Page 17 of Baby, It's Cod Outside
Right to the bottom of Scrimshaw Cove,Jackson thinks grimly.Straight into the ocean.
It’s all snapping together in an instant; of course, as always, the answers beget more questions.
“And you’re sure you didn’t sign it?” Jackson asks, voice low, even.
“If I did, I don’t remember,” he says. “But, Jackson, I know myself. I read everything I sign. I don’t skim. I’m careful. I swear I’m careful. This was hidden purposely from me.” He looks like a man in front of a jury pleading not-guilty to a crime. Jackson has no reason to doubt the man. Ben is risking his future by sitting here, but he is conscious of how badly he wants to believe in Ben Whitaker in a way that doesn’t feel fully located in journalistic ethics.
Jackson keeps his voice soft. “But the paperwork says it’s all you.”
Ben nods, small and miserable. “The paperwork says it’s all me.”
“How long’s this been going on?” Jackson’s hand itches for his notebook, but he stops himself.
“The agreement’s dated mid November.” Ben’s throat bobs in a dry swallow. “The thirty-day probation period ends Monday. Same day our Massachusetts Department of Environmental Protection audit starts.” He gives a short, bitter laugh. “Convenient, right?”
Jesus, Jackson thinks. That’s not a mistake, that’s a goddamn setup.
Ben sets the glass down carefully on the coffee table. Smokey nudges his hand with her head, but he’s gone rigid, like every word has pulled him tighter into himself.
“They’re going to find it,” Ben says, voice tight. “They’re going to find it, and I should’ve seen it before now. I should’ve caught it earlier. I should’ve been watching closer, asking more questions.Youwere asking questions. I just let it happen. It looks like a cover up. It looks like I was hiding. I didn’t want to believe it was possible.”
It’s not just that Ben’s scared, he’s furious with himself. He’s as eager to blame himself as the person who forged his signature.
Jackson chooses his next question with care. “Have you talked to your father?”
Ben shakes his head sharply. “My dad can’t know. Not yet.”
“You’re sure he doesn’t know already.”
Ben’s eyes fill with more certainty than Jackson has yet seen.
“He would never take this kind of risk. The plant is his life. I’m just scared how he’ll respond to this kind of existential threat.”
“You don’t think he’d step in?”
“He would. Immediately. That’s exactly the problem. He’d take it out of my hands. Make a few calls, sweep the whole thing under the rug, and tell me it was handled. And then I’d nevertouch a real decision again. And nothing would really change to stop this from happening again.” Ben pauses. “That’s not what I want.”
“What do you want, Ben?”
Ben looks up at Jackson instantly, wide-eyed and startled, like the question knocked something loose. Like no one’s ever asked before. Like it’s never once occurred to him that he gets to want anything at all. Then he answers, quietly, intensely: “To fix it. To prove I can fix it. Really fix it.” His voice cracks. “And you’re the only one I can think of who can actually help me do that.”
There is a naked sincerity in his voice. It’s hard not to just tell him everything is going to be fine.
“We’ll get through this.” It comes out automatically, but Jackson’s surprised by how much he means it.We.“But once we start, there’s no turning back. We’ll need evidence. Names, details, documents, people you can trust who will support your side of the story. And it’s your name on that document, Ben, so you have to be ready to tell people the truth. We can delay that, we can build a case, but at the end of the day, sunlight is the best disinfectant.”
“Jackson, if I do this wrong, if I mess this up…” Ben’s throat works around the words. “My dad’ll never forgive me.”
Jackson sits back but doesn’t relax, his hand curling into a fist against his knee. “Ben, no one is in a great position here. Including your dad. But you are the one sitting in the electric chair and we have to figure out who plans to throw the switch. If we’re smart about it, we can protect youandthe plant.”
Ben nods, but his shoulders are stiff, locked in place, holding himself with unnatural stillness. He’s a concerning shade of pale.
Even Smokey senses things going wrong, slipping off Ben’s lap and vanishing beneath the couch.
“Ben?” Jackson sees it tightening around Ben, closing in. “Hey, eyes on me. What do you need?”
Ben doesn’t hear him. His breathing only gets louder. Shallower. Quicker. “I…I shouldn’t have come here. This was stupid. You can’t fix this. No one can fix this. It’s already—” He cuts off sharply, voice breaking on a gasp. “It’s already happening.”
And then he folds.
