Shutter Speed

By Michael Gullikson

Photographer Carson Paine is a man who lives in the pursuit of easy pleasures.  His neglected wife, Darlene, looks for a better life in a bottomless bottle of booze.  Neither can understand the mess they are making, or how lost they are.  Neither realizes, that in a world of liars, the most dangerous are those who lie to themselve

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cogent Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949969030

Book preview

The Ferryman

Carson inched the car onto the ferry, watching the signals from the deckhand. They had to pack the cars in tight and balance the load. Carson turned the wheel to the left, then straight, then back to the left again; all while watching the gestures of the big man in dirty, blue cover-alls.

Darlene watched him, too, or his hand, really. The middle finger and ring finger were both missing, down to the second joint. He must have gotten them pinched in the dock, at some point, or had them chewed in some merciless piece of nautical machinery. She wondered where the pieces had gone. It sent chills down her back, and she shivered. Enough of that.

She turned in time to watch a fat woman squeeze out of a rusting yellow Buick, just ahead of them. The woman wore black spandex pants and a purple tube top. Her hips puffed like marshmallows, as she wriggled her way out of the wedge. Darlene thought that K-Y Jelly might help. She looked like the type who would keep some on hand. The woman slipped out and turned to face Darlene. Her big tits bulged out of her too-tight top.

Darlene envisioned the gruesome image of crabs plucking ragged, white chunks of flesh from boney fingers on the cold, silty bottom. She took another tug on her raspberry slushee and hoped for another brain-freeze. Were raspberries really blue? If so, they definitely weren’t this bright neon color that somehow made the drink colder and sweeter.

Carson turned the engine off, and the deckhand moved on.

You okay? he asked.

Yeah. Just a little queasy, she answered.

He laughed. That’s got to be a record. Come on, let’s head up to the bow. You’re not going to feel any better back here once those big diesels foul the sky.

They each opened their door and climbed out. Darlene had to push harder than she would want to admit. She thought about the chunky girl she had just watched; it made her regret all those stops at Dunkin Donuts on the way to the park, during the past summer. She turned to reach back for Grace and found Carson already unclipping her.

Grace looked a little too much like Carson, which made Darlene’s heart flutter. She did love him, but he wasn’t really attractive, not in a physical way. It was okay for a man to have a big, hook nose, and his eyes, while clear and expressive, were still a bit crooked. His features made him look vulnerable and lost, like an abandoned puppy. Women could abide such things in their men, but if Grace, gorgeous, innocent little Grace, grew up to look like her father, she would find the world challenging and unkind. It wasn’t the way things ought to have been, it was the way they were; sad. Darlene already felt the first shimmering strains of a mother who would struggle against the truth of that cruelty.

At the same time, she thrilled to see him cradle Grace in his hands. He cupped her tiny body and wrapped his fine fingers at the edges. Grace lay back for the ride, certain of the protection afforded by her father’s love. It was a splendid moment; mainly because it happened so rarely. She squeezed to the front of the car and waited.

Grace blinked and looked around at all the cars and people, at the boat, the ocean, and the seagulls. She felt the deep growl of the engines that rumbled and vibrated through the diamond-plate floor and up through her father's body. She heard the flags that snapped, crisp and sharp, in the rising wind. To Grace it was yet another environment to be understood.

Carson watched Darlene, mainly. Do you have the heaves?

What?

You gonna get sick?

No.

Your eyes are watery.

Must be the wind.

Carson looked close, not buying it. Come upwind, to the bow. We've got two hours; it'll be better up there.

They made their way to the very front as the boat motored away from the wharf. The big air-horn blasted out two loud reports, which startled Grace. She jerked, but didn't cry.

They pressed forward, into the metal rail, while Grace studied everything in random pieces. She watched the wash of the waves that curled off the underside of the hull and whirled behind in trailing eddies of white foam. She looked at all the strange people, as yet unaware that it didn’t make sense to try to remember each one; there were just too many. She spent some time sticking fingers into her father’s ears. She tried for his nose, too, but he kept pulling away. She was passed to her mother, whose ears and nose already bored her. Grace watched white birds fly in circles around the boat, and then looked back down to the whooshing water.

Carson and Darlene peered into the oncoming wind, like dual maiden-forms on the Pamlico ferry. He wrapped his arm around them both, for awhile, then held Darlene’s hand only. They both seemed to press forward, even beyond the speed of the ship, each with their heads tilted slightly back, to take in the ancient smell of the sea. Their thoughts were no less active than their daughter’s, as each considered the days ahead on the Banks; of whether it made sense for her to finish her degree, and what was it in the travelling that made it impossible for him to stop.

Darlene thought of her friend, Stacy, who claimed to be enjoying her extra-marital affair.

