Page 11 of Dead of Summer
Faith finds that she is holding her breath.
“I’m bringing back the Fourth of July party this year,” he pronounces.
Faith exhales,a party. Elena will be so jealous. She smiles, relieved, and looks to David. But he is staring at his father, his face white with shock.
“Are you sure?”
“Damn straight,” Geoffrey says.
“But why? It’s been so long, what reason would you possibly have to bring it back?” Faith looks between the two of them, confused by the panic in David’s voice.
“Can’t the Clarkes host their annual Fourth of July celebration?”
“What reason could you possibly want to have it now after fifteen years?” His face has gone red, and pinpricks of sweat have started to form on his forehead.
“You see that dock you love so much, well it needs a real fucking mooring, okay?” Geoffrey growls. “I need the town council to grant me the fucking mooring for the yacht, but they are a bunch of morons. Size restrictions blah blah blah. Fucking idiots.”
Faith reaches for David’s hand, but he jerks it away and brings it clenched to the top of the table. When she looks to Geoffrey, she sees that he is watching them, amused. He takes a lobster claw and slurps from it, the matter sorted.
“This is for a boat?” David asks, incredulous. “Can’t you just pay someone?”
“I would. Believe me. That would certainly be easier than this dog and pony show. But they’re on about corruption. They want a celebration. And my dear old father loved that party.”
“I won’t go,” David says, his face settling into an expression that reminds Faith of a belligerent teenager.
“You will.” Geoffrey’s face is getting red now.
“Do you think they’ll even want to come?” Between the lines there is another conversation happening that Faith is not privy to.
“Thathad nothing to do with us.” His father shuts him down. Faith waits for David to explain but she may as well not even be there. They are ignoring her completely, locked in whatever power struggle is playing out in front of her.
“You don’t think they’ll remember that the last time we hosted a party someone died?” David snaps. Faith’s head whips up toward David.
“Alice?” she says in quiet disbelief.
Now Geoffrey turns his furious eyes on her. With a startling jolt of velocity his fist beats the table, rattling the plates. “What that man out there in his little hideaway did to that girl had nothing to do with us. And it was years ago. Enough. It’s done. About damn time the rest of them realize that too. He’s the one who is hiding. We don’t need to.”
Faith blinks and draws back from the table.
“It’s not about hiding, Dad. It’s respect.” Faith looks out toward the water. The house on its stilts no longer looks quaint. Its angular silhouette now looks sinister. A place to escape from, not to.
“Don’t you lecture me about respect, you ingrate,” Geoffrey snaps. She can see the veins in his head pulsing as he turns back to his dinner, cracking open a claw, and dunking it angrily in butter. So, this is the Geoffrey Clarke Faith has read so much about. The tyrant who never takes no for an answer. Or a giant baby in a bib, swallowing down lobster meat with a disgusting slurp.
She looks back to David, but he seems unperturbed by the outburst. Maybe he’s used to them. “The islanders will be surprised, won’t they?”
“They’ll get over it,” Geoffrey says, finally dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Hell, they’ll love it. The Clarke Fourth of July is the event of the summer. At least for these people.”
David hesitates but ducks his head into a nod, conceding the fight to his father.
“Okay, glad that’s settled. Time to get out there and show all the little gossip queens and bumpkins on this goddamn island that we have nothing to be ashamed of.” Geoffrey throws his bunched-up napkin into the center of a puddle of butter and lobster parts on his plate. He rises from his chair, breathing heavily. He gives David a rough pat on the shoulder as he passes their side of the table. “I’ll see you in the morning, son. Bright and early this time.”
Faith waits for David to turn to her with some sort of mood-lightening grin or explanation, but he remains looking at his father’s empty chair, a vacant expression on his face.
“Are you okay?” Faith gently puts a hand on David’s arm. He flinches.
“Fine,” he says, but she can tell that he barely registers her there. His mind is somewhere else.
Somewhere she isn’t allowed to follow.
