And there was no woman in his life. There hadn't been anyone special since Jill.
They had been very happy at the beginning. But as Mark's career progressed, his work kept him away from home for longer periods of time, sometimes weeks or even months. Jill became unhappier with each goodbye. Mark could sense it, and the guilt stung him. He was torn between the passion that had driven him since he was a child and his longing to be with Jill.
One day Mark returned home early from a work trip. He had bought flowers and two plane tickets to Paris, determined to surprise his wife. Instead, she surprised him—he found her in bed with her boss.
Mark had dated other women since their breakup, but Jill's betrayal had stayed with him, and those who came after her had met the impenetrability of a hardened heart.
§
He had opted to avoid the Memorial Day onslaught of tourists by staying at home in Annisquam instead of driving through holiday traffic to the Institute. Ostensibly he was doing "field work," but in truth, he had spent most of the day pacing the back portion of the wide, covered porch that wrapped around his house. There was a splendid view of Ipswich Bay, but he was so distracted that he didn't even look at it.
This is insane. How could he be pining like an adolescent over some middle-aged woman he'd spent all of a few hours with and knew nothing about?
But that wasn't true. He'd learned a lot about her from the Keeper's Log. His feelings for Renie had begun while reading about her. Seeing her in the flesh had only solidified an already burgeoning infatuation.
And he realized something else: He hadn't thought about Jill in weeks. Though he had thought of her less with each passing year, it was rare for more than a few days to go by without him wondering where she was and what she was doing. But the last time he could remember thinking about her was during his first trip to the Soldiers' Home, almost two months ago.
Mark leaned his elbows against the porch railing and cradled a ceramic coffee mug imprinted with the slogan Massachusetts' Other Cape. His eyes followed a small sailboat as it tacked lazily over the calm waters of Plum Cove. But his mind kept returning to memories of Renie—the enticing smile she had given him when she first opened the door of her mother's home, then the sadness that had come over her while she read the Keeper's Log. He had caused that sadness. Did she hate him now? Did she think of him at all?
The soft, doorbell chime of his iPhone brought him back to the present. He pulled the phone from the front pocket of his tan cargo pants and held it far enough in front of him that he could see the number on the screen. He didn't recognize it, but he knew the area code, 413, was Western Massachusetts. He returned the phone to his pocket when he remembered something: Renie had said she used to live in the Berkshires. That was in western Massachusetts. He pulled the phone back out and almost fumbled it over the porch railing.
"Hello?" he said with more excitement in his voice than he would have liked.
"Mark?"
"Yes?"
"Mark, this is Renie Bennett. Am I calling at a bad time?"
"Not at all. I was just having my coffee."
"Good. First of all, I'd like to apologize for the way I treated you. I was not a very good hostess..."
"No, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I just showed up out of the blue, and hit you with this thing. I should have handled it differently. I'm so sorry to have upset you."
"Thank you. Anyway, I would like to finish reading Pete's journal, if that's all right."
"Of course, I can be there in an hour, if you'd like."
"No," she said, "not here. Would it be all right if I came to you?"
"Of course, I'll make a fresh pot of coffee."
"Actually, later in the day would be better. I'm looking at studio spaces today. I teach dance and, well, I've had to close my studio in the Berkshires..."
"There's no need to explain."
"I could come around five, if that works for you."
"Five will be perfect."
"All right, five it is. I'll just need your address for my gps."
Mark gave her his address, and ended the call with, "See you at five."
The closer it came to 5:00 p.m., the more nervous Mark felt. Renie arrived shortly after five, and Mark watched her from the bay window of his living room as she parked her SUV and got out. Her hair was pulled back tightly into a long ponytail, and she wore black capris with a tan T-shirt and black flip-flops.
Mark's iPhone chimed. He looked at the screen. It was Jake Carvalho, a Gloucester fisherman and friend. Jake never called without a good reason.
"Hello?" Mark answered.
"Marko, it's Jake. I'm about a mile out and I've got a baby humpback caught in fishing net. It hasn't come up for a while, so chances are it's done for, but I thought you should know."
Mark's brow furrowed. "They can hold out for quite a while when they need to, Jake. Give me your coordinates, and I'll be there as soon as I can."
Renie had barely raised her fist to knock when Mark pulled open the front door.
"I'm sorry," he said, "But I have to leave for a work-related emergency. I'm a marine biologist with the Oceanographic Institute. A baby whale is caught up in fishing net. It probably won't survive, but I have to at least try."
"Of course," said Renie. "Good luck, and call me when it's convenient to reschedule."
"Listen, Renie, I can't say exactly how long I'll be gone, but you're welcome to wait here for me. Better yet, would you care to come along? You won't be in any danger."
"I'm sure I'd just be in the way."
"No, I'd like for you to come—really. But we have to hurry."
"All right," she said. Her eyes were wide, and she looked startled.
Mark led Renie down the narrow path that led from his backyard to his boat dock. He calculated that it would take twenty minutes to reach the coordinates that Jake had given him. They had to hurry if they were to make it in time to make a difference.
§
Mark pulled up to the port side of the fishing boat and cut the engine. His Bayliner bobbed gently against the larger trawler like a puppy nuzzling its mother.
