by ML Gardner
“That’s alright. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Vincent spoke highly of you.” Her voice broke and her shoulders shook as she suppressed a sob.
“Well, I thought highly of him, too. He’ll be missed by a lot of people.”
With a weak smile, she sat down.
“Can I help with any of the arrangements?”
“No, I’m having his body taken to Montana.”
Jonathan didn’t hide his surprise.
“I don’t plan on staying here and I don’t want to leave him here. So we’re going to leave together.” Her tears broke and she took a moment to gather herself. “I should have let him go years ago. It’s where he wanted to be. I was selfish. And now this is all I can do to make it right. Bury him there.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Will you have a service here at least?”
“No. I can’t. He’s going to be taken on the next train out, so, there’s not much to do but pack.”
“I know there are a lot of folks in town who would like to say goodbye.”
“Then they are going to have to do it privately. I can’t bear it.” She raised her head and Jonathan could tell she wouldn’t be swayed. “I’m not having one there, just so you know. A service, I mean.”
“Are they any closer to finding out who did it?”
“I know the town’s in an uproar about it. I might as well tell you since I’m sure it’ll be in the papers tomorrow. They are chalking it up to the mafia. My Vincent did such a good job cleaning up this town that they were losing money. They had to do something about it.” She drew herself up tall, mustering courage. “I always knew it was a possibility. Part of the job of a Sheriff’s wife is to be prepared for something like this.” Her gaze landed on the window, focused on something in the distance. “You’re never quite ready, though,” she whispered. Her eyes snapped back. “So, you can rest assured there isn’t a murderer running around Rockport. No one is in any danger, so long as they aren’t involved in running whiskey and opiates.”
“No. Do you know who will…who can take his…?” He struggled with a way to put it delicately.
“Marvin is being sworn in as Sheriff this morning,” she said. “Until elections, anyway.”
Jonathan nodded slowly, remembering the last time he saw Vincent. He was asking about Marvin. He didn’t trust him. He brushed off the absurd thought. Marvin had already been cleared. Had a rock solid alibi. And though he didn’t trust him any further than Vincent did, there was no proof he was crooked. Lawmen had to deal with confiscation and destroying of opiates. And he had gotten the Sheriff’s supply out of Caleb’s barn. Thank God. The last thing he wanted was Caleb caught up a mafia drug war.
June 14th 1931
“We never come to the beach anymore to relax,” Jonathan said. “Why is that?”
“It’s a good place to think. To talk and plan. That’s why we come here.” Maura walked slowly, keeping her eyes on the horizon. It was windy, waves crashed in one after the other and flocks of seagulls called overhead. “I do love the smell,” she said.
“The last time we met on the beach to talk it was about Caleb. This isn’t about him, is it?”
“No,” Maura said, the peaceful look faded. “It’s about Mr. Aryl.”
“I’m sorry, Maura, I know that he’s having a hard time adjusting. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. To plot and plan a way to help him.”
Jonathan was mute.
“I see yer brimming with ideas,” she said, giving him a teasing glance.
“I wish I knew.”
“Ye don’t know and maybe that’s the problem of it. You don’t know the extent of the problem. It’s much more than having a hard time adjusting. He takes medicine. He says it’s for his lungs. But I’ve not heard him cough or sound in need of it. When he doesn’t take it, he gets angry. Mean. There have been a few incidents at the house that Claire forbade me to tell you about.”
“Like what?”
“Him not getting his medicine when he needs it. He isn’t himself, I can tell you that. And what he turns into is ugly. And frightening.”
“Why didn’t someone tell me about this sooner?”
“I told you. Claire. She had the hardest time accepting anything was wrong in the first place. Made every excuse for him there is. T’was only when I walked in on a terrible fight and confronted Aryl directly that she finally came to accept that he was…”
“Hooked?”
“Aye. Nearly broke her heart, poor thing. She tried so long to deny it. But there’s no denying it with how he gets.”
“What did Aryl say when you confronted him?”
“He said he would try to let us help. But that was just over two weeks ago. I’ve tried to talk him into taking less, letting more time pass between doses. Ian’s tried too. He gets awful angry. To be honest, he scares me. I don’t stand in his way long. He takes it and he’s fine again. For a few hours. Coddling him isn’t working. I was stupid to think it would.”
“You aren’t stupid, Maura. You’ve never dealt with this before.” He sighed. “Neither have I for that matter.”
“So you have no ideas?”
“Well, actually, I have one. You said no one really knows about this?”
“Those under our roof. Mr. Caleb is suspicious, at least. If he doesn’t know the whole of it.”
“What if it came out to everyone. What if we could get him to act like this in front of all his friends, his parents, everyone. I’m sure everyone would be shocked, but he’d have to be so embarrassed he’d see there was a problem. If we all gave him that advice, to start backing down off the medicine, he’d have to listen.”
“It could work.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Say, where’s he getting it anyway?”
“He told Claire he has a doctor in Boston that’s treating him for his damaged lungs. I’d like to find that doctor and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“No.”
