Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
1982
I t wasn’t till eleven that night that Mia returned home from wherever she’d been. Chuck had sent the girls to bed by eight—hours ago—and spent the rest of the time with a beer on the sofa, hardly remembering to sip it, his eyes on the window. Where could she be?
Chuck and Mia had been married in a very small ceremony just a few months ago, not long after Chuck had left Margaret for good. He still remembered how strange it had been for him to look out on their little group of wedding guests and realize that not one of them had been a member of his former life. Still, he’d been happy, or mostly happy, finally stepping into the light and acknowledging his true feelings. He’d really thought, Now I can be honest with myself and everyone else.
But ever since they’d married, Mia hadn’t gone out without him, not even with girlfriends. She’d always told him what she was up to. Usually, her outside-the-house experiences had something to do with their daughters or with tending to the car or bills or the house.
Now, Mia’s car turned onto the driveway. She cut the engine and the lights. Chuck remained seated on the sofa, his eyes on the dark front door. But Mia didn't even look at him when she entered, still in that sleek black dress and a pair of gold earrings. Her face was stern and all the more beautiful for it—like something porcelain, it was better not to touch it for fear of breaking it. Chuck stood and looked at her, searching his mind for something to say. But Mia went to the staircase and disappeared.
Chuck walked slowly, following her. From the landing, he watched as she checked in on both of the girls, making sure they were sleeping soundly. It was almost like she didn’t trust Chuck to do what he’d said he would. Then she went to their bedroom and removed her dress. She didn’t face him, not once. She was in his pajamas by the time he reached their bedroom and sat at the edge of the mattress. His tongue burned. He wanted her to tell him everything. He wanted her secrets.
“Mia?” His voice sounded tentative and weak.
But Mia was already walking down the hallway. He listened as she brushed her teeth and face, then collapsed on the pillow behind him to watch the shadows on the ceiling. When she returned, she cut the lights and crawled into bed beside him. Together, they lay in complete silence.
Just ask her where she was , he thought. She’s your wife. You’re her husband. You have to be honest with each other.
But Chuck realized he couldn’t ask. He knew what she would throw back in his face. She’d say, You did whatever you wanted for years. You had two families. I went along with it. Aren’t I allowed to do what I want every now and again?
She would have every right to say that.
Chuck’s hands were clammy. He was suddenly terrified that she’d begun an affair. But why would she? He was right here! He was in love with her! He reached over and touched her shoulder, but she turned to her side, facing away from him. The signal was clear.
Chuck woke up the following morning in an empty bed. His first fear—that Mia had taken the children and left him—was squashed when he heard the sound of the eggs cooking in the skillet downstairs. His daughters were laughing about something. He rolled over to check the time. It was seven fifteen. He’d finally slept more than a few hours at a time. He’d needed it.
But downstairs, Mia didn’t seem any more keen on talking to him than she’d been last night. She set a plate of eggs in front of him and turned around. Oriana and Meghan were either too clever to mention it or oblivious. Oriana started asking him questions about geography—which state capitals he remembered and so on. Chuck had a horrible headache. He wanted to go back to bed.
When Mia took the girls to school, Meghan and Oriana kissed him on the cheek and scrambled out the door. Mia didn’t look at him. She shut the door between them, leaving Chuck to stew in his own sinister fears.
Chuck went to work until he got tired of it. He really felt like he was at the end of his rope job-wise. Sitting at a desk felt increasingly soulless. Didn’t he have enough money? Hadn’t he been working himself to the bone since he was sixteen years old? By three thirty, he was out the door and headed to the bar near the harbor, the one where most of the patrons were sailors or fishermen, there to warm up after spending heinous cold days on the sea. Although Chuck was wealthy with a prominent business, he appreciated these kinds of bars. Everyone mostly kept to themselves. They didn’t really care about his money or his name; they weren’t trying to impress him.
Chuck sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Storm clouds rolled over the island, shooting rain over the bar’s tin roof. He sipped half of his beer and zoned out, thinking about Mia and his children.
But it wasn’t long after that that he heard the name Roger Albright.
“The rumors about that man are outlandish, to say the least.” This came from a rough-around-the-edges fisherman who looked like he’d already had too many beers. “You think it’s likely his children killed him for his cash?”
“No doubt about it,” another fisherman said. “That’s what these wealthy types do. You bring them into the world, you teach them about money and how to love money, and then they kill you in pursuit of the very thing you’ve taught them to love above all else. It’s Roger’s own fault, is what it is.”
“Kids are smart,” another fisherman said. “They don’t forget what they’ve learned.”
