Read Online Marine Park: Stories by Mark Chiusano - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Chiusano
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old. A block away they walked past the PTSD firemen outside the Mariners Inn. For a long time theyâd been doing just the same thing. They found ways to get a weekâs vacation. Timothy wouldnât let her drive until they were well into Maryland. They didnât talk on car rides anymore, like they had when they first started dating, five years beforeâeven when they couldnât find a radio station. For a while Courtney talked to her parents on her cell phone. Timothy felt that he knew them almost as well as he knew his own. He hadnât stopped for a bathroom break until D.C.
The two of them looked out at the bay, where there was one red light blinking: a lighthouse. Timothy, rebuffed in his advances, settled for leaning backward on the railing so he could look half at her and half at the old hotel.
Itâs creepy out here, he said.
I donât think it is, she said. She had picked the place after hearing her coworker talk about it in a hushed voice on her office phone. More than romantic, the coworker had whispered. Southern. Timothy was convinced when she promised him there would be opportunities to swim, his largest indicator of a vacation.
Well, it is, he said, brushing a no-see-um off his chest. Thereâs no people around. Itâs like thereâs a curfew or something.
It seemed to Timothy that this bothered Courtney.
Why would there be a curfew? she said.
I donât know, maybe it was in the fine print somewhere, he said. Half off the hotel reservations and free dinners as long as youâre in by ten.
But that doesnât even make sense, she said.
Maybe itâs because of those wolves we just saw.
They were deer, Tim!
Maybe these are bloodsucking deer.
Courtney angled her body into Timothy. Bloodsucking deer! she fake squealed.
You never know in these places, he said. You just canât tell.
They watched the lighthouse blink red and dark for a while. Timothy stroked Courtneyâs shoulder. She didnât pull away.
Maybe the vampire deer are owned by the hotel, Courtney said, her breath in his ear. Maybe itâs all a setup.
I bet the valets are in on the whole thing, Timothy whispered. Thatâs why they keep hopping into those go-cartsâto let the deer out from their cages.
Courtney giggled. Timothy pressed on. By day, he said in his movie-announcer voice, they feed them the carcasses of dead guests, and once it gets dark, they go loose.
Courtney turned in toward Timothy and held each of his jacket lapels in her hands. She pushed her forehead into his chest. Save me, Tim, save me! she shouted.
He felt something triumphant. There was a heaviness in his throat. Maybe this trip would make him better at this. He was running out of ideas. He said, Thatâs my job.
He knew it was the wrong thing to say once her forehead stopped kneading his chest.
What the hellâs that supposed to mean? she said.
From the bloodsucking deer, he added.
She let go of his neck. For a while they leaned against the railing next to each other. Timothy waited for something to happen.
Arenât you going to say something? Courtney said.
I donât really know what the problem is, Timothy said. Courtney started walking back to the hotel.
Jesus, Courtney, he said.
I want to go home, she said.
Courtney, come on, he said again. She didnât answer.
She walked the long slow curved lamp-lit path toward the hotel porch. There were plants hanging off the rafters, green overgrown ones, their pots sprinkled with dried-out petals and swaying in the dead air. She ignored the valet who tipped his cap at her and said, Evening maâam. She planted herself on one of the white rocking chairs and sat in it, motionless, her face in her hands.
When eventually she spread her fingers apart and looked through them, to see what the night looked like, the valet was leaning against the railing with his back to her. His khaki shorts, she noticed, had the symbol of the hotel
The two of them looked out at the bay, where there was one red light blinking: a lighthouse. Timothy, rebuffed in his advances, settled for leaning backward on the railing so he could look half at her and half at the old hotel.
Itâs creepy out here, he said.
I donât think it is, she said. She had picked the place after hearing her coworker talk about it in a hushed voice on her office phone. More than romantic, the coworker had whispered. Southern. Timothy was convinced when she promised him there would be opportunities to swim, his largest indicator of a vacation.
Well, it is, he said, brushing a no-see-um off his chest. Thereâs no people around. Itâs like thereâs a curfew or something.
It seemed to Timothy that this bothered Courtney.
Why would there be a curfew? she said.
I donât know, maybe it was in the fine print somewhere, he said. Half off the hotel reservations and free dinners as long as youâre in by ten.
But that doesnât even make sense, she said.
Maybe itâs because of those wolves we just saw.
They were deer, Tim!
Maybe these are bloodsucking deer.
Courtney angled her body into Timothy. Bloodsucking deer! she fake squealed.
You never know in these places, he said. You just canât tell.
They watched the lighthouse blink red and dark for a while. Timothy stroked Courtneyâs shoulder. She didnât pull away.
Maybe the vampire deer are owned by the hotel, Courtney said, her breath in his ear. Maybe itâs all a setup.
I bet the valets are in on the whole thing, Timothy whispered. Thatâs why they keep hopping into those go-cartsâto let the deer out from their cages.
Courtney giggled. Timothy pressed on. By day, he said in his movie-announcer voice, they feed them the carcasses of dead guests, and once it gets dark, they go loose.
Courtney turned in toward Timothy and held each of his jacket lapels in her hands. She pushed her forehead into his chest. Save me, Tim, save me! she shouted.
He felt something triumphant. There was a heaviness in his throat. Maybe this trip would make him better at this. He was running out of ideas. He said, Thatâs my job.
He knew it was the wrong thing to say once her forehead stopped kneading his chest.
What the hellâs that supposed to mean? she said.
From the bloodsucking deer, he added.
She let go of his neck. For a while they leaned against the railing next to each other. Timothy waited for something to happen.
Arenât you going to say something? Courtney said.
I donât really know what the problem is, Timothy said. Courtney started walking back to the hotel.
Jesus, Courtney, he said.
I want to go home, she said.
Courtney, come on, he said again. She didnât answer.
She walked the long slow curved lamp-lit path toward the hotel porch. There were plants hanging off the rafters, green overgrown ones, their pots sprinkled with dried-out petals and swaying in the dead air. She ignored the valet who tipped his cap at her and said, Evening maâam. She planted herself on one of the white rocking chairs and sat in it, motionless, her face in her hands.
When eventually she spread her fingers apart and looked through them, to see what the night looked like, the valet was leaning against the railing with his back to her. His khaki shorts, she noticed, had the symbol of the hotel
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