“Sleep over tonight,” she said softly. Lorraine nodded. Eddie wiped his hands on his pajama pants.
“I’ll walk you back in the morning when she’s not a lunatic,” Eddie said.
“Or less of,” Lorraine mumbled.
Gia trailed behind as her parents walked on either side of Lorraine, who looked more like their daughter than Gia felt. Her father had cast her out like raw meat on a hook, just to get Leo. Now everyone would think she’d snitched. It wasn’t right.
Gia sat next to the rabbit hutch. The big ones took turns drinking from the waterspout. The babies nestled in a ball. Even the rabbits ignored her.
Leo clinked a Slinky at the kitchen table. It fell, bounced on the linoleum.
A chair slid out from the table.
“What’s going on with you?” her father said. Silence.
“You take down a fence, forget you’re punished. You haven’t mowed the lawn in two weeks and come home like this.”
Leo mumbled something.
“The rain has nothing to do with it—don’t give me that. Your mother tells me you took five dollars from the grocery jar and came home with nothing from the store. Something’s not adding up.”
“It’s summer, Dad. I don’t know. I put it back.”
“Not according to your mother. Why would she lie?”
The Slinky started, then stopped abruptly.
“It’s time you got a job.”
Agnes made a little sound.
“Well, he’s not studying,” Eddie said. “So he should pitch in.”
“School starts in a week. He’ll have more to do then. They’ll be busy again.”
“It’s not enough, Agnes, clearly. He rolls around in the dirt fighting every kid in the neighborhood. He’s not studying then either.”
There was a pause, then her father’s voice, low. Gia strained to hear over the rabbits rustling. She stuck her finger through the wire to calm them.
“A man provides for his family and is good to his word. You have to clean this up, Leo, because I see how your face is moving right now, and I don’t like it.”
“He’s nervous, Eddie,” Agnes said. “You’re upsetting him.”
“Starting tomorrow,” he pushed on, “you’re getting a job. I don’t care what it is. Bag groceries. Fix bikes. You’ll pay for the fence first. After, you’ll keep half; the rest helps your family.”
He knocked at the table with his knuckles. “You didn’t use your time well, so now it doesn’t belong to you.”
Leo knew better than to talk back. Sometimes Gia couldn’t imagine her father at war, but other times, like now, she could picture him locking a torpedo into place, shooting without hesitation, without mistakes.
“Tomorrow, I want a full report on who you spoke to. Understand?”
Leo mumbled. A shadow shifted on the porch as Leo climbed the stairs to his room and slammed the door so hard the rabbits stopped drinking.
Why shouldn’t he work? She helped her mother. The sting of being used eased with the new fairness, not that Leo would actually listen.
If Leo got a job at the supermarket, Gia would go just to see him in that stupid uniform. Or as a movie usher, tapping people on shoulders with a flashlight to stop them from necking like perverts. But her brother wasn’t so bad. When Joseph Salerno had lifted Gia’s skirt in front of his friends as a joke, Leo had rolled up his sleeves in the lot behind the rectory, wiggled his jaw, and knocked Joseph Salerno on his ass. Joseph’s friends had carried him home on one side of the street as Gia and Leo had shared an ice cream cone on the other, Leo smelling like dust, Gia dizzy with the fact that no one would bother her again.
“You see that?” Her father’s voice startled her. The moon above the canal was a perfect circle. “It explains everything. Always does.”
The moon and sports were the only things her father was superstitious about, but the storm in Gia’s rib cage couldn’t be explained by the moon.
“You used me,” she said, wishing for the calm of the boat, though the water terrified her at night, even with a full moon.
“When I was a kid, your grandfather made me pick coal from the street to heat the house.”
“I heard that story already. And how you got an orange for Christmas. Or a baseball. Or how the milk bottle had the same crack every week. You told me a million times.”
“And sometimes he told me to pick pockets to feed the family. If I got caught, I’d go to jail, and no one would bail me out. How’s that for fair?”
That part of the story was new. Gia hugged her knees to her chest. Who would send their own kid to jail?