Chuck’s stomach roiled. What had he taught Grant and Roland? That it was okay to cheat on the woman you loved? That it was okay to wrong the woman who’d given birth to your children? Roland and Grant had both taken “hush” money and abandoned their relationship with their father forever. What did that mean about what kind of people they were?
Suddenly, the door burst open, bringing in a strong and sharp draft. Chuck stared into his beer. The bar quieted for a moment before the fishermen began chatting about Roger Albright again.
Chuck wondered if Vivian was still up at the hospital. He pondered if Travis was still dipping in to read and chat with her. Maybe Vivian had already sent him away, realizing how strange and lonely he was.
She was French, after all. She’d been on her way elsewhere—somewhere beautiful and warm and tropical. She wanted nothing to do with Martha’s Vineyard or some lighthouse keeper’s son.
A fist slammed on the bar beside Chuck. “I need a beer.”
Chuck turned to find Clarence beside him. He was drunk and leaning from side to side. His face and hands were bright red. He hadn’t yet noticed Chuck. Chuck’s heart stopped. This was nobody he wanted to deal with right now. He considered sneaking out of there and heading back to the office.
“You sure you need another one, buddy?” the bartender asked Clarence. “Looks as though you’ve had enough.”
Clarence scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? My money is just as good as everyone else’s, isn’t it?”
The bartender rolled his eyes, turned around, and poured Clarence a beer. Chuck kept his eyes down. Maybe Clarence was too drunk to recognize him.
Clarence took a long drink of beer and smacked his lips. Chuck furrowed his brow and thought about the first time he’d seen Clarence—not even forty-eight hours ago.
And then, Clarence started talking.
“It isn’t what I thought it would be, this life,” he began. His eyes turned toward Chuck, pegging him. It was clear he knew who he was.
He wasn’t too drunk to know that, at least.
Chuck’s cheeks were red. He didn’t know what to say.
“You wake up every day, and you do the best you can,” Clarence continued. “You pray for the best if you’re the praying type at all. And if you’re not?” Clarence shrugged. “It’s all the same.”
Chuck filled his mouth with beer and searched the bar for someone to commiserate with. Everyone kept their eyes averted.
“Call me crazy, but I’m an old-fashioned man,” Clarence continued. “I’m the sort of guy who says what he wants to do and does it. I don’t like hiding things.”
Chuck still didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Clarence was out of his mind.
“What about you, Chuck?” Clarence demanded. “Are you the kind of guy who keeps his word?”
A terrible smile spread over Clarence’s face. Chuck was genuinely terrified.
“No. Chuck Coleman isn’t the kind of guy who keeps his word,” Clarence answered his own question. “Are you, Chuck?”
“You’re drunk, Clarence,” Chuck said.
Clarence raised his finger. “I may be drunk, but I still know the truth. I’ve always known it.” He continued to smile. “You know who else knows the truth?”
Chuck gave Clarence a narrow-eyed look. He had no idea what he was going on about.
“Mia knows the truth,” Clarence finished.
Mia? My wife, Mia? Chuck thought. Rage filled his heart. He was suddenly out of his chair. He’d never punched anyone before and wouldn’t start now. But his hands were in fists, and his ears rang with danger.
“What did you just say?”
Clarence continued to leer at him. He took another sip from his beer.
“Repeat yourself,” Chuck demanded. “I dare you.”
Chuck remembered that Mia had acted strangely when he’d mentioned the lighthouse keeper.
What did it mean? Chuck had assumed they knew each other; all islanders did. But this? This felt like something else. Something deeper.
Had Mia been with Clarence last night? It was impossible. In that sleek black dress, with those earrings? She wouldn’t deign to sit at a table with Clarence, let alone do what adults did behind closed doors.
Mia wouldn’t cheat on me. Would she?
But suddenly, Clarence’s weight shifted. The chair fell back, and he collapsed across the hardwood of that dank dive bar. Chuck panicked. Everyone at the bar let out a cry of alarm.
“Should we call 911?” someone demanded from the corner.
The bartender and Chuck kneeled beside Clarence to check his vital signs.
“My guess is he’s just drunk as a skunk,” the bartender said. “He doesn’t have insurance, either. He wouldn’t like it if we called the ambulance. Who would pay for it?”
Chuck thought, I would pay for it, but I wouldn’t like it.
But Clarence came to a moment later.
His eyes were strange, like those of a goldfish. Chuck felt a wave of compassion for him and took his hand in his to help him up. It was clear he was a raving drunk, that he was lonely, that he didn’t know up from down or day from night. That should have been obvious when Chuck first met him on the beach the night of the accident. Clarence got on his knees and met Chuck’s gaze. After a firm nod, he heaved himself the rest of the way to his feet. Chuck wrapped an arm around him, hurrying to keep him upright. Chuck swayed like a boat at sea.
