vert halloween

With the fog still up, we went in, oars and rafts and galoshes ready, standing, searching the still
water. Atkinson got down a couple times in his wooden rags, desperate for something, waist
deep and treading and reaching for a little bit of gold. I chose to remain dry, feet tucked above
that thin slice of wood serving as a raft.
There were maybe thirty of us, cloaked against the cold, eyes the color of bones in dead
air. The bay closes like a jaw around us.
“Now,” Terry exclaimed, drifting his hood back. Terry was always exclaiming something
moral, at the exact wrong time, “We don’t want Jim to lose his ring forever, do we?”
Terry seemed like the kind of guy who’d take the ring after he found it. But what did I
know?
“It’s, like, really valuable.” Ben was the smart one, a long bamboo pole clasped in his
fingers. He was dragging it along under the water. “He brought it to work one day just to show
us. Loved it like crazy.”
“Not as much as he loves his wife!” Someone shouted.
A snickering rippled up and down the waves. I smiled.
There’s a guy on his stomach, arms buried deep in the wet. They really were something,
these men. They were just so good at seizing the opportunity.
I dipped my oar around and observed the water. Saw it turn a little foamy and pale and
back to soot. There was a clamor of silence between the bits of conversation, us all so involved
in our searching for Jimmy’s ring. Me, not so much, because I knew Jimmy, and I knew he
wouldn’t love me doing this. He’d probably get super mad.
But there were maybe thirty of us, cloaked in anonymity. And if Jimmy happened to step
out at this very second from his paved, stately manor above that little rise right over there, if
Jimmy were to look down here, he’d see nothing but nice people, friends! searching for his ring.
“Who last had the ring?” Someone asked.
“His wife,” Terry said matter-of-factly, “She probably threw it in.”
There was a pocket of a moment, when we all stood there hovering in this new
information. Then we all trudged up to the hill, dripping in beach boy fantasy with our oars slung
across our shoulders like spear-headed soldiers. We paused right in front of Jimmy’s mansion. I
almost tripped over a potted vine.
Ben went up; he was great with people. Knocked on the door. Two seconds. Three.
Jimmy opened up. He was wearing this long nightgown-ish attire, and a bowling hat with
a fancy-looking feather. Who in the foggy bay needs a nightgown and a hat?
We all stood there in breathless bewilderment, all of us great actors. I, in particular, was
very good at having a nice face. But Atkinson’s mouth twitched a little on the left and I wanted to
pinch him. He was never a great actor and I thought about putting him in the back if we ever did
this again. I smiled a bit at Jimmy when his eyes met mine.
“Hey Jimmy,” I said. It was always, I thought, good to establish a relationship first.
Remind him that we had a great relationship, if not close.
Jimmy nodded the way little uptight closed minded office workers did. His brow wrinkles
a little, as if to speak, then doesn’t.Those little head-screwed-on just right officer workers. But,
well, I shouldn’t make fun of office workers. The ribbon on Jimmy’s bowler hat was probably
worth more than all our huts combined.

Ben smiled amicably, a lot prettier than I did, probably sensing some sort of tense
tête-à-tête between Jimmy and I. Jimmy’s gaze wandered back over to the crowd of people,
grazed across my face, then back to Ben.
“We wanted to ask where your wife is,” Ben said sweetly. “We think she dropped
something and we found it.”
Jimmy scratched the side of his face. “Oh. Uh, just give it to me, I’ll give it to her.”
I held my breath. We didn’t rehearse this. But I trusted Ben, because if anyone could get
us that ring, it would be Ben.
“Haven’t seen your wife in a couple of days, how’s she?” Ben was digging in his pockets,
looking so nonchalant. He was digging for nothing. I took mental notes. Maybe one day I would
have to be the Ben of the group.
“Where’s my wife?” Jimmy repeated. He turned his hand over, then jerked his head up, “I
don’t know. Swimming? She’d been doing that for the past few days. Where’s my ring?”
“Don’t know, man,” someone shouted and there was the clacking of an oar.
I examined Jimmy for signs of lying, but he’s just looking at us, looking like a worried
parrot. He had a nice face. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he had the ring in some dresser under
lock and key. Maybe he was as greedy as we all thought he was.
The crowd kind of dispersed a little after that altercation. Maybe we’d go back tomorrow,
into the sea with oars and all that. Atkinson stayed the last at the house, mouth still twitching
and examining one of Jimmy’s Roman-style windows. Jimmy had went back inside after the

conversation, shaking his head about, she probably took the ring with her when-
And Atkinson ran down from the hill to where I was waiting for him and pushed me a little

bit and said, keep walking, keep walking.