He looked away. “I could have said something to you before now.” He glanced up at her, bewilderment on his features. “I’m not sure why I didn’t.”
She stood up, wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I’m a little cold. We should go back now, shouldn’t we?”
Fiske hauled up the anchor while Sara cast off, and then he fired up the motor and they headed back to the dock, each unable to look at the other, for fear of what might happen, of what their bodies might do, despite the words they had just spoken.
On the shore, the owner of the glowing cigarette had departed just as Sara had drawn close to Fiske.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
* * *
Fiske and Sara docked the boat, walked in silence to the golf cart and climbed in. The footsteps made Fiske look around. “Pop? What are you doing here?”
His father didn’t answer but kept coming toward them. Fiske walked to him, his arms outstretched. “Pop, you okay?”
A puzzled Sara watched from the golf cart.
The men were about a foot apart when the elder Fiske lunged forward and punched his son in the jaw.
“You bastard,” Ed shouted.
Fiske fell back from the blow, as Ed pounced on his son and hammered away with both fists.
Fiske pushed himself away from his father and staggered backward, blood coming from his mouth and nose. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed.
Sara was halfway out of the cart, but she froze when Ed pointed at her.
“Get that slut and your ass out of here! Get the hell out of here, you hear me?”
“Pop, what are you talking about?”
Enraged, Ed rushed his son again. This time Fiske sidestepped the charge, wrapping his arms around his father and holding tight as the older man spun wildly, trying with all his might to hit him again.
“I saw you, damn you both. Half naked, kissing, while your brother lies dead on some slab. Your brother!” He screamed the words so loudly his voice broke.
Fiske’s voice cracked as he realized what his father had seen. Or thought he had seen. “Pop, nothing happened.”
“You bastard.” He tried to pull his son’s hair, clothing, anything to get at him again. “You heartless sonofabitch,” he kept screaming, his face brick red, his breathing becoming more and more labored, his movements sluggish.
“Stop it, Pop, stop it. You’re gonna have a coronary.”
The two men struggled fiercely as they slipped, pitched and swung around in the loose dirt and gravel.
“My own son doing that. I don’t have a son. Both my sons are dead. Both my sons are dead.” Ed spat out these words in a crescendo of fury.
Fiske let his father go, and the old man spun around and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. He tried to rise, but then slumped back down, his T-shirt stained with the sweat of his efforts, the merged smells of alcohol and tobacco enveloping him. Fiske stood over him, chest heaving, his blood mixed with salty tears.
A horrified Sara stepped out of the cart, knelt down next to Ed and put a hand gently on his shoulder. She didn’t know what to say.
Ed swung his arms around blindly and struck Sara on the thigh.
She gasped in pain.
“Get the hell out of here. Both of you. Now!” Ed screamed.
Fiske gripped Sara’s arm and pulled her up. “Let’s go, Sara.” He looked at his father. “Dad, take the cart back.” As they entered the forest, Fiske and Sara could still hear the screams of the old man.
Her leg aching, her tears half blinding her, Sara said, “Oh, my God, John, this is all my fault.”
Fiske didn’t answer. His insides were on fire. The pain had never been this bad, and he was scared. The dispassionate warnings of scores of doctors engulfed him. He kept walking faster and faster, until Sara had to half trot to keep up.
“John, John, please say something.”
She reached over to wipe some blood from his chin, but he quickly pushed her hand away. Then, without warning, he started to run.
“John!” Sara started to run too, but she had never seen anyone accelerate as Fiske had. “John,” she screamed, “please come back. Stop! Please!”