Distribution

Chapter 5: Sand between her toes

Labor Day, 2007

Charlie showed up just as I was untying the ribbon that held the packet of letters together, offering to help with the windows. I took him upstairs to Mackey's room, and after an hour of trying every trick he knew, Charlie had to agree that it was the most stubborn window he'd ever run across.

"You may as well face it, Brian. All the windows are going to have to be replaced. I've been telling Mackey that for years, but he refused to believe me."

"I agree, but I may need you to help me convince the other committee members that it's necessary. We can't put the house on the market with windows that won't open."

"The windows the manufacturers offer these days will pay for themselves in a few years. They'll improve the appearance of the house too," he said, looking around Mackey's room at the organized clutter.

We went downstairs and I walked outside with him. "I'm going to mow the lawns tomorrow," he said.

"Do you do both lawns?" I asked.

"Yes, but I skipped a week because the grass isn't growing as fast this time of year. I have a small tractor so it doesn't take long," he assured me.

I hadn't given the landscaping a thought. Something else suddenly occurred to me. "Did Mackey drive a car?"

"He had an accident about a year ago. I took them shopping and to medical appointments. The church people picked them up on Sundays and brought them home."

"You're a good neighbor, Charlie." "I try to be," he said, matter-of-factly.

For the next two hours, I engrossed myself in the letters Mackey and Elsie had exchanged over sixty years ago. I learned that he returned to the States the end of April, and spent the summer of 1945 in a hospital. It was during the hospital stay that he figured out what he wanted to do. Indirectly, Elsie had helped make that decision.

There were only three letters left to read when I got an urge to call home. I felt guilty for being separated from my family. I told them about the cookout that I was going to attend, vowing to make it up to them as soon as I was able to be with them.

They acted as though they had not heard that I was going to have lobster. They were excited about school starting the next day. I spoke to Mary for a few minutes. She said that everything was running smoothly. "How are things going there?" she asked.

"The barn is still full of things we hope to advertise on eBay. I'll send you some photos of the antique cars and the whirl-a-gigs," I said.

I was a little surprised that Amanda didn't mention Marian and Mary didn't either. Had Marian been avoiding them?

I was stepping out of the shower when I heard the phone ringing.

"Brian, would you mind picking me up at the bus stop?"

"I'll be glad to," I said, wondering if she had lost Mr. McMahan's number.

"We're about thirty minutes away."

"I'll be there," I said.

This was going to make me late getting to the cookout, but I didn't care.

Ms. Kindle took one look at the way I was dressed and immediately understood that I was going to a party. In addition to a large piece of luggage, she had a sleeping bag and her own laptop. She was wearing knee-length pants, a sleeveless blouse and white sneakers with no socks.

"The Meriwethers are having a cookout. Why don't you come with me?" I asked, as I tossed her luggage in the bed of my truck.

"I couldn't do that," she said, blushing at the thought of crashing a party.

I used every argument I could think of as we drove to the house.

"I'm sure they would have invited you if they had known you would be back this early."

"That shouldn't have stopped them from inviting me."

"That's true, but I'm sure you will be welcome."

"I'm not as sure."

"They're serving lobster."

She almost cracked. "I'll admit that I'm partial to lobster, but it wouldn't be right for me to show up uninvited. Anyway, I don't have anything to wear."

"Look, Mr. Meriwether is a stockbroker. He's going to hit me up for a chance to help unload the stock. I could use your help in deflecting him."

"Give me fifteen minutes to change," she said, smiling shyly.

I carried her luggage upstairs and waited for her to get ready. I heard the water running for a short time, then the floor creak as she walked from the bathroom to the bedroom.

It was twenty minutes before she came downstairs, but the results were worth the wait. Her excuse that she had nothing to wear was untrue. The short skirt was white, and the red and white top stretched over her breasts, giving them cone-like definition. Her hair was combed down and she wore more makeup than I'd seen on her before. A single silver band replaced the wedding rings she usually wore.

We were going to be late but I didn't care. I told her about the silent auction, quoting prices that some of the pieces had fetched, including the game table that I had purchased. She didn't comment. I got the impression that she was nervous about the reception she would receive at the cookout.

