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Ellen's chopping vegetables for dinner, caught in the mundaneness of neat knife slices when two dead men stumbled into her kitchen, dripping wet and reeking of blood
She narrowly avoided cutting her own ring finger off, pointing the blade at the drenched man in front of her wearing her husband’s face. He looked – older, weather beaten, so very, very, tired, and it was then that she realized it was Martin, and Hooper, safe and whole and alive.
“Oh my god,” She said, drinking in the sight of them both. “Oh my god.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Matt Hooper said wearily, and Ellen gave a choke of laughter before pulling them both into a tight hug, burying her face into Martin's throat.
“I thought you’d died out there,” She said through tears, and Martin laughed like a drain.
“You think a shark could kill me?” He asked. “I’m the Chief of Police.”
“You stop it," Ellen said, and released them both, even though it hurt to do so. She wanted to never let them out of her sight again. “Where’s Quint?”
The men were silent. Hooper picked up one of the half-chopped carrots from her cutting board and bit into it. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he looked so young, like a boy. He could have been one of Chrissy’s friends. Ellen knew the answer to her question before they gave it.
“Didn’t make it.” Martin said, and rubbed his face with his hands. “Christ.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry-“ Ellen began, but Martin shook his head.
“No, no, it’s okay. We knew the risks. He knew the damn risks.”
He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, and Ellen joined him. His hands were wrinkled from being in the water when Ellen took them in her own, and she squeezed until he gave a polite chuckle at her lack of strength. Hooper continued eating his way through the raw carrot, staring off into the middle distance.
“Did you want to sit down?” She asked him.
Hooper blinked. “Oh no. I’m okay Mrs Brody.”
“Ellen,” Ellen said. “Please.”
“Ellen,” Hooper said, and swallowed the entire stem in one gulp. “Could I have a glass of water?”
“You haven’t had your fill?” Martin asked dryly.
“Hilarious,” Hooper said, and began opening cupboards. “Ellen, your husbands a real comedian.”
Ellen looked from Hooper to Martin to Hooper again. Martin was looking at Hooper too, gazing at him, like he wasn’t sure that he was real. Ellen wondered then if Hooper was real – if he was some strange ghost that had wandered into their lives and turned the world topsy-turvy. Hooper found the right cabinet and took a clean glass from the shelf, going up on his tip toes because it was too high to reach.
Ellen turned back to Martin. “Are you... Hurt? In any way?”
Martin shook his head. “Just tired,” He said. “Just real tired.”
“You look tired.”
“I don’t even want to know what I look like,” Martin said. Then he frowned. “Where are the boys?”
“Playdate,” Ellen said, and was glad then, that she had agreed to let them spend the afternoon with friends. “They begged for it.”
“They don’t care about their old man?” Martin said, and Ellen shook her head.
“Don’t say that, they both adore you. I adore you.”
Hooper set three glasses of water on the table, filled to the brim. Martin pushed out the spare chair for him, and Hooper collapsed into it, like he had spent months alone at sea. He was wearing a strange suit – Ellen supposed it was a diving suit. Both their hands were red and raw, and she reached across and held his too.
“Careful,” Martin said. “People will talk.”
“Damn the people,” Ellen said curtly. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“Me too.” Hooper said. He took the glass with his free hand and drank it all in one go, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Martin’s fingers flexed in Ellen’s grasp, and she squeezed him again. They both watched Hooper drink.
Strangely, Ellen realized this was the first time that they had entertained in Amity since moving here. No – it was the second, as Hooper had come over just a week ago, bringing wine and tales of sharking. Nobody else had visited, not even Ellen’s parents, the journey by boat too much of an effort. And yet here Hooper was, in her house, touching her things. She didn’t want to let him leave. She wanted to lock the doors, so that neither Hooper nor Martin left ever again.
“I should tell Larry he doesn’t need to fork out the money,” Martin said. “That’ll put a smile on his face.”
