Wintertide: A Novel

by Debra Doxer

  He sat forward. "And you wasted it on this? We've got bills to pay. What the hell were you thinking?"

  "I'm sorry.” She was crying now.

  Her tears seemed to deflate his anger. "Well, you'll just have to take it back. There's no need to get upset."

  That fleeting moment of happiness and normalcy had completely disappeared without a trace.

  "How much money do you spend drinking with your friends every night, Dad?” I demanded, unable to stay silent.

  He looked at me, at once surprised and angry.

  "How much?” I repeated daringly.

  "Be quiet, Daniel,” Mom whispered.

  "No. I'd like to know how much money he spends on alcohol."

  He stood and pointed a finger at me. "Every dollar I make goes toward the bills and your school. You have no business speaking to me that way."

  My mother rose quickly from her chair and walked over to him. "He doesn't understand, George. There's no reason to be angry with him."

  "You have no idea what you’re talking about," he said to me in a steady voice. "Do you think I like having to watch every penny? I don't begrudge you, your college. I know you work hard, and you deserve an education. But I won't tolerate your judging me. You’re way out of line.”

  He walked out of the room and went upstairs, his feet landing heavily on the carpeted steps. I heard the bedroom door slam shut. I looked over at my mother.

  "He does work hard," she said softly.

  "So that gives him the right to be an asshole?"

  "Don't you call your father names."

  I stood there like a statue staring at her. Why did they both have to destroy every nice moment? And why was I so upset? I used to simply shut down and ignore them. I never got in the middle of their disputes. I supposed I was just out of practice. I looked down at the torn wrapping paper littering the carpet.

  "I'm sorry he got mad at you. That was a nice gift you got him.” I handed her my gift certificate. "You can return this if we can't afford it. I really don't mind."

  "You keep your present, Daniel.” She reached up and hugged me. "Your father was right. If I had extra money, I should have used it to pay the bills.” She pulled away. "I'm going to go talk to him. Are you all right?"

  "I’m fine. I guess I shouldn’t have said anything to him."

  "I'll tell your father you’re sorry.” She handed me back my gift certificate, picked the wrapping paper up off the floor, threw it away in the kitchen, and then headed up to the bedroom.

  I wondered earlier why my mother still cared what my father thought. Now I wondered why I cared. I hastily decided to revert back to silence and to attempt indifference.

  I sat on the couch for a long time that night, looking at the tree, breathing in its woodsy smell, listening to the clock ticking softly. The box with the tool belt sat on Dad's chair. It would likely be going right back to the store.

  As I sat there in the dimly lit, silent house, wondering how early I could conceivably leave after Christmas, promising myself that I would not return home again, I didn't realize at the time that the problems that weighed on me that night would seem so insignificant the next day. Walking quietly upstairs, changing out of my clothes and lying my head down heavily onto my new pillow, I hadn't a clue that the usual tension I so despised which was inherent to my life in South Seaport would soon multiply. I located one of the sleeping pills I had secretly pilfered, and I swallowed it dry. Lying on my back, remembering how as a child on this night I would peer up into the dark sky for a glimpse of the sleigh and the chubby man in red and white, I eventually fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  eleven

  I slept late on Christmas morning. The familiar dense grey cloud cover had slowly rolled back in during the night. My small bedroom was cold and dark. It was nearly eleven by the time I drowsily crawled out of bed, pulled my heavy college sweatshirt over my head and went downstairs to the kitchen. My mother was sitting in the artificial bright yellow light, drinking coffee and reading the paper. She didn't even glance up at me as I passed her to fill my mug from the steaming pot.

  "Good morning," I said. I sat down across from her, my chilled hands cupping the warm coffee mug.

  When she looked up at me, her face was pale, her blue eyes filled with worry.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked.

  "Oh, Daniel. I've just read the most horrible news in the paper. Something terrible has happened."

  I was in a car accident during my freshman year of college. A friend of mine kept his car in the city, and one night I foolishly sat in the passenger seat while he drove us home from a party when he was completely hammered. I knew we were going to crash long before we actually did. That moment of waiting, while he swerved to avoid an oncoming car and careened the tiny hatchback toward a large oak tree, seemed to drag out forever. My arm was shielding my face as we headed straight for the tree. I was cringing, holding my breath, awaiting that inevitable moment of impact which dragged out forever. I wore my seat belt and came out with only a few scratches, but my intoxicated friend endured a concussion, a totaled car, and a bitter battle with his insurance company.

  I felt that same drawn out dread now, awaiting the painful moment of impact, as my mother paused between her last sentence and her next. I knew what was coming, and I hoped it wasn't written all over my face.

  "You know that grey house on the hill I mentioned to you the other day?” she continued. “The one that was empty because the owners had gone into bankruptcy?"

  "Yes," I said, sitting perfectly still as I listened for her next words.

  "Well, it turns out a couple from Connecticut rented it out for the holidays."

  "Really," I managed to say.

  "Yes, and this is just terrible, but the husband came up a day early to get the key from the realtor and open the house. That night someone broke in and attacked him. It says here his wife arrived early yesterday and found him beaten in the living room. She called an ambulance and he was placed into the intensive care unit last night. It says here he's in critical condition. Oh how horrible and right here in town. Who would have thought?"

