Chapter Six
March 23, 1982
"Sara! Get that dog out of here!" Laura shouted in a pained whine, pushing the dog's cold nose away from her face. She was lying on the living room couch, pillow under her head, and blanket over her body. A small splattering of vomit lay on the floor, but Laura wasn't bothering to clean it up, despite the fact it was her own.
Sara came down the stairs promptly, dressed in jeans, a purple jacket, and a white baseball cap. A fully-grown Max was fervently sniffing her mother's face as the woman tried to bat him away. His brown tail was wagging vigorously, as if he were enjoying the annoyance he was causing.
"Max!" Sara snapped, the lab turning to her immediately. "Outside."
Max ran to the front door and Sara followed him. As she opened it, her mother spoke in a quiet and drained voice.
"Sara, I'm going to make a phone call, okay? I'm going to need some help keeping up with everything today."
"Okay," Sara replied, stepping out to the cool, yet sunny morning. She walked over to the first step on the porch and sat down, setting her head on her knees. Max had proceeded to the far corner of the yard to snatch up a dirty and partially mangled tennis ball. He trotted over to Sara with it in his mouth and dropped it promptly at her feet.
"Not now, Max," Sara muttered, patting him gently on the head. "Dad's coming soon to take me fishing."
Max refused to hear her and let out a sharp bark, wagging his tail. He pawed at her feet with another whine of frustration and more barks. Sara cringed at the noise. She knew it would wake the guests sleeping on the third floor, and she also knew her mother would raise hell about it if she didn't silence the dog.
She picked the slimy ball up from the bottom of the stairs and tossed it across the yard. Max charged after it immediately and gnawed on the fabric for a little while before bringing it back to Sara. She threw it again. They proceeded like this for several minutes as Sara kept an eager eye out for her father's Chevy.
Suddenly Sara spotted a figure walking down the sidewalk. Max flopped under a hydrangea bush from exhaustion as she squinted to get a better look and noted that it was Steve Hall, Max Hall's dad.
"Come here, boy," Sara called to her dog, clapping her hands. He perked up from where he was resting. He stood and trudged over to her, flopping down on the stair beside her as she gripped his collar to prevent him from running at Mr. Hall.
"Morning, Sara!" he called pleasantly, tipping his hat and waving. He turned and stepped up the path towards them and Sara struggled to contain Max as he squirmed.
"Good morning," she replied. "You need me to get my mom or something?" She refrained from asking what he was doing there. She assumed he had been the person her mother had called for assistance. She and her dad had been excited about the fishing trip for a week now, but her mother had had the flu for the third time that month, and thus needed help with running the B&B.
"No, no," Mr. Hall said shortly, waving her off. "That's okay. You stay out here and wait for your dad. I'll just go right in."
Max managed to pull himself out of Sara's grip as Mr. Hall walked past and the dog proceeded to leap all over the man.
"Max, sit!" Sara cried.
"Max, huh?" Mr. Hall said, patting him on the head. "I've seen you out here with him for a year now and I never got around to knowing his name. Wouldn't have anything to do with my son, now, would it?"
Sara shrugged. "I wasn't feeling very creative and Max suits him, I think." She latched back onto the dog's collar and gestured for Mr. Hall to proceed into the house.
Awhile after Mr. Hall first arrived—quite awhile afterward—Allen's Chevy finally backed into the driveway. Sara stood, Max stretching beside her, giving his tail one expectant wag.
"Sorry I'm late, Sara," Allen told her as he stepped out of the vehicle. "Got a little distracted on the way to the grocery store." He winked and Sara was suddenly filled with curiosity.
"What?" she asked, trying to hold back an impending smile.
"Look in the back seat," Allen prompted, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips in an overly sneaky way.
Sara scrambled past him and looked into the back. There was a brand new fishing pole and a bright and shiny tackle box.
"Is that for me?" she asked eagerly.
"The one and only."