It was quiet between them. Tree bugs hummed. Heat lightning lit the clouds over the water. A car peeled off in the distance, maybe Ray’s if they hadn’t given up and gone home.
“You gonna stay with the rabbits all night?” He held the screen door for her, though it would’ve stayed open on its own.
“Going to.” She sighed, thinking of his GED books. Kids weren’t supposed to help parents with their homework. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” he always said. “All you have to do is go to school.” She went on, “Gonna’s not a real word.”
“All right. Are you going to stay out here all night?”
The storm in her chest quieted. She followed her father inside, retracing her steps to the bathroom, and started the shower. Steam coated everything in a light dew as she stepped inside, ignoring the pink plastic razor her mother had left for her. If it didn’t matter what Leo did, shouldn’t it be the same for her? She could take care of her family, be good to her word, if it meant she could be anything.
Her father banged on the door. “Water’s not free.”
If it was true about streams and rivers and water running back to the same place, it must be true for water pipes and showers and the things Gia washed away. She shut off the tap. No need to burden fish with everything Gia couldn’t be.
Gia woke to voices in the hallway. Her room was stifling hot. Hair stuck to her forehead, her nightgown to her back, the air thick. Dawn was breaking in the distance, a line of orange and blue hinting in the sky. Gia had a hard time sleeping, one of the few things she had in common with her brother. She tiptoed to the door. Even the floor was warm.
“And what do we do about this?” her father whispered.
“Maybe he got an early start. You gave him a lot to think about,” her mother hissed back.
“If you really think—”
Gia opened the door, squinting at the light. Her parents were in their pajamas, damp with sweat, startled as if she’d crawled out of the linen closet instead of her own bedroom. Gia pushed away the annoyance that they’d forgotten about her again.
“Morning, Gia.” Her father changed course as abruptly as a new weather front pushing the old away. “I’m taking the boat out if you want to come.”
Heck yes. She scurried off to change, the mood shifting again in the hallway, sliding under her door, raising the hair on her arms. She should’ve listened longer before startling them quiet. Stupid. She brushed her hair and teeth, changed, put a few cookies into her pocket for breakfast, and waited for her father on the porch all before the light drifted up any farther on the horizon. It was still a wavering orange line. She wanted to see the sun come up on the water, turning the waves colors, but her father finished a cigarette in the kitchen, then stopped to pull up the crab traps at the dock, all three, before dropping them back in the water.
Gia untied cleat hitches, coiling rope on the dock.
“Can I do it?” she asked as they motored through the canal, the bay smooth ahead, no whitecaps, just shimmering sun.
“Sure.” He slid aside as Gia climbed over the middle. The motor hummed in her hand. She couldn’t see very well over her father’s shoulders, his blue tattoo especially bright in the sun, but she knew the canal well enough to stay centered and prayed no floating sticks or branches or fishing line would tangle them up, proving she wasn’t ready to go out alone.
“Left.” Toward the airport, a short trip, but at least there was one at all. The sun was already hot on her shoulders, the breeze finicky, keeping sailboats moored in the bay.
“Kill the engine,” her father said when there was enough room to drift, threading fishing line through a hook. Gia’s stomach rumbled, but she couldn’t eat when the boat was drifting. She needed to be alert. The boat warmed in the sun, heating the soles of her shoes, as an airplane drove lazily on the ground, positioning for takeoff. He was using rubber bait, which meant he didn’t care if they caught anything. She never felt bad for fish dumb enough to fall for rubber bait; they didn’t belong in the gene pool.
They weren’t far from the marshy shore. The bay was only a few feet deep, too shallow for whales or sunken ships, a disappointing fact that made the whole bay seem like a lie at first, but she’d gotten over it. He cast off. The hook splashed in the distance, reeled in, the rubber fish catching bits of marsh grass. Gia bit off a chunk of cookie, scattering crumbs in the wind for gulls, wishing she’d brought her binoculars. There were osprey nests around here. The babies had hatched a few months ago and would be leaving the nest soon, following the males and begging for food before hunting on their own.
