by A. L. Jambor
"You can be anything you want to be, Charlie. What do you want to be?" Grandma asked him one day before his graduation.
Charlie hadn't thought about what he would be, or where he would go after graduation, and the pressure to make a decision was working on him. He became sullen again, and withdrew from his family. He stayed in bed until late in the afternoon, and stopped eating. His grandmother would sit beside him offering suggestions, trying to reach the good boy she knew, but Charlie continued to resist any suggestion she made.
"You can't stay in bed forever," she said.
But Charlie wanted to stay in bed. He wanted his life to just end, like his father's, like...
"I won't keep feeding you," Grandma said. "You'll die."
"Then I'll die."
His grandmother was vexed. She didn't know what to say to pull him out of his depression, so for the first time in her life, she sought the advice of a psychiatrist at the hospital. He agreed to see Charlie, even came to the house to interview the boy, and somehow, the man got Charlie to open up, empty himself of his pain, and brought him back to the land of the living.
Charlie recalled the sessions he had with Dr. Friedman. He'd told the doctor everything, and the doctor had absolved Charlie of his sins. He ended their sessions shortly before Charlie's twentieth birthday.
Charlie worked in town for a while, stocking shelves in the grocery store, and when he came home for supper, his grandmother would build him up, telling him he could be somebody, that he needed to do more with his life, and not to settle for being a clerk.
In his heart, he knew she was right. Dr. Friedman had told him he was smart, that when feelings of sadness threatened to overwhelm him, he should find someone in need and help them. That was a way to banish the demon threatening to send him back to his cocoon. Good works. His grandma agreed. She told Charlie he could be president if he really wanted to, but Charlie only wanted one thing. He wanted to go back to Cape Alden to right a wrong.
It was grandma who suggested he go into public service and the idea appealed to Charlie. He took hold of the idea with all the ferocity of a terrier with a new leather shoe. He borrowed books from the library, learned about government, and in 1950, despite his grandmother's objections, he joined the Army and went to Korea.
Charlie survived, went to college on the G.I. Bill, and graduated with honors. He volunteered at local charities, and ran for the city council. He was well-liked and people trusted him, but his conscience would never be satisfied until he went back to Cape Alden.
It was a few months after his first term had ended that another member of the council told Charlie he should go east.
"I have a friend in New York."
A powerful friend, as it turned out, a senator, and he introduced Charlie to the right people. Soon, he was running for city council in Albany, and then he met Olivia, whose rich father took a liking to him.
Charlie was thirty-three in 1961; he and Olivia had two children, a boy and a girl. Her father had employed Charlie in an executive position and paid him well while she managed their money and built an impressive portfolio. It was a good life, but his domestic tranquility was threatened by the return of his nightmares, which woke both him and Olivia every night. She wanted him to see a psychiatrist, but he refused.
"What if it gets out that I saw a shrink?"
"You have to do something. I can't go on like this."
Charlie searched the library for books and magazines with articles on dreams, but no matter how many times he meditated, or drank this tea, or took that medication, the dreams persisted.
Then one day, when he was staring out the window of his executive suite, Charlie recalled his grandmother's words the day he told her that he wanted to go back to Cape Alden.
"It's the right thing to do. You have to face your demons."
That evening when he returned home, he told his wife they were going to live in Cape Alden.
Mari
Mari awoke from a dream, rolled onto her back, and looked at the ceiling. Her dreams were often vivid and weird, but this one felt like real life. She'd been talking to Kathy, her old associate producer, only Kathy wouldn't look at her. Mari kept repeating how much she wanted to come back to her old job, but Kathy kept avoiding her eyes. Mari awoke with tears rolling over the bridge of her nose, and when she turned onto her back, the tears rolled into her ears. The dream seemed to verify her deepest fear -- that no matter how much research she did, they would never take her back.
Mari was under the gun. She didn't like being vulnerable, and had always been able to take care of herself, but now, with a thousand dollars in the bank and no prospects in sight, she was scared and she hated it.
Mari had always been fearless. It's what made her so good at her job; she never shied away from asking whatever came into her mind no matter how controversial it might be. The accident changed her in profound ways, and with the prospect of living on medication for the rest of her life hanging over her head, she'd worked on finding ways to cope.
Anxiety rose without provocation, and her thoughts were always followed by physical pain in her legs, back, or head. She found it hard to read emotions and follow the cues given by others. It was like growing up all over again, only now, she wasn't sure she would outgrow this, and this scared her more than anything.
"It's part of the trauma your brain suffered," the rehab therapist had told her. "It will get better. Give yourself time."
But she had given herself time, and things hadn't gotten better. Mari never felt so alone. Her father had died years ago, and her mother passed away the year before her accident. There were no relatives to ask for help. There was just Mari, and she felt she was slowly losing her mind.
She had once even confided these fears to Cassie, whose practical advice went unheeded.
"You need a job," Cassie said. "You have too much time to brood. It's no wonder you feel this way. Why don't you see if someone will hire you for the summer and see how things work out?"
