The Cove

by Hautala, Rick

  “I’m just out for a walk, if you don’t mind,” she said, trying hard to control her emotions. “That’s not against the law, is it?”

  Tom chuckled softly and said, “Not that I’m aware of, but I’d have to check the town ordinances to be sure. I could always take you down to the station for questioning.”

  He paused and for a long, tense moment they stared each other in the eyes. Tom had the advantage on her here, too because the lights were bright behind him, and she could barely make out his features while she was pinned to the night like a medical specimen on a lab table.

  Julia took a quick glance behind her to see if there was a nearby house she could run to if she had to, but outside of the cone of light, all was darkness.

  She was trapped by the one man she was determined never to see again.

  If she’d had doubts before, what was happening right now confirmed her suspicions that Tom had slashed Ben’s tires. He must have been hoping to create a situation exactly like this … to get her alone again.

  “You heading home?” Tom asked, his voice loose and casual.

  Julia grunted but said nothing.

  What she wanted to say was, It’s none of your goddamned business what I’m doing or where I’m going, but she kept her mouth shut.

  Sarcasm wasn’t going to help with a guy like Tom Marshall, and — obviously — being direct with him — like she had last night — apparently wouldn’t work, either. She had always sensed that, just below his joking exterior, a ferocious temper lurked like a rattrap, ready to spring. Thankfully, he had never unleashed it on her, but she didn’t want him to try it now.

  “Can I give you a lift?”

  “I’d prefer to walk, thank you.”

  “It might not be safe out here,” he said. “I mean — this ain’t New York City, but … you never know who you might bump into.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Julia said.

  “You sure of that?” Tom’s nostrils flared as he turned his head to one side as though sniffing for whatever danger lurked in the pressing darkness.

  Julia clucked her tongue, but a chill slithered through her when she wondered if he really had slashed Ben’s tires.

  What level of violence might he be capable of?

  What if he did this just so he could get me alone?

  “Look — ahh, Tom …” She shielded her eyes against the flashing glare. Fear and anger vied within her for equal expression, but she didn’t dare submit to either. “I … I really don’t want any trouble here. I told you last night — We’re done. It’s over, and if you continue to harass me, I’ll report you if I have to.”

  “Harass you? Is that what you think I’m doing here?”

  He took a step forward, and Julia matched him with a quick shuffling step back.

  “I am not harassing you,” he continued, his voice taking on the pitch of a pleading little boy. “If anything, I’m doing the exact opposite.” He took a breath. She heard it shudder in his chest. “I want you to like me. I want you to love me and for us to be together.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Julia said, her voice cracking like a whip in the still air. The words were out of her mouth before she thought them through or gauged how he might react.

  “You’re not being fair, Julia. You’re not giving me a chance.”

  When he took another step closer, Julia backed away again. Trickles of sweat ran down the inside of her shirt, chilling her, but she repressed a shiver.

  “Look … Tom. I don’t want any trouble, okay?” She spoke slowly, patiently, like she was explaining a difficult concept to a child. “And I certainly don’t mean to hurt your feelings or … or insult you or anything, but how many times do I have to tell you? It’s over. We’re done.”

  For a long time — seconds that stretched into minutes — he stood there … motionless … staring at her. The flickering red and blue lights behind him haloed his body, giving him the strobe-like illusion of moving even when he was standing perfectly still. Julia had no idea what was going through his mind, but she was still afraid that he would suddenly snap and do her harm.

  “I wish you’d give me another chance,” he finally said.

  “There was no chance to begin with,” she said. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “You don’t want to say that,” Tom said, his voice pitched low and as hard as nails.

  “Yes I do.”

  Julia was surprised that she had found the courage to confront him like this — especially alone on a deserted road at night; but after what had happened between her and Ben today, she had to end this …

  Now.

  “You always bitched about this town … how everyone shut you out, and how much you wanted to leave, right?” Tom said.

  “Don’t start in with that, Tom … Please.”

  “But I’ve got our ticket out of here.”

  “How many ways do I have to say it? I am not interested.”

  She was tempted to throw in his face that she knew he had vandalized Ben’s car in order to get to her, but she decided to hold back. It would only make matters worse.

  “What if I told you I had two hundred thousand dollars?”

  Julia shook her head sadly, her hair fanning both sides of her face like wind-blown curtains. During the time she and Tom had been together, they had talked about splitting for the Caribbean or Mexico, but that’s all it had ever been. Something to talk about.

  Two hundred thousand dollars might go a long way toward her dream of escape, but she knew, now, it had all been a fantasy.

  And she certainly never meant to include Tom.

  Even if the sex had been good — and it hadn’t been — Tom had been a diversion, a break in the lonely isolation of her life in The Cove. In a matter of months if not weeks, she would have found living with him limited if not boring beyond belief.

  Besides, she deserved better, and Ben Brown was better.

  A line from Shakespeare drifted through her mind: I have to be cruel to be kind. She would have said it now, but it probably would have confused Tom.

  “I don’t want your money,” she said. “I don’t need it. I have to stay here with my father.”

  “That’s not what you said before when you —”

  “It’s what I’m saying now.” Julia said.

