John Casey - Spartina

Mary said, “My social life isn’t so good I can afford to keep the riffraff out.”

“Oh, Mary,” Elsie said. “Don’t be absurd. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re a great cook. And when you’re managing Jack’s restaurant, you’ll be meeting all sorts of people. And you’ll have this nice house to bring them home to.”

“Yeah, sure. Life begins at forty. Look, I’m not complaining. We’ll have a good time. But before you go adding a wing to your house, maybe you should make sure the rabbit died.”

“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment next week. But I’d like you to move in anyway.”

“We’ll figure all that out,” Mary said. “Right now I’m really bushed.”

“But you’ll come with me to the launching?”

“Oh yeah. Dick’s boat. Sure, if it’s not too early.”

“Noon.” Elsie’s tone still hovered and soared, as if it was all a breeze. “It’s a beautiful boat. Dick’s his usual grumpy self about it, but it really is amazing. I know it’s presumptuous, but I’m terribly proud of it. Of him.”

Mary’s voice was muffled again, but it sounded like she’d had enough, didn’t want Elsie to get wound up again. The light went out.

Dick got up on one knee. For a second he was confused, lost in the dark, thought he was still hiding in the salt marsh. He could barely feel his body except as dull weight.

He hadn’t figured there were so many ways to get in trouble. He made his way back to his pickup and let it roll down the driveway, almost to Miss Perry’s, before he started the engine.

When he slipped into bed he thought he’d have a hard time getting to sleep.

May woke him up once to stop him snoring. May had to shake him awake again in the morning when the boat-moving rig pulled off Route 1 into his yard.

I t took longer to load up than he’d figured, but it went okay. Backing in, the tractor’s front wheels swung round and tore up half of May’s garden. The trailer moved back into the shed a yard at a time, taking the weight of the boat frame by frame, as Eddie and he dismantled the cradle.

The wheels of the trailer sank in a half-foot, leaving a double trench from inside the shed, out across the garden, through the backyard, and around the side, slowly coming back to grade as the wheels ran up onto the packed grit and shells of the driveway. The boys ran out onto Route 1 waving red handkerchiefs tied to sticks to warn off traffic. Dick’s truck didn’t have flashers, so Eddie tailed the boat in his pickup. Dick pulled out and swept past, leaving May to bring the boys along in her car.

By the time they got the two miles to the boatyard and rolled the boat onto the marine railway, it was close to noon.

The manager let his men off for a half-hour lunch. Dick raised his eyebrows. He took a deep breath and took the manager aside to ask, as calmly as he could manage, if the half-hour for lunch was going on the bill. The manager pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and said, “No.” He opened his eyes and said, “Look, Dick. It’s all going fine. The boat’s in the yard. She’s on the railway. It’s time for my boys to have their lunch. It’s when you hurry that things slip. You know that.” He nodded toward the harbor. “The tide’s still coming in, another half-hour there’ll be even more water. You don’t want her to bounce when she slides in.” The manager added, “All you boat owners are alike — expect everything to fall into place just ’cause you show up.” Dick was stung. The manager shook his head. “Hey, Dick. I’m kidding you. That’s what you used to say when you worked here.”

Dick sent Charlie and Tom off in May’s car to get their skiff off Mamzelle , Tom to bring the skiff back up the harbor from Galilee, Charlie to drive the car back. Dick wanted the skiff to tend his boat once she was at a mooring. May offered to go back and get him a sandwich. He was in too much of a fuss to eat. He got an oar from the yard’s store, got in a dinghy, and floated over the rails, poking down with the oar around where his boat’s stern would splash in. His hands were so fluttery, he almost dropped the oar.

Plenty of water down there. What was he fussing about? He splashed a handful of water on his face.

A man in red pants and a white tennis hat hailed him from the dock. Dick cupped his hand to his ear. The man said he wanted his dinghy back. Eddie was on the guy like a shot. Dick watched Eddie’s hands open like flowers in front of his chest, his head cock to one side. The man’s eyes followed Eddie’s to the boat. The man lifted his hand to catch Dick’s attention. “Okay, take your time.” Dick paddled back in anyway.

Dick said he was sorry, he’d thought the dinghy was a yard boat.

The man wanted to chat. He said, “That’s some boat. I didn’t think they still built commercial boats out of wood.” He looked at Dick again. “Didn’t you use to work in the yard here?”

Dick recognized the man’s face, couldn’t place him. The man pointed to a large catboat at a mooring. “You worked on my boat a couple of times.”

Dick looked. “Yeah. I remember your boat. An old Crosby.”

The man seemed pleased.

Dick said, “You used to let the Perryville School kids take her out.”

The man said, “That’s right, that’s right!” He was quite excited by this recognition.

Dick looked down the channel to see if the boys’ skiff was in view.

“Your boat wasn’t built in this yard,” the man said. “Was she built in a Rhode Island yard?”

Eddie said, “You could say that — he built her himself in his backyard.”

Dick looked up toward the parking lot. He saw Elsie’s Volvo. Then Elsie and Mary coming round the yard office.

“Good for you,” the man said to Dick. “That’s something I’ve always wanted to do myself.”

Dick said, “Something I’ve always wanted to do myself is be a brain surgeon.”

The man lifted his face in surprise. Then hurt spread across it slowly, like the stain of a dye-marker at sea.

Eddie said, “Dick. Jees. Take it easy.”

Dick breathed in and out through his nose and shook his head at himself. He said, “Yeah. I don’t know why I said that. Sorry.”

The man said, “I take your point. I only meant … congratulations on succeeding where so many merely wish.”

Elsie and Mary came down the gangplank to the dock. Elsie said, “Good. We’re not too late. Mary brought a bottle of champagne for May to christen her with.” She turned to the old man. She said, “Hello, Mr. Potter,” and kissed him on the cheek. She introduced Mary Scanlon to Mr. Potter. Then Dick and Eddie. Mr. Potter shook their hands.

Dick felt stupid and mean all over again.

Elsie looked around brightly. “Are your boys here? I don’t see them. I stopped in to see Miss Perry on the off chance she might be able to … She sends her congratulations. Captain Texeira was there, so he came along.”

Mr. Potter asked after Miss Perry.

“Much better,” Elsie said. “Would this be a good place to take pictures, Dick? Or should I get up someplace high and shoot down? There’s sort of a splash, isn’t there?”

“Not supposed to be. She’s on a marine railway, she’s not going to skid in.”

“Oh. Well, maybe Schuyler will get here. He’s back, so maybe he’ll show up and we can use two cameras.”

Dick felt a terrible new intimacy, as though he and Elsie were stuck to each other, floating through the air out of control in front of a crowd, which Elsie didn’t notice or didn’t care about, because she kept pressing her face in to him. No, she did notice, because she was also waving to the crowd.