Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

Harun was standing there, shaking his head at the carnage before him. He looked ill, to be sure, but then again, I bet I hardly looked the picture of health myself at that moment. Had he gotten sick?

“How do you feel?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Sympathetic dry heaves. I can’t stand watching people throw up. Otherwise…fine.” He met my gaze and we spoke in unison. “What did you eat?”

Frank and Kadie Myer appeared on the porch, aghast at the sight before them. “What happened?” the patriarch asked in dismay.

“Your seafood, that’s what,” George replied, rolling onto his side. “Christ, what did you do? Ferment that shit in a shed?”

“How dare you!” Kadie cried, stepping forward (but not, I noted, near enough to be in smelling distance). “We had those fish in ice the moment we caught them! Why do you blame everything that happens to you on someone else?”

“Specifically, on us,” Frank said. “I’m getting sick and tired of the prejudice this club harbors against its patriarchs.”

Clarissa moaned. In the distance, I saw two more figures emerging out of the dark. Demetria and Ben, arms wrapped around each other for support, heaving their way up the path. [13] The confessor is not above the occasional pun.

Poe and Malcolm arrived on the scene soon after, looking none the worse for wear. “What happened?” my big sib asked, while Poe pulled the seething Myers aside and began talking to them in low voices.

“You don’t want to know,” I said, almost gagging at the thought. “Disgustingly vicious food poisoning.”

Salt arrived with a giant pitcher of water and a stack of paper cups and we set upon rehydrating the troops. Luckily, the worst seemed to have passed. No one was looking green anymore, and there were no more relapses into uncontrolled…well, you know.

“Did anyone else eat the shellfish?” I asked. “Have you spoken to the other patriarchs?”

“Darren,” Odile rasped. “Someone check on Darren.”

“I’ll go,” Kadie said with a dismissive sniff. “You people smell like trash anyway.”

“Don’t be long, honey,” Frank called after her. “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning.” Poe looked as if he was about to say something, but Frank stopped him. “No,” he said. “I mean it. I’m sick of this. We have done everything we could for these bitches, bent over backward, humbled ourselves like you wouldn’t believe, and they still treat us like we’re somehow the enemy. I’m not going to stand here and be accused of things again and I’m certainly not going to let you keep insulting my wife like this. It’s disgusting. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. And that goes for you, too, James. Where’s your pride? You should be ashamed of tapping a club of Diggers such as these.” And then he stormed off.

Salt poured another cup of water for our invalids, who were lolling about on the porch steps, clutching their stomachs. Harun returned from the kitchen with a packet of crackers and started doling them out ( Jenny first). Poe clomped down the porch steps to where I knelt patting George comfortingly (yet gingerly) on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said softly as he passed. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Why not?” he snapped, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s right. You guys are pathetic, ungrateful brats. Those two were trying to be nice to you and you spat all over them.”

“To be fair,” Demetria said, “we vomited. There was very little spitting.”

“We were somehow supposed to help ourselves?” Ben said. “We got food poisoning. It wasn’t their fault, but it happened.”

“I suppose you expect us to swallow it, lest we appear ungrateful?” George said.

“Food poisoning, my ass,” Poe said. “You’re all just drunk.”

“Leave them alone!” I said, standing and facing Poe. “Haven’t they been through enough?”

Poe shook his head. “I ate as much lobster as the next person and I’m fine. Malcolm’s fine. The Myers are fine.”

“Lucky you,” Jenny said.

“So what are you saying, that we did this to you?” Poe said in a low, dangerous tone.

“No!” I said quickly. Dude, what was with the misplaced guilt? “It was an accident. It was just a really, really sucky accident. Everyone thinks so—right, guys?” I nudged Demetria with my toe and she nodded, weakly.

“So why did you jump down their throats?” Poe asked.

“Because it was their seafood, man,” Ben said. “Your seafood. You caught it.”

“But we didn’t do anything to it!” Malcolm said.

“No one is saying you did!” I tossed up my hands. “That’s the definition of ‘accident.’”

“It wasn’t the food,” Poe insisted.

“Well, it wasn’t the alcohol,” I said. “We were all drinking.”

“Not all of us quite as much, though,” Poe said. “It’s not possible that you all just happened to get bad lobster and no one else did.”

“Dude,” Demetria croaked, “I don’t feel drunk.”

“What you did manage to accomplish, however,” said Poe, in vintage frost, “was to alienate yet another of the patriarchs with your groundless accusations.”

“That’s uncalled for,” I said. “No one is accusing anyone of anything here. And when we did, we had plenty of grounds.”

“You just told the Myers they tried to poison you.”

“No, we informed them that we were poisoned. Agency unknown.”

“By their olive branch.”

“If the shoe fits…” I said.

“Jesus, you two,” George groaned from the porch steps. “Get a room already.”

Poe stiffened and addressed the assemblage (while I did a quick check to see if anyone else had noted George’s comment). “I’m getting a little sick of cleaning up your messes.”

“Don’t go into the woods, then,” Jenny said.

“It’s not our fault that they took it too personally,” I cried. “Don’t you think it’s the people rolling around on the ground here who are the real injured party?”

Poe looked away, and I reached for his arm.

“Look, I know you spent time mending fences today, and it’s appreciated. But this? This is all a misunderstanding—I’ll go explain it to Frank if you want.”

He shook me off. “Go tend to your wounded, Amy.”

I bit my lip, torn between snapping back at him and just letting it go. It was clear where Poe’s loyalty lay. He’d protect any slight against the society, even a perceived one. The shaky truce he’d engineered between the Myers and D177 had backfired, big-time, and he’d decided it was somehow our fault. Poe brushed past me and he and Malcolm retreated to the boys’ cabin.

Kadie appeared at the base of the path. “Darren isn’t feeling well, either,” she reported. “He apparently went to bed early.”

George dropped his head into his hands, no doubt remembering the flask he’d handed over. Alcohol certainly couldn’t have helped matters if Darren, too, had been victim to the food poisoning. Demetria staggered to her feet and approached Kadie.

“Hey,” she said, her voice strangely subdued. “Thanks for checking on him for us. I’m sorry if anything we said came across as confrontational. We know you only meant well when you offered us dinner.”

Kadie narrowed her eyes. “Whatever,” she said, lifting her chin in the air. But as she brushed past Demetria, she paused. “You know, Frank lives in this dream world that no one in his life knows what’s going on. But I know everything. The very idea that he and the rest of you all can bring barbarians to this island belies that. Your secrets aren’t really what make you interesting. It’s your dedication to this organization—the one you make for life. The one you make for the good of everyone that came before you. But that’s not something I see in your class.”