Axis of Aaron

by Johnny B. Truant

  “Tell her I was stupid,” he said, the moment growing suddenly urgent, worth dredging up something ancient. “What she said that one night, when I told her about Julia. Tell her I take it back. That I’m sorry.”

  “Mr. Shale … ”

  “She’ll know what it means.”

  The voice swallowed. “I’m afraid she’s already gone, sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It's a Nice Place, Aaron

  THE WAVES WERE LOW AND KIND, not so much breaking under the small fishing boat’s bow as sloughing out of the way to make room for its passage. The sky was overcast behind — not quite stormy, but certainly gloomy — yet seemed to be clearing ahead. As he stood at the wires strung through posts around the boat’s sides, clinging to the top one as if it were a proper railing, Ebon Shale stared out at the relatively sunnier coastline with the distinct impression that the small town of Aaron was beckoning him forward, and that the world behind was pushing him out.

  “You okay there, buddy?”

  Ebon nodded, not looking back. “Fine.”

  “Because you looked a little green back there. When it was rough, a bit ago.”

  Ebon looked down. His hands were large, and the thin, plastic-coated wire biting into his palms made them look larger. He wanted to fiddle with his wedding ring, but it was packed in his suitcase. Part of him didn’t want to think about that ring at all right now, even though another part felt he was duty-bound to think of nothing else. Holly was gone. Forever. It hurt to consider, but Ebon found himself wielding the simple fact of her death over and over when the world went thoughtful and still, whipping himself with it as some sort of penance.

  “If you’re sick, you shouldn’t look down. Watch the horizon. Watch the shoreline, up yonder.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Behind Ebon, the boat’s pilot shuffled his feet as he guided the wheel and ignored the maxed-out throttle. He’d introduced himself as Captain Jack, like in the Billy Joel song. Maybe, like that Captain Jack, he could get Ebon high tonight. Ebon had never done any kind of illegal (or even illicit) drug before, but right now he felt willing to learn. It was ironic: Holly had been the adventurous one. She’d wanted to try ecstasy before making frantic, tripped-out love. When Ebon had demurred, she’d let it go as she always did when he felt strongly about something. As far as he knew, she’d never even tried it without him.

  It was strange, the things Holly pulled from their relationship. She’d avoided the sex drug out of loyalty to Ebon’s wishes, but that hadn’t stopped her from screwing other men. Only he’d sort of given her tacit permission to do that, hadn’t he? He’d known what she was up to, and she’d almost certainly known he’d known. And yet he’d said nothing, using Holly’s infidelity as his own sort of neutered get-out-of-jail free card rather than speaking up and ending it. Strangely, he felt increasingly sure that she’d have stopped if he’d insisted. But that would be caging the bird, refusing to set it free in order to find out if it loved him back. And besides, if Holly had stopped cheating, that would have left Ebon as the only one with a secret to hide.

  “Why would you hire a charter if you’re prone to get sick?” the captain asked.

  Ebon turned. Captain Jack didn’t look much like the old sea dog his name seemed to imply. He wasn’t much older than Ebon, clean-shaven and wearing a threadbare long-sleeve shirt bearing the name and tour schedule of a band Ebon had never heard of. He had a prominent mole above one eyebrow and was squinting into the breeze, his skin weathered and tan. There was a beer in an insulating foam sleeve perched on the dash above the wheel — and somehow, miraculously, it hadn’t tipped despite the chop. Jack had been sipping from it the entire time. Ebon wondered if drinking while boating was against nautical law. He wasn’t sure. His father had taught him a lot about boats over the years, but how and when to drink properly while on them had been missing from the lessons.

  “I’m really not seasick,” said Ebon, sitting.

  “No shame on it, buddy.”

  “Really. I don’t get seasick.”

  “I was just wondering why you’d hire a charter if you knew it happened. Or didn’t you know?”

  Ebon sighed, deciding to break the cycle with silence. Apparently Jack had decided Ebon was seasick. He couldn’t deny it, so he stayed mute, staring out at the horizon like a dutiful landlubber.

