Oceans Ending

Oceans

Ending

Beth McCue

© 2016 Beth McCue

Cover Photograph © 2015 Dave Sandford

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner

whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The  Haunting. Dir. Robert  Wise. Perf. Julie  Harris, Claire Bloom and Richard Johnson. 1963. Film. Web.

The Twilight Zone. Columbia Broadcasting System

(CBS). Culver City, California, n.d. Television.

Hartman, Johnny. Perf. John Coltrane. By Sammy Gallop and Peter  DeRose. Autumn  Serenade. John Coltrane. Johnny Hartman. MCA Impulse!, 1986. Vinyl recording.

1

Elliot didn't come home last night. His keys are still on top of the dresser where he left them.

It's not the first time, but, something doesn't feel right. I make a few calls, friends, hospital, but nothing turns up.

Maybe I should call the police, but why whack that hornet's nest? I have had a couple of disputes in the past which required their intervention, and I know already the looks and the questions I would get.

Instead, I decide to get dressed and head over to the beach, see if I run into anyone who might have seen Elliot last night. Checking outside I see it's misty. I put my hand on the window and feel the chill, typical weather for late October here. I throw on a sweatshirt and jeans, cover up with one of Elliot's hoodies and head out the door.

The growling in my stomach reminds me, I have forgotten to eat or even have a cup of coffee. Stopping at Matt's, I do a little fishing.

Hey, mornin' big brother. Did you by any chance see Elliot last night? After we had a little disagreement, he left and never came back.

Matt answers, I saw him around 10, headed towards the pier. I was here late doing inventory. I haven't seen him this morning, though. Are you worried? He's done this before, hasn't he?

Yeah, but, it wasn't that big an argument. It just seems a little strange. If he stops by, let him know I'm going for a walk then I'll be heading home.

Sure, no problem.

I shove a bagel into my pocket and wrap my hands around the hot container of coffee. The beach is not crowded. A few yoga ladies are showing off their form; my neighbor is walking her dog; some kids are tossing a football. There is nothing out of the ordinary. Still, something is scratching at the back door of my brain, trying to get in.

I sit at one of Matt's tables. The coffee is horrible as ever, but at least it is waking and warming me a little. Last night's argument comes into clearer focus as I drink. It was not very big, no punching walls or screaming, just a stupid argument. Aren't they all? I wanted him to come with me to my parents' house for the weekend; he wanted to stay home and watch the game.

It didn't matter which game was going to be on; he just didn't want to visit my parents. More specifically, he didn't want to see my father. Usually, I would shrug and say, Fine. It's more comfortable without you there anyway. Not nice I know but true. Last night I just couldn't let it go. I kept poking until the anger came and he went.

I have a habit of doing that, pushing until he blows. It's my way of making him prove he loves me enough to put up with my nonsense.

Now I am afraid for no reason I can name. I'm afraid I will never see Elliot again.

I head down the beach towards the pier, still clutching my coffee. I make a bargain with the fates. If I reach it before the yoga ladies finish, everything will be copacetic. If not…

I pick up my pace a little as I notice the women are suddenly packing up and heading out. I look towards the sky and realize why. The clouds are piling up, and in minutes the mist will turn to pounding rain. I run for the cover of the pier. I don't quite make it and reach my destination soaked, miserable and alone. Unable to hold it together any longer, I begin to cry.

The rain is coming down in windblown sheets. The weather is a perfect reflection of my mood. The downpour finally stops, and I leave my shelter to walk back home.

I trip over something. I look down. It's Elliott's shoe still attached to Elliot's foot. This time, I lose it for real.

The next thing I know, there is a small crowd gathered around me. Matt is kneeling down next to me looking pale and shaken.

Are you all right? I'll take you home. Can you walk?

"I think so. What happened to the…what happened to it?"

The police are coming. They will take care of it.

Someone in the crowd speculates out loud that it was probably a shark, a damn big mother by the looks of it, that had taken the body previously attached to the foot.

Maybe, I think, but, there it is again, that nagging feeling that this is something major, something awful, something bigger than just a shark attack.

Matt helps me to my feet. The crowd makes room for us to pass. I know shortly the feeling of disbelief and numbness will wear off and be replaced by waves of sorrow. I need to be in my house when that happens.

