Authors: Jacqueline Sheehan
T
he next day, Rocky and Natalie waited in Rocky's yellow truck. The truck was really part of Isaiah's small fleet of public works vehicles, but Rocky had been the sole driver since last October. The ferry from Portland made its wide swing and slid into the dock. The cargo department of the Casco Bay ferry had called Rocky to let her know that a shipment from Home Depot was arriving.
Natalie drummed her fingers on the edge of the open window.
“Why doesn't your carpenter guy do this? I mean, you're paying him to do the work,” said Natalie.
Cars came off the ferry first, then cargo, and lastly passengers. The ferry workers unloaded the cargo and forklifted crates to the side of the landing. The procedure was reversed after all the passengers were unloaded: first the cars departing the island drove on, and then the passengers bound for the mainland walked aboard. Rarely did cargo leave the island. As the ferry pulled out for its fifteen-minute voyage, Rocky drove the truck to the landing and backed the truck up to the Home Depot shipment. She set the emergency brake.
“Russell has a very long list of people who want him to remodel, build decks, tear out windows, put in windows, and I don't know what else. Right now he's back at the house with an electrician replacing wiring. If he had to sit here and wait for sinks and bathroom vanities to arrive from Portland, it would be a big waste of time. Since no one is demanding my animal control warden skills at the moment, it made more sense for me to do this part.”
She hopped out of the truck. “Come on. Let's get this stuff loaded into the truck.”
Natalie moved so much slower than Rocky, as if an opposing force had a harness around her, pulling her back. Was it wariness? Or was it just the result of a bad-luck life? Rocky had not seen Hill since the night of the concert, not since the unholy seed had been planted by Natalie. Rocky understood the effects of early abuse; she had seen the ragged imprints of it in therapy, glazing over the hearts of people who were long past the clutches of perpetrators but reliving the experience daily. What was it about Hill that had unsettled Natalie? Rocky had scheduled a meeting with the director of Southern Maine Foster Services in Portland on Monday. Today was Friday. She had thought about telling Nat, but each time a bolt of misgiving had stopped her. Was she betraying the girl?
They lifted the bathroom vanities into the back of the truck, each of them lifting one side.
“Sinks come in boxes?” said Natalie. The flesh around the top of her hips puffed at the top edge of her low-riding jeans.
“I know, I said the same thing. Who would have thought you could squish bathroom vanities into boxes?” said Rocky.
They loaded the boxes and a large plastic bag of PVC piping into the back of the truck.
“Let's stop at Hannigan's and get some cold drinks. I know the guys at the house could use something cold,” said Rocky. She had one foot resting on the bottom rim of the door, hesitating. “Look, you don't seem to be able to find a job in Portland. And for the moment, I can't come up with a source of DNA from Bob, so we are at a temporary standstill on the paternity issue. Why don't I hire you to help with the house remodel? You might find demolition work quite satisfying. I do.”
Natalie's eyelids fluttered for a few seconds as if her electrical charge were temporarily interrupted. Rocky had thrown the girl a surprise pitch. Natalie got into the passenger seat and looked down at her hands. Rocky and Natalie had opened the DNA kit just yesterday, and Natalie had willingly rubbed a swab along the inside of her mouth, then handed it to Rocky. She had looked at the swab, half-expecting Bob to appear, to hear his voice.
Rocky started the truck, driving up the steep road to the main street. The truck responded with an acknowledgment of the extra load.
“I'll pay you cash, $10 an hour to start. You can work with me, where you'll learn practically nothing about carpentry, or you can work with Russell, where you'll learn important things that will actually be marketable skills.”
No answer. Natalie examined her blunt fingernails as if they held a message.
“Is this a terrible job offer?” asked Rocky. She parked across the street from Hannigan's.
Natalie slowly licked her lips. “I could try it for a few days. I've never done anything like this. But I still need to go to Portland one day a week to look for a real job.”
Maybe Natalie was just a moody teenager and everything was going to be okay. Given her childhood trauma history, one had to expect that Natalie would have delays in emotional maturity and in her ability to form attachments. Rocky wanted a future for Natalie, college or carpentry or who knew what, but a future nonetheless, and she was elated that she might be able to help Natalie. Rocky ran into the small grocery store, dipped around to the bread shelves, and pulled out her cell phone.
