Both of Me

by Jonathan Friesen

  “You find yourself and you’re still thinking of food?” I rolled my eyes and ordered a bowl of haddock chowder. Elias did the same.

  “I do think we’re close,” he said. “Close to ultimate evil.”

  I smiled, raised a spoonful of chowder, took aim, and flicked it into his face.

  He methodically wiped it off and dumped his bowl on my head.

  “You jerk!” I swept thick and creamy off my face. “That was not responding in kind!”

  “What you did was not kind!”

  A waitress eased over and winced. “Other ways to protest the chowder, though nobody ever has before. You’re not from around here.”

  I grabbed the towel from her hands and wiped chowder from my hair. “I’m certain it’s top rate. I’m sorry about the mess. It was a misunderstanding. But you’re right, we do need some locals.” I stood and stepped into the middle of the eatery, chunky fish drippings falling to the floor. “I’m looking for a lighthouse. I am running out of patience. I smell like haddock. Can anybody help me?”

  “Ayup. Which one, lass?” A man wearing rubber overalls slid out of his seat.

  I thought and dug in my pocket, brought out Elias’s picture. “This. I want this one.”

  “Well, it ain’t Matinicus.” A rough voice from behind. “Not Browns Head, either.”

  “Don’t look nothing like Boon or Goat Island.”

  Soon I was surrounded by ten patrons.

  “Seguin?”

  “No, fool.”

  “Ain’t the Heron’s Neck Light or Owls Head.”

  I pulled the picture to my chest. “How many of these bloomin’ lights are there?”

  “Sixty, maybe seventy.”

  “You know where you need to go?” A rough voice cut through, and the others fell silent.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be standing here covered in soup.”

  An old man smiled, his front teeth absent. He hobbled forward, his face weathered but his eyes clear. “I know a lobsterman. He’ll know your lighthouse.”

  “Thank you. Did you hear that, Elias? This gentleman knows . . . Elias?”

  Our booth was empty, save for a sketch on the table.

  A head surrounded by a pool of blood.

  Yes, that had happened. I picked up the sheet. We were near the end of my story, and as hard as I tried to focus on Elias’s quest, panic rose in me again. I was so close to my fear. The next sketch. It would tell all.

  I pushed outside, calling, running, calling more. Finally, I returned and paid for the meal.

  “You still want to find your lighthouse, lass?”

  I felt in my pocket. I had the keys; Elias wasn’t going anywhere. I slowly folded the sketch. He wanted me to have it and know exactly what he knew. To that end, Elias would stay and perhaps discover more memories in the process. I hoped.

  “Carry on.”

  I hopped inside a stranger’s truck and sunk into my seat. Of all the horrid moments to lose Elias.

  “You seem a girl with chowder on her head and a load of cares on her mind.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m entertaining a few.”

  “Call me Salt — it’s what they all do.” He reached out his hand, and though his knuckles were gnarled, his grip was strong.

  “Call me Clarita, I guess.”

  “Pretty name.” We pulled onto the windy road that snaked through Camden. He pointed at the harbour. “Walked down there yet? Camden’s got a beautiful harbour all right, but it ain’t the working man’s harbour it once was. Tourists and artists here now. See all them boats? Shrink-wrapped for the season. Got soft up here.

  “Now, where we going, a few towns up, the lobsterman still work it hard. Take St. George, ‘bout fifteen miles south, it’s where we’ll find him. He’ll know your light, if it is to be known.”

  I nodded. Something about Salt was comfortable, like Dad’s old armchair. “Thanks for your time. Let me reimburse —”

  “Naw. A chance for Old Salt to carriage a beautiful young fishsmellin’ woman? Maybe some of the local seniors’ll see me in action and my prospects will improve.”

  I laughed and straightened. “Oh, a charming gentleman like yourself?”

  “Talk to lobster your whole life, and you almost forget normal human interaction . . . There. Lean on over here and take a look. There’s a light for you.” Salt pointed out his window at a lonely tower, rising in the distance. “Now, that’s not yours, but another’s been restored. These days, they’re all automated. Maintained by Fish and Wildlife. No more lightkeepers. No need.” He turned and smiled. “But we lobstermen, can’t rid Maine of us. Can’t replace a lobsterman with a computer.”