YOLO, Stacy would say, You only live once! Darlene had considered it and agreed, in part. Temptation was always there. What Stacy didn't understand was that the pendulum swung both ways. Sure, you only live once, so enjoy it. But on the other hand, you only live once, so don't muck it up.

At the same time, Carson thought of Emery Galt, his Fordham roommate, who was embezzling money from the trucking company he managed. He was blowing it on girls, gambling, and God knew what. Emery wasn’t a bad guy, he just couldn’t handle being forty-six. Things weren't likely to go well for Emery once the trucking company found out; truckers aren't a group you mess with. Still, it didn't make sense to say something that Emery must have already known, full well.

Carson thought of vacation. He wondered if Grace would give him and Darlene enough time to fool around.

Darlene wondered if he’d notice the lingerie she packed in the bottom of the suitcase, with the rum and the gin.

He wondered how much she’d expect him to talk.

She wondered if he’d ever open up.

All thoughts whirled about them, like the sea-birds and the water. More waves passed below and nobody worried about a rogue.

They were looking ahead, toward that line of outer islands, beyond the horizon. It was nice to leave the frenzied continent behind and everything that went with it.

Stacey would be caught, of course, sooner or later. There would be whispers at the Little Characters preschool and drama on the playground, once the other mothers convened their vicious councils of judgment and propriety. Invitations for Stacy and her twin boys would dry up. Life would become very lonely. It really could be such a nasty world. It was so tempting to think of trading it all for the serenity of what must surely be waiting for them, across this bend of water. You only live once, right?

Darlene enjoyed the cool, clean smell of the ocean. It fit like a puzzle piece into some deep place that she wasn’t even aware was vacant. It had been too long since she had gone to the beach; too many lost years. So many things were slipping by and drifting away. It was unsettling. She had Grace; that was the one certainty. Carson was with her, but it didn't feel certain. He didn't really seem to enjoy her company. He hadn't shown much interest in her body, either.

Grace waved her arm over Darlene's shoulder and laughed. It was great to hear her happy. It must have had something to do with her father being with them again. She was such a precious and tender gift, Darlene could barely understand the scale of her love, or abide the enormity of her responsibility. The joy of motherhood and the responsibility tumbled together in her heart.

Grace giggled and jostled in Darlene's arms. She crawled up on her shoulder and squealed. Darlene turned to look at what was so funny.

There, not ten inches from her own head, and right behind, was the large, dull face of the three fingered deck-hand. He was leaned down in, close behind her. Darlene pulled away and pressed into the metal railing. It felt like she could drop Grace, but she didn’t; she squeezed tighter.

The deck hand had been smiling, almost leering, right behind them. His large mouth was red and wet, his pockmarked face, a stubbled forest. He was missing more teeth than fingers. The ones that remained were mostly jagged and broken. All of them were yellow. There were black specks of chewing tobacco sprinkled across his teeth and dotted, up along his pale gums.

His eyes were muddled pools of watery red. He smelled of booze, grime, and manly sweat. His breath was a green cloud of garlic and rancid meat. If Darlene could have managed, she would have screamed, but her throat had cinched shut.

The man had been smiling down at Grace, low and close. He had been playing with her, as it turned out; letting Grace wrap her little fingers around those big dirty stumps, which poked out from his hand.

Rage fired in his eyes when Darlene reacted, as if he had a right to Grace. A look of stubborn contempt clouded his face. It might have been a shift in the boat, or maybe not, but it seemed like he moved closer to her mouth, as if for a kiss. She felt danger emanate from him, like waves of heat.

Darlene jerked her shoulder back, but Grace held tight to the stranger, and so his grotesque hand followed. It bumped Darlene’s back. She wanted to spin and scratch the leathery skin of his saggy face with the nails of her free hand.

Grace cried. Her face puckered into a field of dimples. He jerked his hand free. It was no big deal; babies cry. Grace's voice trailed on the wind, and Carson didn't notice. No one noticed. Darlene’s heart pounded. Her body shook. The deck-hand sauntered away, toward the stern, his dirty pants hanging low off his ass.

Carson turned, with a smile, and looked at her. Darlene? Are you okay?

Grace cried, still. Darlene let her. No. No, she wasn’t okay. She was alright, but she wasn’t okay. And then, the moment passed. There was nothing she could do.

Darlene, you’re pale as a fish gill, girl. What’s wrong?

Darlene cried, too. Mother and daughter wept together into the wind, both of them frightened, neither exactly sure why.

Darlene passed Grace to Carson, and then she did get sick over the rail. It landed on a narrow, black platform that rimmed the edge of the boat, instead of dropping straight into the water. It dangled from her lips, bright blue and stringy.

