10. Etta
ETTA
The morning came in gray and low, the kind that meant steady work and no break for weather. By six I was at the sorting table with Ray and two of the others, working through the crates that had come up from Kettle Sound before first light.
I'd been here three days straight and the work had been good. Hard and clean and mine. Nobody here asked questions I didn't want to answer. Nobody here needed me to be smaller than I was. Nobody forgot I existed.
Ray was at the bin next to mine, shaking his head over a crate. "These came up small."
"How small?"
"Two and three quarters most of them."
"Pull them," I said. "We're not sending anything under three inches."
"Insley does."
"We're not Insley."
"Could've told me that forty years ago," he said.
One of the younger shuckers laughed.
Ray grinned and moved the crate to the discard pile. "What do you want me to do with them?"
"Same as always. Back to the lease. Give them another season."
"You're the boss."
The door opened and Yolanda came in with coffee in a thermos and three mugs hooked on her fingers. She poured without asking and handed them around.
"You're here early," I said.
"Daniella had a good night. Wanted to get out before she woke up and changed her mind about how she felt."
"How is she?"
"Better. The new medication's helping." Yolanda handed me a mug. "She says thank you for the extra yesterday."
"It wasn't extra. It was hers."
"She knows that. She's saying thank you anyway."
I took the mug and drank. The coffee was hot and strong and exactly what I needed.
"You sleeping all right up there?" Yolanda asked.
"Fine."
"That bed's older than you are."
"It's fine."
She looked at me for a moment like she wanted to say something else. Then she just nodded and went back to work.
The rhythm was good after that. Sort, measure, grade, pack.
My hands knew it without thinking. The sound of the others talking around me was familiar and easy.
Ray telling a story about something that happened on the water last week.
One of the younger shuckers asking about technique.
Yolanda humming something under her breath.
This was what I knew. This was where I belonged.
I'd spent eight years trying to belong somewhere else and it hadn't worked.
The morning moved on. We worked through two more crates and started on a third. The light through the west windows was still gray. It would probably stay that way all day.
"You hear Magnussen lost his Scandinavian director?" Ray said.
I kept my hands on the oyster I was grading. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Tommy Vickers. His brother works security over there. Said she got fired last night."
"Simone Astala?"
"That's the one. Finnish woman. Real sharp dresser."
"What happened?"
"Nobody knows. One day she's running half the company, next day she's out."
I set the oyster down. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday sometime. Why?"
"Just wondering."
Ray looked at me. "You know her?"
"I've met her."
"She seemed all right to me. Smart. Knew her business."
"Yeah," I said.
Yolanda was watching me from across the room. I could feel it without looking up.
I went back to work.
That lasted until just before noon, when the door opened again and Simone Astala walked in.
She looked wrong.
Not theatrically wrong. Not like she'd staged it.
Just off. Her dark hair was pulled back the way it usually was but a piece had come loose near her temple.
Her coat was buttoned crooked. She wasn't wearing the sharp heels she always wore.
Just flat shoes like she'd grabbed the first thing she could find.
I'd never seen her look anything but perfect.
The room went quiet. Everyone was watching without looking like they were watching.
"Etta," she said. "Can I talk to you?"
I set down the oyster I was holding and wiped my hands on my jeans. "About what?"
"Privately."
Ray caught my eye. Yolanda had stopped working completely.
"All right," I said.
I walked past her and out onto the dock. She followed.
The water was flat and gray. A couple of gulls were working the pilings at the far end. The sound was quiet enough I could hear the water moving against the wood below us.
She turned to face me and wrapped her arms around herself even though it wasn't cold.
"I didn't know if I should come," she said. "But I thought you should hear it from me. Woman to woman. Before the whole town knew."
Something cold settled in my chest. "Hear what?"
"About me and Sven."
I waited.
She looked down at the dock boards and then back up at me. Her pale blue eyes looked tired. Looked like she'd been crying.
"It's been going on for a while," she said quietly. "I thought you knew. Or at least suspected."
I didn't say anything.
"How long have you known him?" she asked.
"Eight years."
"Then you know how he is. How he gets about his work. How focused he gets."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"We worked well together. We understood each other. It just happened."
