Wreckers' Key (16 page)

“Geez, Cat. I didn’t think I’d ever meet anybody who was just as stubborn and hardheaded as me. I was wrong. I thought you’d be happy about me volunteering to help you. Listen. I’ll take a look at Berger, but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t do anything on your own. I want you to stay home, rest, and keep that kid healthy.”

She came over to where I was sitting on the bed and took my hand in both of hers. “Thank you. Really. I appreciate your help and your hospitality. Tonight, though, I will not bother you anymore. I will go back to the crew house.”

“You keep acting like that’s a solution for you, Catalina, but the last day of the month is only two days off. I’ve been thinking about where you might go, and I’ve got an idea. This just might work out for you and for an old friend of mine. You’re a nurse, right?”

I pulled my 1972 Jeep onto the swale in front of the Sparkses’ house on my old street. An old boyfriend had nicknamed my ride Lightnin’, in reference to her speed, or lack of it, but even though she was working on her second hundred thousand miles on her second engine, she started when I turned the key; that was all I asked of my vehicle. I’d owned her for almost ten years, since my days as a lifeguard on Fort Lauderdale Beach, and some owner before me had stuck a plastic Jesus statue on the dash that had watched over me all these years. Since my relationship with religion was something along the lines of
Don’t ask, don’t tell,
I wasn’t going to credit J. C. with keeping my car running, but I wasn’t about to remove him, either.

Ever since I’d reconnected with Molly last year, I’d been spending more time in Shady Banks, my old neighborhood, but I hadn’t noticed before how run-down the Sparkses’ yard looked. Gardening had been her thing and their house was usually the showpiece of the block, but now weeds grew in the flower beds and the bushes were ragged with long tendrils of new growth.

Catalina and I had gone to Lester’s Diner for breakfast, then I’d dropped her off at the crew house with a promise to come back and bring her up to date on my plans. After that, I’d stopped at a bakery for a cake. It was now approaching eleven o’clock, and I assumed this was an hour I could go calling on a Sunday morning.

I would not have thought Arlen could look worse than he had in Key West, but when he opened the door the bags under his eyes were the size of walnuts and his hair hung long on one side of his head—he hadn’t even bothered to comb it over. His pants and shirt looked so wrinkled, he might have slept in them.
 

“Hi,” I said. “I just thought I’d stop by to see how your wife is doing. Is there any chance she’s feeling like a visitor?”

“Come in,” he said, stepping back and ushering me into their living room.

“I brought a cake for Mrs. Sparks. I remember how she always used to bake for us, and well, I don’t bake, but I can buy.”

He stood in the middle of the living room staring at my bakery box. His face was blank. It was like he was trying to process what it was.

“Mr. Sparks? Your wife. May I go see her?”

His eyes slid up to my face, but he didn’t say anything.
 

“Your wife? Mrs. Sparks?”

He still didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked down the hall that was off to the right of the front door. He stopped outside an open door and waved me in.

She was sitting up in one of those hospital beds that you can rent and bring into your home. People didn’t usually do that unless their loved ones were not expected to get out of those beds. She looked tiny, like a little paper doll in a big white envelope. Her eyes were closed, and thin black wires trailed out of her ears. At first, I thought they might be some kind of medical paraphernalia, but then Arlen went to the bed and touched her shoulder and her eyes popped open. She reached up and pulled the ear buds out of her ears.

“Oh my goodness. Seychelle!” She fumbled in the covers on the bed and lifted up a small box. It was a cassette player. She pushed a button on the machine and it made a loud clack in the otherwise quiet room. Her voice had been little more than a whisper.

“Hi, Mrs. Sparks. I brought you a cake.” Next to her bed was a long narrow table on wheels just like they have in hospitals; I set the box on the end. “It’s angel food, just like you used to bake for us.”

It was the strangest thing I thought of when I got closer to her. Under her eyes were hollows the same size as the bags under her husband’s eyes, and I wondered if they could fit together when they kissed. It was a stupid thing to think, because it was pretty obvious there hadn’t been much kissing in this house for a while. She wore a red scarf on her head, and the bright color made her skin look the color of dried putty.

