knew I was awake. I had been sleeping poorly since Scotty went overboard, bad dreams keeping me fitful. Even the night it happened, before I woke up to find out my brother had died, I had nightmares. Sharp-toothed mermaids, hands reaching from the deeps, dragons circling in the shadows: a Brumfitt Kings slideshow.
I was awake when Daddy left the house on the morning of the funeral. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then the less cautious movement of Second, behind him. A few bumps from the kitchen and then the opening and closing of the front door. I pushed myself out of bed and pulled on my jeans and sweatshirt from the day before, putting them over the panties and T-shirt I slept in. At the front door I stepped into my boots, the mix of felt and rubber inside odd and cool against my bare feet, and grabbed my mother’s slicker.
I was maybe a minute behind my father, and I hurried down the path toward the harbour, moving through occasional pools ofyellow light. It was wet, and the weather was cold enough that it came down in equal parts snow and rain. The snow stuck to the grass and the bushes, but it was liquid running down the arms of Momma’s slicker and turned to puddles on the pavement. I was shivering by the time I caught up to Daddy and Second at the head of the dock.
I called out to him and he turned to look at me. If he was surprised by my presence he didn’t show it. “Head on home, Cordelia,” he said. “It’s too early for you to be up yet. The funeral isn’t for another five or six hours. Go back home and go back to sleep.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going out in the boat for a while,” he said. “Go on, now, go home.”
“Come home, Daddy. It’s raining. Or snowing. Both.”
“Let it,” he said. He let out a small, strangled laugh and looked past me toward the water. “Blow, winds. Rage, blow. Spit, fire. Spout, rain.”
“Daddy,” I said, and I was worried because he was right here in front of me, but he sounded like he was drifting away. “Daddy, please?”
He looked away from the water and at me, and his voice was his own again when he said, “Go home, Cordelia. Just go on home.” He said it gently and started walking again, but I didn’t turn around. I stayed next to him, following him as he climbed into the skiff. Second dropped himself over the gunwale, stepping onto the bench and then giving a quick circle before settling himself on the floor of the boat. I got in and went to the bow of the skiff, reaching out to untie the painter. Daddy sat down with his back to me and picked up the handle of the oars. There was a pool of water and slush on the bottom of the boat, but it didn’t seem to bother Second none, and he looked like he might have already fallen asleep. I brushed the first takings of snow off the bench and tucked my jacket in under the ass of my jeans so I could sit down. A bead of water dropped off the hood of my jacket andlanded on my knee, immediately soaking through. I wished I’d thought to throw on a pair of bib-pants under Momma’s slicker. I wished I’d worn a warmer coat. I wished Scotty wasn’t dead. I wished a lot of things.
Daddy didn’t move the oars at all and he didn’t turn around, but his voice came through clear, despite the guzzling of the waves and the constant patter of rainy snow on my hood and all around us. “You sure you want to come out with me, Cordelia?”
“Seems like fine weather for it,” I said.
“You’re not to question me or to get in my way,” he said. He sounded stern in the way in which I rarely heard unless it was something that was well deserved. “The weather is the way the weather is, and I’m telling you that if you come with me, then you are telling me that you’ll give me your obedience.” He let his head hang down, and with his back to me, his voice became muffled. “I’m losing my wits here, Cordelia.”
I didn’t say anything, and that seemed to be enough for Daddy, because he bent his
I was awake when Daddy left the house on the morning of the funeral. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then the less cautious movement of Second, behind him. A few bumps from the kitchen and then the opening and closing of the front door. I pushed myself out of bed and pulled on my jeans and sweatshirt from the day before, putting them over the panties and T-shirt I slept in. At the front door I stepped into my boots, the mix of felt and rubber inside odd and cool against my bare feet, and grabbed my mother’s slicker.
I was maybe a minute behind my father, and I hurried down the path toward the harbour, moving through occasional pools ofyellow light. It was wet, and the weather was cold enough that it came down in equal parts snow and rain. The snow stuck to the grass and the bushes, but it was liquid running down the arms of Momma’s slicker and turned to puddles on the pavement. I was shivering by the time I caught up to Daddy and Second at the head of the dock.
I called out to him and he turned to look at me. If he was surprised by my presence he didn’t show it. “Head on home, Cordelia,” he said. “It’s too early for you to be up yet. The funeral isn’t for another five or six hours. Go back home and go back to sleep.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going out in the boat for a while,” he said. “Go on, now, go home.”
“Come home, Daddy. It’s raining. Or snowing. Both.”
“Let it,” he said. He let out a small, strangled laugh and looked past me toward the water. “Blow, winds. Rage, blow. Spit, fire. Spout, rain.”
“Daddy,” I said, and I was worried because he was right here in front of me, but he sounded like he was drifting away. “Daddy, please?”
He looked away from the water and at me, and his voice was his own again when he said, “Go home, Cordelia. Just go on home.” He said it gently and started walking again, but I didn’t turn around. I stayed next to him, following him as he climbed into the skiff. Second dropped himself over the gunwale, stepping onto the bench and then giving a quick circle before settling himself on the floor of the boat. I got in and went to the bow of the skiff, reaching out to untie the painter. Daddy sat down with his back to me and picked up the handle of the oars. There was a pool of water and slush on the bottom of the boat, but it didn’t seem to bother Second none, and he looked like he might have already fallen asleep. I brushed the first takings of snow off the bench and tucked my jacket in under the ass of my jeans so I could sit down. A bead of water dropped off the hood of my jacket andlanded on my knee, immediately soaking through. I wished I’d thought to throw on a pair of bib-pants under Momma’s slicker. I wished I’d worn a warmer coat. I wished Scotty wasn’t dead. I wished a lot of things.
Daddy didn’t move the oars at all and he didn’t turn around, but his voice came through clear, despite the guzzling of the waves and the constant patter of rainy snow on my hood and all around us. “You sure you want to come out with me, Cordelia?”
“Seems like fine weather for it,” I said.
“You’re not to question me or to get in my way,” he said. He sounded stern in the way in which I rarely heard unless it was something that was well deserved. “The weather is the way the weather is, and I’m telling you that if you come with me, then you are telling me that you’ll give me your obedience.” He let his head hang down, and with his back to me, his voice became muffled. “I’m losing my wits here, Cordelia.”
I didn’t say anything, and that seemed to be enough for Daddy, because he bent his
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