The Gin and Chowder Club

“Well, at least it won’t affect your writing.” Noelle took a sip.

“Mmmm…”

“Have you been writing?”

“Some.”

“Hey, I thought you were going to share.”

Asa grinned and absently wiped the condensation on the side of his bottle. “Did I say that?”

“Well, I thought you were…” Just then, they heard steps on the walk, and Nate pushed open the screen door. He had his suit coat over his arm and his tie loosened from his neck.

“Well, well, is this a private party?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a tired smile.

Noelle was the first to speak. “Not at all,” she replied, standing and greeting him with a kiss. Asa stood as well but looked away at their exchange. Nate turned to Asa and reached out to shake hands. Asa held up his bandaged hand and smiled.

“Uh-oh, what did you do? I hope that didn’t happen here.”

Noelle looked at Asa and answered for him. “I’m afraid it did.”

Nate shook his head. “I’m sorry, Asa. How bad is it?”

“Not too bad,” Asa said, feeling the throbbing in his forearm now.

“He did agree to stay for some nourishment, though-” Noelle began.

“Actually,” Asa interrupted, “I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m beat. Thank you for the invite, though…”

Noelle looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” He smiled at her. “I’m sure.” He went into the kitchen, finished the last of his beer, and put the bottle in the sink. He came back out, reached down for his tools, and turned to Nate. “I’ll pick up the new sill tomorrow and come by to put it in.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Nate said. “Wait and see how you feel.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He turned to Noelle. “See you.”

“Not if I see you first,” she said with a grin.

Asa turned to go, and Nate watched him.

After the truck was gone, Nate stood behind Noelle and put his arms around her. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. They stood quietly, taking each other in. Finally Nate said, “You do realize, don’t you, that that boy is in love with you?”

Noelle’s heart stopped as she tried to feign surprise. “Asa?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t see the way he looks at you?”

“I don’t,” she insisted, avoiding his eyes. “And you are being silly!”

“Well, you’d better be careful not to hurt his feelings. You don’t know what it’s like to be a vulnerable teenage boy.”

“That may be true,” she said, feeling stung by his words. “But believe it or not, I do know what it’s like to be a vulnerable teenage girl.”

“I can’t say that I blame him,” he whispered, turning her to him and kissing her lightly on her neck and cheek before slowly finding her lips.

22

When Asa arrived home, Isaac was walking toward Jen’s car with a cooler in one hand. Seeing Asa, he smiled broadly. “You’re just in time! We are going up to P-Town to see the sights. Want to come along?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Asa said, climbing out of the truck. “I did a job on my hand, and it’s throbbing.” He knew the misery he felt was much more than physical, but the excuse would satisfy his brother.

“Oh, c’mon,” Isaac went on. “We’ve got a cooler full of your favorites. They will surely ease the pain.”

Asa looked in the cooler and hedged a bit. “Hmmm… Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“A quick one,” Isaac replied with a smirk. “Not one of those long ones you like to take.”

Asa punched his brother with his good hand and headed inside.

It was tricky taking a shower while trying to keep one hand dry, but he managed. Soon he was in the back of Jen’s car with a cooler between his feet and a cold one between his legs. He had decided that he could ease his pain and drown his sorrow all at the same time. The wind blew his damp hair as he took a long drink, looked out the open window at the sultry summer sky, and imagined Noelle again-as he had that afternoon-lying in bed beside Nate. His mood would have been infinitely darker had he known, at that very moment, the image wasn’t only in his mind.

Jen’s car had been a high school graduation gift from her parents, and Isaac loved to drive it. The sporty little Corvair Monza headed up Route 6, and the party began. Asa had never been one to drink to excess. Tonight, though, he didn’t care. He wanted to forget everything and feel nothing. Isaac watched his brother in the rearview mirror with a mixture of interest and concern, but by the time they reached Provincetown, Asa was feeling fine. Isaac parked the Corvair on a side street, and they walked toward downtown.

Growing up, Isaac and Asa had been to Provincetown only a handful of times with their parents. When they were too young to notice the town’s culture, Sarah and Samuel had taken them along and wandered through the art galleries and shops. But as the boys got older, Sarah found it simpler to avoid exposing her young sons to the flamboyant community than to try to explain a lifestyle that she had trouble understanding herself. Now, Asa and Isaac loved to trek up to P-Town with friends, especially at night. They loved the crazy bohemian atmosphere, the wild parties that spilled out onto the streets, and the colorful outfits and personalities of the town’s residents.

Tonight, as the three wandered down Commercial Street, Asa became much more animated. He put his arm around Jen’s shoulder. “Jen,” he began, “did you know that Eugene O’Neill walked down this very street?”

Jen laughed. “Yes, Asa. You told me last time. You also told me that E. E. Cummings lived here.”

“Well, did I ever mention Harry Kemp?”

“No, who was Harry Kemp?”

“Who is Harry Kemp?” Asa corrected with exaggerated disbelief. “Why, he is only the Poet of the Dunes!” Asa exclaimed. “He still lives nearby in a shack made of driftwood that his friends built him for his birthday.”

“That sounds comfortable,” Isaac teased. “Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”

“Did he write anything I might recognize?” Jen asked.

Asa stopped walking and thought for a moment. Then he raised his hand solemnly. “‘The poor man is not he who is without a cent, but he who is without a dream.’”

Jen nodded slowly. “That sounds familiar,” she said, winking at Isaac.

Asa, not noticing, continued on. “I have heard he hasn’t been well, though-”

Isaac interrupted, “Jen, look at this old structure. It used to be a stable for the horses that drew carts up from the harbor, carrying oysters.”

“Right here in town?”

“Yup.”

“Jen,” Asa interjected, “do you know what they call such a building in Britain?”

“No… but you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

“It’s a mews,” Isaac said, stealing the answer from his brother.

“Well,” Jen teased, “you two are just a wealth of trivial information!”

“Yup,” Asa agreed. “It comes from having a storyteller for a father.”

Jen looped her arms through the arms of the two boys and, laughing, steered them into one of the many taverns that lined the wharf. They found a table out on the deck overlooking the bay, a perfect spot to watch the sun sink into the horizon. Isaac ordered a round of drinks and a large platter of steamers.

Asa was enjoying his alcohol-induced respite from the obsession that plagued his mind. He liked watching Jen