Chapter 30
“Who was that? Answer me!”
Phil focused on the approaching island. Just get away, before Rose found out who it was on the dock. The farther away they got, the less likely she’d recognize the O’Brien girl.
“Phil!”
He turned and looked back at the dock. Just a toy now with two tiny dolls on it.
“Are you going to answer? Am I a ghost here?”
He looked over at his wife. The tracks from her fingernails on her forehead and cheeks had healed to a dark pink, the scabs falling off two days before. Rose’s face was shiny from the antibiotic ointment she applied to the wounds hourly. It was too much, too often, but she wouldn’t listen to him and his silly warnings.
“No, you’re not a ghost. I hear you.”
“Who were those people? Are they staying on the island?”
Now he had no choice. He had to lie. He couldn’t chance it with the truth. “Nah, I bet they’re just here to close up one of the houses. No one ever comes out here now.” That part was true, anyway. He turned away and focused his eyes up-island, steering the boat homeward.
“Well, aren’t we going to go to Jones? Why did we turn around?”
Phillip cursed himself. It was his idea, taking a walk on the boardwalk and the beach at Jones Beach - a way to drag her off of that porch and away from the magazines and her cell phone. She’d packed a battery-operated charger this year and had been spending the last week sitting on the porch either on the phone to Dr. Omin or Jackie. Both of them were filling her head so full of nonsense, it spilled out of her mouth whenever she talked. Jackie-said-this and Dr. Omin-said-that and beauty inside, beauty outside and she was never never never going to get old and aren’t-you-recycling-that?
He kept his focus up-island, finally spotting their dock. Almost home, safe. “I think I ate something bad. I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, no! What? Was it that polenta do you think?”
Phillip nearly laughed. The dry tasteless polenta from last night he’d pushed around on his plate? He’d only been able to choke down a few bites. “I’m not sure. Just not feeling too good. We’ll do Jones another day.” Another day never. He wasn’t taking any more chances.
“You know…” Rose looked back at the receding shore. “That looked like Hannah O’Brien.”
He glanced at her and shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”
“No, really. That was Hannah O’Brien. What is she doing here?”
“No, it’s not her!”
“What are you shouting about? It’s her. And I’m guessing her boyfriend. Why are you denying it? Do you know something?”
“No…” He tightened his lips and forced himself to focus on their dock which was zooming up on the left.
“You do! You know something. I can tell!”
He shook his head again. “No, I don’t.”
“How long has she been here?”
Suddenly, he was flooded with impatient anger. Couldn’t she just take his word for it? Did everything have to be a battle? “Goddamn it, Rose! Stop it!” He cut the motor and pulled up the boat sloppily against the dock, having to lean and grab the edge of the boards to pull the boat closer. He could feel her piercing gaze on him, a burning sensation, as he tied up. He didn’t want to lie to her any more than he had. He just wanted her to drop it.
“So, you’ve met her, huh? You two had a nice little conversation, didn’t you? Did she giggle and jiggle for you? Did you like that? I bet you did. Some young beautiful girl like that. Just like her mother.”
Phillip leapt out of the boat and turned back to face her. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to the bathroom. You can sit there and make up things all day long if you want. Need a hand up?” He reached down, offering his hand to her.
She sneered at his hand, her shiny pink-striped face twisting. “I don’t need a hand up. I grew up on the water. You, on the other hand, were afraid of boats when I met you. Tiptoed around in them like a little girl. Of course, I didn’t say anything at the time. Didn’t want to hurt your tender male ego.”
He looked down at his wife. What had happened to her? He hated to admit it, but the woman he loved, the vibrant proud woman he would have given his life for gladly, was gone. What was left was a bitter hateful crow, angrily picking at life and finding it wanting, her outraged cawing painful to hear. He turned without comment and walked up the dock, heading toward the house and away from her.