“Finally decided to get up, huh?” I said as I walked past him.
He more or less grunted to acknowledge me.
“Why don’t you come have breakfast with me?” I told him.
“Yeah, sure, but I was thinking about getting donuts with Candice.”
“Didn’t you see her last night?”
“Yeah. So? Didn’t you see Mom last night?”
“Big difference there, buddy. I’m married to her. Last time I checked, there wasn’t a ring on your finger. I’d like you to spend a little time with us this morning before you run off.”
“Fine,” he said, sighing, and went into his room.
“Don’t get too excited about it,” I yelled back as I went down the stairs.
My wife and Jenna were still on the couch, engrossed in conversation. Madison looked over to acknowledge me but I could see her squint her eyes enough to make me aware that we were going to have that very long conversation later. Most people wouldn’t even have noticed the look she gave me, but I could. I read it loud and clear.
Toby sat at the dining room table, devouring a heaping bowl of cereal. Madison must have made him breakfast while I was in the shower.
“What’s up there, buddy?” I said.
“Hey, Dad, you think Bessie’s okay?”
“I think she’s just fine,” I said.
I was surprised by the question. It wasn’t the first thing I expected to hear from him that morning.
I headed for the door. Before I opened it, I wondered if Darrel had come over to take his wife back to his house where they could finish their argument. When I opened the door, Marsha stood there with a box of brown sugar in her hands.
“Oh, hey, Marsha,” I said.
“Just returning what I took from you,” she said rather abruptly, nearly pushing the box of brown sugar into me.
“Okay, thanks,” I said, taking the box.
Marsha Walker was usually a chatterbox, but this morning something seemed different. She frowned at me and ground her teeth, and I sensed tension. I’m not great at reading any woman other than my wife, but it didn’t take that much perception to determine that something was bothering her. She just glared at me for a moment, and I felt the need to break the silence.
“You gonna be at the park today?” I asked. “Looks like we’ll have some decent weather today and no rain.”
“Yes,” she said flatly, but I could see her grinding her teeth.
“Good.”
“How’d that writing go this morning, Mr. Dees?” she asked, and for some reason, it felt like a loaded question. I wasn’t sure what she was insinuating, but she seemed to mean something by it. Did she also think I was over at Samantha’s that morning having an affair with her? Her countenance seemed to suggest she thought something of that nature.
“Not too bad,” I said. “Kind of a slow crawl this morning, but those things are bound to happen.”
“Yeah, hard to come up with your own ideas sometimes, isn’t it?”
Now I was at a loss. This comment was most certainly directed toward something, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I had absolutely no idea what was bothering her, so like the inept social conversationalist that I was, I tried my best to gently steer the discussion in an alternative direction.
“Looking forward to reading that story of yours,” I said.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“What? No. Why?”
“You meant something by the way you said that, Mr. Dees. I can tell. What do you mean, you’re looking forward to reading it? Do you mean, as if you already have it and are looking forward to reading it?”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“Are you sure about that? I just didn’t like the way you said that.”
“Said what?”
Her reaction was difficult to forget. Her eyes went wide as could be, and I thought, for a moment, that she had seen something terrifying behind me; I think I even turned around to make sure that something frightening really wasn’t taking place. She started fanning herself with her hand and breathing rapidly. I thought she might pass out in front of me, but when I made a gesture to help her, she waved me away and grabbed onto the side railing of our front porch to stop from falling over.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just a hot flash. I’m fine.”
I remember wishing my wife was there to say something, because honestly, I had no idea what to do.
“Would you like some water? Anything?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said, and still fanning herself with her chubby hand, she closed her eyes and caught her breath. She turned to leave but looked back at me one last time before she made her way out the front gate.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” I asked, standing by my front door.
“Just fine, just fine,” she said rather dramatically. “Why don’t you go back to writing your book, Mr. Author. Wouldn’t want you to have to resort to stealing someone else’s idea, now would we?”
She waddled back to her house like an irate penguin, and I stood on the front porch for many minutes, rethinking our conversation and trying to figure out how it went off course. I was about to turn around and go back inside when Samantha Wheeler walked by the front of my house. It looked like she had just returned from a jog or the gym and was en route to her house. She was wearing workout clothes and carrying a water bottle. She didn’t stop as she walked by, but she looked over and grinned coquettishly at me as she passed.
I was afraid to say her name, because I didn’t want my wife to hear. I didn’t want to mention her name in or near my house until I cleared things up with Madison. But I did offer a friendly hello, and she waved back.
“Hope to see you today at the park,” she said, winking. It was an inviting wink, and I was shocked that she was so bold after my refusal of her.
I remembered a conversation I’d had with a friend back in college. We were at a bar, throwing back a few drinks, and he had told me that women—while living in close proximity—actually developed the same menstrual cycles. They all acclimated to each other.
