by J T Kalnay
“Why are you helping him?” Cara asks.
“Because I loved him, and he loved me, and then it didn’t work out. It couldn’t work out for us.”
“So? That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you helping him with Shannon?”
“Because I know what it’s like to have his love, and I know what’s like to not have his love. I know that he’s been lonely for too damn long, and that Shannon might be the one person that can make him smile again. I hadn’t seen him smile until he told me about her. Hadn’t seen him smile in nearly twenty years. You see a lot of suffering in your work. I see a tiny little bit of it through volunteer work and charity like this. But you see it every day. You see all those fathers and brothers and people left behind who have to watch the agony and pretend and be strong for their sick loved one. Well Joe has been sick for twenty years. He doesn’t even know it. And Shannon is good for him. He’s hurt and thinks that she thinks poorly of him. I don’t think he wants another chance. But I do know that it’s important to him that Shannon knows the truth and not think poorly of him.”
“I see,” Cara says.
“So let me repeat it, let me tell you twice, since you had to ask twice. I’m here helping him because I love him and I believe in love and I know what him not believing in love can do to him. For a few days there he believed in love again. He just has to believe in love,” Danny said.
Shannon
“It’s all legit. Everything.”
“Everything?” Shannon asks. She looks out across Lake Erie, towards infinity, or at least towards Canada.
“Yes,” Cara answers.
They turn the corner from the grassy fields at Wendy Park to the thin causeway that leads hundreds of yards out into the Cleveland Harbor towards the abandoned Coast Guard Station. They walk in silence as they come closer and closer to its small lighthouse, and to the separate larger lighthouse that guards the entrance to the Cuyahoga River.
“I’m thinking about buying this,” Shannon says.
“What are you thinking about buying?” Cara asks.
“This old abandoned Coast Guard Station,” Shannon answers.
“How do you go about buying an abandoned Coast Guard Station that sits at the end of a crumbling causeway that connects it to a garbage dump?” Cara asks.
“You give your congressman a hundred grand for his campaign, then you submit a bid to whichever government agency he tells you to, then you agree to spend at least a million dollars to restore it, and then you give another hundred grand to some lawyers who distribute it to people unknown and another 100k to the mayor and some councilmen and then some more to the EPA so they won’t declare the “dump” as you call it a Super-fund site and then several other wads of cash to several union bosses so they’ll send you workers to clean it all up. That’s how you do it,” Shannon says.
“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it,” Cara says.
“Actually, I’ve already bought it. The renovations start in about a month.”
“You’re going to live out here? By yourself? What about the people from the park?”
“I’ll have a good lock, and a fence with a gate in it. I’m going to keep the walkway open so people can come out here and fish whenever they want.”
“Are you going to be armed when you come and go from your very very extremely isolated practically remote new home?”
“I’ll have my dog, and my phone. It’s been enough so far.”
“It’s been enough because you aren’t living in an abandoned Coast Guard station that is at least two miles from the nearest human,” Cara says.
“No. But I live alone out in the country at least a mile from the nearest human,” Shannon answered. “I’ve been okay so far.”
“You have a point,” Cara says.
They approach her new home.
“How long will it take to finish the renovations?”
“I could move in right now if I wanted, if I had a generator and a tent. But it’ll take about two years altogether.”
“Can you afford this?” Cara asks.
“Yes. The wells are still producing more gas and more oil and thus more money than I know what to do with. I’ve funded the lab, funded your research, bought the beach house and cottage, made college trusts for all the kids. I can afford it, and then some.”
“Who would believe a geologist would be one of the richest women in Ohio?” Cara asks.
“In the country I think. I got lucky is all. Who knew there would be a natural gas deposit in the shale under dad’s farm. And oil too. You know, you could drill a well on the land he gave you too. You could tap into the same deposit,” Shannon says.
“One millionaire in the family is enough don’t you think?” Cara asks.
“If you say so,” Shannon says.
“At least we know Joe’s not after your money,” Cara says.
“We do?”
“Yes. He’s worth north of a hundred million. Even though he gives half his corporate profits to the foundation each year.”
“Half?”
“Half.”
“Did I do him wrong?” Shannon asks.
“I don’t know honey. But maybe he didn’t do you as wrong as you thought. Everything Danny told me checked out. I followed up with the family of that little girl, and with the doctors at UNCW, and on everything. He was telling the truth.”
“That’s only half the problem,” Shannon says.
“What’s the other half?”
“That he didn’t tell me in the first place. That he either didn’t just invite me or tell me where he was going and what he was doing up front. I would have been perfectly fine if he had told me he was chairing a board meeting for Caitlin’s Foundation and that he was going to visit the sick children. I even would have been perfectly fine if he had told me that his high school sweetheart, who happens to be a beautiful celebrity, was going to be his date for the night.”
“Really?” Cara asks.