“Thank you, dear.”

“What were you listening to?”

“I can’t read much anymore. My eyes tire too quickly. I listen to books now on audio.”

I smiled at her. “Should have known you wouldn’t be in here watching the soaps.”

“No, I’m listening to
Treasure Island
. I’ve always loved that story.”

“It’s good to know some things don’t change, Mrs. Sparks.”

“You don’t think I’ve changed?” she asked, the surprise evident in her voice.

“Sure, you look different. I expected that. But you still act the same and, as usual, that’s what puts a smile on other people’s faces.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Good, because I meant it as one. You know, I’m sorry I haven’t been by before now, but I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Well, now, why would you? You haven’t lived here in years.”

“But I should have been checking up on you. I’m sorry.”

“Dear, we old folks expect the young ones to grow up and move away.” Her eyes closed, and she sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But I only moved a few miles away and I feel bad. I mean, you were like a mom sometimes when I didn’t have one, and I should have been like a daughter when you needed one.”

It occurred to me then how capricious nature was— bestowing motherhood on those like the women in my family who make lousy mothers, and denying children to a woman like Sarah Sparks.

She shook her head and opened her eyes. It seemed to require a great deal of effort. “Seychelle, you were always so hard on yourself. You didn’t owe me anything. You children gave me more pleasure—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Her breathing was slow and regular. She was asleep. I straightened the covers and set the cassette recorder on her table. “Likewise, Mrs. Sparks,” I whispered.

I found Arlen in the kitchen fixing himself a roast beef sandwich. He asked me if I wanted one, and then without asking he poured us both glasses of a dark Cabernet. He put the bottle on the table, too.

“She’s got this morphine pump,” he said. “When it kicks in it knocks her right out. She’ll just drop off in midsentence. The cancer’s in her liver now.”

“It must be really hard taking care of her. You look exhausted.”

“I should have taken them to court.” He reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass.

“Who?”

“Motowave. It’s all their fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“When they canned me, I got depressed and there I was moping around, feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t pay any attention to the fact that my wife was sick again. We didn’t get her to the doctors quick enough because she was trying to take care of me.”

“That doesn’t sound like the best logic.”

“She wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for them. The bastards—” It sounded like he’d been about to say something more about Motowave, but when he spoke again, the anger was gone and his voice was flat. “I can’t stand just sitting here watching her die.”

He drank off the rest of his second glass and reached for the bottle again. He hadn’t touched his sandwich yet.

“Arlen, why don’t you eat your sandwich? I want to tell you about an idea I have.”

He took a bite and chewed with his mouth half open. “Okay. What is it?”

“I have a friend who is a nurse and she needs a place to stay. You have a three-bedroom house and you really could use some live-in help for your wife. You’d really like this woman, and I know your wife would love her.”
 

By the time I left, I had settled Arlen into his recliner to sleep off his lunch and Catalina had a place to stay.

I stopped by Sailorman on my way to Jeannie’s, to see if they had a manual for my little Nissan outboard. When I walked into the store, I ran into Tia from Offshore Marine Towing standing in line at the register.

“Hey, Seychelle. I’ve been trying to get hold of you. You haven’t been answering your phone or the radio.”
 

“I’ve been out of town. Just brought the
Power Play
up from Key West.”

She shook her head. “I heard about Nestor. That was awful. I didn’t know you were down there.”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t anything else to say about it. Certainly not anything that I wanted spread around as gossip.

“The reason I was trying to reach you is that there is something happening tomorrow I wanted you to know about.”

“What?”

“The Marine Industries Association is sponsoring a symposium on maritime salvage laws over at the International Game Fish Association headquarters. Starts at three. Think you can make it?”

“Tia,” I said drawing her name out into a long whine, “that sounds like something for the big corporate boys. I’m just a small business. I fall asleep when I go to business meetings.”