We had to park a couple of blocks from the Meriwether home and walk along a street with cars parked in front of older summer cottages on one side and water on the other one. It was a nice day and the walk was pleasant. The beach was littered with sunbathers and swimmers. A few sailboats dotted the cove.

The Meriwether house had been recently updated. They were at the front steps, greeting latecomers. I thought that Ms. Meriwether did a good job of hiding her surprise at seeing Ms. Kindle with me. I saw no need to explain her presence.

"This is my husband, Freddy. These are the people I speak about so often. Brian Driver and Ms. Kindle are deeply involved in the Peoples estate."

I shook hands with 'Freddy', and had no sooner returned my hand to my side when I felt Ms. Kindle's hand slide into mine.

"Please call me Paige," she said.

"What can I get for you to drink?" Fredrick Meriwether asked us. He was older than his wife, had a streak of gray running down the center of his head, and although he was personable, there was a small scar on his cheek that gave him a hardened look. I asked for a beer and Ms. Kindle said she would have the same. He told us to follow him, and that left Nadine Meriwether to greet another guest.

Ms. Kindle let go of my hand as soon as we started to walk. The houses were close together and guests had spread out to the adjacent front lawns.

A bar was set up on the front porch. Fred introduced us to some of the people who were waiting for drinks, gave our orders to the bartender and excused himself, saying that he needed to mingle.

While on the porch we found out that the entire neighborhood had been invited to the cookout. We got our beers and slowly made our way across the street to where a volleyball game was in progress. I was surprised when Ms. Kindle sat down in the sand and proceeded to take her shoes and socks off.

"I want to feel the sand between my toes," she said.

We were invited to join the game. I accepted, but Ms. Kindle said she was content to watch. I didn't want to get my new shirt sweaty so I took it off. She caught it before it hit the ground and spread it out in her lap.

It had been years since I'd played volleyball. There was a lot of good-natured ribbing and high-fiving. We continued to play even after dinner was announced. From the way the serving line was moving, it was going to be some time before we got our lobsters.

When the game broke up, Ms. Kindle gave me my shirt and turned for me to brush the sand off of her skirt. She had put her shoes on, and she still took my hand as we crossed the street.

Several people introduced themselves to us while we waited in the serving line. They were a mixture of neighbors, business associates of Fred, or friends of the couple.

I was given a small bucket of steamed clams, and the server handed Ms. Kindle a container of melted butter. Plastic plates were used to hold the lobster and corn on the cob. We were directed to umbrella tables that had been set up in the Meriwethers' backyard and the neighbors' backyards on both sides.

Ms. Whitney called to us from a nearby table. She introduced us to her husband before we took our seats. "Brian and Paige, I'm so glad to see you both here. This is my husband, Harold. Please call me Janice."

We shook hands with Harold. Like Nadine's husband, he was older than Janice. His hands were massive, his shoulders broad, and his skin was dark from spending too much time in the sun.

I helped Ms. Kindle with her chair. On the table were bottles of wine, wine glasses, plastic dishes, and lobster tools wrapped in napkins. She saw right off that this was all new to me. She showed me how to open the clamshells, dip the meat in the melted butter, and dispose of the shells in a plastic dish that had been placed on the table for that purpose.

"Harold is a contractor," Janice Whitney said.

I felt Ms. Kindle's knee bump mine, and when I looked her way she gave me a knowing stare.

"I knew that when I shook hands with him," I said to Ms. Whitney, thinking how close I'd come to locking lips with her only two days before. What a mistake that would have been. Had it been part of her plan to gain work for her husband? I wondered if she'd had something to do with Nadine Meriwether inviting me to the cookout. I felt the knee nudge mine again.

"Are you acquainted with contractors, Brian?" Harold asked.

"I hire contractors when I need to," I said, and drew the attention of the other people sitting at the table. One of the guys introduced himself as a member of Mr. Meriwether's team at the office, and then he turned to the young woman to his left and divulged that they'd only been married three months.

"Congratulations, I'm Brian," and turning to Ms. Kindle, "this is...Paige."