Jake Carvalho was the personification of a harbor seal. His head and face were almost totally covered with dark, short-cropped hair. On the bridge of his short nose sat round glasses that magnified large, brown eyes bordered by long eyelashes.
Jake helped Mark aboard first, and then each of them took hold of one of Renie's arms, helping her onto the trawler's deck.
"Thank God you're here, Marko. I spoke too soon. It's not dead. It surfaces every few minutes to breathe."
"But I thought it was too caught up in the net for that," Mark said.
"It has help," Jake replied.
"You mean...the mother?"
"Uh-huh. As soon as I hung up the phone with you, I saw it surface. The calf was up for just long enough to take a breath, and a minute later Mama surfaced along the starboard side. She dives every few minutes, and then she helps junior surface for long enough to get some air. They've been doing that for a while now."
"Well, that's how a mother helps her newborn take its first breath. Okay, I'll change into my wetsuit."
"Mark, you're not going to..."
"I don't have much choice. They can't keep this up forever. If the calf's not freed, it'll die."
"Yeah, what about you?"
"I'll be fine."
Jake shook his head slowly and stroked a hand over his beard, but Mark's tone implied that he wasn't asking for anyone's feedback.
Mark crossed back over to his own boat to change.
Renie turned to Jake, eyeing him curiously. "What's going on?"
"Look, the mother must weigh in at about eighty thousand pounds. If she makes a wrong move around Mark, even accidently, he could be crushed. When I called him I didn't know the mother was around."
"Couldn't you have just called the Coast Guard?"
Jake laughed.
"Why is that funny?"
"It'
s just that...I guess you haven't known Mark for very long, have you?"
"No, not very."
"You see, if I had called the Coast Guard, they'd have called Mark and asked him what they should do. He's like the world's leading expert."
§
A few minutes later Mark emerged from the Bayliner dressed in a wetsuit, snorkel, and facemask. After giving a wave to Jake and Renie, he slipped into the sea. Through his wetsuit he could feel the seawater cool his body and he shivered for a moment before he swam around the larger boat's bow, toward the young whale.
When Mark went underwater, he could see where the fishing net was tangled around the whale's fins and tail. He drew his knife from its sheath and was about to make his first cut in the net when something dark and enormous approached in his peripheral vision. He turned his head to the left and was startled to see a black eye the size of a grapefruit just a few feet away from him—the mother.
He struggled to keep his composure and stay still. He stared directly into the giant eye for a few seconds and thought, God, I hope you know that I'm the best friend you've got right now. Then, turning back ever-so-slowly, he began to saw through the net, pulling it away from the young whale's body as he went.
But he was one man with one knife and his progress was slow. After several minutes of cutting, surfacing for air, and re-submerging to continue, he heard the young one cry out.
The enormous silhouette of the adult whale appeared beneath her offspring and the calf began to rise to the surface with Mark on top of it. Holding fast to the net, he surfaced along with the whale. It took all the strength he could muster just to hold on.
§
Renie and Jake gasped simultaneously when they saw Mark rise up with the baby whale. Mark clung to the net like a rodeo rider would hold onto a bronco. An enormous, violent gush of water and air spewed from the animal's blowhole and was followed by a huge, desperate-sounding inhalation of air. Then the calf fell back below the surface, and took Mark with it.
Mark sawed furiously at the net. His strength was being sapped and he feared he wouldn't be able to last much longer. Finally, lungs bursting, he cut through the last strands that were tangled around the whale. It bolted quickly, its mother by its side.
§
After a few tense moments Mark surfaced and Renie and Jake sighed with relief. Jake hauled his exhausted and weakened friend over the side. Mark collapsed onto the deck.
"Are you all right?" Renie rushed to his side.
"I'll be fine." Mark said. "I just need to rest for a little while."
Renie knelt beside him and watched with concern while he lie on his back, gasping.
A few minutes later, Jake murmured, "I'll be damned. I think you have a fan club, Marko." He pointed out to sea, and his hairy face spread into a smile.
Renie helped Mark to his feet, and they both turned to look. The cow and calf were engaged in a display of lobtailing and fin slapping. The whales' breathtaking dance lasted for several minutes. At the end of the performance, in the backdrop, the sun melted into the sea like a dollop of butter on a griddle.
§
Mark steered the Bayliner back toward shore. He felt Renie's eyes on him, and turned from the helm of the boat to meet her stare.
"What?" he asked.
"That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen."
Mark nodded. "I know. They put on quite a show, didn't they?"
Renie leaned in to him, and placed her hand on his forearm. "Not them. I mean you. What you did was the bravest, most selfless act I've ever witnessed."
Mark felt himself blush and tried to conceal his embarrassment with nervous chatter about whales—how they had been hunted almost to extinction, and why it was essential to save them.
With twilight came a rapid drop in air temperature, and the breeze created by the boat's speed made Renie shiver. Steering with his left hand, Mark used his right to lift up a seat bench and pull out a blanket for her. He draped it over her shoulders, and pulled her in close.
"Better now?" he asked.
She looked up at him, smiled, and nodded her head.