“He can sleep it off in back,” the bartender said, pointing a thumb behind him.
Chuck shook his head. “I’ll get him home.”
Chuck half carried and half led Clarence to his car, where he stuffed the massive man in the passenger seat. He tried to buckle him in, but he failed to.
“Where is Travis?” Chuck asked, turning the key to start the engine. “Is he at the lighthouse? The cabin?”
Clarence made a grunt that Chuck was pretty sure meant “lighthouse.” After all, the night would be falling soon; somebody needed to be there to ensure the light shone across the sound.
Chuck drove to the lighthouse and parked out front. Clarence had fallen asleep on the ride, and he was snoring loudly, his head tipped back. He was much too heavy to carry up the stairs. But Chuck wasn’t sure what to do. A part of him wanted to shake him and ask why he’d spoken about Mia like that. Another part of him didn’t want to know.
Chuck got out of the car and entered the lighthouse, leaving Clarence asleep in his car. He felt lightheaded. When he reached the door at the top, he knocked. Travis answered a split second later, wearing a happy and curious smile.
“Chuck!” he said. “This is a surprise!”
He spoke as though Chuck and Travis had known one another for years rather than fewer than two days.
Travis bolted away from the door to tend to something near the window. This left Chuck to hang in the doorway, watching. Travis looked even more spry than he had when he’d first met him, his legs and arms long and lined with muscles. Did Travis know anything about Clarence’s potential relationship with Mia? Would he sell out his father by telling him?
But before Chuck could get a word in about Mia or Clarence, Travis was already babbling about Vivian. “She’s getting better by the hour, I swear,” he said, working diligently on something in the corner. It looked as though he was trying to repair a radio. “And she’s teaching me French! Je voudrais ecrivain.” His accent was atrocious, but he smiled as he spoke the strange-to-him language. “Oh, but there was some drama at the hospital today,” Travis said and twisted around to look at Chuck. Travis wanted to see what Chuck looked like when he said it. “Natasha disappeared.”
“Natasha left?” Chuck was surprised at this. Vivian was her daughter; why would Natasha leave the hospital when Vivian was still bedridden?
“Remember how she was freaking out about Roger Albright’s disappearance?” Travis asked, waving his screwdriver in the air.
Chuck raised his shoulders. “She could have been panicking about anything. She was just involved in a major accident.”
“I think it’s all related,” Travis said.
“Has Vivian mentioned anything?” Chuck asked.
“She did talk about Roger,” Travis said thoughtfully. “Very briefly. She asked if he’d been found yet. When I said he hadn’t, she looked really worried. It made me wonder!”
“Wonder what, exactly?” Chuck was losing patience. He wanted to drag Clarence out of his car and pepper him with questions about Mia.
“I don’t know,” Travis said. “But Roger’s four children over in Manhattan are certainly eager to get their inheritance. In the waiting room at the hospital, I learned that Roger divorced their mother recently. You don’t think they’d take him out? For revenge?”
Again, Chuck thought of Roland and Grant. They’d taken his money as a sort of “revenge” after Chuck’s affair. There was no end to what people would do.
Travis seemed on the verge of pestering Chuck with more questions and more information about this “case,” which he’d seemingly decided to solve himself (despite not having much in the way of information). But Chuck interrupted him.
“I have your dad in my car,” he said.
Travis’s face transformed. He looked stricken. “Is he drunk?”
“As a skunk,” Chuck said.
Travis tugged his hair and glanced back at the ocean. It was late afternoon, and light had begun to dim, casting it in dark turquoise and navy blues. “We’d better hurry,” he said. “I’ll help you.”
Chuck and Travis went downstairs to find Clarence bleary-eyed and mumbling in Chuck’s car. It was clear he wasn’t sure where he was. But as soon as they hauled him out, Clarence tipped his head back and took stock of the gorgeous lighthouse, the place he’d pledged to maintain.
“Here she is,” he said of the lighthouse. “My pride and joy.”
It wasn’t as difficult to get Clarence up the stairs as Chuck had expected. It was as though Clarence found another level of strength within himself. He shot up the stairs, leaving Chuck and Travis in his wake, howling the entire way.
Travis turned back and looked at Chuck. “Thanks for bringing him in. He gets this way when he has days off. But it’s like he said already. This job is lonely. He doesn’t always know what to do with his thoughts.”
Chuck bowed his head. “I understand,” he said.
He headed back home after that, eager to see Mia and ask her about Clarence. But the minute he entered his house, she hurried past him, calling behind her, “I’m heading out for the night.”
Chuck found himself home alone with the girls again. He wondered if he’d permanently destroyed his own happiness. He wondered if he’d had it coming.