Of Sea and Cloud (24 page)

Osmond opened the door and let him in. The house smelled like garlic and shrimp. Bill heard a television. Osmond led him down a hallway and through the kitchen to a bar where a football game played on the overhead screen. A bowl of whole shrimp and another of raw scallops sat on the bar top. Next to it was a small bowl of vinegar and olive oil with a halved head of roasted garlic in it.

Osmond dipped a scallop and ate it. He pushed the bowl of shrimp toward Bill. Noise from another television set came from a back room.

Go ahead, William. Eat.

Bill tore the head from a shrimp and peeled the shell and tail off and ate it.

Fresh today, Osmond said. Rough weather for being on the water, wouldn't you say? I wouldn't want to be out in this, would you?

Bill shook his head no and thought back to the waves breaking over the Leviathan and his father's severed bones tumbling across the seafloor.

What happened to you, William? You're hurt.

Bill rubbed his cheek where Jonah had hit him. I'm fine, he said. He took his glasses off and looked at the bent frames and put them back on.

Did you get in a fight?

I'm fine. I come to talk about this pound business.

Good. I've been thinking it over myself.

Bill ate a scallop without dipping it in the oil. He swallowed and said, Can I get a drink?

Osmond stood and hooked his long oily hair behind his ears. Of course. I'm sorry for not offering. He stooped down behind the bar and came up with a bottle of scotch. He set the bottle on the bar and took a glass from the shelf and put three ice cubes in it. He dumped the melted ice out of his own glass and refitted it with fresh ice. He filled each to the rim with scotch and left the bottle on the bar and slid the glass to Bill.

That's a big buck, Bill said as the lobster in the tank turned in a circle.

He's been here fourteen years. He was barely legal when I caught him. He shed every year for a while but now he hasn't shed in three years. I'd thought he would shed again soon, but that might be as big as he can get in that tank. He's limited, you see.

That might be so. Bill sipped his drink and watched the lobster. But I come to talk about the pound.

Good, said Osmond. Good. Have you lined up feed yet? We're nearly out.

Yeah. I got some coming day after tomorrow.

How much?

Twenty ton of haddock racks in pickle.

Haddock racks in pickle.

That's all I could get. They'll winter on it fine.

I think so too, Osmond said. Good. Osmond tapped his glass on the marble bar top. Have you heard from the insurance company yet?

No, Bill said. I ain't heard a thing.

Osmond held his finger in the air. One second, William.

Bill nodded and Osmond left the room and returned with a manila folder which he put in front of Bill. Take a look, he said.

While Bill opened the folder Osmond took his checkbook out and wrote a check. Bill flipped through the papers. What's this? he finally said.

That's called a key man policy. That's the insurance policy your father and I had at the pound. You see, William, we're incorporated. That means we have shares, half of which I own and half of which Nicolas owned.

Yeah, said Bill. I know that.

I can imagine, Osmond said. He hooked his hair behind his ear again and thought for a few seconds. There are a lot of changes when a loved one dies, especially when it is so sudden. I lost my daughter and I lost her mother but both were expected. Not that expectation offers consolation.

I heard, Bill said. He smelled Osmond's breath like diesel exhaust.

But I do have a question for you, William, and I hope you don't take it the wrong way. You see, I have Julius and the two girls and that is all I have. This is a long life to live. I'm over seventy and only the Lord knows what lies ahead. My question is this, If you were in your father's shoes, what would you have wanted to happen to the pound if one of us were to die? What sort of insurance would you want?

Osmond watched Bill through the sides of his eyes.

If I died, I'd want it to go to Jonah, Bill said. He reached into his sweatshirt pocket with both hands and worked a cigarette out of the pack and brought it up to the bar top. He held it in his fingers.

What if I died? Would you want to be partners with Julius forever?

I can't say, Bill said.

You have to say, William.

No offense, Bill said. But I don't think so.

I don't blame you. You see, Osmond said as he reached across the bar and slid the folder over and picked it up. You see, your father thought the same thing. He assumed that he would outlive me, and he didn't want to share the pound with Julius.

