1929 (50 page)

She laughed. “Just wait till it’s ten below
and ice rainin’ sideways. It’ll feel like work, all right, but ya
lucky today. It’s beautiful, much warmer than usual. Enjoy it, it
won’t last.”

Aryl helped her onto the boat and she sat on
a pot, visiting with her son.

“Has everyone named their boats?”

Jonathan looked up at her, and then at Aryl
with a mouth full of sandwich. “Name them?”

“Well, yes, you need to name your boat. Can’t
take it out till ya do. It's bad luck.”

“They’re your boats, Aryl,” Caleb reminded.
“You should name them.”

“No. Each of you needs to name the boat
you’re going to be taking out. It doesn’t matter who technically
owns the boat. It will be your boat, essentially. Think of a
name.”

“What did you name yours?” Jonathan asked
Aryl.

“The Lisa-Lynn. After my great aunt.”

Caleb and Jonathan looked at each other,
instantly knowing what names they would each use.

“I got it.” Caleb stared off with a goofy
smile. “I’ll name it the Ahna-Joy.” Aryl looked at him with a
cocked eye, and Jonathan suppressed a laugh and admired Caleb’s
ability to love his controversial wife so unconditionally.

“What about you?” Aryl asked Jonathan “Need
time to think about it?”

“Oh, no. I know what it’ll be,” he said. He
smiled at the boat he would soon be in charge of. “The
Ava-Maura.”

∞∞∞

Ava was working in the garden with Margaret,
preparing for the upcoming planting season. She looked up, saw
Jonathan come round the side of the house, and smiled widely. She
pushed off her knees, tossed her gloves and trowel, and brushed
dirt off her skirt and coat. She walked quickly to meet him and
jumped up to hug him.

“Careful, I’m covered in tar.”

“I don’t care.”

He held her off the ground for a moment.

“How was it?” she asked excitedly.

“Oh, it was great, Ava. I was worried at
first, but I think this is going to work out just fine.” He gave
her an exaggerated kiss. “What about you? How was it here
today?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off his smile as
they walked back toward the garden. “It was great. We got all the
laundry dried and ironed, and we’ve been out here since after
lunch. I’m helping her expand the garden and trying to plan what
will go where. I’m learning a lot for when we have our own
garden.”

He pulled her to his side and kissed her
head. “Soon, I promise.”

After dinner, Jonathan found his father in
the detached garage. He noticed a small crate with dusty boots and
work clothes in the corner, half-covered with a blanket.

“It was great out there today. You should
come out with us sometime.”

“If I'd wanted to be a fisherman, Jonathan, I
would have bought a boat.”

“I didn’t say you should work. Just come
enjoy the sights and smells. I honestly didn’t expect to like it
this much,” he spoke through a smile that irritated his father.

“You’re new and being romanced by the sea.
I’ve seen it many times. You get caught up in the salt air and
crashing waves, the sense of freedom–now that’s an illusion,
Jonathan. The freedom,” he snorted sarcastically. “But before you
know it, you’re tangled in those pot ropes so tight you’ll never
get out.”

“You sound bitter.”

Jon Sr. ignored him and began tinkering with
the engine of the antique vehicle.

Jonathan sat on an apple crate in the corner
and watched his father. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Self-taught mainly. Mechanic friend in town
gives me pointers when I’m stuck.”

Jonathan watched his father with narrowed
eyes, the obvious discrepancy opening up the opportunity to get his
father talking honestly. “I thought it never broke down.”

Jon Sr. stopped working and sighed heavily.
He wiped grease off his hands, frustrated and slightly embarrassed.
He was hesitant in his confession, sitting down on a crate
alongside Jonathan to avoid his eyes. “When I got this, it was in
pieces. The engine was shot. I’ve rebuilt it from the ground
up.”

“That’s impressive.”

“No, that’s sad. A man, my age, after all
that I have accomplished in my life.” He continued reluctantly, his
pride visibly distressed. “I had to sell that car you sent us. Paid
some bills and had enough left to pick up this old thing, get it
running.”

“And the other things? The clock, art, all
that was sold, too?” Jonathan tried to push his father past his
pride, knowing all too well what a paralyzing vise it could be. He
sighed with a reddened face and turned away.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I feel awful. They were
things you wanted us to have.”

