Eye of the Beholder

by Jackie Weger

  A minute later Maydean was back. “How much lard?”

  Phoebe opened her eyes. The dreamy truckload of crabs disappeared entirely. “A cup.”

  “Then what?”

  ‘Then I get up and cook lest we starve,” said Phoebe.

  “You feel like it?”

  “Go put your book on your head and sit in front of the TV, Maydean.”

  “I was only trying to help,” the girl said on an aggrieved note.

  Gage put his head in the door. “Are you sick?” His expression was one of alarm, exposed for only an instant. Maydean scooted around him and disappeared.

  “I can’t find the time to be sick,” Phoebe stated. She sat up and shoved her feet into her sandals.

  “Did you get overheated? You should’ve worn a hat.”

  Phoebe was wearing a thin shirt and the new blue shorts. She looked all legs. All limber legs.

  “I didn’t get overheated, I got mad. I came in here to get mad by myself.”

  “Maydean’s making a mess in the kitchen,” he said lamely.

  Phoebe ran her fingers through her hair. “I figured I ought to leave it like I found it.”

  There was a long time without sound, though neither of them noticed it.

  “You’re still mad at me,” he said with a drop in vigor.

  “I’m not mad. Ha ha. See, I’m happy.” She almost was, what with all the attention she was getting from him. Her cynicism melted as she tracked the great strength of his arms, his torso.

  “You’ve overdone it. Don’t cook. I’ll go after hamburgers and fries. Oh, here’s a letter that came for you. I meant to give it to you earlier.”

  “A letter?” Anger, dismay, the stirrings of desire flew out of Phoebe. Her throat tightened. “From who?”

  “Maybe those folks who’re holding that job for you?” He glanced at the return address. “It’s from a Hawley.”

  Ma! Phoebe could feel her body played upon by currents of hysteria and fear. Ma would never write unless something terrible had happened. A hundred expressions struggled beneath the surface of her features, but were erased before Gage could decipher their meaning.

  “It was one of my cousins that had the job for me.”

  “Biblical?” he scorned lightly.

  There was a sudden stubborn reserve in Phoebe’s eyes. She closed the distance between them, snatched the letter from him. “If you’re going after burgers, go!”

  “You’re back to normal.”

  “I’m always normal.” She pushed him out the door and slammed it.

  Once alone, a leaden feeling settled over her. She had the fatalistic feeling of being drawn from one wrong turning to another.

  With trembling hands she opened the letter. No one had died. No one was hurt, but Erlene had taken Vinnie’s baby for a walk, sat him down along the way and returned home without him. Then forgot where she’d walked. A neighbor had brought the baby home. To preserve his marriage, her brother Joey was loaning Ma the bus fare out of his paycheck on Friday. Ma and Pa and Erlene were to arrive in Bayou La Batre on Saturday.

  Phoebe roamed about the room swallowing back panic. Life was playing a practical joke on her. She reread the last line. Saturday. Lor!

  The letter revived her feel for possibilities. For survival. Her brain began to whirl with ideas.

  Uppermost was an understanding with Gage. She had to manage it. In and out of bed, she’d be nice. She wouldn’t allow an unkind word to pass her lips.

  — • —

  They picnicked on the porch, feeding scraps of fries and bread to the chicks. The sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon, painting the canal golden. Phoebe eyed the crab traps stacked at its edge.

  “I reckon I was too upset this afternoon to take you up on your offer of teachin’ me to crab right,” she said to Gage in her sweetest tone. “I was just disappointed that I couldn’t pay you.”

  “That was a fine catch to lose.”

  “You’ll help me set traps tomorrow?”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  Phoebe beamed at him. “A lot of men ain’t. They tell a woman one thing and do another. And I appreciate you being so good to Willie-Boy, takin’ him with you today and all.” She hoped her invention of good humor was splattering all over him like shower water.

  “Willie-Boy’s no trouble.”

  “Maydean is. You sure tolerate her well. I suppose it’s ’cause you’re doing such a good job with Dorie.”