“Maybe we could get it out of him. Let’s have a party. A ‘thank God Aryl came home’ party and get as much information out of him as we can. Speaking of which, has he talked about the last eleven months at all?”
“No. Not to any of us.”
“Let’s try to get him to open up about that, too. And if he ends up acting like an ass, he’ll suddenly be accountable to all of us.”
“To be honest, Mr. Jonathan, I don’t know if we can get him to leave the house.”
“Drag him if you have to.”
“I might get in a kick for good measure. The daft arse that he is.” Maura bit her lip and growled.
“You love him, Maura. We all do. Let’s try this. Who knows, it might work.”
“Aye, it might.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
June 17th 1931
“Here’s to the impossible!” Jonathan raised his glass, quickly surrounded by a dozen others and the cheers of friends, huddled around Aryl.
“Thanks everyone for coming.” He smiled at Aryl. “I can’t think of a better reason for a party.”
Aryl squirmed, uncomfortable with all the attention paid to him and found excuses to move around often. Claire stayed near him as he moved around the room, holding Jac. Her smile wasn’t insincere, but it was strained.
Aryl stood near Caleb, who sat on a stool in Jonathan’s living room pouring drinks.
“You’d never know there was such a thing as Prohibition with this bunch,” Maura said with a wink and held her glass out for a refill. “And that’s just fine wi’ me!”
Jonathan sidled up to Aryl. The three men stood together unaware of the eyes on them, happy for the sight. Maura went about the room gathering purses and things people were leaving about placing them in a basket by the stairs. Among them, Aryl’s bag.
“They won’t wait much longer, you know.”
“For what
?”
“For you to say something.”
“Like a speech?” He shook his head. “I’m not good at speeches.”
“Unless you’re lecturing me,” Caleb reminded with a smile.
Aryl remained defensive.
“Not a speech, just a little about where you were. How you got there. You’ve got to give them something, it’s been six weeks. They’re dying of curiosity.”
Aryl looked at Jonathan, the celebratory mood gone. “No. I don’t want to.”
He started to say something and Aryl simply walked away. He found a relatively quiet corner and put his back to it, watching the crowd. Everything about his face and body screamed ‘leave me alone” and for a little while, that’s what everyone did. They chatted amongst themselves, straining to be heard over the radio, gushing over babies and making plans for campouts and beach picnics that summer.
“What the hell, Caleb?” Jonathan asked.
He jerked his head over. “What’d I do?”
“Not you.” He nodded toward Aryl. “Him. He looks so hostile. If I were a little more drunk I’d say he’s not even happy to be back.”
“I don’t know, maybe he needs to relax a little. That’s why we’re doing this, right?”
He handed him the bottle and gave him a nudge.
“Oh great, send me.” Jonathan grinned.
“I’m right here if you need me,” Caleb said with a hiccup. “I’ve got your back.”
“You’ve barely got your ass in that seat. How long ago did you get started?” he asked with a critical eye.
Caleb gave a sloppy shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Aryl’s back. We’re celebrating.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me with this.”
Jonathan turned and Caleb grabbed his shirt, nearly falling off the stool.
“What?”
He motioned him closer.
“If he doesn’t want to talk, push him gently. It’ll come out eventually. Just be nice. You need to try to understand that he’s been through a lot.” He finished with a slur and an exaggerated blink.
“I can handle it, Caleb.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Can you handle staying on that stool?”
Caleb laughed and called for Arianna. “Just in case,” he said with something that was supposed to be a wink.
“Mind if I join you?”
Aryl’s tightly folded arms said no, but he whispered, “Sure.”
“You okay?”
“What if I said I wasn’t?”
“Then I’d ask how I could help.”
His steely gaze remained on the floor in front of him.
“You can’t.”
“Whatever you tell me, I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
His eyes debated, barely breathing. Finally he said, “Outside.”
Jonathan opened the front door and they slipped out. It was dark and other than the noise from the house, quiet. They walked slowly to the street. Finally Aryl took a deep breath.
“I’m so sick of hearing it. Aryl’s alive. Where’ve you been? What were you doing there?”
“They’re curious.”
“I know.” He kicked a few pebbles down the road.
“I’m all ears. And I’ll take it to my grave, if you want to tell me.”
Aryl walked slowly with his head down, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Believe me, I wish I could unload it all.”
“Then do it. It might be hard at first, but it’ll get easier.”
“Judgment.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not that I can’t talk about it, I just don’t want to deal with everyone’s judgment. What they might think.”
Jonathan held his arms out, the bottle still clutched in his right hand. “I won’t judge. But you won’t know that until you give me a try.”
“Where I’ve been…what I’ve been doing…it’s not good, Jon.”
Jonathan walked beside him with a clean expression that Aryl checked frequently.
“I lived a life over there that I’m not proud of. I’m glad to be home. I’m glad that I remembered who I was and I don’t have to live like that anymore.”
“Live like what, Aryl?”
“A constant state of survival. Looking over my shoulder all the time. Worrying about who I could trust. Trying to save people that couldn’t be saved.”
