The Carpenter's Wife. Lenora Worth
partially sunken pier just outside the wide window.
Ana watched as he smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. They held that distant darkness that seemed to flare like thunderclouds now and then. He looked down at his plate, then shrugged. “There’s a lot of history on this old island.”
Ana laughed, then nibbled the remains of her baked trout. “So you’re telling me that pier used to be completely safe and sturdy, until twenty years ago when a hurricane came through and almost swept it into the sea? And because of that and the restaurant’s legendary name, no one wants to fix the pier now?”
Rock nodded, grabbed a crispy hush puppy, then chewed before answering. “The first restaurant got washed into the ocean. That was the original Seafood at the Pier fine dining establishment. It had been here since 1910. But after the hurricane, the only thing left was that part of the pier that’s sticking up from the water now. A good place for pelicans and egrets to perch. The owner’s son decided to rebuild under a new name—thus The Sunken Pier Restaurant. Been here and been going strong ever since, through storms and summer tourists alike, frying up fish and steaming up shrimp and lobster, oysters and clams—whatever bounty the sea has to offer.”
Ana stared out the window at the ocean. Dusk had descended over the water in a rainbow of pastel hues—some pinks and reds here, and a few mauves and blues there. The water washed against the ancient remains of the old pier, slapping against the aged wood pilings in an ever-changing, but never-ending melody of life. And what was left of the pier looked somehow symbolic of that life. The thick beams and timbers lay at a haphazard angle, crossways and sideways, like a pile of kindling, stopped in time in mid-collapse.
Ana thought that her own life seemed like that—at times she felt about to fall apart at any minute, but at other times, she dug in, refusing to give up in spite of being beaten down at every turn.
She looked back over at Rock. “I guess I can understand why they left it that way. It’s a reminder of sorts.”
“Exactly,” he said, bobbing his head, a bittersweet smile crinkling his dark-skinned face. “My mother even did a sculpture based on that pier. She called it The Resurrection because the crossbeams of some of the pilings made her think of a cross. She made it out of wood and iron, with a waterfall flowing through it to represent the ocean and life.”
“Where is this sculpture now?” Ana asked. “I imagine some collector snatched it up right away, but I don’t recall seeing it in any of the trade catalogues or art books.”
Rock’s eyes darkened again and the smile disappeared from his face. “You probably never saw it because it wasn’t for sale. But someone acquired the piece, anyway, many years after she’d finished it. Locked it away in a garden behind his fancy mansion up on the bluffs.”
Sensing that Rock didn’t approve of this particular art collector, Ana leaned forward. “Isn’t that a good thing? That your mother sold the piece, I mean?”
He lifted his chin. “Normally, yeah, that’s good, selling a fine piece of art. But she didn’t get a very good price for what she had to give up.”
And that’s all he said. Wondering why he insisted on talking in riddles, Ana watched as he took a long swallow of his iced tea. “Rock,” she said, “did I ask the wrong question?”
Rock glanced over at her as if he’d forgotten she was even there. “No, nothing like that. Let’s change the subject.”
Ana again got the impression that Rock somehow resented his mother’s art. Maybe because it had taken his mother away from him and his brothers? It was a known fact in local art circles that Eloise Dempsey was a woman driven by her talent, a woman who had worked long and hard to become a successful force in the art world. It was also known, from various interviews and articles written about Eloise, that her relationship with her three grown sons was difficult. And even though Eloise knew exactly what to say in order to protect her privacy, she still managed, when necessary, to get a good sound bite on the evening news.
Deciding to venture forth, Ana said, “You know, Rock, I’ve read articles in the trade magazines about your mother. Being an artist is never easy. The art demands a lot, but you and Eloise seem so close. She brags on you—on all of her sons—and she did recommend you to me.”
Rock held his tea glass in one hand while he watched the waves crashing against the seawall and pier outside. “We’ve managed to stay on good terms over the years, in spite of what the media might say. And in spite of what the world doesn’t know or see.”
Thinking he wasn’t going to elaborate, Ana could only nod and sit silently. She didn’t want to appear nosy, yet she yearned to understand what had brought that darkness to his beautiful eyes. “It must have been hard on all of you, losing your father when you were so young.”
“It was tough,” Rock finally said. “For a long time, we didn’t understand why he had to die out there doing what he loved best, shrimping.” He glanced out at the water again. “But then ‘deep calleth unto deep’ or so the scripture says.”
“Did he die in a storm?”
“Yes.” Rock nodded toward the toppled pilings. “The very same hurricane that took that pier.”
Ana let out a little gasp that caused him to look across the space between them. “I’m sorry, Rock. Is that why you don’t want to talk about the sculpture?”
He sighed, kept staring at her, his eyes now as dark and unreadable as the faraway waters over the distant horizon. “It’s not the sculpture, Ana. It’s the fact that my mother designed it out of grief and sorrow and made it into a beautiful symbol of redeeming love. She didn’t sell the sculpture. She gave it to…someone who doesn’t really appreciate it.”
“Can you tell me who?”
Rock set his glass on the table, then folded his hands together across the white linen tablecloth. “I can tell you exactly who, and exactly why. My mother gave that sculpture to my brother Stone. And she gave it to him as a way of asking his forgiveness. Stone took the sculpture, but he has yet to forgive my mother…or me.”
Ana had many more questions, but decided they had to wait. She wouldn’t press Rock into talking about his obviously strained relationship with his middle brother, Stone. From what Ana knew, each of the three Dempsey brothers was successful in his own right. But Stone Dempsey was probably the most successful, business-and money-wise. She’d read somewhere a few years ago that Stone had bought Hidden Hill, a big stucco and stone turn-of-the-century mansion sitting atop the highest bluff on the island, not far from the West Island Lighthouse. But the mansion was crumbling around its foundations, from what Ana had heard. Which meant Stone had to have a lot of money to pour into restoration and renovations, at least.
Did Rock resent his brother’s success?
As they strolled along the shoreline heading back to Rock’s car, Ana couldn’t picture this quiet, talented man resenting anyone because of money. Rock seemed content enough. He had a lovely cottage near the Ankle Curve and he had his little church. He had his own talent, too. His cabinetry work was exquisite. His restoration of old pieces was precise and loving. Based on his ideas, he would turn her kitchen into a functional, but charming, workplace.
So what was eating at this gentle preacher? Ana wondered.
“I guess you’re wondering why I said that about Stone,” Rock told her as he took her hand and guided her a few yards away from the pier and the restaurant to a craggy rock that looked like a readymade bench.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said, taking in their surroundings. Seagulls lifted out overhead, searching for tidbits from the diners strolling along the boardwalk and dunes. “I have…a very delicate relationship with my sister, so you’re allowed the same with your brother.”
“Stone…is bitter,” Rock said. “He blames my mother for our being so poor when we were growing up. You see, she gave up her inheritance to marry our father. His name was Tillman. Everyone called