incited a glare from her husband.
"What are you up to, Serena? I don’t trust that shit-eating grin."
Don’t frown, she reminded herself. It was going to be okay.
Just four months ago she had thought of contacting a lawyer and severing their painful union, but that same day brought the news of her pregnancy. Suddenly Serena felt strong enough to mend their failing relationship. Her enthusiasm faltered during the two-month span that Alan was away, but when he returned, she proposed this excursion on the boat as a time to announce their impending arrival.
"Can’t we just have a good time today, Al? I haven’t seen you for such a long time. I miss you." Was that really true?
O’Flanagans Stew slid through the water as she felt Alan’s black eyes bore into her before he turned away.
"This boat is a mess. Did you bring someone aboard while I was gone?" The dark gaze condemned. "If I find out that you had a man here, I’ll kill both of you."
It was just a figure of speech, Serena reminded herself. Nonetheless, the sun suddenly seemed less brilliant and the ocean less docile, as clouds materialized where just moments ago blue skies lingered. In mortal acceptance, she acknowledged that the damage to their relationship was irreparable.
"We’re going to have a baby."
Conscious of the whistle of the wind and the shrieks of the gulls above, Serena focused on Alan’s silence. His back was still to her, tall and thin as he stooped over a holding tank. The only sign that she had spoken was in the stiffness of his posture
.
"Al?"
Alan whirled around and crossed three steps until he was in her face, his pointer finger jabbing painfully through a sweater and a sweatshirt to bruise her upper arm.
"What do you want me to say? That’s great, dear? Another mouth for me to feed with what little money we have left?"
Last time she had checked the bank account she was unaware of any financial problems, but she’d be sure to check again as soon as they returned to land.
Serena gauged the proximity of the cove almost two miles away and suddenly felt vulnerable.
"Hell, you don’t need my money anyway." Alan continued. "Everything comes from your parents. Our house, the Inn, even this goddamn boat." He kicked the storage bin as he slammed the lid shut. "How do I even know it’s mine? You constantly throw it in my face that I’m not around much, so the damn kid must not be mine!" Again his eyes leered close enough to make her shrink away.
"I’m almost five months pregnant. You remember when you came home for the holidays—"
Under Alan’s menacing stare she began to shiver. She took a step of retreat as her foot connected with a coiled rope.
"Why the hell would I have slept with you, you’re a goddamn icicle in bed." Alan said, apparently remembering the occasion. "You should be on the pill, dammit. You’re going to get rid of it, and that’s it."
"No!" Serena’s hand shot out, holding both Alan and his words at bay.
"What do you mean, no?" He advanced, his eyes black slits on a face scarred by hatred.
Serena wondered fleetingly where the man was that she had fallen in love with. Was this monster hidden beneath all along?
Anger and defense drew a chilled voice from her lips. "I will not give up this baby. I will leave you if that’s what it takes, but I’m keeping this baby."
"Leave?" His harsh laugh caused a daring seagull to rethink its flight pattern. "That’s supposed to be a threat? I keep leaving you whenever I damn well feel like it. Every time my parents send a check—I leave you. When that runs out, I’m back. But you’re a fool who still believes that love—not money ties this relationship together. Get rid of the kid," He ordered.
Serena was desperate, heedless of the impact of her words. "I’m keeping the baby, Alan. That’s the bottom line."
He straightened his back. "Oh it is?"
Alan’s hand shot out before she could avoid it. It cracked against her cheek and ear. Aside from a resonant buzzing in that region, she would have been okay. But the motion set her off balance, and to compensate, her foot sought stability, landing within the twist of rope. Gravity hoisted her over the edge.
Before Serena had time to acknowledge what happened, she found herself gulping for air amidst swells that crashed against the hull of O’Flanagans Stew. Her palms landed on the barnacled surface, seeking a handhold as she spit out enough water to manage a scream.
"Alan!"
Backlash from an errant wave cascaded over her. She gulped in air deluged with seawater. Through the salty curtain, she distinguished her husband’s profile above and anxiously held her hand up towards him. Alan stooped down and she was conscious of his grip, forceful and piercing on her shoulders—only he wasn’t pulling her out of the water.
In retaliation to the sudden pressure Serena kicked her legs, which grew burdensome in the ice-cold Atlantic. Flailing arms ineffectively battered his grasp as she began to feel faint. The freezing water and lack of oxygen numbed her efforts.
When the resistance left her body and darkness descended, she was aware of being lifted. Squinting against the sun, she noticed Alan’s silhouette hunched over her, his lips moving. The sound was a hollow echo that matched the blood pounding in her ears.
"Come on, you’ll live."
Serena coughed with such severity that her entire body racked in spasm. Pain vaulted her swiftly to consciousness. She curled up on the soaked deck and clutched her stomach.
"No," she cried.
CHAPTER IV
"Serena?"
