On Little Wings (22 page)

“Do you mind if I walk down to the docks?” I asked him.

“By yourself?” He looked torn between his job and trying to babysit me.

“It’s two blocks. I can manage. I wanted to say hi to the Jacks. If they’re there.”

“They’ll be there, all right. Come get me when you’re ready for a ride home. But just a word of advice – don’t mention politics. Or anything related to politics. At all.”

“Why no politics? I don’t mind a good discussion.”

“I’m not talking about a spirited debate. I’m talking blood in the streets.”

“Oh, come on …” I searched his face for a sign of jest without finding one. “The old men are going to beat up a teenage girl?”

“No,” he said in exasperation. “They won’t touch you. They’ll kill each other.” He used his shoulder to wipe the sweat off of his upper lip.

“They’re friends.”

“With rules. Just trust me. I’ll tell you tonight at lines.” That last sentence distracted me from the argument. Lines. Tonight. The promise of sitting in the quiet dark with Nathan, defenses down, voices gentle. Perhaps another compliment. I stopped my thoughts right there before they ran away from me.

“I promise. No politics,” I gave him a lighthearted salute and walked away, feeling free as I stepped down the street. Only nine days in Smithport and already the crooked sidewalks and weathered houses were starting to feel familiar. I walked behind the restaurants and small store to the slanted ramp that leads to the boats. The largest Jack, once again wearing his cap, sat alone on the wooden bench that commanded the best view of the docks. He looked wrong, by himself, with no one to heckle him.

“Morning,” I said as I approached.

He looked up with a faint scowl until he recognized me. “Oh, Nebraska. It’s you. You here with the women-folk again?”

“Nope, just me.” I eyed the bench, curious if it was reserved only for the Jacks or if I could sit with him. Too timid to try I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked onto the balls of my feet.

“How’s your trip going? Having fun?” He asked

“Definitely.” Fun didn’t truly convey the depth of my experience but it would do for casual conversation. “Where are the other … Jacks?” I stumbled on Little’s label, but I couldn’t remember their real names.

“Not here yet. We come and go. I stay the longest. Don’t like to be too far from The Misses.” He nodded down to the docks. “I guess I’m just a family man,” he said, his eye twinkling.

“Are you Russ?”

“God forbid it! If I were Russ I wouldn’t know the North Star from the North Pole. Pitiful Sailor,” His words faded out and then he looked up at me. “I’m Glenn,” he barked. “But Jack is fine. A rose by any other name, right?”

“You like Shakespeare?” I looked over the portly man in doubt.

“He the one who said it? Huh. Don’t matter. I don’t know yer name, neither. Can’t remember. Just know you’re Hank’s grandbaby.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“Knew ‘im? Course I knew ‘im! But it’s been a long time. We all know Sarah, though. She’s the daughter of the town. We sorta all adopted her after Hazel went like that. Saddest thing I’ve seen, for sure.”

I sidled toward the bench, watching for signs of disapproval if I took a seat. He seemed relaxed enough as I got closer. “Do you remember my mother – Claire?” I asked him as I gingerly sat down.

“Sure. Sure. Last saw her at the funeral. Not a good memory for an old man.”

“Why?” I tried not to stare too intently, forcing my eyes away from his drooping jowls every few seconds.

“Just sad. No, worse than sad. Scary. Her standing by the coffin by herself, no family, her face white as a ghost. I thought she’d pass out right in the funeral parlor. Most women woulda. She just stood there. About half-dead herself. And jus a little kid. Ah don’t like to think on it.” I felt the blood drain from my face, hearing her described like that.

“So she went to Nebraska, eh? That beats all,” he mumbled. When he spoke again it was in a much louder and brighter voice. “You wanna meet the Misses?”

“Your boat?”

“
The
boat,” he stressed. “Best steaming vessel in the ocean.”

“I’d love to.”

Glenn rose with a huff, pulling his bulk up slowly. He tottered back, leaned forward and seemed to get his momentum for his first laborious step. I followed his slow progress down the concrete ramp onto the solid lumber of the docks. I felt the sway of the water in the gentle motion under my feet as we passed the fishermen working on their boats. Glenn led me to a small boat, squatting low in the water and hung with colorful tarps. White letters spelled out The Misses against the black bow and a small white room stood in the middle of the deck looking like little more than a glorified Port-a-Potty with a steering wheel.