“Like hell you are,” Ellen said sharply, because if Martin thought he was going to visit Larry Vaughn on the same day he came back from the dead, he was a damn fool. “You’re staying right here, and you can go visit the Mayor tomorrow.”
Martin smiled at her. “Since when did you get so tough?”
“Ever since my husband left me to go sharking.” Ellen said. She had thought this morning that she would be a widow, and now here she was, Martin holding her hand, Hooper sitting across from her. She could still remember Quint on the other end of the boat phone, lying through his teeth to her. Stripers for dinner, what nonsense.
“Your husband sounds like a piece of work.” Martin said, rubbing their pinkie fingers against each other.
“He is,” Ellen said. “Too bad I love him.”
“What did Quint look like when he died?” Hooper asked suddenly, slamming the empty glass down onto the table.
The whole thing shuddered, and Ellen blinked, suddenly thrown back into the present. She had never liked Quint, but then again, she had never known him. He had been courteous to her in the street, and filthy when she gave her husband to him. He should have known, that Ellen would get Martin back in the end.
“He bled from his mouth,” Martin said, his voice cold and distant. “He cried.”
Hooper rubbed the wood grain pattern on the table, the same one Sean said looked like a grumpy face. “A good man goes down with his ship.”
“A shark ate your boat,” Martin said. “You didn’t go down with it.”
“I’m not a good man.” Hooper said.
“Oh yeah?” Martin tipped back in his chair, studying him. “You look like a good man in this light.”
Hooper smiled, a little sadly. “I’ve got bad thoughts Martin.”
“Like what?”
“I’m thinking about you,” Hooper said. “I’m thinking about Ellen.”
“Is that right?” Martin said. His voice was back to normal now – it reminded Ellen of when they were first courting, they way he’d speak to her outside of work, flirting until she wanted to kiss him right there in the middle of the street. She missed that side of him. He used to drive her crazy. He still drives her a little crazy.
“That’s right.” Hooper said. His eyes flicked over to Ellen, and she stared right back at him.
“I don’t mind you thinking about me.” She said, her words deliberate.
It seemed to strike Hooper mute. That, Ellen took as an accomplishment. She rubbed her thumb over Hooper’s calloused knuckles, and he shivered underneath her touch. Under the table, Martin’s foot knocked against Hooper’s own.
“I don’t mind you thinking about me either.” Martin said. “I’ve done a good deal of thinking about the both of you,”
The three of them were quiet. Ellen tried to remember the last time she had thought about another man that wasn’t Martin – there had been fleeting fancies, Hawkeye on MASH, Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit, but nobody close enough to touch. None of them likely to crash into her life, her house, spilling shark facts and bringing her husband back to her. Hooper was like nobody she had ever met, in New York or on Amity. Selfishly, she wanted more of him. She wanted the Brody’s to keep him all to themselves.
Martin pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to get washed,” He said. “And put on some clothes that don’t have blood on you. The two of you are welcome to join me.”
“I’ll make sure there’s fresh towels.” Ellen said. The upstairs was a mess, the boys toys spread everywhere, her own impending grief already manifesting with clothes and books strewn across the bedroom.
Hooper didn’t say anything. Instead he circled his finger across the top of his glass until it squeaked, not looking at either of them, drowning in his own thoughts. Ellen wanted to kiss him on the crown of his head where his curls were thickest, but refrained, following after Martin who was already halfway up the steps.
“Okay?” Martin murmured, just low enough for her to hear.
“Okay,” Ellen promised, sure as wedding vows.
There was silence from the kitchen, and Ellen held her breath, the two of them pausing on the staircase like they were schoolkids again, waiting for the cane to strike. Then they heard the chair scrape across the linoleum, and Hooper’s footsteps come padding after them, the sound of him clearing his throat.
Ellen pressed her forehead against Martin’s back, feeling the warmth of his skin seep through his shirt, and smiled with unfathomable delight.