Standing on the porch that morning, dazed and dumbfounded, I began to wonder if that was what was happening. Perhaps some freak phenomenon was taking place, and all of the women on Naples Island were experiencing synergetic PMS on an astronomical level, and I was caught in a whirlwind of bizarre emotional thinking. A neighbor angry at me for reasons unknown? A wife upset because I didn’t think my son was a cross-dresser? Another neighbor who somehow heard “yes” in what could not have been a clearer “no”? Another neighbor crying on my couch?
It was too much to handle.
“I need a drink,” I said and went back into my house.
It may have been early, but the Captain’s Room was probably open.
And it was five o’clock somewhere.
Chapter Sixteen
I never did go to the Captain’s Room. Jenna went home to make amends with her husband, and Toby finished his cereal and went to take a bath and get ready for the day. My wife sat me down on the couch to ask me what was going on with Samantha Wheeler, and I coughed up the whole story right there. I told her everything that happened that night: the glass of wine she handed me, how I crouched by the window in her bedroom to look onto Drake’s property, and how she had made a pass at me as I tried to leave.
I also told her about my refusal; I made sure to include every detail of that.
Amazingly, she was grinning as I neared the end of my story. I wasn’t sure how she was going to respond. I knew for certain that she would never seriously entertain a notion of me going behind her back to have an affair with our neighbor, and I was glad because of it. My wife and I trust each other to the core, but I thought she might be a little irate that I hadn’t told her about what happened. We made a rule early on in our marriage not to keep secrets from each other. I wasn’t sure if this qualified.
“Why ar
e you laughing?” I asked after I finished my story. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
“Because you’re ridiculous.”
“Great, thanks.”
“You think I’m crazy because I think it’s possible our son got into my jewelry box and lingerie, and yet you’re running around in the rain spying on our neighbor because you think he might have chopped up our dog. And in your quest to figure it out, you’ve also become a Peeping Tom. So who’s the weird hormonal one?”
I tried but couldn’t find a comeback. Whatever writer’s block had hit me early that morning was still in full effect.
She slid toward me on the couch, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me. It was a passionate kiss, not unlike the way we had kissed earlier that morning. If we had been alone and without a little boy in the bath in the next room and a teenager upstairs who could walk down at any moment, things might have pleasantly escalated.
“Just look in the mirror next time you think my ideas are so ridiculous,” she said. “You’re not exactly batting a thousand yourself.”
“Just don’t say anything to Samantha, okay? I feel weird enough, and I made myself abundantly clear in my rejection of her.”
“Oh, I won’t say anything to her,” she said. She grinned widely and I recognized that mischievous smile. “Next time I see her, I’ll just grab you and start passionately making out with you. I’ll rip your clothes off right there in front of her. That ought to teach her, don’t you think?”
“Just don’t make an uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable.”
“Never,” she said, topping it off with another kiss.
We spent the next hour or so getting everything ready for the day. The Fourth of July would be similar to last night, only there would be even more people at the park. It was our first summer on Naples Island, so we only knew what we had been told, and the Fourth of July was supposedly a fun-filled, festive day. The park would be teeming with picnickers. Live bands would be playing all day. Bounce houses and games would be brought in for the kiddos. There were also games for the adults as well. There’d be beer and margaritas, food and festivities, and supposedly one could spend almost the whole day at the park listening to music, chatting with neighbors, and wasting the day away in good company.
The canals hosted parties of their own. From the stories I’d heard, boaters, rafters, and kayakers lazily made their way through the canals all day on the Fourth. It wasn’t uncommon for water balloon fights to break out around every corner. There would be barbecues in the backs of the tied up boats along the canals, house parties, loud music, and a whole community celebrating their independence by getting outside and playing on their water toys.
There was something entirely American about it, and I had to admit, even though I was never going to win an award for being a great socialite, I was pretty excited to get out of the house with my family. Just spending some time with my wife and kids sounded fantastic.
We loaded up two coolers full of drinks and snacks and got the kids ready. Toby, asking how long it was going to be before the fireworks show, was completely enthusiastic about going. He even suggested looking for Bessie on the way to the park. Owen, as could be expected, wasn’t nearly as excited.
“Can’t I just meet up with you guys later?” he asked as we all stood by the front door, ready to leave. “I was gonna hang out with Candice today. I think her parents are doing a barbecue at their house, and I was gonna go.”
“Really?” I said. “So you’re gonna hang out with her parents and not your own?”
“No, Dad, I was gonna hang out with her.”
“Didn’t we already have this conversation this morning?” I asked.
“Wasn’t really a conversation,” he said. “More like you just telling me that I had to hang out with you and Mom.”
“Exactly,” I said, and opening the front door of our house, ushered everyone outside so we could begin our short walk to the park.
I probably should have noticed something was wrong during that walk, but I wasn’t able to put all the pieces of the puzzle together quite yet. It wasn’t exactly a beautiful summer day, but most of the clouds were gone, and it looked like we could make it through the holiday without more rain. In the distance, the sky was darker, and we hoped those clouds would empty themselves long before they reached Naples Island. With all the rain in July, I began to wonder if we should have just stayed in Seattle. They had probably gotten more sunshine than we did in the last week.
