Adrift in the Sound (11 page)

“Happened?” Poland looked disappointed that she didn’t get the point of the story.

“Nothing happened. Now orcas live in the water and help the people. I’m telling you this so you understand the orca’s job and don’t get scared. Seals eat the fish, orcas eat the seals. We eat everything. Sometimes we work together, sometimes not. They’re hunters just like us.”

“My father used to tell me stories when I was little,” Lizette said. “But, his stories were shorter.” Poland puckered his lips, suggesting he didn’t approve of abridgement, and took the sleeping lamb from her.

“Your father is a good man,” he said, placing the lamb in a nest of straw. “He’s just hurt right now. I’ve known him a long time, your mother, too.”

They looked up to see Marian come in carrying Tucker, his hind leg wrapped in a big, white bandage.

“I did the best I could, but the gash is pretty deep,” she said. “He’s a good sheep dog, but he may not be much use anymore. He may end up with a bad limp. Hard to tell if the tendon was nicked and how well he’ll heal. He’s still a pup.”

She handed the dog to Poland. “Can you take him home to Abaya? She’ll know what to do.”

“No.” Lizette stood up, folded her arms across her chest to block any argument. “I want to keep him with me.”

“Nursing an injured dog is a lot of work,” Marian said. “You’re not well yourself. But, if you want to try, get a box and a blanket. You’ll have to keep him quiet. I don’t want the bandage getting dirty. There’s food in the cupboard. Take a bowl for water.”

Poland shuffled through the supply room off the main barn, holding Tucker, while Lizette went to the house for food and bowls. They met outside the barn, Poland carrying the dog in his arms, Lizette leading the way down the trail.

“I’ve got rounds tomorrow,” Marian called after them. “I’ll be gone early. Then errands in town after that. Stay out of the barn until Greg and Rocket get rid of everybody. I told them they have to clear out first thing tomorrow.”

THIRTEEN

BACK AND FORTH, FROM FIRST LIGHT
, the rogue orcas patrolled the mouth of the small inlet below Lizette’s cabin. They rolled through the water, black dorsal fins cutting a swath in the chop. Back and forth, like ominous sentries. Back and forth.

Lizette stopped working and watched their rhythmic undulations, paint brush suspended in mid-stroke. The muscular young males, distinctive white splotches flashing on their backs, herded prey toward shore, then closed in for the kill. They plucked fish swimming frantically near the water’s surface and tossed them aside, trolling for bigger game. They came like this every few days, cruising, killing, departing.

Three long, black dorsal fins sliced the surface in even formation. She put her brush down and headed to the platform above the beach, lugging Tucker, careful not to bump his healing hind leg. She saw a salmon tossed into the air like a bath toy. One orca bludgeoned a baby seal with his powerful head and fins. “The hunting party’s small today, she told the dog, scanning the water’s surface. “But, where’s Looney?”

Poland told her rogue males were driven from the pod by their mothers, forced to roam and feast, but never again to suckle. She didn’t like the rogues, but felt like she understood their ruthless need, their loneliness. She sat mesmerized by their primal force.

She rubbed Tucker’s ears while they basked in the morning’s warmth and nuzzled his sweet black and white face. Harlequin ducks, Canadian geese, teels and gulls, suspended their flights as the orca pack pressed closer to shore. The birds settled high on the sand, folded their wings, held their chatter.

When the menace moved off, the air expanded in quiet relief, like a town’s exhale after motorcycle thugs ride away—gunning their engines, rattling storefront windows, leaving behind a grateful peace. The birds took flight then and wheeled above the cove, chastising the departing invaders with honks and cries.

“There’s bread,” Marian called across the meadow, her body shadowed by the trees, but Lizette could see her hands cupped around her mouth, hear the words “Whole wheat … have some.” Lizette waved and walked toward her, hugging the dog to her chest. When she got closer, Marian shouted again, “Cream cheese, lingonberry jam!” trying to entice her.

“My favorite,” Lizette told Tucker. She followed Marian up the trail to the main house. Along the way Marian pointed out plants, called them by their Latin names—
Polypodium glycyrrhiza, Asarum caudatum.
“Show off,” Lizette said as she legged up the hill, puffing from Tuck’s extra weight. “This dog weighs a ton. You could just call them licorice fern and wild ginger.”

“I need to go to Bellingham,” Marian said flatly as they hurried along.

“OK. What for? … Grocery shopping?”