  She was clenching her fists so tightly the heels of her hands were going numb. Her pulse whispered in her ears, blocking out any night sounds.

  “It’s over, Tom. Get used to it and get on with your life.”

  “What if I —”

  “Go back to your wife,” Julia said simply.

  Tom let out an exasperated gasp as he stood there, trembling. Julia was afraid he would do something desperate. She had no doubt he was capable of violence. A man who would slash someone’s tires out of sheer jealousy was desperate enough to do just about anything.

  “I could make a lot of trouble for you, you know?” he finally said.

  Julia lowered her gaze and shook her head even though she knew, given half a chance, he not only could — he would make good on his threat.

  “You know what?” she said, forcing strength into her voice she didn’t really feel. “You’ll do whatever you gotta do. But I’m telling you right here and now — if you make trouble for me, I sure as hell will make trouble for you.”

  She was amazed by her words and had no idea where they came from.

  “So now you’re threatening me?” Tom snorted derisively and shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips, his shape swelling in the night.

  “No,” Julia said mildly. “You’re threatening me, and I won’t stand for it.”

  Tom sniffed and then, twisting to his right, made a raw grumbling sound deep in his throat before spitting into the darkness. “How could you —?” he said, but then he stopped.

  That was all Julia needed.

  She didn’t have to tell him she would reveal their affair to his wife an
d his boss and the whole town.

  He knew, and she knew.

  Sighing and forcing her shoulders to relax, Julia walked around the cruiser and kept going down the road. The flashing emergency lights lit up the roadside with hallucinatory stabs of brightness that threatened to throw her off balance, but she kept going … hoping … praying this was the end of it.

  You did it, she told herself, fighting down a heady rush of excitement so strong she was afraid she was about to pass out. What a pathetic jerk he is … I can’t believe I slept with him!

  The distance between her and the cruiser gradually lengthened. The lights were still shining on her back, prickling her skin like a tanning lamp, but the heat gradually lessened with each step she took. Soon, the cool night air embraced her like she had been plunged into cold spring water. Goose bumps spread across her arms and legs.

  As she walked, she strained to hear what Tom was doing behind her, but the night muffled everything around her. The air was dense, as if she were embedded in damp cotton. She hadn’t heard him get back into his cruiser, and there was no indication that he was coming after her on foot.

  Was he standing there, trying to accept his loss … or was he debating what to do to her?

  As desperate as he was, Julia didn’t think he was so far gone he would actually attack her. He was clearly capable of violence, but she was fairly certain he would have the sense not to turn it on her.

  When she was more than a hundred yards away from the cruiser, the flashers suddenly winked off. Then the headlights swung around in a wide arc away from her, throwing crazy sweeping shadows across the road and then plunging everything into darkness so thick it vibrated with rippling afterimages.

  Julia fought back the urge to turn and watch Tom drive away, but she knew if he saw her do that, he might take it as a faint sign of encouragement, and she didn’t want that.

  She had to keep on walking and not look back.

  One thing made her almost giddy with joy, and that was knowing the path was now wide open for her to be with Ben Brown.

  And as far as she was concerned, that was all she needed.

  Chapter Nine

  Killer Fog

  Capt’n Wally was ripe, royally pissed.

  Nobody … nobody told him what to do.

  But he was smart enough to know when someone had him by the short ’n curlies and was more than capable of twisting his ball right the fuck off if they wanted to.

  Mere minutes ago, Richie Sullivan had left the wharf, driving away in his fancy new yellow Lexus — a color Wally thought of as “baby shit gold.” Leaning against one of the wharf pilings, his body tight with rage, Wally watched the dust settle at his feet.

  Throughout their talk, Richie had never lost his temper, never once raised his voice. He didn’t have to, but he made it perfectly clear how pissed he was at Wally for not making the pickup the other night. He also wanted reassurance from Wally that he would get out to The Nephews today to meet up with the trawler before it headed back to Gloucester.

  While onboard, inspecting the boat he’d financed for Wally, Richie, the damned fool, had even whistled some stupid tune.

  Didn’t he know how unlucky it was to whistle on a boat before it headed out?

  Hadn’t he ever heard of “whistling down the wind?”

  Jesus, Wally didn’t need that!

  It was a bad enough morning as it was. Fog had rolled in overnight and — so far, anyway — it didn’t look like it was going to lift any time soon. It was going to be a bitch of a day, no matter how he sliced it, and he sure as hell could use some help. He had no idea where Pete was — probably sucking down beer at The Local. As for his deadbeat oldest son … Ben had let him down yesterday by not showing up like Pete said he would to help him haul. If only he could count on either one of his sons, he wouldn’t have so goddamned many traps to pull today; but as far as he could see, they were both as useless.

  Even worse, he need to check his northerly lines today and hadn’t planned on heading south toward The Nephews, where the trawler would be waiting. One top of that, it was low tide, and if this Christless fog didn’t lift, he’d run the risk of running aground, fancy electronics be damned.

  “Goddamned son-of-a-fuckin’-bitch!”