  “That’s not what you said earlier.” He took out his pipe and began to fill it.

  “I know you better now. I see how hard you work to provide for her. Kids ain’t easy to raise. You being widowed, why, I reckon you’re doing the best you can. You want a beer? I’ll get it for you.”

  “I don’t want a beer. I need to keep my head clear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have the feeling I’m tangling with a wildcat and I’m bound to get clawed.”

  “What wildcat?”

  “You.”

  “I ain’t mean!”

  “What have you got in store for me?”

  Phoebe canted an innocent look at him. “Why, nothin’. Lor! What a thing to say.”

  “Speaking of saying, what news did that letter bring?”

  Phoebe’s mouth went dry. “The job ain’t come open yet. Maybe next week. You mind us hangin’ around till then?”

  “I don’t know if I mind or not.”

  Phoebe felt her heart collapsing in upon itself. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Is it because Maydean stays in front of the bathroom mirror? I’ll tan her hide—”

  “It has nothing to do with Maydean.”

  “Willie-Boy aggravated you.”

  Gage shook his head.

  Phoebe distilled their conversation and came away enlightened. It was herself! She couldn’t bear it now that they were so intimately connected. Fear had its own seduction and she couldn’t help saying, “You still think I’m too skinny.”

  “You’re not too skinny.”

  She watched Gage strike a match, put fire to the tobacco and go off somewhere in his own mind. She did like a thinkin’ man. But it wouldn’t do her an ounce of good if he was remembering Velma’s infidelity. Memories like that could jaundice the way a man thought about women.

  “Then why don’t you know? I know. I like it here. And I got you to take pride in your place. I’m good for you. And, Dorie, why she likes me now.”

  “You’re a fast worker, I’ll hand you that.”

  Phoebe was nonplussed with the recognition that Gage held himself apart from her. Suddenly, as if she had willed it, there were dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes; the dark accentuating her eyes, which gleamed as though what was left of her vitality had centered itself in their depths.

  The sole dignity left to her was to act as if she didn’t care.

  “I’d better go help the kids get those chicks in the shack. Like as not we’ll have to rig up a something to keep out chicken hawks.”

  “Maybe next weekend,” Gage agreed.

  Next weekend. Phoebe shuddered. Our Father, save us, she prayed.

  She helped bed down the feathered chicks and two hours later, her own brood. She was nothing if not a positive thinker, and she meant to spend the night with Gage. But lying in her own bed, waiting for the house to settle she fell soundly asleep. She awoke at dawn, and then it was too late, for Gage was already up. She could smell coffee percolating.

  She dressed quickly and fingers flying, braided her hair which was as close as she ever came to taming it. Gage wasn’t in the kitchen or anywhere else about the house. She discovered him down by the canal. He’d moved the skiff from its storage blocks into the water and was installing a small motor.

  “I’ll help you,” she said, coming up behind him.

  Gage started. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak.” He hadn’t yet shaved. His face was draw
n. Phoebe worried that she was becoming too much of a burden. “You don’t have to show me how to run that boat. I can figure it out for myself.”

  “I said I’d show you and I will.”

  “You look like it pains you. Anyway, you’re not responsible for me. I can learn the crab business by myself.”

  Gage finished with the motor and stepped ashore. “You ever run a boat before?”

  “I’m a quick study.”

  He took her arm. “Let’s go back to the house. It’ll be an hour before the bait shop opens.”

  Phoebe allowed him to propel her along. It was wonderful to have him touching her, even if it was just her arm.

  They sat together on the back porch steps, sipping coffee, watching the sun rise.

  “If I was back home and the mills hadn’t closed, I’d be at work now,” Phoebe said.

  “Why is it you have the care of Maydean and Willie-Boy? Are your parents ill? Or did you have a falling out and run off with your brother and sister?”

  “Not exactly,” said Phoebe, treading delicate ground.

  Gage cast a glance at her. “Not exactly? Either they’re ill or they’re not. Either you had a falling out or you didn’t.”