  We drove through a scenic wonderland, through Rockland and finally into Rockport. The entire way, Salt talked of bait and traps, islands and storms. But these words I caught only in disconnected pieces. My mind was on Elias.

  He would not leave a place that he knew. It would eat at him, though it might scare him, but that was all right. He would explore, and I would return with the final piece to his mystery, and perhaps Elias would give the final piece of mine.

  His mind might even be whole.

  But it was the next step that caused me to stumble. What if he was sound and all I wished for came true? What if somehow this place could do what medication couldn’t? What if Elias waited for me?

  Wanted me.

  So also did my dad.

  Elias’s path had been clarifying. My own path was becoming murky.

  “We’re here, lass. St. George. It’s where we’ll find him.”

  The road twisted and ended abruptly at the waterfront. Warped docks and lobster traps spread out before me. Salt was right. This harbour was work and sweat and disrepair, the boats that bobbed in the water paint-peeled and pitched tight.

  “Tenant’s Harbor. On the west end of the Penobscot.” Salt hopped out of the truck. “With any luck, we’ll find him in. Otherwise, we wait.”

  We wandered down past nets and repair sheds, toward the colourful lobster boats moored in the harbour. All but one was empty.

  Puffins and seagulls flew low overhead and turned east, flying out over the bay. The sky took on the deep shade of London grey, and a rogue memory of my mum pushed in.

  “In early, Haley,” called Salt.

  A gal looked up from the boat, raised her rubber gloves to her hips. She was pretty, working pretty, and she puffed air up and swept back her fringe with the crook of her arm.

  “Been some time. Thought you’d grown soft spendin’ time wit’ all them Camden uppers.”

  “Oh yes, I have grown soft.” He looked at me. “I want to introduce you to my granddaughter, Clarita, from London.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Well, hell.” Haley set to wrapping herring, tossing them into a barrel behind her. “Didn’t know you’d ever been across the sea.”

  “Sometimes the sea just comes to you, then blows back where it come from.” Salt grinned.

  “Ayup. Reckon it does. But I got seven hundred traps down, and I need to pull up one fifty before the man returns.”

  “That’s who I came to see. I need his eyes.”

  “Reckon two hours on that.” She peeked up at me. “So what’s it like in England?”

  “Cloudy. Heavy. At least on Marbury Street. The street works the factory. The factory works them until they die, and the next generation takes over.”

  She looked me over. “You don’t seem worked.”

  “That’s true.”

  Her hands slowed, and she pitched a bait bag into a barrel and straightened. “Years back, Salt and Atticus, they hauled up more lobster than you can imagine. First out, last in. Others saw their buoy colors and they knew to stay away. Ain’t so anymore. There’s all manner of thievery, especially out past Matinicus.”

  Salt softened. “That’s the island where his reputation, and his moniker, was born. After he took that bullet from another lobsterman, he became Atticus. Territorial dispute, you see.” />
  “Maybe you should spend some time gettin’ your hands smelly.” She gestured with her head into the boat. “See if any of Salt runs through your veins. You can change yonder.”

  “No, she can’t.”

  I turned around, and knew at once I was looking at the man.

  I had seen old people before. In wheelchairs, or with canes clacking down the street.

  But this man was ancient, ancient and terrible. He strode, his legs strong and sure and his black trench coat catching in the wind. His skin was leather, with wrinkles deep and eyes sharp beads. On his head, capturing a white lock, was a yellow bandanna.

  More pirate than man, if you asked me.

  “Salt. What brings you back?”

  “This girl.”

  Atticus’s gaze held me, and I was, temporarily and unexplainably, without words.

  “She’s his granddaughter,” Haley called, without stopping her work.

  Atticus smiled. “No, she’s not.”

  Salt smirked. “She needs to find a lighthouse. She has a photo.”

  Words returned. “A drawing, to be more precise.”

  Atticus held out his hand, and I removed the sketch from my pocket. He unfolded it, took a one second glance, and handed it back.

