Purling Road - the Complete Second Season: Episodes 1-10 (16 page)

“There’s eleven dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

“Where did you get it?” he asked warily.

“I’ve earned it.”

“How?” He closed the tin, pushed it away, and watched her carefully.

“A most unlikely place.”

“I’m waiting,” he said though he didn’t appear to be patient about it.

“I should probably just start at the beginning.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose it all started with the girl’s night.”

She went on to tell him about the club, Arianna reincarnating to her former glory and bringing Maura in to help them in the end. He looked neither amused nor entertained at the recount of the evening, or the fact that she’d kept it all from him.

“It was a few days later that someone came to the door. Come to find out, she was the owner of the club. She’d seen me that night and came to offer me a job.”

“How did she find you?”

“I have no idea.”

“What job?” he asked warily.

“In the… area of entertainment.”

His face hardened. “You mean she offered you a position as a whore?”

“No,” she said quickly. “One of the women who runs around, glamming the place up, interacting with guests. There’s no prostitution involved. These women dress beautifully and make the rounds, making sure guests are having a good time.”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about, and the feminine decorations these places employ aren’t as innocent as that. Eventually, they end up in bed for the money and the house gets a cut.” He shoved a hand through his hair. Sometimes her naivety infuriated him. “And you’ve been doing this?” Suddenly, he didn’t look any less angry as when he thought she was cheating. Before she could answer, he barked, “Well, not anymore. This woman can find someone else to entertain her guests.”

“No, I haven’t been doing that,” Ava snapped.

“Then what have you been doing, if not that? Or worse.”

She stiffened at his insinuation; her anger rose up and matched his.

“Are you implying—”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped. “What is it then? Waiting tables? Parking cars? Cleaning up after hours?”

None of these suggestions helped improve her disposition.

She sat tall. “Singing.”

He stared, not comprehending.

“I can sing.”

“If you can, how did I not know that?” he asked, feeling as if reality was anything but.

“I’ve hidden it. I’ve always hidden it. I used to sing with my aunt. She had a beautiful voice. She helped me develop mine.”

“Ava, I’ve never heard you sing a note.”

“My cousins would make fun of me. I grew self-conscious, and I’d only sing when I was alone. It became a habit.”

“And then one day you just decided to jump onto the stage at this club?” he asked.

“No. The woman who owns the club, Jenny, when she came here, she heard me through the window. I was singing to Amy, trying to get her to sleep.”

“And she thought you were good enough to offer you a job?”

“She did,” Ava said, drawing herself tall.

He glanced at the tin and back up to her.

“Who else knows about this?”

“No one.”

The shock of this news as well as the extra money waned, and he fell into deep concern. “Even if you’re just singing, it’s not a safe place for you, especially alone.”

“It’s been fine,” she said. “Jenny has someone looking out for me all the time.”

He shook his head. “It’s an illegal speakeasy, Ava.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And they’re everywhere.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they’re busted like all the rest. It’s not like before where we’d go and drink and dance. There are bad things that congregate in those houses.”

“Jenny runs a decent place. Even Claire said she was picturing a broken down shack with two rickety tables and a few drunks passed out in the corner. It’s nothing like that. It’s not as nice as the places we used to go, but they’re trying.”

He looked as if he’d relent. Looked thoughtful and, thankfully, not as angry.

“I don’t like it,” he said, looking up at her. “It’s not safe.”

“Jonathan, we need this. I’ve made enough money in three nights to outfit the children with winter coats!”

He glanced at the tin again. “You have and that is appreciated. But I’ll not have you risking yourself to do it. Providing is my job.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me I can’t work anymore?” Her words were posed as a question with so much more laced in.

He was never one to order his wife to do or not do anything. It just wasn’t something that he was comfortable with—until now. In an effort to preserve what was left of the evening, he worded his sentence carefully, too.

“I’m telling you I’m worried about your safety, and I would be more comfortable if you stopped,” he said, positioning himself as he would in a business deal.

“I see,” she said, mimicking his posture. “And what if I told you I didn’t want to quit?”

“I would ask you to try to see things from my position.”

She smiled sweetly, reached across the table, and took his hand. “I see your position and hear your concerns,” she said. He relaxed in his chair. “But I’m not quitting.”

It was getting late. The sun was setting, and the children would need to be put to bed soon. It was only Sunday. He had all week to talk her out of going and was confident he could do so.