Glenn swept her bow to stern with a worshipful gaze. “Ain’t nothing she wouldn’t do for me. Not a wave she wouldn’t mount. Not a storm she wouldn’t bring me through. Best boat in the waters. She’s got a living soul in her.”

I tried to see what he saw: the beauty, the appeal. She looked small, old and unremarkable next to the commercial boats. “She looks . . . very nice,” I attempted a convincing tone.

“It’s not the
looks
. It’s the
soul
! I know she don’t
look
like nothing. But she fights. She wins. This old sea bows down and gives up when she sees the Misses coming. Can’t beat her.” Glenn reached out and stroked the metal railing.

“Why is everything here a girl? The ocean. The boats. The storms. All girls.”

Glenn chuckled and grabbed his thick jaw in his hand, pulling it thoughtfully. “Well, guess I took it for granted. Never thought much about it. Guess ‘cause those are the things that give us the most trouble.” He laughed and turned back to his vessel. “But The Misses, she’s a good lass. Some boats are nags, always complaining, always falling to pieces, never wantin’ to do what ya tell ‘em. Those boats are the shrews. They need a good, square kick in the bloomers, is what! But not my Misses. She’s a lady.” His light blue eyes studied me. “You know what a lady needs, don’t ya? Hazel was big on being a lady.”

“No. What?” I asked, hardly able to turn away from the boat. For all his adoration she continued to squat heavy in the water, paint chipping off her sides.

“Well a lady needs a little love. Needs someone to pet her, feed her ego. A lady needs to be complimented, seduced. Then she’s putty in your hands.”

“All that knowledge about women and you never got married?” I grinned, knowing the dimples at the sides of my chin appeared when I smiled like that.

“Ah’m an Eagle Scout. Loyalty. One woman for me,” He said, tapping his hand on the Misses. He let go of his boat and flexed one arm. “Right there,” he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of an eagle, eyes fiery, talons extended.

“You tattooed an eagle, but not your boat? I thought sailors always get tattoos of the women they love.”

“Hah! I got one of The Misses. If I show you where ol’ Jed will haul me to the cell, is what!” He laughed again and I joined him “You get yerself outta Nebraska and some young Sailor will ink your name, for sure. All in good time.”

I blushed, oddly flattered. “Not sure I’d want a fisherman, Jack. Too much competition. They just love their boats.”

“Mebbe so, mebbe so. Many a man sleeps in his boat when his lady kicks him out. But I don’t see how you’d avoid it. What else do men do?”

I grinned at his joke, before I realized he wasn’t kidding. His world began and ended where the water rippled against the long wooden posts of the docks, blackened with time and slime. When I found my voice it came out gentle and slow.

“Jack, they do other things.”

“Huh. Suppose they do. Somewhere. Poor saps.”

“The Jacks there?” Nathan asked when I returned. He put down his sprayer and started the futile process of scratching some of the brown stain off of his skin.

“Yeah. I swore allegiance to the Republican Party and they went at each other with fish hooks. Carnage.”

“You said
I
wasn’t funny.”

“You’re not. I am. Only Glenn was there. He let me meet his boat.”

“That’s an honor.”

“So I gather. You got farther than I thought you would. How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” The stain now covered a good two thirds of the fence.

“Still need to finish this coat. Then a second coat. I’ll be here a few more hours, at least.” He squinted as the sun pierced through a cloud and smothered his face. Beads of sweat shimmered on his skin. “Do you want me to take you home so you can call your mom?”

“Right now? No. I’ll have to think of how to do it first. I’ll call her tomorrow. Probably.”

He frowned in disappointment and mumbled “Uh, huh” before turning his back to me.

“What? You think I won’t do it?” I asked half amused, half offended.

He shrugged without looking at me. “If you say you will, you will.”