  “Don’t know it.”

  Salt frowned, and I regained my footing.

  “Have you or have you not lived here all your life?” I asked.

  “Yeah, ain’t nothing new to me.”

  “I’ll wager that you know the location of every dangerous shoal.”

  “I know where they ain’t.”

  I held the picture in front of his face. “So where is this?”

  Haley stared with wide eyes. Salt held back a grin, and Atticus slowly lowered the drawing. “You come to Maine alone?”

  “No, I did not. I came with a . . . with a friend. Elias.”

  Atticus took a deep breath, and whispered. “Elias Phinn.”

  “You know him?” I asked. Elias and his alternate universe had been wholly disconnected along the course of our travels. To discover somebody knew him was unbelievable, akin to a person claiming to live in Salem, and I shook.

  “That was Elias Phinn? At Boynton-McKay’s? Boy’s grown up. Grown strong.” Salt grabbed my arm. “Why’s he come back? Why’d he come . . . back . . .” Salt glanced at Atticus, who pursed his lips.

  “What does he remember?” Atticus asked.

  “Nothing really,” I said. “Nothing but this picture and remnants of this place.”

  Atticus nodded. “Best that’s how it all remains. Salt, you old fool.” He turned and walked off the dock. The man who knew Elias’s past was leaving me. I couldn’t let it happen.

  “He’s not right in the mind!” I called. “He hasn’t been right since he was a young lad. Something happened. He’s searching for the Keeper. He wants to destroy the evil that comes from this person. I need to know why. Please, we’ve crossed half the country, and I need to know.”

  Atticus stopped and slowly turned.

  “He wants to destroy him? It’s already been done.” He glanced at Haley and cursed. “Out. I need the boat. I guess it was going to happen, sooner or later. Time to return to Two Bush Island.”

  CHAPTER 27

  We churned out of Tenant’s Harbor, my arms shivering. Not even the lobsterman coat, with a smell that overpowered all leftover hint of chowder, could ease the cold.

  Atticus and Salt stood one on either side, but I wanted them nearer. There was a protection in their presence, and I slipped my arm into Salt’s.

  “Tell her, Atticus. Don’t do nothing to show without a tell.”

  Atticus glanced over at me.

  “You don’t need to,” I said. “You can tell me some other —”

  “Elias was six, seven, maybe eight when his father, Elliot, took a job with Fish and Wildlife. It gave him access to all the lighthouses along the coast, but the man’s favorite was the light on Two Bush. It’s a solitary island, and few know of it, fewer still go near it. Elliot only had to maintain the automatic lamp, is all. But Elliot Phinn had a different love. Them stars.”

  I slumped down in my chair. “Elias’s dad loved constellations.”

  “To that man, everything important was up, and so he’d hire me to take him out to Two Bush, late at night. As I said, I knew where the shoals weren’t, and I’d get him in close. After some effort, he’d climb the light tower with his telescopes and I’d wait near the island.”

  “There is no good way to climb up on Two Bush.” Salt stared out into the bay. “It’s a big, flat rock, a plateau wit’ cliffs all around.”

  “Now, I don’t know what happened between ’m, that’s none of mine . . .” Atticus continued. “But Guinevere suddenly stopped comin’ round. Figured a divorce, but never pried,” he said. “After a bit, though, Little Elias started to come out with his dad, and they’d watch them stars together. Wasn’t legal, but I thought it quite a thing for a father to share with his boy. Besides, he paid me well.”

  I swallowed hard. “It’s important for a father to be there for his child.”

  Salt drew me close.

  “That night, sure ’nough, seemed like the others.” Atticus’s voice seemed far away. “Exceptin’ that it was rough. Fifteen minutes turned decent water to choppy foam. I brought out Elliot to Two Bush, except this time he said he’d be spending the whole night, watchin’ them stars move. He told me to come out and get him in the morning. No problem there. The life of a lobsterman is a tough one, and I could take twice his money. But Little Elias was waitin’ at the pier when I came back, and asked me to take him to his dad. I didn’t see the harm in that — couldn’t just leave the boy there — and they always went together before, and so I did.

