Timon stands in the kitchen watching the sun drop over the ocean while MaryAnn lies out on her chair, catching the last minutes of daylight. Their kids all play around her, digging up sand to form a castle. The ocean darkens as the sun falls, and at the far end of the sky, they can see the moon overhead, ready to take the sun's place.
Timon hears Phineas chopping wood behind the house and finds himself wondering about his father's old age. He puzzles over how long Phineas expects to be able to chop wood for himself out here before he needs an assistant—or to move back to the states. Of course, he has the money for the assistant if that is what he wants. Though, it seems like a lonely future.
A warm fire burns in the living room. Timon sits on the couch facing the fire wearing a blue sweater he has never worn before. The flame throws an orange glow around the room. Phineas enforces a rule against using electric lighting until nightfall to conserve power in the generator.
Canvassing the room, Timon spots a liquor cabinet he hasn't noticed before. It is elegant, like China cabinets in any grandparents' home, and positioned beside a window near the door. He can see through the glass doors the cabinet is well stocked. Timon turns away but soon finds himself investigating the cabinet again.
Timon remembers a family discussion when he was young. Phineas vowed to Timon and his mother he would never drink again. The sight makes him feel betrayed, but also thirsty. He has, for so long, abstained from alcohol because of its power over him. To him, it became a chemical that his body needed—or else he would feel weak and sick. Even after he stopped drinking, the feeling remained like the weight of an abandoned dream. A section of himself is missing, left behind like those memories of his father. He feels these elements regaining the ground they had lost in some emotional, self-defining civil war so many years ago.
He rises from his chair and opens the cabinet, exposing an array of expensive liquor. Timon probes the bottles, finding scotch whiskey, vodka, and even a large jar with a crude homemade label reading "moonshine."
He notices all the bottles are factory sealed except for a quarter empty bottle of whiskey. He picks it up and twists off the cap. Without hesitation, Timon takes a long drink from it. The taste comforts him, but also sends him recoiling. He stumbles to the kitchen, still carrying the bottle, and pours a cup of juice for himself. He checks out the window to make sure his wife and kids are still occupied. They are nowhere in sight. He takes another large gulp of whiskey and chases it with the juice in almost the same motion. Then he twists the cap on and places it back in the cabinet, closing the door just as his family comes in from the beach. They wipe their feet on the floor mat and walk into the kitchen without noticing him.
He can hear them all laughing and talking in the other room.
"Okay, go wash up in the shower. I'll make some food," MaryAnn says.
The children all agree and head toward the bathroom. They round the corner and see Timon standing awkwardly in the middle of the dining room.
"Are you okay, Dad?" Jack asks.
"I'm fine."
The children study him.
"Is that your dad in there?" MaryAnn calls out from the kitchen.
"I'm comin'," Timon answers her.
He walks off past the kids and into the kitchen, feeling like a werewolf changing form. His stomach rumbles as if pleading, "What is this horrible liquid?"
MaryAnn stands over a counter wearing a yellow dress she had pulled over her swimsuit. Her hair is tied in a bun above her head, while she chops carrots on a cutting board.
"I heard what happened with Phineas," she says without looking back at him.
Timon stands drunkenly, trying to figure out what she is talking about.
"Jack told me. Maybe you should try and work it out. It would make our stay a lot more pleasant."
"Okay, baby."
She carries on chopping and preparing food. Timon grabs the bottle from the cabinet and wanders out the front door into the sand.
▶︎◎◀︎
An idea comes to Jack as they all shower together in their swimsuits.
"We should go in the jungle tomorrow," he suggests as he washes shampoo from his hair. "Like that episode of Adventure Rhyme? When they go into the jungle and meet that gorilla?"
"We have to bring Mom or Dad, remember?" Havel says, rubbing a bar of soap over his chest. "What if they don't wanna go?"
"We could go alone," Jack insists.
"I don't want to," Marie says, sitting on the shower floor.
Jack rolls his eyes at her.
"You don't have to. Me and Havel could go without you."
"Come on, Jack. We could get in trouble," Havel says with soap bubbles in his hair.
"We are going to check it out eventually, with or without them," Jack says with a smile, "and if they don't know we went, what's the problem?"
Marie evaluates Jack—she is unamused. Jack turns to Havel and his beam fades.
"If you don't, I swear you'll regret it," Jack spits at Havel, who flinches instinctually.
Havel looks to Marie. She shakes her head in the negative. He sighs.
"Fine, Jack. I'll go."
"Boys are so stupid," Marie says, standing and walking out of the shower.
"I'm telling Mom."
Jack bursts out of the shower and grabs Marie by her arm. He slips on the wet floor, bringing them both crashing to the ground.
"What happened? Is everyone okay?" MaryAnn says through the door. She must have heard them from the kitchen.
Jack forces his hand over Marie's mouth.
"We are fine. I just fell," Jack says.
"Okay, dinner will be ready soon."
Jack holds Marie down and gawks at her.
"Don't you even think about it⹅"
Tears run down Marie's temples, and Jack releases her. She stands quickly, wraps herself in a towel, and sits on the closed toilet, wiping the tears as they come. Havel steps out of the shower and hugs his sister.
"You didn't have to do that, Jack," Havel says.
"You are both a couple of pansies," Jack replies as he pulls a towel around his back.
"Better than a bully," Marie says.
▶︎◎◀︎
Timon sits on the beach, bottle in his hand, remembering his parents when they sat on the two rocking chairs outside the cabin. He wonders if their relationship recuperated after so many horrible years.