Darlene? We’re almost there. Can you hang on?

She nodded and wiped at her mouth. She breathed in the salty air, then exhaled. Hang on? She had to do better than that. She had to do better for Grace. She turned around to look for that creepy man, but he was gone; he'd disappeared into the bowels of the ship. She wanted to tell Carson, but what could she say? What did she expect he might do? The deck hand was a brute; what could Carson do to him? Besides, had he done anything wrong, really wrong?

She took another cleansing breath. No, it was over and it didn’t matter because this was their vacation. She smeared tears down her cheeks with her palms. It was vacation and nothing had happened. Yes, that’s how it was.

Grace settled into her father’s comforting embrace and looked back at Darlene, to see if she were still crying. Darlene wiped away little tears from Grace's cheeks, too. She looked into her daughter’s crooked eyes and smiled. One more deep breath and she really was, mostly, over it.

Look there, Darlene! Carson said, excited. He pointed, high over her shoulder. She turned, this time looking up to the heavens.

The sky, back to the west, was a painting. The top semi-circle of the flaming, red sun was just dipping into the sparkling sea, behind them. It was enveloped on all sides by soft, crimson clouds. It dropped down fast; first small, then smaller, and smaller, then gone. The orange burned a band across the sky, but thinned to white as it rose. It turned a shade of pink, then purple, and finally, dark blue and black, overhead. Stars sparkled, already, above them, in the blankness of space, that really wasn’t that far.

It was stunning. Where she had just cried in dark fear, and felt terror besiege her heart, she now felt tears drawn out by a beauty she couldn’t touch, yet ached to understand. She could be certain of happiness, standing with her family, inside this beautiful moment. She looked straight up, to the early twinkling stars, and marveled that she could cross from terror to ecstasy on virtually nothing more than the swing of the second hand.

I had no idea it would be this stunning, she said. Why can't we live in a place like this? It wasn't a real question, but she meant it.

It’s not like this, always. There’s a storm churning all the clouds into this, Carson waved his hand above his head, as though he were a symphony conductor, into this spectacle.

I don’t care. I’ve never seen such a sunset. I feel so blessed. She reached to him. He pulled her back. Grace hugged them both.

Out at the horizon, immense clouds exploded in orange and gold. They cast dark shadows on themselves. They were feather-light mountains in the sky that could make a person believe that there really was a God.

The Captain dropped off the throttle and let the ferry begin to slow down, on approach. They drifted into the Ocracoke landing. Black smoke trailed from the boat’s stacks, hardly noticeable.

Darlene kissed Grace, then Carson. I’m glad we came, she said.

Me, too.

A different crew member swung an enormous, yellow rope through the air, trying to lasso a large, weathered pier, that had been pounded down into the black mud and silt, on the outer edge of the Pamlico. This man was different from the other. He was young, handsome, and strong. He laughed when his throw skipped off the top and splashed down into the black, glassy water.

The passengers laughed along, with him. He was like that lusty character from a Walt Whitman poem. He quickly gathered the rope for another toss. This one ringed the post, and the ferry was made fast. The departure ramp dropped. Passengers filed back to their cars.

Darlene tried to clip a squirming Grace into her seat.

You know, Darlene, this is an island. She probably doesn’t have to be strapped.

Darlene had already untangled her hair twice from Grace’s clutched fist; she wasn’t in the mood for compromise.

Yes, she does, Carson. Darlene was failing in her effort to not sound bitchy. If I let her out once, she’ll want it all the time. You’re not around; you don’t know what it’s like.

Fine, lock her down, then, but make quick, cuz we gotta go. Darlene snapped the buckles and settled into her own seat. The car rolled forward. There was something fun about the idea of driving a car on a boat; the two just didn’t go together.

The line of cars inched forward as each driver placed a tentative tire back on terra firma. It was like the slow advance of kids, who shuffle out onto frozen ponds in winter. Once clear, each car topped the ramp and carried on, as though driving on a boat was the most ordinary of things. Carson drove off the boat, in turn. He was confident and sure. There was no hesitation. They would head up the ramp, like all the others. Then, it would be a week together, as a family.

Darlene hoped she could lose that certain feeling which kept her from believing they had an authentic family. She felt like the imposter of a wife and mother. Strange, it was, that married life hadn’t been what she thought it would be; there just wasn’t the cohesion she believed would automatically exist. This week could change that. Wasn’t that what vacations were supposed to do? Everything could change. It could be different. Darlene was ready.

She thought of the slick softness of her red, silk nightie, and of how his hands made her feel. Oh! the friction and heat they could generate. She wondered how Grace would like a little brother.