“All right,” he said after a while. “How do you know if the anchor’s holding?”
Gia perked up. If she knew, he might let her out alone. It was a good sign. At least he was considering at all.
“Easy. By noting your position on land. If the boat moves in a circle, that’s OK, but if the position to the thing on land changes, it’s dragging.”
“What do you do if the outboard gets tangled?” Her father cast off again.
“Cut the engine. Lift it up and cut it free. Also, watch for stuff before it gets tangled.”
“What if you’re drifting in a bad spot?”
Why would anyone do that? She searched his face for a clue, but he was staring forward, reeling the line back, cutting an invisible line through the water, the rubber fish trailing underneath. Maybe he wasn’t talking about the boat anymore.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything’s fine till you realize it needed more direction, but by then it’s out of hand.”
Gia was confused. “Maybe, maybe row if you can’t motor and get to a better spot.”
Her father nodded, but it didn’t seem like he’d heard her at all.
“You know, start over. Try things a different way,” Gia pushed on. A gull circled overhead, but the cookies were gone. There was nothing but crumbs in her pocket. The sun burned into her face, making her see spots. If he wasn’t talking about the boat, then what was he worrying over?
“What if you’re taking on water?” The line was back at the boat now, but he didn’t pull it in, just let it dangle.
“Bail. Get to land,” Gia said.
“What do you do if it’s the middle of the night, middle of the ocean, and a torpedo’s heading right for your boat?”
The marsh grass bent as a breeze raced toward them, changing the shadow on the water until Gia felt it on her face, whispering the answer in her ear.
“Pray,” she said quietly.
“Never let praying be your only option,” he said softly.
“Dad.” Gia worked up the nerve. “When do you think I’ll be ready to come out here on my own? I’m only two years younger than Leo, and he’s allowed.”
A plane raced down the runway before its front wheels lifted and the plane tilted toward the sky, aiming for the shadow of the moon. Gia’s heartbeat picked up with it.
“Leo . . .” Her father sighed, choosing the right words.
“Is indestructible,” Gia finished.
“No.” He whirled in the boat. “Nobody’s indestructible. Not anyone. Never make that mistake.”
Gia stiffened, suddenly uneasy as she thought of that rock in Ray’s basement, of the man near the swimming canal, of no one ever believing a dangerous thing was dangerous until it was too late.
Her father steadied himself, holding the seat ahead of him with two fingers.
“Fearless. Your brother is fearless. You are careful, considerate.”
“And a girl,” Gia finished, which was the only real reason Leo was better suited than she was. Her father reeled in the line one last time before setting the rod aside.
“For fun, why don’t you row us back? Prove you could do it if the motor cut out.”
Gia stared at the oars. This was her chance, only she’d never used them, never needed to. Her father smirked. He didn’t think she could do it. Gia picked the oars up, thinking of the old cops pulling pranks on the rookies, how they respected the ones who bucked up.
The sun beat at her back. The oars were heavy, splintered from years of salt spray. Her first few tries didn’t catch or caught on one side but not the other, spinning the boat instead of propelling it.
“All right, there you go. Flatten it out so it cuts like a butter knife; then flip before dropping them again.”
The splintered wood spun against the soft part of her hands. Gia huffed, arms screaming, but kept quiet. Blisters pulsed beneath her skin. She pushed into the seat ahead of her, crunching her stomach, leaning as far forward as she could to stretch the oars farther, dropped them in, pulled back, pulling the muscles in her back and shoulders, down her spine, and under her arms so intensely she could feel the web of muscle and sinew that held her together pulling apart like the skin off a rabbit.
“Lean back when you pull. Push off the seat ahead for power.”
