Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [78]
Up until now, no one had moved. They might have been little specks of bathers on a postcard. But then Brindle screamed, “Stop him!” and all the women clambered to their feet. The lifeguard stood on his high wooden chair, with a whistle raised halfway to his mouth. Billy barreled past. Morgan hadn’t even heard him get up. Morgan threw his sombrero into Bonny’s lap and followed, but the lifeguard was faster than both of them. By the time Billy and Morgan hit the water, the lifeguard was in to waist level, heaving his orange torpedo at Robert. Robert brushed it away and plunged on.
A breaker crashed around Morgan’s knees, colder than he had expected. He hated the feeling of wet woolen socks. However, he kept going. What he had in mind was not so much rescuing Robert as defeating him. No, Robert would never get away with this; he couldn’t escape so easily; it must not be allowed. Morgan swarmed in the water, his limbs wandering off in several directions. A surprised-looking woman lifted both flaps of her bathing cap and stared. The lifeguard took a stranglehold on Robert from behind, and Robert (who so far had not even got his hair wet) flailed and fell backward. He was engulfed by a wave and came up coughing, still in the lifeguard’s grasp. The lifeguard hauled him in. Morgan followed with his arms out level, his head lunging forward intently. The lifeguard dragged Robert up on the sand and dumped him there, like a bundle of wet laundry. He prodded Robert with one long, bronzed foot. “Oh, me,” Morgan said wearily, and he sat down beside Robert and looked at his ruined shoes. Billy sank next to him, out of breath. Robert went on coughing and shrugging off the people who crowded around. “Stand back, stand back,” the lifeguard said. He asked Morgan, “What was he, drunk?”
“I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” Morgan said.
“Well, I got to make a report on this.”
“Really, that won’t be necessary,” Morgan said, rising. “I’m from the Bureau.”
“The what?”
“Parks and Safety,” Morgan said. “What’s your name, son? Of course I plan to mention this to the board.”
“Well, Hendrix,” the lifeguard said. “Danny Hendrix, with an x.”
“Good work, Hendrix,” Morgan said. He briskly shook the lifeguard’s hand. The lifeguard stood around a minute, scratching his head, and then he went down to the water to watch his orange torpedo float out to sea.
They propped Robert up and draped him across their shoulders—one arm circling Morgan’s neck, one arm circling Billy’s. Robert seemed uninjured, but he was heavy and lethargic and his shoes dragged behind him. “Come on, fellow,” Billy said cheerfully. He looked pleased; perhaps he was reminded of his fraternity days, which he’d once told Morgan were the happiest of his life. Morgan himself stayed silent. He wished he had a cigarette.
They hauled Robert past the blanket, where the women were packing their belongings. Brindle was smoothing out towels and folding them. She would not look at Robert. Morgan felt proud of her. Let Robert see whom he was dealing with here! Let him see how they could handle it—all of them together. For this was no mere marital quarrel, no romantic tiff. No, plainly what had happened was a comment upon their whole family—on the disarray of their family life. Robert had been standing right beside this blanket, had he not, listening to Louisa forget where she was in time, Morgan arguing with her, all the others grouping into battle squads … and then he’d made his break, escaped. The scoundrel. He’d insulted every one of them, each and every one. Morgan felt a flash of anger. Pretending to be concerned about Hendrix, he stopped without warning and ducked away from Robert’s arm and turned toward the ocean. Robert tilted and nearly fell. Morgan shaded his eyes. Hendrix was sending signals to the lifeguard on the next beach. Morgan could not read signal flags, but he could easily imagine the conversation that was taking place, WHAT WAS PROBLEM, the neighbor would ask, and Hendrix would answer, MIXUP CHAOS MUDDLE …
Kate was watching too. (No doubt she