Barely able to make it the last few feet, I open the door and crumble to the ground for the second time. This time, when I wake up, it's Elliot, Elliot…

Elliot you son of a…do you know what I have been going through??

I know Dana. I'm sorry I didn't call, but I can explain.

Didn't call? I thought you were dead you idiot. What the hell is wrong with you?

Dead? It was just one night.

I go on to explain the saga of the shoe with the foot still attached and bloody. I can see the look of shock on Elliot's face.

Do you have any idea who it was or what happened?

How would I know? I just told you, I thought it was you.

Elliot then fills me in on his evening. He visited a few of the beachside bars after our argument. Apparently, he visited them pretty hard. He fell asleep on a bench outside his third stop. When he woke up his wallet, phone, jacket and yes, his shoes, were gone, apparently taken by a thief with bad taste.

So where did you spend the night?

At my sister's apartment.

He had walked, gingerly, back to a more familiar bar and used the phone to call his sister, not me. But then I guess he figured I would have told him to drop dead at that point. If so, he had figured right.

I guess whoever took my stuff is the guy who got attacked by the shark, or whatever it was.

I guess.

The knock on the door startles us all. It is one of the policemen from the beach. He wants to ask me some questions about my poor deceased husband. I point to Elliot.

Have him explain; I'm going to take a shower.

Matt is gone, but the officer is still there when I come out. He has a few more questions about last night.

Were you home all night?

Yes.

Were you alone?

Yes.

How good is your eyesight?

Excuse me?

If you were looking for Elliot and you saw someone his size, wearing his jacket and it was dark, would you know it wasn't him?

Probably not. Why?

He explains these are routine questions and there is nothing to worry about. After all, they don't even have a body, just part of one. When we are finally alone, Elliot begins apologizing again.

It was as much my fault as yours, maybe more, I say. Let's just forget about it. I'm going to pack a few things and head out.

You're still going to your parents' house?

Yes, I need to get away from here. Are you sure you don't want to come? It could be the cops have the right idea and last night wasn't an accident. Maybe someone is out to get you, I say, doing my best Bela Lugosi imitation.

It doesn't take long for Elliot to pack and we head out for what I hope will be a relaxing weekend.

The fall foliage along the Garden State Parkway is a treat, even though it is past its peak. The rain has finally stopped. Elliot plays his favorite collection of driving on a fall day in clear weather songs. By the time we get to my favorite jazz duo performing Autumn Serenade, I am almost in a good mood.

My mom will be happy to see you. I don't know why, but she likes you.

The older ladies always do, Elliot says.

You're an idiot, but I smile, then shudder as I recall just a few hours ago I thought I might never see him again.

The funny thing is, though, he's right. The older ladies, as well as younger ladies and in between ladies, all love Elliot. Maybe it's because of the way he stares straight into your eyes when you talk to him; or the way he listens and responds in a manner that says, I am hanging on your every word. It took me a while to figure out his look of rapt attention was just zoning out. He was off in his private world. He knows how to pay enough attention, though, always inserting the head nod, the smile, the commiserating sigh, at just the right moment. 

I can see the house now as we make a final sharp turn. Seeing it always makes me breathe a little easier as if my continued existence connects to the house and all that's in it. House still here equals Dana still here.

My mom is in the kitchen when we walk through the front door. The aroma of something wonderful is everywhere.

Elliot it's so good to see you. I didn't know if you would be joining us this time or not.

I wouldn't miss a chance to have one of your home-cooked meals. I love your daughter, but she didn't exactly inherit your skills in the kitchen.

Thanks, sweetie. I do try you know.

During dinner I tell the tale of the previous night, leaving out the Elliot didn't want to come part. I just say our argument was over what type of pet we will eventually get. I want a dog. He wants a cat. I base this on disagreements we have previously had.

They have a thousand questions. We have no answers. I am overcome by exhaustion as the day takes its toll, and I'm ready to crawl into bed. I promise to tell them everything I know, which is next to nothing, at Sunday breakfast.

After cleaning up, Elliot and I head upstairs to my room. My mother has preserved it in a pristine state since I left for college 15 years ago. Dana's Shrine is Elliot's name for it. I have to admit I still love the feeling of walking through the door and seeing all my belongings exactly as I left them.