“Really. He wouldn’t have had to go through sending an envoy and making a donation just to clear up the misunderstanding if he had been more direct in the beginning.”
“Would you give him another chance?” Cara asks.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it. The thing is, I don’t know whether he wants another chance. He sent Danny and his message and his money, but I haven’t heard anything else from him.”
“I don’t actually think he sent Danny.”
“What?”
“I think she came on her own, and because of the family of the girl.”
“No way.”
“Didn’t you tell him not to get in touch with you?”
“Yes.”
“So isn’t he doing exactly what you asked?”
“Yes.”
“Then isn’t the ball kind of in your court?” Cara asks.
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
“You amaze me little sister. You can move mountains to arrange buying a Coast Guard station but you can’t even consider letting the man apologize about a molehill.”
“Maybe I’ll drop in to the coffee shop in January. It’s not that far off,” Shannon says.
“It’s three months away. That’s a long time to make someone wait for an apology. Or for an opening. There might be someone else by then.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t mean this arrogantly or anything, but I think it’s me or no-one. I think I’m his last or only hope.”
“Not even Danny?” Cara asks.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well then maybe you should stop at his coffee shop. For coffee, and a talk.”
“I don’t owe him anything,” Shannon says.
“I didn’t say you did. And you’re right. You don’t owe anyone anything. We went through the whole ‘you owe me’ thing with your ex. You owe me a child, you owe me a wifely duty, you owe me happiness. We went through all that. He was wrong, and I know what it did to you. And you’re right to never want to go th
rough that again. And you’re right that you don’t owe him anything. Since you don’t owe him anything it would be a gift, just a nice little gift for you to drop in and see him. For coffee. That’s how it started the first time right? With coffee?”
“Yes. He bumped into me in the fog and spilled my coffee. Then he poured out the rest.”
“So maybe you should go into his coffee shop and pour some coffee on the floor and ask him to bring you more. Who knows, a hundred years from now that might be like shaking hands. You walk up to someone and pour out their coffee.”
“Doubt it,” Shannon says. They both chuckle.
“Have you noticed that we always walk near lighthouses?” Cara asks.
They look out from Shannon’s new home to the round white lighthouse a few hundred yards away at the mouth of the river.
“Yes. I like lighthouses.”
“They guide people through the fog,” Cara says.
Shannon
The late August morning is cool and still, the heat will come later, and with it the humidity. Cara and Shannon are walking around their father’s farm before all the nieces and nephews wake up. As always, they both have their coffee.
The beans are waist high, the corn is over head. It will be hot, but not as hot as the hottest days of July, so it is bearable. After walking all the way to the back fence line they turn to walk along the back, where two of the natural gas heads and one of the oil pumps are located.
“Imagine how his life, how all our lives would have been different if he had found this when we were younger,” Shannon says.
“I think he knew, and that he didn’t want it,” Cara says. “For him, or for us. I remember asking him why he never bought lottery tickets. And he said that kind of money was ‘life-wrecking’ money.”
“Why do you think he knew?”
“I just think he knew. I remember him telling me about the coal mines in southern Ohio, and about the first oil wells over in Titusville. It’s just a hundred miles from here. And him telling me that we had the same geology here, just maybe a little deeper because it hadn’t been pushed up like the hills had been over there. Said the same ocean had been right here for the same amount of time and then the same glaciers and then the same warm ocean again. So I think he knew. At least on a theoretical level.”
“He was happy for me when I found it,” Shannon said.
“We all were. I suppose he thought you would be able to handle it. That he raised us right or something.”
The sisters walk beneath the green and dusty boughs that are laden with their late summer leaves. Early morning grasshoppers are too wet and too stunned by the cool to fly away as they approach.
“John could catch those grasshoppers and catch some bass for dinner,” Cara says.
“Yes. Let’s tell him when we get back. Maybe he can show the younger kids how to do it,” Shannon answers.
“He used to love to fish with his grandpa,” Cara says.
“And with Rick,” Shannon says. She rarely uses her ex’s name. “Rick showed John how to hook the grasshopper and then how to flick it out into the pond. They would sit down there and fish and talk about football. I think he liked John more than he liked me,” Shannon says.
“John is pretty easy to like.”
Shannon shoves her sister lightly.
“It was hard on John,” Cara says. “My husband is a guy, but he’s not a tough-guy like Rick.”
“Yeah being a lawyer isn’t quite the same thing as being a federal agent, at least not in the eyes of a kid.”
“Federal Agent. That’s right. That’s how he used to describe himself. Even though he was a regulator for the EPA. So I guess technically he was a Federal Agent.”
“John liked to think Rick was a secret agent. So we never let him think otherwise. Eventually we would have told him, or he would have grown out of it.”
“They sure liked football,” Cara says.