I glared as I processed the doubt in his voice. “Nathan, I will. I just have to figure out the perfect way to say it. So it works.” It made me angry how much it sounded like an excuse coming out of my mouth. He slowly faced me, his expression blank but his eyes calling the bluff. His skepticism ignited my pride like a flash fire. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “So you just want me to dial and say the first stupid thing that comes to my mind? Just stand in some stranger’s yard while you stain a fence and tell her to come home? That seems appropriate for such an important conversation.”

“You can do it however you want.” He turned and stepped back toward the fence.

“Then don’t turn on your stupid sprayer because then I won’t be able to hear her scream at me. You really are a jerk.”

By the time he spun around to respond, the phone was ringing. His eyes pulled up, a stunned light in the dark blue centers. “No, I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, what do you care?” I mumbled almost too low to hear and stepped into the shade of the tree.

“Jennifer, stop,” his voice croaked weakly. It felt surprisingly satisfying – this sudden reversal of roles, watching him squirm while I lost my temper.
Had he ever said my name before? It sounded good.

“Don’t, Jennifer.”
He said it again.
“You’re right. Not here.”

The phone rang as Nathan walked toward me, his hands signaling me to stop. “I’m sorry,” he said. I held up my hand and pointed to the phone to shut off his words. My irritation held off my fear until my mother said hello. I fumbled over my opening lines, asking her how she was doing and telling her I missed her. I looked up at Nathan, knowing that my small temper was spent and the only thing he would see was apprehension scrawled all over my face. He put his hands in his pockets and somehow managed to look contrite and encouraging at the same time. I knew two things instinctively. One: I could just make small talk, hang up and deal with the hard conversation later. Two: I’d just have to do it later. I was a person shoved onto a stage in the middle of a play without a script. “Mom? I just wanted to let you know that I’ll come home now, if that’s what you want.”

I heard a rush of air over the phone as she breathed out in relief. “Jennifer, I’m so glad. What flight are you taking? What day?”

“I don’t know. Exactly. It depends.”

She sounded so blissfully ignorant when she asked, “On what?”

“Umm – you,” I choked. I looked at Nathan the way someone dangling from a burning building must look at the fireman who can’t reach her.

“Me?”

I choked. How to put the next line? The entire idea struck me as abruptly absurd. Nathan stood rigid, his eyes pushed almost closed beneath his furrowed brow. All of my reasoning rushed out my head in a stampede, leaving my brain in a dust cloud. “Could you come get me?” I asked, my voice high and helpless. It reminded me of my first sleepover when I was six and the reality of dozing off in a strange basement finally hit me at ten o’clock at night. I think I’d said the exact same thing -
Can you come get me?

“Come get you?” Her voice faltered.

Shoot. I didn’t mean to ask. I meant to demand. With confidence. “I want you to come get me,” I said, forcing some power back into my words.

“Why? Is something, did something go wrong?” her alarmed words rose in pitch.

“No. Not at all. I just miss you.”

“Jennifer, why can’t you just come? Just pick a flight and come. Is something wrong?” Her words scratched their claws against the phone, fretful and agitated.

“Mother,” I took a deep breath. “I just want you to come get me. Will you do that?”

“I can’t,” she answered before I finished asking. “You know I can’t go
there
. What is going on? Do you need me to call the airline?”

“I am willing to come home. I just want you to come get me,” I repeated, feeling like I had said that sentence a hundred times in the last minute. I’d need to say something else eventually.

“And I told you I can’t. Do you need Dad to come?”

“No. Just you.” My breath shuddered. “When you come get me, I’ll come home.” Silence as she processed the way my voice leaned, curving the sentence into an ultimatum. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Is that … a
threat
?” she asked, her voice tainted with shock. “Did Sarah …”

“No! It’s Little, actually. Little wants you to come get me. Sarah doesn’t even know.”
Just throw the old woman under the bus
!

“Little? You know Little?”

“Yeah, and Little really thinks you should come get me.”

“Are you kidding me? She’ hasn’t seen me in twenty years.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“Jennifer, this is all wearing thin. It’s the last straw. Get on a plane and get home.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t. Until you come get me. I think Little’s right.” I reached out to the tree, digging my fingers into the deep ruts of the bark.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’ve gone along with this for long enough. If you don’t come home I will send your father.”

“I’m not going home with Dad. I’m only going home with you.”