Edward could see his father on the front porch of their house when he was thirteen. It was the one time his father had been angry enough to slap him. It happened after Edward and a friend had the dumb idea to throw rocks at the cars on the street. It didn’t take long before one rounded stone cracked a windshield. His father had stood in front of him to protect him from the angry driver who managed to find him. But he desperately wanted that now, he wanted his father to be angry. Be mad and stand in front of him – protect him from himself.
“…We got your postcard. I was real proud of you, Edward. You did what you had to do.”
“I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was.”
“Well, we’ve sort of known where you were. We got some mail from the property management company you work for. It was forwarded from the old house I guess just after you started. Contract information stuff – I’m sorry I opened it and looked through it. I looked up the company and saw where they operated, and so, we figured you were either in the BVI or Puerto Rico.”
Edward threw a hand up to cover his mouth, to stop himself from openly sobbing. He wiped away tears dropping down his cheek, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He wanted to tell his father that he shouldn’t be proud of him, he was still a bratty kid, and he was still selfish and foolish. A sniffle escaped through his hand, and his father stopped talking to wait for Edward.
“What’s that? You say something?”
Edward didn’t reply. He bit his hand to stop his crying.
“Edward… I’m glad you called. Do you need anything? Anything at all? Maybe money—”
“No.” Edward said it and then immediately held his breath.
“Son, are you sure you’re OK?”
The long-distance call gave off a hiss that increased during the pauses between them. Edward could see his life clearly now. He had a manic need to run wild, and he always ran to his father when he was in trouble. When he ran out of money for food or the water bill, there was his father. And as long as he relied on his father, his own life was just an attachment, a spiked flail swinging wildly, smashing everything and hurting the people around him.
He needed to cut the line. He needed to float free to where he wouldn’t do any more damage.
Edward sniffed in a breath and said, “I should go.”
The line hissed for five seconds.
“OK,” his father said and waited.
“Love you, dad.”
Tears fell, dropping from his cheek onto the desk. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips to still their shaking. Edward slowly moved the mouse pointer over and ended the call. As soon as he did this, he wiped the runoff from his nose off his mouth and stood. He stepped outside, and sat against the house beside the door, staring into the darkness. Numbed to the sand he sat on and the warm night wind against his face. He didn’t notice the cries of the night birds or tide washing up the beach. The scene of Mary occupied his entire consciousness. It was all he saw and his whole being seemed to collapse into the void inside his chest.
Three or four hours passed. At some point he fell asleep there with his head on his knees. When he woke, dew coated his arms and legs. The sky had already started to lighten. Its color was disorienting, like a smoky liquid that made its distance impossible to measure. Soon, the gradient changed from navy to indigo, flawless except for the morning star. He stood up, walked inside and fell onto his bed.
~~25~~
When the phone rattled, he jumped out of the bed, and ran to it, grabbing the receiver with one white-knuckled hand.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Tache, dis Ms. Sarah. You need to prep dose ‘ouse for Mr. Murrell and five guest. Dey arrivin tomorrow and stayin one night.”
Edward flinched, letting out a long breath as his body relaxed. It felt like someone had pointed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
“Now, you listen to me. Dose ‘ouse been closed up for a long time, so you need to open up all dim window.”
“OK-OK, I’ll do it—”
“And George bringin some food to you before noon time—”
“OK. I’ll do it—”
“Do what? Why you interrupt me? Please shut up and let me finish tellin you what to do.”
“OK. I know—”
“What you mean you know? Dey want drinks and George will bring dat. Make sure dah beer is in the fridge and cold. Make sure the fridge doonh stink. You forget one egg in dem and id gonna stink like shit. You got bleach and you got Lysol and bakin powder. I doonh care how clean dings be, you leave some food in dere, dey still stink. You gotta spray dat Lysol ‘round. Under dat refrigerator, under every bed, and in every bathroom. Put dat bleach in all dose toilet, let it sit for ten minute, den you flush—”
“OK, OK. Bleach toilets, spray Lysol. Anything else?” Edward nodded and his bangs fell over his brow. He pushed them back forcefully.
“No dere no-ting else. You just make sure you freshen up dose ‘ouses.”
He replaced the receiver, watching the phone as if Mr. Bones had been trying to call all along. He went up to his desk and looked at his computer’s clock: nine-twenty. He paced around, knowing he wouldn’t start cleaning the houses – he couldn’t leave the phone. He paced and washed his face and tried to eat something. He stepped outside and looked for any sign of George’s boat before returning to the kitchen.
At eleven-thirty, George arrived. When he began unloading boxes, Edward ran out and told him to leave them on the pier. He brought back the first box to his house, and then ran for the next one like a relay race, all the time listening for the phone. He waited inside the kitchen as George powered his boat away so he could hear over the motor’s noise. When George was outside the bay, Edward ran back to the pier, grabbing the next box and running it back to his house like someone looting a store.
It was just before noon when his phone clanged again. He rushed into his kitchen and lifted the receiver.
“Good, you ‘ome. We be over dere soon. Doonh you be goin nowhere.” Mr. Bones hung up.
~~~
When the 50-foot shrimp trawler turned into the bay, it looked lost. It should have been out on the flats dragging its nets or docked where the oil tankers and rusting cargo ships were hidden away next to a salvage yard’s dry dock on the industrial side of the island. The hull paint was a thick white and blue, and where there wasn’t rust bleeding through, the paint was blistered and cracked. The engine puttered and puffed asthmatically, barely staying alive as the boat crossed the bay.
Edward ran out to the pier and saw Mr. Bones and the captain looking out from inside a grimy wheelhouse. The three men that had been watching TV in Mr. Bone’s house were now lounging around on the back deck. These three men looked inconvenienced and bored in their oversized sports jerseys. Barry sat on a pile of netting with his arms behind him to prop himself up. He moved his head from over his right shoulder to over his left, attempting to find shade under raised outriggers. There was a wide frown stretched across his sweating face as his large trunk heaved, sucking in the heat of the day. The sides of the shrimp boat swooped down from a raised bow to a water-raking aft, and with the three heavyset men sitting there, it appeared on the verge of sinking from the stern.
The shrimper crawled up to the pier like a dog with its back legs broken. The captain turned it with great skill, thrusting it into reverse at just the right time to prevent the craft from grounding on the beach. Finally, he cut the engines. A tire bumper on the starboard side thumped against a pylon just as the boat’s wake sloshed out from under the opposite side of the pier.