John Casey - Spartina

“Yeah,” Dick said. “You said that. You’ve got the money.”

“I don’t just mean money. Though I’ve thought a lot about my being a rich kid. Not so rich, but I know what you mean when you think ‘rich kid.’ I’ve made fun of myself too, I mean, I’ve asked myself how brave I’d be, how full of mystical life force I’d be, if I were completely broke. Is the life force another middle-class privilege? Suppose the answer is yes. Then I say, so what? But now, you tell me something. You don’t want me to get an abortion, do you?”

“No.”

Elsie sat up straight. “I’m glad about that. I … By the way, are you mad at me?”

“No. I have been. I’ll tell you what’s hard for me. The way I feel about the boys. I’ve been hard on them, I haven’t done everything just right, but I know what it’s been like being a father.”

“Yes, you’re a good father.”

“There’s the way I feel about the boys … and then there’s this. You can talk about your life force and your money, but all this … I don’t know what to call it. It doesn’t fit with anything I know.”

“I know. I know what you mean.” Elsie’s voice was soft. “I’ve done at least one thing I didn’t want to — I’ve disturbed the pattern of your good habits.”

“How do you mean that?”

Elsie said, “I mean the balance of your force field, your network. The way you care for your family, the way you get along with someone like Eddie, the way you are with Miss Perry. And, I suppose, the way you were angry about Sawtooth Point and the toy-boat people.” Elsie hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms as though she felt a chill. “I suppose what I mean is I haven’t been a good ecologist.”

Dick snorted. “What the hell does that mean? You’re the ecologist and I’m some endangered species? You’re the game warden of my, what-do-you-call-it, my habitat? ”

“Don’t get mad,” Elsie said sharply. “You’re just as high and mighty as I am. And you’re meaner. You practically spit when you say ‘summer people,’ or ‘toy boat.’ At least I’m sympathetic to your getting on your high horse.” Elsie stopped herself, took a breath. “I admire what’s good about your life, for God’s sakes. I don’t look down, I admire just about everything I mentioned — you and your boys, you and how you work and your boat and going to sea. The time you took Miss Perry and the boys fishing, that whole afternoon was one of the reasons I …” Elsie stuck her hands up in the air and then held her head. She said, “That and the way you talked to me about being scared of sharks when I got stuck in that little boat.… I didn’t pick you out of a catalogue, for God’s sakes. I know you. I mean, in my own fucked-up, neurotic way, I fell for you.”

Dick was alarmed but satisfied to hear her say this. He still had Parker and Marie on his mind.

Elsie said, “What got more complicated — I mean I could have let that go by — maybe just gone back to having a little crush on you. But then I wanted to be friends too, and that kept me bumping into you. So here I am going to be a mother. It takes my breath away too, you know. So naturally I see it’s not easy for you. I can see how this last part isn’t your idea. I can see that my child and I — or at least this child — is going to make a claim on your thoughts. I’m to blame for that, for what it does to you, no matter how completely I take care of the child.” Elsie said this carefully, and even submissively, and then stopped. Dick didn’t see what she was submitting to.

She said, “I could go away. I mean I’m going away anyway, before it shows. But I could stay away. If you decide not to tell May, it might make it easier if I’m not around.”

Dick said, “If I do tell May, it’ll be hard on her if she has to keep running into my bastard.” Elsie winced. “If I don’t tell her, she’ll believe what everyone else believes. You went down to Boston and adopted a baby.”

Elsie looked surprised. Dick didn’t see why until she said, “What makes you think I’m going to Boston?”

She was too quick for him. He didn’t flinch. No sense in weaseling anyhow. And for some reason he didn’t mind letting her stick him on this one. It crossed his mind that they must be friends if he didn’t mind letting her take a swipe at him, if he trusted that, after she tore into him for a bit, she’d settle down, go on with him.

He told her she’d talked about Boston when she was talking to Mary Scanlon.

“Mary?” Elsie said.

“Mary didn’t tell me. I heard you talking to her. The night she came from her father’s funeral. I came back up—”

“Where were you?”

“I was walking back up your drive.”

“And you heard us.”

“That’s right.”

“So you just stood there listening in.”

“I did.”

“You sneaky son of a bitch!”

“What I heard sounded sneaky enough.”

That stopped her. Dick wished he hadn’t said it like that, but it stopped her.

When she spoke next, she was careful again. “I don’t know what you heard me tell Mary, but what I just told you is true. Do you want me to say it all over again? When we made love that first time, whatever I was thinking, it wasn’t cold-blooded.”

“No,” Dick said.

“Good.” Elsie cocked her head. “Of course maybe it would be easier for you to think it was all my plan. I just siphoned it out of you, you know, like someone stealing gas out of your gas tank. A sly little succubus stealing your seed. Maybe I’m an alien and I came down on a flying saucer and flew away with a specimen for our earthling exhibit. You like it better that way?”

Dick said, “Okay. I got the point.”

Elsie said, “Listen, earthling. You have been selected as a suitable type to release your earthling essence.” Elsie switched into a squeaky robot voice. “For this experiment I have assumed a receptacle-type earthling body. Beep. You are injector-type earthling? Beep. You will now begin process. Beep.”

“I got the picture, Elsie.”

Elsie laughed and laughed. When she stopped, she said beep once more and knocked herself out all over again. Dick waited.

The sun was long down, and the sky was losing its glow. He could just see her face when it tipped up, her single pearl earrings little moons in the dusk of her dark hair, her teeth as white as the moon.

He got out of the canoe. He said, “I got to get home.” He took her hand to help her out. When she got to her feet on the soft earth of the marsh he put his arms around her. He felt awkward. “I don’t know, Elsie.” She felt small and cold. As he pulled back, his hand caught on the handle of her revolver. “Damn, Elsie. What’re you wearing your gun for?”

“We’re on special duty. They even called up the National Guard. In case of looting.”

Dick said, “Pistol-packing mama,” and began to laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” Elsie said. “Mine was much funnier.”

The canoe slithered along easily on top of the marsh. He could pull it by the painter with one hand. Elsie took his other hand. She said, “One of my problems is that I like hanging around with you. What do you say we keep it a secret, keep on hanging out together?”

“I know what you mean,” Dick said, but he couldn’t say any more.

“At least for a couple of months,” Elsie said. “Just hang out some. I won’t use my ray gun on you. I’ll be off to Boston by Christmas.”

They got to the truck before Dick answered. Dick slid the bow of the canoe up on the roof of the cab, and he and Elsie lashed it on.

“We’ll see each other,” Dick said. “I don’t know how much hanging around I’ll be doing. You’ve seen my house. And I got to check my pots.”