She smiled at the young couple, and then at me, but I didn't have time to enjoy the way she was looking at me because the other male at the table was saying that he was a neighbor of the Meriwethers. "This is Meg and we've been married a lot longer than three months."

It was supposed to be a joke, but I didn't take it that way. "That was my wife's name," I said, before I knew that my lips were moving.

A hush came over the table, and 'I'm sorry,' was uttered by everyone. I was embarrassed to have caused the mood to go sour, and started talking aimlessly. "I never called her Meg. Her name was Margaret, but I knew her as Peggy or Peg," I said, stopping short of telling them that we'd never married.

Paige drew my attention to the lobster in front of me. She showed me how to rip the body apart, and to use the tools to dig the meat out. I was so absorbed with the way she was explaining the various parts of the animal that I missed hearing Harold's question.

"Brian, my husband is asking how you happened to hire contractors," Nadine said, her lips practically touching my ear.

Paige had just dipped the most succulent part of a lobster into butter, and fed it to me. I motioned that my mouth was full, leaned back in my chair, and place my arm on the back of her chair.

"I've had some bad experiences trying to do some things that I'm not qualified for. I no longer fool myself into thinking that I'll pick it up with practice. I can lay flooring, but I always hire a tradesman to sand and finish it. There was a time that I thought I could learn to hang wall covering, but I've given that up. Electrical and plumbing work are foreign to me and until yesterday, I thought I knew something about freeing stubborn windows, but now I know differently."

I removed my arm from the back of Paige's chair, and picked up the ear of corn from my plate, but before I could take the first bite, Harold asked another question.

"How did you happen to hire contractors, Brian?"

I felt Paige's knee, only this time it was not a bump or a nudge. It was skin-touching-skin. I glanced at her and saw her raise an eyebrow, as if to caution me.

"I've refurbished two houses. One is an antique and the other one is our family home. Most recently, I converted an attic into a loft," I said, taking a bite of corn, and feeling a thump as Paige's knee met mine. Was that her way of applauding what I'd said?

"It sounds like you're comfortable acting as the general on the Peoples home," Harold said. Paige's knee was still in contact with mine, but I didn't know the meaning of the way her knee was rubbing mine. Was she telling me to take my time with my answer? Did she know the effect her knee was having on me?

"The house is in pretty good condition. There's really not that much that needs to be done," I said, and felt the absence of Paige's knee, but only for a second. It returned with a forceful slap that I was sure others at the table were able to hear. Was she chastising me for lying about the house being in good condition?

We resumed eating and let the others at the table carry on the conversation. A server came around, offering us a second lobster. Some of the others took one, but I declined, saying that I hadn't finished the first one.

Fredrick Meriwether came by to make sure that we were being taken care of. I noticed that he was especially attentive to the member of his group and his young bride.

"How's my favorite contractor?" Fred asked, standing behind Harold's chair and massaging his shoulders. "Brian, I highly recommend this man if you need work done at the Peoples' property. He converted our cottage into a year-around-home."

I felt Paige's knee against mine, rubbing, much like Fred's fingers must have felt on Harold's shoulders. Was she warning me to watch what I said?

"Thanks for the advice, Fred," I said, and watched our host move to another table. Paige's knee gave me a final rub before moving away.

I decided to try something, just to see if she would react. "How's business, Harold? Are most contractors busy right now?" I asked, hoping to find out how eager they would be to quote on the work I was planning to have done to the Peoples' property.

Paige acted so quickly that her knee missed mine, coming up under my leg and lifting it off the ground, surprising both of us. She retreated, blushing. I took it as a warning that I was treading on dangerous ground.

"We're in the midst of a slowdown, Brian. People are hunkering down. There's only a limited amount of work, and we're all undercutting our prices."

He sounded so morose that I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Could it be that his search for work was what prompted his wife to come on to me? Had she done it with his knowledge, or was Janice naturally promiscuous?

"I'd be glad for you to take a look at the work we need to do to put the Peoples' house on the market. Perhaps you can recommend a painter," I said, and felt Paige's knee tell me that she shared my compassion for the contractor.

Janice Whitney leaned over to whisper in my ear, "You won't be sorry." What did she mean by that?

