“Okay, how about this?”
The whale's head he'd drawn was longer, flatter and more pointed.
“Yes, that's more like it.”
“Was there any white on the animal?”
“White on its flipper. I saw when he moved it.”
“A white stripe?”
“I think.”
Minke,” he said. “Stay here.” He went back into the back, and she heard him speak. He was calling someone, probably Spence.
He came out with a yellow waterproof on, and a mariner's hat. Even without the beard, he looked like Lawrence, singled-minded, purposeful. “Follow me,” he ordered.
The Jeep came shooting out of the driveway. She pulled behind it when a fearful possibility cut into her thoughts. What if the whale wasn't there? What if it got itself loose and swam away? It would be like somebody reporting a murder, and the investigators showing up to see no body, Rod would think she tricked him. Only a few nights ago, he'd accused her of stalking him. In the minutes it took to hurtle up the road to Buxton, her skin crawled with uncertainty. I did see a whale, didn't I? Am I insane? She imagined the look on his face if – if it wasn't there. But it had been real. It was a whale.
One part of her desperately hoped the whale would be there, but another part hoped that it had managed to free itself. It had been in agony. Of course, Rod would never believe … But then why would she make up a story after their last confrontation? No one in their right mind courted that kind of disdain. Am I in my right mind? And, anyway, does it matter what he thinks?
She followed his Jeep when it pulled off the road onto the pack sand. She braked, and ran to where Rod pulled ropes from the back of his Jeep. He handed her a heavy duty battery lamp. Just then, up ahead, bright lights sped around a bend. Spence braked the Suburban facing the Jeep and leapt out. He dragged ropes from the truck, got his lantern and called, “Where's the whale from here?”
“Straight across from the riptide sign.”
“By the lighthouse?”
“Not that far.”
Matching strides with the men as they clomped through shrub-covered dunes, she heard Spence said, “Tide's coming in now.”
At the shore, they halted. The night was black as coal, and their lanterns didn't pick out the shape of the whale. Spence and Rod turned to her. “Here?” Rod asked.
She looked behind her and focused on the sign that warned against rip tides. What could she say? The whale was gone. “I – yes, this – right about here …” She'd never felt so desolate in her life, but the whale was gone. It’s deep shit for me.
Spence's voice split the night. “There it is!” His light shined on the long, dark deadly-still object. The whale seemed to have listed on its side and lay half submerged in the rippling, incoming surf.
Light-headed with vindication, still she wept for the distressed animal, and caught Spence eyeing her.
He said, “Don't cry Annie. We'll get this little boy back out where he belongs.”
“What can I do to help?”
Spence looked to where Rod was knee deep in the water and said, “He's assessing the situation. We haven't got a lot of time. Whales can't be beached like this for long. Their organs can't stand their weight out of the water.”
Wielding the powerful lantern, she followed Spence. At water's edge, she watched Rod study the whale. Spence took out his cell and spoke a few code words. He had contacted the Coast Guard. “Yeah, it's confirmed,” Spence said into the cell. “Hold on, Curator's inspecting it now.”
She and Spence were knee deep with Rod. “It's a Minke,” Spence said, relaying Rod's diagnosis. “Fifteen, sixteen feet. Four tons. Distressed, but not cut or bleeding that we can see. Good shape. Some fin and eye movement.”
Rod said, “Get a refloat crew here fast.”
Spence relayed the message into the cell. “Requesting a refloat crew.”
Rod came up. “We got lucky …” he said, looking at her. She couldn't move, not even bat an eyelash.
Rod said to Spence, “He hasn't been out of the water for long. Let's see if we can't get it to move out into deeper water.”
Spence took the tail end. Rod the head. She was in the middle. They slapped the water frantically. The whale seemed to understand and rolled like a ship at anchor. “He's trying,” Spence said.
“Watch his tail,” Rod yelled. “His front end's too heavy. The water's still too shallow.”
All at once they were surrounded by people on the beach.
Have I gone back in time again? She looked around for Lawrence and felt his warmth close to her. Suddenly Rod was shaking her arm. “What's the matter with you?”
She wasn't back in time. These villagers weren't here to push surfboats into the sea. They were here to rescue a whale. On the beach, six men labored to unfold a yellow inflatable raft.
She put her mind to the task, shoving the slippery animal for all she was worth.
A group of young, strong men came and gently pushed her back, away from the whale's belly. “The Minke is strong,” Rod said to the group. “I don't believe it's sick. It's trying to get free.” Unexpectedly, his eyes found hers, and she smiled uncertainly. Looking at the assembly of strong men again, he said, “That's good and bad. Good, because he can help us help him. Bad, if someone gets in his way.”
“Hell's bells, Rod,” a three-hundred pound man said. “That don't weigh no more'n a Volkswagen we used to pick up in high school.”
“You had more cooperation from the Volks,” Rod said to good-natured assent.
A man yelled, “And a few chrome handles to hold onto. Who's going to volunteer to hold onto his flippers?”
Another said, “Or the fluke?”
“Me,” the three-hundred pounder answered.
