“Why should I help clean this disgusting pigsty?” Jacy said.
“All for one,” Mickey explained. He’d apparently chosen the patio as his “room” and was picking up plastic cups.
“One for all,” Teddy and Lincoln had chimed in on cue.
“On one condition,” she said.
Mickey shook his head. “No fucking conditions.”
“One condition,” she insisted.
“Okay, one.” Where Jacy was concerned, Mickey always caved in quickly.
“No more punching people.”
“Just me or all three of us?”
“Just you.”
Mickey brooded on the unfairness of this arrangement, but finally said, “All right.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Okay, then,” she said, bending over to pick up a cup.
“Peace train soundin’ louder,” sang Teddy, who actually liked Cat Stevens.
“Gliiiide on the peace train,” the others chimed in, Musketeers once more.
How young they’d all been. How foolish. What would Jacy think if she could see them now? Lincoln wondered. Three goddamn old men.
* * *
—
DESPITE THE EARLY HOUR, he decided to drive into Edgartown before heading up island. Maybe Martin was one of those realtors who arrived at the office early. If he wasn’t in yet, Lincoln could get breakfast in town—having skipped dinner the night before, he was famished—and then grab some provisions at the package store: wine for Teddy, beer for Mickey, a good single-malt scotch for himself, though he wasn’t much of a drinker anymore.
The town was surprisingly busy, and the harbor parking lot full, but he got lucky, someone backing out of a space just as he pulled in. Island Realty was dark, a CLOSED sign on the door, though Lincoln cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside. Don’t do that, Anita advised him from the other side of the country. If the place is closed, it’s closed. In his wife’s opinion Lincoln was always refusing to take no for an answer. Come back later, when it’s open. Don’t be like your father, always looking for special treatment. If there’s somebody inside, sitting in the dark, it’s because he doesn’t want to be disturbed.
And someone was in the back of the office, a man who looked to be about Lincoln’s age. Seated with a newspaper spread out across his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand, he was probably the very man he’d come to see. Let him read his paper, Anita insisted. You can see the CLOSED sign, right? The office doesn’t open for another forty-five minutes. Don’t, for heaven’s sake, knock on the glass.
Lincoln knocked. Of course he did. Okay, maybe that meant he was his father’s son. Had Anita truly been here, he would’ve felt obliged to dispute this claim, but she wasn’t. He was alone, which meant he could be anybody he wanted, including the only progeny of Wolfgang Amadeus Moser, of Dunbar, Arizona.
Startled by the knock (See? You scared him. Explain to me again why you’re like this.), the man inside looked up, saw Lincoln and rose to his feet, even managing a smile as he weaved his way among the desks. Unlocking and opening the door, he said, “You look like a man who might be named Lincoln Moser.”
“And that,” Lincoln said, shaking his hand, “would make you Martin.”
The other man acknowledged this was indeed the case. “Actually,” he said, switching on the overhead lights, “I Googled you.”
“There was only one Lincoln Moser?”
“Two in Greater Las Vegas, but the other was a black high-school principal.”
“Yeah, quite a few black men are named Lincoln. I don’t think my father knew any in rural Arizona, though.”
“Would it have changed his mind?”
“Not much does.”
“How about a cup of coffee?”
“I had one on the ferry.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have another.”
“With me it does, actually.” In fact, it was distinctly possible that the near-constant state of gastric distress Lincoln suffered these days was a symptom of an as-yet-undetected ulcer traceable to the 2008 financial meltdown. On the other hand, it might be nothing more than acid reflux, which came with the territory of getting old. His wife, being a woman, wanted clarity on this issue, whereas Lincoln himself, not being one, was content to dwell in uncertainty a while longer.
“I thought you were getting in yesterday,” Martin said.
“I was supposed to, but one of my flights was delayed and I missed the last boat.”
“Hate when that happens. Anyhow, you’re here. You didn’t come in to tell me you changed your mind about listing your place, I hope?”
“No, I just thought I’d stop and introduce myself. But the town’s still pretty busy.”