  “We reached the island, and the lad clamored up them rocks. I drifted back, waiting, waiting to see him safe into the tower. As the wind’s howl picked up, Elias started to run for the door. I saw him stumble down, and I faintly heard his cry, but he was quick back on his feet. He reached the light, threw open the door, and disappeared.” Atticus sighed. “I set to leave, but then again I heard his scream. It was a different sound. It wasn’t right. I still dream it.” Atticus swallowed and looked off. “Elias came bolting out of the lighthouse with his undressed father in pursuit. A woman poked her head out of the door, and I saw right off it wasn’t Guinevere. Little Elias must have caught his father in the act.”

  My knees buckled, but Salt held me fast. “Can you handle more?”

  “Carry on,” I said quietly.

  “The boy reached the rocky cliff line just as his dad caught up. And I heard all the excuses a man tries to give. Elliot tried to grab his son, I imagine to buy more time to right the unthinkable, but little Elias’s heart must’ve already broke, and he pulled free and shoved him. Don’t reckon a little kid can shove too hard, but I also don’t reckon Elliot was expecting it. With all the spray on those rocks, Elliot slipped off that cliff and fell.” Atticus sighed again. “He hit his head square on a rock. I checked him. He was dead, by his own doing and by his son’s hand. I left him and the woman, and Elias and I sped away that night. That boy didn’t cry the whole way back. He didn’t speak. He was . . . different. I waited a day to tell authorities, until Elias left town with his grandpa . . . I waited until he was in the clear. No boy needs to have that kind of guilt tied to him the rest of his life. Accidently killing his family? Where would he put that?”

  “You don’t,” I said quietly.

  “Now the woman . . . how she got off the island and who she was? Still a mystery.”

  The salt breeze blew stiff across my face and my lips felt suddenly dry. I felt dry.

  “He killed his dad. He killed the Keeper.”

  “Man was fishing in foreign waters. There . . .” Atticus pointed. “Two Bush.”

  I shook. I would have to face it, but I couldn’t, not without Elias.

  “Turn around.”

  “But your lighthouse.” Salt stared a
t me. “It’s right there, lass.”

  “Turn around!”

  We swung around the island in silence and returned to the harbour. I hopped off the boat and stumbled on the dock and ran toward Salt’s truck, stopping only to gasp on the way.

  I threw open the passenger door, denting the silver Camry parked beside it, and climbed in.

  Minutes later, Salt eased in beside me. “You all right? I gather Elias didn’t share this incident with you.”

  “Who?”

  “Elias.”

  I burst into tears. Not tears, sobs. Wrenching sobs that ached in a stomach already pained. I grabbed on to Salt and squeezed, without time or place interrupting my thoughts.

  “Wait! Yes. Yes he did . . .”

  The sketchings.

  A stormy night.

  A horrid fall.

  Looking down at a woman.

  A horrified Elias fleeing from his father.

  Elias’s father surrounded by a pool of blood.

  “He’s been trying to tell me all along. Trying to let me in. But his events and my events . . . they matched so closely that I just assumed . . .” I rocked and shivered. “His emotions must match mine as well.”

  I would not hide mine any longer.

  Salt stroked my hair. “Sad story, to be sure, but I’m not following.”

  “See, that was also me. I did it too. It was my fault . . .”

  He squeezed his forehead, and rubbed his stubble. “Your fault?”

  “Don’t you see? It has to be, or nothing makes sense!”

  Everything in me screamed run, as I had so many times before, as I’d been doing since leaving home. But this time I would not run from, I would run to, to the one who did not hold my secret but knew my heart.

  Dash back to Camden. Find Elias and tell him of my Great Undoing. He alone will understand.

  The truck would be much faster.

  “Salt, take me back quickly. I need to find him.”

  Without a word, he pulled away from the harbour and onto the road. My leg bounced, and my mind raced.

  Elias, please be by the car.

  Not even the car was by the car.

  Elias had moved it. Somehow, he had started it, which only my Elias could do. I searched Camden, revisiting the route we had taken.