Winter Wake

by Rick Hautala

  “Hey, man, I understand,” Barry said. “What say around lunchtime we go up to Carbur’s for a sandwich. We can go over this in more detail. That is, of course, unless you want to start out with another project, first.”

  John took a moment to consider. It might make sense to back down if this was such a volatile issue. And the bottom line was, he wasn’t so sure how he stood on this issue. He couldn’t work as a land surveyor and hold onto a sentimental attachment to the way things used to be on the island. Progress was progress, and with more people moving to the Portland area, more housing space was needed. Whether you liked them or not, condos were places where lots of people could live on a relatively small area of land, and land development was going to happen. The best hope was that the developers would show responsibility with what they did.

  Then again, this wasn’t just any condo project.

  This was on home turf. This involved places he used to go to play and skate and slide in the winter, places where he went drinking with his friends, where he tried his best to get laid, and now they were going to be ripped down and dug up to make room for a row of buildings that, judging by the sketches Barry had showed him, looked more like a stretched-out beehive than a place for people to really live.

  “This road looks like it’s going to be near ... “ His voice trailed off as he stared down at the map. In the silence that followed, Barry’s eyes bored into him. He looked at his boss, his pencil poised in the air.

  “There’s a grove of oak trees out around here,” John said, swallowing with difficulty. “I used to — it’s a sort of special place to me from when I was a kid.” Again he swallowed, and the sound his throat made was unnaturally loud in the small office. “It’s not noted on the blueprint, but it looks like this road goes near it.”

  Barry craned his neck forward and looked at the blueprint, considering for a moment.

  “I think most of them oaks are going to be cut down to make way for the road,” he said. “We tried to work the road around them so we could spare them, but there’s too much ledge farther to the north.”

  “Cut down, huh?” John’s throat had suddenly gone dry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s progress, I guess. Say, where was that water cooler again? It must be the heat in this building is drying me out.”

  “Out by the coffeepot,” Barry said, picking up his empty Styrofoam cup. “Come on, I’ll show you. I’m due for a refill.”

  FIVE

  Meeting Audrey

  I

  Julia didn’t know what Frank did to fill up his days, but he did make an effort to keep out of her way and eventually, as she threw herself into the job of getting unpacked, she stopped wondering and worrying about him. Judy Bartlett, the local nurse, still came by every morning to help him … mostly with physical therapy. The bottom line for Julia was that Frank had, after all, made it on his own — even after the stroke — before they moved in. At times, she questioned how much he actually needed their help.

  She spent the better part of the first day cleaning the bathrooms, upstairs and down, and then sorting through the toiletries and towels. Most of the towels Frank had were frayed, faded, and full of holes, so she threw them away without a second thought and replaced them with their own.

  Once that was done, she started in on the bigger project of making her own kitchen utensils and the foods her family preferred fit in with what Frank already had. At one point, she sought Frank out in his room to ask him if he minded her plugging in the microwave.

  “Microwave be damned,” was his response. “Anything that cooks stuff in plastic and won’t let you cook in metal is unnatural.”

  It took her a moment to catch on that he was joking with her. Regarding the microwave, she discovered that the wall plug was so old-fashioned that it wouldn’t handle the grounded three-prong plug. She left that problem for John to figure out.

  She was concerned, needless to say, about how Frank would feel about her throwing away — or at least putting into storage — his old toaster, an antique Sunbeam that shot out sparks every time it popped — his battered aluminum pots and pans, tarnished flatware, and an assortment of other things. He told her to chuck anything she didn’t want. “ ‘S your kitchen now’s much as it’s mine,” he told her. So, using the empty boxes from her own unpacking, she packed up anything she thought might someday be usable and threw the rest into the trash cans out back.

  Although at first it had seemed a formidable task, the actual job of cleaning turned out to be not so bad once she got started. Of course there were some corners — especially inside the stove — where the grunge had built up over the years and would never be clean again, but Lysol and elbow grease took care of just about everything in the kitchen. Later in the week, she even spent an afternoon and evening repainting the trimwork in the kitchen, and she got John’s promise that some weekend soon he would repaper the living room. All in all, in spite of first impressions she, John, and Bri were settling into the house quite well.

  That wasn’t to say there weren’t some conflicts. Although he warmed up some, John still wasn’t very talkative — especially to his father. But even when it was just the two of them, Julia noticed a tension about him that she had never seen before. For his part, Frank tried to break the ice several times, but as soon as he met any resistance from John, his own horns went up, and they were silent and sullen with each other.

  Julia didn’t like living with such tension, but she told herself — and would have told Frank if he had spoken to her about it a second time — that John was adjusting to a lot of things all at once, particularly his new job, and she was sure he would eventually mellow out.

  By Thursday night, though, Julia was beginning to wonder if John would ever chill out. When he came home from work complaining of a splitting headache, she casually told him to get some aspirin from the bathroom medicine cabinet. The next thing she heard was a roar and then a torrent of curses.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked in amazement. She was standing at the kitchen sink, up to her elbows in cold water, rinsing fresh spinach for supper.