Nadine Meriwether stopped by our table, admonishing me for eating so little. "Take one home," she said to Paige. "Make him a lobster roll tomorrow."

I didn't see Paige's response, but I was not surprised when a server brought us a bag containing two lobsters.

The party began to break up as soon as people had their fill of food and drink. Many of Fred's workmates made the excuse that they had to drive to Boston. We waited until dusk to say our goodbyes to Nadine and her husband. They invited us to come back when we could talk.

As we walked to my truck, Paige slipped her hand in mine, saying, "We haven't heard the last of Fred being a stockbroker."

"I know. He was good about avoiding the subject today. He must have known that we were on the alert. Next time we meet, he'll wage an all-out assault. I've seen that dark side in other people," I said, thinking of the training I'd conducted when I worked for the support center. I hadn't actually seen the dark side in the customers we spoke to. It was more of a feeling I got, which I warned my trainees to listen for.

"We don't have to accept their invitation," Paige said, and I agreed with her.

She gave me the job of opening the two lobsters and stripping them of their meat before she disappeared up the stairs. A minute later, I heard the water running in the upstairs bath. I was anxious to rid my own body of the sweat from the volleyball game and the smell of lobster from my hands.

When I came out of the downstairs bathroom, Paige was sitting on the sofa, reading Uncle Mackey's and Aunt Elsie's love letters. She looked cute with her bare leg drawn up under her. She looked up briefly when I took a seat and reached for the last three letters in the stack.

I could almost tell which letter she was reading by the way she smacked her lips, sighed as she turned a page, or how she exhaled as she reached for the next letter.

"It was the battle for Iwo Jima, wasn't it?" she asked.

I looked up from the letter I was reading, and nodded, yes.

"It was so long ago, but he makes it sound like it happened yesterday."

I nodded again, and watched her return to the page she was reading.

I'd finished reading the last letter and was rereading it, stalling to see her reaction to some of the gruesome descriptions that Uncle Mackey used to express the fierceness of the fighting, and the tenderness that Aunt Elise showed when assuring him that it was over, and promising to soothe his feelings when they were together.

Paige suddenly burst into tears, dropped the pages she'd been reading and fled the room. I heard the upstairs bedroom door slam shut.

I picked up the pages that she had dropped. The letter was the one that contained the paragraph: 'The Colonel wants his bandages changed. I'll pretend to change them. You see, he doesn't know his left foot is missing. He doesn't know he's permanently blind, either.'

I folded the letter, and placed it in the stack. As I got ready for bed, I thought about the day. Paige had called to ask me to pick her up at the bus stop. Should I read anything into that, or had she tried to call Mr. McMahan and found that he was busy? She'd only agreed to attend the cookout after I told her that I needed help fending off our host. I counted the times she placed her hand in mine, and there had been her knee rubbing against mine while I was verbally jousting with Harold Whitney. She'd shown no reaction when I revealed that my wife was deceased.

Many of my questions were answered while we were having breakfast.

"I owe you an apology for thinking badly of you," she said, looking up from her bowl of cereal.

"How's that?"

"I judged you wrongly when I found out about your girlfriend. I jumped to the conclusion that you were cheating on your wife."

"I see," I said, thinking how little she knew about me.

"What's funny?"

"I've been gone for nine days, and my girlfriend has turned on me."

A shadow appeared on her face, like she was tuning me out. "That's more information than I need to know. It's none of my business."

"It is your business. Why did you take my hand yesterday?"

"I was nervous, and anyway, I thought that you were married."

"You also thought that I was cheating on my wife."

"Not really, give me some credit, Brian. I'm a better judge of character than that."

She'd finished her cereal. She took a last sip of coffee, and got up, as if to leave me sitting at the breakfast table.

"I think its time that we both cleared some things up. I know about Patrick."

She sat back down and glared at me. "Whatever you know will be all you'll ever know. If you're looking for a thrill you won't get it from me."

"I have no reason to pry, but I didn't want you to find out that I know about Patrick if I talk in my sleep some night."

At first, her jeer was sinister, as if to say, 'fat chance of my hearing you say something in your sleep,' but her expression changed. "What are you hiding behind that placid stare?"