David Vann - Caribou Island

She found Tramadol, another painkiller, and looked it up online. It seemed to be okay for humans. She could lose her job for this, maybe even face some sort of criminal charges. Frank should have prescribed something. She could ask Jim for a prescription, but she didn’t want to put any pressure on things with Jim.

Driving to her parents’ house, she thought about her wedding. Jim hadn’t proposed yet, but they had talked about it, indirectly. She wanted the wedding in Hawaii, and he had agreed to this, basically. She didn’t want cold, or mosquitoes, or any sign of salmon. No moose antlers in the next room, no hip waders. She wanted Kauai, either Waimea Canyon or Hanalei Bay. A ceremony on the beach, or overlooking the ocean or the canyon, something beautiful. Coconut palms, big bowls of fresh fruit, guava nectar, macadamia nuts. Some old plantation house, maybe, white with a covered porch, all the curlicues of wood and banisters. Bird-of-paradise on the tables, long slim stems and multicolored ruffles. Maybe some actual birds, too, parrots or something.

And maybe I’ll wear an eyepatch, Rhoda said aloud and grinned. Poor Jim. You have no idea what you’re in for.

She turned off toward the lake, rattling and bouncing now on the crap road. What she wanted, really, was something classy. She didn’t want anything cheap. She wanted dignified, and this would be tough, given her family. Mark would be high, no doubt, and her dad would want to take off his tuxedo at the first opportunity. Her mom would be all right. She tried to see the place, but all she had were parts of weddings floating around unconnected. Maybe she and Jim would have to take a scouting trip to Hawaii. She needed to see the actual places.

When she pulled up, her father was gardening, working on the flowerpots.

Howdy, Dad.

Hey, Rhoda. Have the painkillers? He got up off his knees, brushed his jeans.

I could get busted for this. We have to get her a prescription.

Yeah, he said. I think another day or two and it’ll blow over. There’s nothing wrong, really, just a cold.

Hm, Rhoda said, and walked into the house. Her mother was on the couch in front of the fireplace, a blanket over her.

I feel like hell, Irene said.

I have about two weeks of painkillers, Rhoda said. Vicodin and Tramadol, which is what we use for big dogs. It should work about the same. Maybe take two if one isn’t enough. But you can’t tell anyone where you got these. Rhoda filled a glass of water and gave it to her mother along with a Vicodin.

Thank you, sweetie. Help me back to the bedroom. I need to sleep.

Okay, Rhoda said, but can’t you walk?

I feel a little dizzy. Just help me out. Why does everyone have to question it?

Sorry, Mom.

They walked to the bedroom and her mother lay down under the covers, didn’t say anything more.

Rhoda did some dishes and then went outside to talk with her father. What’s wrong with her? she asked.

Just punishing me, he said. For making us go out in the rain. Which I probably shouldn’t have done. But still, she’ll draw out this cold as long as she can to let me know how she feels.

Dad, Rhoda said.

It’s true. That’s what’s happening. It’s my fault, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I don’t think she’d do that, Dad.

Well, you don’t know her the way I do. You have a different relationship. And that’s good.

I think something’s really wrong. I don’t think she’s making it up.

Whatever. I need to get back to the flowers here, and tomorrow I need to get back to work on the cabin. Your mother is supposed to be helping me with that.

I have work tomorrow, or I’d help.

Thanks, he said, tight-lipped, meaning the conversation was over. He’d always been like this, all Rhoda’s life. Any real conversation closed off. Any moment when she might actually see who he was, he disappeared.

Mark returned from another long day of fishing to find his sister sitting with Karen at the kitchen table.

How did you do? Karen asked.

We’re freed from poverty another few days, Mark said. Enough grublings out there to keep us off the street.

I made fiddleheads, Karen said.

Oh, cool. Mark went to the counter to grab some, little green spirals marinated in balsamic and olive oil. I love these.

Howdy, Mark, Rhoda said.

Hello my sister. How goes the chase for wealth and happiness?

Thanks, Mark.

He circled behind her and then lunged forward quickly to put his fishy hands over her face.

Rhoda yelled and pushed back into him, fell backward onto the floor as he hopped out of the way. Nice, Mark, she said. You’ve really changed.

No need for change, he said, when you got something good. Karen laughed. Mark swooped over for a kiss and a quick grab.

Rhoda picked up her chair and sat again. I hate to interrupt the love fest, and I’m sure you’re both fine with just doing it on the floor right in front of me, but I actually came here for a reason.

Speak your pain, Sister Rhoda, Mark said, and Karen giggled.

Rhoda ignored this. Mom is in a lot of pain, and Dad doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong, because the X ray didn’t show anything.

Hm, Mark said.

What I’m asking is that you go by a few times a day and check on Mom. You live practically next door. I’m forty minutes away.

I’d love to, but I’m working. Out again tomorrow and the next day. And Karen’s working, too.

Okay, Rhoda said. Forget it, then.

I want to help, but I have to work.

Okay, okay, Rhoda said. I understand. You’ve been an unreliable fuck all your life.

Feel the love, Mark said.

Wanna get high? Karen asked.

Jim canceled his appointments for the day, which pissed off his secretary and the hygienist. Then he tore over to the King Salmon Hotel. Coming in on two wheels, he said to himself. I’m a man on a mission, a boy with a gun. He tried to sing the old Devo song, couldn’t quite remember the tune.

This got him thinking of another Devo song: little girl with the four red lips, never knew it could be like this, I’m going under, I’m going under. He was grinning now. Please fuck me today, Monique. Please, please, please.

He slid the Suburban to a fast stop in the gravel, hopped out, and practically ran to her door.

There was kind of a long pause before she answered his knock. But she was dressed and looked ready to go. Wearing a man’s shirt. Dark green plaid, untucked, top buttons undone. Jeans.

Wow, he said.

Hey, she said, and stepped forward to clear the door, so he had to step back. No invite in, no kiss. She locked the door, then turned around to face him. What are we doing today?

Um, he said. Whatever you want.

How about a helicopter ride? I’d like to see this place.

Okay, he said, and they got in the Suburban and drove toward where he had seen a few helicopters. This turned out to be an abandoned gravel lot. So he called information for helicopter tours, found something, and they drove past strip malls and pickups, boats on trailers by the side of the road.

Alaska is a dump, Monique said. But I like it.

We should go out on the water, Jim said. Go fishing. You might like that.

Maybe, Monique said. Helicopter first. Get my bearings, Roger.

Jim was feeling used, and a little pissed off, but he tried to keep the mood light. They’d fly around for a while, and then they’d go back to the hotel and fuck or he’d quit the whole stupid thing.

Whoa, Monique said. You just passed it, cowboy. I saw helicopters.

Sorry, Jim said, and found a place to turn around. He was getting distracted, thinking maybe Rhoda wasn’t such a bad deal. She was nice to him, and that had to count for something.