  “This … goddamned ... cover!” John shouted. He shuffled into the kitchen, his knuckles white as he tried to twist off the cap of the Tylenol bottle. “They should call it Damn-itol or Jam-itol.”

  “Let me try,” Julia said, shaking her hands dry and taking the bottle from him. She put her thumb under the edge of the cap and with a quick flip, sent the cover flying halfway across the room. “Sometimes you need a woman’s touch,” she said with a laugh as she shook two pills out into his hand.

  John scowled as he popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water. Without a word of thanks, he turned and strode off into the living room, leaving Julia standing there.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, softly enough so — she thought — he wouldn’t hear.

  It hadn’t been that big a thing, but to Julia, now that she was watching for it, it was significant. Coupled with several other incidents, each relatively harmless on their own, it all added up to trouble brewing. Trouble because whatever was bothering John, he wasn’t saying much — or anything — about it.

  Julia had her own problems. Throughout the day, she did the usual household things — grocery shopping, cleaning, unpacking, and rearranging furniture. But she had a growing conviction that there was something strange about the house … not so much about the house as around the house.

  Maybe, she told herself, John’s agitation is getting to me.

  Or maybe Bri’s loneliness was working on her nerves,

  Then again, maybe it had something to do with Frank’s problems communicating with his son.

  Or Frank’s bitter hostility at being confined to a wheelchair after an active, full life was working her nerves.

  It could have been some or all of these, but Julia was certain there was something more ... a presence in or around the house was the best way she could describe it … a feeling or a “vibe
.” More times a day than she cared to think about, as she was working she would get an eerie sensation like she was being watched. The skin on the back of her neck would suddenly go cold; her armpits would feel damp and clammy. Sometimes, she would quickly turn around, expecting to see Frank in the doorway, watching her silently, but he wasn’t there. The feeling also came at times when she knew Frank wasn’t home, when she was positive she was alone in the house.

  “I think the house might be haunted,” she said to John one evening. It was Friday night. Tomorrow would mark their first full week living on Glooscap.

  The lights were out, and they were tucked into bed. She had an arm and a leg draped over him, pulling him close. Her warm breath rebounded from the pillow, but the reassurance of John’s being there didn’t eliminate the chill creeping up her back.

  “Of course it is,” he mumbled, smacking his lips and rolling onto his side away from her. The instant she said the word “haunted,” John’s mind filled with the image he had seen that night in the living room, but he wanted to play it down.

  The slouched, gray shape he had seen suspended in the air by the couch had certainly looked like a person, but it had been hanging back to him, so he didn’t see the face. In his imagination, the body was slowly spinning around, and his heart pulsed coldly as he expected to remember seeing — and recognizing — the face.

  With a sigh, Julia flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, an indistinct gray blur that, strangely, seemed to come closer and recede with each breath. In the silence that followed John’s laconic reply, she lay there listening to his low, steady breathing. She couldn’t tell if he was really asleep or merely faking it to avoid talking to her.

  The darkness pressed close, rubbing against her like a soft animal. When she began to sense that, even now, somewhere in the dark, eyes were fixed on her with a cold, steady stare, a low whimper escaped the back of her throat.

  “John?” she whispered, pulling him closer.

  “Huh?” He heaved a heavy sign but remained with his back to her.

  “Honey ... “ she said, feeling suddenly needy as she slid her hand under his arm and gripped him, willing the warm solidness of his body to remove the fear churning up inside herself. She thought about how she spent most of her time — admit it … all of the time — worrying about other people — Frank, John, and Bri …

  But what about me? she thought as tension coiled inside her like a hot wire.

  Her hand slid across John’s chest and down his belly until she was gripping him hard. Then she moaned as she started stroking him. Raising her head from the pillow, she brought her mouth close to his ear and blew into his ear, flicking her tongue like a kitten lapping milk.

  John’s breathing caught in his throat. Then, with a moan, he rolled onto his back. Even though she couldn’t see his face clearly, she knew he was looking at her in the darkness.

  “Not now, honey,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “I had a bitch of a day, and my head is still killing me.”

  “That’s supposed to be my line,” she said with a chuckle. “Come on.” She slid the covers down, exposing his bare chest. “We haven’t fooled around all week. We’re not gonna start acting like a couple of old farts, do we?”

  She leaned down and gently kissed one of his nipples, feeling him getting harder in her hand.

  “Really, Jule —” John said, sounding a bit more awake.

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Julia brought her face up to plant a wet kiss firmly on his mouth. Her tongue darted between his lips and lingered there for a moment. When the kiss was through, she continued talking so he wouldn’t be able to voice any protest. “Now that we’re getting kind of settled here, maybe we ought to start thinking again about having a baby.”

  “What?” John said, his body stiffening. “Are you nuts?”

  He hiked himself up in the bed, keeping her at bay, but he was still rock-solid in her hand. He couldn’t resist when she lowered her head, slid down, and started sucking on him. With a deep sigh — a mix of pleasure and irritation — he leaned back while she sucked until he was ready to burst.