Usually, when we visit, we engage in a little silent sex, pretending I am 16 and afraid of my parents catching us in the act. Usually, it's fun. Tonight we are both too tired to do anything but crawl under the covers and fall instantly asleep.

2

Sunday morning breakfast at my mom's is always a feast; homemade bagels, smoked salmon, bacon, the Sunday paper. I can smell the bacon the minute I wake up. Elliot has beaten me to the shower, so I stretch and enjoy the serenity while it lasts.

My room has a spectacular view in the fall, looking out towards the hills. The leaves this year are particularly colorful. I read somewhere that climate change may ruin the fall colors in the not-too-distant future, something about the temperature being too warm for the leaves to change. That would be a tragedy.

But a distraction takes my thoughts in a different direction. There are few things more spectacular than Elliot just emerged from the shower.

When we finally make it downstairs, we find my mother at the table working on the crossword puzzle and lingering over coffee. She is filling in the puzzle using a pen; probably because admitting to a mistake is close to impossible for her, even when it is a mistake only she will see.

I slice a couple of bagels and stick them into the toaster while she and Elliot talk about nothing much.

She says, Dana's dad left early this morning, headed to the hardware store.

He doesn't seem to enjoy spending time with Elliot. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe it's because Elliot is a therapist and my father doesn't like feeling exposed.

She hands Elliot the news section and points out a short article at the bottom of page three. There is little information in it, nothing we haven't already told her. It ends with The police are investigating…anyone with information, etc.

What is it they are investigating? Wasn't it an accident?

I interject, Yes, mom, it probably was, but, they still don't know who the person was, or exactly how they died, or even if they did die. Maybe a one-footed thief is wandering around the neighborhood!

You shouldn't joke about it, dear.

We enjoy the morning reading the paper, relishing the good (non-Matt's) coffee. My father finally returns, and the tension immediately increases again. It seems like a good time to head back home.

It starts to rain during the drive, requiring a change from sunny day music to rainy day music.

As we pull into our driveway, I'm shocked to see our neighbor's dog on the front step, leash still attached. I love the little dog, but her owner, not so much. We have had words on occasion, mostly because she does not approve of our natural approach to landscaping. She feels our yard is unsightly and I don't take criticism very well. In fact, it was requested by the court, after one especially unpleasant incident between us, that I enter therapy for my anger management issues. Elliot was my therapist.

The poor pup is soaked and obviously shaken up.

Where is your charming owner Maggie? Did you finally get smart and ditch her?

The minute we open the door, Maggie is inside and looking for food. I remove the leash and dry her off. I scrounge around the cabinets and refrigerator, and finally, come up with some plain grilled chicken for her. She is happy with that and some water. After dining, she curls up in a ball on the couch and falls asleep as quickly and deeply as only a dog can.

We settle down to watch some football and are interrupted by a knock on the door. It's Officer Spencer again, this time, accompanied by a detective.

They are investigating the disappearance of our neighbor Ellen, Maggie's owner.

Officer Spencer tells us, She has not been seen since yesterday morning. She hasn't been answering her home phone or cell phone. Her daughter went to the house and found no one home, but her mother's car was still in the driveway. And, Her dog is missing also.

Her dog is currently on my couch, and suddenly that seems like cause for concern. I feel guilty even though I haven't done anything wrong.

I point out to the officer that Ellen's dog is right here.

Do you mind if we ask how you happened to come into possession of the dog?

Elliot explains we found her at our door when we returned from our trip.

They go on to ask if I had seen anything suspicious during my walk the previous morning.

You mean besides the disembodied foot? No. I feel a discreet pinch, and I know Elliot is warning me to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

They ask a few more questions and rise to leave.

If you think of any details that might be helpful, please give Detective Shalkowski a call. The detective hands me a card with his information on it. I assure them I will call if I remember anything.

Before they leave, Officer Spencer calls Ellen's daughter to ask if we may keep Maggie until she is ready to come and get her. She tells him it is fine if we keep her permanently. She's not a dog lover.

When we are alone again, I tell Elliot about the feeling I have had since our argument Friday night, that feeling of something being massively wrong. He tells me not to worry. He knows I overreact to things sometimes. That's a problem when you fall in love with your former therapist, no secrets.

I hadn't expected