Winter Wake Page 5

  He finally fell asleep sometime before dawn, but his sleep was as disturbed and restless as the dark, storm-tossed ocean.

  VII

  Like her father, Bri also had trouble getting back to sleep. Up until she mentioned missing Bungle, she had been doing fine trying to settle in her new bedroom; but once she remembered how much she missed her cat, how much she wanted him here, she found she couldn’t get him and his rain-matted body out of her mind.

  She made a mistake that helped keep sleep at bay. Of course her mother had no way of knowing it, and John apparently had forgotten that her bedroom was directly over the living room, and there was a heating vent in the floor. She could hear everything they said downstairs as they settled down to sleep. As soon as John mentioned that he might have seen the ghost of his dead mother, she got out of bed and, keeping an ear close to the open vent, listened.

  In spite of her occasional reading of a horror novel, she didn’t really believe in ghosts or the supernatural. Like her mother, she dismissed what John said he had seen as nothing more than a trick of the glass — a doubling of one of their images or something.

  The church wood was something else.

  Maybe it struck her fancy simply because she had never heard of a house actually echoing with sounds it had “heard” years before. The whole idea of wood that still reverberated with centuries-old church music gave her the willies. After her parents stopped talking and she tiptoed back to bed, she lay in the dark, waiting to hear … something.

  Sleep sneaked up on her despite her gnawing worry, and she drifted off after a while. Only once during the night did she hear something that dragged her toward wakefulness. From inside the wall, at the head of her bed, there came a low thump and then a faint scratching, skittering noise. After a while, another soft thump that sounded like a small pillow being dropped to the floor snapped her out of sleep. She sat up in bed, her sleeping bag pulled up to her chin.

  Shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, she tried to decide if she had heard it or if it had been part of a dream. It had sounded like there was something plump and heavy was moving around inside the walls, but she was too exhausted from the drive today, and she settled back down and let herself drift to sleep. She was determined to mention it to her father or grandfather in the morning. Maybe — like the church wood — her granddad would have a story about it.

  THREE

  Unloading

  I

  “Rats. ‘s’what it is,” Frank said. He spooned some Rice Krispies into his mouth and began chewing noisily. Several pieces of cereal fell back into the bowl when he continued to talk with his mouth full. “There’s rats in the walls. Gotta ‘spect that in an old house like this.”

  Julia looked wide-eyed at John, who silently shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

  “So I ... I wasn’t imagining it?” Bri said. She had been hungry when she first came downstairs, lured by the smell of eggs and bacon frying, but now her breakfast sat untouched on her plate as she listened to her grandfather. With the sun streaming like honey through the window, she felt rested in spite of her interrupted sleep. One time during the night, she had awakened from a disturbing dream that had something to do with Bungle, her dead cat, and a girl she didn’t recognize. In the clear light of morning, she was grateful that the vivid details of the dream had dissolved from memory.

  “You bet yer as — Your, ahh, bottom dollar there are,” Frank said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a slurping sip of coffee. “Good coffee,” he said, nodding to Julia.

  “Frank, honestly —” Julia said. “I don’t think you should be filling Bri’s mind with such stories.” Given the freedom to do so, she would have gone on a bit more about the adjustments Bri was going to have to make, leaving her friends behind in Vermont to live on Glooscap, but she hoped that Frank would have figured that out by now.

  ‘‘They ain’t stories,” Frank said, shaking his head quickly. “They’re facts. They ain’t stories a’all.”

  “Well they’re nonsense … all this about ‘church wood,’ as you call it. What else would you call it if not nonsense?”

  “Now that’s one thing,” Frank replied, his eyes suddenly twitching and rolling ceilingward. Julia panicked for an instant, thinking he was about to black out, but he suddenly leaned forward and shook his head. “And them rats in the walls are another. Living so close to the mainland, ‘tweren’t hard for rats to get over here. ‘Specially on boats and whatever. They can swim plenty good, too. You go down to the wharf sometime, ‘n’ you’ll see. Tell her, Johnny.”