  He was alive. "Does it say if he’s going to be all right?” I asked.

  "It just says here that he's in critical condition."

  "What else does it say?"

  "They're waiting for him to regain consciousness so the police can question him. Nothing like this has ever happened here. I wonder if our police are trained to handle this sort of thing? It certainly won't be very good for tourism this summer if it gets out. I wonder who could have done this? Surely, no one local.”

  He hadn’t died. He had lain on the floor for nearly twenty-four hours, alive. Minutes ago I had been shivering, now a light sweat trickled down my back. My mother's voice dwindled away, overtaken by the blaring in my head.

  "Daniel?"

  I looked up at her trying to maintain a mask of calm.

  "Are you all right? You look pale.”

  "I'm fine."

  She stood and came over to me, placing a hand on my forehead. "You feel warm. I think you might have a temperature. Let me get the thermometer."

  "No, Mom, please. I just need to take a shower.” I stood abruptly, brushed past her and went up the stairs. Once in my room, I closed the door and sat down on my bed. What was I thinking all day yesterday? How could I have let that man lie there helplessly while I knew about it and did nothing? But I didn't know. I thought he was dead. Jesus, that made it even worse.

  I stripped off my sweatshirt and my pajamas and stepped into a cold shower. I could feel the flush in my cheeks diminish as the cold water hit me. I had to stop this. I was glad that he was alive, right? This was great news. Yes, I should have gotten help for him, but I couldn't change things now. He was in the hospital being taken care of.

  Everything is relative. In nature, animals kill each other all the time in battles for territory, food, and probably for nothing much at all. It’s survival of the fittest. In the mov
ies, the bad guys are always tracked down and caught by the police. But in real life, the percentage of criminals who are actually brought to justice is much lower than people might think. Sometimes, when I'm in an overly philosophical mood, I think that there is such a thing as destiny. But usually I just believe we are all floating around aimlessly and what we do and how we react is based on nothing more than our individual choices. For example, why had Eddie’s reaction been to beat that man to within an inch of his life? If his father hadn't shown him that that was how you solved your problems, would he still have chosen that course of action? And how about me? Inaction was what my parents had shown me. Whatever problems arose in their lives, they simply ignored them. Close your eyes and pretend it isn't there. That's what they taught me, and I learned my lesson well. Maybe that's why I acted so irrationally when I found myself finally facing a problem that didn't seem to want to go away.

  Seth was sitting in my living room when I finally came downstairs. Mom was sitting across from him. He looked uncomfortable. He stood the moment he saw me, jingling his keys in his hand. "Dan, sorry I'm late. We should go."

  I hesitated for moment before deciding to play along. We’d had no plans.

  Mom stood and followed us to the door. "It's thirty degrees out there,” she told me. “ You can't go outside with wet hair. What if you have a cold? You'll catch your death going out like that."

  "I'll be fine.” Tuning out her continued pleas, I followed Seth to the car. Neither one of us said a word until we were on the road well away from my house. Seth appeared calm enough. My wet hair was dripping down into my collar and a chill started to set in.

  He pulled the car off the road into the deserted parking lot of the local market. "There's no place to go," he said annoyed. "It’s Christmas. Everything is closed today."

  I reached over and pushed the heat up to its highest setting.

  "I tried calling you yesterday," he said.

  "I know," I said. I wondered if Seth was going to try to make idle chit-chat before getting to the point. I knew I would lose it if he did. So, I just dove right in. "That guy was still alive. We could have helped him."

  He sighed and shook his head. "We can’t go there. We didn't know.” He ran a hand through his curly hair and leaned back against the head rest. "Eddie's a mess."

  I turned to him, shocked. "You've seen Eddie?"

  "Yeah. He woke me up ringing the bell at nine o'clock this morning.”

  "What did he want?"

  A truck rumbled by. Seth watched it pass and waited until it was gone before speaking again. "He just wanted me to know that he feels awful about the whole thing. He’s really torn up about it, says he just kind of lost control. And I think he’s scared. He’s scared that he could actually do something like that.”

  "He feels awful, huh? Well that makes it all okay then.”

  “Come on, Dan.”

  "Does he realize that if the guy in the hospital wakes up, he might be able to identify him?”

  Seth shook his head. "I don’t think he’s waking up anytime soon. His condition sounds pretty bad.” Seth stared out the window at the closed market. "Eddie wants us to meet him tonight," he said without looking at me.

  "What?" I shook my head. “No way. I’m done with him.”

  Seth turned to me with a fierce expression. "So you're going to make me go alone?"

  I was taken aback by his reaction. "Don't you go either."

  "We can't completely ignore the guy. Look, if we don't show up, I think he might do something."

  "What do you mean he might do something?"

  Seth pressed his lips together seeming reluctant to elaborate.

  "What do you mean?" I pressed.

  He put both hands on the wheel and took a deep breath. When he turned to look at me, his dark eyes were serious. "I'm scared for him, Dan. He's...unstable."

