On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

Hester saved the garden section for last; it was the only part of the store she really liked. When she came here with Al because he’d gotten temporarily fired up about fixing something himself, she would head for garden and tell him to find her when he was done. She liked to look at the flowers and the small trees in large black plastic pots, and smell the stacks of mulch and topsoil, and think about which patio block would look the best if they ever had a big house with a big yard again, which wasn’t likely.

An empty flatbed sat next to the gallon containers of ginger plants, so on an impulse, Hester lifted three of the containers onto it, pushed it up and down the aisles, adding to the cart impatiens and gardenias. The tags said they would grow in shade. She paid, loaded up her car, and drove to the Boyton Inlet. She wasn’t ready to face Al. She parked by the fishing dock and turned the car off.

She needed to figure out why she’d given in to Al so quickly and how she was going to act toward him now. It was a sick dance they were doing. She knew Al was a weak man, in constant need of attention, especially from other women. It drove her mad, but she knew it, and married him anyway.

Then there was her insatiable need to be loved by a man. Would she ever get over it? At her age why couldn’t she be happy just to be alive? She knew it went back to her father, the way he cut her off completely. The last time he spoke to her his voice was hard as stone, his face so empty. He haunted her memory and showed up in her dreams, but he would never be in her waking life again.

Al was her family now… Al was all she had.

But she wasn’t proud of the lengths she’d gone to keep him. All those times she tried to make him jealous, tried to make him feel the pain and humiliation she’d felt. She forced herself to flirt with other men. She used other men. And it worked. The minute Al thought another man was interested in her, he was hot for her again.

How pathetic
, she thought now
. What a fool I’ve made of myself
. She watched a fishing boat head for the inlet, a pelican land on the sea wall. The sun blazed as it hung just above the Hypoluxo Marina, its fat golden tail trailing across the water.

Hester sighed. She turned the car on, pulled out of the lot, and headed toward Pleasant Palms. The plants needed water. She better get home and get them in the ground.

Twenty-One

Hester never met Theo for lunch over the Christmas break. No need to add fuel to Al’s fire. There was always a chance in a small town like Moretown that Al would find out Hester was spending time with her young colleague outside of school and that would’ve given the volatile vice principal more ammunition than he needed. Besides, maybe because he’d witnessed his wife kissing Mr. Ottinger, Al seemed to be seeing Hester in a new light.

As soon as the Christmas break began, Al turned his full attention to Hester. They flew down to Pleasant Palms a few days earlier than originally planned, opened up the trailer, and had so much sex, Hester was happily overwhelmed.

Then, on New Year’s Eve Al poured them each a snifter of cognac, handed a drink to Hester, and made a toast.

“To the year we have our first child.”

Hester nearly choked. She’d waited more than a decade for Al to want to have a baby. Now at thirty-five, she was going to get pregnant! Finally, she’d be able to right the terrible wrongs of her past. Finally, the lie she told Al when she was twenty-two, letting him think she was pregnant when she wasn’t, pretending to lose the baby after they were married, could be erased. Finally, a baby, their baby, to have and to hold, would make up for the one her seventeen year old self left in that garbage can.

When they finished their drinks, they took the rest of Al’s stash of condoms to the mail room and slipped them one by one into random mail slots. They laughed the whole way to the beach where Al managed to keep the blanket over them while he came twice before they heard a golf cart drive up. It was only the Dunnes probably checking for something they’d left up there.

“I hope this works, Hester.” Al was on top of her, holding himself up on his forearms, whispering. His boozy breath was warm on her face.

“Me too.”

“We weren’t ready back then, but now it’s different. I want a child of my own.”

“Me too.”

“I’m tired of other people’s kids.”

Hester was about to say, me too again, but it wasn’t true. She loved other people’s kids, she wanted to tell him, but he was hard, and inside her again.

“Al, wait. Al, the Dunnes, I can hear them talking. Can’t you?”

“Fuck the Dunnes, Hester. I’m trying to make a baby.” Al went for broke, humping hard into Hester. She was pinned under him. His body was heavy, and the pounding hurt. She wanted to ask him to stop, but she told herself,
bite your tongue till it bleeds. You want this.

