‘When who called?’ Mike interrupted, arriving in the middle of the exchange. He had thirty pounds and two years on his brother, plus a full brown beard.
‘His old flame,’ Anna Severson answered.
‘She’s not my old flame!’
‘Who?’ Mike repeated, going straight to the cupboard for a coffee cup and filling it at the stove.
‘That Pearson girl, the one he used to trade spit with on that back porch right there when he thought the rest of us had gone to bed.’
‘Oh, Judas,’ Eric groaned.
“Maggie Pearson?’ Mike’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Vera and Leroy Pearson’s daughter- you remember her,’ Anna clarified.
Testing the steaming coffee with his lips, Mike grinned at his brother. ‘Hooey! You and old Maggie used to nearly set that old daybed on fire back in high school.’
‘If I’d’ve known I was going to take all this flak I wouldn’t have told you two.’
“So what did she want?’ Mike found the leftover sausage and helped himself.
‘I don’t know. She and Glenda Holbrook kept in touch, and she just...’ Eric shrugged. ‘Called, that’s all. Said hi, how y’ doing, are you married, you got kids, that sort of thing.’
‘Sniffin’,’ Anna put in again from the sink, her back to the boys.
‘Ma!’
‘Yeah, I heard you. Just to say hi.’
‘She said hi to both of you, too, but I don’t know why the hell I bother.’
‘Mmm... something’s missing here,’ Mike speculated.
‘Well, when you figure out what it is, I’m sure you’ll let me know,’ Eric told his brother sarcastically.
Out in the office the radio crackled and Jerry Joe’s voice came on.
“Mary Deare to base, you up there, Grandma?’
Eric, closest to the office, went out to answer. ‘This is Eric. Go ahead, Jerry Joe.’
‘Momin’, Cap’n. Our
parties are here. Just sent ‘em up to the office. Nick and me could use some help down here.’
‘Be right there.’
Eric glanced through the open office door and saw a group of men crossing the blacktop from the dock, heading in to register, pay and buy licences - Ma’s department. Beyond the fish-cleaning tables he saw Tim Rooney, their handyman, directing a boat that was being backed into the water on their ramp, while another pickup and boat had just pulled into the parking lot.
Switching off the mike, Eric called, ‘Ma? Mike? Customers coming from all directions. I’m heading for the boat.’
At precisely 7:3o A.M. the Mar Deare’s engines chortled to life with Eric at the wheel. Jerry Joe released the mooring lines and leapt aboard as Eric pulled the cord for the air horn and it split the silence in a long, deafening blast. From the cockpit of The Dove, Mike answered with a matching blast, as he, too, revved his engines.
Beneath Eric’s hands the wide wooden wheel shuddered as he threw the engine from reverse into forward and headed at a crawl out of
This was the time of day Eric liked best, early morning, with the sun coming up behind him and fingers of steam rising from the water, parting and curling as the boat nudged through; and overhead, a battalion of herring gulls acting as escort, screaming loudly with their white heads cocked in the sun; and to the west Door Bluff rising sharp and green against a violet horizon.
He pointed the bow northward, leaving behind the damp-wood-and-fish smells of the harbour for the bracing freshness of the open water. Switching on the depth sounder, he plucked the radio mike off the ceiling.
‘This is the Mar Deare on ten. Who’s out there this morning?’
A moment later a voice came back, “This is the Mermaid off Table Bluff.’
‘Hi, Rug, any luck this morning?’
‘Nothing yet but we’re marking ‘em at fifty-five feet.” ‘Anyone else out?’
‘Marine, was heading towards
Washington Island
, but
she’s under fog, so they pulled line and went east.’
‘Maybe I’ll head around Door Bluff then.’
‘Might as well. No action out here.’
‘What depth you running?’
‘My deep line is shallow - oh, forty-five or so.’
‘We’ll try a little deeper, then. Thanks, Rug.’
‘Good luck, Eric.’
Among
Eric made one more call. ‘Mar Deare to base.’
Ma’s voice came on, scratchy and gruff. ‘Go ahead, Eric.”
‘Heading out around Door Bluff.’
‘l hear you.’
‘See you at eleven. Have that bread baked, okay?’
She clicked on in the middle of a chuckle. ‘Aye-aye, brat. Base out.’
Smiling over his shoulder as he hung up the mike, Eric heralded Jerry Joe. ‘Take over here while I set the lines.’
For the next thirty minutes he was busy baiting rods and reels with shiny lures, attaching them to the downriggers the stem, counting the times each line crossed the red as payed out, setting the depth accordingly. He assigned lines, checked the multicoloured radar screen for sign of baitfish or salmon and kept a constant eye on the tips of the reels in the ir scabbards along the side and rear rails. All the while he bantered with his customers, getting to know the first timers, rehashing past catches with the repeaters, joshing and charming them all into coming back again.
He was good at his job, good with people, good with the lines. When the first fish was hooked his enthusiasm added as much to the excitement as the bowed rod. He plucked it from its holder, bellowing out instructions, putting it in the hands of a thin, bald man from Wisconsin, then hurriedly buckling around the man’s waist a heavy leather belt to hold the butt of the rod, shouting the directives his father had issued years before: ‘Don’t jerk back! Stay close to the rail!’ and to Jerry Joe, ‘Throttle down, circle right!
We got him!’ He scolded and encouraged with equal likeability, as excited as if this were the first catch he’d ever overseen, manning the handling net himself and hauling the catch over the rail.
