The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  Dave turned to her, hands on his hips, his gaze even. So even that she imagined him using one of those liquid-filled bubble levels to direct it at her. However he did it, it was effective. She tried to fix him with one of her own. “What I also don’t love is all four of us sharing one bathroom upstairs. You know, for resale purposes, as well as livability.”

  Dave considered this. “Those are both good reasons. But a second bath isn’t a budget item.”

  “I’m aware of that. But is it still possible?”

  Dave glanced around the room at the dusty space. “Do you mean humanly possible?” Another of his quirks. No matter, she had her answer. It could be done; it just wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Good. Because I’d like to tackle it.”

  “I suppose if you’re going to do it, it makes sense to get it over with now. While the house is torn up and the workers and equipment are on-site. Cheaper that way.”

  Phoebe nodded heartily, but he wasn’t done.

  “Look, if you’re serious about that, we can go up and take a look. But I’d need to know in the next couple days to line up the plumber. And you’d need to check with town hall to be sure the septic is in compliance.”

  Phoebe loathed going to town hall. There was always another permit to obtain, another inspection to schedule, and then there was the waiting for approvals. She’d become painfully familiar with the Health Department, the Building Department, the Planning and Zoning Board, and her least favorite, the enforcement officer. The woman seemed poised to veto just about every proposed project, citing anything from setbacks to “endangered fern species” on the property. Twice already Phoebe had had to go before the Board at monthly meetings. It wasn’t just expensive. It was stressful. She trudged into the town hall with a hastily written script in hand, including several highlighted things Dave had advised she say, and a few underlined things not to say. What she really wanted was for him to go in; he was so much better at this than she, but she couldn’t spare him at the site.

  To her surprise, the news from this town hall visit was good for once! She returned to the site that afternoon and told Dave that the septic was in compliance for an added bathroom. It was almost too good to be true. Rob, however, didn’t celebrate the small victory.

  “Are you sure we need a second bathroom?” he asked her as he changed out of his business clothes, later that night. The look on his face was anything but pleased. But she could not have timed it better. It was the bedtime hour, and as if on cue the boys came thundering in. Phoebe didn’t say a word. She allowed Rob to witness the pushing and shoving, the splashing. The soaked towels on the floor. The smeared toothpaste in the single sink.

  “It is pretty tight in here,” he admitted, glancing warily at the aftermath.

  “They’re only going to get bigger,” she reminded him.

  “If only our bank account was. Where are we going to find the money for this?”

  That was the bad news. They’d have to dip into savings. “But a two-and-a-half house is more valuable than a one-and-a-half,” she proffered. “Think of the resale. It’s an investment.”

  The next day Jed was moved into Patrick’s room, his furniture emptied, and the wall came down. With all the commotion and debris, Phoebe took the boys to her parents’ house for the day. She was sitting at the kitchen island eating a grilled cheese sandwich and showing Edward and Jane the adorable Jack and Jill bathroom they had designed when her phone rang. For the first time, things seemed to be working out. Until her cell phone rang.

  Half an hour later she was back at the cottage she’d only just left, staring at a newly exposed wall of twisted electrical lines. “I don’t understand. The house is supposedly up to code. The electrician rewired.”

  “He did,” Dave said. “Downstairs. But this section of the house was an addition, and whoever did it didn’t wire properly.”

  All of the progress they’d made came to a halt. And the punches kept coming. It wasn’t just the wiring. One of the walls, a load-bearing one, wasn’t properly framed. Dave called Rob and Phoebe in to explain his concerns. “See this joist? All of the weight from the roof rests on this, and it runs the entire section of this part of the house. It’s a mere two-by-four, attached to another. And they’re bowing. We need a new LVL beam.”

  As Phoebe stood under the eaves, which had been opened up to reveal the skeleton of the framing, she felt like her own insides were also being exposed. Rob stood motionlessly, hands on his hips. She could feel stress radiating from him, reverberating off the pitched ceiling. She wondered, if she opened a window, would it fly up into the sky, allowing them all a little more breathing space?

  Dave’s gaze traveled from Rob’s face to hers. She and Dave had a solid working relationship. They were in the trenches together day in and out, and they knew how to read each other. Rob was only on-site for occasional updates and walk-throughs. Dave had no reason to know how Rob would take this news, and for once, neither did she.

  “What kind of cost are we talking about?”

  Dave shook his head. “I can’t say for sure until I get John Glazer back in here to look at the electricals. But for the beam work, somewhere in the order of five to seven thousand, all in.”

  Rob raked his hand through his hair. “Look. I understand the wiring is a fire hazard. But what about the beam? What if we just seal it back up?”

  Phoebe looked at Rob aghast. He couldn’t be serious.

  Dave must have been very used to such questions. “Well, the house won’t fall down today or tomorrow. But that’s where it’s headed.”

  Rob considered this for a long moment. “Well, then I guess we have no choice. I’m just glad it’s not a five-digit fix.”

  Phoebe let her breath out. “Right. Thank God.”