By the time they got back to New Jersey, Hester was so full of baby dreams, so sure she was pregnant, the thought of that kiss with Theo disgusted her. What had she been thinking? Now she didn’t even want to be alone with him in the same room. In desperation she went to Janine and begged her to work with Theo on the festival.

“It’ll cost you, Hester Murphy.” Janine didn’t even look up from her grade book, like she knew it would come to this.

“Fine, Janine, whatever you want.” Hester imagined her saying,
your husband naked for a weekend
. It would almost be worth it to not have to work with Theo again.

“Senior honors, all of them.” Janine leaned back, twirled a lock of her orange hair around her finger. The cherry-red polish on her long nails made them look like bloody daggers.

Senior honors? That’s ridiculous.
It would mean Hester would have to take the freshmen. Hester decide to call Janine’s bluff.

“Never, no way. Forget it, I’ll work with Ottinger. After all, it’s not like he’s ugly or anything. Besides he’s a good…no, a great kisser.”

“I’ll tell your husband he’s married to a pervert. Theo’s young enough to be your son.”

“Almost, and don’t waste your time running to tell Al, he already knows. He watched.”

“You’re a sick puppy, Hester.”

“Forget I ever asked you for anything, Janine.”

Hester turned and went back to her classroom. She wasn’t bluffing any longer. She didn’t want anything from Miss Pain-in-the-Ass. Hester would figure out a way to keep Theo at arm’s length. And who was Janine to call her a sick puppy?

Hester started erasing the boards when a wave of nausea hit her. What was happening? Suddenly, she felt sick, like she was going to pass out.
No, it can’t be.
She was cramping up. She leaned on her desk to keep from collapsing. When the pain passed, she grabbed her purse and hurried across the hall to the lavatory.

She got in the stall and got her pants down just in time. Another cramp seized her, and the toilet bowl filled with blood.

Hester put her head down. Why the hell had she gone anywhere near Janine? Janine was bad luck. Hester so wanted to blame this on Janine, but the truth was, she couldn’t. Yes, Janine upset her.
But some sins can never be forgiven
, she thought. What did she expect? A miracle? Not for her. Not today. God had turned a deaf ear on her prayers. Who could blame Him?

She pounded her fists on her thighs. It took a lot of toilet paper to clean herself. When she was done, she stood up, turned, and looked down at the disaster. Oh no, something was really wrong with her.

Twenty-Two

Finally, Jefferis Roofing showed up and put a new roof on 23 Fish Tail Lane, and Eliot Carruthers, a retired plumber who lived in the park and did handyman work, put in a new window and floor, and repainted the bedroom.

Hester met Eliot Carruthers years ago when Al and she came down for the holidays. Eliot, sloppily dressed in dirty work clothes and smelling of beer, stopped by and gave Al his business card. Al hired him to spray WD-40 on the sliding door, replace the air-conditioner filter, and power wash the patio while he went golfing.

When Eliot finished the jobs, Hester offered him iced tea, and Eliot told Hester about his first wife, his second wife, and his four children, two with each ex. He hadn’t seen anyone in his family in years. “I left my whole life behind in Ocean Pines, Maryland,” he said sadly, “and it’s a long story, so enough about me. What about you, Mrs. Murphy?”

“Call me Hester, Eliot.”

“Hester…hmmm, love that name. How’d you wind up with a name like that?”

“My mother liked it because it means star, but Hester is also the name of the main character in—”

“
The Scarlet Letter
,” he interrupted. “Hawthorne. Damn good read.”

Hester couldn’t deny she was a little surprised by Eliot Carruthers’ enthusiasm for Hawthorne’s rather dense novel. She guessed his intellect belied the grease under his nails, his unshaven face, wiry and neglected mustache, crummy shirt, paint-splattered cut-offs, and sneakers full of holes. Or maybe, he’d really only seen the Demi Moore movie. 

Their conversation turned to literature, and it seemed Eliot knew what he was talking about, indeed. His favorites in the American canon were Twain and Emerson; Hester’s were Hawthorne, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, and more recently Oates. 

