Water Dogs (22 page)

“We drove over to Tavis Falls, where Ray is from,” he said. “We met Martha at this Saint Patrick’s Day Bible thing.”

Gwen pulled the sleeping bag more tightly around her shoulders. “Saint Paddy’s Day Bible thing?”

“Martha is Ray’s girlfriend,” he said.

He saw it unfolding in her eyes—she was realizing that Littlefield was probably wrapped up in something that would not end well. He hadn’t been able to think it himself, but he recognized it in her eyes.

“You know, it was easy, when I saw Swensen. It was easy for me to believe Ray was alive. Littlefield and I had a long talk earlier today. Not about Ray, about other stuff. Acting, my life in New York. And Littlefield told me he wants to get out of Maine. He was being normal, Bennie. It’s the most I’ve talked to him in a long time. He was being nice to me. It was easy, really easy. I guess I was just wanting to believe Ray hadn’t been badly hurt. When Swensen showed up, I believed it.” She lay back on the bed by Bennie’s feet. She sighed. “Those bandages on his hands looked pretty stupid. But come on, you might have believed it, too.”

“Probably.”

They lay in the quiet for a while. Bennie kept his eyes open even
though he couldn’t see anything. Then she said, “I’m worried about our brother.”

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon.”

“Well, it
is
Saint Patrick’s Day,” said Bennie, but the fact that Littlefield had been nice to Gwen—chatted her up—meant to Bennie that he was probably on his way out of town.

14

D
uring her senior year at Vassar, Gwen drove to the island from Poughkeepsie. When she arrived, Bennie was already in the kitchen to greet her, and they walked together into the living room, where Littlefield was waiting quietly on the purple couch, staring at logs burning in the fire, dressed in a brown tweed jacket, a white shirt, and a red tie.

“Oh, shit. Should I be wearing a dress?” asked Gwen. She had on jeans and a T-shirt and a thin red parka.

“We’re late,” said Littlefield.

“We’ll be fine if we leave in a few minutes,” said Bennie. “Get up and give your sister a hug.”

Littlefield sighed. “Kiddo, did you even pack a dress?”

“Well, hello and good to see you, too,” she said.

He stood up and hugged her. “If you want them, there are some clothes in the back closet.”

“Since when do you give a shit what I wear? And what about Bennie? Shouldn’t he be dressed up, too?”

Littlefield shrugged. He stood up and strode to the kitchen, returning with a pitcher full of water. He poured it on the fire. Thin rivers of ash streamed from the hearth.

“Oh, man,” said Bennie. “What a mess.”

“You’re the one who started this fire. We can’t let it burn while we drive to Mom’s.”

Bennie walked toward the back hall closet. “I’ll go put on a tie.”

Eventually they crammed into Littlefield’s truck, sitting three abreast, Gwen in the middle. Knowing they’d be late, Littlefield insisted on driving. His studded tires were noisy on the dry road, and he kept the window rolled partway down so he could smoke.

Eleanor had been living off the island for only a year; Bennie knew she hadn’t yet found the friends she was hoping to find and she was spending too much time at home. She’d invited Bennie and Gwen and Littlefield to Clover Lake for the anniversary of Coach’s death. It had been eight years.

Gwen started to tell her brothers a little bit about how things were going at Vassar, and Bennie knew she was being careful: Littlefield had never had any interest in going to college and was critical of any lifestyle he considered leisurely, especially when he was actually working (these criticisms vanished when he wasn’t). Bennie also wondered if Gwen didn’t like talking too much about her studies because she knew Bennie had dropped out of Orono after a year of being bored with most of his classes. So she talked about her new interest in acting. She said it was a demanding major; she had workshops during the day and rehearsals at night, and she also had to find time to write papers. She said her director was a genius. He’d been on the faculty for twenty
years, but he also worked occasionally Off Broadway. “He says I’ll do well in New York.”

“Sounds like he wants to sleep with you,” said Littlefield.

“Why do you have to say things like that?” said Gwen.

“I’m sure you’re good at acting,” said Littlefield. “I’m just saying you should be careful. You’ve got to watch out for guys like that. Think about it. He teaches girls. At a girls’ college.”

“Vassar’s been coed since the sixties,” said Gwen. “And so what if he wants to sleep with me? He thinks I’m talented.”

Littlefield laughed, and Gwen frowned and furrowed her brow, but then she started laughing, too. She punched Littlefield in the arm. “You’re such an asshole.”

“It’s true,” said Bennie. “You
are
an asshole.”

“Just make sure,” said Littlefield, “after you fuck him and he gets you a role in a play down in New York, that you set aside a ticket for me. I’d like to come down and see that.”

“You’d come down to New York to watch a show?”

“Of course. And afterward I’d take a ride around Central Park in one of those horse carriages.”

Gwen shook her head. “You’re such a butthole.”

“No. I’m serious. Okay, maybe I’ll just hire a taxi and have it run me around town. Either way, if you fuck your teacher and get a role, I’ll come down for it.”

“And if I don’t fuck my teacher but still get a role?” said Gwen. She sneezed.

“Sure.”

“You could always go see her in a show at Vassar first,” said Bennie.

“Yeah, you could, too, retard. I’m just saying, I’m waiting for her to make it to the big leagues,” said Littlefield.

“You sound like Coach,” said Gwen. She sneezed again, then opened the glove compartment, where she found a few Burger King napkins. “Are these clean?”

Littlefield nodded. Gwen blew her nose. “Did you ever notice that I sneeze when you smoke in the car?” she asked. “Do you care?”

