David Vann - Caribou Island

Misery loves company, he said. And all you wanted to do was drag me down with you. You’re a mean old bitch. You don’t say it, but you’re thinking it, always judging. Gary doesn’t know what he’s doing. Gary hasn’t planned a thing, hasn’t thought ahead. Always a little bit of judgment. A mean old bitch.

You’re a monster, she said.

See? I’m a monster. I’m the fucking monster.

The satellite phone arrived by UPS in the afternoon. A yellow Pelican case, watertight, the phone tucked inside, padded in foam. Power cords for AC and DC, a packet of adaptors for anywhere in the world. The kind of thing only Jim could afford. A slow day at work, so Rhoda sat at her desk and read the instructions, plugged in the phone to get it charging. She had already bought two golf cart batteries, so her mom would be able to recharge using the DC plug.

At five p.m., she packed up and drove home. A full wedding planning kit from the resort on Kauai had also arrived today, so she was looking forward to opening that. She and Jim would sit on the couch and look through everything.

But when she arrived, Jim was already working out, running on the orbital.

Hiya, he said between huffs. He talked differently now, perky speech. Hiya and you betcha. She didn’t know what was going on. He had a new receptionist, and she spoke like that, so maybe it was rubbing off.

Rhoda put the Pelican case on the bar, and the wedding planning packet. She might as well start fixing dinner. His workouts were getting longer and longer. He’d be at it for at least an hour and a half, every day now, and then he’d have to take a shower. Then dinner and early to bed. They were right here in the same room together, but he didn’t like to talk when he worked out, and he had his iPod going anyway.

Rhoda opened the fridge, and she wondered how much of Jim she was marrying. What percentage. Ten percent of his attention, some larger percentage of his affection, ninety percent of his daily needs and errands, some percentage of his body, a small percentage of his history. She wondered what she was signing up for. Half of his money. She didn’t like to think of it that way. They were supposed to be joining their lives together. They were supposed to be sitting together on the couch right now, looking at the sunset and the brochures.

Salmon, halibut, caribou, chicken. None of it appealed. She didn’t feel like cooking. So she closed the fridge and walked over to Jim. She waited until he pulled out his earphones. He looked like hell, sweaty and splotchy. I’m gonna grab a pizza, she said. I don’t feel like cooking.

He was huffing hard. I don’t know about pizza, he said. All that cheese. Not good for the muffin top.

He had started calling his gut a muffin top, and he was on a diet. No alcohol or desserts or dairy.

I feel like pizza, she said.

How about a big salad. Can you fix us a big salad, honey?

Quit calling me honey. What the fuck has happened to you? Who are you?

Rhoda. What’s wrong? Maybe you need to work out more, too. Make it every day. You’ll feel better.

Rhoda looked down at her stomach. She was still slim. She ran three times a week, and that was fine. How did her running not count as a workout? I’m fine, she said. I don’t need to work out more.

I’m not saying anything about your weight. I’m just saying you might feel better.

This is a dumb conversation, Rhoda said. I’m not having this. I want to talk about other things. The satellite phone arrived, so I have to get that out to my mom. And the wedding planning kit arrived, so we need to look at that this evening.

I don’t know about this evening, honey. Maybe this weekend, when we have more time.

Rhoda felt so angry suddenly she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to say anything bad. This was supposed to be their happy time, planning their wedding and honeymoon. So she just nodded and walked away, back to the fridge. They had some lettuce and tomato, an unripe avocado, smoked salmon, of course, that she could throw in. Pine nuts. Enough for a salad. Some cucumber left over. So fine, they’d have a salad. No need to fix it now. He wouldn’t be ready for another hour and a half at least.

Rhoda walked into the bedroom, ran the bath, and stripped. Lay down on the bed naked, waited for the tub to fill. Felt a little cold but didn’t care. Looked up at the ceiling. None of this was working out the way she had planned, and she couldn’t even really think about it, anyway, because she was thinking about her mother all the time. Her mother saying she wanted to do something worse than throw a bowl through the window. She meant it. Rhoda could tell. She wanted to destroy. And how had that happened?

Rhoda sighed and went to sit in the water, even though the tub wasn’t full yet. Added bubble bath. Like one of the dogs at work, waiting to be scrubbed. She put her arms around her knees and laid her head against them. Tried to focus on her breath and stop thinking, the hot water rising up.

When it was full, she turned off the faucet and laid back, closed her eyes. Smelled pear and vanilla, the bubble bath, too strong. Her body long and slim and weightless. She thought about a water wedding, just for fun. Everyone wearing scuba gear and weight belts, held to the ocean floor. Light brown sand rippling in wave patterns, a white wedding arch anchored down. A wall of coral for backdrop as she held Jim’s hands, looking at his face pinched in a mask, a regulator in his mouth, lips pale pink. The guests arrayed in the sand watching, the women’s dresses creating great colored plumes in the current, far-off coral tufts and fish gliding by. A parrotfish, lime and turquoise, swimming past Rhoda’s feet.

Rhoda smiled. If only a dream could be made instantly. No arrangements. She could decide this was the wedding she wanted, and poof, it would happen. She didn’t like waiting.

Rhoda dozed off, woke with a start, not sure at first where she was. The shower running, Jim finished with his workout. The bath water no longer hot. She rose and dried off, dressed, walked into the kitchen. Felt sluggish as she fixed the salad, no interest in the food. Over a week since they’d had sex, a very long time for them. She wondered what was wrong.

Jim came out just as she had the salad and plates on the table.

Fabu, he said. Another of the perky new phrases.

Panacotta, she said.

What?

Just sounded like it went with fabu.

Hm, Jim said. Then he served himself some salad. Raised the tongs too high. Made an arc in the air with each serving. As if this were a performance.

I’m worried about my mom, she said.

Yeah.

I need to get that phone to her right away. I need to be able to talk with her.

Jim munched on a big mouthful of lettuce. Looking outside, at the deck lit by floodlights, not at Rhoda. He finished chewing, then gulped half a glass of water. Thirsty, he said. After working out.

I’m really worried about her.

Jim stabbed another bunch of lettuce on his fork but then paused and gave her a quick look. Next time they’re in, he said. You can run it out to the house.

No. I need to talk with her now.

Jim stuffed the lettuce in his mouth. Stared at his plate while he chewed. Then gulped the rest of his water. Can I have some more water? he asked.

Rhoda grabbed his glass and filled it at the fridge. Walked back to the table and was careful not to set it down hard.

Look, he said. I know you’re worried, and you care about them. But I’m sure they’re fine. And maybe it’s good to have a bit more separation from your mother. Maybe you’ll rely on her less.

This isn’t a normal time, Rhoda said. There’s something wrong with her. I’m scared.

Nothing’s going to happen to them out there. Jim pushed some of the lettuce around on his plate, flipped a leaf over and flipped it again. Man, he said. This is just not that satisfying. I miss the pancakes and peaches. But pancakes aren’t good for the muffin top.