The Whiskey Tide (36 page)

     
"I'd need five bucks more than what you paid last year," Vogel said shrewdly.

     
"Come on, Rudy. It doesn't cost you a cent to have me there. You can't claim your expenses have gone up."

     
Vogel cackled and leaned back thumbing his suspenders. "I let you use that lathe and drill."

     
"Two bucks more sounds about right to me."

     
The salvage man slapped the table and shot to his feet, extending his hand to seal the agreement.

     
"You drive a hard bargain, Joe. Want a ride home? I'm going to pick up a couple of things over at Padilla's."

     
Day-old bread and marked down meat, Joe guessed. He'd seen Vogel there a couple of times haggling. The man sure liked to squeeze a nickel. Vogel's car was the worst rat-trap Joe ever had been in and so ancient it still required cranking. Every few blocks it coughed and died, producing a string of curses from Vogel as he restarted it.

     
"What I need is a truck," lamented Vogel the third time it stalled. "Good used one. Haul stuff in it — but who's got that kind of money?"

     
"You do, Rudy, if you'd spend some."

     
Joe had gotten out to take a turn at cranking. He saw surprise flicker in Vogel's eyes, substantiating what Joe had said. The engine caught. Joe jumped in. He could have walked home in less time, but the truth was he found Vogel's brusqueness and miserly ways entertaining. He had welcomed the routine of his uncles' fishing boat after his last trip north, but two weeks of hauling out nets had produced a taste in his mouth for something more. Tinkering, maybe. It was why he'd sought out Vogel.

     
"Keep an eye out for a busted engine," he said as Vogel let him out in front of the house.

     
"Got one back there now. An Odyssey." Vogel gave a sly grin, revealing a tooth edged in gold. The bastard had planned all along to have Joe working in the corner this winter.

     
Joe went up the steps to the house whistling merrily. Two could play Vogel's game. He had money squirreled away too, enough to buy a dozen new engines if he wanted. What was he going to do with it? What good was it going to do sitting there?

     
He opened the door to the fragrance of stew with meat in it. The extra money he slipped Irene was giving all of them a treat. Even Nana, whose appetite had dwindled to almost nothing, would finish a bowl of this, gumming the beef Irene shredded for her. His uncles sat sharing the paper, Vic looking at something inside and Drake with the sports page. Joe tossed his coat in a chair and sat down on the end of the couch next to Drake.

     
"So how was Finnegan's?" Uncle Vic asked without looking up.

     
"Barlow was feeling flush, buying drinks for folks. Been running in booze from boats offshore, I figure. Let me ask you something. If you had it to do again now, would you buy a fishing boat?"

     
Vic's hawk nose appeared as he lowered the paper. "What are you talking about? What else would I do?"

     
"That's what I'm asking."

     
Drake put his paper down to listen. Vic frowned.

     
"You fevered, Joe? Sometimes you don't make good sense. Of course I'd buy a boat. Man's got to feed his family."

     
The kitchen door swung open. Rita came out with a blouse folded carefully over one arm. "Thanks, Arliss. I couldn't have worn it again if I'd had to fix it myself."

     
Arliss, behind her, pocketed a couple of coins.

     
"Hi, Joe." Rita paused and looked shyly down. Her performance for the elder Santaynas never failed to tickle Joe. Her lush beauty made the room around her seem drab.

     
"How're things, Rita?"

     
Before she could speak the front door slammed and Rose sulked in.

     
"My seam pulled out again," she complained to Arliss.

     
"And a good day to you," her father said pointedly.

     
Rose ignored him. Arliss, looking more worn than usual next to Rita's energy, shifted the toddler she held on one hip.

     
"The cloth's getting too old to hold the stitches. I'll see what I can do."

     
"Forgot something," Joe murmured leaving the couch as an idea formed. He went out as abruptly as Rose had entered, aware of startled expressions behind him.

     
Vogel was just starting to crank his rattletrap. On the car seat Joe saw two loaves of bread and a package of meat.

     
"Hey, listen. There's something else I need," Joe said tucking his hands beneath his arms for warmth. "A favor."

     
Vogel paused in his cranking and eyed Joe warily.

     
"I'm going to get my cousin a sewing machine for Christmas. New. She needs one bad." Joe's breath made clouds in the air before him. "But I'm going to tell her it's one you picked up and I fixed the motor. Okay?"

     
"Don't want her to know what you spent?"

     
"Something like that."

     
Vogel's mostly-gray whiskers split in a grin. He shot Joe a look of speculation as he bent to crank. "If you've got money enough to play Santy Claus, why don't you bring me that truck?"