So?

So, William, what we decided was this. Osmond held a hand out across the bar as if to hold Bill back although Bill made no move. We took out a key man insurance policy, which means that if one of us dies, all of the dead man's shares go to the survivor. In this case, me.

Bill was silent. He lit his cigarette.

And what you get, William, is a settlement from the insurance company. Technically, the settlement should go to the business, but we made arrangements to protect our families. Over the years, we've paid in on insurance for one half of the equity in the pound.

Come again?

You and your brother will receive a check for one half of the value of the pound is what I'm saying.

And the pound's yours?

The pound is mine, William. One hundred percent. I'm sorry. I thought that your father would have explained that to you a long time ago. Then I realized you were unaware.

Bill stood up and spoke fast. Unaware? My old man started that pound before you even knew it was there. He was a good friend to you. Only sonofabitch on the coast who could stand you.

Osmond nodded. That pound was there long before either of your parents arrived on this coast, William. Your father merely rebuilt it and brought it into this century. But never mind that. I accepted your father just as I've accepted you—and yes, it is true that he was the only sonofabitch who could stand me, just as he was the only sonofabitch who I could stand. Things will work out for you, William. Don't worry about that. I am sorry about the disappointment. I know the pound means a lot to you, and I've written you a check for the work you've done.

No, said Bill as if he could simply reject the past. He looked at Osmond for a moment then drank the scotch down in a single swallow. He refilled his glass and stepped back. He took a shrimp out of the bowl and examined its shell and legs and ate it shell and legs and all.

One more thing, Osmond said. He didn't take his eyes from the television. Have you thought more about how Nicolas ended up in the pound?

I been just now figuring on asking you the same thing.

You found more of Nicolas's skeleton. I know you went offshore with it. He should have been given a proper burial.

You're the one chucked his fucking head over the dam.

Osmond bowed his head. That is true. Forgive me. That was rash. But that doesn't explain how he got in the pound in the first place. Understand that I am granting a lot of latitude here, Bill. I would like to find your father's murderer as much as you would.

Who said he got murdered?

How else would you explain it?

I ain't in the explaining business but right now it seems you had yourself a pound to gain.

Bill, Osmond said. Think before you speak. Do not forget that you and Jonah had several hundred thousand dollars to gain. You are Nicolas's son and so I will grant you leeway here, but tread softly.

Softly, Bill said. He drank down his glass of scotch and refilled it and said, He sure as shit didn't go in on his own free will, Osmond.

No, I don't suspect so. I haven't any idea how he got in there, William, but I will look into it. I have a few contacts.

What contacts? Chimney? He's liable to have done it himself.

Chimney is in prison. He could not have. And he is not a murderer.

The hell he ain't. And Julius ain't any better. If it weren't you and weren't Chimney it was that little whore's egg Julius is my way of thinking. We all know for fact that he's experienced at drowning folks. Or half drowning anyway.

You may leave now, William, Osmond said. He tore a check out of his book and held it out to Bill. Here is your check for the work you've done. I appreciate your help.

Bill ignored the check. He turned with his glass of scotch in his hand and faced the darkness behind the windows and when Osmond didn't say anything he walked through the kitchen and out the door. He drank his scotch as he crossed the driveway and he tossed the glass into the trees.

• • •

When he got home Erma Lee was waiting at the dinner table. You been drinking, Bill?

He pulled a chair out and sat down. Goddamned right.

Erma Lee rounded the table and put her hands on his shoulders and told him to push back. He backed his chair up and she sat astraddle him and she examined his bruised face.

What happened, Bill?

Nothing.

She pulled his glasses off. Is your eye feeling better, Bill?

It's fine, Erma Lee. It's fine. But Osmond owns the pound. I ain't got none of it.

You got in a fight with Osmond?

No. He owns the pound is what I'm saying.

Oh the Lord. You got in another fight. I'll get you some ice for that eye.

Are you listening to me? The whole pound's fucking lost. Gone. We got none of it.

