{"id":16252,"date":"2020-08-01T00:00:43","date_gmt":"2020-08-01T05:00:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/?p=16252"},"modified":"2020-07-31T23:53:06","modified_gmt":"2020-08-01T04:53:06","slug":"islanders","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/archives\/16252","title":{"rendered":"Islanders"},"content":{"rendered":"

My second grade teacher was an old friend of my mother\u2019s, so skipping school that year was easy. Wednesdays, my mom\u2019s day off from work, we went for long beach walks. We collected sea glass and dead horseshoe crabs and my mom taught me how to skip rocks. If it was raining, we stayed home and messed up the kitchen. On Thursdays, I didn\u2019t need to bring a note to school. My teacher never asked why I\u2019d been absent, only if I\u2019d had a good mother-daughter day. That\u2019s what she and my mom called those Wednesdays together. Mother-daughter days. I called them playing hooky.<\/span><\/p>\n

But then, for third grade, I got stuck with fat Ms. Thomas, who said 90 percent of life was showing up, so my mom had to get tricky with her excuses. She didn\u2019t mind. It was the type of challenge she took seriously.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>The secretary called me to the front office on the intercom during snack. She told me to bring my things; I was going to be dismissed early. Ms. Thomas said I could choose a friend to walk with me to the office, but I said, \u201cNo, thanks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In the hallway, I thought maybe my mom had died. I was an orphan now. But when I got to the office, there she was, waiting for me. She said I had a dentist appointment and she hadn\u2019t told me that morning because she knew I\u2019d get anxious and make myself sick. It was true that I didn\u2019t like the dentist\u2019s squeaky fingers in my mouth, and that I was prone to stomachaches, so I thought she was telling the truth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do I need my backpack?\u201d I said. \u201cCan\u2019t I come back after?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey might need to pull that tooth,\u201d she said. \u201cYou won\u2019t feel so good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat tooth?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The secretary was watching us now.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what tooth,\u201d my mom said, but I didn\u2019t.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was late October and we were having an Indian summer. The red and yellow maple leaves and the blue sky were too bright to look at, so I closed my eyes and held my mom\u2019s hand as we walked to the truck. \u201cIt\u2019s such a perfect day,\u201d she said. \u201cLet\u2019s go fishing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAfter the dentist?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She squeezed my hand and said, \u201cYou don\u2019t have to go to the dentist, bug. I just couldn\u2019t wait till three to see you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

We stopped at Dick\u2019s Tackle for bait, and then drove to Eastville Beach, where we walked to the end of the long jetty that stretched out into the harbor. We only had one rod, so we took turns casting and helping each other unhook the scup we reeled in. By mid-afternoon we had eight of them dead or faintly gasping in a drywall bucket. We sat next to each other on the jetty and shared a bag of sunflower seeds. There was a doe in the beach grass on shore, twitching her ears at us. I\u2019d never seen a deer at the beach before, but my mom said they liked to swim. They\u2019d swum across the sound from off-island once. \u201cFour miles,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

I thought she was teasing me.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019d you think they got here?\u201d she said. \u201cOn the ferry?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d never thought very hard about how anybody had got to the island. It felt like everybody and everything that was here had always been here, although I knew that wasn\u2019t true. My mother, for instance, had escaped to the island from Hartford, Connecticut, the summer before she was supposed to begin her last year of high school. She\u2019d camped on South Beach all summer, she once told me, subsisting on beach plums and rosehips and buckwheat porridge.<\/span><\/p>\n

I believed that story, but deer swimming over? The mainland looked so far away. And the doe looked so delicate, her long limbs tapering down into her small black hooves. When I stood up to get a better look, she bolted into a thicket of rosa rugosa between the beach and the parking lot.<\/span><\/p>\n

On the drive home, I thought about what I\u2019d missed at school that afternoon. After lunch on Wednesdays, Ms. Thomas would take our class to the library where we read or played chess with our fifth-grade reading partners. Mine\u2019s name was Sam Herman. He didn\u2019t like reading or chess or talking very much, so we made a show of picking out books together, and then we drew pictures in his notebook instead. We drew a cat licking a mushroom, salamanders cuddling, a lobster with a handlebar mustache. Well, mostly I gave Sam ideas and then watched, or helped with the background.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sam lived with both his parents and Duke, his big yellow dog, in a ranch house on Norris Ave, just a few streets away from me and my mom. He and I were both only children. His father, Richard Herman, who <\/span>had <\/span><\/i>been born on the island, was a lobsterman. The Hermans\u2019 yard was always cluttered with bent traps, frayed ropes, buoys in need of fresh paint.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the truck with my mom and the dead fish\u2014I\u2019d insisted we bring the bucket into the cab with us\u2014I knew what I\u2019d ask Sam to draw next week: deer swimming over from the mainland.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