“Who’d you try to save?”
He took a few seconds to answer and when he did, he lowered his voice. “This girl named Gina.”
It took great effort but Jonathan kept a neutral expression.
“A friend?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound too insinuating.
Aryl’s silence was a partial answer.
“How am I suppose to tell Claire about that?” he asked and kicked the dirt.
“That depends on the nature of…that.”
“I got mad at her the first night I was back. For Gordon.”
Jonathan opened his mouth as Aryl continued. “It’s not fair, I know. And I have no business being angry at her.”
“She thought you were dead. You didn’t know who you were. You remember when all that came out at the tenement about Elyse. You got it all out in the open and worked through it.”
“I was a one sided ass then, too. When she told me about Steven.”
“Now that…” He paused a moment to think. “Aryl, if that didn’t tear you apart, this won’t. The circumstances are totally different. Have you thought about just telling Claire?”
“She sort of knows this part.”
“Sort of?”
He grew increasingly uncomfortable. “She knows there was someone. She hasn’t asked for details.”
“I’ll bet my last dollar she wants to know though.”
He shook his head. “No more than I want to know details about Gordon.”
“If that’s how you guys need to deal with it.” Jonathan shrugged, remembering that he needed to lend a neutral ear, not try to fix the situation. For now.
“I started to treat her like I treated Gina. Or rather…” He grew increasingly uncomfortable. “How Gina wanted to be treated. I wasn’t thinking. I got so used to the way she was…the way that whole screwed up relationship was and I have to constantly remind myself that Claire isn’t like that. And that’s good,” he added quickly. “Claire is the love of my life. The last thing I want to do is hurt her. But it seems to be all I’m doing lately. She’s different and I’m not…” He looked away, mustering courage. “For some reason I can’t respond to the way Claire is, if you know what I mean.”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
He shrugged.
Finally, Jonathan felt like he had an opportunity.
“Why don’t you sit down with her and get it all out, Aryl. Spill every detail, every ugly detail about the last year and get it out of your system. You can practice on me first, if you want.”
“No.” Aryl turned back toward the house.
“Look, I’m not going to lie to you. Everyone notices you’re different. Everyone wants to know why.” Jonathan took a deep breath, knowing this was where things could get nasty if Maura was right. “A few of us know but we haven’t said anything.”
Aryl slowed down and his eyes shifted to the side. “Some of you know what?”
“About the medicine.”
“That’s for my lungs. They were damaged in the accident.”
Jonathan stopped and stared at him.
“Bullshit.”
For a split second, Aryl looked like a scared rabbit needing a place to run.
“Not once have I heard you cough or wheeze. And you forget, I’ve been through this whole thing with Caleb.”
“Did Maura talk to you?”
Jonathan nodded.
His face showed a flash of anger, then mellowed. “Well, that was a few weeks ago. I’m fine now. I don’t hardly need it anymore.”
He tried to continue walking casually, but Jonathan didn’t follow.
“Aryl.”<
br />
“What?”
“Let us help.”
He turned slowly. His voice was no longer Aryl’s. “You can’t. Leave me alone.”
Just before he reached the porch Jonathan said, “Come sit on the bench with us and have a drink. For old times sake and I promise I’ll drop it. It’s your business.”
“Promise?”
Jonathan waved him around the side of the house.
“Sit here, I’ll go get Caleb.” He handed Aryl the bottle of whiskey and disappeared.
∞∞∞
He grabbed Caleb by the scruff of the neck. “Get sober, now.”
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
Jonathan darted over to Maura. “Make some coffee for Caleb, please. I’m getting close to getting through to him.”
Maura nodded and went to work.
“Meet me out there as soon as you can and…” He pulled Caleb’s face over to look him in the eyes. “Go along with whatever I say, not matter how crazy it sounds.”
“Got it,” he said with a wobbly nod.
Jonathan returned looking as casual as he could, with two small glasses.
“Where’s Caleb?”
“He’ll be along. He’s way ahead of us anyway. Here, let’s catch up.”
Aryl threw his glass back with barely a grimace.
“That’s sipping whiskey, you know.”
“Well, I’ll sip the next one.”
“To old times,” Jonathan said. “Our old times. This bench was mighty lonely without you.”
Aryl adjusted in his seat.
“Sorry, I know you’re sick of hearing it,” Jonathan said as he poured again.
“It’s okay.” Again, Aryl downed the drink.
“Can you hold that okay?” Jonathan asked.
“Better than most,” he said with a cocky grin.
“Oh, that sounds like a challenge.”
He refilled the glasses. Aryl drank and Jonathan made the motion but let the whiskey fall back in the glass, discreetly dumping it by his leg. For the next several drinks he did this and thinking Aryl was sufficiently drunk enough to get some real information out of him, turned to speak. Aryl beat him to it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. His eyes were cold and accusatory.
“Just relaxing.” Jonathan followed his eyes. He was staring past his leg, where he’d been dumping his whiskey. He knew he’d been caught.