When they got to Mark's house, Renie offered to brew some tea.
"If it's all the same to you, I think something a wee bit stronger is in order," Mark said.
Renie laughed when Mark grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from a kitchen cupboard.
"I guess you've earned it," she said.
"Join me?" Mark asked as he poured a good measure into an ice-laden tumbler. The warm, honey-colored liquor caused an ice cube to split with a loud crack.
"I'll stick with tea, thanks."
"Here's to swimmin' with bowlegged women," he said with a devilish grin.
§
While Mark showered, Renie meandered around the living room. The decor was both attractive and inviting—a mix of newer upholstered sofas and chairs and older tables, lamps, and artwork, which Renie imagined Mark had grown up with.
Two large, overstuffed sofas in dark green brocade sat opposite each other in the center of the room, perpendicular to the fireplace. Between them, an antique, stenciled mahogany hope chest acted as a coffee table.
Renie moved about the room until she arrived at the fireplace. Several family photos were displayed in stylish frames on the mantelpiece. One was of a five-year-old Mark and his parents. Mark's hair was in a long, Dutch-boy cut and he sported the same devilish grin she'd seen just moments before. It made her smile.
Then another photo leapt out at her and her smile faded. An older teenage girl was flanked by two younger boys, one of whom Renie recognized instantly, even though it was the first time she'd ever seen him with two eyes and two arms.
The long-haired children stood with their arms strung over each other's shoulders, smiling broadly. Their happiness showed in their clear, young eyes—not a care or a doubt in the world. Renie surmised that Peter posed with his older brother, Tommy, who would soon die in Vietnam, and his sister, Marybeth, who would become Mark's mother.
In her mind's eye she remembered what Peter had looked and sounded like when she knew him in the early '70s. For a few precious moments it was as if she was sixteen again. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.
Renie heard the shower abruptly stop, and was jostled back to the present. Young Peter was once again exiled to the back of her mind. She was here with Mark now. But as much as she had come to like and admire Mark in their brief time together, and as much as she wanted—needed—to know what Peter had written in the rest of his Keeper's Log, she was determined that no one, not even Mark, would ever learn the truth of what had happened at Rose Hip Point.
Chapter 46
MARK EMERGED FROM his bedroom. He was barefoot, and wore jeans and a black, long-sleeve T-shirt. His dark, wavy hair, still wet from the shower, was combed back.
He scanned the living room and said, "Now, where did I leave my old friend, Jack?" Eyeing the tumbler of bourbon on the coffee table, he added, "There you are. Come to Papa."
On his way to retrieve the drink, Mark passed close by Renie and she took in his clean scent and the aroma of his lightly spicy cologne.
"Feel better?" she asked.
Mark was still so pumped with adrenaline that he was almost hyper. He looked directly into her eyes, smiled, and said, "I feel positively human. Then he added, "Hey, I've been so wrapped up in myself I almost forgot to ask. How'd the studio search go?"
"Actually, quite well, there's a nice, big space available off of Main Street in Gloucester. It's just a little way up the hill on Elm Street. It has a beautiful hardwood floor. All I need to do is add mirrors and a ballet bar. I think it will be perfect."
"That's great, I'm glad things are falling into place for you."
Their eyes locked for a long moment before Renie nervously broke the spell. "I think you have some reading material for me?" she said, and looked away.
The Keeper's Log, the damned Keeper's Log. At that moment Mark just wanted it to go away. He wante
d to say, Oh, that. It's not important. Listen, saving that whale made me hungry. I have a couple of steaks in the fridge and a bottle of Côtes du Rhône. Let's just forget all about the Keeper's Log. We can light a few candles, and have dinner on the porch overlooking the bay.
But he didn't. Of course, he didn't. Instead he said, "Right, one Keeper's Log coming up."
He disappeared into his home office, and returned a few moments later with the journal in hand.
They sat together on the sofa. Renie slowly, reverently turned the pages until she found the place where she had left off.
§
November 27, 1974
Marybeth and Bridey both invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, but I begged off. I just don't feel like being around people right now...
Peter heard a soft knock on his kitchen door and peered through the window. A frail-looking Bridey Gallagher stood on the granite stoop. The old woman held a large willow laundry basket whose contents were concealed by a gleaming white bath towel. He pursed his lips and shook his head.
When he opened the door a swirling gust brought the damp, gray cold and scent of November into the light keeper's house.
"Bridey," he said.
But the old woman pushed by him as brusquely as the autumn wind. "Peter, be a dear and set the oven to 325 while I lay the table? Everything's cooked. I just need to warm a few things."
"But, Bridey, Thanksgiving's not until tomorrow. Besides, I told you..."
"Oh, too bad aboutcha. Since you wouldn't come to the mountain, dear, I decided to bring the mountain to you."
"You're just...just..."
"I think exasperating is the word you're searching for. Now stop your noise and start the oven. Oh, and build a fire too, won't you, Peter? It's awfully chilly in here."
Peter threw up his hand in acquiescence. He turned the oven on, and then headed for the living room fireplace. When he had a good blaze going, he returned to the kitchen.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Bridey gave him an appraising look.
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