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Tommy killed the engine on his Crown Vic and threw the shifter into park in one swift motion, but didn’t immediately get out of his car. He went through this same ritual every week before getting on with it and carrying through with the promises he’d made. This house, this old house, with its sagging once-yellow siding and drooping roof, had once meant so much. Now, it barely held itself together.
***
Joe Hampton excitedly jumped out of the front seat of his rusted-out truck and motioned for Tommy to follow. Tommy tumbled out and stretched his back, taking in the tiny craftsman before him. Given its distance from the water, it would be cheaper than most, and its age would help keep the price down. Maybe Joe could afford this. Maybe.
“What do you think?” Joe asked.
Tommy shrugged. “Looks well-maintained. Good house. But can you really afford this?”
Out of high school, Joe had decided to stay in Cape Madre and work odd jobs down at the docks. It barely kept Joe fed, so it was hard to imagine how he might afford this kind of purchase.
“I can get the money,” Joe said. “The bank’ll give it to me.”
That’s exactly what Tommy was afraid of. The banks were giving money to anyone with a pulse, and an inconsistently paid dockworker represented exactly the kind of schmuck they were looking for. Joe was gullible, and hopeful, and he had never accepted that the deck was stacked against him. Socially. Financially. Genetically.
“That’s a lotta debt, Joe,” Tommy warned.
Joe waved a dismissive hand as he bounded up the walkway to the door. “This is an investment!”
Unlikely. Tommy followed Joe into a remodeled living room with clean carpet and pristine white walls. Though not huge, the room carried a certain charm. Joe stood in the middle and spread his arms wide.
“Do you think Stacy will like it?” Joe asked.
“You know, most people just propose with a ring.”
Joe laughed, not at all deterred. “She’ll say yes. I want her to know that I can provide for her, ya know?”
Yeah. But could he? Stacy worked as a clerk down at the tax assessor’s office. Before long, Tommy had no doubt that her more stable salary would be paying the mortgage. Joe spoke the truth, though. Stacy wouldn’t say no. The two of them had made it through high school and were still together when Tommy got back from college and then the academy. They were as good as married already.
Sometimes, the best thing a friend could do was to go along with it. Support each other, even through misgivings and worry.
Tommy clapped Joe on the back and nodded. “She’ll love it.”
***
The walk up to the front door always felt a mile long, even though Tommy crossed it in less than ten seconds. He rapped quickly and quietly on the fading blue door, then turned to look out on the street. From here, he could almost forget that the ocean stood only a few miles away, tucked behind the rows of houses between here and there. The home across the way looked abandoned, with chest-high grass and holes in the roof. Nobody wanted houses this old anymore — if they wanted any house at all. After 2008, buyers had become a lot more skittish. If it couldn’t double as a vacation rental, no one would bother paying for it.
A soft voice came from behind, saying, “Hi Tommy.”
Tommy spun to see Stacy’s tall lanky frame in the doorway. She wore yoga pants and a shirt that swallowed up her subtle curves, hiding them behind folds of fabric. One of Joe’s old shirts. Her teeth were too big for her narrow face and small mouth, which made her look happy to see him, but Tommy knew better. Stacy Hampton didn’t know how to be happy anymore.
“Hey Stacy. How are things?” Tommy asked as she moved to the side to let him in.
“Oh, you know.”
Tommy did know. Bad. Things were bad. They had been bad for Stacy for over six months, and they didn’t seem to be getting any better. She hadn’t made it back to work yet, and though they told her she would always be welcome, Tommy expected the invitation had a looming expiration date. Frankly, Stacy was depressing to be around, but she needed help, and by extension, Joe needed help. Posthumously, maybe. But Tommy owed it to him.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Tommy asked, forcing himself to sound helpful and upbeat.
Stacy pointed down a narrow hallway. “The guest toilet’s running.”
Easy enough to fix. So easy, in fact, that Tommy wondered why Stacy hadn’t repaired it herself. He worried that she was becoming dependent on him.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get right on it.”
Tommy made his way to the guest bathroom which already contained a toolbox, and an unopened replacement for the assembly inside the tank. Good news. It meant Stacy had at least been out of the house. That, or she had ordered it on the internet.
As he worked, Stacy leaned against the doorway, resting her flaxen head on the splintered frame. Though never a traditional beauty, her now-extinguished spark of life could mesmerize anyone. Now, she looked almost like a drug addict. Tommy had never known her to have a drug problem, but in the wake of what happened, it was not impossible that she could’ve developed a habit.
“It’s back, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly. “I heard about the girl down on the beach.”
Tommy stopped his repair work and sat down on the toilet. Of course, she would have heard about it. Every townie had surely linked Emma’s attack to Joe’s case, and even though the powers-that-be would keep that correlation out of the papers, it wouldn’t stop a population from gossiping.
Tommy studied his fingernails, trying to conjure an answer that wouldn’t demolish Stacy’s fragility. But Tommy couldn’t lie to her.
“Maybe. I dunno yet. Still working through the witnesses.”
Stacy pulled up her head and shifted her slight weight. Tommy tried to ignore her cobalt eyes bearing down on him; those angry, blaming eyes. He didn’t need her reminding him how he’d been complicit in downplaying what had happened to Joe. He dealt with that guilt every damn day.
“She’s gonna die, Tommy.”