At recess the next day, when I was hiding behind a bench, pretending to be an orphan, Ms. Thomas crouched down next to me and asked me if everything was okay at home.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI had to get three fillings yesterday,\u201d I said. I knew lying was wrong, but I was willing to do it to protect my mother\u2019s reputation. I\u2019m still willing to do that much for her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPoor you!\u201d Ms. Thomas said. \u201cIs your mouth sore?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Was this a trick question? I\u2019d never had a filling. I shook my head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour mom works at the nursery, right?\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

I nodded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think she helped me with my window boxes last spring. And after school, before she gets off work, it\u2019s just you at home?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I picked my lip.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s nothing wrong with that. But if you ever want to stay after with me, you\u2019re welcome. It could be fun.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Why would I stay after with Ms. Thomas when I could do whatever I wanted at my house? I could make myself a butter and sugar sandwich, climb a tree, and spy on the neighbors until it got dark. I could dress the cat up in my mother\u2019s underwear, or take a bath and practice holding my breath underwater. I could ride my bike up and down Norris Ave, past Sam\u2019s house.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d made my lip bleed. Ms. Thomas touched my wrist so I\u2019d leave it alone. \u201cYou\u2019re so quiet,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I can\u2019t tell if you\u2019re lonely.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The weatherman on the radio\u2014my mom and I didn\u2019t have a TV\u2014said the first nor\u2019easter of the season would hit the island by Monday. Saturday night, there was a full moon and a beach party on the north shore. Before we left home, I made my mom promise we\u2019d come back that night. Parties often turned into sleepovers for us, when she drank too much to drive. This was fine when we were at somebody\u2019s house\u2014it usually meant watching cable before bed and somebody cooking us eggs in the morning\u2014but I didn\u2019t want to sleep at the beach. She said, \u201cWe\u2019ll be home by ten, bug,\u201d but then she packed wool blankets in the back of the truck.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was still light out when we got to the party. There was a bonfire and hot dogs. Richard Herman was shucking oysters at a folding table with Duke, all wet, at his feet. A band called the Okie-Dokes stood behind the fire playing guitars and a banjo, singing songs about love and whiskey. Kids danced with other kids. My mom danced with everybody. Sam was there, digging a giant hole with a fifth grader whose name I didn\u2019t know. I sat by myself and buried my feet and shins in the sand. It was mostly women eating the oysters. My mom sucked down three in between songs, then pulled on Richard\u2019s hand, the one with the shucking knife in it, and whispered something in his ear. He leaned away from her and smiled.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sam\u2019s hair was thick and shaggy. He kept whipping his head around to get it out of his face as he dug, and one time he made eye contact with me from across the fire as he did so. I waited for him to smile or wave first, but instead he made a face at me. His cheeks and his mouth went slack and he slow-rolled his eyes up into his head. I couldn\u2019t tell if he was making fun of me, or if he was trying to tell me something important, like maybe he wished the two of us could go somewhere else together, although even then I knew that probably wasn\u2019t the face you\u2019d make if that was what you were trying to say.<\/span><\/p>\n

I rubbed sand into my shins until they burned, then stood up, ate two hot dogs, and took a sip of beer from a can I found balancing on a rock. Nobody\u2019d thought to bring soda for the kids. I was afraid to dance, so when my mom turned to me with her arms outstretched, I walked away from her and stood near Richard. He\u2019d finished shucking, but there were still a few oysters fanned out on the table in front of him. \u201cHungry?\u201d he said. I knew I hated them, but I nodded. He squeezed lemon on one and handed it to me. I tried to swallow it whole like you were supposed to, but my throat closed up, and then there was an oozy sea monster pulsing inside my mouth. I spat everything back into the shell, and said, \u201cI like them with cocktail sauce.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Richard tried not to laugh. \u201cTruth is, I don\u2019t like them much either,\u201d he said. His words came slowly, as if he had to clear a space around each of them. I thought maybe he\u2019d been drinking, but he didn\u2019t seem like the type.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you don\u2019t like dancing, do you?\u201d I said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