  From out in the bay, the approaching island looked more or less unchanged from his youth. Ebon felt something inside him sigh. He’d asked Aimee about Aaron before he’d notified the office of his indefinite furlough (perhaps too impulsively and foolhardily responding to his boss’s concerns that Ebon was “slipping” and “embarrassing himself,” but there would be time to think about that later), but he hadn’t believed her when she’d said it was the same. Aimee had lived on Aaron all her life. Like a parent living with a growing child, the small, daily changes would be invisible to her, he’d assumed. And yet one day, that unchanging child would suddenly be an adult — and so too could Aaron have grown paved roads, shopping centers, and vacationers’ hotels without notice. But from the west shore at least, he was seeing something straight out of his memory. He wasn’t sure if that sameness would be a comfort for him in his current state, or a bittersweet crutch.

  Jack was still looking at Ebon, waiting for a response.

  “Have you ever taken the ferry to Aaron from the mainland, Jack?”

  “Ayuh. Of course.”

  “Well, you talk about seasickness? When that thing hits rough water, it’s like … ”

  “Ayuh,” Captain Jack repeated. “You’re right. Someone like you, you’ll barf harder when a tub that big gets to swaying. I forget. Not that I go to the island often. But you’re gonna go broke hiring me to run over and get you whenever you want to make a run to Costco or something.”

  “I can afford it,” said Ebon.

  And he could. For a while anyway. He had a nice financial cushion. It would come in handy when his furlough turned officially into fired, but part of Ebon had already been working the numbers, wondering if he was as free as he suspected he might be. Aimee had been inviting him to Aaron for years, and he’d been seriously considering a trip for the last few months of Holly’s life. (It would probably be a solo trip. He could “allow” Holly to go off on one of her “weekend jobs” pretty easily, leaving him available. They’d nod at each other, both understanding what wasn’t said, and walk away guilty with their base impulses satisfied.) But now that Holly was gone? Well, it was a horrible thing to think, but with his furlough in effect and his rent more or less ignored, relocating to the island was actually a workable silver lining. Aaron had been a constant splinter in the back of Ebon’s mind ever since he’d been a teenager, and now there was no reason he couldn’t go. No reason he couldn’t accept Aimee’s leading invitation. No reason at all that he couldn’t, if it was cool with Aimee, stay for as long as he wanted, reclaiming should-have-beens.

  “You been to Aaron before?” asked Jack.

  Ebon nodded. “I used to stay with my grandparents when I was younger.”

  “So you ain’t as sea-green as I thought. Just a queasy stomach is all. I got relations on the island myself. Where was their place?”

  “East Shore. Dead opposite West Dock.”

  “I know it.” He paused, then added, “Why’d you want to pull in at Pinky Slip? West Dock is easier, y’know. Closer too.”

  But this was supposed to be a fresh start. Ebon had always come to Aaron on the ferry, and he’d always, therefore, approached his destination from the roadside. Now things were different. For a reason he couldn’t articulate, Ebon felt sure he had to arrive by the ocean. He had to see the cottage from the water first. Anything to erase the memory of his last time here.

  “Yes, Pinky Slip.”

  Jack shrugged. “When were you here last?”

  “Sixteen years,” said Ebon. “I was fifteen.” The words left in a sigh, as if he hadn’t realized how long it had been until he’d said t
hem. But really, the weight of those years wasn’t upon the island’s back. It was on his own. It was on Aimee’s. They’d been great friends back then, and were better friends now. It was difficult to admit, but Aimee had always been there for Ebon when Holly hadn’t. Holly had never truly got close to him, whereas Aimee had never strayed far. He’d tried with Holly. And Holly — well, he didn’t really want to consider what she’d tried, and how he’d responded. But wasn’t there only one harbor in a man’s heart?

  Tell the truth, Ebon, he thought. That harbor was always reserved for Aimee.

  But no. No, he’d loved Holly — just in a different way. He hadn’t needed to let go of Aimee. He could have both. He could have a backup. He and Aimee had never crossed any inappropriate lines — even, come to think of it, when they’d been young and unattached and were supposed to cross lines. He could have returned to Aaron when he’d turned eighteen to see her again. He could have broken it off with Holly after Aimee’s divorce, after Aimee had become available. But he hadn’t, and those decisions proved what Ebon had always heartbreakingly known: that all things happened for a reason, and that he’d loved Holly most of all.

  She’d been wrong here, not him. Now she was gone — and maybe that too had happened for a reason.