  For an instant, John glared at his father’s use of what he considered his “little kid’s” name. No one since high school had called him “Johnny.”

  “Tell her what?” he asked, tossing his hands up. “That there are rats down at the wharf? O’course there are.”

  “And in the walls … In the walls too, goddamnit!” Frank snapped. He brought his fist down hard enough onto the table to make the silverware jump and clatter. Turning back to Bri, he said, “In the fall, especially, they come in, yah know, looking for a warm place for the winter, same’s anyone. An old house like this has enough space between the walls so’s even a person can practically fit in behind there. Round ‘bout autumn, them rats start comin’ in ‘n’ they stay there ‘till spring.”

  “And you can live with that?” Julia asked, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

  “Do they ever come into the house?” Bri asked, her voice winding up high. “Do you ever, like, see ‘em?”

  Frank shrugged casually. “Now and again, but they ain’t nothing. I figure these rats — least their kin — have been coming into this house since ‘fore I was born. It’s as much their house as it is mine.”

  Julia turned to John and said softly, “I want you to get some D-Con or whatever and set some traps. I don’t want to come down here some morning and find a rat sitting on the countertop, nibbling on a loaf of bread.”

  “Hell,” Frank said, his voice blending into a cackling laugh. “They don’t nibble. You ain’t never seen these fellas. They’re some big. Get to be the size of a small poodle, ‘n they’re twice as mean as a badger.”

  “Oh, great,” Julia said, her face darkening even more. She nailed John with an even harsher look. “I mean it,” she said. “I don’t want to see any damned rats in this house. They’re ... unsanitary.”

  “I sure as shi —” Frank glanced at Bri and corrected himself. “Sure as heck ain’t gonna do anything about it.” He took another spoonful of Rice Krispies and chewed. “The last thing I want is to have them rats mad at me.” Turning to Bri, he added, “They’re like cats, you know? They can sense things people ain’t aware of.”

  Julia looked over at Frank, wondering exactly how much of this was truth and how much was bullshit. She was beginning to think Frank liked to spin these little tales and make up stories to get a rise out of people.

  “As exciting and as stimulating as this discussion is,” John said as he drained his coffee cup, “I’ve got a truck to unload and get back to U-Haul. I don’t want to have to mess around with it tomorrow. I’ll be looking for volunteers.”

  Bri nodded eagerly and dug into her breakfast, taking bites of toast and eggs, and washing them down with orange juice. Julia busied herself at the kitchen sink, anxious to start getting their own things unpacked so she could start feeling as though they belonged in this house.

  Rats as big as poodles in the walls ... indeed.

  II

  The morning sun had pushed away the rain clouds, and a clear, blue sky vaulted overhead, vibrating with intensity. Seagulls wheeled above, tiny white specks moving in wide, lazy circles. Thin wisps of steam rose from the street as the morning sun warmed the asphalt. A brisk breeze was coming in off the water, so in spite of the sweat John worked up unloading the truck, he had to wear a jacket against the chill.

  John looked down to the street when a car pulled up and stopped, and a man stepped out, squinting agai
nst the glare. He waved to John, but it wasn’t until he was halfway across the lawn that John recognized Randy Chadwick, his old friend from high school.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Randy said as he walked up to the truck and held his hand up for John to shake.

  “Son of a bitch, yourself,” John said.

  He shook Randy’s hand, then jumped down to the ground beside him. “So you’re still dragging your sorry ass around this island.”

  Randy smiled. “And I see you’re dragging your sorry ass back to it. How the hell have you been, Johnny?”

  “Fine ... fine,” John said as he stepped back and looked at his friend.

  It had been six years since he had last seen Randy Chadwick, when Randy had showed up at Johns’ mother’s funeral. Even in the six intervening years, though, time hadn’t been kind to Randy. Once the leanest, toughest-looking guy in the school, he now had the bulge of a well-cultivated beer gut. His hairline had receded a few inches, and his face was tanned and deeply lined — either from worry or hard outdoor work. All in all, John’s first impression was that Randy, who was only six months older than he was, looked at least five years older.