"Cool!" Sara reached for the box and opened it, examining the little lures inside.
"While you're looking at that, I'm going to go inside and grab my hat, alright?"
Sara nodded as she climbed out of the car with both new items in hand.
"Keep Max away from the hooks," Allen warned, and Sara agreed to do so.
A few minutes after Allen entered the house, Sara heard a sudden shout, causing her to glance up at the house. She felt her heart leap into her throat, an uneasy feeling hanging with her as she let her grip on the fishing pole go slack. Max looked up as well, making a soft grunt and letting out a bark.
"Shush, Max," Sara ordered, placing everything back in the box and setting the pole on the grass.
"Get out of my house, Hall! OUT!"
The shouts came closer to the front door and Sara saw the silhouettes of people beyond the curtain over the window in the door.
"Alright, alright. Don't get your undies in a bunch, Sidle. I'm going. I was just giving your wife a hand with the—"
"OUT!" Allen roared, and Sara jumped at the outburst.
The front door was pushed so forcefully open, it banged against the siding of the house. Mr. Hall stumbled out and Allen showed up in the doorway after him, spitting a line of curses with fury in his eyes. The feebler man jogged out of the yard, throwing not a glance in Sara's direction, but instead turning tail down the street towards his own home.
Sara's jaw was hanging open and she felt herself suddenly ashamed as she noted that several neighbors were peeking out of their windows, the guests on the third floor included. She could hear them muttering quietly amongst themselves, and Sara quietly crept into the car, pulling her belongings with her. Max followed, setting his head in her lap.
She knew what was coming next, or at least soon, and it made her stomach twist. Allen would make sure that everyone was done staring, that the guests had settled and dismissed it as a one-time-thing, and that he could do it without being discovered before proceeding.
The worst he had done in the past year was flip a boiling pot of water over on Laura as she cooked. Sara struggled to remember the reason, because nobody explained it to her. Allen had told her 'Mom slipped and had an accident,' as if she was two years old, but Sara knew there was another motive behind it.
She could only imagine what he was going to do to her now. Sara had spotted a wine glass on the end table as she went outside that morning. Would he cut her with that, maybe? Or maybe he would take her face and rub it in what she had thrown up earlier, then step on the side of her head and give her a few kicks. Perhaps he would just go with his usual way of doing things, when other opportunities didn't present themselves—maybe he would just punch her in the stomach until she couldn't stand. Nobody would see anything.
Sara sighed and waited in the car for several more minutes until Allen finally stormed out of the house, his pursed lips not signaling a silly sneakiness, but a fury that he had more than likely just expelled. Allen stomped over to the garage, dragged out their little boat and pulled it to the back of the car. He spent five minutes hooking it up and double-checking that everything was there before he entered the driver's side door.
"The dog isn't coming," Allen muttered tightly.
"But he wan—"
"Get that damn dog out of the car, now, Sara." He raised his voice enough to make Sara act without response. She thrust open her door and pushed Max out. It pained her to leave him there as she shut the door again, gazing into his eyes. For some reason they always seemed to be sad. The dog sat on the grass with a sigh as Allen drove away, the boat rattling after them. They rode in silence before Sara spoke, hoping he had calmed down at least a little bit.
"What did you do this time?" she questioned innocently, looking out the window at the other houses.
"What do you mean?" Allen snapped, making a right turn.
"How did you hurt Mom this time?" she asked, quieter this time as if she knew it was the wrong question to ask.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Like, a month ago you spilled the water on her—"
"Sara," Allen interjected, but she continued on.
"And then before that you gave her a bloody face—"
"Sara!"
"And before that you—"
"Sara, shut up, already!" he yelled.
When she closed her mouth, she felt as if her stomach had leapt up to where her heart should have been, a dull ache lying at the back of her throat. She kept completely quiet for the next few minutes as they drove, giving Allen some more time. Her eyes didn't blink, but she fiddled with her nails for a little while.