  He knew he wasn’t cursing Richie or Pete or Ben so much as he was cursing himself for getting involved with Richie in the first place. He should never have gotten into a position where Richie had the upper hand and could bust his balls like this.

  He should have known better.

  He should have seen it … hell, he had seen it coming, but what choice did he have?

  The bank in town — the place where he’d done business his entire adult life with people whose grandparents had grown up with his grandparents — had turned down his loan request, and all because he lost the Sheila B. last spring.

  What kind of bullshit was that?

  Did losing a boat mark him forever as a Jonah … someone who would lose every boat he captained?

  Of course, the bankers told him there wasn’t anything they could do. Loans went to the head office in Boston. Wally remembered a time, before banks were bought and sold like used cars, when a man’s word was the only bond he needed. Losing a boat could happen to the best captain.

  Not anymore.

  Not when banks in Canada and freaking Bahrain owned the “local” banks.

  So really, he’d had no choice but to ask Richie for a loan … even though Richie didn’t have the sense not to whistle on board. He’d probably see nothing wrong with putting a hatch cover upside down on the deck or carrying a black bag onboard, either.

  “And now he’s cracking my balls like fuckin’ walnuts,” he muttered as he walked down the ramp to the dock and got on board. He was so tense something in his shoulder popped when he hefted his bait barrel and twisted around to set it in the boat. He grunted and rotated his arm as he walked to the wheelhouse.

  “Goddamned getting’ old sucks, too,” he muttered and then spat overboard.

  The harbor was curiously silent, the fog muffling all sounds as he got ready to cast off. It’d be nice to have a dependable sternman, he thought, but that wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to make do on his own.

  When he started up the engine, the throaty rumble echoed dully from the granite walls of the harbor. A fish or maybe a seal splashed in the water close beside his boat, but all Wally saw were the ripples that spread out in dark, concentric rings across the smooth water.

  He cast off and headed out of the harbor, relying much more on sight and sound than he did on his instruments. He never placed much trust in electronics, and these new ones were useless, as far as he was concerned. He was grimacing as he made his way between some moored boats, and he didn’t start to feel relieved until he rounded the headlands and headed out to sea, toward The Nephews.

  That morning, Ben woke up with a hangover that pounded inside his head like a drop forge.

  After Julia left the beach parking lot, he’d had to wait over an hour for Skip to show up with the tow truck. Skip swapped the remaining good front tire with the flattened one in the back so he could tow it back to the garage. Once they got there, Ben had to wait another hour for Skip to replace both tires … to the tune of two hundred and fifty dollars. Then he’d gone straight to The Local for a few cold ones. From there, he had called Julia — a few times, as he remembered — and asked her to come down and join him. She had insisted that she couldn’t get away. Her father hadn’t had a very good day, and she was concerned it was because she hadn’t been around as much as she used to be because she was with Ben. She felt obligated to stay with him for the night, and she promised to see Ben the next day for lunch.

  The night at The Local had gone on longer and stronger than he’d anticipated. Scores of old friends showed up and kept buying him round after round until he was plastered. He had a vague memory of calling Julia one last time on his cell when he was taking the shortcut home, but he couldn’t remember wh
at either of them had said … maybe something about lunch today.

  Now it felt like someone had wound a metal band around his head above his eyes and was twisting it slowly tighter and tighter until his eyes bulged from their sockets.

  “Killer fog …” he muttered, a phrase he and his friends had used in high school to describe how drunk they got whenever they stole liquor from their parents or, in a few instances, got lucky enough to convince someone of legal age to buy them a six-pack or bottle of wine from Art’s corner store.

  He sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the bedroom window. Even filtered through the dense fog that had settled over The Cove, the gray morning light stung his eyes. The sun looked like an incandescent bulb behind gauze as it struggled to burn off the fog.

  He winced with every step as he walked down the hallway to the bathroom and relieved himself. Even the slightest motions made his bones and muscles ache. Pain rippled like shifting sheets of dry lightning behind his eyes.

  “I gotta remember not to do that again,” he whispered to himself as he ransacked the medicine cabinet for aspirin or Tylenol. He found some Advil, shook three tablets into his hand, and gulped them down with several mouthfuls of water.

  At least there hadn’t been any dreams last night.

  His first and clearest thought was to give Julia a call and find out if the lunch plans were real or a drunken fantasy. He thought they might have plans to do lunch but wasn’t sure. Now he was hoping she couldn’t shake loose until later so his hangover would have time to lessen if not disappear.

  What he needed was breakfast and maybe a little exercise. A jog around the block might help … if he could stand the pounding of his feet on the pavement. Or maybe the weights he’d used in high school were still down in the cellar. Now that he was out of the Army, the last thing he needed was to get soft.

  He flushed the toilet, staring at the water as it swirled in the bowl. Then he went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. The water didn’t penetrate. His eyes were crusty, and his skin felt like it was wrapped too tightly around his skull. When he looked at his reflection in the mirror, leaning forward to study his bloodshot eyes and pale face, he was shocked to see what a wreck he looked, but he smiled and told himself it was almost worth it. Last night at The Local had been a good time, at least the parts he could remember.