Rod broke in, “The main thing we can't do is get him on his back, and cover the blow hole.” He looked at the raft which the men were launching, and then he spoke as if he were speaking to her. “We got to raise him enough to get it underneath, and then inflate it.”
The men surrounded the thrashing whale. She would help it if she could, but her muscle power was insignificant compared to the brute strength of the men who worked against the sea for a living. They heaved the animal and, despite its struggle, carried it out to where they were chest deep in water.
From the south, lights appeared on the water. Coast Guard pontoons closed in. It was hard to see clearly what was happening to the whale since it was surrounded by men. But before long, the men backed up and a pontoon chugged away.
Spence came out of the water. “Where's Rod?” she asked.
“He's with the CG. They'll take the whale out into deeper water and then he'll see to its release.”
“Thank God.”
“Not so fast, Miss Ann.”
“Don't tell me bad news.”
“Whales often wash or swim back to shore,” he said, winding the heavy ropes. “And then there's the shoals out there. We'll monitor the beaches to see he doesn't strand a second time.”
“You'd think he'd learned.”
“Yeah, but for whatever reason, they come to shore again. Maybe disoriented. And there may be more out there. Pilots strand along with minkes. We've had thirty-one pilots wash up at one time. They all died or had to be destroyed.”
“Horrible.”
Looking north, he said, “Nothing more for me to do here. I'm going back to Rodanthe. I'll be out here at dawn patrolling after these men go in for some sleep. Some will keep watch all night.”
“I’ll stay up. I don’t sleep well anyway.”
His questioning eyes stayed on her.
“Good night,” she said.
“Why …?”
“Don't ask.”
“Someday maybe?”
“Maybe.”
Looking over the dark sea, she made out boats with stalwart men in them, keeping watch on the whale. The sea had created a different life for these men who lived so near it.
Neptune rules the rich and stra
nge with scepter and crown. The words had floated on the air.
“What?” she said aloud.
She turned sharply. A presence stood beside her, casting warmth upon her breast.
Lawrence? It is you, isn't it?
The warmness dissipated slowly leaving her feeling buoyant and unreasonably confident. Her head turned to the lights offshore, and she whispered, “Good night, Rod.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
--
Spence woke Missi.
Damn big jerk. She threw her arms around him and wondered not for the first time what was going to happen when her story came to an end, when her editor called her home? As much as she loved Spence – or loved making love to him – she couldn't live here in this insular place with only ghosts, crabs and tales of the sea for company. Spence sure wasn't going to leave the Park Service for the big city, and he'd been making marrying comments. No open proposal, thank the Lord.
“Lover, sugah,” she moaned. “Where have you been?”
“I told you, out to save a whale.”
“Well?
“We saved him. So far. If he doesn't decide to beach himself again.”
“That'd be silly.”
Spence snickered.
“How's Roddy boy?”
“He's fine. Now ask me how's Annie girl.”
“What'er you saying, sweetie?”
“Ann was there.”
Galvanized, she sat straight up, her heavy breasts flopping from her nightgown. “Don't you leave out one li'l ol' word, Spencer.”
He rubbed his hands across her breasts, but she pushed them away. “Later, sugah, tell me quick about Ann.”
“When I got to the shore, who was there with Rod, but her. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Naturally, I had to act like it didn't matter one way or another.”
Her blood ran fast and hot. “You mean she came with Rod?”
“I don't think so. There was another car behind his. A Buick. Older model.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Clever Ann, driving a clunker. That's why we couldn't find her.”
“What are you talking about, we didn't look?”
“Not we, as in you and me, but we, as in my staff in Atlanta. I had them digging in the car rental places. She rented an SUV and told the clerks she was bound for North Carolina, but our investigator never spotted the car in inns or restaurants.”
“You had a private investigator on her?”
“Sure did. I wanted to find her.”
“Seems she was right under our noses.”
“Where'd she get the car, I wonder?”
“She could have bought it.”
“There's that. She definitely had help. You think she's staying at Rod's?”
“No way. Rod's not secretive.”
“Why was she with him?”
“Apparently she's the one who spotted the whale and drove to Rod's.”
“Too bad you weren't nicer today when she called. She may have called you when she saw the whale.”
“I'd have called Rod. Marine animals are his territory.”
“What was she doing on the beach to see a whale in the middle of the damn night?”
“That's the question.”
“Could she and Rod have a thing, and they're keeping it quiet?”
“I told you, no.”
Big idiot. “Does Rod know about us?”
“Not yet. It's a matter of time.”
Her eyes narrowed, “Where's Ann staying?”
“I don't know. She was still on the beach when I left.” He reached out and caressed a breast. “Had to get home to my lover.”
She pushed his hand away. “She has to be staying in one of those motels right off Highway 12, near where she found the whale.”
He began unbuttoning his shirt. “We'll check them out in the morning.”
“No, tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure. Check the parking lots for that car you saw by Rod's.”
“You take this reporter stuff too seriously.”
“You want to get used to it?”
“Rodanthe has a newspaper you could work for.”
