The Pirate's Legacy

by Sarita Leone

  Not that she wanted to do that. Replacing the switch meant buying a new one. Since the metal box had some singe marks on it, she was hoping to just change it. The metal box wouldn’t cost a thing; she’d found three spares in the garage. Why would anyone leave spare metal boxes in a cardboard box in the garage was beyond her, but she didn’t care. They were free, and if one could make the switch stop being so damn temperamental—without her having to lay out a thin dime—one of the items on the never-ending list would get a big black line through it.

  Chloe freed the first wire. She nudged it away from the others with a fingertip, then turned the box sideways a little to work another one out. Too late, she realized a Polaroid snapshot would help her remember which hole each wire went back into when it came time for that, but to wait while Julia went to get the camera meant she’d have to stand in the hot closet still longer. Screw it, she thought. Besides, she was pretty sure the camera didn’t have any film in it. That peel-off, instant-picture stuff didn’t come free, and while it was groovy to see an image materialize like magic, it wasn’t worth breaking the bank over.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” Julia’s breath was hot against her shoulder. She was so close the smell of her last Marlboro seemed to fill the space.

  “No, I don’t. Not one damn bit. But if I don’t at least try to fix this thing, it’s going to flicker forever. Maybe burn this place down while we’re sleeping.”

  Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, but one strand near her right temple had escaped the elastic and hung across her eye. She blew at it, sending it out of her sight, but it fell back. She blew again, but the lock was stubborn. The other woman reached out and tucked it behind her ear.

  “Thanks.”

  “How can you see to do what you don’t have a damn clue how to do when you’re blinded by your own hair? Not cool.” Julia’s knack for cutting to the chase was one of the qualities Chloe, and the others, admired most about her. They’d told her that much, many times over during their late-night wine-and-cheese-and-gossip sessions. But sometimes others saw what the person wasn’t ready—or willing—to see. It was too bad Julia couldn’t straighten her own life out as well as she helped others with theirs.

  “Halfway there.” She rested for a moment. The box was so small, just a bit longer than the palm of her hand, that it didn’t seem possible it could be the cause of so much annoyance. And the wires, they looked harmless enough.

  Julia leaned closer and inspected the box; it was still attached to the wall.

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  She found a lot of things hard to believe. The one that topped today’s hard-to-believe hit parade list was that she even had the brass tacks to mess around with something like this. All her life, she had taken the “don’t put your finger near the socket—you’ll be killed!” admonishment as commandment. Now she stood with wires dangling and a river of sweat snaking into the back waistband of her shorts.

  She took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. The yoga practice she’d been vigilant about helped steady her nerves. Amazing what a couple of internally-whispered om’s could do for shaking hands.

  “What’s hard to believe?”

  Julia pointed a finger to the wires coming from the plaster. “I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that those spaghetti-looking things make light. How is that even possible? Far out, don’t you think?”

  “It’ll be far out if we can get this to stop acting like it’s stoned.” She turned the box so the two wires still tucked into their respective openings faced up. “Okay, let’s get this done. Then we can put it back together and get the hell out of here.”

  “Amen, sister.” Julia picked the spare box up out of the tool box and held it out in her palm. “I’ve got the replacement. I’m all for sticking it in and scramming. This job gives me the willies—and I’m not the one holding the juice.”

  Chloe pushed the thought that she was the one in the danger zone out of her head. Too late to turn back now.

  “Hey, thanks for helping me with this.” She grabbed the wire that dangled black tape in the tiny jaws of the pliers. “You’re a great assistant, and I mean that. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”

  “No worries. I’ve got your back.” Julia tapped her on the shoulder, an encouraging gesture that went wild.

  Chloe’s hand, as sweat-slicked as her back, slipped. The pliers jerked against the wire.

  Pop! Pop-pop-pop!

  Sparks flew. Sizzling, smoky scents filled the air.

  Julia screamed.

  Chloe dropped the box when it started to spark. The surge that traveled through her fingertips and up her arm sent her backward. She fell into the other woman, and they both landed in a heap on the hard floorboards.

