Lima spit over the edge of the porch. “It’s the darndest thing what I remember nowadays. I can’t barely remember if I put underwear on this morning, but ask me what Miss Georgia McCall pounded into my head when I was fourteen and I remember Shakespeare. Go figure.”
Sabrina seated herself beside Lima. Bicycle was still humming, but the song had deteriorated into something a long way from the popular comedy’s theme song.
“You just let me know if you need help with the play. Everyone says I’m the finest drama-tist on the island. So how you doing this fine morning?”
“I’m doing fine, just ate breakfast at the Tittletott House.”
“I heard Gary was cooking this morning. Got yourself some hut cwizine, I bet.”
“He’s a fine cook.”
Lima snorted. “If you like that fancy schmancy stuff, I guess.” He aimed spit at the edge of the porch and didn’t quite make it.
“Lima!” Stacey’s scolding voice came from inside the store. “Don’t make me bring out the five gallon bucket again. I thought you quit that nasty old chew anyway.”
“Ah, come on, Stacey. I just got a craving this morning.”
“You know what Doc Hailey said.”
“I do, but how the heck do you know what he tells me?”
Stacey’s sweet, tinkling laugher floated from behind the screen door. “Just try to keep it off the porch, okay, Lima? I’m off this afternoon, and I don’t want to come back tomorrow and find spit all over the floor.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Yep,” Bicycle said, scratching at his callused, dirty bare foot.
“The play’s going well, but no one wants to be Juliet,” Sabrina continued.
Lima laughed. “That does kinda make it difficult, don’t it?”
“Yep,” Bicycle said with satisfaction.
“You make Juliet a John and you wouldn’t have that problem, I bet.” Lima leaned forward and took careful aim off the side of the porch. “Like I said, I have all kinds of ideas. We could turn it into a musical, and do sorta a Romeo and Juliet meets Sound of Music. How’s that tickle your fancy bone?”
“Please?” Sabrina frowned. “Anyway, this whole thing should be interesting. I’ve got them coming over today before the rally.”
Bicycle suddenly stopped humming and sat up very straight, wavering slightly in the breeze. The bottle had disappeared.
“Why hello, Sergeant,” Lima said.
Sabrina looked up to see a man in cowboy boots and uniform walking by. He was not very tall, rather fat (he would make a very good Santa Clause with that belly) and a thick chocolate beard swirled over most of his face, topped with a pair of sharp brown eyes.
“Lima,” the sergeant said in a pleasant voice.
Sabrina noticed that he had tattoos peeking out from beneath the short sleeves of his straining police uniform.
“This is Sabrina Dunsweeney, no relation,” Lima said. “Sabrina, this is Sergeant Jimmy McCall.”
“Yep.” Bicycle was sitting very straight, his eyes focused on the sergeant’s face.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jimmy McCall said in a quiet voice. “Staying out in the Old Wrightly House, I understand.”
“Yes.” Sabrina decided she liked his voice. It was as if he were talking to a skittish colt, all the time.
“Robert, how’re you doing?”
Bicycle started nodding, and then couldn’t seem to stop. Finally he answered with a strangled “yep.”
Sabrina remembered that Bicycle and Jimmy were brothers. They may have looked alike at one time, but the two hundred pound difference in their weight obliterated any family resemblance.
“Not going to ride that bicycle, right, Robert? You’re going to walk home today?” Jimmy’s voice held the wheedling note of someone who has said this same thing time and time again, with no result.
“Yep.”
“Mama will be over to check on you tonight, bring you some more paint.”
Jimmy McCall’s eyes were sad as he looked away from his brother and up at Sabrina.
“Don’t let Lima talk your ear off, ma’am.” He raised his hand in a sort of semi-salute and continued down the road.
Lima was chuckling. Bicycle collapsed back on his step and produced his bottle from somewhere.
“Don’t let me talk your ear off!” Lima chortled. “You’re one of the most talkative females I ever met, always asking questions about this and that.”
“Are you going to the rally?” Sabrina had to wait several moments until the old man’s fit of hilarity had hiccupped its way to a stop.