When Timon was a boy, he would hear suppressed arguments through the walls of his room. On some days, it was only a simple "how has your day been" conversation. Dull, relieving.
He would be on constant watch for an argument to the extent that it took most of his mental attention. He figured if he caught them early enough, he could de-escalate and maybe get them in different rooms. Hearing voices through walls always seemed to bring him right back to that bedroom.
Strange howls and yelps come from the woods behind him—he nearly drops his bottle when turning to see. Timon scans the tree line for the animals responsible for the noise. As he watches, a short bush only a few yards ahead of him shakes violently. It stops after a few seconds, though he can hardly make out the timing in his drunken state.
"Yeah, well, fuck you!" he yells at the forest.
Timon laughs and looks away, but hears a bush shaking again. Again he turns, and it stops. The sound of snapping branches and crackling leaves fades into the distance.
Curious memories creep into view. In his mind, it is like a poorly developed roll of film, where large strips were lifeless and black—just grey specs and bleeds. These black strips crumble around the edges. Timon remembers his time on the island. What few strips that have cleared are only frames of voiceless dinners and the walks he would take alone on the beach.
He has not been on the island long. At least, that is the way he remembers. What happened? Timon wonders.
He finds silence, apart from crashing waves and occasional bird calls. He tries to stand but falls back before getting a half-foot from the sand. Accepting his state, he crawls over to a nearby rock with half of its body sunk into the sand. Sand collects in the wrinkles of Timon's pant legs and fills his pockets while he heaves himself toward the sea-dressed boulder.
▶︎◎◀︎
Phineas enters the cabin from the back door carrying a bundle of logs. He walks by the bathroom and places the logs in a bin beside the fireplace.
"Smells good," he calls out to MaryAnn, who is cooking in the kitchen.
She turns back to him. "Have you seen Timon?"
"No, I assumed he was in here," he says, walking into the kitchen.
She brings the stirring spoon out, taps the access back into the pot, places it aside, and steps away.
"I was talking with him not too long ago, maybe twenty minutes. He walked out the door."
Phineas leans against the counter and crosses his arms.
"Did he say anything"
"Not much. Do you think he is alright? I heard you talked with him?"
"He might be upset—maybe took a walk. He was angry with me earlier."
MaryAnn goes to the bay window and peers out into the darkness. She leans forward and tries to look up and down the beach.
"It's getting dark," she says.
"I tell you what. I'll go get him and bring him back. You just keep doing what you're doing."
"Okay — thank you, good luck."
Phineas walks off out the door and into the night.
▶︎◎◀︎
Rain has begun to fall lightly. The ocean water slowly creeps up to Timon, who has fallen asleep against the rock with the water washing against his legs and lower portion of his torso. A small crab had crawled onto his shirt from the rock.
"There you are," Phineas says, hurriedly walking toward Timon.
Timon opens his eyes partially and notices his father proceeding toward him. Timon pushes himself from the rock. The crab loses its grip, falls from his shirt, and scurries off as Phineas comes close to Timon's face.
"Have you been drinking? Timon, MaryAnn just finished up dinner," Phineas tells him. He brings his hands to Timon's shoulders. "Come on, son. What's getting into you?"
Phineas grunts as he tries to pick Timon up. Timon wobbles on his feet to confront Phineas.
Timon growls. "It's you, you old fool!" He shouts, then crashes his bottle hard against the rock.
"Timon!"
He holds his hand and regards blood streaming down his fingers.
"Why don't you just go and die, you... you batterer. I bet you killed her, didn't you," he falls back on the glassed rock, "go on and die. Let me and my family have the island. Let us all forget what a sorry sack of shit you are!"
Phineas glares down at Timon as a light rain begins, and the clouds above become menacing. Without a word, he pulls his resistant son up and walks him through the obscurity of the night, toward the light of the cabin windows in the distance.
Phineas can see MaryAnn watching out the window as they near the cabin, trying to spot him returning. He hesitates, worrying about bringing Timon in, considering his condition. But realizing he has no choice, he treks on.
They come through the back door, settling loudly in the dining room where the children sit, all with napkins tucked into their shirt collars and forks in their hands.
"Dad?" Havel says, turning in his chair.
Timon considers the faces of his children, though the bulk of his focus is pulled to keeping himself standing.
"Your dad isn't feeling too well. I'm going to take him to bed."
"What happened to his hand?" Jack asks.
Phineas hears him but decides to pretend he doesn't. He brings Timon around the corner, and into the living room, where MaryAnn stands with a white apron over her dress.
Phineas lays him on the bed.
"Has he been drinking?" MaryAnn asks quietly, closing the bedroom door
"I'm going to go and get some bandages, his hand is cut."
Phineas walks toward the door, but MaryAnn stops him.
"Tell me, please."
"I found him on the beach, he broke a whiskey bottle and cut open his hand. I had to walk him over here."
"What‽ Really?"
Phineas walks out of the room and comes back with a roll of bandages and a plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide. MaryAnn sits beside Timon on the bed, pulling bloody bits of glass from his hand with a set of gunmetal tweezers.
Phineas leans in.
"He will be alright. Why don't you take my room for the night? I can stay on the sofa," Phineas says, handing her the peroxide and bandages.
"Oh, I couldn't. I should take care of Timon," she says.
"He just needs to sleep it off. It's a sickness, my dear."
"If anything, I will sleep on the sofa. Thank you, but I will be okay," MaryAnn assures him. "Why don't you go make yourself a plate."
Phineas pauses for a moment, wanting to care for his son himself but realizes maybe that duty has been passed on.
"I'll fix some up for the children," he says.
"Thank you, Phineas."