“Sey, this is for everybody. You’ve seen it. You know how our business has been growing. Not everybody who’s been jumping in lately knows the business like you do.”

“What you mean is, it’s a symposium on piracy.”

The woman who was ringing up Tia’s purchase at the register laughed out loud. Tia frowned at her and then continued. “I didn’t say that. It’s just that some operators in our business seem to be having trouble lately with the difference between what constitutes a tow and what’s salvage. We thought we’d bring in a maritime attorney, a representative from the Coast Guard, and then get all the towboat companies together and maybe we’ll be able to police our own industry.”

“That does sound interesting.”

“So I can count on you, then? You’ll be there?”

“I guess. But don’t expect me to get up and talk. I’m just coming to listen.”

XV

I cupped my hands on either side of my face and pressed against Jeannie’s front screen door, trying to see into the dark recesses of her apartment.

“Hello! Anybody home?”

I knew better than to try to open the door. Jeannie had an alarm system on all her doors and windows, and I’d set it off more than once by just strolling into her place. I was standing on the landing at the top of the outside staircase hollering when I heard a dog barking behind me, and I turned to see Jeannie being pulled down the street by an enthusiastic and overweight beagle. She let go of his leash, and he beat her to the top of the stairs. As she climbed, she explained between breaths, “The boys talked me into dog-sitting this weekend while the folks who live downstairs are off on a cruise.”

She arrived on the landing and stopped to catch her breath. The dog was whining and scratching at the screen door. “You can let him in,” she said. “The alarm’s not armed.”

“Why aren’t the boys walking the dog?” I asked as we made our way into her kitchen.

“It’s a Sunday afternoon and the two of them vanished right after lunch. They’re probably over at their friend Jason’s house. The excitement of having a dog pales when a friend invites you over to play with the latest video game. So what brings you over here this afternoon?” She motioned for me to sit at the kitchen table. It was piled high with folders and stacks of papers. A laptop computer and printer were set up on the far side, and Jeannie sat in the rolling office chair located on that side of the table.

Lawyers are often characterized as money-grubbing scumbags; Jeannie was anything but. I admired the way she worked, doing just enough to keep their standard of living comfortable but never so much that she couldn’t be home when her boys needed her. Jeannie always valued quality over quantity, and she sailed through life doing the things that made her happy. Housework was not one of those things.

“I didn’t want to bring up our
Seas the Day
friend at the barbecue last night, but I do want to know what the status is.”

“Not a whole lot has changed. Except for the fact that we now have a court date. It’s this coming Thursday.”
 

“Jeannie, I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about this. I mean, what if that girl had drowned? Maybe there was something else I should have done when I agreed to tow him in. I shouldn’t have let them stay on their boat. I was towing, bottom line is, it was my fault.”

“Girl, watch your mouth. Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. Your fault, my ass—and that, my dear, is making a big statement.”

“Jesus, Jeannie,” I said, but she did know how to make me laugh.

“This Burke character has a history that goes way back. I’ll bet if you had asked him to get aboard
Gorda
, he would have refused. He needed to be aboard his little boat to open a valve and let her sink.”

“I don’t know. It’s possible he didn’t do anything. It was really rough out there. I should have known better than to leave them on the boat. I was in charge.”
 

“Seychelle, in the last two years the man has been in five automobile accidents and he’s sued companies three times for product liability. Then there’s the McDonald’s case that’s still pending. Seems he has a cousin who’s an attorney and they’re in cahoots. Doesn’t cost him anything to bring these suits and with you, he thinks he’s hit the jackpot.”

“But I told you to talk to him. To tell him I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Seychelle, you talk as though you think this is a rational man. This man almost let his daughter drown so he could get some money out of you.”

“Okay. You’ve got a point. But I need to know what’s going on. What’s the deal? Am I in danger of losing this lawsuit? Like I said, I couldn’t sleep last night. All I kept thinking about is what could have happened out there, and then what could happen now if I lose and I owe this guy millions of dollars.”