“Yeah. For the equinox party Greg wants to have. And, I have an appointment at the free clinic,” she said. “Did you take your meds?”

“I forgot,” Lizette said sheepishly.

“You’re getting better, but we’ve got to be consistent with the meds, otherwise they don’t work right,” Marian scolded. “We’ve talked about this before.”

Marian paused before they got to the house, gazed toward the orchard planted in the wide swale that stretched away from the house to the cliffs over the water on the western side of the ranch. Cedar forest rose on the low hillsides and sheltered the fruit trees, gathered warmth into the orchard.

“Poland says we’ll have fruit pretty soon,” she said collecting herself, turning back to Lizette. “It’ll sell fast at the market, once it’s ripe. Poland says we have to pick at the right time, otherwise it isn’t good, too hard, doesn’t sell. We’ll probably have a good cherry crop, too.”

Lizette put the dog down and he snuffled at the grass, bejeweled with dew. She knew all about the orchard and the fruit, worked there with Poland all the time, which is more than she could say about Marian. She squinted at her, couldn’t understand why she was talking like this, pointing out the obvious.

“Last year’s cherries were light,” Marian said. “The trees are alternate bearing, you know. They’ll be ready in a few months, a bigger crop. Then the apricots and peaches follow, if we get enough heat.” She shaded her eyes with her hand, scanned the blue sky as if looking for heat. “Apples and pears in the fall.” Then she fell silent and looked sad.

“Poland says you have to be quiet and listen to the orchard,” Lizette said, standing beside Marian, studying the trees with her. “He says you have to feel the ripening. That’s why we walk in the orchard so much. The trees still haven’t fully bloomed. It’s too cold, you know that.” She gave Marian a questioning look. “The trees are like sleepy kids, just waking up.”

Marian shrugged and headed for the house. In the kitchen, she cut thick slices of bread from a fresh loaf, releasing a warm, yeasty smell. Lizette sat at the table, content to smell and look out the window, scanning the base of the picket fence for crocus, searching for spring. Tucker snorted in the food bowl on the back porch, lapped water.

“I washed your clothes,” Marian said in a tone that reminded Lizette of her mother. “A couple of things were so shredded I threw them out. The rest I folded and stacked on the dryer. Take the stack down when you go.” She buttered a slice of bread and took a big bite, buttered another slice for Lizette, handed it to her.

She tidied the kitchen, more movement than purpose, brushing bread crumbs into her palm, folding the dish towel, checking that the cabinet doors were closed and tightly latched, running her hand across the top of the refrigerator, checking her fingertips.

“What’s wrong, Marian?” Lizette said. “You’re acting funny. Is it the party? I know it wasn’t your idea.”

Lizette got up from the table and put her dish and cup in the sink, felt stiffness in her neck, and twitching. Dr. Finch said these were signs the medication was working and that she’d have to learn to live with it. And, she’d have to get used to the dull, sleepy feeling. Without answering or even a bye, Marian went outside and got into her old white Chevy truck, gunned the engine and fishtailed down the driveway to the road.

When Marian got back, Lizette stopped cleaning the kitchen and went out to the truck to see if she needed help unloading. Marian had her head on the steering wheel. “Chicken-shit bastard! Son of a bitch!”

“What?” Lizette said, rearing back then reaching in to rub her shoulder.

“The clap! He gave me goddamned gonorrhea! It shows up sooner in men. Their dicks drip. He has to know. He hasn’t been up here in two weeks. I talked to him on the phone a few days ago. He never said anything about it.”

She hit the steering wheel hard with the palms of her hand. “I looked at the stain through the microscope myself. I’ve got a huge bacterial load. The bastard! I could lose my fallopian tubes, never have kids,” she ranted. “Who’d he get it from? Not me, that’s for sure!”

Marian threw things into cabinets as Lizette brought the supplies in, Tucker stumping in and out with her, bumping against her legs. She hefted the fifty-pound lamb chow bag onto her shoulder and took it to the barn. She checked the new lambs nosing around in their pen, filled up their water feeder, added food pellets. One curious lamb came to nuzzle her hand as she reached toward it through the pen slats. When she came back into the house, Marian was sitting at the kitchen table crying.

“I’d like to know who he’s banging,” Marian said, hiccupping and getting up for a glass of water. “What Skid Row whore is he messing with? The clap! I trusted the bastard and he gave me gonorrhea! I never guessed. Jesus. I’m so stupid.”