  She scrambled backward into the hallway.

  “Shit!” Her fingers had already begun to blister.

  Julia stopped shrieking when the switch stopped hissing and crackling. She sniffed. “What the hell is that smell?” She leaned forward, placed her face near the burned fingers. “Oh my god, it’s you. Damn, you’re electrocuted!”

  Wild laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. She didn’t try to stop, as she hugged her hand to her chest. When she began to laugh, Julia gasped.

  “Oh, shit. You’re wacked out, aren’t you? Hang in there, I’ll get some help.”

  She started to rise, but Chloe grabbed her wrist with her good hand and held her tight. Shaking her head, she swallowed the new round of laughter and said, “No, I’m not electrocuted. I’m just—shit, I don’t know. Surprised. Relieved. Damn, my fingers hurt!”

  They both looked at the spot where she’d been shocked. It was angry looking, and the blisters were growing.

  Tears welled in Julia’s eyes. “When I said I had your back, I didn’t mean to fry your front!”

  Chapter 5

  If she hit the local hardware store, it would be all over town before dinnertime that she had nearly killed herself. Like the kids’ game, Clue, where everyone tried to decipher the murder, guessing who did what, where and with which weapon.

  Chloe didn’t intend to be the day’s guessing game. She wasn’t about to be held up alongside ill-fated Colonel Mustard, knocked off in the drawing room with a lead pipe. Besides, Chloe Monroe, in the linen closet with a bad switch was dull as dirt by comparison.

  No, when she went out it should be more dramatic. Although frying had left its impression…

  Bar Harbor, the nearest “big town”, was just a short ride. And on a gorgeous day, riding the sweet Suzuki GS 750 was a pleasure trip. She’d have rather gone solo, but since the closet incident, Julia was stuck to her like Bazooka to a sneaker bottom.

  All of the girls had ridden with her on the bike, a ’77 she’d scored when a guy in town decided he needed something bigger, so they knew how to respond to basic maneuvers. When she turned into the Plaza parking lot, Julia leaned into the turn behind her. They pulled in so smoothly her Harley-loving driving instructor would’ve been proud—if Hank been around to see the move. He, like so many others, hadn’t made it home from ’Nam alive.

  Damn ridiculous way to die had been her thought when she heard the news. But when the initial wave of disbelief passed, she had realized Hank, a hard-riding, mean-looking pussycat in disguise, would’ve loved the way he checked out. The chopper had gone down in a blaze, killing every Marine unlucky enough to be over the godforsaken rice paddy that bright morning. Accounts from the chopper behind theirs indicated a burst of white light as the missile struck the bird, then a red fireball as they fell to earth. All against a clear, brilliant blue sky.

  Red, white and blue. It was a fitting way for Hank to head to heaven.

  That is, if there actually was a heaven. Which side of the fence she was on about the whole heaven thing was yet to be determined. It was right up there with a God who would allow anything like the Vietnam conflict, Napalm, and Ho Chi Minh City’s atrocities to exist.

&nbs
p; A VW Bug, covered with flower decals, backed out of the space in front of the hardware store, so she slipped in. Kicking the stand down and angling the bike’s front wheel a bit—another of Hank’s tips to always hang to the left, which of course he said with a straight face even though the sexual implication made his brown eyes gleam—she shut the bike down.

  Silence after the roar and vibration, a letdown every time.

  “Go ahead.” Making sure the bike didn’t tip, she waited for Julia to get off before she swung her own leg over. Julia was already unbuckling the helmet she wore, so she added, “Just put it on the seat. We’ll be in and out so fast, no one’s going to lift it.”

  Julia followed directions, but when she shook her hair out of the knot she’d made to keep it inside the helmet, she said, “You need another one of those. No one has ever accused me of being Miss Prim and Proper, but even I know everyone on a motorcycle should be protected.”

  “Candyass.”

  “You did not just say that. To me? Me?”

