The bed was soft as mush and I kept twisting and turning like a live pretzel. After years of working round-the-clock tours sleep either comes easily, or it's work. It's always a battle for me. I kept sinking in various parts of the mattress, for a time I fanned at a buzzing mosquito, then I listened to the rain and tried to think about Jerry's one-man fight, and if it was all worth it. I got up and took a swig of brandy, sat in the John for a time reading a woman's fashion mag that was all ads. Then I made myself some tea.
As I was puttering around in the kitchen, Bessie came out wearing hip length baby-doll pajamas, and my God, she looked like a walking barbershop calendar. “Anything the matter, Matt? Told you it would rain.”
“Be my luck, a rainy week. I couldn't sleep so I'm making some tea. Want a cup?”
“Nope. Heard you padding around.” She pointed to my flannel pajamas and shook her head. “You're a goner if an antique shop spots that outfit. Right out of Esquire— 1910 issue.”
“You ought to be more careful how you walk around.”
“Why, does it excite you?”
“Okay, okay, it's too late for the super-sophisticated chatter.”
She reached up and batted a finger against my long nose. “I've thought about you, father-in-law. You worry me. We're going to have a talk during the week. Now go to sleep.”
As Bessie walked across the room I couldn't keep my eyes from the sway of her hips. “I worry you? A talk about what?”
“Sex,” she called over her shoulder, closing their bedroom door.
For a second I was completely confused. I had my tea and wondered why young folks think it's smart to make conversation about four-letter words. Or was my generation any brighter in keeping them hidden, making them words of fear?
When I got to bed Matty fixed himself around my big feet and I closed my eyes, waited for sleep to come. It turned cold and I had to get up to adjust the blanket Suddenly I hated summers: Things were so simple the rest of the year, weekly suppers with Danny and Signe, then coming back to the comforts of my own place. No soft beds or mosquitoes, no... or was I getting cranky in my old age?
I fell off into a deep sleep and the next thing I knew Andy was shaking me. I opened my eyes to see a cloudy dawn outside the screened window. The boy said cheerfully, “Six o'clock. We're going fishing today.”
“Damn it, can't you let me get some rest!” I snapped.
He backed away. “Dad and Mom are up and I... I thought you'd want to ride to the station with them. Then we'd go fishing. That's all.”
The uncertain look in his eyes made me ashamed. I reached out and rubbed his plump shoulders. “Sure. I always wake up... eh... cranky. You got the bone structure, now it's time you started making muscles, young man. Maybe I'll get you a barbell for Christmas. Rowing is good, too.”
The boy left and I lay in bed for a moment, wishing I could go back to sleep, knowing I couldn't. I still felt bloated and a little tired. I finally got up; a soak in a hot tub would cure me. Matty gave a sleepy whine in protest as I pulled my feet away from his back.
Dan and Bessie were moving around in the kitchen-living room, Bessie in a robe, Dan wearing shorts. As I waved and headed for the bathroom, Dan asked, “What are you up so early for, Dad? Want to take a quick dip?”
“Keep up that kind of talk and I'll spank you—with a baseball bat,” I said, closing the bathroom door. I cursed, forgetting they didn't have a bath. But I took a hot shower, and things came out all right, and I felt better as I dressed, my clothes slightly damp.
Dan was now wearing a tropical suit, coconut straw, shirt and tie, and we had a big breakfast. Andy talked about fishing and Bessie kept reminding Dan of things she wanted brought out the following week end. The milkman drove up and Bessie said, “I'd better pay him for last week's milk.”
She left the screen door open and I was surprised to see Matty up and stretching. The cat went outside and sniffed around with disdain, then followed Bessie back into the cottage, shaking the dew from his paws. Bessie sat down to finish her coffee, said, “The milkman told me Dr. Barnes was killed last night in an auto accident.”
“It's six-twenty, we haven't much time,” Dan said. “Who's Barnes?”
“You know, that old doctor who has the big house just past the shopping district on Main Street. A fat man with a ring of gray hair around his head like a monk. Only doctor in End Harbor. Seems he ran his car into a tree, not far from here, was thrown out on the road, and run over by another car.”
“Can we see where it happened?” Andy asked.
“You certainly can't,” Dan told him. “Everybody drives too sloppy-fast around here.”
“They can't take much of a driving test,” I put in, enjoying my first cup of coffee for the day. “Take your friend Jerry, he can barely see the road.”
“Imagine, the poor man out on the road, dead all night in the rain,” Bessie said, crossing herself.
“You mean he was killed by a hit-and-run driver?” I asked.
“I don't know. A post office truck found the body two hours ago. Perhaps whoever ran over the doctor thought he'd hit an animal or something.”
“Nuts. When you hit 'something' weighing one hundred fifty or two hundred pounds, you certainly know it isn't a squirrel,” I said.
Dan got up and locked his briefcase. “Lots of dogs killed by cars. Sometimes even a deer.”
“Sounds odd. If I hit a dog or a deer, I'd damn well get out to see what I hit.”
“Well,” Bessie said, stacking the dishes in the sink, “now you understand, Andy, why I wouldn't bring your bike out here. This means we'll have to go to Hampton if we need a doc.”
I wanted to stay home, sit on the porch for awhile, but Bessie insisted I drive to the station with them. Andy argued all the way about how careful he'd be if they let him have his bike. There was a small crowd at the station, mostly wives giving their husbands last minute advice, or vice versa.
It was cold and damp, the coffee had worn off, and I sat in the car, feeling irritated, wishing I was home in my own bed. Jerry drove two young girls to the station, stood around chattering with Bessie in Greek. The old man looked like I felt—as if he'd been up all night. We saw Dan off and Bessie said I had to see the countryside. She and Andy got into a long argument over whether he could go fishing if it was cloudy. I wanted to tell them both to shut up.
Bessie had to make like a guide, stopping at every goddamn landmark, even making me walk through a cemetery full of jokers who had been killed while whaling long ago. I couldn't have cared less.
Andy was making a pest of himself, impatiently asking the time every few minutes and Bessie told him if he didn't stop it there wouldn't be any fishing even if the sun came out. We finally parked in front of the End Harbor supermarket at a little after eight. The sun was dodging behind rain clouds and it was a muggy day. End Harbor was sure a hick town: a small movie house, a dozen or so stores including the big supermarket. There was an ancient building, a three-story brick job, that I later learned was a combination hotel, city hall, police and fire department headquarters, post office, and telephone company. There was a small crowd in front of this building.