Sweat burned her eyes, plastered hair to her forehead. Reach, pull, repeat. Reach, pull, repeat. Was it working? Her mouth was dust dry, the cookies sour on her tongue. She pressed her eyes shut, sweat welling on the lids. Her face would explode, like a potato in tinfoil for too long, but this was her chance. Her one chance. She couldn’t blow it, not when he was trying to prove she’d fail. It would be easier without him in the boat, or if she were Leo. They both knew it. His feet were up on the seat ahead, calling instructions over his shoulder like he was helping, but really to make his point. She pulled harder. The marsh grass was moving. The boat was inching away from the airport. Or she hoped it was. She spit an acid taste into the water.
“OK, that’s enough. Motor us in.”
No. She pulled again. This time, a splinter ripped a blister. Juice ran free, making it harder to grip. The oar slipped. The boat turned. Gia bit her bottom lip, pressed her eyes shut again, blocking the sun overhead, the back of her father’s calm head. She imagined the marsh grass sparkling in the breeze, catching this way and that, rooted into the water below, her herons and osprey and seagulls and currents, because she felt most alive here, most Gia. The blood in her veins running like a tide back to sea, pulling with the moon instead of her mother’s wishes or her father’s, causing this pulled-apart feeling, throat burning, acid swelling. She could not grow up and get married like Aunt Ida, pressing blouses and skirts to sit under fluorescent lights all day in low-heeled pumps, worrying over runs in nylon stockings or how many words she could type per minute or fretting over what to wear to a Tupperware party. She’d rather die.
“Gia, that’s enough.”
She kicked back again. The boat lurched with the effort. It was moving. Only her stomach was moving too. Bakery sprinkles and butter cookies rising in her throat. She forced it down until she couldn’t and vomited into the water, poisoning her fish. She’d failed. Couldn’t do it after all. Her father was right. He balled the back of her shirt in his hand to keep her righted, but Gia swatted it away. He held tight. She would take this boat out alone—with or without permission. Gia’s stomach emptied, heat burning under her skin. She picked up an oar again, but her father yanked it free and tucked it under the seats.
“Motor us in.”
The last of her fight was gone. Gia struggled, jelly limbed, to lower the outboard without bouncing it, then to pull th
e cord hard enough to catch. She got it on the third try, fumes filling her nose, making her queasy again. Water lapped up, splashing her face, offering a cool spot on her hot cheek, promising that the water, at least, knew how much she was struggling, offering just a little comfort.
Her father sat ahead, legs up on the front seat, head back on the middle, the oars and fishing rod tucked into a pile beside him while blisters welled on Gia’s hands. She thought of that rock and all the energy it could give her: a million cups of coffee. She needed that now.
“Next time,” he said lazily, eyes closed, the sun on his face, “we’ll practice getting the outboard untangled.”
Leo hadn’t done any of this, nor had he asked permission. The trees along the canal were dotted with the first yellow leaves. There wouldn’t even be much time left with the boat before fall. Gia dragged a hand through the water, cooling her blisters. She’d tried to do things the right way, but her father didn’t leave her much choice. Gia hardened around the idea like mud on bones, cementing it into place. She would just take the boat.
A bigger boat passed by ahead, white and yacht-like with a fancy sun shield and captains’ seats. A dock flipped down in the back with a swimming ladder, full of men in bathing suits and slicked-back hair. One sat at the back, leg dangling under the lifeline, his toe lost in the split of the water parting for the boat. He raised a hand to his forehead in a mock salute. Gia ducked slightly behind her father. It was the same man from the canal. She was sure of it. Even the bay was changing. She wouldn’t let him stop her from coming out here alone either.
“You know,” her father said after the marsh grass ended, “I don’t like the way your brother looked last night. You know anything I don’t? Like what he’s doing over there with Ray and Tommy?”
The houses rose around them on either side of the canal, Howard Beach on one, Hamilton Beach on the other. Boats rocked against weathered docks, tethered on Monday while everyone worked. A feather floated past, gray white like the rock, but the canal was still, quiet, listening. Her voice would carry. The rowing still burned. Why should she make this easier for her father, the investigator, especially when he was using her like bait again? She focused on the dock ahead, thankful when he didn’t turn around.
A Frenzy of Sparks: A Novel Page 4