His voice broke when he answered me. \u201cI guess I don\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cLike to dance.\u201d Usually I had nothing to say to adults besides my mother, but Richard was like his son, hard to talk to in a way that made me curious\u2014like how Ms. Thomas felt about me, I guess\u2014but I didn\u2019t know how to draw him out. It\u2019s the people who remind me of myself I find most baffling.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe live near you,\u201d I said. \u201cMe and my mom. Sam\u2019s my reading partner at school.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The band was singing another song about heartache. Richard massaged the ruff of Duke\u2019s neck with his big toe and the dog\u2019s otter-like tail slapped the sand. I bent down and stroked Duke\u2019s side. His thick fur was damp and he smelled like low tide, but his body was warm and consoling. \u201cI know who you are,\u201d Richard said. \u201cMet your mother the summer she moved here.\u201d The dog sighed in his sleep. \u201cSam says you two draw together.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sam talked about me at home? \u201cMostly I just watch,\u201d I said. \u201cHe does whatever I ask for.\u201d This wasn\u2019t true. There were plenty of things Sam refused to draw; fairies, horses, people. But it was more a wishful thought than a lie.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Richard spread his fingers out wide on the table. \u201cSam\u2019s good at drawing,\u201d he said. \u201cLight hands. Not like these fuckers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t the word that scared me. It was the hands themselves. Not the black crescents beneath the nails, or the dark scabs on the thick knuckles, but the way they seemed separate from the rest of Richard, like two wild animals, tensed and ready to spring. It was the hands and the intensity with which he stared at them. I couldn\u2019t help but look at them too until I noticed my mom coming toward us, weaving her way through the crowd gathered around the fire. \u201cDance with me, bug!\u201d she screamed. I thanked Richard for the oyster and ran down to the edge of the water, where I began writing names in the wet sand with a piece of driftwood. Sam. Richard. Duke. My own name and my mother\u2019s. \u201cFuckers,\u201d I whispered to myself, over and over again.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sam found me down there a while later, when the moon was all the way up and the tide had risen and erased what I\u2019d written. I was skipping rocks. \u201cWhere were you on Wednesday?\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlaying hooky.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWith who?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A loon swam past us. I threw a rock at it and it dove under. I wanted to ask him what he\u2019d drawn without me, but then he said, \u201cI guess your mom\u2019s pretty hammered. She just bit my dad\u2019s ear when he wouldn\u2019t dance with her. Made him bleed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s just joking,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. He\u2019s not mad, and my mom thought it was funny, but he said we\u2019re leaving. He told me to ask if you want a ride home. Or you can stay with us tonight.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The music was over and most people had already left, but my mom was dancing on a rock with Lorna Herman, Sam\u2019s mom. Richard stood between me and Sam and the fire, waving at us. He said something, but the wind carried his voice in the wrong direction, and he was so quiet to begin with. At least that\u2019s what everyone said later.<\/span><\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t noticed Lorna before. Maybe she\u2019d come late. Her silhouette and my mom\u2019s were both slender, but my mom was the better dancer. She kept clapping her hands, and I could hear her laughter even against the wind. Lorna put her hands on my mom\u2019s hips and swished her long hair from side to side. My mom arched her spine, dropped her head back, and reached her fingertips up into the sky. Duke was up on his hind legs, pawing at them. They were bothering him. He wanted to bark at them, wanted to tell them to knock it off, but he was too well-behaved.<\/span><\/p>\n

Of course I wanted to go with Sam, but the thought of it all\u2014Richard\u2019s hands squeezing the steering wheel, Sam and me sleeping, or not sleeping, beneath the same roof\u2014terrified me. I didn\u2019t know what to expect. When I was in my mother\u2019s care, I at least knew what was coming. Or maybe I never knew what was coming, but nothing she did ever really surprised me.<\/span><\/p>\n

My lip was bleeding again. Blood tastes like the ocean. \u201cI\u2019ll stay,\u201d I said. \u201cWe\u2019re camping tonight.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Sam was watching our moms now, too. \u201cYou sure?\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m having fun.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\u2019re having fun.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We made a bed in the dunes, one blanket underneath us and two on top. My mom\u2019s breath was unpleasant, but her body next to mine made me calm. She fell asleep quickly. Across the sound, I could see the shape of the mainland. The port cities glowing orange on the horizon\u2014New Bedford, Fall River, Providence, Rhode Island, the city where I live now. I could see them, but I didn\u2019t know their names then.<\/span><\/p>\n

