Love in the Cross Hairs Ch. 02

He would have liked to have parked his truck in front of the house, but someone, some self-important tourist had managed to take two spaces with their BMW. He ended up parking on the next street over. He parked, locked it up, got out and walked around by the first street that ran parallel to the ocean, got a coffee at a small coffee shop there, and went on home.

As he walked up the single flight of steps to the front door he saw the BMW was still there. He didn't have anything against people who preferred foreign to American made cars, but he did think he could tell a little about the people who owned the foreign models. He had an opinion about BMW owners, and it wasn't a good one. He went on in, shed his coat and plopped down in front of the television. He wanted to check the news. He drifted off to a half sleep while the news was still on. It seemed like every time he thought he was going to get to sleep her face crept into his mental vision. He hated her. He loved her. He wondered what she doing. He bet she was out someplace with all her society friends.

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Laurie loved the beach at night. The wind was crisp, the water looked like it had a chill about it; and there was a phosphorescence to it that delighted her. She took off her shoes and socks and got her feet wet. Yes, it certainly was cold. She dabbled around along the edge of the water a little while till she felt the pull of fatigue even an afternoon nap couldn't thwart. She left her shoes and socks off and walked back to the boardwalk. It was late, maybe 10:00 p.m., nearly everything was either closed for the night or boarded up for the winter. She walked up the boardwalk till she found her street, and walked down to her car. She glanced around at the old houses. Except for the dim light of what was certainly a flickering television screen in a third floor bedroom everything was closed up and dark. There was a sadness to the setting. She thought of Peter. She wondered what he was doing, where he was. Was he thinking of her?

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Over the next weeks Peter fought what seemed like daily battles to get something, anything, going. He had the start-up capital, he had the expertise, and, after a pretty exhaustive search he found two likely lots. What he'd forgotten was he was out of his element. Back home he was the hometown boy. Everybody knew him and wanted to see him succeed. Down on the shore though people knew and liked him, he was still an outsider. He'd approach them about getting a crew, getting supplies, or getting someone to provide some service, and they'd be gracious and generous with their time on the phone or at a diner, but when it came down actually delivering the result was predictably the same, they were too busy, too tied up, something else had intervened. They weren't being mean or vindictive; they were just protecting the homegrown.

Getting a decent crew was harder than he thought it would be. They were hundreds of miles from the nearest big cities; he thought problems like drugs and petty crime wasn't something he'd find. He was mistaken. Finally he did get one good local boy, but better he was able to hook up with a couple skilled Honduran men looking for real work at good pay. That in itself posed another problem; the Latin men he got were working for somebody else. He offered them more money, better working conditions, and more respect. Before he realized he had the law down on him wanting to know if he understood the costs of hiring illegals. He got it straightened out, but it did take up more time. What he planned on doing was build two houses on 'spec'. He'd tried to sell them when the market opened up in the warmer weather; but if he couldn't he'd simply rent them out to cover the costs.

Periodically he had to call Max to get draw-downs of cash. Max didn't seem concerned, though he did have some things to say about something else. In fact the other concern ended up eating as much time as the original purpose of his calls; it was enervating to say the least.

Once Max got Peter on the phone he went after him about Laurie. Peter never felt more uncomfortable. He had trouble sleeping as it was; Max was little help.

Laurie had been to see Max, and wanted to know where he was. Max had held his ground and not told her, but he told Peter he felt like a cheap shit doing it.

He remembered what Max said, "Pete I know you're pissed at Laurie because you saw she had some kind of sheath of shit about you, but didn't I give you the same thing about her? Aren't you being a little self-righteous about the whole thing?"

He recalled saying, "Well yeah, but she lied." Max had decried that as a feeble excuse, "Look Pete I met her. She's sincere. If she lied she had her reasons. You said you didn't like the family. What was she supposed to do? She liked you. If she'd have told you the truth you would have blown her off. I know you Pete. You would have."

He remembered agreeing, but also saying it was probably too late. He explained, "Look Max she's probably moved on by now. You know gotten on with her life."

Max didn't argue.

The next time he called Max he got another story, he cited, "Laurie's father had been by, and he wanted to know where you were. He said he was concerned about his girl; she just wasn't interested in anything anymore. She'd quit her job, and had moved away. He didn't tell me where she'd moved."

Peter reflected, "I didn't know she'd take it that hard. I really thought. Oh shit, who knows what I thought, if I thought anything at all." Max had said, "That's what Laurie's father said; that you'd used your ass and not your brain. He wanted to help. He said he honestly didn't give a rat's ass about you; he just wanted to make his daughter happy. Pete he sounded like a guy who loves his little girl."