Right now, she was ready to fight for what she wanted, and he was too exhausted to meet the challenge. Stewing on the idea that your wife was having an affair took a lot out of a person. For now, he’d be grateful she wasn’t and then change the subject.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” he asked, almost in jest. “Might as well get it all out now.”

“Claire is pregnant, wants an abortion, and Aryl is fit to be tied,” she said almost casually. “I think that’s the last of what everyone’s been hiding.”

After absorbing the news about Claire, it all made sense. Aryl had worked harder and faster today than he’d ever seen. At first, Jonathan thought he just wanted to get the day over with. Now he understood the smoking, brooding, the anger fueling that shovel. He’d make a point to talk to him tomorrow on the boat, try to find segue in the conversation to get him to open up. Oh, he knew how. Ava working in a dangerous place behind his back. He’d share first and Aryl was sure to follow.

He sat back and put his hands on his head as thunder rumbled over the house.

“It’s turning out to be one hell of a summer.”

***

Arianna’s back and feet ached. She adjusted on the bench, ignoring the warm rain as it started to fall, and stared down the empty tracks.

“
Déjà vu
,” she whispered.

The small station was sparsely populated; more people would be getting off the train, heading home for the night rather than boarding it. She had thought of going to Maura’s, but she’d get a lecture laced with curse words, possibly even a few swats on the side of the head. That was expected. Maura would send her home to make amends. But she hadn’t seen the look in Caleb’s eyes.

More times than she could count, she’d made him angry. Done stupid, childish things in her wild days, and every single time, he forgave her. Even the night she’d drank so much, she didn’t remember bursting into the card room of whatever house they were partying at, and starting a strip tease… even then, he hadn’t been this angry. The next day, he was falling all over himself to take care of her.

The Caleb that stood in front of her this morning was a different man. His changing must have been gradual because she hadn’t noticed it. Of course, she hadn’t noticed much between Ethel’s fits, the children’s needs, and her newfound freedom.

She’d walked around town all day until her bag felt like an iron weight, contemplating what to do. She couldn’t go to Ava or Claire’s homes. Jonathan and Aryl would side with Caleb and never let her in. She thought she’d crumble if another door were slammed in her face. She could go to Ruth’s and almost did. But what would she do there? Sit in Ruth’s beautiful house and get fat eating pastries all day? She had no way to support herself. Planning a party would only buy so much charity.

She thought about going home after giving Caleb the day to cool off. Something in her gut told her that it would take much more than a single day.

She had just enough in her purse for a ticket, and when she thought of her babies, she couldn’t help but cry. She wouldn’t stay gone long, she promised herself. She’d write to Caleb. They’d work this out through letters, and she’d return home.

That was her hope, anyway.

The whistle blew loud as it rounded the final corner and came into view.

Episode Six

Purge

Arianna woke in the night to a child crying. She sat bolt upright, calling Savrene’s name. It took mere seconds for her to realize she wasn’t in her own bed and it wasn’t Savrene crying. It was Roan.

She was on Shannon and Patrick’s sofa. She caught her breath, looking around in the dark. It was stifling hot. She heard Shannon open her bedroom door and go into the children’s room to soothe him.

She fell back on her pillow, kicked off the sheet that was clinging to her legs, and draped an arm over her eyes.

She tried not to think. The empty silence made that all but impossible. It had been three days. She’d start a letter to Caleb when the sun came up, and by the time she went over it, worded it just right, and mailed it, it will have been a week. Surely, he would be over the worst of his anger by then, and if not, at least drowning in enough housework and childcare that he’d consider letting her come home for that reason alone.

After a late breakfast, she sat down with pen and paper while Shannon bustled around. Patrick had taken the children out to the park and for ice cream after. Shannon used this time to get caught up on things and get a moment’s peace. Both women were grateful for the quiet.

Arianna needed to word this just right if she had any hope of getting home soon. She had to appear sorry, but not groveling. She was never one to grovel. She wouldn’t be unnecessarily cold or overly loving. Caleb was practical. He’d appreciate that in a letter.

Dear Caleb,
No, it was too soon for Dear.

Caleb.
Too informal.

Husband who kicked my ass to the curb.
Definitely too honest.

She crumpled the paper, irritated, and started over.

Caleb,

I know I made you furiously angry. I wish you had given me the chance to explain.

She crumpled yet another paper, keeping the first line and continued.

I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know that seems to be all I’ve ever done. The night the kids were sick and you told me no more, I didn’t listen. I want to come home and take care of you and the children. I am safe, staying with Shannon and Patrick. I hope to hear from you soon.