You’ve got to be kidding.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
--
Standing alone, she watched the men on the sea, longing to be with them, listening to their sea-faring voices. Instead she was here, gazing into the vast cavern where firefly bulbs flickered and died, where the razor sharp wind flung the cap off her head, where her clothes were soak with sea water and mist rolling in. She jumped suddenly, thinking, what in hell's the matter with me? Once Missi learned that she was on the beach, it wouldn't take long to track her to the motel. She said aloud. “Why am I standing here?”
Running up the beach to the motel, she got the door open, quickly packed her things, left the key and struggled with the heavy backpack and sack of clothes until she reached the car a hundred yards away on Highway 12. When she reached it, she stopped suddenly, hearing words she couldn't understand. Through the mist she saw Lawrence coming toward her.
His voice was soft and close. “Where are you going?”
He was back-lighted by a string of dim motel lights across the road, but she saw who it actually was.
Rod.
His voice, him standing there – she couldn't speak.
“Ann,” he said quietly, “where are you going?”
Her voice quivered. “Away from here. Spence is probably to Rodanthe by now. He'll tell Missi that I'm here.”
His body tensed. “Where are you going?”
“I – have a place to stay – in Manteo.”
“That's a long way to go. You must be tired.”
His caring words made her feel shy. “Not as tired as you. How's the whale?”
“We lost him.”
“Oh no.”
“We'll be on the lookout for him. Don't worry.”
“I do.”
“Come to my place.
She looked at him, her eyes picking out the mismatched shadows in his face. “Rod. I couldn't …”
“You shouldn't be on the road.”
“It's not that far.”
“Yes it is. I have an extra bed.”
The invitation was unexpected, the idea overwhelming. But there was nothing sexy in his suggestion.
“I – no, I don't think …”
He put a hand on her forearm. “Thank you for being here tonight. Whales don't last long on the beach.”
She started to speak but his earnestness stole her thought. “I'm glad – I was here.”
He looked toward the sea. “What about it? Come to my place and get warm?”
Her voice was going to fray, but she had to say it. “Only if you're – past hating me.”
He opened her car door. “We'll talk about it in the warmth, by the fire, under the eyes of great-granddaddy. Now let’s hurry.”
She looked over her shoulder. “I'd like that.”
She followed him to Hatteras. He flicked lights for her to pull into the driveway ahead of him. When he came up to the Buick, she rolled down the window. He asked, “Where'd you get the car?”
“I exchanged it for my rental with the people I'm staying with in Manteo.”
“Who are they?”
“The Sweeneys.”
“Great folks.”
“They speak well of you, too.”
“I'll open the shed doors so you can pull the car into it.”
After she parked, he shut and barred the door. “Well away from prying eyes.”
Inside the cabin, he took her coat and hung it on an old-fashioned coat rack near the door. Standing in the middle of the wood-paneled room, shivering from more than just wet and cold, she watched him throw logs into the stove. Wordlessly, they went into the back room, and he built a fire in the fireplace. The grandfather clock said two-thirty. Although she should have been weary, her nerves were like a river in flood. She couldn't have slept if she'd taken four sleeping pills or
drank a bottle of red wine.
“Sit down,” Rod said. “I'll get us something to drink that will take the chill off.”
She thought of hot chocolate, and smiled. It had been years since she'd been comforted with hot tea or chocolate.
When he returned, he carried two Waterford goblets of dark liquid. One he put on the little table by his chair, and one he brought to her. As he handed her the beautiful cut glass, he said, “Warm it with both hands for a minute.”
She swirled it under her nose. “Heavenly.”
He sat in the chair opposite, picked up the glass and warmed it in his hands while he spoke. “In the old days, the tall ships had only canvas and the wind to push them through the oceans. The sails were fastened to yards or spars, and the lines that trimmed the sails were called braces. They extended to the deck. The main brace was one helluva piece of rigging, and, sometimes, during war especially, they would crack, and the ship would flounder. Someone had to splice that brace and fast. It took skill, heft and nerve.” He tasted from the glass, and so did she. He went on, “So to those who spliced it went a double compliment of rum. Over time, it became an expression of generosity and hospitality. If you were invited aboard a ship with the expression of 'Let's 'Splice the Main Brace' you got a free drink, or many free drinks.”
Hearing his voice, she had to gently clear her throat to get the lump out of it. “And what did the one who was invited to splice the main brace say?”
“Ho, ho, ho.”
Grinning, she sipped the black fire in the crystal glass. It went down like honey. And it tasted familiar. She held up the glass. “Ho, ho, ho.” His beautiful eyes looked into hers. “This is great rum,” she said, feeling the warmth.
He put up a finger. “It's not just any rum. For the main brace, it's got to be Pusser's Rum.”
She'd heard about it before, in Barbados. She took another sip and felt her skin melt. She said, “Let me guess, Pusser is the name of the man, the goliath of main brace splicers. How did he distinguish himself from all the others?”
His eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Good guess,” he said, “But wrong. On a ship the purser is responsible for the ship's stores, including the rum. Everything that came from the purser was called 'pusser's'. That's the English for you – can’t say the 'r' in a word.”
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