  They stepped onto the sidewalk running in front of the row of stores. There were the usual assortment of shops, most intended to cater more to locals than tourists. No glitzy t-shirts in store windows or tacky, seashell-crusted doodads plastered with red sale stickers here. No, just the ordinary. Aside from the hardware store, there was a pet store, pizzeria, and ice cream shop. Down at the far end, The Quick Set. As far as Chloe could tell, no one who came out of the beauty parlor looked any different from anyone else who walked out its doors. Same style, no matter who sat in one of its faded red vinyl chairs. She hadn’t been in the place since before junior prom, and didn’t figure she’d ever go back in. At least the long, free style she had always worn required very little maintenance. Every month or so, she snipped the ends with an embroidery scissor, the way she trimmed the floss off her designs when she finished sewing.

  They paused in the shade. The bike afforded a breeze when in motion, but the sun still beat mercilessly on its riders.

  “Yes, you.” She wiped the back of a forearm across her forehead. No sense touching more with the fingers than she had to. They’d washed and bandaged them, but they still hurt like hell. Two Bayer aspirin hadn’t put a dent in the pain. “Moaning and groaning about helmets—where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “I lost it in the linen closet.”

  “Damn shame, that.”

  “And you know I’m right. Everyone who rides that thing should wear a helmet. It’s got nothing to do with being a candyass—which I’m not, by the way. Reva, maybe. She’s candyass material, but me? Never.”

  Chloe was glad Julia lived in the house. She had some hard edges, and there were mornings when she wasn’t altogether pleasant, but she had a good heart.

  “All right, I take it back.” She pulled open the heavy door and let the other woman pass. Following on Julia’s heels, she added, “And you’re right about the helmet. It’s just that a second one costs bread. And that is something we both know is in short supply right now.”

  Her part-time job, three shifts a week counseling abused women at an agency on the other side of Bar Harbor, paid for necessities and her share of the household expenses but not much more. It was enough that she stayed ahead of her college loan payments. Knowing that the contents of her head were technically on loan unsettled her. That debt couldn’t be paid off quickly enough to suit her.

  “How about if I loan you the cash? You can pay it back whenever you want, no sweat.”

  Hard around the edges, but soft-hearted, flashed though Chloe’s mind.

  “Sweet of you to offer, but no, thanks. I’ll put up a sign on the board at the grocery. Maybe somebody’s got one they want to get rid of.”

  The hardware store was empty, except for two guys sitting behind the counter. They both held guitars and did not stop playing. Chloe and Julia paused, listening to the melody while the men waited for their approval.

  Julia did not let them hang. She flashed a thumbs up. “Groovy.”

  Both nodded, and grinned. They had near-matching long, bushy handlebar moustaches. Brothers, if Chloe’s guess was right.

  “Carlos himself would approve of the way you’re playing Oye Como Va. I hear he gave a wicked rendition at Woodstock.” Santana albums were an indulgence, but one that was worth sacrificing in another area for. The man could play the guitar like no one else alive.

  “Were you in Bethel? Did you hear him?” The guy closest to the door stopped playing, laying his elbows on the guitar and giving each of them a thorough once-over. The up-down-back up look men gave women, the one that usually lingered on the breast area before finding its way to the female face. He was a pro at it, and swept them over in a heartbeat. When he met their gazes, first one, then the other, he asked again, “Were you?”

  Julia surprised her when she admitted she had been there.

  “Really?” Chloe wracked her brain, knowing full well that if a piece of information that cool had been shared, she would remember. “You never told me you were at Woodstock.”

  A fast shrug. “You never asked.”

  The guy chuckled, strumming again. “You must’ve been just a kid. What? Six, seven, tops?”

  Julia raised an eyebrow. “Twelve. And I was with my parents, who were there mostly to hear the music. It was fun. Dirty, but fun.”

  The other hardware store musician looked up. “I hear they’re going to have another Woodstock, kind of a Woodstock Two, you know? That’s what people say, anyway.”

