Read Online Galveston by Paul Quarrington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Quarrington
Tags: Contemporary
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truth made her skin go clammy.
A strong undertow
meant:
There is a monster in the water and it wants to steal your child.
She went to the library the next afternoon, in order to research undertows. The public library was staffed by three elderly ladies, and as soon as Beverly mentioned the subject of
undertows
, they began a litany of horror stories, an eerie chant of warning. But the library’s card catalogue didn’t turn up any actual books on the subject.
Seeking credible information, Beverly made a phone call to her high school science teacher, Mr. Hardy. She used her married name when she said hello, so Mr. Hardy did not remember her at first. When she said her maiden name, Mr. Hardy went silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Yes, Beverly?” very pleasantly.
Beverly used to make Mr. Hardy uncomfortable, but she had hoped he’d got over it in ten-plus years. She made him uncomfortable on a lot of different accounts. For one thing, he’d been friends with her mother, had grown up on the same street, attended the same schools. So Mr. Hardy was not only aware of what had happened to Beverly’s mother—everyone in town was
aware
—but he could count it as a personal loss. Mr. Hardy also felt uncomfortable because, in chemistry class, he would often come and stand over Beverly as she worked at the microscope. He would ask how she was coming along and spydown her shirt front. He gave Beverly very high marks, but it all made him very uncomfortable, and apparently still did, because he repeated:
“Yes, Beverly?”
“Do you know anything about undertows?”
“Excuse me?”
“Undertows.” Beverly spoke with as much precision as she could muster.
“Beverly, I’m not really following you.”
Beverly explained that she had arranged a holiday for her daughter but was now very frightened by the idea of undertows.
“Uh-huh. But what can I do for you?”
Beverly claimed she didn’t know and rang off, but she was angry, because she
did
know. Mr. Hard-on was a science teacher, after all. He could tell her whether or not science could battle such things, whether or not knowledge could vanquish the undertow. She read his reaction as negative, so if knowledge was not the ticket, preparation was.
When they went to Coronation Park on a hot summer’s day, Margaret would paddle about in the water like any small child. She could even swim, after a fashion, although it was very idiosyncratic; she would keep her arms at her side and propel herself forward by kicking. When she needed air, she would wave her hands briefly in front of her, making her head bob up. It was strangely graceful, Margaret’s swimming, and reminded Beverly of some aquatic animal. An otter, perhaps, especially since Margaret wore a bathing cap to contain her long golden hair, and her head looked bald and sleek. But the undertow was waiting for little girls who’d learned to swim intame Canadian bays and inlets. So Beverly got on the telephone and started inquiring about swimming lessons.
Beverly looked up. Everyone in the dining room was staring at her, and she wondered if she’d made a sound. Maybe she’d let down her guard and a moan had escaped her. Beverly suspected this was the case, because when she met their eyes, they looked away. Gail and Sorvig returned their attention to their desserts, Maywell Hope withdrew into the bar proper, Polly went over to a little table and dealt with a coffee urn, and Jimmy Newton concentrated on pouring the dregs of his Coke can into a glass.
The phys. ed. teacher, though, had finally removed his sunglasses and was staring at her. His eyes were blue, blue as a cloudless sky. The colour reminded Beverly of a scientific fact, one of a handful she’d managed to retain: even if the sky is empty, clear all the way to heaven, there is still potential rain there, enough for a deluge.
J AIME AND A NDY GOT HOME a few minutes after Caldwell had hung up. He hadn’t moved off the white stool beside the
A strong undertow
meant:
There is a monster in the water and it wants to steal your child.
She went to the library the next afternoon, in order to research undertows. The public library was staffed by three elderly ladies, and as soon as Beverly mentioned the subject of
undertows
, they began a litany of horror stories, an eerie chant of warning. But the library’s card catalogue didn’t turn up any actual books on the subject.
Seeking credible information, Beverly made a phone call to her high school science teacher, Mr. Hardy. She used her married name when she said hello, so Mr. Hardy did not remember her at first. When she said her maiden name, Mr. Hardy went silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Yes, Beverly?” very pleasantly.
Beverly used to make Mr. Hardy uncomfortable, but she had hoped he’d got over it in ten-plus years. She made him uncomfortable on a lot of different accounts. For one thing, he’d been friends with her mother, had grown up on the same street, attended the same schools. So Mr. Hardy was not only aware of what had happened to Beverly’s mother—everyone in town was
aware
—but he could count it as a personal loss. Mr. Hardy also felt uncomfortable because, in chemistry class, he would often come and stand over Beverly as she worked at the microscope. He would ask how she was coming along and spydown her shirt front. He gave Beverly very high marks, but it all made him very uncomfortable, and apparently still did, because he repeated:
“Yes, Beverly?”
“Do you know anything about undertows?”
“Excuse me?”
“Undertows.” Beverly spoke with as much precision as she could muster.
“Beverly, I’m not really following you.”
Beverly explained that she had arranged a holiday for her daughter but was now very frightened by the idea of undertows.
“Uh-huh. But what can I do for you?”
Beverly claimed she didn’t know and rang off, but she was angry, because she
did
know. Mr. Hard-on was a science teacher, after all. He could tell her whether or not science could battle such things, whether or not knowledge could vanquish the undertow. She read his reaction as negative, so if knowledge was not the ticket, preparation was.
When they went to Coronation Park on a hot summer’s day, Margaret would paddle about in the water like any small child. She could even swim, after a fashion, although it was very idiosyncratic; she would keep her arms at her side and propel herself forward by kicking. When she needed air, she would wave her hands briefly in front of her, making her head bob up. It was strangely graceful, Margaret’s swimming, and reminded Beverly of some aquatic animal. An otter, perhaps, especially since Margaret wore a bathing cap to contain her long golden hair, and her head looked bald and sleek. But the undertow was waiting for little girls who’d learned to swim intame Canadian bays and inlets. So Beverly got on the telephone and started inquiring about swimming lessons.
Beverly looked up. Everyone in the dining room was staring at her, and she wondered if she’d made a sound. Maybe she’d let down her guard and a moan had escaped her. Beverly suspected this was the case, because when she met their eyes, they looked away. Gail and Sorvig returned their attention to their desserts, Maywell Hope withdrew into the bar proper, Polly went over to a little table and dealt with a coffee urn, and Jimmy Newton concentrated on pouring the dregs of his Coke can into a glass.
The phys. ed. teacher, though, had finally removed his sunglasses and was staring at her. His eyes were blue, blue as a cloudless sky. The colour reminded Beverly of a scientific fact, one of a handful she’d managed to retain: even if the sky is empty, clear all the way to heaven, there is still potential rain there, enough for a deluge.
J AIME AND A NDY GOT HOME a few minutes after Caldwell had hung up. He hadn’t moved off the white stool beside the
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