Lost At Sea

by Erica Boyce

  Diane faced Maureen and nudged her back.

  Her job? Jess was mistaken, then. This must be someone from the hospital or the clinic or something. Not the mother after all. But then Maureen met the woman’s eye from across Diane, and there was something there that Jess couldn’t quite name. Something sad and complicated.

  “Do you think she’ll make it?” Maureen said quietly. “I mean, in your professional opinion. Will the rehab work this time?”

  All three of them watched the woman carefully, Jess from the doorway and Maureen and Diane from the couch. Maureen picked a chunk of polish off her thumbnail. They were painted the same color as Diane’s.

  “It’s impossible to say,” the woman finally admitted. “I’ve had kids who had everything going for them—nice family, plenty of money to keep them in rehab, good jobs waiting for them at their parents’ company—and they just keep relapsing.”

  Maureen nodded, her chin buckling.

  The woman ran her fingers through a knot in her hair at the nape of her neck. “On the other hand,” she said slowly, “there have been some clients who look like they’ve got nothing, less than nothing. And in spite of that, they pull through. They live healthy, boring, sober lives. Hell, I do.”

  The room grew so quiet, they could hear Ella talking in the kitchen. She’d moved on from math to Spanish and seemed to be stumbling over every syllable.

  “At the end of the day, she has to want it,” the woman said. “And we can’t make her want it.” She looked directly at Maureen. “None of us can. But if she does decide she wants it, she’s going to need help. From all of us.”

  “Maureen said you mentioned something about an anxiety disorder,” Diane interjected. “Could that be the cause?”

  The woman sighed. “Again, it’s hard to say. It could be a factor, sure. And it definitely doesn’t help. Self-medication is really common. Unless and until she gets honest about it, recovery is going to be tough for her.” She chewed her lip and abruptly buried her face in her hands. “I just wish she would talk to me,” she said, muffled. It was clear she wasn’t talking about a patient.

  “I know,” Maureen said. Her cheeks were red, and Diane linked her arm through Maureen’s. “But you’re just going to have to wait.” Her voice went rough. “She’s upset, and rightfully so, and if there’s one thing I know about my daughter—” She paused and let the word hang in the air, motionless and full. “It’s that there’s no getting through to her when she’s like that,” she finished.

  “Okay.” The woman nodded slowly and pressed her hands between her knees. “You’re right.”

  Somehow, the tension in the room had burst like a soap bubble.

  Diane untangled herself from Maureen and stood. “Anyone care for a snack?” she said. “I think someone gave me a block of cheese when they came by to pay their respects last week.”

  “Must’ve been Daryl,” Maureen said. “Did he also leave a bag of tortilla chips to make his famous nachos?”

  “He did!” Diane’s eyes lit up. “I’ll go preheat the oven.” She walked out the other doorway, away from Jess.

  When Diane was gone, Maureen turned to the woman, who was trying to look casual, like she belonged, as she scrolled through her phone. Jess was very familiar with the move, but the woman rubbed at her eyes intermittently, and it kind of gave her away.

  “That’s all it is,” Maureen explained. “Tostitos and cheddar cheese. Nothing special, but you’d think from the way Daryl talks about them that they’re God’s gift to the Super Bowl party. Apparently, he now thinks it’s an appropriate bereavement gift as well.”

  The woman smiled gratefully at her. Maureen looked away, and the two fell silent, staring at their respective feet. In that moment, there was no doubt in Jess’s mind who they were. The woman reached up and fidgeted with her hair just like Lacey sometimes did, pulling her bangs back to reveal a widow’s peak just like Lacey’s. And Maureen let loose a small sigh as she crossed her arms over her stomach, just like Lacey had when Ella tracked Jess down at the docks.