  Rumors had swirled for years, but until someone began selling tickets to an event at the old farm, she wasn’t loading a backpack. “I’ll believe it when it happens.”

  “Well, sure…but it would be worth the trip if it does happen. That’s all I’m saying.” He paused, then asked, “What can I do you for? Just come in to talk about music, or do you need something?”

  “The music was a bonus. We need one of these.” Chloe held up the blackened fuse. “Actually, we need seven.”

  “Whoa! That’s something we don’t see every day.” The men exchanged amused grins. “Which one of you chicks tried to blow the house up?”

  “She did.” Julia pointed at the bandaged hand. “And it was a pretty big show, too.”

  “I’ll bet it was.” A long, low whistle from the man who had checked them out so well. “I noticed that but, ah…let’s just say I noticed other things more.”

  The telltale sign of an impending headache, the steady throbbing in her temples, made her words sharper than she intended. “Right, my boobs trump my roasted fingers. I get it. Now, where are the fuses?”

  Five minutes later, they were getting back on the Suzuki. As she buckled the helmet in place, Julia wrinkled her brow. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Just tired, I guess.”

  She straddled the bike, pulling it upright. When the other woman sat behind her, she handed over the paper bag containing the box of fuses. “Hold this, please. I sure don’t want to lose them and have to go back in there with the tit inspectors again.”

  “Aw, they’re harmless. Men just being men, is all.” She tucked the bag down the front of her middy top. “There. That’ll give ’em something to look at, won’t it?”

  “You’re something else. Men have treated you like crap, yet you don’t get rattled when they look at you like you’re tonight’s dinner and they’re starving cannibals. I’m not that nice, Julia. Not by a long shot. I see too much shit at work to find those guys amusing.”

  She started the engine and let it idle a minute before she backed up. A Buick waited, ready to slide into the parking space as she had done to the car that occupied it before them. The plaza was getting crowded with vehicles, people dashing in on their way home from work.

  When she stopped at the exit, putting both feet on the ground and waiting for traffic to show an opening so she could pull out, Julia leaned forward. She spoke loudly, her mouth just inches from Chloe’s left ear.

  “I learned a long time ago to let things roll o
ff my back. Men think they rule the world. We know they don’t. Why should we care what they think? When they act like cavemen, they’re just making fools of themselves. Don’t take it to heart. It’s not worth it.”

  “You’re right. Again.” She pulled out into traffic. The road back to Lobster Cove was winding, and with this many cars headed that way, she’d have to talk less and pay attention more.

  When they came to a four-way stop, she pulled behind an open-top Jeep. Three teenage boys, two with cans of Pabst in their hands, waved at them. She nodded, taking their appreciative cheers at the sight of females on a motorcycle in stride.

  “See? Men are all boys at heart. Isn’t it easier to just smile at their ridiculousness, instead of letting them under your skin?”

  Before she could answer, the guys hollered a warning. When they pointed, dropping their beer and screaming, she glanced in the rear view mirror attached to the handlebars. She caught movement, big and red, coming fast.

  And then, she heard her screams meld with Julia’s as the bike flew out from under them and they skidded across the pavement.

  Chapter 6

  The emergency department at Bar Harbor’s small hospital was nearly empty.

  Across the hallway, a young mother in the early stages of labor. They listened to her lovey-dovey murmurs stuck between contractions and all-out how-could-you-do-this-to-me screams directed at a bearded man who looked as if he might never, ever do anything to produce this result again. Ever. He left the room when she unceremoniously—and colorfully—threw him out and slunk back in when summoned. He paced a line in front of the door, staring at the floor and shaking his head.

  In the next cubicle, there was a man who had fallen off a ladder cleaning the gutters on his house. The white curtain could not muffle his wife’s harangue. Clearly annoyed she’d missed her mahjong game for what she called “this childish stunt” but which the orthopedic surgeon termed a high tibia fracture claimed everyone’s attention. The nurse who took vitals from Chloe and Julia just shrugged when the wife called the man a jackass.