We hadn’t passed more than a few houses when I heard the first of the arguments. It was a large, two-story Spanish home, and we heard a husband and wife going at it with a fury.
“Stop lying to me, Charlie! Stop lying! You know you did it! You know you did!”
Madison and I looked at each other as we passed, raised our eyebrows, and prepared to divert Toby’s attention or plug his ears in case the domestic dispute became peppered with expletives, but it didn’t. The woman yelled on and on while Charlie, whoever he was, said nothing. Poor guy. Usually, I’ve found in life, silence speaks of innocence. The guilty often feel the need to fire back. The woman was on a rampage and seemed to be accusing him of reading and throwing away her diary.
We passed that house and turned the corner, only to stumble upon another strange altercation. This time it was outside and appeared to be two neighbors. A large, overweight man wearing a sleeveless black shirt and standing beside his Ford pickup was having a rather loud discussion with another man, a thin, business-looking guy dressed in khakis and a green polo shirt.
“For the last time, I didn’t get into your car last night, Ron,” the overweight guy said. He had one hand on his pickup truck, and he was pointing the other hand at the skinny guy. “You really think I snuck out in the rain to look around inside your Porsche?”
“Well, then what happened to my wallet? It was in the glove compartment.”
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to leave your wallet in the car, Ron? Plus, you have a garage. You should have parked in there.”
“I would have, but family’s staying with us for the weekend and their cars are in there,” Ron said. “Look, I know I should have taken it out, but it’s not in there. You were sitting out here in your car when I drove home last night. I saw you.”
“Yeah, I was talking on the phone to my sister.”
“And then twenty minutes later I realize I left my wallet in the car, so I come back out and look. You aren’t in your car anymore. And when I get back in my car and check, the wallet’s not there. And you’re telling me you don’t know anything about it even though you were the only one out here. That’s what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying you’re crazy,” the big, sleeveless guy said.
I didn’t hear much more. It sounded like it was escalating, but by the time the voices got louder, we’d passed that house and were crossing over one of the small bridges.
“Strange morning, huh?” I said, and my wife nodded in agreement.
Another thing struck me as unusual when we crossed the bridge. The stories I had been told about Naples Island made it sound like it was a virtual water park on the Fourth of July. I expected to see the canals teeming with people, boats, music, and playful laughter. Even if the weather wasn’t all that great, it wasn’t enough of an excuse to stay inside. This was still a holiday. But when I looked down the length of the canal, I didn’t see nearly what I expected. There were a few kayakers, and I heard music emanating from some of the boats, but very little.
We continued our walk over the bridge, and after a few more turns, found the central park of the island and ground zero for the holiday festivities. We had been here the day before to watch the early fireworks show. Yet, like the rest of the island, it wasn’t exactly what I expected. There were people there—several people—but it seemed quieter and more subdued than I imagined.
Lots of families sat on blankets all throughout the park and reclined on chairs. It looked like one giant picnic. Some
neighborhood community organization had purchased several large bouncers along the side of the grass for the kids to play in, and before we had barely stepped onto the grass, Toby was tugging on my arm and asking to go over to jump around in one of them.
Several neighborhood shops had sponsored booths along the perimeter of the park. Kaley’s Restaurant was giving away free American flags and bottles of water. South Coast Ribs Company was hosting hula hoop contests for the kids with candy prizes. The local pharmacy was doing free face painting. They had even brought in some live music and built a stage on the west side of the lawn, but they were in between sets when we showed up. I saw some guys on stage, tuning their guitars and getting things ready.
Madison directed me toward the southern part of the park and the area closest to the bay. We were to meet the Paisleys there. Apparently, they had patched up their marital issues enough that morning to venture outside and meet us. My wife instructed me not to say anything about Darrel’s accusing me; she had promised Jenna that she wouldn’t tell me about that. I suppose in some circumstances, a guy would be really bummed to learn that his neighbor had thrown him under the bus like that and word had gotten back to his wife, but I just didn’t have it in me to be upset that morning. I knew Darrel Paisley to be a good man and I’m sure, in the heat and fire of an argument, the words just came out of him. I knew he didn’t mean anything personal by it. He wasn’t on a mission to destroy me or my reputation. So when we found Darrel and his wife at the very end of the lawn, sitting on picnic blankets, it was easy for me to offer a warm welcome and really mean it.
We laid our blankets next to theirs. Toby tugged on my arm and tried to pull me toward the bouncers. Owen sat apart from us, on the grass, playing on his phone. I was pretty sure he was texting Candice and trying to concoct some kind of excuse to get away from us.
"Weather says it might rain again tonight,” Darrel said.
“Again?” my wife protested.
“Think so,” Darrel said. “I checked three sources this morning. All of them seemed to indicate that.”
Storm Taken: A Supernatural Thriller Page 9
