by John Oakes
He tore the foil cap off and pulled out a cork stopper. He unceremoniously tipped it back and swallowed. “That’s pretty—” Winton coughed twice. “That’s pretty smooth.”
“Illegal to drive in a car with an open container,” Julius said.
“Well, who’s gonna see?” Winton took another slug. “Ahh. That’s better.”
The wind whipping through the car made it difficult to hear well. Julius rolled the windows most of the way up. “I was saving that bottle so we could have a talk.”
“You’re pregnant? Not another one…”
“No, asshole.” Julius smiled. “I mean, to talk about how we’re doing. With, you know…” Julius motioned with a hand atop the steering wheel. “Wasn’t gonna rush into it, but we got ninety minutes to Galveston.”
Winton looked down the neck of the bottle like it was a gun barrel. Then he capped it and sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and watching the trees whip past outside. “Don’t know what to say, except I think I’m okay. I can’t say I’ll ever be the same.”
Julius nodded. “Yeah, me either.”
“I’m not sure it’s a bad thing,” Winton said. “But I go about my daily life that I fought so hard to get back to, and it all feels just a little smaller each day.”
“That why you were learning Chinese?”
“It’s one way to keep the mind occupied.”
“I started doing sudoku and showing up at this mixed martial arts gym.”
“Really?”
“I don’t ever wanna be in a fight again. But after everything that happened, it’s like I need to do it. Maybe it’s to protect myself, to not be so powerless. I dunno. But I stopped having nightmares about chopping wood.”
Winton set his jaw, considering it all. “I don’t know if I said it plainly, but I sorta opened a can of worms inside myself. On that boat, I mean. When I fought the… the uhh.”
“Yeah. The mechanic.”
“Darby. His name was Darby.”
“You remembered?”
“I can’t forget. I haven’t had a single nightmare, though, about what happened. Maybe because I feel no guilt. But there was something else. Like I released a part of me that was okay with all the violence. Even liked it.”
“Your anger from the past.”
“But after so many years bricked off inside of me, it had matured like this cognac. It’d earned interest. When I saw it and tasted it for the first time in ages, it was different. Mature. And once the cap was off, it just plain wanted out of the bottle.”
Julius looked at Winton via the rearview mirror. “This rage genie been sitting on your shoulder, telling you to hulk out on people?”
“Maybe not exactly like that.”
“But close enough? It’s clear you’ve been carrying some sort of burden. And I don’t mean your life stresses.”
Winton took a moderate sip off the bottle and capped it. “I don’t have it all figured out.”
“Well, I guess that’s what our little getaway is for.” Julius flashed a cheeky grin.
THREE
When Julius inquired about where in Galveston they ought to stay, Winton apologized; He’d forgotten to mention he had a cousin who lived there in the off-season when she wasn’t in Alaska guiding white water rafts. Heather Neuman was one of the few family members Winton counted as a friend. What they lacked in common — Heather was a girl jock, and didn’t go in much for books — they made up for by being the black sheep of the family at different times in their lives. Winton had texted her before leaving his house, and had received an eager reply.
“She’s chill,” Winton said about his cousin. “Heather’s kind of a trip. Just likes to work out, do adventure sports and party.”
“She don’t mind us crashing in?”
“Nah. She’s glad to see me. We used to come to this beach house all the time. Her parents have owned it forever. Good to catch up at the site of our best childhood memories.”
“She a racist?”
Winton looked up from his phone. “I dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”
When they were close enough to their destination that they could smell the Gulf, gray clouds rolled in and threatened rain.
“Looks like the heavens aren’t exactly throwing out the welcome mat,” Julius said.
“Yeah, this isn’t the least bit foreboding.” Winton craned his neck.
“Maybe we should have checked a weather report.”
“Don’t even say that. We can’t entertain the idea that we were wrong to come spontaneously. Ruins all the fun.”
“I hear that.”