  “I heard you might be back this way,” Randy said. He snapped his head around when Julia came out the front door; then his eyebrows shot up as he quickly took her in. Turning to John, he winked lasciviously and nodded his immediate approval.

  “Uh, Julia,” John said, bristling at his friend’s reaction. “This is an old friend of mine from high school — Randy Chadwick. I’ve told you some of the crap we used to pull. Randy, this is my wife, Julia.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Randy said, offering his hand for Julia to shake. Looking back at John, he said, “I never heard you got married. When’d that happen?”

  “Five years ago,” John said, shuffling his feet. “I would have thought my dad would mention it to someone.”

  “If he had, I would’a heard about it,” Randy said with a laugh.

  Just then, Bri came out of the front door and drew to a startled stop when she saw Randy. John introduced her as his daughter, figuring Randy could do the math and figure out she was actually his stepdaughter.

  “We were about to take a break for lunch,” Julia said. “Would you care to join us?”

  Randy glanced at his car as though it had just called to him, reminding him of something he had to do, but he shrugged and said, “I’m not particularly hungry, but I’ll sit and have a beer with yah.” Turning to John, he added, “It’ll give us a chance to catch up. Christ — I can’t believe you’re married. Of all people, you’re the last one I thought would ever get married.”

  Julia frowned, wondering what Randy meant by that, but she left her question unasked as she turned to go to the kitchen and slap together a few sandwiches. Embarrassed by her own awkward entrance, Bri followed her mother into the house.

  John and Randy sat down opposite each other at the weather-beaten picnic table on the porch. For the briefest moment, an awkward silence fell between them, but before long Randy got his jaw working and filled John in on the local gossip. In the time it took for Julia to make the sandwiches, he told John more than he cared to know about some of the people they had gone to school with back in the late sixties.

  While Randy was in the middle of a story about a friend of theirs nicknamed “Booger,” Julia came out with paper plates, napkins, and a platter loaded with tuna fish sandwiches. Bri was right behind her with a bowl of potato chips and several cans of soda and beer.

  “Help yourself,” Julia said as she plopped down onto the picnic-table seat. She let out a huff of air that flapped the strand of hair hanging down over her eyes. John took half a sandwich, smiled at her, and said, “Thanks, hon.”

  Randy took a can of beer and popped the top. After a long swallow, he put it down on the table and continued. “Course, I suppose you never heard from Abby again, did you?”

  John had taken a bite of sandwich and was chewing. He leaned forward and coughed, casting a quick glance at Julia and muttered something none of them understood as he shook his head.

  “Who’s Abby?” Bri asked, looking back and forth between her parents.

  Julia smiled thinly and echoed Bri. “Yeah … who’s Abby?”

  She vaguely remember that Frank had called her Abby yesterday when they first arrived, but she didn’t mention it.

  Randy picked up on the tension and, frowning, cocked his thumb at John and whispered, “I take it you never told her about Abby?”

  Obviously embarrassed, John tried to turn it aside.

  “No need to,” he said. Then to Julia he added, “She was my girlfriend in high school.” He swallowed the mouthful of sandwich and quickly took a drink of beer.

  “I see,” Julia said as she sipped Diet Pepsi thoughtfully, actually enjoying watching John squirm.

  “It was never anything serious,” John added. He took another sip of his beer, grateful when he didn’t choke on it.

  “Nothing serious? Right,” Randy said with a wide smile. “And the pope doesn’t wear a funny hat. They were only the” — he glanced at Bri, then finished —”the hottest couple in the school. You’d see them everywhere together, at school, after school, hanging around Pottle’s, in town Portland — everywhere, always holding hands and hugging.” He leaned back and laughed with the memory. “They were the school couple — senior prom king and queen, the whole works.”

  “What can I say? We were young and foolish,” John said, shaking his head and wishing to hell Randy would shut up. He was actually beginning to wish Randy had never even stopped by, unless he was going to offer to help unload. John wasn’t ready for all this memory-lane crap.

