Denise Dowling

Last call for sin

Henry Singer* is hunting.* Names and other identifying details throughout the article have been changed.It’s past dawn and he knows that Carina will be waking with a crack attack—a hit to start the morning as others pour that first mug of caffeine. She’ll need his $20 to buy a rock. It won’t get her through the day, but she’ll be…

Cap’n Jack’s

Like many Irishmen, my father never lets truth eclipse a good story. His tales kept three mouths quiet for most of I-95 during the annual Maine pilgrimages of my childhood. One of his inventions was “Henry,” a seagull who, my dad convinced us, awaited our return each August. As soon as we smelled grease from the Kennebunkport clam shack, my…

Home Port

Fourteen lepers have one of the best views of Cape Cod. Their cemetery on Penikese Island overlooks Buzzard’s Bay, twelve miles off the Cape’s southern tip. The headstones are etched with lichen and barren of details: no mention of wives or husbands, children or parents, they float in the social order. The lepers were quarantined for life and quarantined in…

History in a Bottle

Don’t be deceived by Mark Hellendrung’s frat-boy lair. Bottle cap fishing lures and Yoo-hoo logo baseballs may clamor for desk space, but this is part of the “Hells” seduction. Few people suspect the shark beneath his gum-chewing ease: the president of Narragansett beer has the business acumen without the power suit or attitude. By marketing the amber taste of nostalgia,…