2. She Could Recognize Trauma When it Woke Up in Her House
Survival Ain't Pretty (2 out of 6)
(In opening up the novel into novellas, I can expand on parts I sacrificed to the velocity of plot. Earlier, I made the decision to take Maria off-island with her father after her assault. These chapters catch up with her while the Inspector is closing in on Tommy. In a novel, I might alternate it. Now, Maria has her own novella.)
Rick and his daughter were pushing a shopping cart through Market Basket.
Maria had not spoken. She would nod or shake her head, but she wouldn’t speak. For her, any word that she might say would open the shoebox that she had stuffed everything in. At the best, she would cry . At the worst, the box would collapse and everything would come out. She could not have that.
Rick was Dad. And he was a good Dad, but he wasn’t a therapist, or a nurse, or a nurturing mother.
So he worked on normalcy. They needed groceries. Belinda lived in her ambulance. Her house held her TV, her chair, and her Harley Davidson. Rick thought she owned the motorcycle so she could ride in the back of the ambulance at least once.
He didn’t say that.
Market Basket stunned the Nantucketers. Maria hadn’t been a grocery store this big or this clean. She stood in an aisle of chips, both sides, ranging from artisanal potato chips with the skins on to Humpty Dumpty bags at two for a dollar. Each shelf had the bags lined up.
They bought hamburger, onions, green peppers, and garlic. They bought Mallomars. They bought Coke and Funyuns. They bought barbecue sauce, steaks, and green beans. They bought eggs, flour, and sugar, butter, milk, chocolate chips, and vanilla.
They filled the cart.
Outside, they lined up the groceries in the back of the truck.
Dads work on stability. Dads keep it cool and frosty. Dads work one step at a time. In a stressful moment, Dads find projects.
Their first project was to empty the tools from the back of the truck.
Their second project was to build a new set of back stairs to the house. Belinda did not go out back much. The yard needed mowing, weeding, and trash removal.
The back stairs had rotted. Rick had the tools necessary to replace it.
So, after the groceries were stowed, the two of them went to Home Depot for wood and other supplies.
Again, they were overwhelmed.
Rick kept finding little tools or additions that would have helped one project or another back on the island.
He just needed wood, but he got saw horses, clamps, a new level, several boxes of nails (“I could buy four boxes for what one costs on the island”), and eyed the plumbing equipment.
Maria smiled at the clerk when they checked out.
So there was that.
He put her to work ripping the rotted stairs off the wall (they got a new crowbar). Then he had her measure and record the length, height, and thickness of the wood.
She measured and marked the new two by fours and four by fours.
It wasn’t the future, it wasn’t the solution, it wasn’t permanent, and it wouldn’t last.
But it got her through the afternoon.
Belinda came out and watched. She admired the care and energy Maria was putting into the project.
When the light failed, Maria went inside to take a shower.
She used up all of the hot water.
They heard her crying.
Belinda didn’t ask about Maria because she was a professional and could recognize trauma when it woke up in her house.
So what was he going to do about this?
The Inn on Brant Point (Novella)
Milestone 1: The Boy Who Climbed the Windmill
Milestone 2: Remember
Milestone 3: Snitches Get Stitches
Milestone 4: Survival Ain’t Pretty
2. She Could Recognize Trauma When It Woke Up in her House.
Some of my writing…
Barr’s For Life: A substack of essays and claptrap
The Boat at the End of Lover’s Lane
(NEW) The Girl Who Ran the Polpis Road
The Inn on Brant Point (Novella)
Her Lover on Monomoy Road. (Novella)
Her Father Came Home to Deacon’s Way (Novella)
Winter: A Collection of Island Living Essays set between January and April 1.
The Boys: A collection of essays about my two sons, written as they grew.
Rolling in the Surf: Essays on Teaching.
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It's not going to work. Not completely. I think Belinda and Maria both know that. But nothing of them also applaud the effort. Getting her through the afternoon, the first few hours after everything broke on Nantucket required something. And if making cookies and rebuilding a set of steps could buy a few hours, theere you go.
So, I read an article on Substack that token writers (like me) that use AI to create art when I could just go and get art. I am concerned about copyright and all of that, but the point was that the classic art would illustrate better and help elevate more than the computer scribblings. Hence Picasso.