  “Well, for sure, the falling out was with Vinnie, my sister-in-law.”

  “And what about your parents? For sure?”

  Phoebe cleared her throat. “They live with my brother Joey and Vinnie. Erlene does too.

  “Erlene?”

  “My other sister. She suffered a fever,” added Phoebe which was as close as she dared to hinting that Erlene was loose-minded.

  “So there’s a whole clan of you Hawleys loose on the world. By any chance did the rest of your family lose their jobs when the mills closed down?”

  “We’re good folks, hard workers every one. Ma and Pa have the care of Erlene and I’ve the care of Willie-Boy and Maydean. That’s just the way it worked out. Even Steven, three and three.”

  “I’m getting the picture now.”

  “What picture?”

  “You’re scouting.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. Willie-Boy said you were supposed to find a place. He meant for your whole family.”

  ‘‘There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!”

  “What’s wrong with it is you took one look at me and thought I was a pushover. I let you in. I know how your mind works. You think you can sweeten me up and I’ll let the Hawley clan move in on me. That’s what getting in my bed was all about.”

  “I never thought that! Not for one minute! My aim is to make enough money to set Ma and Pa up in their own place.”

  “You’re a good daughter.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

  “I came to you because I wanted you. You’re the first man I ever saw I wanted. Ma and Pa didn’t have anything to do with it. It was me. By myself. Why if Ma knew what I’d done, she’d be scandalized.”

  “And your pa would show up aiming a shotgun.”

  “Pa doesn’t know the first thing about guns. And anyway, he couldn’t make me take up with a man I don’t want.”

  “Pity the poor man.”

  In the growing light Gage’s profile was angular, strong. Moving outside her dismay, Phoebe noted how finely made were his ears. She reached up and stroked the outer curl. “Let’s not fuss. I meant to come to you last night—”

  He grabbed her wrist and put her hand back onto her knee. “I’m going after that bait. Now that I’ve got you figured, your success means as much to me as it does to you. I’ve got enough expense keeping up the yard and Dorie.”

  “You don’t want to talk about what we did.”

  “That’s right. And I don’t want you creeping into my room in the middle of the night again, either.”

  Phoebe was scared she knew what he meant. It threw a flush into her brain. “I ain’t up to doin’ it in the daylight yet,” she said, goaded by the need to keep the conversation, the intimacy, intact. But he was draining his cup, anxious to leave. “Gage. Don’t go yet. I like sittin’ here with you. I get the most funny feelin’ in my stomach just lookin’ at you and rememberin’. This mornin’ when I woke up and thought of you, I felt like I was hatchin’ a passel of moths.”

  “Phoebe, stop it. I like you. I like what you’re trying to do to better yourself. You’ve got more grit than any ten women I know. It’s your gall that’s getting to me.”

  “I’m payin’ my way. Gall don’t have nothin’ to do with it.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t planning a coup.”

  Phoebe didn’t know what a coup was. She looked him in the eye. “I ain’t.”

  “So I’m not going to come in the house one night and find three more Hawleys invited to dinner?”

  Blood drained from Phoebe’s face. “It’s your house. You’d have to do the invitin’. Gage—don’t you like me one little bit? Personal?”

  He emitted a self-deprecating laugh. “Phoebe, women don’t often stay with the first man they’ve known sexually. Not these days. Once the excitement wears off the illusion of love is hard to maintain. No one knows that better than myself.”

  Phoebe heard the word love and leaned into his space. “I hope you ain’t comparing me to Velma. Love is no illusion. Love is real. I can taste it.”

  “Oh, hell!” Gage said doggedly. “Look, I’ll be back inside an hour.”

  Phoebe raced through the house to watch him out the gate. The truck paused and she thought for an instant Gage was going to back up, return to her. The truck pulled away. She let the curtain drop.

  She had given him a unique part of herself. In return he had shown her a secret wonder of life, proved its existence. But now…

  “I make the biggest mistakes,” she cried forlornly into the air.