Mari's depression, which she often thought of as a separate entity, didn't agree, but she had applied for a couple of seasonal jobs anyway. One woman was polite, but she told Mari she needed people she could rely on. Mari's reputation preceded her; everyone in town knew who she was and what had happened to her.
She ran through the list of things she didn't want to do as she lay in bed. She'd always avoided working at a desk because she'd get antsy when she had to remain in one place too long. That was before the accident and that hadn't changed, but now she had physical limitations that restricted her, too, so sitting for hours in a hard chair was out of the question, and her hip would throb and stiffen if she was on her feet too long. She sighed as she worked up the energy to get out of bed. The only job she wanted was the one she'd had.
What if she never found another job? She could always apply for disability, just temporarily, and that way she'd have some income, but that wouldn't help her overcome the things that were holding her back.
She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her shorts, which were lying on the floor in front of the bathroom door. She'd always been messy, but that was because she was always traveling; there was no excuse for it now. She stared at the shorts willing them to jump up and put themselves in her small hamper, but they didn't move.
The remnants of the dream played on in her mind. Kathy's indifference was painful, and Mari's pleas embarrassing. Even her subconscious was telling her she was useless. She started crying again.
She still hadn't gone through the box of stuff Jesse sent her weeks ago. Now she sobbed. Her home in the city was gone, too. Depression smirked as it ran over her mind, slipping over her ears, and working its way to her neck. She cried for a while, went from the loveseat to the bed in between bouts of tears, and then stayed on the loveseat. Her ties to New York City had been cut. Without a place to crash, she'd have to pay for a hotel room. She'd be a tourist, like all the others who "visit" the city. This was tantamount to being nobody.
> "You're a real loser now," depression said.
"Screw you," Mari said.
A tiny spark of resentment punched depression, forcing it to recoil. She got up too fast and dizziness sent her back to the loveseat. She put her head between her knees and waited until it stopped before sitting up. This time she got up again and was able to wobble to the bathroom after kicking the shorts out of her way.
The fluorescent light over the sink made her look like a deranged raccoon. Rather than depress her further, this made her laugh. She'd been brought lower than a snake's belly, so maybe this was bottom. The only way left was up. As she stepped into the shower, she felt a little better, and as the water ran through her hair, she reveled in the warm sensations rolling down her back.
Joey was in the yard playing baseball with a friend. She saw them as she passed the window next to her dresser, and it made her feel better. She really liked that kid. He had an infectious smile, and a few minutes with him was equivalent to ten mgs of Xanax.
She towel-dried her hair, got dressed, went downstairs, and as she walked across the yard, the breeze finished drying her thin hair.
"Watch out!" Joey cried. "You're gonna walk into first base."
"Sorry," she said.
She looked down at first base -- an old garbage can lid, and stepped around it. She went to the kitchen door and knocked before entering, where she found Cassie scrubbing her counters.
"Hey," Mari said.
"Hey, yourself."
"I almost walked into first base."
"Uh, oh, did he yell at you?"
"He did. I apologized."
"He's pretty strict about his baseball. If only his father cared as much about him."
Mari got a mug from the cabinet and poured the last dregs of coffee from the pot into it.
"I've always been meaning to ask you what happened to him."
Cassie rinsed her hands and dried them on a paper towel."
"He was a doctor I worked with at the hospital. He sort of lost interest when he found out I was pregnant, but he does send a check every month. He's just not interested in being a father. I guess I should be grateful he doesn't just forget about his kid completely, but that kid is so great, you know? He deserves better."
"He is a great kid. So, he's never seen Joey?"
"Nope. He left the hospital and went to Milwaukee. That's where his family is, so I guess the bastard never told them either. I've never heard from his mother. I can't imagine she wouldn't want to see her grandchild, but you never know. She might be one of those 'she must have been a whore taking advantage of my doctor son' types. Her doctor son. Just wait until Joey's playing major league baseball and we'll see what happens. If that man tries to play father then, I swear I'll kill him."
"I never heard you say that," Mari said with a smile. "Just in case they call me as a witness."
Cassie smiled, too. "I guess I'm a little protective of him."
"Just a little."
Cassie sighed. "Why do men do that, just abandon a kid like that? I really try not to hate him, but it's hard."
"Who knows? Men suck. That's why I've used and abused them."
"Yeah, I can see you doing that." Cassie sighed. "But I wouldn't mind meeting a nice guy. I miss having a man around."
"You seem to do all right."
"Oh, I do all right, but I like being held."
Mari cringed. "I've never been one to cuddle. I prefer a more cerebral type of relationship."
"Not me. I like being close, and making love."
"Well, one day some guy will come along, take one look at you, and 'bam!'" Mari said.
"And then he'll meet my son and go 'bye-bye.'"
Cassie put up her hand and waved.
Mari sighed. "Like I said, men suck."
"You're preachin' to the choir, honey." She looked at Mari. "So, what have you been up to?"