She didn't say anything for a while then, Ain't you got a copy of your father's will?

No. He didn't have a will and it wouldn't help no-how.

Her chin wrinkled and her forehead furrowed. She cupped his face in her hands. I'm so sorry, Bill.

I got to get all the pound paperwork. And I might have to get a lawyer down here. I don't know, but I ain't backing out of the old man's pound.

Is it the income you need? We'll be fine without the pound, Bill.

I know it. But I'm gonna have it. I catch enough on the boat, Bill said and as he spoke it dawned on him that they could have called the police. He and Jonah had no part in the pound. They could have drained it and let Osmond deal with the fallout. There could have been a real police investigation but it was far too late for that now and he and Jonah and Virgil were the ones who had made it too late.

Bill shut the thoughts out. He said, I been thinking of taking you on sternman. That way we keep all our earnings in the household.

Not while I'm pregnant you ain't.

No kidding, Erma Lee. After.

After, Bill? This infant ain't going away once it's born.

We'll get a sitter.

A sitter, Bill? We ain't having some drunk woman raise our infant. I'm staying right put. You got a hundred different folks you can pick sternmen from.

Well. You ain't big enough or fast enough anyhow. A trap weighs more'n you.

Erma Lee stood up. I'm getting dinner.

She came back into the room with a bowl of mussels and some melted butter and she put it on the table. She went back into the kitchen and returned with a quiche.

What the hell is that? Bill said.

That's crab quiche, Bill.

Crab what?

Quiche.

Looks like baby puke to me. And where'd you get them mussels?

I picked them at low water, Bill. And cooked them in white wine and parsley with garlic and onions. Try them, Bill. You'll like them.

Garlic? Quiche?

Just try it. It's from a cookbook of Celeste's that she's lent me.

Oh God. Now we'll be eating that weird shit she feeds Virgil all the time. Jonah likes that shit.

It ain't weird and it ain't shit, Bill. It's good.

Where'd you get crab meat to?

Celeste had some frozen that she gave me. Is that okay with you?

Ain't you two just buddy-buddy.

Yes, Bill, yes we are. She's come to visit, and it's nice. We've even been talking of making a Christmas dinner together.

Bill sliced a piece of the quiche and loaded it onto his plate. Erma Lee watched as he tried it. He took another bite and looked up at her while he chewed and he smiled and quiche spread from between his teeth and he said, That's good.

Try them mussels, Bill. They're good too.

He ate mussel after mussel and the shells clinked in the shell bowl each time he threw one. Ain't you eating?

Not now, she said. I ain't hungry now on account of the infant.

Everything's on account of the infant.

Erma Lee ignored him. You eat. I had fun making it all.

Fun cooking. I couldn't stand just sitting around the house.

It weren't sitting to make that.

I know you weren't sitting, Bill said. Not doing nothing is how I meant it.

You mean cooking for you ain't doing nothing, Bill? I'm gonna learn to cook good like Celeste. And get us a garden going too.

I'd just heat up something. It don't take all day.

Erma Lee stood up and leaned against the counter and folded her arms. What about once the baby comes? What would you do then?

I told you. I'd get you a sitter and go sternman. Any old woman could raise a kid. The kid don't know who's who. You'd make enough on a boat to pay a sitter and buy groceries and have money left over.

Oh my God, Erma Lee said.

Oh my God what?

Erma Lee stared at him and she trembled slightly. You actually think any old woman could raise our kid, Bill? You think that?

No, Erma Lee. I don't think that. I know that. It's a fact.

She tried to cover her abdomen with her hands. A fact?

You don't think so? Bill said.

She spoke softly. No, Bill. No I don't.

His face went red and his jaw muscles flexed. So you intend to spend eighteen years sitting on your ass with that kid doing nothing all day long while I'm on the water? Well I'll tell you what, me and Jonah grew up fine without a mother sitting on her ass next to us. We done good. You think you know it all sitting around in the kitchen and talking about goddamned quiche and diapers, Erma Lee? Well you don't know shit.