Then, all of a sudden, the three fingered deck hand was there, again. He stood at the top of the departure ramp, waving cars off the boat. She hadn’t noticed him because, basically, he was as anonymous as anyone doing his job, just blending in. He didn’t focus on anything in particular, especially her. He gazed into the distance, at rooftops, while he fanned that fraction of a hand in the air. He looked like any other working guy, who really didn’t give a damn.

Perhaps she had gotten it wrong, before. Maybe she had just been startled and let the whole thing blow out of proportion. It wouldn’t have been the first time. None of it really mattered, anyhow. They motored up the steel ramp toward the corduroy concrete. Only then did he turn to her, again.

He was above the passenger’s window as she rolled by, under him. That sinking sense of vulnerability returned. He didn’t just look down at her, but down into her. It was hatred and constrained rage. His jaw muscles tightened, and his lip curled into a sneer. He stood still, glaring at her, waving that hand over and over. He could poke her with those fingers, or grab and hurt her, if he wanted, but he didn’t do that.

Carson didn’t stall the car, and the deck-hand didn’t reach for her. They cruised steadily up the incline to the main road and turned right. It was over, again, over for good. Danger was in the past, and she was in the clear.

They were underway, bound for that week, which at times seemed would never arrive. Seven days of playing and reading, eating and laughing. Seven nights of relaxation and sex. One week to make their family strong, again.

It was a warm, salty night of sweet Carolina air. The sharp cut of sea-holly mixed with the smell of the ocean. A fat, orange moon rose from the flat line of the distant sea and laid a shimmering trail, straight back toward them. The smell of burning charcoal carried on the breeze from some happy place, and Jimmy Buffet sang from the old, yellow Skylark that was still ahead. They were playing it too loud, but too loud was just right.

It was perfect; island music for the island. You could laugh about how corny escapism was when you were living your work-a-day life, but when you got down to the beach and the steel drums pinged, well, it didn’t seem funny anymore; it just felt right.

Darlene wished she had remembered to bring a Buffet CD. She’d make sure to slip down to a gift shop in the morning and grab one, when Carson wasn’t around, just in case it was too 'dear'.

Ocracoke wasn’t the island Buffet had in mind when he wrote those songs, that was certain, but she felt confident ol' Jimmy-Boy wouldn’t hold back on account of that, no sir! Punch up the volume, kick down the bass, and pour another cold one!

She flung her feet out the window, again, and moved to the beat of the music. God, it felt so damned good to be there.

Darlene joined the chorus as the wind blew in, hard. It whipped her hair back around toward the front of the car and into the corner of her mouth. She was too happy and relaxed to care that she couldn’t sing. She grabbed Carson’s hand and held it. No, singing out to the night was what vacation was all about, too. She had come for a good time and, damn it, that’s what she was going to have.

The first song ended and another started without her. She was content; drunk in the moment. She looked at Carson’s profile and smiled. That nose! God! But he did have a tender heart. He wasn’t really unattractive.

The Buick flashed a blinker and turned off, while Carson, Darlene, and Grace continued on the long, straight road, in the night.

He turned to her. Happy?

I am so happy! I could live my whole life here and be content.

Oh yeah? You haven’t even seen it in the daylight.

It doesn’t matter. It's been too long since I've felt this, I don't know, complete! What about you? Aren't you having fun?

Yeah. Oh, yeah. It’s beautiful, he said. I wish there was time to shoot some pictures. He nodded his head in time to a non-existent tune, as though he were really into the moment. Hope tomorrow is a repeat.

It will be. She took his hand from the shifter and clutched it to the soft pillows of her chest. If anything was bothering him, it would shatter into a thousand little pieces, just by the touch of her happy heart. She really believed that, and because she did, it could be true.

Grace sat in the back and tried to pull her toe close enough to chew on.

The warm wind swirled about them as the car glided, slow and alone, up the asphalt, in the dark. Soon there was nothing but two glowing, red tail-lights. And then, they were gone.

Welcome To Fatherhood

Carson slipped out of bed early the next morning and left Darlene knotted in blankets and dreams. The rental house was quiet and dark. Life as a photographer left him conditioned to never sleep more than a few hours at a time. Since he captured life in the flash of a moment, it seemed that anything could occur, at any instant.

That sense of impending action encouraged a restlessness; a gnawing, ingrained fear that the perfect shot was about to happen. He harbored a deep, scratching discomfort that he was going to miss it, so he awoke most days before the sun topped the horizon. Those quiet, early hours could really drag on, as he waited for the light of morning to expose the new day.

Carson stood before the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, that ran the length of the living room, and contemplated his first novel of the week. There were hundreds to choose from, their clean spines, so straight and square. He wondered who had gathered all those neglected books. Could a person send away to a warehouse and just order