  Jess backed away from the door and tiptoed to the entryway. She slipped on her boots, praying the puddle beneath them wouldn’t dry into a stain, and out she went. The guys at the Break would probably kill to hear about what she’d just seen. She would tell no one.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Saturday, November 25, 2017

  It was two weeks before a spot opened up for Lacey in the clinic. During those weeks, she submitted to her mom’s nervous hovering, opening her mouth for Maureen after swallowing her Suboxone. By the time Maureen pulled to a stop in the clinic’s parking lot, it was a relief for both of them to see the squat, stolid building.

  Maureen didn’t turn the engine off. “Maybe I should’ve told you this before, but Ms. Bray—Annie quit. She’s transferring to an adult facility.”

  Lacey stared at her. “You talked to her?”

  Once upon a time, Maureen would’ve heard accusation and anger in her voice. Now, she recognized it as fear.

  “She emailed me,” Maureen lied. She couldn’t tell Lacey about the meeting at Diane’s house. She knew now how much Lacey still needed her protection. “She had my contact info from when you were…from when she worked here.” Maureen brushed her hands over the steering wheel, giving Lacey a moment to collect herself. “She really wants to talk to you, you know,” she said. “Get to know you.”

  “She already knows plenty about me,” Lacey said, glaring out the windshield. “I don’t know jack shit about her.”

  “I know. It was fucked up what she did, all of it. And I’m not saying you have to forgive her, not ever, but if you want to, you could call her when you get out. In case you want to know about her.”

  Lacey deflated into the back of the seat. “I used to imagine what she looked like. Where she was, what she was doing.”

  Maureen nodded carefully, keeping her eyes forward, same as Lacey.

  “It’s just too much right now, you know? I’m kinda pissed at her still, and that’s not…” She picked at a loose thread in the knee of her sweatpants.

  “I know,” Maureen said and squeezed Lacey’s forearm. “If and when you’re ready, Lace. I won’t push you.”

  “Thanks,” Lacey said. She leaned just a tiny bit into Maureen’s hand. “It’s so sad. He was my uncle, and I never…”

  “Oh, honey.” She pulled Lacey closer so their bodies tilted awkwardly over the center console. “You’re grieving. Do you want me to talk to the counselor about it? Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to do this now. Maybe you should wait until after his wake.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Lacey sat upright. “I’ve gotta feel what I’m feeling. You have to let me.”

  “Okay,” Maureen whispered after a pause.

  “Do you think—” Lacey inhaled. “Do you think Ella looks like me?”

  Maureen smiled and touched Lacey’s cheek. “Spitting image. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before actually,” she said. It wasn’t quite the truth. Maureen had looked everywhere for faces like her daughter’s after they moved to Devil’s Purse. If Ella resembled Lacey, Maureen would’ve seen it. There was something in their eyes, though. They lit up in just the same way.

  One corner of Lacey’s mouth quirked up. “You and me and Ella and Mrs. Stay—Di. Built-in family, right? So crazy.”

  “Sure is. Guess I’ve got a niece now. And an…adoptive sister-in-law? This shit is complicated.”

  Lacey laughed like she used to. It spilled over Maureen’s skin and felt like relief. But then Lacey’s face grew somber again.

  After a moment, Maureen gave Lacey’s arm one last pat and released it. “You sure you don’t want me to come in there with you, help fill out the paperwork?”

  Lacey shook her head. “I’ve gotta do this one myself.”

  “Okay. If you’re positive.” She scanned
Lacey’s face, memorizing it. “I couldn’t be prouder of you. I love you so much. You know that, right?”

  Lacey paused for a moment and said, “I know. Love you, too.”

  She slid out of the car, and Maureen watched in the rearview mirror as she pulled her single suitcase out of the back of the van. They’d packed it together that morning. Maureen taught her how to tightly roll and stack her clothes to get the most space. Neither of them acknowledged that the neat rows would soon be torn apart anyway during the intake inspection.