“Russell? This is Rocky. Do you need any teenage-type helpers this summer? No? Well, I've got an offer for you. I want you to hire this kid that I'm going to bring over. I'll pay her, but she can be your apprentice. Thanks.”
They arrived at the job site loaded down with cold bottled water, one liter of Coke, and a sack of sandwiches. Russell and the electrician looked up. They were outside measuring electrical wire as if they were wrapping yarn into a ball.
“Hey, Russell,” said Rocky. “I'd like you meet Natalie, your new apprentice.”
Russell and the electrician put the wire down and appraised the girl with a practiced male glance that took two seconds. Russell stood straighter. The electrician spread his feet a little wider and attempted to suck in his belly. But Rocky saw none of the strange reaction that had erupted around Hill. She gulped down an unwelcome thought about Hill, schoolteacher, archery instructor, a man who cheated once on his wife.
“Russell, I expect you to take good care of her while she's working, and if you see any wolves closing in, your job is to shoo them away. She's my guest.”
“I could use some extra help. Why don't you start on Monday? I start early and end early,” said Russell. He turned back to the electrician, and the spiked pulse of heat from the two men quieted back down. Rocky wanted this to be a good thing for Natalie.
Natalie nodded her agreement, even though Russell had moved on, his tool belt clanking.
Rocky pictured Natalie walking to work each day, bringing her lunch with her, learning the intricacies of house renovation. She pictured the girl coming home each night tired with the sweet satisfaction of hard work.
Natalie
F
ranklin spun between the three laptops like a tap dancer; smooth and agile at one moment, sharp as crocodile teeth the next moment, clattering and snapping. They had found a discarded office chair in back of the building, and he used it to roll from one screen to another on the makeshift table of cinder blocks topped by an old door.
“You gotta love firewalls,” he said without looking up at Natalie. His face and upper torso were illumined by the triptych of computer screens, giving him an icy blue tinge. Natalie didn't know the last time he'd actually been outside. He had explained the difference between an albino and someone like him with his very blond hair, light, almost translucent skin, and pale blue eyes. “The main difference is that I've got a drop of melanin in my system. I can tan, or freckle, if I do it very gradually, not like albinos. But what's the point?”
This was one of the things that Natalie had found intriguing about Franklin when they met working behind the counter at Subway back in Worcester. Franklin had stood out, glowing in the fluorescent light that beamed from his torso. Her interest had hit a critical peak when she heard about his crazy computer skills from one of the other workers. She didn't know how he did it, but Franklin could plug his brain into the hard drive.
Their efficiency apartment in the Chester Hill district was perfectly situated amid drug dealers and drug users; she'd never run into the adorables from Peaks Island in this neighborhood. Natalie had especially wanted the third-floor locationâit rang an old bell with her.
“Look at this,” he said. “They must have three-year-olds install their firewalls. No. Three-year-olds could do a better job. We're all going to hell on a fast train if this is the best protection that the state health department can offer us.”
Natalie had left the island in the middle of the afternoon. She looked at an array of documents from the Department of Children and Families on one screen, all crimped with state seals.
“They've scanned in existing documents,” said Natalie. “Even I know you can't change that.”
Franklin smacked his forehead with his palm. “You're right. I guess I'll have to give up.” His voice had risen in a strained soprano. “Oh please, do you actually think that I can't work around this, dislodge it from its alleged protection? You've forgotten my artistic genius with your birth certificate already? Watch the master at work.”
He turned to screen number two. “This is the one that's putting up some resistance, which makes my day more interesting. Get me a beer, babe.”
No one had ever called her “babe” before, and she liked it, really liked it, as if this man calling her babe was going to dig a moat around her and she'd never have to live in another foster home again. Well, she'd never have to live in another foster home anyhow, but she could still feel the clutches of the worst of themâlike the one with five foster kids and only one hairbrush for all of them and the little kids in kindergarten brought home lice.
She walked into the nook of the kitchen and retrieved a beer for Franklin. He called to her from his computers, “Now this one is putting up a fight. The DNA testing companies have got some balls. Can you imagine how many people are trying to phish into this puppy? This one thinks it's smarter than me, but they are so wrong. They've got as many layers as their IT team can dream up. But guess what, babe? They'll never see me coming, and they'll never know I was there.”