“I got a lady friend down here,” Eliot said, “who used to teach English; she’s the one who got me started, and now I can’t stop. Not interested in any of the new stuff, only like those dead guys. Anyway, old Hester Prynne, she was a great person, but I wanted to beat the crap out of Dimmesdale and Chillingworth. They were like tits on a bull, totally useless. She had to make her own way, Hester did, and she showed them all, didn’t she?”

Hester laughed, “Well, in the end, she did.”

When Eliot left, Hester put new sheets on the bed, hung curtains, and rewired two lamps she found years ago at a consignment shop and had stored in the closet. That night she went into the bedroom while Al was still watching television, and shut the door. The next morning she was shocked to wake up and find Al snoring gently beside her. He must’ve snuck in, in the middle of the night. It was the first time they’d slept in the same bed since the night before the hurricane. Just as she was about to get up, Al rolled over and his arm almost touched her.
No way
, she thought. She slipped out from under the sheets, put on her robe, and went to the kitchen.

From the window over the sink, Hester admired the ginger plants beneath the Bo tree, which seemed only slightly improved, the scar where it had split still sappy. As she plugged in the coffee pot, a siren blared in the distance then grew louder and louder until it sounded like it was right next door. The emergency was in Pleasant Palms. Hester rushed into the bedroom and changed.

“What the hell’s going on?” Al was sitting up in bed raking both hands through his hair. Hester ignored him and rushed out. Beyond the hedge of ixora, she could see flashing lights and people’s heads. She ran through the Cantwells’ patio to Plumbago Lane. Two EMTs were pounding on the door of the Timms’ unit.

Garret Timms was a slight middle-aged man with a disturbingly asymmetrical face. His left cheek was twice the size of his right cheek. He had unusually large teeth, a small upturned nose, close-set eyes. His hair was red, his skin pink. He worked security at the Marriott up the road, but came home every day for lunch.

His wife Ginny was a recluse. It’d been close to two years since anyone remembered seeing her. Everyone might have concluded she was dead if it weren’t for her eternally blaring television.

The Christmas before last was the only time Hester ever saw Ginny Timms. Garret and Ginny unexpectedly attended a Beach Club happy hour. Ginny, an obese woman, wore a red muumuu with Santa faces for pockets. Her hair was teased up into a beehive. Her earrings were miniature Christmas trees, and she had on a battery-operated necklace of small white bulbs that flashed on and off when she moved. Ginny sat on the clubhouse deck next to Garret, pouring herself one whiskey sour after another from an old thermos.

Hester sat in the empty chair next to her, and they struck up a conversation. Everything was pleasant until Garret left to go to the men’s room, and Ginny started complaining, “You’ll never guess what my disgusting husband’s most disgusting little habit is, Garret picks his ear wax and eats it!” Her revelation of this family secret caused her to laugh so hard her body shook, and the lightweight aluminum chair she was in, collapsed.

Those nearby who saw her go down gasped for a second, but it being well into the happy hour, and people being what they are, a few laughed. Even Ginny laughed at first, shouting, “I’m alright! Goddamn it, I’m alright! I got lots of padding!” Hester hurried to help her, but she was just too big to pull up. She pushed Hester’s hands away and started crying.

“Come on, we can do it,” encouraged Hester, but Ginny’s face changed, her big blue eyes widened, her tongue slid back and forth across her plump lower lip like she was about to say something. A few men tried to lift her but to no avail. Ginny nervously shook her head, no. “Go to hell, you sons of bitches.”

The men backed off. Hester stepped forward again, took both of Ginny’s hands, and leaned back as far as she could to counterbalance Ginny’s weight. Slowly, miraculously, Hester was able to pull Ginny up enough for her to get her footing. Ginny smoothed her dress. Hester picked up one of the Christmas tree earrings Ginny lost when she went down and handed it to her. Ginny took it, shoved it in her pocket, and walked down the wheelchair ramp in the direction of her trailer. Sadly, from the back she looked like a giant red M&M. Hester, sure the woman must’ve been hurt, felt sorry for her.