  And then Lacey walked away, getting smaller and smaller the closer she got to the clinic.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Friday, December 22, 2017

  It took Jess over a month to get everything in order. The paperwork, the gear, the buyers. Ben O’Malley had referred one of his crew to her, claiming the kid was interested in getting into scalloping. The boy’s surly silence on deck made Jess wonder how voluntary the change in employment had really been for him, but she’d take what she could get. It was possible to run a boat solo, but it sure wasn’t easy.

  “First trip as captain?” Will Feeney called from the docks.

  Jess cursed under her breath. She would lose her place in her mental checklist, which she’d now gone through at least three times. She poked her head out of the wheelhouse and smiled quickly. “Yup.”

  “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it,” he said. “You know what you’re doing.” He pounded on the hull of the boat. The metallic ringing echoed across the pier. “She’s a beaut.”

  “Thanks, Will,” she said, her smile more genuine this time, though he didn’t stick around to see it.

  Jess asked her new crewman to take a couple of tasks off her list. In response, he grunted, but she watched him comply. He was quick and efficient. She couldn’t ask for much else.

  And then, finally, they were off, the dock receding behind them and the horizon widening in front of them. The kid stood at the back of the boat and lit a cigarette while she returned to the wheelhouse.

  “Look at that, John,” she whispered into the steady growl of the engine. “I can handle this after all.” She glanced back to make sure her crew hadn’t heard her, feeling foolish. But this was where John was for her, where he’d always be: in the salt air in her throat, in the hot smell of fuel, in the swooping, incredulous joy of a full haul.

  * * *

  When she’d showed up on the pier on that last evening, John had a kind of jangling energy about him that she’d never seen in him before. For a disloyal second, she wondered if he’d taken something. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his eyes jittered all over the place.

  “You think maybe we should sit this one out?” Jess said, wiping the drizzle off her face. On cue, the flag hung outside the harbor master’s office snapped in the wind.

  “Nah. No can do,” John said, scratching the back of his neck, head down. “Actually, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

  “Sure,” Jess said.

  “I got in touch with this guy from out of state. Trying to hire someone to run his tuna boat.” He pointed at an unfamiliar fishing vessel docked next to the Diane & Ella, all gleaming and white. “I told him I’d do it. He wants me to head out today.”

  “Are you insane?” Jess said. It was over one hundred miles to the nearest tuna fishing grounds, a ten-hour steam in the best weather. Some guys still did it—a single fish could get you $5,000—but you’d have to be either extremely cocky or extremely desperate to go out on a day like this. And John Staybrook was not cocky.

  He laughed, then coughed. “I know, I know. My wife would kill me if she found out. Which is where you come in,” he said. “No one’s around now to see me leave, but if someone comes by and sees my boat at the dock, Di will find out I’m not where I’m supposed to be.” He looked away. “Can you take out the boat and cover for me? Least till I’m out of shooting range?”

  “You think there’s a reason nobody else is here right now maybe?” Jess said. “Christ, John, this weather.”

  “Eh, you could handle it. You’ve seen worse.”

  “I’m not the one I’m worried about.” Sure, she could putter around the bay for a few hours. But no one should be out in the open ocean today.

  “The window for the tuna season closes real soon,” John said. “Not much time to waste, owner’s breathing down my neck. I spent all day today running around town for supplies.” He looked at Jess, and at last, his eyes were clear, focused. “My family’s in trouble,” he said quietly. “We could use the money.”

  Jess gnawed on the edge of her tongue. They’d had a bad season, it was true. She could barely cover rent and food with what she’d been getting lately. John looked apologetic every time he cut her a check. Diane had a good job, though. Everyone assumed she carried her husband through years like this, though no one would ever say so out loud.

  “Okay,” Jess said, because she could think of nothing else to say.

  * * *

  Had she not been so worried about John, she might’ve marveled at how automatic it felt that night, running the boat by herself. She’d never gone out without him before, but she’d watched him so closely for so many years that it was instinct to her. She even managed to get a haul in, though it didn’t yield much.