“Rally?” Lima scowled and shuffled his feet. “I reckon so. I got things to do, you understand, but Brad is a relation of mine and I’ll go support him.”
“I understand Brad was kind of unruly when he was younger. I’m glad to see that he grew up nicely.”
Lima guffawed. “That boy’ll never grow up. He just learned how to hide it better. He wasn’t any more rowdy than the rest of them, though. They were a crazy bunch.”
“He and Virginia, Thierry, Gary and Rolo were good friends, I understand.”
Bicycle was humming a song, and as part of Sabrina tried to ignore him, the other part was trying to figure out what he was humming. It sounded familiar…
Lima fixed her with a bright, sea blue gaze. “Yup, they were all good friends. The rat pack, we called them. It’s a shame it had to end the way it did.”
“Were Virginia and Gary dating back then?”
“It’s hard to keep up with those young’ns. From what I remember, Rolo and Virginia were kinda sweet on each other, though the three of them, Virginia, Rolo and Bradford, were inseparable when they were in school. They were the only three in their class, and it made them tight, you see. People were always wondering which of the two boys Virginia was going to marry. Think she had both of them in love with her. Turns out she didn’t marry either of them. Life’s funny like that, isn’t it?”
Bicycle kept humming and Lima was tapping his toes. Something from Wizard of Oz, Sabrina decided. But what?
“Little Virginia—she’s funny with men, she is. She has no problem falling in love, I’ll say that.”
Bicycle’s humming was becoming louder.
“So what happened—”
In a surprisingly good baritone, Lima began singing the lyrics of the song Bicycle was humming, ending on his feet with his head thrown back and hand over his chest as he bellowed “If I only had a dad-gummed heart!”
Sabrina clapped as Lima sat back down and Bicycle began humming another song. She hoped it wasn’t one that Lima knew, or she might never get any information out of the old man.
“Who knows what would have happened if Rolo hadn’tve left?” Lima continued as if nothing had happened. “It shocked all of us, you understand. Our kids tend to spread some wild oats when they’re young, but not many of them are just plain bad. And for Rolo Wrightly to do what he did—it was bad.”
“He stole something? I’ve forgotten what he did.”
“He broke into my great-nephew Mitch Lowry’s house while Mitch was out on the water overnight, and stole some silver. Edie Lowry woke up, tried to stop him, and he pushed her down the stairs. Made her lose the baby, poor thing. Thank goodness she was able to have children after that. To make matters worse, he set the house on fire, with Edie lying there unconscious. She just barely managed to crawl outside before her house went up in flames. It was a bad business.”
“You said Brad turned him in,” Sabrina prompted.
“Edie Lowry didn’t see who pushed her. The next day someone, probably Rolo, called and anonymously blamed the whole thing on Brad. But Sergeant Jimmy saw Brad that night, when Jimmy was on his way to the fire. Brad was way over in Waver Town. Normally, Jimmy would have stopped and asked him what he was doing out that time of night, but he’d already gotten the call about the fire. But when that anonymous call came in the next day, Jimmy remembered seeing Brad and knew it couldn’t have been him t
hat started that fire.”
“Why not?”
“Why, because the fire bug specialist they called in from the mainland said that the fire was only set five minutes before Deena Tubbs saw it blazing and called the sergeant. It was just some newspapers that were doused with gas. It would have gone up immediately, you see? And Brad was way over in Waver Town. Even with a bike or a car, which he didn’t have, he’d never been able to get way over there that quick if he’d set that fire. So Jimmy knew the caller was lying, though he did haul Brad to the station and ask him what in the world he was doing in Waver Town that time of night. That’s when Brad said he was just out for a walk and then broke down and told Jimmy that Rolo confessed to setting Edie’s house on fire. But before Jimmy could arrest him, Rolo took off to the mainland. Stole his pappy’s boat and disappeared. Jimmy found the silver in Rolo’s closet, so there was no question that he did it. I’ve told you the rat pack was into pranks back then, but Rolo went over the line. A prank’s a prank, but he went much too far.”
“Rolo confided in Brad,” Sabrina thought aloud. “That’s how Brad knew what Rolo had done.” Fires, she was thinking. Was Rolo the child who had drawn those pictures?