"Why do you hate Mr. Hall?"
"Damnit, Sara, can't you just be quiet for one car ride?" he snapped angrily, pressing a little too quickly on his brakes and causing the car behind them to honk reproachfully.
Her mouth snapped shut again, and she kept it that way for the rest of the trip to the pier. Her facial expression had remained exactly the same throughout her entire, short-lived interrogation. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring ahead, as if in a trance, though they were really open that way so she could avoid crying. She didn't like crying, let alone in front of Allen. The shame she felt earlier was still pressing on her and she did her best to hold it back.
Allen stopped the car and Sara got out with him.
"You know what to do," Allen mumbled, handing Sara the rope tied to the front end of the boat. Sara ambled out to the dock as Allen backed the boat slowly into the water. As it began to float, Sara pulled tightly on the rope and tied it to a pole, the side of the boat right next to the dock. Allen stopped the car and unhooked the boat from the trailer, letting it float freely. He then got back in the car and pulled the trailer out of the water.
Sara waited patiently for him to return from parking, kicking a rock into the water and watching the ripples it made. Allen came back from the car, carrying Sara's pole and tackle box. He set them in the boat and got in himself, holding out a hand to help Sara inside as well. As he worked at starting the motor, Sara untied the rope from the pole. She sat down in the front of the faded green boat, Allen in back with the motor. Soon, they were off, splashing through the waves.
The bay was a peaceful place, and Sara almost felt guilty for interrupting it with the loud motor. On one side, a large cliff raised maybe 30 or 40 feet above the water. Several other boats were out on the bay, and Sara squinted at them past the steady spray flying up from underneath the boat as they flew across the waves.
After a quick ride around, during which Sara nearly lost her hat, Allen slowed the boat down and drifted over to their favorite fishing location. It was off to the left side of the bay, quite a ways from the pier, and in the shadow of the cliff.
"Do you want to cast first or do you just want to bait 'em?" he asked her as she looked out at the nappy green waters.
"I'll cast," she replied, turning her head to him before rummaging in her new tackle box and pulling out a lure.
He took it from her and attached it to the hook on her pole. Sara cast out the lure and slowly reeled in as Allen attached his own lure to his own fishing pole. They fished silently for a while, though Allen offered up spare tips here and there for Sara. After about half an hour, Sara asked if she could have a worm, which Allen placed on the end of her hook. She lowered it into the water, sat and waited while Allen continued to cast.
"Your mother is fine," Allen suddenly said, causing Sara to look up.
Sara said nothing in return, only looked at him blankly.
"She was going to sleep on the couch, last time I saw her."
"She's got the flu," Sara stated softly. "She's tired."
To her surprise, Allen let out a chuckle, casting the line again.
"She doesn't have the flu," he muttered, almost to himself.
"Yes she does," Sara said, with a hint of hesitation.
"No, she has a hangover."
Sara raised an eyebrow, incredulously.
"It means that she drank too much last night so she feels like hell this morning."
Sara looked away from him as she took in the information.
"Your mother is an alcoholic, believe it or not, Sara," Allen said quietly, reeling in.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she drinks too much."
Sara pulled up her worm to look at its limp form. Part of it had been nibbled off, and she felt slightly hopeful that she would get at least one fish this time around.
"Your mom isn't perfect," Allen said quietly. "There's a lot about her and her side of the family that you don't know."
Sara took a side-glance his way. "Like what?" she questioned.
"Like how she was into drugs when I first met her." Allen suddenly pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out. "She was messed up. Your grandparents didn't know, but it was her younger brother that got her into it. We met through drugs, believe it or not, Sara. Messed us both up pretty good."
He lit up and breathed in greedily.
"But, one day," he continued, blowing the blue-gray smoke from the corner of his mouth. "Your mom managed to get herself to stop breathing. I got her to the hospital. We both made a pact that day that we would never do drugs again. One year later, we got married and you came along." He tapped the cigarette on his seat and took another drag.
