Chapter 19 - SPILLED WINE

"You couldn't say no?" Liz was asking Sumner again. They were sitting in the dark on their screened porch, facing the reach, which was across the road, down at the end of Sawyer's meadow. The only thing they could see, in the new moon dark, was the pin prick of a lighted buoy off Sawyers's Point, the loom of Moosepeak light.. every time she flashed.. and a billion stars. A faint breeze was brushing the spruce tips.

"Wouldn'ta stopped it happenin," Sumner reiterated. They'd had a tense afternoon and evening, despite a glorious feed of new peas and flounder. Sumner had played with Jesse and Tug, and after dinner Liz had brought her guitar out onto the porch, and they'd all sung children's' songs until Jesse began to slump with fatigue. Now he was tucked into his bed under the eaves, and the two adults were trying to sort it out.

"Will you tell me about it?" Liz asked, her voice trembling with anger. She had changed into a light summer dress after supper, and let her hair down, but now she was sitting all clenched at the far end of the porch glider, her legs tucked under her and the skirt pulled down.

"Of course, Lizzie," Sumner replied gently, starting to move toward her, but she held up her hands palms out.

"Wait. I want to talk," she gestured him back, and he slumped into his corner of the glider.

"Ok," he said, "I just hope this doesn't come back to haunt us."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Your knowin what's groin down. It might be dangerous," Sumner said. Liz shook her head in disgust.

"So we found this buoy on the Jones Ground," he began, and he told her the whole tale. About maybe seeing Cyrano Theberge in the sailboat, and about Sidearm offering to try and find a connection.

"And what if Sidearm brings a bunch of thugs down on your necks.. our neck?" Liz demanded. "Or the police?"

"I think it's a damnfool proposition, no matter how it goes," Sumner agreed, "but it WILL go down, unless I call the cops. At least Sidearm has played in that league before."

"And that's reassuring?" Liz spat.

"No, Lizzie," Sumner said. "None of this is reassuring, but to live in this town, I have to play along."

"Even if it puts us in danger?"

"To opt out would put me .. us.. in danger right now. If I can't be trusted to keep my mouth shut, I can't work here. And the threats would start.. or worse. Just look what they did to Bozo the Boho."

The most notorious incident of culture clash in Smithport in recent years had been the arrival of a trust fund hippie, Richard Bozemann, who set up business in the center of town selling secondhand kitchenware and furniture. Bozo.. as the natives dubbed him.. made no bones about being superior to the locals, and he'd called in the state police over an incident of teenage vandalism. There was no local police force, on principle. Townspeople felt they could take care of their own enforcement, ad hoc, but Bozo had made a big to do at town meeting over "ignorant lawlessness" and "provincial hooliganism." The upshot was a string of tire flattenings, the killing of Bozo's pet rabbits, and.. when he proved unrepentant, or at least kept bellowing.. the burning of his house.

Sumner went on, "That's the choice."

"Oh, Sum," Liz cried. "It seemed like we were finding our way here.. as much as Fromaways.." she spat the word.. "ever can. And now we have to conspire in a dirty drug deal to get along?" She began to sob. He slid over and put his arms around her. She hunched up at first, but he kept kissing her hair, and stroking her back, until she broke into wracking sobs. Then she held him tight.

"Please be careful, Sum." She pleaded.

"Do you want to go away.. for a bit?" He suggested.

"No," she said firmly.

Sumner started humming, "Stand by your man..."

"Don't you laugh," Liz scolded, but she was starting to laugh now. "You and those damned country songs. Next you'll have us hanging around in bar rooms."

"Speaking of which," Sumner suggested. "Wanna try some of that wine Marianne brought us?"

"Sure, what the hell," Liz answered. She uncoiled her legs and rested her bare feet on the deck. "Looks like we're going to be in the drug business. Might as well get soused."

Sumner got up, but he stopped in the doorway. "Actually.. I was hopin to get laid," he said.

"I'm considering my options," Liz warned, but he could tell she was lying. "I'll try the wine first, garcon. And if you'd like to beg a little..?" she added.

When Sumner came back with the opened wine bottle and two glasses, he had a dishtowel over one arm, and he kneewalked across the porch until he was at Liz's feet.

"Princess Elizabeth," he declaimed. "I do humbly beg they mercy, and offer this fine vintage to appease your royal anger." Liz snickered. Sumner began licking her knees.

"Down, cur," she ordered, and he licked lower. "Stop, you damned fool, that tickles," she pushed the top of his head, but he grabbed her arm and tumbled her onto the porch deck, pinning her down by her elbows, the glasses rolling one way and the bottle another.

"You idiot," she laughed, "the wine." The bottle was gurgling as it lay on its side.

"You're the sweetest wine," he declared. "I think I'm already drunk." He leaned down and kissed her. Liz kissed him back. After a few moments of mutual intoxication, they silently got up. Liz took Sumner by the hand, and led him upstairs.