Winton directed Julius across the bridge onto the island of Galveston, and down long straight roads to where his family’s stilt home sat on beachfront. Heather stood on the wrap-around deck holding a beer, wearing teal shorts and white tank top, waving with one of her long, toned arms.
Julius pulled into one of the parking spaces underneath the house. “Wow. It’s like the house is the carport. Pretty slick.”
They were able to get their things up the high stairs and inside just before fat droplets fell from the sky and peppered the deck.
“Just in time.” Heather swept her sandy hair back into a ponytail, gave Winton a hug then shook Julius’ hand.
“Thanks for having us,” Julius said.
“No problem. I just did a beer run. Help yourselves. I was gonna do a lasagna tonight. That sound okay?”
“Sounds just fine,” Julius said.
“I’m not a good cook, by the way,” Heather said. “Don’t anyone get their hopes too high.”
Winton made a beeline for the fridge and pulled out beers for him and Julius. He sat on a couch and closed his eyes, taking evenly spaced sips of beer.
“You look like you’re on vacation, now.” Julius sat across from him.
“You look well,” Heather said, sitting next to Winton. “Tell me all about this resort you run.”
“I’d rather not talk about it at the moment, if that’s okay. If I look good, it’s ‘cause I feel good too. Money changed all that.”
“Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was a clod,” she said. “Probably a rich one.”
“It sure did wonders for me. I don’t just move around better, I sleep better. Check this out.” Winton hopped up and pushed a coffee table closer to Julius to clear a space. He dropped onto his hands into a push up position, then pushed his rear end in the air, then swooped his head and chest down and up in a forward motion. He held the posture, then turned to his side, still holding himself up with one arm and reached toward the sky with his other hand, keeping his body rigid and unmoving.
“Winton! That’s yoga!”
“Is that what it is? My guy calls it physical therapy and charges me double.”
“What the fuck?” Julius sat forward. “When did you get all limber?”
“I know, right? I’ve never been very graceful. Now check this out. Been working on this pretty hard.” Winton pointed a toe, then planted his foot and executed a passable cartwheel.
Heather screeched and clapped. Julius cursed again.
“Winton Chevalier, gymnast.” Winton placed a hand on his chest and bowed.
“That’s that best thing I’ve ever seen,” Heather said. She knew all the health and wellness difficulties Winton had endured. Her joy was heartfelt and made Winton feel a little overwhelmed.
Julius cursed again, looking on in shock. “Oh, sorry.” He looked to Heather. “Excuse my mouth. It’s just…”
Heather waved a hand and rattled off a string of casual profanities to show how little she cared.
Winton caught a little glint in Julius’ eye.
“Well, all right, then.” Julius picked up his beer and sat back. “Well, all right.”
“I know it’s a big change,” Winton said, “But I still gotta take it easy most days. I’ll get there, though.”
“Not to be a buzzkill, but I gotta get food going,” Heather said. “I’m making two lasagnas, on
e to take to a friend. Her brother just died.” Heather softened her tone. “Winton, you remember the Spencers?”
“Just down the beach,” he said. The Spencers were a family with a beach house just a few doors down. Beatrice was around Winton and Heather’s age and had grown up playing with them. Winton sat up at their mention and the note of concern in Heather’s voice.
“Word is Ryan died,” she said.
“What?” Ryan had been ten years his sister’s junior. Winton had watched him grow each summer from the time he was born. He’d be in his mid-twenties by now, many years since Winton had last seen him. “How?” He sat up. “How?”
“It looks like he did it himself.” Heather laid this information down with care, knowing that for Winton it would be especially hard to swallow. “It’s really just too sad to imagine.” Heather put a hand to her face in an uncharacteristically feminine fashion.
Winton exhaled every ounce of breath he had in him, like someone had dropped a weight on his stomach. His eyes grew hot and a lump rose in his throat.
Heather laid a fist on his shoulder. “Yeah.”