  “So?” Julia said casually. “What’s she doing now?”

  “Probably married to a lobsterman with three or four little brats running around, right?” John said. “Fifty pounds overweight and looks ten years older than she is.” He finished off his first sandwich half, and, after another sip of beer, reached for another.

  “Actually, no,” Randy said. “Ole’ Romeo here must’ve broken her heart bad, ‘cause — what was it? Maybe two weeks before graduation? Something like that, she up and left school … left the island. Gone. I’m telling yah, buddy,” Randy slapped John hard on the back, “you must have really broken her heart.”

  “You’re not remembering the way I do,” John said, his voice strained. “She broke up with me.”

  “Oh, yeah ... sure,” Randy said, chuckling. “You expect me to believe that?”

  John shrugged. “God’s honest truth. She broke up with me, and then the next morning she was gone. She told me she was going to leave. She had some crazy notion she could make it as a model in New York City.”

  His gaze flicked over to Julia. He was trying to gauge how she was taking all of this. She was probably as bored with high school memories as he was. He knew someone would mention Abby sooner or later, so it was just as well to get it over with now. But if living on Glooscap was going to be a steady stream of high school and childhood reminiscences, he didn’t want any part of it. He was sure Julia would tire of it soon enough, too.

  “No one knows where she went?” Bri asked. She, at least, appeared interested in Randy’s story. She found it fascinating to try to imagine her stepfather as a boy, growing up in this area. John was beginning to think, what with his father’s and now Randy’s stories, she was getting an earful.

  Randy shook his head. “All I know is, no one on Glooscap ever saw or heard from her again. Her parents and her sister ... you remember Sally, Abby’s sister, right?”

  John shifted uneasily and nodded. “Uh … sort of. She was a couple of years ahead of us.”

  Randy threw his hands up in a helpless gesture.

  “Well, for whatever reason, Abby plain up and disappeared.”

  “That’s kinda weird, don’t you think?” Bri asked no one in particular.

  “How ‘bout you and Ellie?” John asked, trying to change the subject. “You
guys still together?” He scooped a handful of chips onto his plate and then started munching them.

  “‘Course we are,” Randy said. He drained his beer can and put the empty on the table. “Ellie’s like what you said about Abby — married to a lobsterman with — well, she’s only got two snot-nosed brats clinging to her knees, ‘n’ she ain’t exactly fifty pounds overweight.”

  “You still lobstering?” John asked. “I thought you were going to get out of the family business.”

  Randy said, “And do what? It’s a ball-busting job, but the money’s still good.” He was smiling, but his face suddenly clouded over as he looked at John. ‘‘I’m kinda surprised you never heard from Abby again,” he said. “I always figured you and she would end up together. That’s why I was surprised to find out you’d gotten married.”

  “Time marches on,” John said. He finished off his second half of sandwich with a huge bite, stuffed a few more chips into his mouth, and finished his beer. Glancing at his watch, he said, “And this truck ain’t gonna unload itself.” He paused to see if Randy would offer to help, but when he didn’t, he was just as glad. An entire afternoon of listening to Randy’s stories would surely drive him crazy.

  “Well, I thank you for the beer,” Randy said as he got to his feet. “Nice meeting you, Julia — and Bri. I’d help you unload, but I’ve got to take Ellie over to visit her mom. I could swing by and help you later this evening.”

  Julia, who had been dreading the thought of carrying their large bureaus upstairs, started to accept his offer, but John shook cut her off before she could say anything.

  “Oh, no. We got it, no sweat.”

  “Once you’re all settled in, Ellie and me’ll have you guys over for supper. How’s that sound? We can catch up on old times.”

  John walked with him down the porch steps. Once they were on the walkway, Randy turned and looked at him, smiling. “Man, when I think about all the shit we used to pull back then.” He smiled and, shaking his head, held his hand out to John. As they shook, he continued, “I’ve got to say, though, I never thought I’d live to see the day you came back here … not after how much you told me how you couldn’t wait to get the hell off this island.”