Natalie twisted the cap off the brown bottle and put it within reach of Franklin's porcelain white hands. It had taken her a long time to find Franklin, and she'd do anything to keep him, for as long as she needed him.
N
ot long after she moved into his Worcester apartment, she had said, “Let's go look up death notices and probate stuff,” making it sound as good as watching
American Idol.
She wore a baseball cap at the time, and nothing else.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Franklin had said. “Are you nuts about dead people? Don't go all perv on me.”
He was one to talk. She had tracked his history with porn sites. Natalie stroked his thigh. “No really, I saw this program where people die and nobody claims their great big estates.” She shrugged, handing him the idea to run with. It didn't take Franklin long to get started and for him to believe it had been his idea.
“There is money out there,
chérie
, waiting for us, like fruit off the tree.” He ran his hand along her butt and cupped her ass like it was a free cantaloupe. “We're going to follow the money. I've got a plan.”
It had taken them close to a year, and she'd just about given up, when all the pieces fit together. Probate stuff takes forever to work its way through a system, but with Franklin at the keyboard, it had only been a matter of time and faith.
Franklin and Natalie had moved to Portland in May, fueled by her belief that with Franklin by her side, she had a plan that was solid. When she first contacted Rocky in June, she had left Rocky's return messages unanswered for days, letting Rocky be the one to seek her out. Franklin sold her stolen merchandise on eBay, and they had enough money for the apartment. Today she had brought him earrings and watches, the things that sold easily. They had big dreamsâdifferent dreams, but equally big.
“I need to get back by early tonight. Something about a card game,” said Natalie. She left the topic open, knowing that if Franklin wanted sex, this would be the time. But his head bobbed back and forth from one computer to another. For guys like Franklin, sex was less enticing than a formidable computer challenge.
Melissa
I
t was Friday night, and the second class with Cooper in Portland. There were five other dogs in the class for therapy dogs. One was a blond cocker spaniel with appealing sad eyes who acted like he was on tranquilizers. The remaining dogs included two young golden retrievers who could concentrate for exactly ten seconds before they spun out of control, one Shih Tzu, and one beige standard poodle for whom Cooper had developed quite an amorous liking. Each time Cooper came within ten feet of the large poodle, he expanded his chest and held his head higher.
Cooper did everything that Caroline, the instructor, said.
Sit, stay, heel.
Melissa had had no idea that Cooper knew how to heel. No one on the island had ever asked him to heel. Cooper was going to be the valedictorian of the therapy dog class. He might turn out to be the best dog that Caroline had ever trained.
The goldens flung themselves around and would nearly have levitated had it not been for their leashes. While the golden retrievers flubbed all three of the first essential commands, Cooper sat regally on Melissa's left side.
“Make eye contact with your dog! Make sure that you've established eye contact,” recited Caroline over and over.
Melissa wanted to tell everyone in class that Cooper could also shake on command when he emerged from the ocean, glistening with seawater, a treasured stick in his mouth. But she didn't. That would be bragging. After class, the guy with the cocker spaniel said, “How did you learn to train dogs?”
“I didn't. I swear. This is just a naturally smart dog,” said Melissa.
Melissa and Cooper walked down the hill to Commercial Street and stopped at an ice cream shop. Melissa went in and ordered a vanilla cone with an extra cup. She spooned half of the ice cream into the cup and set it on the sidewalk as she and the dog waited for the ferry back to Peaks. Cooper flattened out on the sidewalk and braced the cup between his front paws. He used his considerable pink tongue to slurp out the contents. Melissa ate her cone, turning it, catching the milky drops that tried to escape from the tip.
Being with Cooper made her feel differentâa little like a grown-up, more like she had substance and solidity. The flow of who she truly was had started to crystallize and form a coherent picture. She was the girl with the brilliant dog. Rocky's brilliant dog.
The smaller ferry ran at this time of day, and almost everyone on it was a regular. She and Cooper walked on, the dog snug at her side. Two little boys ran up and said, “Hi, Cooper!” One of the boys looked up at Melissa and asked, “Can I pet your dog?” She knelt down by Cooper and let the boy pet Cooper's head.