I could feel my pulse in my throat. "What just happened?"
She looked away. "You know what."
"Say it."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
She looked back at me. "We've been involved. For months. And last night he told me it was over."
"Why?"
"He said you two were working things out. That he needed to focus on that."
She looked back down at the dock boards.
"He said it was handled."
My stomach dropped.
I knew that phrase. I'd heard him say it three nights ago in the ballroom when Simone told him I'd asked about the oysters. It's been handled. That exact tone. That exact dismissal. Like the thing was already decided and there was nothing left to discuss.
"When did he say that?" I asked.
"Yesterday. I asked him what he was going to do and he said it was handled. Like I was a problem he'd already solved."
I wanted to call her a liar. Wanted to tell her to get off my dock and never come back.
But I couldn't make the words come.
"There's something else," she said.
I waited.
"Last night I went to the house. To talk to him. To try to understand." She looked away. "And he got angry."
"About what?"
"About me being there. About everything. I don't know. He just got angry and told me to leave."
"What did he do?"
"He raised his voice. Told me I shouldn't be there. That I had no right to come to his house."
"Did he touch you?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
"I tried to talk to him. Tried to make him understand. And he just got louder. His voice filled the whole room." She looked back at me. "It scared me."
"He scared you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I've never seen him like that. Never heard him raise his voice. The way he was looking at me. The way his voice just kept getting louder. I left before it got worse."
The wood under my feet felt unsteady. Like the dock was shifting in a current that wasn't there.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know this is hard. But you needed to know what kind of man you're married to."
I still couldn't speak.
"I thought I knew him," she said quietly. "I thought I understood him. But last night I saw something I'd never seen before."
She looked at me for a long moment. Her face was soft and sad and I hated her for it.
"He still can't sleep without the window open to the water," she said.
Everything stopped.
That was mine.
That had been mine since before there was a house on the point.
That had been ours on the first morning of the marriage when we woke up tangled in hotel sheets with the balcony door open and the sound of the bay coming in.
I'd told him I couldn't sleep without it and he'd looked at me like I'd just said something true about him too.
Like I'd just named the thing that made us the same.
And now she was saying it back to me.
Like it was common knowledge. Like it was a thing everybody knew.
"Get out," I said.
She blinked. "Etta?—"
"Get off my dock."
"I just thought you should?—"
"Now."
She looked at me for another moment. Then she nodded and turned and walked back down the dock toward the parking lot.
I stood there until I couldn't see her anymore. Until I heard her car start in the lot and the sound faded down the access road.
The water kept moving against the pilings below. The gulls kept working the far end of the dock.
Everything kept going like nothing had changed.
When I went back inside Yolanda was waiting by the door.
"What did she want?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Etta."
"I have to go."
"Where?"
"I just have to go."
I pulled off my gloves and my apron and walked toward the door.
"You want me to come with you?" Yolanda asked.
"No."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Ray looked up as I passed. "Everything all right?"
"It's fine," I said.
I walked out before either of them could say anything else.
I got in my truck and sat there with my hands on the wheel.
I could feel my pulse in my throat. Could feel something cracking open in my chest that I didn't want to look at yet.
I started the engine and pulled out of the lot.
I drove to the house.
Not because I believed her. Because I didn't. Because I needed to hear it from him. Needed to see his face when I asked. Needed him to tell me something that would make it all make sense.
The causeway was empty. The marsh was dark on both sides and the sky was low overhead. I had the windows down and the air was cold and smelled like salt and mud.
I kept thinking about the window.
About how he'd never told me he needed it open too. How I'd just said it one morning and he'd nodded like I'd explained something he'd never had words for.
And now she knew.
I didn't know what I was going to say to him when I got there. Didn't know what I wanted him to say back.
I just knew I had to go.
The house was lit when I pulled up. Kitchen, hallway, upstairs study. All of it bright against the dark.
His car was in the drive.
I sat there for a minute with the engine running.
I could turn around. Could go back to Boone & Daughter and get into bed and never ask him about any of this. Could let it go.
But I'd been letting things go for eight years and it hadn't saved us.
I turned off the engine and got out.
I went up the steps and opened the side door and walked in.