Winton forced breath back into himself. “I’m so sorry, Heather. I know you’ve kept pretty close with Beatrice.”
Heather nodded. “Yeah, this is gonna be bad.”
“Suicide always goes off like a bomb.” It occurred to Winton that Heather might have been close with Ryan, too. He asked.
“I knew him, of course. But he was more introverted. Not a true partier like his sister. He only went out to DJ and play his music.”
Heather made her way into the kitchen, and Julius found Winton staring off through a picture window at the waves growing larger and dirtier.
“You all right?”
“You ever been depressed?” Winton asked.
“Not the way you’re talking about.”
“It always hits me hard when someone commits suicide. I had some dark days, man.”
“There but for the Grace of God…”
“Right.” Winton sighed. “I’m sorry if I seem like a mess. I’d suggest we have fun somehow, but it’s crazy outside. Doubt a rousing game of Monopoly is gonna cheer me up.”
“Plus I’d kick your tiny ass.”
They lounged around while dinner was cooking, and after three beers, Julius leaned close to Winton and whispered, “I’ve decided your cousin is a fine looking lady. Mmm.”
“Ugh. I don’t wanna hear about that.”
“She’s big and strong, too. Look at those thighs. That’s all muscle, dog. Bet she could bust a watermelon squeezing those things together.”
“Julius, I will cut you.”
Julius leaned back, gazing once more at Heather in the kitchen, then looking off wistfully at the Gulf. “A fine ass woman, is all I’m saying. Like an Amazon.”
“She’s only like five-eight. Get over it.”
Julius smirked. “Like I gotta tell you, you greedy son of a bitch. Your wife is twice as beautiful as most and twice as big, even if she wasn’t pregnant.”
“It’s not a fetish thing,” Winton said, squinting. “Just who I fell in love with.”
“Well, now that we have leisure time, you’re finding out more about me. It’s not that I like girls to be taller or shorter. I like women with wrong sized feet. Know what I’m saying? I’m not all kinky with the feet, mind you. I just like it when a big woman has small feet, or an itty bitty thing has big feet.”
Winton gave him a dead-eyed stare. “I’m increasingly glad I kept you away from the resort. You might have turned this into some kind of sex holiday.”
Julius shrugged.
Heather pulled the first lasagna out of the oven and put the second one in. “Winton, I’m gonna run this over while it’s hot and our supper’s cooking.”
Winton popped up. “Yeah. Anything I can do to help? Do you need me to come with you?”
He realized it was a stupid idea, as soon as he said it. “I mean, I guess I’m just curious how it happened.”
“That’s a little morbid, don’t you think?” Heather said.
“No, in the bigger sense. Was he on meds? Had he tried before? Was he in therapy?”
Heather’s body language was resistant, leaned back, eyes narrowed. “I’m going over to feed the grieving, not to—” She stopped herself, and understanding flashed in her eyes. “Oh. I think I get it.”
“It just makes me sad,” Winton said. “I know it doesn’t help him any, but for the rest of us. How do we prevent this happening?”
Heather swallowed some emotion and nodded. “I’ll see what I can soak up, tactfully.” She donned her raincoat and carried her foil-covered meal to the Jeep she had parked under the house.
Winton did a search for “Ryan Spencer Death Galveston” on his phone. From the posts Winton scrolled through, he learned the death had occurred at the family’s beach home.
“What are you doing?” Julius asked.
“Just seeing how that kid killed himself.”
“Ah.” After a silent moment, Julius spoke with his arms folded and eyes closed. “Seems like you care an awful lot about this.”
“The kid was like twenty-five.”
“That the only reason?”
Winton knew it wasn’t, but couldn’t verbalize why. When he finally put his phone down half an hour later, he noticed Julius reclined on the other couch, having dozed off.