  Julia paused for a moment and looked up at him in the dark. She, too, was lost in the pleasure of the moment, but as soon as she stopped, a dark, seething fear began to twist within her. She had the distinct sensation that she — they were being watched.

  “Don’t stop now,” John said, reaching down and caressing the top of her head, but she pulled herself up until they were face to face in the dark. The moment had passed, and he felt himself wilt.

  “Why do you have to start in again about having a baby?”

  “I ... just —” Julia began to say, but she cut herself off, afraid the tremor in her voice would give her away.

  “We’ve been over it too many times,” John said, holding her firmly in his embrace, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Why do you keep at it?”

  “You know how much it would mean to me,” Julia said, “to have your baby.”

  She still hadn’t gotten over the feeling that it was not just the two of them in the bedroom. The urge to scream and make a lunge for the light became almost intolerable. She couldn’t stop imagining cold, hard eyes staring at her from the surrounding darkness. Her body began to shake.

  John found her lips in the dark and kissed her, holding her close, but the fear continued to wind up inside her. She was convinced someone was trying to communicate with her, reach through to her but, like a weak radio signal, didn’t have the strength. With a little whimper, she broke off the kiss and pushed John away.

  “For Christ’s sake, Jule! Is that what sex is for you now? A function?” John said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb Bri or Frank. “You ruin every time by talking about having a baby. Can’t you just enjoy it?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Bullshit! For the past — how long? A year, now, at least, that’s all I hear from you. I want to have a baby! I want to have a baby!”

  Tears were building up in her eyes, but her voice was too constricted for her to say anything. It was true enough; she did want a baby, and she didn’t see why now wouldn’t be as good a time as any to try, but it was the eyes that were bothering her now ... the eyes she was convinced were drifting around her bed in the darkness, lurking at the edge of her perception like the pale reflection of a cloud’s shadow ...

  “Right now, I don’t think we need the added burden of a new baby, all right?” John said. “Think of it. Diapers … two A.M. feedings … baby-sitters … the expense … the whole thing. Christ, it would ruin our lives.”

  “But it would add so much,” Julia said. Her voice was flat and emotionless, but apparently John didn’t notice.

  “It’s not exactly fair to Bri, either,” John said. “Look, when we tried last year and it didn’t work out, I thought you were satisfied. You have a fantastic daughter, and —”

  “I always thought you wanted a child of your own,” Julia said, her voice a throaty whisper. “I know you love Bri and all, and I think you’re a fantastic stepfather, and having a baby won’t take away anything between you two or between us. It will make it better.”

  “Seriously, Jule,” he said, holding her even tighter. “We gave it a fair try, and it simply didn’t work out.”

  “It doesn’t mean we can’t try again,” Julia said.

  She struggled within herself to find security in his hug, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The idea hit her that there was a little soul, hovering in the darkness by their bed — a baby, waiting to be born both touched and terrified her.

  “Yeah, sure — we tried,” she said. She let her voice drift away because she knew she was close to saying something she would regret.

  “Fine … Go ahead. Blame me,” John said. He snorted in the darkness and pulled away from her.

  Julia tried to hug him tighter, not caring now if the tears fell or if he knew they fell. All she wanted was to hold him.

&n
bsp; “It’s just — I have needs, too. And sometimes I get the feeling you don’t give a damn about what I need. I know what I’d be getting into if we have another baby. And if it’s something I want, I just … I just —” Her voice hitched in her chest, and she pulled back to wipe at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I don’t see why you won’t agree to it.”

  “There are a million reasons,” John said.

  But you don’t feel the eyes watching you ... You don’t know about the baby who’s waiting to be born, she thought, unable to repress a shiver.

  “And there are a million reasons I could give you why we should,” she said. “But I would think ... I’d like to think you’d do it because you love me.”

  She pulled away from him, sighing as she settled her head in the well of her pillow. Her first impulse was to get up and go downstairs to sleep on the couch.

  Let him stew a little, she thought bitterly.

  Tears were streaming down both sides of her face now and soaking into the cotton pillowcase. John made a futile attempt to comfort her, but she resisted him, rolling over onto her side. The darkness pressed in so close it was like a second layer of skin, but Julia wasn’t fearful anymore.

  All she could wonder was, Who’s out there …waiting to be born?

  II

  Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Across the street from the Carlson house, there was a rockbound point of land jutting out into the ocean almost half a mile. The island people called it Indian Point. The ground sloped downward from the street, ending abruptly at the rocks, dropping off into the ocean as if the land had broken off and sunk. Up to the rocky edge, the ground was covered by a dense growth of scrub pine, frail saplings, wild roses, and other tangled bushes Bri didn’t recognize. Tiny birds — sparrows and finches — darted through the trees, their warblings whisked away by the steady wind coming in off the water.

  Throughout the week, Bri had spent as much time as she could — until darkness fell — wandering the sandy beach and the ledges farther along the shoreline where glittering tide pools swarmed with life. Waves swept in, sometimes gently, sometimes crashing over the seaweed and kelp-bearded rocks. But now that school was out for the week and there was plenty of daylight available to her, she was determined to hike through the thick brush and explore as much of Indian Point as she could.