Tommy sighed. “We don’t know that, Stacy. Joe didn’t die from the attack.”
“That thing changed him, Tommy. It caused him to...” Stacy’s eyes moistened. She ran her hand over her nose and sniffled. “It’s going to do the same to this girl. You better keep an eye on her after she wakes up.”
Tommy nodded. “Of course, Stacy. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
***
As Joe slid into the booth across from him, Tommy couldn’t help but notice the weight loss. At one time, Joe had been a burlier man, but now his giant beard looked comically large and unfit for his face. His eyes darted around the bar, manic and wild. It had only gotten worse, and Tommy didn’t like it.
“How’s it going?” Tommy asked.
Joe noticed the beer that Tommy had bought for him—for the first time—then drank half the mug before training his bloodshot eyes back on Tommy. “Good. Good. I think.”
Tommy had his doubts. “How’s Stacy?”
For the briefest of moments, it almost seemed like Joe didn’t know who Tommy was even talking about, but then he dialed in. “Stacy. She’s fine. Good. Same.”
Stacy wasn’t fine. Tommy knew that because she had called him at 3am, frantically searching for Joe. Joe barely slept anymore, always eager to get back out on the water, intent on returning to the creature that had nearly taken his leg. He still walked with a limp, and likely always would.
Tommy liked to be supportive. Tommy liked to look the other way and let people live their lives. But Tommy also liked to keep his best friend from ruining his marriage. And now he found himself staging an intervention, of sorts, causing no shortage of discomfort. How had it come to this?
“Look, Joe. I wanted to talk to you about something,” Tommy said. “Since the accident, you’ve been acting a little strange. Stacy’s worried about you.”
Joe didn’t respond or even acknowledge the sentiment.
Tommy continued, “Hell. I’m worried about you. You gotta come down from this. Let it go, man.”
Joe shook his head. “I can’t. I just. Hard to explain. I need to find it.”
Tommy couldn’t understand. This wasn’t like Joe. Joe didn’t obsess over things. Joe just stumbled through life, moving on to whatever thing caught his fancy and then to the next. There were no constants in Joe’s life. That’s how he liked it. That’s why he never settled into a 9-to-5.
“You’ve got a wife, Joe. She needs you.”
Joe stopped on this and appeared to be contemplating the statement. He drank the rest of his beer and fumbled with his fingers. Tommy could feel the table shaking, as Joe’s good leg quivered. It also wasn’t like Joe to be nervous. Bastard didn’t know how to worry.
“Yeah. Stacy. She’s important. I— I should...”
Tommy sipped his beer and waited for Joe to finish the thought, but it never happened. Joe just stared off in the distance, or down at the table, or anywhere but at the face of his oldest friend.
“Joe. Come on, now. You’ve—”
Joe held up a hand, interrupting Tommy with a finger. “Keep an eye on her for me. If anything happens.”
“Joe, I don’t think that’s—”
“Promise me, Tommy. Promise me.”
Sometimes, the best thing a friend could do was to go along with it. Support each other, even through misgivings and worry.
Tommy nodded. “Of course, Joe. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
***
After his promise to keep an eye on Emma, Stacy disappeared into the house to let Tommy finish up the repair-work alone. Tommy liked it better when she didn’t hover. Her presence wore on his soul.
Would this thing have the same effect on Emma? Surely not. Joe was a man of the sea. He saw something he couldn’t understand or explain, and needed to verify it. Curiosity overtook him. But Emma ... Emma grew up in a land-locked part of the state where water could barely be found. She’d just want to go back home. That’s what Tommy would want to do in her shoes.
Stacy would have Tommy believe that this creature somehow changed Joe in ways that couldn’t be seen. Altered his mind somehow. Tommy just couldn’t buy into that theory. There was no evidence for it. The injuries to Joe’s leg, while severe, were all physical. Repaired. Patched up. No different than what might happen in a car accident.
Finished with the toilet repair, Tommy washed his hands and found his way back to the living room. Stacy sat on the love seat, doing nothing. No television. No cell phone. Nothing.
She looked up at him. “All done?”
Tommy nodded. “Yep. Anything else?”
She stood up, across from him, and glanced around before shaking her head. “No. Not this week.”
Now came the hug. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and rested her head on his shoulder. Tommy squeezed her in, as he did every week. This week, though, she didn’t let go, so Tommy just kept holding her, becoming aware of her bony frame against him. She had become dangerously thin since Joe’s death.
When Stacy finally pulled herself away from him, she had to wipe tears from her face. She blubbered, “Sorry. I might have gotten your shirt wet.”
“Not a problem,” Tommy said without a second thought. “Listen. I’ll keep stopping by every week like this, but you can call me. When you need help. Or if you just wanna talk. I’m always available.”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. “Thanks, Tommy.”
Tommy made his way back to the car, emotionally exhausted. He had to keep doing this. His promise to keep an eye on Stacy was the last promise he’d ever made to Joe. But it was taking a toll on him. He didn’t know how to help, and it bothered him that fixing toilets and painting fences wasn’t doing the job.
A buzz in his pocket interrupted his melancholy mood, pulling him back into the real world. The reports had come back from Emma’s credit card. With any luck, it would tell Tommy where she had been staying, then lead him straight to her mysterious friend.
Eager to put Stacy and Joe out of his mind for at least a little bit, Tommy put the Crown Vic in drive and headed back to the station.