"Your grandparents—they didn't know that she had a problem. They knew I had a problem, and that their son had a problem, but their little girl would never, ever do something like drugs. Maybe her fiancé would, maybe her brother Donald would, but not our little girl."
He laughed bitterly before continuing on. "I think you're getting to the age now where you're going to have an easier time understanding these sorts of things. Your family has a history of addictive behavior. You need to be aware of that so you can protect yourself from becoming an addict, an alcoholic, or a chain smoker."
He gestured at her with the cigarette before putting it out in a small bucket filled with water in the back of the boat.
"Now, about your question against Steve," Allen continued. "He went out with your mother for three years in high school. Your mom cheated on him with me, and Hall found out. He came to our wedding. He visited when you were born. I told him off every time. He didn't hang around much more since we saw him after you were born. He had Max to worry about and his two other boys. He's shown up a couple times since then—do you remember the time he walked you home?"
Sara nodded. "So you're jealous of him?"
"Not jealous. I'm wary. I don't like it when he's around. There's almost nothing I fear worse than Laura getting into an affair."
"What's that?" Sara asked.
"It's when somebody who's married falls in love with somebody else," he explained.
Sara pondered this for a moment. If he didn't love Laura anymore, why would he care if she loved somebody else? But then the thought hit her. Maybe he feared that Laura would tell about how he hurt her. Maybe it wasn't about jealousy at all, but protecting his own image. Though, Sara figured, he had already done some damage by gathering all the neighbors' attention that morning.
The conversation flat-lined after that, both of them falling into silence for another half hour. Sara wished angrily that she had brought a book along. She had forgotten how boring fishing could be. Suddenly Allen stood up, slightly tipping the boat. He was reeling in fast.
"I got something!" he shouted. "Grab the net, Sara!"
Sara set her pole down and snatched up the green net from the floor of the boat. She held it over the edge as Allen continued to reel in as fast as he could. Soon a medium-sized fish flopped to the surface of the water, and Sara proceeded to sweep it up into the net.
"Good girl," Allen grunted, setting his pole down and taking the net from her. "That's my girl." He was breathing heavily, a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth.
The fish was flopping around inside the net, though Sara couldn't get a good look at it past the netting.
"Have a seat, Sara, we don't want to turn the boat."
Sara obeyed and set herself down, watching as Allen pulled the fish from the net.
"Got him in the gills," he stated, gripping the fish and reaching in to pull out the hook. Sara suddenly saw blood spill from the fish's gills and felt a pang of guilt. It was flopping around in pain, its eyes wide as quarters, its gills flapping erratically.
"Dad, are you going to let it go?" she asked quietly.
He looked up at her as he continued to maneuver the hook.
"What are you talking about? This is dinner tonight, remember? Fish fry."
"But look at him." She gestured at the fish's bulging eyes and bleeding gills, its softly thrashing tail and its gasping mouth.
"Sara, it's going to die now anyway," Allen pointed out as he finally managed to get the end of the line.
Sara sighed, gazing guiltily at the fish as her father placed it into the compartment full of water in the middle of the boat.
"Can we go home?" Sara asked pitifully. "I don't want to fish anymore."
"You're done?"
Sara nodded, reeling in her pole to find that her worm had been completely eaten off the end but not feeling a hint of remorse about it. She was glad she hadn't caught anything.
Allen started the boat again and the started off towards the pier.
"Hey, Sara," he said softly, as the motor whirred.
"Hmm?" she replied, turning back to look at him.
"Don't tell your mother I told you all that stuff, alright? She wouldn't like it."
"Okay."
"And you would tell me, right?"
Sara raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"If you ever saw Mr. Hall and your mother doing anything you didn't think they were supposed to, right?"
Sara gazed at him, before replying with a quick nod.
"That's my girl."