Raccoons crept out of the brambles and nosed through the remains of the party. The moon was so bright I could see the gray and black rings on their bushy tails. One sat back on its hind legs to nibble a hot dog bun. Later, a mother skunk led her babies over the dunes in a line, and then, when the sky was finally beginning to lighten, two deer tiptoed past us down to the water\u2019s edge. They touched their muzzles to the sea and looked at each other for a second before wading in. I shook my mom awake and pointed and we watched them swim out toward the sandbar, side by side, their white tails bobbing behind them.<\/span><\/p>\n

My mom pulled me tight against her and whispered, \u201cI told you, bug.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That afternoon, Richard went out with Duke to haul his pots in before they got trashed by the storm, and a rogue wave flipped his skiff. His foul weather gear filled up with water before he could right his boat, and he drowned. At least that\u2019s what most people thought must have happened. The coastguard and Richard\u2019s friends who had boats combed the sound for his body, but they read the currents wrong, and it was a stranger jogging on the beach who found him when his body washed ashore on the Cape Tuesday afternoon. All that week, Sam didn\u2019t come to school.<\/span><\/p>\n

By Wednesday the storm was over and the ocean was calm again, but the seasons had shifted for good, and we were stuck in a period of what my mom used to call \u201crefrigerator weather.\u201d The sky was a dull gray and the air was cold and damp. The school flag was at half-mast to honor Richard, and Ms. Thomas cried at Morning Meeting when she told us his body had been found, but her tears didn\u2019t mean much. She got choked up reading to us from <\/span>Harriet the Spy<\/span><\/i>. I hoped my mom would conspire to get me out of school again, but Wednesday morning passed according to schedule\u2014show and tell, snack, spelling. After lunch, Ms. Thomas led us to the school library, where she asked me to read with Chris Leon, a chatty fifth grader, famous for his ability to projectile vomit on command, whose partner was also absent. I chose a book on manatees and let him read me a few pages of it. He stumbled on all the long words, and I wondered what the big idea behind reading partners separated by only one grade was. It hadn\u2019t occurred to me to question the system when I got to sit with Sam, but it all seemed like a waste of time with Chris, who kept saying \u201cherbivorous\u201d wrong.<\/span><\/p>\n

I got the hall pass from the librarian\u2014a blond woman, fond of mauve nail polish and costume jewelry, whom I once admired deeply although I\u2019ve forgotten her name now\u2014and spent the rest of the afternoon picking at the scabs on my lips in a bathroom stall. I kept my feet up on the toilet seat so nobody would know I was in there, but when I unlatched the door after the dismissal bell, there was Ms. Thomas, washing her hands in the sink. \u201cFeeling okay?\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

The teachers had their own bathroom. She must have been looking for me, but why hadn\u2019t she said anything?<\/span><\/p>\n

“Stomachache,\u201d I said, which I realized was true only after I\u2019d said it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to hear it. Shall we go back to the classroom together? You can rest on the couch with Moe.\u201d Moe was our class\u2019s guinea pig. I claimed to believe that it was stupid to keep rodents as pets, but actually I was fond of Moe, who ground his teeth with pleasure when you scratched between his tiny shoulders. I would have liked to hold him on the couch for a while, but I said, \u201cI think I\u2019ll go home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her body was blocking the door to the hallway. She took her time drying her doughy hands on a paper towel.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t move. She said, \u201cIt\u2019s a tragedy, sweetheart.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust a stomachache,\u201d I said. \u201cI get them all the time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAbout Mr. Herman, I mean. Poor Sam. Poor you. I know you two are close.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Blood rushed to my cheeks and I thought I might be sick on the floor. What did she know about me and Sam? What did anybody know about us? I pushed past her and left school without stopping at the classroom for my backpack or my coat.<\/span><\/p>\n

