Read Online Generation Loss by Elizabeth Hand - Free Book Online Page A

chair across from me and sat. "You're from away, aren't
you? Not me." Toby cocked a thumb at his friend. "Not him,
either."
    I
finished my beer. "What about Everett Moss?"
    "No.
Not Everett," conceded Toby. "Everett was squoze from a rock."
    "You
know her?" His friend pointed to my bag beneath the table. "Aphrodite
Kamestos?"
    "Yeah.
Sure I do."
    He
stared at me coolly then smiled, his teeth white and uneven. "You're
lying."
    I
set one booted foot atop my bag. He finished his wine, set down the empty
glass, and pushed the full one toward me.
    "I'm
outta here," he said. "You can drink that, if you want. In case all
that Jack Daniel's isn't doing the job for you."
    I
said nothing. He turned and walked away. I watched him hand a few bills to the
bartender then head for the door. He had an odd loping pace, his head thrust
forward and staring downward, hands shoved into his pockets.
    At
the door he turned and stared at me. He smiled again, his mouth moving
silently, but I could read what he said.
    Liar.
    A blast of cold air rushed into the
room as he disappeared outside.
    "The
fuck," I said.
    "I
beg your pardon?" said Toby Barrett.
    "Nothing."
I desperately wanted to leave, but I didn't want to run into that guy again.
Whoever the hell he was.
    "Gryffin,"
said Toby. "With a Y. Don't mind him. He's always like that."
    "Like
what? Fucking rude? And who the hell names their kid Gryffin?"
    "It's
a respectable old hippie name. He's not rude, really—"
    "Oh
yeah? He just picked up my book and—"
    "Well,
he didn't hurt it now, did he?" Toby's voice was low and calming. I
imagined he'd be good with fractious children or dogs. "That's just what
he does. He's a rare book dealer. What about you? You a friend of
Aphrodite?"
    "Not
a friend, exactly. I'm seeing her on business. Assuming I ever do see
her."
    He
looked surprised, then said, "Well, okay. We'll get you out to the island.
Don't worry." He finished his beer. "What's your name?"
    "Cass
Neary."
    "Right.
Well, Cass Neary, I'm off too. Got to get up at the crack of dawn. Nice meeting
you."
    He
nodded and left.
    I
paid my bill then went back outside. Three beers and two shots of whiskey did a
lot to neutralize the cold. Gryffin was nowhere in sight. I walked down to the
granite pier and looked out across the harbor. I could near the creak of boats
rocking, the thin rustle of wind in the evergreens. The northern sky arched
overhead, moon so bright I could read the names of the lobster boats: Ellie
Day, Aranbega II, Miss Behave.
    Somewhere
out there was Paswegas; somewhere beyond that a hundred other islands unknown
to me, unnamed. I heard a low thrum, turned to see the running lights of a
small boat cruising slowly along the shoreline. A green light on one side, red
on the other, like mismatched eyes.
    Our
gaze changes all that it jails upon.
    I
stood and watched it move through the darkness. Did people here fish at night?
Did they ride around in their boats for fun, looking for frozen lobsters?
    My
eyes teared, from cold and strain. I rubbed them and looked out again.
    The
running lights were gone, the outboard's thrum silent. Nothing else had
changed.
    I
drove back to the Lighthouse. I went slowly; Id had a lot to drink, and the
road wound perilously between woods and steep hills where the shoulder fell off
into sheer rock that slanted down toward the sea. Then it was woods again. Even
driving slowly, the car seemed to lunge through the forest. Trees momentarily
shrank from its passage then loomed back into place. I gazed into the rearview
mirror, entranced. It was a spooky effect but also hypnotic. I looked back at
the road in front of me again.
    A
black form stood in the middle of the tarmac. I swerved to avoid hitting it,
swerved again so I wouldn't plow into the trees.
    A
deer, I thought, my heart pounding,
and brought the car to a crawl. But it wasn't a deer.
    It
was Mackenzie Libby. She had been walking toward Burnt Harbor, but now she
turned to stare at my car, her baggy pants