He was in the living room. Sitting in the chair by the window with a glass in his hand. Scotch, probably. His collar was open and his sleeves were rolled and he looked like he hadn't slept in days.
He looked up when I came in.
"Etta."
I could smell it.
Perfume. Cold and sharp and expensive. The same scent she'd been wearing every time I'd seen her.
It was on him. On his shirt. In the room.
My chest went tight.
"Simone was here," I said.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last night. Just after midnight."
"Why was she here?"
He looked at me for a long moment. "I fired her."
That should have been relief. Should have been the thing that made it all right.
It wasn't.
"I heard you fired her yesterday."
"Yes."
"At the office."
"Yes."
"So why did she come here?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know why she came to your house after you fired her."
"No."
I took a step into the room. The perfume smell was stronger here. It was everywhere.
"What happened last night?"
"She came here. I told her to leave. She didn't. I called Deshawn and fired her. While she was standing in the kitchen."
Every word of it sounded true. I could hear it in his voice.
But every word of it fit exactly what she'd told me.
"Why did she come here?"
He didn't answer.
"Sven."
"I don't know."
"You must have some idea."
"I don't."
I could feel my hands starting to shake. I folded my arms to stop it.
"Did something happen between you two?"
"She came here. I fired her. She left."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's what happened."
"But why did she come?"
"I don't know."
"Did you fight?"
"I told her to leave."
"But she didn't. Not right away."
"No."
"Why not?"
"You'd have to ask her."
"I'm asking you."
"I don't know, Etta."
His voice was getting sharper. Louder.
"Did you frighten her?" I asked.
His face went very still. "Good."
"Good?"
"She should have been frightened. She had no business being here."
"Why?"
"Because she didn't."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
"Why would she be frightened of you?"
"I don't know."
"Did you threaten her?"
"I told her if she didn't leave I'd call security."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact."
"Tell me what she wanted," I said. "Tell me why she came here."
"I told you I don't know."
"You must know something."
"I don't."
"Then tell me what happened. Just tell me what happened and I'll go."
"I did tell you."
"You told me she came here and you fired her. You didn't tell me why she came or what she wanted or why you got so angry you scared her."
"Because she wouldn't leave."
"That's not a reason to scare someone."
"I didn't mean to scare her."
"But you did."
"Apparently."
His voice was rising. Getting louder with every sentence. I don't think he heard it.
"Why did you fire her?" I asked.
"I told you."
"You told me you fired her. You didn't tell me why."
"Because I needed to."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true."
"It's not an explanation."
"It's all I can give you."
I put my hand up without thinking.
He stopped. Just stopped.
We stood there. My hand between us. His eyes on mine.
For a second neither of us moved.
Then something changed in his face. Something I'd never seen before.
Horror.
"I would never hurt you," he said.
His voice was rough. Quieter now.
"I know," I said.
But I didn't. Not the way I had three days ago. Not the way I had this morning.
"Etta, listen to me?—"
"Why did you fire her?" I asked again. "Just tell me why."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Etta—"
"It matters to me, Sven. She came to my dock today and told me things about you and I need to know what's true and what isn't."
"What did she tell you?"
I shook my head. I couldn't say it. Couldn't put it into words.
"What did she say?" he asked again.
"Things. About you. About last night. About—" I stopped.
"About what?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does if you're standing here asking me about it."
"Just tell me why you fired her."
"I told you why."
"You told me you needed to. That's not a reason."
His voice was filling the room again. Rising with every word. "I'm done with it."
"Done with what?"
"All of it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm done."
"With what?"
"With her. With Scandinavia. With all of it."
"Why?"
"Because I am."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
He was almost shouting now. Not at me. Just shouting. The volume kept rising and I don't think he could hear himself do it.
I put my hand up again.
He saw it and stopped.
Completely.
The silence after was worse than the shouting had been.
He looked at my hand. Then at my face.
And something in him collapsed.
"Etta," he said.
His voice was broken.
I shook my head. I couldn't stay in that room anymore. Couldn't look at him sitting there with her perfume on him and hold myself together.
"I want a divorce," I said.
Then I turned and walked out of the house and got in my truck and left.