Frank cleared his throat, and both Betty and Chris’s heads snapped in his direction. Betty’s look was victorious, Chris’s was relief. “Sorry,” Frank mumbled, “Would you two like me to step out?”
Betty-the-hostess quickly returned. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Rodman. You might even be interested in hearing this.” She gave Chris an I’m-going-to-tell-it-my-way-and-God-help-you-if-you-interrupt-me look, then proceeded to relay the story of Greymore’s return. At the same time she somehow cleared the dishes from the table and reset it with apple crisp and dessert plates.
Chris nodded a few times during her story, but was now more interested in the dessert menu. “My, my, Betty, but you have outdone yourself on all accounts. That apple crisp looks wonderful, and you must be in cahoots with either Dale or Greymore to know so much about what happened. Or maybe you were hiding in the back of Father McCarthy’s car?”
Whatever little storm had brewed between them had passed for now. Frank was intrigued by the drama that had already unfolded in little old Haven. “Well it certainly sounds like this Crawford kid needed a hard lesson.”
“Truth be told, Mr. Rodman? He’s had his share of hard lessons living with that man as his father. Not one to spare the rod, Chief Crawford. In the line of duty or at home. Doesn’t mind the drink, either, from what I hear.” She served the apple crisp as she spoke. “Not that Dale didn’t have it comin’ to him, of course.”
Frank pondered the recent events as he gobbled down the best apple crisp he could ever remember eating. It seemed that for such a small town, Haven was full of tension. He needed to keep them talking and get as much information as he could. “Betty that was far and away the most delicious dessert I have ever had. I’m about ready to bust.” Betty beamed and waved him off, but it looked to Frank that she was waiting on the compliment. He made an exaggerated stretch after he pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth. “Chris, you mentioned the lake on the way over here.” This bought Chris a questioning look from Betty. “Probably all built up with big houses and overpriced gift shops by now.”
Chris was on his second helping of apple crisp, so Betty jumped in. “No such thing, Mr. Rodman, still as quiet and beautiful as ever. Too far off the beaten path for most. Too much tragedy for the rest. A lot of people, including myself, don’t care for the lake. It’s pretty enough, but so much bad luck in this town has centered around the lake. Too much to be a coincidence if you ask me.”
This was exactly what Frank was hoping for. “Yes, Chris mentioned some of what happened back in the sixties, and I saw the story of a murdered boy just the other day. Terrible thing.”
Betty nodded slowly, a faraway look in her eyes. “Oh, there was that, and it was probably the worst, but it seems there’s always something. I guess you have to expect a drowning here and there, and some fool skating too early or late in the season and falling through the ice, but…” she shivered and wrapped her arms around her, as if sympathizing with those who had gone through the ice. “It’s like it’s everything around the lake, too. Like it’s the center of something bad. Greymore’s own parents, that awful hospital up there on the hill, that poor O’Brien fellow and his son getting killed in that accident, then the priest. How tough it’s been for Jan and little Denny since then. You know, she refuses to set foot in a church since the funeral. It seems like too much for one town.”
Frank felt the room shift. The kitchen swam in front of him, black dots appearing and disappearing. It just couldn’t be. Jan. He suddenly wanted a drink and to be back at the Boston Common drinking it.
“Mr. Rodman, are you alright? My Lord, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Mr. Rodman?” Betty had a towel damp with cold water before he could even speak. He pressed it to his forehead, closing his eyes as if that would block out his thoughts. He had to know.
“I’m fine, thank you, Betty. It must be this heat. I’m sorry to interrupt.” Somehow he kept his voice even and conversational. “This Jan, did you say O’Brien?” Betty nodded and he plunged forward. “Some folks I met way back had a little one named Jan, different last name, I can’t recall…”
“Blaakman.” It was McCauley who answered, looking at Frank suspiciously now.
He tried a smile, shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t it, I’m sure.” He brought the towel back up over his face. His stomach was trying hard to push dinner back up. His mind was flashing backward and forward—thirty-four years back, forward to the present—just a fleeting second in his mind, but for some it was a lifetime. The anguish his daughter must have suffered, losing her husband and child. For his grandchild, here and gone, and never knowing him. It was too much. He slumped down on the table unable to think, unable to move. Far away he heard chairs scrape and voices calling someone named Mister Frank Mister Rodman. One thought, one word, was echoing in his mind, blocking out everything else. Somewhere in a deep hidden crevice, he knew it should be “Jan” or “family” or “grandson”—but no. DRINK. If he didn’t get a DRINK… a DRINK would make it go away… a DRINK would make it better. He felt hands pulling him up, wiping his face with a cold cloth, someone now lightly slapping his cheeks.
“Frank, Frank, should we call a doctor?” Chris looked at Betty, and her expression mirrored his own. “Frank, come on, are you okay?”
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing his stomach not to empty itself. DRINK. He tried to focus on not throwing up or passing out, tried to keep that word DRINK out of his head. How tough it’s been for Jan and little Denny since then. Denny. Jan. She was alive. Her other son alive. Probably still in Haven. DRINK. DENNY. DRINK. JAN. DRINK…
NO! He couldn’t go back to that life. Yet? No, NEVER! He had a daughter and a grandson.
“I’m okay.” He muttered.
He blinked a couple of times and took the towel from Betty and wiped his face. “Really, I’m okay now. I don’t know… maybe the heat… maybe coming down with a summer cold.”
He looked up at Betty and Chris. On their faces he saw concern, but something else—suspicion.
“I’m sorry; I don’t know what came over me.” He had to keep them from thinking he was anything but someone passing through who stopped to look up a couple of old acquaintances. Based on this evening, he knew he would be the subject of conversation all over town by morning with these two gabbers.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely up front with you folks about my visit to Haven.” The look that passed between Betty and Chris almost brought a smile to Mossy’s face. He had them. They were practically salivating at the prospect of better gossip than some old guy almost passing out at dinner. “You see, I was in the military back in ’44.” He paused—what had he told Chris already? “I was at the base before the explosion. I was there for an inspection, strictly routine stuff. Walk around, make sure proper procedures and safety measures were being followed. The thing is, the inspection went fine, but I had the strangest feeling the whole time I was there.” Betty and Chris were riveted. Perfect. “It was almost too good. Everything in its place. These inspections were unannounced, and we almost always found a few little things to report. Documentation not available, log books not up to date, nothing flagrant usually or even remotely dangerous, but something. Not this time. It was like they knew we were coming.” He paused, partly for effect but more to conjure up the rest of the tale.