Serena jolted at the invasion of Brett’s voice.
Her hand seized the throttle with white knuckles.
"What happened the last time you were out here?" He asked.
Momentarily locked in the past, Serena tried to find traces of her husband in the man before her, but there were none. Even Alan’s brown hair, which she thought was a common denominator between the two brothers, on Brett was much richer, a shade shy of black.
And then there were Brett’s eyes. Silver. The color of Maine’s autumn sky. Instead of just looking at those eyes, she delved into them, wondering if the demon that possessed Alan lurked inside Brett too. She trembled at the intensity concealed there, but found no monsters.
Brett stood paralyzed. It was as if Serena possessed him, entering through his eyes and penetrating his soul for answers. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. Was she a witch? Had she cast a spell on Alan and now had her sights on him?
Detecting the tremor of her bottom lip, Brett felt the nagging signs of doubt. He had wanted to convict her, to exorcize her from his mind. But could he be wrong? Could she possibly be a victim herself?
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked.
Serena shook her head.
Brett squatted down onto the holding container. Elbows on knees, he avoided staring at her, but in his periphery, he found that she had returned her attention to the Mighty Morgan.
The remainder of the journey inland was spent in silence. Brett welcomed the jarring thud of the pier, and reacted by tossing the coiled rope towards Harriet, who stood rooted in the very same spot he left her.
"Anything?" Harriet asked Serena.
Brett hurdled onto the dock and took the rope from the shopkeeper’s hands to channel the boat into submission.
"Serena?" Harriet repeated.
"No."
Serena’s subdued response elicited a grunt from Harriet. Harriet then looked at him. Disregarding the intrusive stare, he reached for Serena’s hand to assist her off the boat. His outstretched fingers remained empty as she leapt onto the wooden planks. Without a look back, she hurried down the pier and hiked up the hill towards O’Flanagans.
"What did you do to her?" Harriet’s accusation lashed out as soon as Serena was out of range.
"I didn’t do a damn thing. She—"
Brett’s glance followed the distant silhouette, "she remembered—something."
The pain in Serena’s eyes. The distrustful signals of her body. He was certain that she had recalled something traumatic.
But would she ever share it with him?
"No good. You damn Murphy brothahs are no good."
"Now just a minute," He crossed his arms and loomed over the stately merchant.
"I don’t know what Alan has done to make you so bitter. I’m not about to argue with you about my brother," He sighed. "I will admit that he was prone to some trouble in the past. Regardless, don’t label people you have just met, Ms. Morgan."
Snorting her contempt, Harriet placed her hands on her hips.
"You just go fix that girl," she ordered. "Fix whatever damage you’ve done. Make her smile again. She had nothing to do with her husband’s death and I think you know it. That man brought everything on himself."
Harriett dipped her head in a knowing nod. "Earn my respect, Brett Murphy."
"Rena, honey, where ya been?"
Sliding under the service panel, feeling instantly protected within the barricade of polished wood, Serena wiped her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, and turned to face Cooper.
"I was out on the Morgan."
Coop set his beer down with enough force to spill some over the rim. Mechanically, she reached for a towel to sop up the mess.
"That’s—great. I mean you haven’t been out on the water in a long time." His craggy face was one big question mark, but she ignored it.
"Rena, thank god!" Simon hastened from his post at the door. "Something disastrous has happened."
"
Your subscription to Muscle Man ran out?" Coop quipped, earning a look of disdain from the thin-haired maitre de.
Ignoring Coop, Simon straightened the knot of his necktie and continued. "We’ve booked two parties of eight for the same window-front table and both are standing in the foyer screaming at each other!"
Serena propped her hands on the counter and stooped forward to crane around Simon. The commotion up front sounded like the rowdy cries of adults in verbal combat.
"That they are." She declared with a smirk.
"We have to do something!"
Simon’s whine made Coop cringe. He turned his attention to the thirteen-inch color TV mounted in the corner.
"Simon," Serena began patiently, "you told me that you had aspirations of running a bistro in New York, right?"
With a sigh, Simon seemed to read where she was going. He pursed his lips. "Yes."
"Well you’re going to have to face much graver situations than this."
She continued with sincerity. "I need you, Simon. You know I haven’t been myself, I—I sometimes feel like I’m losing my mind, and I depend on you so much, and you have been there for me. For that I will always be grateful," she smiled. "I know I have put a lot of burden on you, but it’s only because I trust your judgment—and someday I’m going to be the first patron in that bistro of yours, and I’m going to order the most expensive dish on the menu."
Simon cleared his throat. "Dammit, Rena. How am I supposed to manage a comeback to that?"
Without waiting for her response, he tightened the knot of his necktie and tugged at the cuffs of his crisp white shirt. "Don’t worry, I can handle them."
Coop’s back was still to Serena, though his snort and brief utterance "sap," triggered a weary smile from her lips.
Widow's Tale Page 4