When Ginny was about a hundred yards away, she turned and with her hands on her hips, hollered, “Garret Timms, get the hell home.”

Garret was still inside. Hester found him on the rim of the crowd around the snack table. When Hester finished conveying Ginny’s message, he downed what was left of his Coors Light, shrugged his shoulders, and left.

A few days later when Hester spotted Garret at the gas station, she pulled in, lowered her window, and asked how Ginny was doing.

“Never been better,” were his exact words.

But now, the EMTs were pounding on the Timms’ door and no one was answering. Two policemen arrived and one easily pried the trailer door open. Bang! It swung back against the railing. Just as the officers stepped into the dark living room, Garret pulled up, jumped out of his car, and screamed, “Don’t go into our house! Get the hell out of our house!”

Garret’s face was flushed, his jugular pulsing. He burst into the trailer yelling and cursing. The police shouted back at him. Then, someone slammed the door shut and it got quiet, even the T.V. wasn’t on anymore.

It was getting hot. Hester moved under the Cantwells’ awning. About fifteen people were still hanging around. Hester decided to wait. Her curiosity was piqued, that was all it was because what did she care about Ginny Timms? She didn’t really know the woman, and the interaction they had at that happy hour hadn’t gone well. Ginny, too self-absorbed and too drunk for her own good, hadn’t thanked Hester one bit for helping her.

Hester squatted and began deadheading the Cantwell’s petunias. She thought she heard whining, but it could’ve been the wind whistling its way between the trailers.

The door of the Timms’ unit opened. One of the officers came out and asked if there was a plumber in the park. Eliot Carruthers, whom Hester hadn’t noticed, stepped from between the Mitchells’ and Hardings’ places with his hand in the air.

“Go get your Sawzall, and hurry up,” the officer shouted before he shut the door again. Next, another officer came out and told everyone to go home. Hester had no choice but to go back to her trailer. From her steps, though, if she leaned over the railing she could see almost half of the Timms’ front door.

Eliot knocked on the door, somebody let him in, and in minutes Hester heard the buzz of the Sawzall. There was a lull. The door opened again, and the cop who made everyone leave stepped out, looked up and down the lane, and gave the thumbs-up to someone inside.

The EMTs appeared, disappeared, and returned with a stretcher. Minutes later, they were both trying to pull the stretcher back out through the doorway. Whatever was on it was too big to fit through the door. Eliot came out and started cutting through the frame with his Sawzall. He cut into the wall at the top six inches, then cut down the side and pulled the section loose.

The EMTs guided the stretcher through the larger opening. On it was a giant mound covered by a white sheet. As they rolled it down the lane toward the ambulance, the wind blew the sheet off before either one of them could grab it. It took Hester a minute to make sense of what she was seeing, but there was Ginny. She was on her side. Her rear end had what looked like a green toilet seat stuck to it.

Hester didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t stop herself. It seemed Ginny’s backside had grown over and around the toilet seat. Her white puckered flesh formed a wreath around it. In the middle her inflamed privates looked painfully distended.

Hester gagged at the sight. Eliot Carruthers came out, his Sawzall hanging at his side like a spent weapon. He was shaking his head. Hester wondered if he ever read Sherwood Anderson, and if he had, would he agree that Anderson could never have imagined anything this grotesque.

The ambulance drove away. The officers returned to the trailer. Hester was about to go in and rummage for some Pepto-Bismol to calm her stomach when the policemen emerged with Garret between them. He was handcuffed, his head was back, his eyes barely open. He was crying, hard.

Hester was stunned by what she’d witnessed. She went into her trailer. Al was in front of the television, staring at the flickering screen, holding the remote in the air and clicking it like if he did it enough, it would propel him into another galaxy.
Too bad it can’t
, she thought. If Al were gone, she’d have no choice but to make her own way.

Hester didn’t have it in her to tell Al about the Timms. He might laugh, and that would put her over the edge. She looked at Al and felt nothing but aversion. She didn’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and find him next to her. She had to keep Al out of her bedroom.

Menopause, the perfect excuse.
I can’t sleep. I don’t want to keep you awake. Don’t you think you’ll be better off in guest room?