***

     
The car in the driveway was strange; likewise the dark haired couple in the parlor when Kate walked in.

     
"Mr. and Mrs. Finer, this is my middle daughter, Kate," her mother announced.

     
The man rose and nodded. The woman smiled formally. She was small and faintly exotic. Her clothes were expensive.

     
"How do you do?" She studied Kate with intelligent eyes. "We understand you and your sister were getting a tree for the holidays."

     
"Yes. Aggie ran upstairs for a minute. I'm afraid we thought our soon-to-be brother-in-law had gotten a new car."

     
  "We must be on our way so we don't interfere with your plans," said Mr. Finer, still standing.

     
His wife seemed to hesitate, then offered a delicate hand to Mrs. Hinshaw. "I'm pleased we've met. I'll look forward to your telephone call." In her eyes Kate caught the flicker of restrained warmth.

     
"Well. What did you think of them?" her mother asked when she'd seen them out. "I won't have Woody in school catching things from other children, but I placed an ad in the paper for someone to bring a child to be tutored with him." Her chin rose slightly. "They're Jewish. I think your father would applaud that. At least Woody will have contact with someone besides that beastly little Rupert."

     
Kate could scarcely find words. "Bravo, Mama!"

     
"For what?" asked Rosalie coming in with Arthur, an angular, good-natured man so quiet Kate found it hard to imagine him stepping into a pulpit to deliver sermons.

     
They, too, voiced approval for Mama's plans, then went to nail a stand on the tree Kate and Aggie had just dragged home. When they were out of earshot, Kate turned back to her mother.

     
"When will you need money? I've got some put by."

     
Her mother's mouth was set. She shook her head.

     
"I shan't. I sold my mother's brooch. It will pay for our half of the tutoring and give me a bit for Christmas for Woody."

     
Kate felt sick. Her mother had cherished that brooch. Before she could speak, her brother and Aggie burst in.

     
"Look, Katie!" Woody cried with excitement. "It's true what Mr. Santayna said! My exercises are making muscles. I can lift myself up!" Grasping the arms of the chair he demonstrated.

     
Kate was overcome by a wave of love for her family, each of them struggling along and none of them knowing the others' private griefs. Yet as the tree was raised in its familiar spot, and boxes of glass and wooden ornaments were unpacked, a loneliness that seemed to have no boundaries and no end invaded her. Arthur and Rosalie bubbled with plans for their future. Aggie would laugh and dance with friends tonight. Woody had the prospect of a new acquaintance. Even Mama looked happy immersed in family and routine.

     
She alone had no place. Her world had slipped away leaving her behind, driftwood bobbling after the rum fleet. Ties she'd tried to maintain were already fraying. Letters from college friends came less frequently. With paper chain in hand, an outsider in her own home, she drifted to stand by the window.

     
Out in the hall the telephone rang. Probably one of Aggie's friends firming up plans for the evening.

     
"Kate... it's for you."

     
Surprised, she went to answer. She had let herself be talked into going out with the brother of one of Aggie's friends, but the evening had been as boring for him as it was for her. She had gone to a lecture on anthroposophy and signed a list for literature, which she now regretted.

     
"Hello?"

     
"Kate? It's Joe." His voice sounded crackly. The lines weren't as clear in winter. Imperfect as it was, it nudged the awful loneliness away for a moment.

     
"Hi," she said. "Getting ready for Christmas?"

     
"I guess. Have something picked out for the Irish aunties anyway."

     
Kate felt herself smile.

     
"Listen. It occurred to me we never celebrated the end of a successful business season. I thought we should. I thought maybe you'd let me take you to lunch day after tomorrow."

     
Her eyes overflowed. She felt the same relief and gratitude she'd experienced on the
Folly
when the blinding fog that could have killed them all had lifted.

     
"I'd like that." She wiped wetness from her cheeks.

     
"Your voice sounds funny. We must have a bad connection."

     
"Yes. Shall I meet you somewhere?"

     
"The library? Half past eleven?"

     
"Yes, fine." She ought to hang up, but she felt briefly connected to someone who thought about the same sorts of things she did, even though as often as not from the opposite perspective. "Try not to get thrown through any more windows before then," she joked.

     
He laughed. "I'll do my best."

     
She went back to the parlor where Arthur had settled himself in a chair and was lighting his pipe. The tree looked splendid. The air was fragrant with gingerbread men Peg had baked. Aggie appeared from the kitchen bearing a silver tray filled with fruitcake and cookies.

     
"Wait," Kate said on impulse. "Don't serve the eggnog. I'll run next door and ask Mrs. Cole and her companion if they'd like to join us. They've so little fun."