The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

XX

'The world gets more and more like science fiction every year.' Tully tilted his chair back. 'It's weird. Some nights I lie there in a sweat just thinking about it.'

Ignoring him, Steve strained to discern the newscaster's words above the electronic buzz of the television set. Around the bar, a dozen patrons squinted up at the weather report.

'Three inches, they said,' Stacey reported, setting down the plates.

'What?'

'Snow. Didn't ya hear?'

'You're kidding?' Steve flinched. Around him, the patrons buzzed in outrage.

'Did you hear what he said about the hurricane?' asked the younger man.

'What?'

'And snow tonight maybe,' Tully continued while gazing into his empty glass. 'Doubt it though. Too cold. My father used to say that. Too cold for snow. But there's a bad storm heading up the coast, not a hurricane exactly but...'

'Unusual time of year for something like that, isn't it?' Steve coughed. 'I thought...I thought...'

'Never,' a man at the bar called over. 'Never happen.' The tavern had suddenly grown raucous. 'Never after the first snow.'

'It's like the seasons are so weird anymore.' Tully shook his head. 'Like somebody shuffled the calendar pages or something. I never took a science course I didn't get an 'Incomplete' in, but storms have something to do with a mass of cold air meeting a warm front and...'

'Warm front where?' demanded a guy at the next table. 'What warm front? It's frigging freezing.'

'He must mean Stacey. Hey, did you hear me? He said warm front and...'

'Oh you,' the old lady with the eye patch giggled. 'You're terrible.' She turned to someone else. 'Did you hear what John said?'

The woman with the operatic makeup still sat rigidly at the bar, her hairdo--the color of a wasp carapace-- unveiled for the evening. 'Ever since they put a man on the moon,' she enunciated carefully. 'The weather ain't been right.' She pursed her lips and nodded with an air of profundity, her necklace glittering. 'I'm telling you.'

Steve looked around the bar. He'd never imagined these people so animated.

'It'll miss us probably,' Tully continued. 'Usually does. Though we had to evacuate a couple times when I was a kid.'

Above their heads, a view of the Edgeharbor bay flashed on the screen, followed by a glimpse of the newscaster. Milling policemen flickered, succeeded in turn by an aerial view of Atlantic City. Although no one in the bar appeared to be watching, conversation drifted to the killing, and Steve sat up straighter. For whatever reason-- news of the approaching storm or simply because he'd sat here so long this evening--the patrons had finally begun to relax and forget his presence.

'And this body in the damn bay. What do you think that's gonna do to us?'

'People won't remember that come summertime.'

'The hell they won't. You wait and see how many cancellations we get by Memorial Day, every damn one of us.'

It quickly passed, and soon they appeared to talk slower and to say less, until only a companionable silence remained, broken by occasional, fragmentary comments, emphasized by aimless nods or vague gestures. Only Tully kept talking, and as the flurry of his words drifted around him, Steve shook his head wearily, his thoughts growing muddled. '...been outside of everything...so long...' He tried to phrase an appropriate response to whatever Tully was saying but stumbled on his own strange words. '...just looking in I...' He tried again, then gave up and only savored the warmth of the room. Beyond the door, he knew, icy winds savaged the streets. He blinked at the glass bricks: they flickered with pink neon, and for a moment, it appeared that a swarm of insects had been drawn to the light. 'Snowing,' he announced. He couldn't remember their leaving the table or going to stand in the doorway, but the snowflakes swirled in glorious profusion, filling the night while they gawked and laughed like children.

'What are youse, crazy?'

'Would you close that goddamn door already? Freezing in here.'

The younger man wrapped a red mohair scarf several times around his head, and Steve turned back to the doorway through which patrons glowered in unanimous umbrage. 'Come on now, guys,' the barmaid called. 'Close the door already.' Disgusted patience crackled through the cigarette husk of her voice.

He took a few steps, and it made him sadder to realize that, no matter how carefully he struggled to maintain his balance, he still wobbled. So he was back to this--he could feel the alcohol beading through his flesh, simmering in his brain, dissolving the jagged edges of his thoughts. The door hissed shut on the television drone, snuffing the throb, and snow swirled. Through the flurry, he glimpsed Tully's raw face, cigarette smoke unwreathing in the air with his words. Then he swayed alone, realizing that Tully must have said 'good night,' and he minded suddenly, because it seemed he'd meant to say something important (though he couldn't recall precisely what) and there might not be time later.

Snow fell with a sudden hush.

The door fought him, and he staggered back into the damp-smelling tavern. As he groped to the table, the tobacco stench closed on his throat. Looking at no one, he struggled into his coat--gave up on the zipper--and threw down some money, having no idea how much, before stumbling back out to the welcoming snow.

Naked trees glistened with ice, and white patches already gathered in the crooks of twisted limbs. Where was the car? He'd scarcely gone a block before the cold settled on him and the pleasant dizziness jelled into a damp blockage in his head. He'd thought it was right here. What was he doing on this street? His neck ached from keeping his shoulders hunched, and he realized he'd walked in the wrong direction. 'Great,' he muttered. As he started back, the sweat that slicked his chest made the wind feel even more cutting.

It flurried thickly now, and he could barely see to the end of the block. The sidewalk turned velvety, and the chill razored his forehead. Frozen branches rattled like wind chimes, and he drew his breath carefully, nurturing the ache in his chest.

A monster shuffled in the night. He blinked. A black hedge writhed in syncopation with his inebriated pulse, and skeletal branches crosshatched a sky through which demons hurtled. Just ahead in the blur, something made a chopping movement. His shoulders clenched, squeezing pain through his back, but he forced himself to walk steadily. An elderly man alternately swept and shoveled in front of one of the cottages, sculpting a narrow slice on the walkway despite the swirling flakes that filled in another faint layer while he worked. Steve nodded curtly as he passed, and the shovel rang out, grating against the sidewalk. Near the corner, he glanced back, already scarcely able to see the man. It seemed so earnestly futile an endeavor. Was the old guy so desperate for something to do? Did nothing wait for him within that cottage? He hurried on, suddenly feeling a wave of sympathy. Were they so different? After all, what waited for him? Another stakeout in a freezing car? Around him, snow already banked softly on doorsteps and windowsills.

Turning up his collar, he walked faster, nearly lost his footing, unable to tell whether it was ice or rock salt that crunched underfoot. Silence drifted down, and the swift, simple patterns of the snow began to tangle.

A wail reverberated. The wind battered at the noise, swirling it into ripples of sound along the boardwalk. Sometimes it gusted out over the sea. Sometimes it seemed to contract itself into a dense mass that rolled along the boards. Rapid dots of white glittered through the headlights, steadily increasing as she guided the jeep up the ramp. The screaming alarm faded erratically. At the end of a cluster of shops, she pulled over next to a novelty store. Leaving the headlights on, the keys in the ignition, she got out, and snowflakes stung her cheeks.

The boards felt slick underfoot as she strode to the side door of the stall. Snow settled on her collar while she examined the padlock by the headlight's glare. Probably nothing. The lock seemed intact. Flakes whipped across her face. These old alarms are always going on the fritz. She headed around the front of the shop, straight into the wind.

Snow flooded around her, streaming almost horizontally, and sand rippled across the boards at her feet, advancing on low currents of air. Great. All of a sudden, it's a blizzard. Melting flakes struck her hands and clung sharply to her face. Bracing herself, she swung around the corner.

Shadows surged. Already, the snowfall had transformed the tawdry stalls, conveying a sudden glamour.