“The thing about Coach,” said Littlefield, blowing smoke out the window, “is that he’d want to come. He’d want to be at every goddamn play you were in—at Vassar, in New York, wherever. You put on a puppet show behind your couch, he’d want to be there. But he wouldn’t leave the island to do it. That’s why I’m different. I’ll come to New York after you fuck your teacher. One hundred percent.”

At dinner, Littlefield was less talkative. Gwen carried the chicken into the dining room from the kitchen and placed it in front of Littlefield for carving. No one spoke directly about Coach, except Eleanor, who said that it would have pleased him to see everyone together. Gwen started talking again about her theater activities, though instead of talking about the brilliant director, she told their mother about the play she’d been writing—a side project, really, but something she was trying to work on for at least a few minutes every day. Her focus within the major was acting, but she was getting credit for an independent play-writing project, too. She didn’t want to discuss the details, but she mentioned it was set on an island, and it was about two brothers—a basketball coach and a hockey coach—and their competition with each other, both of them trying to recruit the same kids, both of them in love with the same woman.

“You know, your dad didn’t have a brother,” said their mother, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“It’s not about Coach,” said Gwen. “It’s made up.”

“What’s it called?” asked Bennie.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve been calling it
Coach.”

Littlefield chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” asked Gwen.

“If you’re drawing from your experiences with your dad,” said
Eleanor, “I think that process can be very difficult. If you want to talk with me about it, I’d be happy to.”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything about it.”

“You don’t need to be rude to me, Gwennie,” said Eleanor.

“Just lay off, Mom,” said Bennie. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a project she’s working on.”

“I’m with Mom, actually,” said Littlefield. “Stick to acting, kiddo. I don’t think Coach would be too pleased to know you’re using him to please that big-dick teacher of yours.”

Gwen’s mouth hung open. She slapped the table, rattling her plate.

Eleanor said, “William!”

Bennie shook his head, looking down. “Nice one, man.”

Gwen stood up, her face red with anger. “Since when are you the only one who knows what Coach wants? That’s such bullshit!”

“He’s dead,” said Littlefield, calmly. “He doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t care. Which means I was wrong. You can go ahead and write about Coach, and you can enjoy your teacher at Vassar, Mr. Big Dick. There’s nothing to worry about. The world is your oyster.”

Gwen picked up her glass and threw her milk at Littlefield, splashing it in his face. “You’re a fucking turd,” she said, and walked out of the room.

“William, go to your sister. Apologize to her right now,” said Eleanor.

Littlefield wiped his face with his napkin. “What a baby.”

“Go find her, Littlefield,” said Bennie.

“There’s nothing I can say that’ll change things,” said Littlefield. “She’s in her own little world.”

“You don’t need to be so harsh to her,” said Bennie.

Eleanor began to cry. “This is not what I had in mind when I planned this dinner.”

“God, Mom,” said Littlefield. “Why do we need to pretend that everything’s the same? You put out the nice china and everything, but it’s a joke. Isn’t it obvious?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, William.”

Bennie put his arm out, as if to hold his brother back. “Just stop being an asshole, okay?”

“No!” yelled Littlefield, standing up. “I will not stop being an asshole! I hate coming here! I hate pretending this family is
anything at all
without him! You people are insane!”

They heard Gwen call from the other room,
“You’re
insane.”

“Nobody is insane!” screamed Eleanor, with tears on her cheeks.

“Whoa, Mom, are you okay?” asked Bennie.

“I want everyone to sit down right now,” said Eleanor. “There will be no more yelling. You are not insane. I want you to eat your chicken. It’s getting cold. Sit down, William. Gwen, come back in here.”

Almost instantly, Gwen returned to the dining room and sat down. There was a point in every family meal—even upsetting ones, like this one—when silence arrived. Everyone chewed, looking around at each other. A few minutes passed.

Bennie was the first to speak. “Hey, Mom, did I tell you? I’ve started to repair the plumbing. In the Manse. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. But still, I think it’s going to take a while.”

“Thank you, Benjamin. This is good news. Are you helping, William?”

“I’ll tell him when he starts to make big mistakes,” said Littlefield.

“Thank you, William.”

“I’ll help, too—when I’m around,” said Gwen. “Maybe after graduation.”

“Thank you, Gwen,” said Eleanor. “I’m glad to hear this. Your father would be happy to know you’re working together on the house.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Littlefield, his mouth full. “You really shouldn’t make plans to come back to the island after you graduate. We need you to go to New York. We need you to be a star.” He swallowed, then stood up and collected a few of the dishes, bringing them out to the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a plate of Eleanor’s cookies and a pot of coffee.

After another period of silence while they ate dessert, Eleanor said, “I have something I want to say, and I don’t want any of you to argue with me. Okay?”

Littlefield shrugged. Gwen said, “Okay, Mom. What is it?”

“He loved you three more than anything. He loved you so, so much.”

15

I
t was four a.m. when they heard the pounding. Bennie woke up, convinced Gwen was having a nightmare. But a voice was shouting, “Benjamin! Open the door! Benjamin!”

He sat up in bed. Light from the moon, reflected off the snow outside his window, was making the walls of his room glow. Everything felt luminous and liquid and blue. At first he thought he was in the hospital, or deep inside a snow cave. Then he heard the voice yell, “Get out here! I know you’re there!” That got him to turn his bedside light on, and then he had a better sense of where he was and what was happening. Ronald was barking in the kitchen, snapping his jaws.