He’d been fishing these waters all his life so it was no surprise that they filled out: six salmon for six fishermen.
Returning to port at eleven, he weighed the fish, hung
them on a hook board reading Severson’s Chart’s, OLS ROCK, lined the proud fishermen up behind their catch, took the customary series of Polaroid photographs, gave one to each customer, cleaned the fish, sold four Styrofoam coolers and four bags of ice and went up to Ma’s for dinner.
By
that night he’d repeated the same routine three times. He’d baited lines a total of forty-two times, had met eight new customers and eleven old ones, helped them land fifteen chinook salmon and three brown trout, had cleaned all eighteen fish and had still managed to think of Maggie Pearson more times than he cared to admit.
Odd, what a call like hers began. Old memories, nostalgia, questions like, what if?
Climbing the incline to Ma’s house for the last rime, he thought of Maggie again. He checked his watch.
and Nancy would have supper waiting, but his mind was made up. He was going .to make one phone call before heading home.
Mike and the boys had gone home, and Ma was closing up the front Office as he went through.
‘Big day,’ Ma said, unplugging the coffeepot.
‘Yeah.’ In the kitchen the
Looking up the number, he knew Ma would be coming in right behind him, but he had nothing to hide. He dialled.
The phone rang in his ear and he propped an elbow against the top of the refrigerator. Sure enough, Ma came in with the percolator and started emptying coffee grounds into the sink while he listened to the fourth ring.
‘Hello?’ a child answered.
‘Is Glenda there?’
‘Just a minute.’ The phone clunked loudly in his ear. The child returned an d said, ‘She wants to know who this is.’
‘Eric Severson.’
‘Okay, just a minute.’ He heard the child shout, ‘Eric Severson!’ while Ma moved about the room and listened.
Moments later Glenda came on. ‘Eric, hello! Speaking of the devil.’
‘Hi, Brookie.’
‘Did she call you?’
‘Maggie? Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me.’ Thee too. I’m sure worried about her.’
“Worried?’
‘Well, yeah, I mean, gosh.., aren’t you?’
He did a mental double take. ‘Should I be?’
‘Well, couldn’t you tell how depressed she was?’
‘No, I mean, she didn’t say a word. We just- you know caught up, sort of.’
‘She didn’t say anything about this group she’s working with?’
‘What group?’
‘She’s in a bad way, Eric,’ Brookie told him. ‘She lost her husband a year ago, and her daughter just came back east to college. Apparently she’s been going through counseling with some grief group and everything sort of came down on her at once. She was going through this struggle to accept the fact that her husband was dead, and in the middle of it all, somebody from the group tried to commit suicide.’
‘Suicide?’ Eric’s elbow came away from the refrigerator.
‘You mean she might possibly be that bad, too?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is that her psychiatrist told bet that when she starts getting depressed the best thing to do is to call old friends and talk about the old days. That’s why she called us. We’re her therapy.’
‘Brookie, I didn’t know.
‘No, she’s at home.’
‘How did she seem to you? I mean, was she still depressed or...’ His troubled gaze was fixed on Anna, who had stopped her work and stood watching him.
‘I don’t know. I got her laughing some, but it’s hard to tell. How did she seem when you talked to her?’
‘I don’t know either. It’s been twenty-three years, Brookie. It’s pretty hard to tell from just her voice. I got her laughing, too, but ... hell, if only she’d have said something.’
‘Well, if you can spare the time, give her a call now and then. I think it’ll help. I’ve already talked to Fish and Lisa and Tani. We’re going to kind of take turns.’
‘Good idea.’ Eric considered for less than two seconds before making his decision. ‘Have you got her number, Brookie?’
‘Sure. You got a pencil?’
He caught the one hanging on the dirty string. “Yeah, go ahead.’
With his mother watching, he wrote Maggie’s phone number among the dozens scrawled on the cover of the phone book.
‘206--555-3404,’ he repeated. ‘Thanks, Brookie.’
‘Eric?’
‘Yeah?’
‘i’e, K K, and tell her I’m thinking about her and that I’ll be calling her soon.’
‘I will.’
‘And say hi to your mom.’
I’ll do that. I’m at her house now. Bye, Brookie.’
Bye.’
When he hung up, his gaze locked with Anna’s. He felt like a herd of horses was galloping through his insides.
‘She’s in some counselling group for people who are suicidal. Her doctor told her to call old friends.’ He released a tense breath and looked harried.
‘Well, the poor, poor thing.’
‘She never told me, Ma.’
‘Can’t be an easy thing to make yourself say.’
He wandered to a kitchen window, stared out, seeing Maggie as he remembered her, a gay young girl who laughed so easily. He stood for a long time, filled with a startling amount of concern, considering what was proper.
Finally he turned back to Anna. He was forty years old, but he needed her approval before doing what was on his mind. ‘I’ve got to call her back, Ma.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You care if I call from here?’
‘You go right ahead. I got to take a bath.’ She abandoned the percolator and coffee grounds in the sink, crossed the room to him and gave him a rare hug and several bluff thumps on the back. ‘Sometimes, son, we got no choice,’ she said, then left him standing in the empty room beside the waiting telephone.
Chapter 3
On the day following her conversations with Brookie and Eric, Maggie’s phone made up for its usual silence. Her first call came at six, am.
‘Hi, Mom.’
Maggie shot up and checked the clock. ‘Katy, are you all right?’