  As the crew packed up for the day, Phoebe went down to the kitchen to start dinner. At that point of the project, her “kitchen” had been reduced to a corner in the living room. A microwave rested on one of Grandma Elsie’s dovetailed occasional tables. Rob had set up a double-burner camping hot plate on the table. She went out to the garage, where the old fridge hummed loudly in the lone bay, and pulled out chicken breasts and squash. She took these to the back patio where she lit the grill. Rob joined her.

  “Barbecue chicken,” she told him, smiling. “Taking a night off of the tacos.” She glanced around. “Though I can’t find the new bottle of barbecue sauce. Do you know where we put the boxes of kitchen staples?”

  He feigned a smile, and shook his head. Rob looked drained.

  “Baby, I’m sorry about the wiring and wall work,” she said.

  “Well, at least they caught it. If we hadn’t opened up that wall, who knows what would’ve happened.”

  He was right, and she was relieved to hear that he was seeing the sense this made, despite the blow to their wallet.

  “But, Phoebe, this is what I was worried about. There’s no telling what’s next. Old houses have old problems. And they’re costly.”

  “The inspector should’ve picked up on this stuff.” She drizzled the chicken with olive oil and glanced around for the salt and pepper. Damn it. It must be in the living room.

  Rob shrugged. “The sill stuff, yes. But I don’t even blame him for this. Unless you tear open walls, who’s to say. We just can’t do anything else. After this bathroom, that’s it. Whatever else we may want or think we need, it has to wait. We can’t afford it.”

  She was glad to hear him using the term “we.” Most of the ideas had been hers, even though he’d gotten on board. “I promise,” she said, looking up at him.

  He watched her set the meat on the grill. “Fuck,” she said, looking around her cramped work space.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t know where the spatula is.”

  From inside the house came a crash and a shout. The boys had been cooped up in the living room this whole time. Along with the couch covered in toys, her makeshift kitchen, and what se
emed like a hundred boxes, none of which ever seemed to hold what she was looking for.

  “Don’t you need a platter for the chicken, too?”

  She nodded, feeling about ready to cry. “And plates.”

  Rob looked at her sympathetically. “I’ll go look, but, Phoebe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s time.”

  She knew what was coming.

  “We can’t stay here. Not with the increase in renovations going on. I want you to call your parents after dinner.” Rob waited until she looked up and nodded.

  As much as she hated to pack everything up and move, once again, she couldn’t disagree. She’d lose her mind if she stayed.

  When he opened the sliding door, the noise that emanated from the living room was one of toddler disaster. She watched Rob climb over the boxes, bending to scoop up Jed, who was crying. Or maybe it was Patrick; she couldn’t tell from the late-day sun reflecting off the glass. Rob had probably already forgotten about the spatula, platter, and plates. Phoebe turned her back and stared out at the lake.

  Olivia

  The two uniformed officers had their backs to her when she entered the hospital room, but Olivia could tell right away from the look on Jake’s face that something wasn’t right.

  When he looked up and saw her standing in the door, he adjusted his expression. “Oh. This is my fiancée, Olivia Cossette.”

  The officers turned. The older one, with soft features and graying hair, smiled empathetically. “I’m Sergeant Baylor, and this is my deputy, Officer Cripky.” Cripky looked her up and down a moment too long.

  “We’re trying to gather some information about the accident,” the older officer explained, as if her arrival commanded explanation.

  “Should I go?” she asked. Though she did not want to. Something about Jake’s demeanor warned her not to. Her interest went beyond curiosity, even beyond a mother’s need to know. Something about the accident still didn’t seem right.

  “That’s up to your fiancé,” Cripky said. He was attractive and direct, but there was a cockiness to his bearing that Olivia didn’t trust.

  She looked to Jake, trying to gauge his expression. “She can stay,” he said, finally, fidgeting with the edge of his hospital blanket.

  Olivia took a seat by the window, trying to make herself obscure. While this was likely all a formality, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Jake looked positively irritated.

  Sergeant Baylor continued his line of questioning. “So, from what you’re saying, you were driving the boat along the shore just before the accident. Can you estimate the depth of water, or the distance from the dock?”

  Jake’s brow furrowed. “I’d say we were one hundred feet off-shore. Maybe a little more.”

  “Do you make it a practice of hugging the shoreline, or was there a reason you were close?”

  “No, but there were a number of boats out on the water that day, some waterskiing. Since we were just going for a little sightseeing, I figured we’d get out of the way of traffic.”

  Officer Baylor flipped through some notes he had on a pad. “It says here that it was estimated you were traveling at high speed upon impact. Would you say that was the speed you maintained along the shore, or did you suddenly increase speed for some reason?”

  Jake shook his head. “High speed? I honestly don’t remember how fast we were going, but I never travel at a high rate of speed along the shore. It can be rocky with shallow pockets.” He looked to Olivia. “I had the girls with me.”

  Cripky cleared his throat. “Do you know what the speed limits are on Candlewood?”

  “Forty-five miles per hour,” Jake replied. “But there’s no way we were going that fast.”

  “Twenty-five at night, sir,” Cripky added.

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “It was daytime.”

  “About how fast would you say you were traveling?” the sergeant asked.

