Ned Barton (F)

Ned Barton closed his eyes and touched his forehead just above his eyebrows with his fingertips. Gingerly he massaged the skin, and then he applied a bit more pressure. Damn sinuses. He lifted his head and looked out over the dunes and the beach to where the sun had yet to crack the shimmering line between sea and sky. 

The first taste of coffee was strong and each sip seemed part of a ritual that was necessary to the success of the day. Just as the second mug would both seal and sanctify the promise that he made daily to live in the moment, to dismiss the apprehensions that clouded his mind with no apparent anchor in reality other than misgivings that spun from a vague helplessness. Promises made, promises unfulfilled.

Other than a few fisherman trying the surf that broke on a sandbar now parallel to the shore, the beach was empty and the neighborhood was quiet. Or so Ned would hope. When he leaned forward and rested his arms on the deck rail, he could forget the house he lived in, and he forgot his neighbors to both sides, as he forgot the houses that stretched behind him, street after street to the waterway. In that way, further and further in his mind, beyond the city, the land, the very world dissolved.

Since the accident—could it really be nearly seven months now—Ned knew two things with a very particular sense of certitude. Of course, and the life of that child was not necessary for this lesson, there is never a turning back, not to a year, not to a month, not to a day. Not an hour. Not a second. All the momentum of the world, the entire universe it seemed, was all forward. 

The slow pace, yet a hurtling, ever forward. No undoing a moment, as Ned both felt deep inside in the place where sorrow may never be unwound and knew, knew in his head as surely as all the words of wiser heads than his insisted in the books now in stacks on tables and chairs and on the stairs between the first and second floors.

No, a child’s life could not be necessary for so obvious a lesson.

The second lesson, Ned clung to as if the only piece of driftwood that might keep him alive in the great ocean. Any decision, any action, a sidelong glance, a retracing of steps, always, every moment, and there would repercussions. Unintended consequences. Intentionality, good or bad, be damned. Just a flickering of indecision. A hesitation. A second round of coffee, and a change in routine. Five minutes—five seconds—later than usual to drive down to pick up the Sunday edition.

The sun opened a seam of orange light, and Ned heard the door behind him. 

“Sleep much?” Ellen dragged a chair away from the patio table. 

“Enough.” He turned and managed a half-smile in her direction.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night.” 

“No, that’s okay. It was nice to have someone to hold onto for a bit. Really. Thanks.”

“Need more coffee?”

“No, I have had enough. One pot is enough for me.”

“Should I start breakfast?”

He looked out at the water. “Ellen, you don’t need to take care of me. I’m fine.”

“Need? I want to. I know the difference between want and need.”

He didn’t say anything. He heard her set her cup down on the metal table.  

“I’m going to scramble some eggs. I’ll make enough for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have you thought any more about the semester at Clemson?”

“Nope.”

“You ought to.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Going to be hot today.”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this again.”

“Hotter than hell today.”

“Ned. Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say.”

She circled behind him and leaning forward wrapped her arms around his shoulders and set her chin on top of his head. He did not speak, but she could feel his sigh. She waited, and then they both turned their heads toward the channel at the deep grumble of a trawler headed out.

“It’s every day. Nearly every hour, really. Not every minute, like it was.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Nothing can be done—nothing to do about it.”

She held him a little tighter. “Oh, Ned. Sooner or later, you know? You should take that teaching position. You need a change of scene.” She let go of him. “I need to go back to the city tonight.”

“That’s okay. I’m fine. I am going to fish a little when the tide turns.”

“Maybe we could take the boat out next weekend? Go down to Bohicket.”

“Maybe.” Ned stood and turned to her. “I can fry up some ham. I have muffins, too.”

“You know I love you.”

“I know.”

“A lot of people love you.”

“Yes. I know.” He glanced back one more time at the water. “Blueberry.”

Ellen turned around. “What?”

“The muffins, they’re blueberry.  I think.”  He closed the door between them and headed to the kitchen.  Ladson 2013