After a long silence, Jonathan began his
confession, “I didn’t deal with the crash well, Dad. Not at all. I
hated where I lived, where I worked, hated myself for a brief time.
I think I even hated Ava.” Jonathan scoffed at what now seemed like
an atrocity coming from his mouth. His father looked up from his
own shame and concentrated on his son’s words. “While the others
were looking for a way out and seeing the tiniest bit of good in
everyday things, I felt sorry for myself. And I sunk really
low.”

Jonathan stood and leaned against the car,
facing his father.

“I don’t want to see that happen to you. You
wouldn’t believe how easy it is, Dad.” He paused, reflecting on his
own inward spiral into oblivion. ‘I almost lost Ava, my friends,”
he lowered his head and spoke quietly, “my life.”

“Your life? I don’t understand.”

Jonathan nodded, deciding in that brief
second to reveal everything. “I was so wrapped up in what I lost
that I couldn’t see what I still had. It was an ugly descent,
really, and I ended up in a bathtub, ready to call it quits.” He
pulled his sleeve up with a slight jerk that got his father’s
attention, revealing the thin, white scar across his wrist.

His father’s eyes widened and he looked up
with concern. “Son, you don’t mean–”

“Yes. I’m not proud of it.” He lowered his
sleeve and placed his hands in his pockets self-consciously. “Only
Aryl knows. Ava thinks it was an accident at work. I’d appreciate
it if you didn’t say anything to her or Mom.”

“Of course,” his father said. “But I don’t
understand?”

“Aryl found me. Stopped me. Maura helped open
my eyes.”

“Maura, your maid?”

“No, Maura, my friend.” One hand touched the
edge of the cross. “In her own way, she helped me see that I
couldn’t lose what wasn’t mine to begin with. But I stood to lose
everything that was still mine by wallowing in grief for what
wasn’t.”

Jon Sr. took a moment to contemplate his
son’s profound words until they wrapped themselves around his own
struggles.

“I think I see what you mean.” He tilted his
head with a hint of disbelief. “How’d you get to be so wise anyway?
Isn’t that my job? Giving insight, life lessons, and all that?” He
gave a self-reproaching laugh, feeling inadequate as a father.

Jonathan dismissed his father’s comment with
a wave of his hand. He looked outside to see the light almost fully
faded, the slightest glow of crimson left in the western sky.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m up
even earlier tomorrow. Aryl’s a real slave driver.” He flashed a
teasing look, his sincere smile crinkling the corners of his
eyes.

∞∞∞

The next morning was a continuation of the
crash course education in lobster fishing. Shortly after setting
out, Aryl handed the chart and compass to Jonathan.

“Today, you get to find the pots.”

Jonathan looked slightly shaken as he glanced
over the unfamiliar chart. He tried to make sense of the markings
and abbreviations. He looked up at Aryl, panicked.

“These aren’t exactly the charts I’m used to
looking at. I have no idea how to read these!”

Aryl pointed to places on the chart. “We’re
here, the pots are here.” He tapped the compass. “Find them.” He
stood back and crossed his arms, slightly amused. He could have
explained more of the topography and symbolism, but he knew
Jonathan loved a challenge despite his panicked protest and decided
to let him learn by trial.

Caleb busied himself with setting up pots,
untangling ropes, feeling quite tempted to slip down to the berth
and catch a nap. He logged ten miles a day of walking to and from
the marina and, feeling a sense of obligation, helped with evening
chores on the farm. It was something he resolved to do every
evening to compensate for room and board. He didn’t ask, but joined
his father in the barn after dinner, feeding and bedding down the
animals for the night while his father milked. Hubert said nothing,
only glancing at him once as the two worked silently. After the
animals were tended to, Caleb walked straight to their room, fell
on the bed–the springs giving a piercing squeal, and was asleep
within minutes. His mind was foggy and it startled him when
Jonathan let out a short, maniacal laugh.

“Aha! I’ll be damned! There it is!”

Caleb walked, his steps wavering against the
dips and rolls of the boat, and stood next to Jonathan at the
wheel, looking and sounding impressed. “How’d you do that?”

