Kelly Link - Get in Trouble - Stories

Bad Claw Lodge is an ugly wooden box done up in white gingerbread trim. Two stories. A listing porch, a banging screen door. Little dormer windows tucked under the flaking, papery eaves. The island is probably worth three million, Fleur says. The lodge? Some day it will blow out to sea, and I will get down on my knees and thank God. How big is the island? Harper asks. Two miles. Something like that. You can walk around it in half an hour. It gets bigger after every storm. But then the mainland is getting smaller.

There are buckets and pans set out on the painted floor of the lodge. On counters. On the mildew-stained couch and in the fireplace. It rained all night, Fleur says. All morning, too. I thought it would rain all day. The roof is a sieve. She takes them upstairs and down a hall so low that Harper must duck to get under a beam. Here, she says. Bathroom’s next door. The water is all runoff, so if you want a hot shower, take it in the afternoon. The catchtank is on the roof. There’s space enough in the room they’re sleeping in for one twin bed, shoved up against the window. There’s a three-legged table. On the bed is a Pyrex mixing bowl with an inch of rainwater at the bottom. Fleur says, I’ll take that. On the little table is a piece of taxidermy. Something catlike, but with a peculiarly flattened, leathery tail. It has an angry face. A wrinkled, whiskery snout of a nose. What’s that? Harper says. A beaver? Fleur says, That thing? It’s something native down here. They had poisonous claws, or laid eggs, or something like that. They’re extinct. That’s worth a fortune, too. They were such a nuisance everyone just eradicated them. Shot them, trapped them, cut them up for bait. That was a long time ago, before anyone cared about stuff like that. Anyway! They never bothered to come up with a name for whatever they were, but then after they were gone they named the island after them. I think. Bad Claw. That thing is definitely worth more than this house. Thanh checks his phone again. There’s no signal here, Fleur says. You have to go back to the mainland for that. Harper and Thanh look at each other. Is there a phone in the house?

There isn’t.

Thanh and Harper fight about whether or not Thanh should go back to check messages, to call Han and Naomi. Whether they should stay on the mainland. We could have a real bed, Thanh says. Fleur will understand. I want to stay here, Harper says. And we are not going to say one word about this to Fleur. It’s her wedding! Do you think she wants to have to pretend to feel worried about something that probably isn’t even going to be an issue? Fine. Then I’ll go in the boat the next time it’s bringing people over, Thanh says. Call and make sure everything is okay, and then come right back. No, Harper says. I’ll go. We’ll tell Fleur it’s a work thing.

It turns out that Harper can swim/wade back to the mainland. The tide will be in later on, though, so he’ll get a ride back on the boat. He puts his cell phone, with a couple of twenties, inside two plastic baggies. Fleur takes Thanh aside as soon as Harper is in the water. What’s up? she says. Everything okay? We’re fine, Thanh says. Really. Fine. Okay, Fleur says. Come help me mix drinks and tell me stuff. I need a quick crash course in marriage. What’s sex like? Well, to start with, Thanh says, you need good lube and a lot of preparation. I also recommend two or three trapeze artists. And a marching band. The marching band is essential. They make drinks. People gather on the porch. Someone plays Leonard Cohen songs on a guitar. There are oysters and hot dogs and cold tomato halves filled with spinach and cheese. More drinks. Thanh says to Fleur, Tell me about David. He’s a good guy? How am I supposed to answer that, Fleur says. She’s gotten some sun. There are lines on her face that Thanh doesn’t remember. She’s doing what she used to do, back in the old days. Picking up abandoned drinks, finishing them. David has a terrible job. Did you know they had me vetted when we moved in together? To see if I was a security risk. We’re at different ends of the political spectrum. But he’s good to me. And he’s rich. That doesn’t hurt. And I love him. Well, Thanh says. He takes the empty glass from her hand.

It’s nine at night by the time Harper gets back. People are playing Truth or Dare. Or, as Fleur calls it, Security Risk or Do Something Stupid Because It’s Fun. There are other people on the boat with Harper. Thank God, Fleur says. He’s here. But it isn’t David. It’s three men and a woman, all in knife-pleated pants, white shirts. Are those the caterers? someone asks. Fleur shshes them. Friends of David, she says, and goes down to the dock to meet them. No kisses this time. Thanh, Harper says. Let’s go somewhere and talk.

They’re at the top of the stairs when Thanh sees a plastic bowl, rainwater in it, on the landing. Hold on, he tells Harper, and pukes into it. Takes the bowl into the bathroom, dumps the vomit and rainwater into the toilet. Rinses it. Rinses his mouth. Okay. He’s okay. Harper is in their room, sitting on the little bed. They’re okay, he says. They’re in the hospital. She was having contractions. They’ve given her something to stop the contractions. And something else, uh, Dexamethasone. I looked it up on the phone. It’s a steroid. It increases surfactants in the lungs. Whatever those are. So if he’s born, he’ll have a better chance. He, Thanh says. Oh, Harper says. Yeah. Naomi spilled the beans. Sorry about that. We need to go back, Thanh says. Thanh, Harper says. We can’t. There are no flights. No seats. Not tomorrow anyway. I called. Han’s there. The contractions have stopped. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you can go over to the mainland and talk to them. Thanh lies down on the bed. He doesn’t undress. There’s sand between his toes. He’s cold. Harper lies down beside him. Harper says, It’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. They’re almost asleep when Thanh says, I don’t know about this David guy. I rode over with some of his work friends, Harper says. Bad news, those guys. I asked what exactly David did, and they started talking about the lesson of 9/11. Thanh says, Someone asked if they were the caterers. Caterers, Harper says. Like you’d want to eat anything they served you.

There are noises in the night. Thanh, Harper says. Do you hear that? Hear what? Thanh says. But then he hears it, too. Little rustling noises, dry leaves’ noises. Little scratchings. Harper gets out of bed, turns on the light. The noises stop. Harper turns off the light. Almost immediately the noises start up again. Harper gets up, the light is turned on, the noises stop. When it happens a third time, Harper leaves the light on. The taxidermied Bad Claw watches them with its glassy eyes, lips forever lifted in a sneer. There is nothing in the room except for Harper and Thanh and the Bad Claw, the table and the bed and their suitcases. Thanh checks his phone. There are no messages, no signal. The bed is too small. Harper begins to snore. He didn’t used to snore. There are no other noises. Thanh only falls back asleep as the sun is coming up.

In the morning, Fleur and a bunch of other people are making a lot of noise on the porch. There’s yelling. Little cries of delight. Has David arrived? They make their way down. Go on, Fleur is saying. Try them on. Everyone gets one. Everyone’s a bride today. She is taking wedding dresses out of a set of oversized luggage. Remember these? she says to Thanh and Harper. Remember when I won all that money at the poker game in Somerville? She tells everyone else, I didn’t know what to do with it. The next week was the wedding dress sale, Filene’s Basement. It’s famous, she tells her California friends. Everyone used to go. Even if you never, ever planned to get married. You went to watch grown women fight over dresses, and then there you are, buying a dress, too. So I went and I got kind of fascinated with the dresses that no one else wanted. All of the really horrible dresses. At the end of the day they’re practically paying you to take them. I spent all my poker money on wedding dresses. I’ve been saving them ever since. For a party. Or a wedding. Something. Here, she says to Harper. This one will look good on you. I was saving it just for you.