  Chapter Seven

  Phoebe made up her mind. She was going to brazen it out. Ma and Pa and Erlene were arriving Saturday and that was that. No doubt there were rooms to be had, or a house nearby. She’d just have to hoard her crab money to pay for it.

  Gage was a matter of the heart. She had to convince him of her love. He didn’t like gall. For him she’d purge every drop. The Bible said “the meek shall inherit the earth.” If the Good Book said it was so, she reckoned she’d take a stab at it.

  Gage was acting like a grizzly with a toothache, which had the effect of making meek more difficult to come up with than anger.

  “If you tie it like that, you’ll lose the float. Then you won’t know where the traps are. This time, pay attention.” He demonstrated an anchor knot for the third time.

  Phoebe tied the knot. “When you have time I want you to show me how to tie a hangman’s knot. I might find a use for it.”

  He glowered at her. “You want to trade tit for tat, or learn to crab?”

  “Crab.” She moved to the next trap and attached the float. Gage towered over her like an angry giant. She completed the task on the remaining traps. “Now what?”

  “You missed one.”

  “That’s thirteen. It’s bad luck.”

  “It’s stupid. Crabbing is crabbing, the more traps you have—”

  “Bad luck is bad luck. I ain’t courtin’ it. Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You’re going to ask it whether I permit it or not.”

  “Are you constipated? Bein’ stopped up can cause a body to be in fearful moods. I can make a really good castor oil—”

  Gage closed his eyes and ground out an obscene word.

  “That’s exactly what castor oil will make you do.”

  “I’m not in a mood!”

  Phoebe expelled a disconsolate sniff. “Where’s the bait? I got a notion somebody miswrote a passage in the Bible. I want to get out on the water and ponder on it.”

  The five gallon tub of crab bait smelled worse than dead crabs.

  “You mean to tell me you paid good money for that slop?”

  “It’s called chum. You want to catch crabs or not?” Ga
ge scooped up a can of chum and dropped it into the bait pocket. “Think you can manage from here on out?”

  Phoebe allowed that she could. Dorie couldn’t be pried from the chicks, Maydean from staring at her reflection, so Willie-Boy accompanied her in the boat. Gage had scrounged up some musty straw hats, and these they wore against the glimmer of bright sun on the water.

  He watched her push away from the shore. “Remember what I said. When you set a trap, just throttle back on the motor, you don’t have to shut it off.”

  “I reckon I know about motors. It can’t be much different from driving a truck.”

  “This is exciting, ain’t it Phoebe.”

  “Keep still Willie-Boy. You’ll turn us over.” It was a flat-bottomed skiff and sturdy, but Phoebe was taking no chances. She’d never ridden in a boat before. One hand on the throttle, she turned back to wave at Gage and met his astringent gaze. The boat somehow got off direction and nosed hard into the opposite bank. Phoebe jolted forward, knocking one of the traps into the water.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Gage yelled. Phoebe hauled the trap back aboard, grabbed a paddle and pushed away from the shore. She tried the throttle, getting the feel for the rudder. Now she had the hang of it. She could feel Gage’s eyes on her still.

  “You can swim, can’t you?”

  She had had meek up to her eyeballs. She only wanted the junkyard and its owner, not the entire earth. “No, but when I get back you can teach me how to walk on water!”

  “Your face is bleedin’, Phoebe. If we sink, the sharks will eat you.”

  She swiped at the scratch on her face with the tail of her shirt. “Face forward Willie-Boy, a shark ain’t gonna stop me now.”

  It was thrilling being in charge of her fate again, being in business for herself—the right way. It took four trips to set out all the traps along the outer strip of marsh that separated the canal from the bayou. Each time she dropped a trap overboard Phoebe waited breathlessly for the marker float to come bobbing up. Each did. She could almost feel the crisp dollars that Hank would count into her hand.

  When she cut the motor, stepped out and dragged the anchor deep on land she felt life was wonderful again.