"Phil and I got some leads, and Constance introduced me to a woman whose grandfather was sheriff when Charlotte was killed. We interviewed an old lady who knew Isabelle, and we also met this old guy named Cal at Morton's who remembers Charlotte and Celia."
"So, it's going well." She washed a dish in the sink. "I know Cal. He's been in the ER a few times. What did he say about Celia?"
Mari smiled and lowered her eyes. "That he didn't think she did it."
Cassie sat at the table. She had her mama face on.
"So what's the plan, Mari? Have you thought about looking in Oceanville for a job?"
"I have a job."
Mari's defensive tone didn't deter Cassie.
"Look, I know I encouraged you to do this, but I was hoping it would shake you out of your lethargy so you could get a real job. I'm worried that you might be using this to keep you from getting on with your life."
"I know, but..."
Mari thought about Celia's ghost. She was relying on Mari to solve this mystery and Mari couldn't let her down.
"But what?" Cassie asked.
"But I can't stop thinking about this case. I want to solve it."
"So, you want to be a hero."
"I can't let it go, Cassie." Mari started picking at her fingernails. "I know I have to find a job. I know I'll run out of money, but I can't figure out where to start, and when I do think about it, my head hurts."
Cassie sighed, got up, went to the refrigerator, started pulling food out, and stacking it on the counter. She took the racks out and began washing them. Mari tapped her fingers on the table and drank her coffee.
"I'm thinking I should go through that box in the garage," Mari said.
"But..."
"But it's hard. It's all my worldly goods, and it fits in one box."
"And..."
"I don't have a home, Cassie."
Cassie stopped washing and looked at her.
"You have a place."
"I know, but I can't live here forever. This is your home."
Cassie rolled her eyes. "And it's your home, too, for as long as you need it. I've told you that from the beginning. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and wipe out the bottom of this fridge."
Despite the pain in her back, Mari did as she was told and cleaned the bottom of the fridge. When she straightened up, she got dizzy again. She grabbed the side of the fridge.
"What is it?" Cassie said as she grabbed Mari's arm. "Are you dizzy?"
"Yeah."
"Have you eaten anything today?"
Mari shook her head. "Can I have a piece of toast?"
"Geez, you don't have to ask."
"I know, but I still feel funny just taking your stuff."
Cassie put her hands on her hips.
"Would you feel better if I charged you for it?"
Mari blushed. "No."
"Then just eat the damn bread and shut up."
Mari smiled. Cassie would never yell at her if she didn't love her.
"Can I have some jelly?" she asked.
"Dear God, give me strength." Cassie rinsed off her hands. "I just got through saying this is your place, too."
"So, I can have jelly."
"Yes, Mari."
Mari grinned like a child and embraced a surprised Cassie, who usually initiated their hugs, and Cassie hoped this was a sign Mari was getting better.
Mayor Charlie Jackson
Charlie's restless nights were spent trying to avoid the images from the past that taunted him. His mother's eyes filled with fear, his father, still half-drunk following her around like a zombie, and his sisters crying.
Charlie often woke up thinking about his mother's eyes. Joan Jackson's powerful gaze would wither a lesser man, but not Charlie. He would often stand up to her, and after he slapped her, she avoided him completely. He felt powerful, and he used his new power to do as he pleased. He would smoke in front of her, flicking the cigarette butt at her feet while she hung laundry. Birdie would gasp, and Joan would smack her.
"Finish hanging these clothes," Joan would tell her eldest daughter as she walked away from h
er son.
Despite his belief that he had her under his control, Charlie still felt guilty whenever she looked at him, and sometimes, he wished he hadn't hit her at all. She would never love him now, not the way she loved Josh. He had sealed his fate with one blow.
Now, as he lay in bed, he thought of Birdie. She was always trying to please Joan. At ten, she was tall enough to do most of the chores, and Joan would save things for her to do when she came home from school. Birdie liked to keep the peace and she hated it when anyone in the family fought.
Birdie still called Charlie to check on him. As he thought of his mother's eyes, the phone rang.
"Hello, Charlie."
His sister's voice sounded like their mother's and for a moment, he thought it was Joan. He held the receiver away from his face and looked at it, terrified that she had somehow risen from the dead.
"Charlie, it's Birdie, answer me."
Oh, it was Birdie. "Hello."
Birdie heard the slurred speech and exhaled.
"You sound better."
"I'm okay."
"Is that woman still coming by to see you?"
"What woman?"
"The caregiver, does she still come by?"
"Yes, she makes my lunch."
"Is that all you're eating?"
Charlie wished Birdie would leave him alone. She had threatened to come and help him, but the last thing he wanted was his sister poking around his house.
"I eat. I'm fine."
"Okay, that's good." She didn't sound convinced. "What else is going on?"
What else is going on? Not a damn thing. Why would anything be going on?
"Everything is fine. I've got to go now."
"Okay. I'll call again in a couple of days."
Charlie hung up the phone, put his nitroglycerin tablets in his robe pocket, put the chain holding the button he would push for emergency help around his neck, and reached for his wheelchair. His caregiver would help him wash up and get dressed when she came.