-Ahna

Short, sweet and to the point. She held it out for Shannon to read. After drying her hands on a dishtowel, she sat down as she took it. Her eyes flew over the words and then up to Arianna.

“This is it?” she asked.

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I think it’s terrible,” Shannon said, tossing it aside. Arianna’s face fell, and she swiped it up defensively.

“What’s so terrible about it?”

“Have you never written an honest love letter, Arianna?”

“Well…” Arianna lifted a shoulder. “No, but I’ve had plenty written to me.”

“And did they sound anything like this business like, sterile excuse for a letter?”

Arianna’s eyes darted back to it. She read it again. “I said what I needed to say. It’s all true.”

Shannon shook her head.

“You didn’t even say you were sorry.”

Arianna fluttered her hands.

“Oh, I know you well enough, girl.
Details
, right? Your apology is cryptically written in between the lines, and it’s Caleb’s job to decipher it.”

“You know that I don’t—”

“Yes, I know,” Shannon said with a huff. “You’d rather die than apologize. Like I said, I know you.”

She thought for a moment, swinging one leg over the other, patting her forehead and temples with the cloth.

Dropping her hand in her lap, she looked at Arianna directly. “Do you love Caleb?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Lord, that sounds convincing.”

Arianna flustered, folded her arms. “Of course I do.”

“That,” she said, pointing at the letter, “is not what you’d write to the man you love. Especially, if you’re trying to go back home.”

Arianna glared. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Well, you could write ‘I love you.’” She grinned. “Just a suggestion. In all seriousness, apologize for the drinking. Tell him how sorry you are that you neglected the needs of your family. Say he can throw out every drop of booze, and you’ll never touch it again—if only he’ll let you come home.”

“
Let,
” Arianna whispered with irritation.

Shannon slammed her hand on the table and leaned forward. “Yes, let! For the love of God, Arianna, you’re going to have to swallow your pride if you want to go back to your children! Like it or not, he’s the one calling the shots in this situation. He threw you out, he has to
let
you back in.”

Arianna sulked, sliding down.

“You are so stubborn,” Shannon whispered. She rose and walked out. “Well, are you coming?” she called.

Arianna jumped up and followed.

“Where are you going?”

Shannon didn’t answer, but opened her bedroom window, pushing it up as far as it would go. Then she threw a leg out and disappeared. Arianna followed and the two women stood on a fenced metal grate overlooking the alley. Cramped buildings went as far as the eye could see. A few dogs barked, tied to posts.

“This is where I come when I’m nervous or scared,” Shannon said. She sat on an overturned bucket and reached for a small box under the window ledge. “I also come here to think, pray, smoke, and listen to Patrick’s fights on the radio.”

“An all-purpose fire escape.”

She pulled out a box of cigarettes, lit one, and then tossed it to Arianna.

“When did you start smoking?” Arianna asked.

“A few months ago. I was out here listening to the radio and so were the neighbors,” she pointed, cigarette between her fingers to the escape next door. “They had money on the fight, you see, and they were all worked up over it because it looked like Patrick would lose.” Her eyes and voice dropped. “It was a hard one. His hardest fight yet. They could see I was a basket of nerves and offered me one. It became habit, I guess. Smoking, worrying, and listening.” She took a drag, and then smiled. “Patrick hates it. But I rarely smoke when he’s around. Only when we fight.”

“It’s hard to picture you two fighting.”

She smiled, winked. “We’re both Irish through and through. It’s hard to picture us not.”

Arianna laughed.

“Mostly, it’s during the lonely weeks when he’s training, and then during a fight, I puff like a chimney.”

Arianna lit her cigarette and leaned her arms on the railing. The dingy alley was such a stark contrast to her white clapboard house, the large, green yard dotted with flowers. It didn’t smell as bad as the barn, but it was close.

“If you love Caleb, you need to stop with this matter o’ fact horseshit and say so, Arianna. Tell him you love him and you’ll stop drinking. You’ll do anything you can to get him back. I’ll even write him a letter telling him you haven’t had a single drop since you’ve been here. I haven’t even seen you wanting it.”

Arianna looked over her shoulder. She tried to smile and it showed more as a grimace. “It’s not that,” she said. “I’m not a drunk. I don’t struggle with it.”

“But…” Shannon stood and moved next to her. “You told me that he made you leave for the drinking.”

“It wasn’t for the drinking.” She dropped her eyes, flicking ashes onto the pavement below. “It was what I was doing while I was drinking.”