Peter recalled he didn't have an answer for that.

For Peter, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get her off his mind. Then after the phone conversations with Max he wondered if he hadn't just screwed up everything.

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Laurie lived from day to day. She had plenty of money, and she had friends at the beach who tried to keep her cheered up. She, of course, told everybody everything. Peter was all she thought about. They needed to know.

Laurie had moved down at the end of November, right after Thanksgiving. She stayed on doing nothing all through December right up to and after Christmas. It was easier to sleep, loaf, and walk the beach and boardwalk than to seriously take control of her life and move on. She was just stuck.

There was something else too. She and Peter had made love for the first time back in October. It had been her first time. It had hurt, but she remembered how gentle he'd been. They made love a few more times afterward, but Peter had seemed to be reluctant to push himself on her. He was careful. She guessed he just didn't want her to think it was all just about the sex. That was another thing that made him special. Honestly, she liked the sex, especially after the first couple times, but it was more about the warmth, the closeness, his strong male presence tempered by a gentle tenderness.

That wasn't really the something else. Ever since she was thirteen she'd had her menstrual cycles. For nearly sixteen years she'd been as regular as clockwork; come the second or third week of the month and she knew she was on the rag. She had alternating months of minor and serious pain. It was like one of her ovaries was extra busy, and during those cycles she suffered horrific cramps. For the first time in years in October she skipped her period. Then she missed November. Now it was December and she knew. It wasn't just the skipped cycles; it was the nausea, and the biliousness.

There wasn't any question about whether to have it or not. She was Catholic. She'd have the baby, but what then? She sort of figured her parents would want her to put it up for adoption. She knew she wouldn't. She was about to turn thirty. She might never marry, and this was still Peter's baby.

She wondered sometimes; what if he knew, would he come back, would he take her back, would he give their baby his name? She knew she was living in a fantasy world, but it still haunted her.

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Peter slowly rolled his way into an informal pattern of behavior; up every morning by 5:00 a.m., a brief walk out to the beach, then back for a coffee and either eggs or toast at the diner across from his condominium, and then off to a small office he'd rented about twenty blocks north just off the main highway. He'd check to read any e-mails and see what was on the answering machine, and then it was off to each of the two work sites he'd set up. Excepting for concrete, electrical, and plumbing he was able to accomplish everything himself. His two Latino guys proved to be very good workers, and the one local boy, once he got his attitude adjusted, worked out well too.

Peter kept everybody on the job till the sun went down, and then they'd break for the night. He expected once they got everything under roof and closed up, they'd be able to use lights to go after the dry wall, woodwork, painting, and if he couldn't find anybody, the carpeting.

After work each evening he'd stop off at home, clean up, and then choose a restaurant for his one good meal a day. There were lots of good steak and rib places about, but he preferred the seafood. His very favorite seafood place was called Norris's; it had been in service since the early 1950's, a family operation that had branched out to the north end of town and to nearby cities. They always had good crab cakes and flounder, and even now in the winter they still sold good steamed crabs.

It was December 27th, close to the end of the year, he was tired and hungry, and decided to hit Norris's one more time. He pulled up in his pick-up, went in and ordered a dozen steamed crabs. It was close to 7:00, and if he ate fairly expeditiously he'd be home in bed by 9:30.

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Laurie had become increasingly lethargic; her pregnancy and lack of motivation had slowed her to near inertia. Only those few close friends who lived in the town kept her from staying home all the time. The only excursions she did make was an occasional evening or morning walk on the beach. She'd thought about taking up some kind of craft; perhaps painting, or doing something with seashells. She'd visited the fish exchanges on the bay side where the watermen cleared their nets of the mollusks they'd garnered. Some of the shells were quite nice, and she envisioned herself doing something with them, but it never panned out, she just lacked the energy.

Her friends had persuaded her to meet them at Norris's for a late dinner. Though she was seldom hungry anymore, and alcohol was definitely off the menu she agreed go.

They all got together over some crab soup and dip. There were four of them; Laurie, Angelina, Doris, and Nicole. The other girls had been individually pumping Laurie for weeks about her pregnancy, who the father was, and what she intended to do. Tonight they'd decided to get as much out of her as they could, and also maybe try to help her get a grip.

They were all seated at a window table overlooking the front parking lot. There were a few cars and a handful of pick-up trucks outside. It was dark, but the lot lighting still made for some visibility.

After a short period of small talk Angelina finally directed the conversation at Laurie, "Laurie you know we're all worried about you."

"I'm glad you're thinking about me, but there's really nothing to worry about, I'm fine."