  Olivia leaned forward. Every time she and Jake discussed the accident, he got flustered. But he’d sworn up and down that they’d been traveling at a slow clip. That he couldn’t account for the sudden increase before the boat hit the dock.

  “I don’t know exactly, but no more than twenty-five.”

  “Do you have any idea what speed witnesses estimated you were traveling at just before the point of impact?”

  Jake regarded the sergeant with sad eyes. “No.”

  Sergeant Baylor flipped again to a different page of his notebook. Olivia had full view of his notes from where she sat, but she was too far away to make any of them out. “One eyewitness account guesses you were going at about fifty miles an hour.”

  Jake looked at him. “Guesses.”

  “Another guessed sixty-five.”

  “There’s no way,” Jake snapped.

  Olivia watched him pick at the blanket. She couldn’t blame him for being nervous, after all that had happened. But she knew Jake: this wasn’t nervousness.

  “Mr. Goodwin, no one is trying to place blame. At this stage, we’re trying to understand what happened. We have three people in the hospital, and a privately owned dock that’s been ripped in half. Insurance will be asking the same questions.”

  Jake didn’t look up. “And I’ll tell them the same thing.”

  The sergeant closed his notebook and Olivia’s chest tightened. Jake’s attitude was starting to annoy him. “Had you been drinking that day, Mr. Goodwin?”

  Jake’s head snapped up. “A little. Why?”

  Cripky stepped forward, and Olivia could feel the energy in the room shift. “No need to be defensive, Mr. Goodwin. We’re just trying to get a picture of that day. How long would you say you’ve been boating on Candlewood Lake? You grew up on the lake, right?”

  “I got my CPWO when I was thirteen.” He looked at the sergeant. “Certificate of Personal Watercraft Operation. We’ve had boats in my family since I can remember.”

  “And you’re how old now?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “So, let’s see. That would mean you’ve been boating for…” Cripky smiled indulgently over his shoulder at Olivia. “Hang on. I was never top of my class in math.”

  “Nineteen,” Olivia replied.

  All three men turned around.

  “Jake’s had nineteen years of boating experience.” Olivia looked at Cripky when she said it. “He’s a very safe driver.” But even as she found herself defending Jake, a flicker of warning lit within her. If what he had told her about the accident was true, why was he getting so angry with the officers’ line of questioning?

  “So, nineteen years. That’s a lot. In those nineteen years, have you ever lost control over a boat before?”

  Jake considered the question. “Never.”

  “Can you account for reasons why someone would lose control over a boat and achieve sudden acceleration, as you did the other day?” Cripky was pushing. Olivia suddenly decided she hated the guy.

  Jake looked flummoxed. “I don’t know, a few reasons maybe.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as another boat cuts you off. Or you run into something underwater you can’t see. Or snag something in the propeller.”

  Cripky leaned back on his heels. “Did anything like that happen to you before the accident that you’re aware of?”

  Jake shook his head. “No.”

  “Are there any other reasons you can think of that boat operators suddenly lose control?”

  “If they were drunk.”

  “How much did you drink that day, Mr. Goodwin?”

  Jake locked eyes with Olivia.

  “Answer my question. How many did you have?”

  “I don’t remember.” Jake shook his head. “A few. I really don’t remember.”

  “In how short a time?”

  “Maybe an hour or so. I don’t know. It was a party. It lasted all afternoon.”

  Olivia’s eyes watered. It was a party. For the two of them. And even though Jake had never been a big drinker since they’d
met, he’d admitted to having been a bit of a party boy in his past.

  She shifted in her seat and Cripky looked her way. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” But it wasn’t. This was on her, too. She’d let Luci go out on the boat without her.

  Cripky resumed his questions. “Unfortunately, Mr. Goodwin, we can’t be sure of how much you had to drink that day. Because you were brought in with serious injuries and went straight to the OR. By the time they ran a toxicology report on you, it was several hours after the accident. All we have to go on is… you.”

  Jake’s eyes flashed. “You think I’m lying?”

  Cripky regarded him thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The truth has a way of coming out. Eventually.”

  Jake glared back at him, saying nothing, and the two held silent eye contact until Olivia feared she would fly out of her seat.

  “Well, I think we’re done for today,” the sergeant said, tucking his notes away. “We’ll be in touch if we need more.”

  Olivia stood up, eyes on Jake, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  The officers thanked Jake, then turned to say goodbye.

  “Miss…?”

  “Cossette,” Olivia said.

  “Miss Cossette. May I have a word with you, in private?”

  From over the sergeant’s shoulder Olivia saw Jake’s gaze snap in their direction. But she found herself following them out into the hall, anyway. She had her own interests to protect. “Yes, of course.”

  The sergeant spoke first. “You understand, we’re just trying to put together the pieces of the picture. None of us were there. And that means we have to talk to everyone involved.”

  Olivia nodded. She wasn’t stupid. “I told the first officer who interviewed us everything I know. About the barbecue; who was there, what we ate, what we drank.” She paused. “I wasn’t on the boat.”

  “That must tear you up,” Cripky said.

  Olivia ignored this, aiming her gaze at the sergeant instead.

  “Even so, you were there before the accident. You saw Jake. You two spent the day together.”