“OK,” Lizette said.

“What’s OK?” Marian turned to her and shouted. “Are you stupid, as well as crazy?” “It’s not OK! Are you an idiot?”

Lizette felt a sting across her face from the words, as if she’d been slapped. The energy from Marian felt like hot iron filings thrown in her face. She went out the back door and down the path to the cabin.

When she opened the door, Tucker hobbled inside. She sat on her cot and stroked his head, scratched behind his ears. Tears leaked down her cheeks. She got up and went to the closet, kneeling and reaching way back to the crack between wall and floor. With her fingernail she scratched out a small bit of tin foil, unfolded it, checked inside, a multiple hit of LSD she’d been saving, enough to send several people tripping. She carefully refolded the foil and slipped the packet back into its hiding place.

She went outside to the platform, Tucker limping after her. She waited for the hunters, but they did not return. When it got too cold and windy to sit there any longer, she went back to the cabin. She lit candles, started a fire in the stove, filled the dog’s food bowl and lay down. Tapping at the door woke her. A curtain of black covered the window. The moon hadn’t come up yet. The candles had burned out.

“Liz, I’m so sorry,” Marian said as she came in. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah. It’s OK.”

“Honestly, I’m sorry. Really.”

Marian found a candle butt and struck a match.

“I’m just freaked out. I didn’t mean what I said. I made dinner. Come and eat with me? I don’t want to be alone, especially if Greg calls. He’s supposed to be off for a few days after tomorrow. He’s the one who wanted this party … Wanted to invite the Dogs. Like we’ve got something to celebrate! It’s just an excuse to get blasted.”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday. What does it matter?”

“I don’t want to miss the Saturday market. I’m working. Poland’s picking me up early tomorrow. I’m spending the night with him and Abaya so we can harvest on Friday and set up early on Saturday.”

“Oh. Well, you can have dinner with me tonight, right?”

“I guess. It’s just that I can’t help with the party. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Don’t be like that, Lizette. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I’m upset.”

“I know. I see it. It crackles, feels like burnt orange.”

“Please,” Marian begged. “Can’t we at least have dinner? You don’t have any food down here and you’re almost out of dog food. Tucker needs to eat and have his leg checked, the bandage changed. Come on. Pretty please.”

Marian scooped up Tucker. Lizette got his empty feed bag, grabbed the flashlight, and they started up the trail, Lizette swinging the light side to side to show the way.

They ate dinner in silence, the tick, tick of the clock marking the stillness.

“I’m going to make brownies for the party and I bought vanilla ice cream.” The brightness in Marian’s tone sounded forced. “Sandy’s coming up from Seattle tomorrow. She can help me get ready.” Lizette smirked. Taking a deep breath, Marian pushed up from the table and gathered the dishes.

“I bet she knows who Greg’s been humping. She has to.”

She ran water in the sink and sloshed dish soap around, talking mostly to herself. Later, the two women boiled potatoes and peeled them. Lizette chopped onions and celery. They listened to the radio, Top 40. Marian got down a big blue enamel bowel and mixed chunks of hard-boiled eggs, sweet pickles and celery together, tossing the mixture with mayonnaise and onions. They counted hot dogs and buns, stacked the bags of chips.

Afterward, they fell into Marian’s bed, their hands smelling of onion and garlic. Marian said Mrs. James from the neighboring ranch hit a deer with her old Nash Rambler on the way to Bible study that morning. She stopped to help, put gauze and a bandage on her forehead.

“She just got back in her yellow and black station wagon, thing’s a tank, didn’t have a scratch on it.” Marian laughed in the dark. “She continued on to church like a fat bumblebee.”

She rubbed Lizette’s hips, making swirls around her sockets, felt her relax, heard her sigh. She reached under Lizette’s shirt and softly traced the vertebrae up her back, then rolled over and rested on her own back, hands folded under her head.

“What do you see in Greg?” Lizette asked, her voice sleepy. “It seems like men are animals, like goats and pigs and dogs. I don’t know why you bother.”

“I don’t know.” Marian rose up and rested on her elbow. “I like his body. It’s lean and strong. But, lately he has been dipping toward the scrawny side, I have to admit.”

Lizette knew he’d rather get loaded than eat, but, in her drowsy state, didn’t say so.

“He just needs to eat more,” Marian said. “And, stop hanging out with the Dogs. I love to feed him. He always likes what I cook.”