Walking home, I got so cold my fingers went numb, but I went the long way down Norris Ave anyway. The broken traps piled in Sam\u2019s yard looked trashy now that their owner was dead. When someone dies, you bury his body, you keep a few shirts to remember his smell by, and give the rest of his clothes away, but what do you do with the things he hasn\u2019t fixed yet? All the shades were down and the house was dark. I thought maybe Lorna and Sam had left the island for good, but then I saw Duke asleep on the doorstep, which couldn\u2019t be right. Duke had drowned. Hadn\u2019t he?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDuke. Here, Duke,\u201d I said, but the dog didn\u2019t raise its head. This was a different yellow dog. No, this dog was a ghost.<\/span><\/p>\n

When I got home, the house was cold and my mom was lying on her belly on the rug, naked, with her arm wrapped around an empty soup pot. Even her butt was covered in goose-bumps. This sort of thing happened sometimes when she spent her days off alone, although I hadn\u2019t seen her this bad in a while. I checked to make sure she was breathing\u2014when I bent down, there was a sour smell, but I couldn\u2019t tell if it was coming from her or the rug\u2014then covered her with the scratchiest wool blanket and started twisting sheets of newspaper up into logs. I opened the flue, positioned the paper-logs at the bottom of the wood stove, built four cabin walls out of kindling around them, rested two pieces of cordwood against the sides of the structure, dropped a lit match in, and sat down on a milk crate. Our house only had one room, plus the loft where I slept, so usually it warmed up fast, but this wood was wet and took a long time to catch. By the time the fire really got going, my mom had rolled onto her back and was looking up at the cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. The cat rubbed his head against my shins. His ears were clogged with mites. I waited a long time for my mom to say something, but I was the one who finally broke the silence when I asked her if she was going to puke.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I was, but now I couldn\u2019t tell you,\u201d she said. She didn\u2019t slur her words, but I could tell she had to concentrate to get them out right.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMs. Thomas wants me to move in with her,\u201d I said. \u201cShe says you\u2019re a bad mother.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you\u2019d be better off living with that bitch?\u201d she said. \u201cSpare me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d eat better.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My mom propped herself up on her elbow and spat into the pot\u2014just clear spit\u2014then wiped her lips on the blanket. \u201cThat\u2019s true,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI might do it. I really might.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood mother, bad mother,\u201d she said. \u201cAt least I haven\u2019t drowned myself yet. I heard he was covered in crabs when they found him. His cheeks picked down to the bone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Normally, this was the type of detail we lived for.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI saw a ghost on my way home,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

My mom put her hand over her brow. There were tears rolling down her temples, getting lost in her hair. I tried to remember if I\u2019d ever seen her cry before.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m joking,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m just joking. I made that up about Ms. Thomas.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s a sin to break up a family.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I put a pot of water on for hot dogs, or ramen, or whatever I decided to make in a minute\u2014my stomach didn\u2019t hurt any more\u2014and brought my mom a can of ginger ale from the fridge. Her eyes were closed again and her body was still as a carcass. I thought she\u2019d fallen back to sleep, but then she said, \u201cWe\u2019ll be alright.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And if I\u2019ve made you feel sorry for me, then I\u2019m telling this whole thing wrong. The truth is I enjoyed this type of afternoon. I was proud of my fire-making technique, and I liked playing nurse to my mother even more than I liked pretending she was dead.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Next Wednesday, Sam was waiting for me at our usual table.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re here,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI thought maybe\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He had his notebook out, but it took me a second to realize he was asking me what I wanted him to draw. Then I remembered the deer, and explained, somewhat breathlessly, about them swimming across the sound from off-island.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d he said, \u201cI know. How\u2019d you think they got here?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I would have liked to stare at him while he worked, but I knew that was odd behavior, so I feigned interest in the books lined up on the shelves behind him instead. It was the travel section. Big colorful books on Thailand, Polynesia, Nepal, places I only half believed in.<\/span><\/p>\n

The deer came out all wrong. He drew them wearing goggles and swim caps. It looked like they were doing water aerobics in a pool. I guess I didn\u2019t hide my disappointment well because before he got to their hooves, he laid his pencil down on the table and said, \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with you?\u201d This struck me as mean at the time, but now I think he really just wanted to know. Some men can\u2019t help but sound cruel when they get personal. It\u2019s hard for them to talk about you because they care so much, or that\u2019s what I tell myself. \u201cThey look like cartoons,\u201d I said.<\/span><\/p>\n