The woman with the British accent who clerked at the grocery store nodded to her. “Did you two have a nice visit in Portland?”
Melissa stood up and then found a seat. “We're going to dog therapy school. Cooper is learning to be a therapy dog,” said Melissa.
“I expect he's got a bit of a head start in the school of therapeutics,” said the woman with an appreciative nod to the dog.
When she was with Cooper, people looked at her with a smile, then a tinge of envy. People didn't hesitate to talk with her, even strangers, and Melissa could suddenly make conversation, a skill that had eluded her until recently. Life before Cooper seemed far away and layered with self-loathing. Life since Cooper's arrival made her cheeks rise up.
The ferry approached Peaks Island, made a large swing around, and slid into the mouth of the dock. She could not contain her euphoria for one more secondâshe had to tell Rocky about Cooper's brilliant performance in class. As soon as her feet hit the cement loading area of the dock, she sprang into a run, patting her thigh to let the dog know that he could run alongside her. They darted up the hill, her long thin legs stretched out, his broad chest pulling him forward in canine bursts.
They headed straight to Rocky's house. Rocky had to be home by now. They ran along Island Avenue, then sprinted along a maze of streets and dirt roads, past her own house on their dirt road, laughing and gasping. Rocky's yellow truck was there. Rocky was going to flip out when she heard about Cooper. Melissa bounded up the steps to the deck as she had done hundreds of times, heading straight to the front door. She could feel Cooper's delight; he loved coming home where Rocky and his food barrel lived.
Melissa pushed open the door, too excited to knock. The kitchen was empty, but she heard voices and felt the bulging hum of people in the house. She entered in five steps, which was all it took to make her way past the bathroom to see into the living room. There was Rocky, Tess, the little grandkid Danielle, and Natalie. They sat around a card table, each with a splayed group of cards in their hands.
“Hey! Join us. I'm getting solidly beaten at poker again,” said Rocky.
Little Danielle squealed and said, “Natalie is teaching me card games like Crazy Eights.”
Natalie looked weirdly demure, with a downward tilt to her head, eyes cast up, like an old picture of Princess Diana. A slip of a smile escaped from Natalie, one that any girl from high school understood.
You're not wanted here. There's no place for you here,
the silent smile said.
“Oh crap! I don't have another chair,” said Rocky. “You can sit in for me next hand. It will give me a chance to recover from the beating I've been taking.”
There was no way that Melissa was going to sit across a wobbly cardboard table and play games with Natalie.
“No thanks. I'll just give Cooper some water and a treat,” said Melissa. A chemical that Natalie emitted had transformed Melissa's euphoria into sludge, clogging her eyes and her heart.
Natalie stood up and spoke to Rocky. “Can I feed Cooper? You've done so much for me, and I would feel better if I could help.”
Melissa had squatted down to pick up Cooper's water dish. She looked at Rocky, waiting for her to tell the girl to back off, waiting for her to say that Melissa had taken care of Cooper since November when he was still recovering from surgery and that no one knew him better than Melissa and Rocky and if the girl wanted to help she could go sweep off the deck. Everything stopped in the room, all the air was sucked out, along with all the card-playing fun.
“What's wrong?” said Danielle, breaking the spell.
Rocky looked from Melissa to Natalie. “Maybe next time, Nat. These two just got back from Portland andâhey, that's right. How was the second night at doggie therapy school?”
Now the girl was Nat, not Natalie. She had wormed in closer. Melissa bit her bottom lip as she filled the dog's dish at the faucet. She was not going to cry in front of this chick. She dropped a dog biscuit near the bowl. “It was fine. No big deal.”
Without saying good-bye, because if she said one more word she was going to cry, Melissa turned and walked out of the house. She was almost back on the dirt road when Rocky caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder.
“Wait a minute. What the hell just happened? Would it kill you to be civil to her? You have no idea what her life has been like,” said Rocky.
Melissa spun around. “You don't get it. Why can't you see? You don't get anything!” shouted Melissa. She wasn't grown-up anymore; all of her substance had evaporated. She turned and ran the rest of way to her house.