“I think that’s why John stuck with it all these years. I’m not sure he really likes it all that much himself. But he knows Rick loved it, especially college football. He’d get all twitchy this time of year, late in August, when high school practices and college practices were going and the NFL pre-season was underway and the Buckeyes had a chance to be national champions. I can still see the two of them sitting in the kitchen playing Nintendo or Xbox or whatever it was, playing football. Rick used to let him win when he was little, but then as he got older John used to let Rick win. It was quite a role reversal.”
Cara realizes these are the kindest words Shannon has said about Rick since their divorce. She wonders where these feelings have come from.
“I feel like running,” Shannon says. “Do you feel like running?”
“No,” Cara answers.
“K. I’ll run by myself after we get back.”
Joe
I’m not feeling it this October morning. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s just not happening. I had my coffee, I had my run, did what I normally do, but something is not quite right.
It can’t be Shannon. Not after all these weeks and hours. Yesterday I was fine, and the day before. She’s been gone for over a month now. So it can’t be Shannon. If her being gone was going to hurt, it would have hurt already, it would have hurt right away. It wouldn’t have crept up on me like this, so stealthily and without warning.
Like her it would be direct, not wasting time on subtlety or innuendo, never wasting time. She never wants to waste time. And she knows the difference between sitting by the ocean and wasting time. She understands that sitting for hours watching the ocean or the sound and doing ‘nothing’ is not wasting time. That it is as vital as sleep and that it can sustain you for a while when you’re away from the water.
No, she is direct. She didn’t see Danny when she came to her sister’s lab. Wouldn’t participate in the indirection.
I could scream at my sister for setting that up. But I can’t. Because of the father and the brother. It’s what they wanted and I more than anyone understands about respecting the wishes of those left behind who are respecting the wishes of those who have crossed over. So I can’t scream at her. But I really want to.
I miss Shannon.
I miss her every day.
Even though we were only together for a couple of hours a day for a few short days.
I miss her.
I will write her a letter. She said not to call or text or email. A letter is none of those things. I will write her a letter.
Shannon
“Rick came to see me at work yesterday,” Shannon tells Cara.
“I thought you put up a fence, and a guard shack?”
“We did. He was very polite and straightforward. He went through my secretary and made an appointment and even gave her an agenda.”
“An agenda?”
“Yes. So that I would know what he wanted to talk about and how long it would take.”
“What did he want to talk about?”
“Football.”
“Football?”
“Yes football. And we were just talking about that last weekend at Dad’s. He saw on Facebook that John is starting at tight end this year and he wanted to know whether I thought it would be okay for him to go to a game. He said he would go to an away game, where no-one would expect to see him, and he would sit with the home team, wear a hat, and that there’s no way John would see him.”
“Sounds like he really wants to see the kid play football,” Cara says.
“Yes. He does. For once he didn’t ask me for anything, and didn’t really have anything else to say to me. I could tell he really wanted to go see John play and he just wanted my advice about how he could go about seeing John play football.”
“So what did you tell him?”
“I told him that it might be very confusing for John to see him, and that it might even upset him. But I told him that he could do whatever he wanted, whatever he thought was right, that he had divorced me, he hadn’t divorced John
.”
“That’s kinda cold,” Cara says.
“Yeah it was. I could see that it hurt him. So I gave him an inch. I told him it was very considerate of him to ask my advice and that his plan would probably be alright. He thanked me and he left. He didn’t try to take a mile.”
“Did you ask him if he’d been stalking you in Topsail?”
“What?”
“I think he was staking out our house in Topsail during the last week in July. I thought I saw him there a few times.”
“Damn,” Shannon said. “I thought I saw something one night at my cottage.”
“Did he say anything about that?” Cara asks.
“No. But if he ever gets in touch with me again I am going to ask him about it. And I’ll send the security photo of him and his car and of his plates to Bill. There’s only two bridges and one ferry onto the island, and I know there are security cameras on each one. And there’s only one road up to our end of the island. So I’ll ask him to program all four of those to see whether he’s coming around.”
“And if he is?”
“I don’t know Cara. I don’t know.”
A Letter in October
Dear Shannon,
It has been two months since I last saw you. In that time I have respected your request not to call, not to text, not to email. You did, however, say that I could write. And thus I am writing this letter. It’s been in the works for a week, and has now taken its final form. I don’t write a lot of letters.
I do think about you every time I run on the beach, and I think about you every time I make a cup of coffee. Since those are the two things that I do the most, clearly I think about you a lot. Now before you start thinking that I am obsessed with you or a stalker or anything, maybe I should tell you what I think about.
I think about how I should have invited you to the fundraiser, or at least told you what it was and given you the choice about whether to go. I have no idea why I was secretive about it. Maybe because Danny was going to be there and I wasn’t sure how to explain her. But that’s just an excuse. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. I suspect there’s only one way to explain anything or anyone to you. Just tell you the facts and let you parse them for yourself.