  “It’s a nice place, Aaron,” said Jack, his eyes on the approaching dock. “People complain about the long boat ride, but that’s what keeps the island small. Ain’t no reason for developers to come over. Plenty of dirt roads left, but so what? That’s a small price to pay for quiet.”

  “I’m definitely looking forward to the quiet.” Ebon wondered if the words were true as they left his mouth. The city was loud and full of distractions. On Aaron, he’d be able to hear himself think. Whether that was a good thing or not was yet to be decided.

  The boat turned sidelong to the island, now in the bay, far enough out to obey the wake restrictions but close enough to see details. Ebon was shocked by how much was coming back to him. He’d thought about Aaron often, but usually those thoughts centered on Aimee. He didn’t realize he’d remember the A-frame beside the still-empty and tree-overrun lot. He hadn’t realized how familiar the sight of the cottages atop the docks would still feel. He didn’t know he’d recall the hammocks still hanging outside three cottages in a row, their colors coincidentally red, white, and blue.

  “Is that Fortford Circle right there?”

  “Ayuh, I think so.”

  “And that’s Dick’s Marina.”

  “Used to be,” the captain said. “I guess you do go back.”

  “‘Go back?’”

  “Dick’s hasn’t been open since maybe ’98 or ’99.”

  Right. Ebon remembered Grams and Pappy mentioning that. It had been only one of three places on the island where you could fuel a boat. Aaron wasn’t huge, but it was large enough. If boaters didn’t plan right, they could easily find themselves stranded halfway down the west shore, low on gas with nowhere to refuel.

  It was all so familiar. Except …

  “Shouldn’t Aaron’s Party be around here?”

  Jack looked around, then took a sip of his beer as if it were a prop used to make a point. “The Party? Fella, they tore that place apart years ago. Guess it really has been a while for you.” He pointed north, toward the bow.

  “Can we see it?”

  “I can’t,” said Jack. He took another sip.

  “I meant, could we? Can you take us up north a bit?”

  Jack looked at Ebon. He didn’t seem exactly annoyed or put out, but it was clear the idea didn’t thrill him. Jack lived on the mainland and had said several times that he wanted to get back by dinnertime. He’d also made a point, before leaving the dock, of saying how expensive gas was out here.

  “I’ll pay you another twenty bucks,” said Ebon. “For your time and fuel.”

  Jack nodded amiably. “All righty. What the client wants, the client gets.” He turned the wheel to swing the bow seaward, then arced out of the bay and toward the saddle-horn point beyond it. Five minutes later, Ebon saw the end of the pier peeking around the trees. Something unexpected stirred in his chest and there was a strange moment of panic. He both desperately wanted to see Aaron’s Party and didn’t want to see it at all, and here they were hurtling toward it. He should have waited. Met Aimee first, then come up here once he was adjusted and emotionally ready for the wallop that the nostalgic pier was sure to give him. But it was too late now.

  “There she is.” Jack slowed the boat, nosing closer to give Ebon a good look. When he glanced over and saw Ebon’s jaw hanging open, he chuckled.

  “Right. You’d’ve been here when last she was open, wouldn’t you?”

  The place was dead and deserted. The Danger Wheel’s red paint, always vibrant in the canvas of Ebon’s mind, had faded and chipped to rust. The pier’s wood looked old and weathered, green with algae and age. He could see the carousel, its decaying face pocked with small forms that must have been the once-brilliant horses, now broken and askew on their poles. He could see abandoned vendors’ stalls and games, a barely visible gap where the caricaturists used to set up shop. Seeing one of his most precious memories in shambles like this — especially now, when he felt most vulnerable — felt like torture. He wished he hadn’t asked Jack to swing around and see it. If Aaron’s Party couldn’t remain as unchanged in his absence as the rest of the island had, he’d rather have arrived to find the old carnival gone entirely.

  “When did they take it apart?” he asked, gutted but unable to turn away.

  “Not sure on exactly when, but as to why? Wasn’t no percentage in it, I imagine. Summer people mostly went, and it took a beating in winter. Same for those dock cottages, I guess, but the government helps keep those ship-shape with tax money.”

  Ebon felt hollow. Scooped out. Almost wishing he’d never come, because this felt like a betrayal. While his attention had been distracted by life and jobs and marriage, someone had come along and smashed his childhood to bits. He could almost smell the cotton candy on the air, now crystallized into dust. He could smell the grease for funnel cakes and elephant ears, now gone rancid. Those carousel horses had been maintained like treasures throughout Ebon’s time on Aaron, but once he’d gone, they’d been abandoned as if they meant nothing.