“I have no idea.” Jonathan shook his head
with an astonished grin.

“Okay, now, keep in mind, they’ve only been
out one night. And it’s winter. And they weren’t set out that far.
So, we’re not going to get rich today.” Aryl showed the two how to
pull the pots up, by letting each of them try it out. It surprised
Jonathan how much exertion was required to pull a pot, an empty pot
at that, up off the bottom of the sea. He was sweating by the
fourth pot. Only the fifth held four lobsters, and after opening
the hatch, Aryl showed them how to hold them without getting
pinched, check it for size and, finally, to make sure it wasn’t an
egg-bearing female. One was. It and two undersized ones were thrown
back over, leaving them one lobster in the holding tank. The three
stood around it, staring at their first catch.

“And that’s all there is to it.” Aryl
grinned, proudly.

March 2
^nd
1930

Victor sat in his office with the door
securely closed, talking in a low voice to a man who came highly
recommended among the more fraudulent and corrupt executives he
knew. He was someone who could get a job done, leave no tracks, and
was not known for being a rat. Victor would take no chances this
time on an amateur looking for a quick buck. This job required a
professional. They were working out the terms of payment when the
receptionist knocked on the door, waited a moment, and then walked
in with a stack of papers.

“This month’s evictions.” She set the papers
on his desk and left quickly.

Half of them weren’t true evictions, but
abandonments. He was hardly concerned; they would fill by the end
of the following week. As he moved them to a drawer, something
caught his eye. He read the name three times before jumping up to
check the cash ledger the receptionist kept in her lower drawer. He
read over it multiple times and slammed his fist on the desk with
an unintelligible growl that ended as a scream.

Without explanation, he left and drove
himself to the building where Jonathan Garrett had lived. He took
the stairs two at a time and pounded on Jonathan’s door so hard
that it shook the frame. He called out his name, ordering him to
open the door and thumped again.

“They ain’t there.” Victor turned to see the
beady-eyed one standing in her doorway. Although Victor was
unnerving, she was unable to resist the chance to gossip. “They
left last Saturday.” He struggled to control his voice and sound
cordial.

“Do you know where they went?”

“I heard the neighbor over there say that she
would come visit them in Rockport. No idea where that is. They made
a calamitous amount of noise movin’ out, shuffling furniture, and
dragging trunks down the stairs. And for crying poor the way they
did, I was surprised they had the money to call a taxi truck. With
them gone now, at least I won’t have to deal with that loud-mouthed
Irish–”

Victor turned and scurried down the stairs,
the door to the building slammed shut behind him.

When he walked back into his office, his
hired man was still waiting patiently in his office. Victor was
somewhat surprised.

“I charge by the hour as well as by the job.
Makes no difference to me if I sit here all day. It’s your
dime.”

“Well, the job has changed.” Victor wrote
down some information and handed it, along with money for train
fare and accommodations, across the desk. “I need you to go here.
Find out everything you can about these people. But lay low.” The
man gave an annoyed look at Victor for stating the obvious.

March 5th 1930

Ava was bored. She walked the house slowly
from room to room, looking for something to do. She was tired of
reading, had no interest in knitting or sewing, and since she
worked with Jonathan’s mother, the housework and cooking was not
enough to keep them both busy the full day. Their bedroom only took
minutes to tidy, a vast difference from her life in New York where
her entire day was spent scrubbing walls and floors that would
never come clean. Margaret enjoyed her free time by preparing and
expanding her garden. Ava walked out to the backyard, coat and
purse in hand.

“I’d like to walk to Aryl’s parents’ house
and see Claire.” Margaret looked up from under her wide sunhat with
a smudge of dirt on her nose.

“Well, that sounds like fun. I bet you miss
your friends.”

“I haven’t seen them in almost two
weeks.”

“Do you remember the way?”

Ava looked east and then west. “I think
so.”

“It’s only about a mile or so from here. I’ll
draw you a little map.” She rose, dusted wet dirt off herself and
went inside. She drew a detailed map with little drawings and the
names of several residents along the way. “You might want to take
an umbrella, looks like rain later.”