Randy White: Gone

A minute later, we were in the cabin, which was a sewer of odors and pornographic photos tacked everywhere. Even in the galley, which consisted of a propane stove and a small fridge, there were pictures so graphic, they belonged in a textbook, not a space designed for eating. It didn’t matter. I was finally alone with a woman whose face, whose thoughts and fears, I had been living with for what seemed like weeks, not days.

Olivia’s appearance, though, bore little resemblance to recent photos I had seen. Ricky had done more than just bruise the girl’s busted lips, her jaundiced left eye. The skin on her parchment arms was poxed with bruises from the man’s fingers. The intelligent brown eyes I remembered from her childhood photos had the glaze of an elderly woman who, exhausted from suffering, had already abandoned her body. No wonder she had hung a towel over the only mirror in the cabin. My guess was, she had done the same in the sleeping quarters, which appeared as a black opening forward of the bulkhead.

I expected these symptoms and signs of abuse but not the sudden emotion that rolled through me. What I was feeling only got worse when, after I’d rushed to the boat’s VHF, Olivia told me, “Don’t bother. He disables it somehow when he leaves. I checked the wiring, the fuses. Once he was gone three days, I still couldn’t get it working. Same with the engine, after he thought I’d found a key. The air-conditioning, too-usually.”

I nodded, struggling to control myself, thinking, The antenna. Meeks had probably disconnected the VHF coupling at the flybridge-not many would think of that.

“You don’t want to be here,” I said without turning. “If he’s hurt you, you should leave.”

There was a shrug in the girl’s voice. “It’s too late for me. And why should you care, anyway?”

“Not yet, it isn’t,” I started to say, but Olivia interrupted by telling me something else I didn’t expect.

“I married him. Last week… ten days ago. Everything’s a blur. I know he only did it for money-money I don’t even have yet. If he caught us and doesn’t kill me, that’s the only reason. But I said yes, so I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

I shook my head to refute Olivia’s words while thinking, No wonder she won’t sign the papers, then of the postmistress in Caxambas. “Ricky would’ve had to apply for the license more than a month ago,” I argued, remembering Florida law and all the paperwork I’d done because Delbert Fowler was not a man for details. “I don’t believe it was legal, Olivia. Besides, no court would hold you to such a marriage.”

“But I said yes-and you don’t know him! He’ll never stop looking until he gets his husband’s share. I’m talking about more money than you’d believe- that’s what you don’t understand. Or what he’ll do if I run. He’s never wrong when it comes to promises like that. If anything, he’ll hurt me worse.”

I glanced at the girl’s face, then looked away. Her misshapen lips, the swollen eye, gave me a choking sensation, and I had to clear my throat while she said, “I do such stupid things sometimes. I bring it on myself. So he has no choice-from his point of view, I mean. Only a… an insane woman would beg to go with a man and then whine. That’s something I’ve heard every day since-”

I couldn’t listen to any more. “Stop that right now! I know more about you than you think, Olivia Seasons. You’re not crazy. And that’s not a fair way to speak of yourself… or let yourself be treated…” My voice faltered, then I lost the words, even after clearing my throat again.

Olivia was sitting at the galley settee, where a notebook lay open next to a pocket Bible, the sketch of what might have been an osprey recently started. I heard the girl stand, then felt a hand on my shoulder. “Are you crying?”

“I am not!” I snapped. Then as an excuse to clear my eyes, I scratched my forehead and pulled my hair back. “You made me mad, being so stubborn. That’s all.”

Olivia was trying to put it together but too scared to think clearly. “Did he hurt you, too? That’s why you shot him. I still can’t believe you did it. How did you find the nerve?”

“For one thing, he knocked a chunk of Gel Coat off my new skiff,” I replied. “That’s reason enough. I just wish I was a better shot.”

I felt a tug at my shoulder, trying to get me to turn. “Did he hurt you? You can tell me the truth. He hurts women-brags about it. Someone like him has had a lot of girlfriends. I won’t be jealous if you tell me the truth.”

Jealous? Her suspicion was so misguided it proved Meeks had branded yet another scar on Olivia’s brain. I had been near tears, feeling so sorry for the girl and fearful for both of us, that it was exactly the jolt I needed to get my mind back on what had to be done.

I spun around and took the girl gently by the arms, just as my Uncle Jake had done to me sometimes when I was confused. “Get your clothes changed. If you’ve got any mosquito spray, soak yourself. I’m going to fix the radio, but we’re not waiting on the Coast Guard. Then I want you to help me do something.”

I meant hold a flashlight while I searched for the pistol. Instead of questioning me, though, Olivia said in an odd way, “You’re… you’re the one my family sent. I just realized- Hannah , right? He was talking about you.”

Meaning Ricky, of course. I had already told Olivia my name, but a change in her expression hinted that she might be awakening from this nightmare. Still in a daze, though, which I knew when she started to ramble.

“Yesterday, he went crazy. Drinking before sunrise, then the security guard left a message about you searching my studio. That you found something in the trash, so he had to drive all the way to Naples to check. Now you’re actually here-it’s hard to believe.”

It was a relief to know the guard was responsible for blabbing about the diary pages, not Martha Calder-Shaun, but I realized that talking was Olivia’s way of not making a decision. Even so, I ignored the urge to shake some sense into her. That gentleness paid off when she finally returned to the subject of Meeks, saying, “He and the security guard, they like cigars-that’s how they met. Plus… he probably paid the guy to watch the house. With my money.”

In my most reasonable voice I said, “Olivia, listen . Don’t you see he’s feeding on you? Pretty soon, there won’t be enough left of yourself to fight back-that’s why we have to go now.”

The girl wanted to leave, no doubt about that. I watched her eyes move around the cabin, the prison that had become her world, then spoke to the ceiling as if arguing with herself. “This morning when he got back from my studio, he swore he’d kill you. Shoot you in the head. Something cruel like that. But it didn’t happen. He’s never made a threat that didn’t happen. That’s what’s so hard to believe.”

I said, “He has a gun?” There wasn’t one in Meeks’s dinghy, I’d checked.

Olivia ignored me by continuing, “Instead, you shot him . For the first time since I met that… that pig, he was wrong. I guess it should prove not everything he says comes true. And I did hear the gunshot.” The girl faced me. “Sorry I’m having trouble, it’s just that he takes up so much space in my head, thinking isn’t easy. Or to convince myself that someone like you could shoot a man who’s so… vicious”-a tentative smile appeared, eyes on my Navaho shirt-“even though you’re dressed for the part. Does any of this make sense?”

Maybe-but not in the Barbara Stanwyck way she meant, although I hoped I was wrong.

“Olivia,” I said, taking her by the arms again. “Does Ricky keep a gun in his jon boat-a little aluminum boat with a motor. Usually green.”