He tore the page out of his notebook, and folded it into quarters instead of crumpling it. Richard was right. His son had light hands. Not weak, but light and careful. \u201cDraw your own picture, then,\u201d Sam said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know I suck.\u201d It was the first time I\u2019d sworn in conversation, and I was surprised by the rush it gave me. Much more rewarding than whispering bad words to myself. And \u201csuck\u201d wasn\u2019t even a real curse word.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPractice makes perfect,\u201d Sam said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou sound like Ms. Thomas.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou sound like my mom,\u201d he said, which was weird because if I was imitating anyone, it was my own mother. \u201cYou know,\u201d he said, \u201cshe drinks, too.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMs. Thomas?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy mom.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, your dad just\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cShe always has. I think she\u2019s glad he\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I thought I knew what he was after. Something mean about my mom so he could feel okay about what he\u2019d just said about his. A trade, but really, a betrayal. With anyone else, I would have put up a fight, but even when I was nine, I couldn\u2019t resist Sam. \u201cMy mom\u2019s a bitch,\u201d I said. It was the best I could do, but it didn\u2019t seem to please him. He just shook his hair out of his eyes and started drawing a new deer on a clean page in his notebook.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Richard\u2019s memorial service was at the grange hall up-island. The Okie-Dokes played all their slow songs, and my mom didn\u2019t drink too much or eat any stuffed oysters. We stood near the door, not talking, me leaning back into her flat stomach while she ran her fingers through my hair. A woman with gray teeth and light pink nail polish held Sam\u2019s mom while she cried. I didn\u2019t see Sam anywhere, but Ms. Thomas was on the far side of the buffet table. I watched her eat a devilled egg in small, appreciative bites. She waved when she noticed me. I ignored her, but my mom waved back, and so Ms. Thomas began making her way across the room to us.<\/span><\/p>\n

My mom asked her how her window boxes had held up, and she said, \u201cOh, they looked lovely right up until last week\u2019s frost. You were very helpful.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know Richard well?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I didn\u2019t,\u201d Ms. Thomas said. \u201cNot like you, I\u2019m sure. But a thing like this affects the whole island. We\u2019ve got to support each other, don\u2019t you think? And Sam was my student last year.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, sure,\u201d my mom said. \u201cSupporting each other. That\u2019s the idea. When we were poorer, Richard used to bring us cooked lobster bodies, after he\u2019d pulled the claws and the tails off.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t remember this, but it was a good story.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid you make a bisque?\u201d Ms. Thomas said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNope,\u201d my mom said. \u201cWe just sucked on the cartilage. He could have at least given us the pincher claws, don\u2019t you think? But he used to be pretty stingy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs Sam here?\u201d I asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHome with Duke, I think,\u201d Ms. Thomas said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut Duke\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Ms. Thomas shook her head. \u201cSam didn\u2019t tell you? I suppose it would have been inappropriate to make a big deal about it in the paper\u2014but animal control picked him up on West Chop. He swam ashore, sweetheart.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d been avoiding Norris Ave ever since I\u2019d seen that dog on Sam\u2019s doorstep. If a deer could do it, why couldn\u2019t Duke? But I was still convinced the dog I\u2019d seen was a ghost.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a silver lining if there ever was one,\u201d my mom said. \u201cHomeward bound. Holy fuck.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I expected Ms. Thomas to wince, but instead she smiled at my mother and said, \u201cGosh, you\u2019re a hoot.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, please,\u201d I said. \u201cStop pretending to like us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBug!\u201d My mom yanked my hair. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI guess we\u2019re all pretty upset.\u201d I could hear in her voice that she was trying not to laugh, though. And that she was proud of me.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s alright,\u201d Ms. Thomas said, but she gave up on me after that.<\/span><\/p>\n

Later, people made toasts and everybody went on about how quiet Richard had always been. \u201cNever knew what he was thinking,\u201d they said. And, \u201cStill waters run deep.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

They meant it kindly, perhaps even reverently, but, believe me, that isn\u2019t the kind of thing someone like us wants to be remembered for.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

ALIDA DEAN<\/span><\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My second grade teacher was an old friend of my mother\u2019s, so skipping school that year was easy. Wednesdays, my mom\u2019s day off from work, we went for long beach walks. We collected sea glass and dead horseshoe crabs and my mom taught me how to skip rocks. If it was raining, we stayed home […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2211,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[65],"tags":[20],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-4e8","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16252"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2211"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16252"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16252\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16365,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16252\/revisions\/16365"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16252"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16252"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16252"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}