“I guess.” Lima squinted an eye at Sabrina. “Why all the interest in these old stories anyway?”
“It’s interesting to me how children grow up,” Sabrina said truthfully. “I seldom see what they grow up to be, and I’m curious. Did Brad Fowler, our class clown, grow up to be a comedian or an accountant? Did Cindy Hollers continue writing wonderful poetry, or did she outgrow it? Did Eddie Mills end up on the FBI’s most wanted list? I’d like to know. But kids tend to forget their elementary school teachers, and it isn’t very often that I find out what became of them.”
“Yep,” Bicycle said decisively and stood up. He staggered over to his bike and got on it backwards. He stood looking down at the back tire for several moments, befuddled.
“You mounted the horse backwards again, Bicycle. You gotta turn around.”
“Nope.” Bicycle carefully turned around so he was facing the right direction. He pedaled off, just missing a young man coming out of the post office.
“You ran over my foot, Bicycle!” the young man yelled after the swerving figure.
“You’re lucky he didn’t run over your head, Pete,” Lima said.
Pete shook his head and limped down the road, clutching his mail in one hand. He shook hands with Brad Tittletott who was coming up the road.
“You ready for your big speech tonight, Bradford?” Lima called. “Hope you don’t choke.”
“I hope not either, Uncle Lima,” Brad said good-naturedly. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Don’t practice too much,” Lima warned. “You won’t sound natural, and no one likes to be read to.”
“Yes, sir,” Brad said. “I hope Stacey has some her mama’s homemade oyster stew left.” He opened the screen door. “Good morning, Stacey.”
“Brad—Mr. Tittletott,” Stacey said, her voice startled.
Sabrina stood up. “I’ve got to be going. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do with Romeo and Juliet, with no Juliet.”
Lima shook his head and laughed. As she walked away he aimed a stream of spit at the edge of the porch and missed again.
Sabrina patted her heavy beach bag. This morning she had packed The Complete Pelican Shakespeare, a beach blanket and a notepad. It was such a pretty day, warm and humid, the sun shining hazily, she knew she’d enjoy sitting on the beach. And she knew exactly where she wanted to go.
***
Three hours later, Sabrina woke up and gazed at the hazy white sky above her. She couldn’t make out any clouds, but an opalescent veil shrouded the entire sky. Sabrina looked at her watch and relaxed. She had only dozed for about a half an hour, thank goodness. She had plenty of time to pick up the pizza and get home before the kids arrived.
She sat up and looked out at the inexorable sweep of waves, foaming and hissing as they surged over the seashell-studded wet sand. A filigree of foam clung to the high water mark, a delicate necklace of salty enthusiasm. She was alone on the beach except for the boisterous seagulls, fighting over a dead fish, and the sand fiddler crabs scurrying before the waves. The heavy tang of brine and decaying sea life filled her nose and lungs and she closed her eyes, feeling the effervescent mist on her face.
She realized that she couldn’t remember feeling this content in all her life. In a strange way she had Mr. Phil, the Phyllodes tumor, to thank for it. If it wasn’t for the tumor, she would have gone as before, ignoring the hole her mother’s death had left in her life, ignoring the unhappiness that threatened to drag her down every day. Eventually she would have gone stark, raving insane, she was sure of it. But the tumor had forced her to take a break, giving her the oppurtunity to examine her life.
Sabrina thought about that for a while, enjoying the solitude, and then packed up her book and her notes and headed for the walkway leading over the dunes. The tall, white tower of the Comico Lighthouse rose above her, and Sabrina stopped to take in the neat white fence enclosing the patch of emerald grass and the immaculate Lightkeeper’s House. A lady in a small shop at the foot of the white-washed tower waved to her and Sabrina waved back. It was all very picturesque, and Sabrina wished she had brought a camera.
She had stopped by the one pizza shop, imaginatively named “Island Pizza,” on her way to the beach and ordered two large pizzas to be picked up around three o’clock. The pizza shop was just down from the lighthouse in a brand new strip mall holding the bank, the medical center, the liquor store and Maxorbitant’s Gourmet Grocery. Sabrina had seen the mansions from the beach, and knew that this part of the island held the exclusive Lighthouse Estates, full of elaborate vacation homes big enough to house a small city.