She told Shannon everything. In one long, non-stop—and rather animated—explanation, giving every detail from the girl’s night that set the whole thing off to wandering around Rockport with her bag in hand, trying to figure out what to do. By the time she’d finished, her cigarette had burned down to a stub.

Shannon dropped her head in her hand. “Jesus, Arianna.”

“I know. I’m awful,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you got here?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d let me stay.”

“Of course, I’d let you stay.”

Though Patrick wasn’t home, Arianna glanced over her shoulder anyway. “Your husband is good friends with my husband. You don’t think he’d take sides and draw a red line? That’s why I couldn’t go to Claire or Ava.”

“Patrick could draw lines until he created a Picasso. That wouldn’t stop me from taking you in.”

Arianna smiled.

“We’re really going to have to work on that letter,” Shannon said with an air of dread and Arianna’s smile dropped.

“If you want me to be honest, I don’t have a lot of hope.” She found Shannon’s bucket and sat down on it with a thump. “And if you want me to be really honest, if it weren’t for my children, I might not even bother.”

“You’ve fallen out of love then,” Shannon asked with an elbow on the rail.

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“If you were able to go back, would you be willing to stop? The club, the man, everything?”

“Yes.”

“Again, you overwhelm me with your sincerity.”

“I’m angry, Shannon.”

“And what right do you have to be angry?” she asked. Reaching down, she swiped up her little box and plucked another cigarette. “I’m waiting,” she said as she lit it.

“I guess I don’t have any right. But I am regardless.”

“You’re angry you got caught. You’re angry Caleb put his foot down and demanded more of you.”

Arianna nodded in agreement. “And I’m angry that my children are all I have to go back to.”

“A mother might think that was enough.”

“It is.” Arianna growled. “No,” she said, looking over. “What if it’s not, Shannon? What if just my children aren’t enough to make me completely happy? Why am I a terrible person for feeling like I need more than babble and baby farts?”

Shannon fought a smile. “I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s a place to start.”

“All I’ve ever done is disappoint Caleb. Caused trouble. He’s done with that now. If you’d seen the look in his eyes, you’d know it, too.”

Both women fell silent, listening to a heated exchange  down the alley. Someone spent too much money and another someone was angry about it. The first someone was even more angry because the second someone didn’t make enough to begin with.

“I don’t miss those,” Shannon said in a breath.

“Fights over money?”

She nodded. “We’re not ready to buy a mansion, but at least we’re not doing as bad as all that.”

Arianna let her head fall back, resting it on the building. “I was taking money from savings to fund my nights out. He worked so hard for every cent,” she said with shame. “But that never came up with everything else that was going on.”

Shannon tossed her cigarette over the railing. “All right, get in there and write a proper letter to your husband. I want to see sadness, regret, sorrow, and tears smudging every third word.” She pointed. “In you go.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Shannon.” Arianna looked drained, hopeless.

Shannon took her hand. “I’ll help you.”

***

Claire, Ava, and Maura sat around the table, silently reading submissions for Hettie Helps. It was a warm Thursday morning, and Claire had opened all the windows for a breeze. She’d told Maura nothing of her dilemma, nothing of the anger that oozed from Aryl every time he looked at her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk about it. She did. She desperately needed to. But Maura had lost a pregnancy she had wanted so much, and Claire was burdened with one she didn’t. Ava had listened a few times but had no real solutions to offer. Between Arianna’s sudden departure and Jonathan insisting she quit singing, she was as grumpy as Claire was. Today, it seemed misery made good company.

“Look fer ones that are bold,” Maura said. “Bordering scandalous. I’m afraid it will take something shocking to make up fer the drop in subscriptions.”

“How many has she lost?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know exactly, but enough to cause Muzzy to worry. The whole damn town thinks she’s a floozy.”

Maura had taken her job of giving advice in the paper’s column seriously. She’d come to feel a part of it and its survival important.

“What if we can’t find one?” Claire asked, tossing aside another letter on child rearing.

“Then we’ll make one up,” Maura said, handing her another. “I heard a rumor in town,” Maura said, as she sorted the submissions. A smile crept up. “That Muzzy and Peter are engaged.”

Claire clapped a hand over her mouth. Then she lowered it slowly. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s… Muzzy and he’s… Peter.”

Maura scoffed. “He has been staying there. They’ve had a chance to get to know one another. Who knows what might have blossomed during that time. Opposites do attract, they say.”

“I just can’t picture it,” Claire said, shaking her head. “Peter is the kind to go after the beautiful, dangerous type.”