  Every twenty minutes, she checked in with John over the VHF radio. He sounded bemused, back to his old self, his nerves from the dock dissipated. As the moon rose high in the sky and he got farther away, his voice became more static than anything else. She could still make out his words, though: “All good,” or “Yep, still at it,” or “You run my boat aground yet?”

  And then. Just when she’d convinced herself he was right, that everything was fine. She’d composed an explanation to give to Diane when she got back, with an estimated date for John’s return. Over the radio: “Fuck.”

  “John?” She fumbled for the receiver.

  Silence for a moment, then, “Things sorta going to shit here.”

  Her knees buckled beneath her, whether from fear or the violent sway of the boat she couldn’t tell. The receiver crackled. She bent closer, as if that would make it easier to hear. “John? Dammit, hello?”

  “Got a fire.”

  She fell to the deck. Her hands shook.

  “Look, J.” He sounded so calm. How could he sound so calm? “My family. If I don’t make it, tell them I—”

  The pause was unbearable. Jess could not bear it.

  “Tell them I tried.”

  Reading Group Guide

  1. From the first page, you learn that the residents of Devil’s Purse consider loss to be a way of life. How does this belief manifest itself in the story and the characters?

  2. The novel seems first to be focused on the loss of John Staybrook but transitions quickly to its deeper interest—Lacey and the community that surrounds her. Why might the author have chosen to frame Lacey’s story in the loss of John?

  3. The community of Devil’s Purse and John’s disappearance is set against the seaside landscape: the rocky shores, thick mists, and rolling waves. How does this story reflect that of the town’s?

  4. What was the secret that surprised you the most in the book, and how did it change the way you viewed the townspeople of Devil’s Purse?

  5. Can you describe your feelings toward Matt? Would you be able to characterize him as a good or bad person, and why?

  6. Maureen seems far more invested in finding her daughter’s birth parents than Lacey herself. Why might this be the case for Maureen?

  7. Annie and Lacey have a very complex bond. Do you understand Annie’s choices, both while pregnant with Lacey and while counseling her? Do you think the secrets Annie kept justify Lacey’s anger, and why? How do you think their relationship will continue?

  8. What do you think is the significance of ending the book with John’s death? If
you could end it in a different place, where would you?

  A Conversation with the Author

  You have personal experience with the fishing community. Where does that shine through in this novel?

  I do! I’ve worked for and with fishermen since 2013. Over the years, I’ve learned that fishermen really are made of tougher stuff; the things they need to do on a day-to-day basis require bravery that most of us couldn’t imagine. And their families are equally tough. Everyone who’s married or related to a fisherman knows just how risky the job can be, and they have to live with that knowledge every single day. I’m hoping that grit and strength comes through in these characters.

  Your previous book, The Fifteen Wonders of Daniel Green, is set in Vermont. Lost at Sea takes place in Massachusetts. What about the rural Northeast communities is compelling to you as a writer?

  Well, they say “write what you know,” right? I’ve grown up and worked in these communities my whole life, and it’s such a huge part of my identity that it tends to bleed into my writing as well. I think it would be hard for me to do justice to the nuances in the fabric of communities in other parts of the country. So, I tend to stick with small-town New England.

  All of the women in Lost at Sea are unique in their strength and perseverance. Is there any one character you see yourself in the most?

  I see myself in Diane the most, even though it’s probably not the most flattering thing to say! She’s sort of prickly and knows that she is, but she’s fiercely loyal to her family. She works hard, and the thing she craves the most is to be really and truly understood.

  If you could meet one character from this book and share some advice, who would you choose, and what would you tell them?

  Honestly, all of these women are wise in their own ways, and I’m not really sure I could “teach” them anything that they wouldn’t eventually learn on their own. One lesson that they all struggle with at certain points along the way, though, is that family is really what you make of it and can be found in the most unexpected places.