  I barked out an incredulous laugh. “No kidding, Mr. Obvious.”

  Seth didn’t laugh. He just stared at me. I sighed and shook my head at him. “Look, we have two choices here. We can turn ourselves in or we can walk away and hope no one discovers the truth. If we decide on the second choice, which is obviously the wrong choice, the choice that good people would not make, then I think we should just stay away from each other.”

  “We’re not bad people,” Seth stated.

  “We both know which choice we’re making. So, yes we are.”

  “You wouldn’t ruin your life, Dan. You, more than anyone else, could walk away and pretend nothing happened.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Seth muttered. “At least Eddie will be relieved to hear that you’re not going to go to the police.”

  My eyed widened at that. "He thought I would go to the police?"

  "He thought there was a good chance you might. But he kept saying to make sure you came with me tonight. I got the feeling it was because he wanted to take your temperature on things."

  I stared down at the floor mat and saw vacation brochures sitting there. They were covered with pictures of white beaches and blue sparkling water. I wondered what they were doing there while at the same time I wished I could just jump into one and escape. I did not want to see Eddie again.

  "You know it won’t take long before the police eventually question him," Seth said.

  I looked up at him. “What? Why?”

  "He’s the go-to guy for criminal activity around here. Last summer some wallets were stolen at the beach. Eddie wasn't anywhere near there, but he was the first person they talked to. There was a hit and run accident out on 6A a few months ago. A girl on a bicycle got her leg broken. Again they questioned Eddie about it. He has a reputation here. I don't think it will be long before they want to talk to him about this. And I'm pretty sure he wants to feel you out about it tonight. Maybe talk about what he plans to say. Make sure we back him up."

  I shook my head in disbelief. “What happened to us sticking together and Eddie being on his own?”

  “That’s still our plan. But ignoring him isn’t the right move here. We should hear him out and at least reassure him.”

  I hadn’t realized Eddie was such a popular person with the police. I rubbed my hands over my face. "So what's with all these brochures?” I asked, needing a subject break. “Are you planning to skip town?"

  He looked down at them. Another car passed by. "No my mom is. She wants to get away for awhile. She’s been kind of depressed, you know, with the divorce and everything. Look, I think we should both go see Eddie tonight and hear him out. Once we reassure him, he’ll stop pestering us. If we don’t, who knows what he’ll do.”

  I knew it was a mistake to agree. But I was worried it would be a bigger mistake not to. I felt acid churning in my empty stomach. I would have to see Eddie again. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. "Fine. I'll go."

  "Good,” Seth said, sounding relieved. “We'll play along with whatever he says. It will be fine."

  "Where does he want to meet?"

  "At the garage where he works."

  I shook my head. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

  "You'll have to drive. My mom needs her car tonight. I'll try to ask her if she knows how that guy's doing when I get home."

  I nodded realizing that there was only one hospital in the area. Of course, he was in the hospital where Seth’s mom worked.

  I sat silently while Seth navigated the quiet roads back to my house, wondering how I’d become mixed up in this terrible mess. I never thought I’d see Eddie again after high school. Why had I gone with them that night? As I opened the car door, allowing a blast of cold in, Seth put a hand on my arm. "Just remember not to antagonize him, okay?"

  "Do I look suicidal to you?" I asked, pulling my arm away.

  A sardonic grin crossed his face before he put the old station wagon in gear and drove off.

  twelve

  As soon as I turned the doorknob and stepped into the warm entryway, my mother came at m
e. "Daniel, why did you rush off like that? What's wrong with you, being rude to your father last night and acting so strange this morning? Where did you and Seth go for over an hour on Christmas day when every place in town is closed for the holiday?"

  I sighed. "Could you repeat the first question?"

  She reached up and touched my head. "Oh, your hair is still damp. Come in the kitchen and have something warm to drink."

  I reluctantly followed her, trying to cook up some feasible place that we might have gone. But there was no need. Mom provided the answer herself. "You weren't feeling well were you? I could see it in your face this morning. At least you had the good sense to come right back home. Although, I thought you knew better than to go out into the bitter cold with soaking wet hair. You'll just have to stay inside the rest of the day and take care of yourself. You don't want to have to call in sick to that professor. Not after he offered you a job for next semester."

  She made hot tea and toast and sat with me as I consumed both. Despite my reluctance to admit this, it actually felt comforting to be taken care of. I knew my mother was at her best when she thought I needed her. I almost felt relaxed, until after she wiped down the table, pushing the bread crumbs into the wrinkled palm of her hand, when she casually brought up that newspaper article again. Obviously, she had been turning the story over in her head all morning. "Do you know what I think, Daniel?"

  I childishly pretended not to hear her.

  "Daniel?"

  "What," I finally said softly.

  "Do you know who I think broke into that house?" she asked, sitting down across from me, resting her arms on the table and leaning forward in her seat.

  "Who, Mom?"

  "That McKenna boy,” she stated looking proud of herself. “The one you went to high school with."

  My eyes darted to hers.

  "What was his first name?" she asked.

  "Eddie,” I replied, feeling my toast trying to make a reappearance. "Why would you think it was him?"