Carrying her pizzas and her heavy bag, Sabrina walked toward home. As she came around the corner by the High Tide Baptist Church, a woman on a bike, with blond hair under a bright pink sun visor and reflective sunglasses, almost careened into her.
Sabrina had to step out of the road quickly to avoid being hit. The woman rode off, her back straight, and didn’t even deign to acknowledge the near accident.
“Tourists,” Sabrina said with a huff. “They should be restricted to one part of town, and not allowed out.” After a moment, she laughed. “I think I’m starting to sound like a local.”
She came to Nettie’s Cookie Shop and saw Nettie unlocking the door, taking down a sign stuck to the door as she did so. Nettie, wearing what looked like a flowery bed sheet and the flashing tiara, turned and smiled.
“How are you doing, Nettie?” Sabrina called.
“Just fine. I think I got a smidgen of a message from the other world this morning when I was making the dough for my buttermilk biscuits. A voice inside my head said, ‘Nettie, you done put in the butter already, girl,’ and by the Stars of Juroon they were right! Here, I’ll give you a bite of my new raspberry truffle.” Over Nettie’s shoulder, Sabrina saw Thierry glance out from the door leading to the back room and then duck back inside.
“Some other time,” Sabrina said. “I’ve got to get these pizzas to seven hungry children.”
“Don’t let me keep you from such a fine endeavor.”
Sabrina said good-bye and continued on her way, wondering why Thierry had looked at her with such dislike. What did she ever do to him? She also wondered if Nettie knew that she had spoken to Rolo. She wanted to ask the old woman about her son, wanted to hear her version of what happened so many years ago, but something held her back. Nettie carried a cloak of otherworldliness around her, and as practical as she may seem at times, she never seemed quite…here.
Pondering this, Sabrina mounted the steps to her house and opened the door. The kids would be here soon, and then it would be time to go to the rally.
A piece of paper, which had been lodged between the door and the weather sealing, fell to the porch floor. At the same time, Calvin came rushing out of the house,
chattering furiously, his eyes crazed.
“BARK! BARK! Trill, trill, trill,” he shrieked. “Trill, trill, trill!”
Sabrina picked him up and stroked his small, quivering body as he chirped incoherently. She knew she shouldn’t have left him out this morning. Usually when she left the house she put him in his cage. Today, he had looked so peaceful sitting on the windowsill that she had let him be. Now, he was beeping, and booming and chirping all at the same time, and Sabrina gazed down at his little head in puzzlement. None of the noises he was making made any sense to her. Her gaze fell on the piece of brown paper lying on the porch. Cradling Calvin, she stooped to pick it up.
In pen scrawled on a paper bag read:
Dear Miss Sabrina:
You are soothing to the soul, almost as soothing as my roses. I wanted to say thank you for your conversation. Your words made me realize that I’ve been childish. I have learned the meaning of John Milton’s words, “Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.” I had become bitter, but now I have made my peace.
Rolo
Chapter Fifteen
The kids were back under the bleachers again, tying shoe laces together and sticking bubblegum on the bleacher seats.
Sergeant Jimmy McCall shifted his weight on the bleacher seat and then resignedly climbed to his feet. The spelling bee was nearing its close and Kitty Tubbs was spelling her way inexorably through “Neanderthal.” She and Terry Wrightly were neck and neck, the only two kids left.
Jimmy moved around the back of the bleachers. As he expected, it was Guy Garrison and Curly Lowry, poking each other and snickering while they looked up Stacey Tubbs’ skirt.
“If I have to tell you one more time to keep out from under the bleachers, boys, you don’t want to know what will happen.”
He’d found that unspecified threats sometimes worked better than concrete ones, because the perpetrators tended to think of the worst that could happen to them. This was where Jimmy’s misspent youth worked to his advantage. Everybody knew he had left the island and gone to California when he was eighteen, and spent ten years riding Hogs and living rough. People didn’t forget things like that, and he was viewed with a sort of superstitious awe.
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