Tempest Rising - Diane Mckinney-whetstone [10]
And now it hit him as he sat in his cook’s studio sipping coffee and making small talk with the daybreak about his years at sea and how he’d envy the lone fishermen as they’d cast their nets, working for no one but themselves. Crabbing. He could rent his second cousin’s boat and go crabbing. He’d secure a hall for himself this time, call it a crab feast. He’d steam them, mash them, and fry them in batter and oil, bake them, barbecue them, toss them in salads. He’d take out an ad in the Tribune; he’d leave flyers at churches; he’d make it a monthly thing, maybe weekly if it really took off. He got excited the more he imagined the potential for success. He wouldn’t say anything to anybody right now, not even Clarise, especially with the seesaw her moods seemed to be riding on lately. He’d surprise her with the prospect when he was certain of its success; his lungs expanded at the thought of her face going wild with excitement, looking even more exotic when he presented her with his idea, wrapped up in good thorough planning like a diamond in a velvet pouch. Crabbing. He’d go out at least once and see the potential for the catch. Maybe even Tuesday he’d go. He’d watch Clarise’s hair for signs of the weather; then he’d pack his hip boots and head for the Maryland shore.
Clarise had her own plans. She’d mentioned to her doctor at her yearly physical that her nerves had been affected by the financial fluctuations in Finch’s business. He’d prescribed Elavil, small doses, and advised Clarise to take up knitting, or crocheting, or some similarly calming hobby. She did. Would even hum while she knitted. Used the finest wools and an inventive knit and purl cross-stitch to weave together all kinds of hats and scarves for the girls. She was quickly approaching the point where she was ready to start showing her work to department stores, maybe bring in enough to buy shetland and angoras in bulk, turn enough of a profit to put some black ink onto the pages of Finch’s savings account passbook. Her heart tore a little whenever she’d hear the weight of Finch’s flat feet lumbering into the bedroom, trying not to wake her, whistling, she knew, just in case she was awake. But even his whistling was a lower pitch, the notes sagging in the bedroom air, trying to stay afloat. She was more determined now that she’d buy the wool, work her fingers in fast weaving motions, mix colors, like she’d been taught by the uncles; stay strong, straight-backed, like she’d learned from the aunts. But that Tuesday night happened first.
The girls were at their seats at the oversized Formica table in the breakfast room. They had just finished watching Petticoat Junction, and Shern, the oldest, thirteen-year-old gorgeous child with the dark, liquid eyes, argued with Bliss, the eleven-year-old baby with the golden hair. Their dispute this time, these two always disagreed, was over who the prettiest daughter on that TV show was. Victoria disinvolved herself in their argument. Victoria, who was twelve, was in the middle not only in order of birth but in all things it seemed: her opinions, her appearance, her height, but not her ability to modulate disagreements between her older and younger sisters; in that, she knew, she excelled. But this Tuesday night she let them go at it. One had just told the other she was a blind bat and looked like a bat too, with beady eyes and leathery skin. Victoria didn’t even know who said it to whom; she was too plugged into her mother right now, feeling Clarise’s extreme edginess as if she were connected to her mother through an electric cord.
Clarise walked into the breakfast room with the comb and brush and grease and a half dozen sponge rollers nestled in her pink mesh hair care caddie. And Victoria could no longer stand the jolts shooting through her stomach every time she focused on her mother. “Is something the matter, Mommie?” she asked finally as Clarise tilted Victoria’s chin so that she could wind her bang around a hair roller.
Clarise dipped her finger into the jar of Dixie Peach hair pomade and smoothed