  He could almost see the great Danger Wheel turning in his mind, his lips remembering his first real kiss. He could see the pier’s junk-strewn undercarriage as they drifted — a place where he and Aimee had shared many follow-ups. He’d walked this beach hundreds of times with money in his pocket, the sun high in the sky, nothing but summer and carefree afternoons on his mind. Now life was deadlines, pressure, and the fathomless ache of loss. Looking at the dead carnival, he felt like he’d propped himself up with a cane — but someone had come along and kicked it away, laughing as he fell.

  “Couldn’t tax money have been used to save the carnival?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “It’s an attraction! It’s an institution! I remember when those carousel horses … ”

  Jack cut him off. “I guess it carried a lot of insurance, ran half speed or less once the summer folks left … ” He made a vague gesture, seemingly uncomfortable in the face of Ebon’s disbelieving, pained expression.

  “Well,” Jack concluded. “Anyway.”

  Unable to turn away, Ebon watched the carnival disappear as Jack steered the boat back around the horn and into the bay. But as they approached Pinky Slip from the north, Ebon thought to spin around again in a second flash of panic, realizing something else that might have gone missing. But he was just in time to see that it was still there before the shore obscured it, still as it had always been: Redding Dock’s long red length, beyond the pier, intact and waiting for Ebon’s return.

  So there was still a Redding Dock. And there was still Aimee.

  I’m so sorry, Ebon. I’m so, so sorry.

  Their second phone conversation in sixteen long years, both calls occasioned by an untimely death. Only this t
ime, it was Ebon who’d tried to hold in his tears. This time, it was Ebon who failed.

  I miss her. I miss her so much.

  I know you do.

  This was all my fault. I could have stopped it. I could have told her I knew. She’d have ended it; I know she would’ve. Because …

  She loved you, Ebon. Of course she did. But she had her own baggage, and her decisions were her own. It’s not your fault.

  But it was. Aimee didn’t know it all, couldn’t know it all. Things with Holly had never been simple, though they’d always seemed simple from the outside. Holly was always a good time, a fun girl to laugh and play with. But there had been more. Or at least, there could have been.

  He’d cried. And cried. And cried. Enough, as he’d sagged on his living room floor with Holly’s clean laundry in a basket at his feet, that he’d wondered if he’d regret all this sobbing later. His eyes bled saltwater. His nose was a faucet. He could only keep talking, only keep feeling, only keep spilling what he had inside like leeching poison from a snakebite. Part of him imagined the next day, trying to face Aimee online or on the phone, knowing she’d seen him at his most pathetic and weak. But it wouldn’t matter with Aimee. Because he’d seen her, all those years ago, in all the same vulnerable places. And worse.

  I don’t want to think about her, but I can’t stop.

  Shh. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.

  I didn’t want her to be with anyone else. She was always loyal in the ways that mattered.

  Aimee hadn’t responded to that, probably not trusting herself to say what Ebon suspected she felt: If she was loyal, then why did she cheat? And why are you so eager to forgive her? But Aimee had said nothing because loving a betrayer was another thing she knew all about, and uniquely understood.

  Come to visit, she’d told him. Get away for a while.

  Ebon didn’t remember which of them had turned “get away for a while” into “stay,” but that’s how the conversation had ended. Perhaps Aimee had pressed him for reasons of her own. Or maybe Ebon had come up with the idea because he’d actually had it for months, begging Aimee to be with him the way he’d begged God for his Holly back. Even now, watching the Slip approach, he couldn’t be sure which it was. His usually flawless memory had a blank spot there, same as the increasing blank spots that had (let’s be honest) cost him his job. He supposed he could set his career back on track if he wanted. But right now he didn’t want to, just as he no longer wanted to resist the lure of Aaron and Aimee. He’d spent sixteen years thinking about this place and pretending he wasn’t. Sixteen years dreaming about this woman and denying it, even to himself. But now things had changed. Now, for better or worse, he was alone. Available. Suddenly as free as his turned cheek had allowed Holly to be, until she’d died at her lover’s side instead of living at his where she belonged.