Nicole interrupted, "That's not true. You look like shit, and we know you don't do anything but sit around and mope all day."

Doris asked, "Have you decided what you're going to do once the baby comes?"

Laurie replied, "I'm keeping my baby. After that I, well, I don't know."

Nicole asked, "Have you tried to contact the father?"

"No."

"Why not," asked Doris?

"Oh I don't know. I don't think he'd care."

Angelina piped in, "I thought you said he loved you?"

"He did I think once, but that was before."

Nicole chimed in, "I think you should try to find him. He might have changed his mind."

Doris added, "Yeah sometimes men care about things like kids, especially if they know they're their own."

"Oh it's his, but I just don't think it would matter."

Nicole changed the subject. Looking outside, "Its funny how many guys think owning a pickup makes them macho."

Angelina was tired of talking about Laurie's trouble anyway, "You ever noticed they all look the same, the pick-ups I mean."

Doris leaned around and looked out the window, "Look I'll bet there must be a dozen of them out there."

The other girls all looked out the window.

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Peter had finished his hard crabs; he paid his bill, left a tip, and ambled his way out to the parking lot.

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Nicole smirked, "You ever noticed the guys who drive those old trucks all look alike too?"

The girls watched as some local cowboy climbed in his truck, backed it up and started to pull away.

Angelina commented, "Yeah, they're all alike, baseball caps, flannel jackets, work boots, and a gun rack.

Laurie hadn't been paying that much attention. Her mind had wandered off thinking of Peter. She finally got a look at the pick-up truck as it pulled away. Yeah she thought, they do all look alike. If she didn't know better that could have been Peter. She felt suddenly very tired, or was she just sad? She needed to go back to her house and sleep some more.

They all chit chatted for a little while longer. They thought they'd gotten everything there was to get out of Laurie. By more or less mutual consent they agreed whatever happened had to be up to Laurie.

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New Year's came and went. In rained anyway; a cold sleety rain. The weather turned colder, a biting, bone chilling, wet cold; sunlight was at a premium. For Peter the work days dwindled; most of what needed to be done had been accomplished anyway. He let the local boy go, but held on to the two Hispanic men till he got the carpeting in. Landscaping had to be tended to, but he'd do that. He found himself spending more and more time just walking the beach, listening to the surf, and watching the foam pile up in the morning. He felt like he'd gotten a lot of work done, but it had done nothing to ease his somber mood.

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Anymore Laurie only got to the beach once or twice a week. It was too cold, and the weight she'd gained, though not extraordinary did tend to slow her down even more.

One morning Laurie rallied; she got up early enough that she might see the morning sunrise. She'd tried several times before to get to the beach ahead of the dawn, but for one reason or another had failed. She'd seen the morning sun over the sea once or twice before, and there was a moment, a few seconds actually, just as the first edge of the sun crested over the horizon when the darkness surrendered to the morning light and there was a sort of greenish not quite yellow glow cast upon the water. She thought she'd like to see that maybe once more.

The weather was so bitterly cold, and she was so tired, she thought she'd give up on the beach and go back to her parents. She felt despondent about the thought of going home; she knew of she did it would be a kind of surrender, another diminution of her person-hood.

Wrapped in a heavy coat, thick mittens; scarf around her head and covering her face she walked the dark sandy beach. Nothing ever seemed to work out the way she wanted. For a while back in the fall it looked like all her dreams were about to come true; then in an instant it all evaporated. She knew she had nobody to blame but herself. She was beyond tears; tears might have meant hope, and she was way beyond that. For two cents she thought she'd just walk on out in the water and let the waves carry her and her baby away.

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Peter hadn't been able to sleep again that night. He felt so lonely. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night, gone out on the beach, and just sat there. He sat there all night long. Sure it was cold, but he'd been to Korea, this wasn't as bad as that.

It looked like the sun was about to come up, another new day. He was sick of new days. He got up and started back toward his condominium. Maybe he'd open a bottle of bourbon. It was the absolute dead of winter; the beach and town were desolate. Nobody, but nobody ventured out anymore; only the rare isolate like himself.

He turned from the sea and looked into the darkness toward the boardwalk; nothing, only another lonely soul headed out toward the sea, a woman.

He gathered the collar of his coat against his head and face. He covered his face with his grey woolen scarf. The woman he saw was nobody, just another lost and lonely soul. Head down, eyes forward, he trudged passed her. They weren't more than fifteen feet apart; just two lonely strangers.

What was that smell? He stopped and turned around. His eyes followed her as she slowly stumbled toward the breakers, "Laurie?"

The woman was already well beyond him. She slowed her gait, paused, she turned and looked up.