Winton got up and stood by a big window facing the Gulf. He watched as the sand grass whipped about in the chill wind, and the waves turned deep brown, churning up the bottoms. He nodded, acknowledging the picture of how he felt inside, like a storm had hit him, and the waves still churned, keeping his dubious inner self from settling. Somehow Galveston, and his spontaneous decision to travel there, was now a part of that inner churning, as if something in his very bowels had led him to that island.
Just in time for Ryan’s untimely death.
If the storm kept blowing, what would he turn up in the waves? The question itself made him sick, let alone the possible outcomes, but the sickness felt inevitable, like a path laid down long ago. A path he might need to walk. Because there were broken things in him that Doctor Shankman could never fix.
FOUR
Winton eyed Julius on the couch and judged him to be suitably unconscious. He snuck into the back, found a pen and paper, then called the police from Julius’ phone, because it was a New Orleans number.
“Galveston Community Safety, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Sergeant Corbin Chevalier of the New Orleans PD. I’d like to speak to a peer in your department.”
“Very well, I’ll transfer you to the desk.”
Soon a woman picked up. “Galveston Police. How can I help you?”
“I’m an investigator with the NOPD, looking to talk to any of your criminal investigators.”
“Let me see who is in the building.”
Winton waited close to five minutes before a gruff man picked up. “This is Detective Plimpton. Who is this?”
“Corbin Chevalier, New Orleans PD. Got a question about a recent suicide of yours.”
“Go on.”
“Ryan Spencer. That name ring a bell?”
The Galveston detective grumbled and shuffled through some papers. “Spencer, Ryan. Twenty-five. Caucasian male. Slit wrists in a bathtub. Probably the best place for it.”
“They run any tox panels?”
“I don’t see that here. This is just from the initial report. Any further testing would eventually get to our files, but it’s not here yet.”
“So the ME has them?” Winton asked.
Detective Plimpton made an agreeable grunt. “If any testing’s been done, that’s who’ll have it. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Just scratching an itch, ticking off a box.”
“I hear you. I can call the ME’s office and tell them to expect your call. Give ‘em an hour or so to find the record. Here’s the number.”
Winton took i
t down and thanked the gruff but helpful detective. When he came out of the bedroom, he found Julius blearily pulling couch cushions up.
“Sorry. Looking for this?” Winton held up his phone.
“What the hell?” Julius caught the phone.
“Just didn’t want to get any porn viruses on my phone.” Winton swayed his hips as he walked toward the couch.
“Ugh!” Julius dropped the phone on his lap then pushed it onto the floor, edging away.
“Jesus, I’m kidding.”
Julius held up a finger. “That’s not funny. Not with another man’s phone.”
“I did a naughty thing, but not that. I called the cops.”
“You what?”
“Relax. I needed your phone so a New Orleans number would pop up if anyone looked. I posed as my big brother.”
“For what?”
“To find out more about this suicide.”
Julius finished fitting the cushions together and sat straight. “We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“I know.”
“But you got a glint in your eye that don’t suggest rest and relaxation.”
“I’m just asking questions. I have a curious nature.”
“You’re suspect, Chevalier. You’re suspect.”
Heather walked in the house kicking her sandals off and hanging her head.
“You okay?” Winton went over and gave her a pat on the back, always surprised to feel how densely muscled his cousin was despite the sun-kissed soft glow of her skin.
“I feel like a bad friend, Win. I’m just so bad with tragedy and stuff.”
“You are a good friend. You made your friend a hot meal when she probably wouldn’t have fed herself.”
Heather frowned and ran a hand through her hair. “Just so much emotion. I can barely breathe. I feel dizzy and nauseous.”
“Come on, the other lasagna is almost done. I’ll fix us up.”
Julius hopped up and helped Winton get the casserole dish out and serve up three plates.
But before they could sit, Heather dashed to the back with a hand over her mouth.
“Poor kid,” Julius said, seating himself. “Should we wait?”
“Yeah, but don’t make it look like we did.” Winton set his plate down on the table. “I’ll look for some parmesan cheese in the fridge. That stuff lasts forever.”
