"No glasses, nothing to wash up. I'm thinking of trying the same arrangement over there." Then she took a sip, and made a face.
"No good?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm not used to it."
"I'll lay on something else for next time."
"This is fine for now."
They sat in easy silence for a while, watching the night and listening to the music.
No, he hadn't told the doctor everything.
I'm not at peace, dad, Wayne had said to him from the dank shadows in the bottom of the dock. None of us are. She's going to keep us like this forever. Please don't let her do it. And then, when a puzzled Frank Lowry had shone a light in because he was wondering why the bell had been ringing and ringing with no one to answer it, the Wayne thing had simply broken up. Ceased to be.
The truth, of course, was that it had never been there at all.
One kind of truth, anyway.
But it was the other truth that he'd been observing when he'd taken an axe to one of the bulkheads in the sinking Princess in order to puncture a fuel tank and feed his fire. By rolling the gas cylinders into the flames before abandoning ship, he'd killed the woman who'd killed his boy. No quiet hospital for her, he'd thought at first, even a hospital with bars; but then, as the rest of the story had come out, he'd realised that he'd probably done her a kindness.
But by then, it hadn't mattered.
"Peter and Diane came in tonight," Angelica said. "Little Jed was with them." And she made a slightly wry face as she said his name, as if she still couldn't quite come to terms with it. "He said something very strange. He said that when somebody drowns in the lake, they don't die, but their spirit becomes a part of it. Where do you suppose he heard that?
"Probably at school," Ted said. "Some old fairy story."
"You don't think there's anything in it."
"Nah," he said, and he reached down to turn the player slightly so that it faced the water.
The next track, he knew, would be one of Wayne's favourites.
Be at peace now, he thought. And God bless.
Meanwhile, in the cottage on the Step, Pete McCarthy stood at the window of his bedroom. He was leaning on the frame and looking out, with the sash half raised to let in the night air and the night-time sounds. He still got bouts of insomnia and occasional headaches, even after all this time. They'd told him that both were due to the double concussion that he'd received, once when Alina had hit him from behind and again from his closeness to the boat house explosion. They no longer talked about charging him with the shelter of an illegal alien. The situation was complicated enough, and the story would probably never be known in all its details.
In the bed behind him, Diane stirred slightly… but she slept on. No complications there.
But for soundness of sleep, Jed took the prize; road drills wouldn't wake him. He was in Alina's old room now, with his Hulk posters and his Spidey lampshade and the printed cover that turned the bed into the likeness of a racing car. He said that he liked it here, better than any of the other places that they'd stayed. He said that it felt more like home.
Home.
Leaving had once seemed like the best idea but, in all of their wanderings, each of them had known that they'd eventually come back to this place. Even Ted Hammond had known it, keeping it empty for them and spinning his sister some line so that he wouldn't have to rent it out. Jed had been the first one to put it into words; and after that, it had seemed kind of inevitable.
Pete returned his attention to the view — the foliage, the rise, the valley beyond like another country just over the hill that could never be reached. He was thinking about what Jed had said at the restaurant earlier, and wondering what might have caused him to say it. Could he have overheard them talking and if so, when? Or had he perhaps seen or heard something in his wanderings on the Step, something down by the lakeside that perhaps rose from the water and spoke to him, slipping through those doors in his mind that hadn't yet become closed to visits from the outlands of reality?
If she's in love with you, she'll call to you. And in the night, she may even come to you. And then perhaps you'll come down to the water's edge, and you'll beg me to take you.
He'd stood like this many times around this hour, sometimes with Diane unknowing beside him and sometimes alone, watching the ridgeline against the moonlight, against the stars, against a darkened sky with only memory to assure him that there was anything there at all; and nothing, and nobody, had come, which meant that no, the feeling wasn't love.
But that didn't help him to know what it was that drew him here night after night. He'd never mentioned it to Diane and she'd never asked, although he sometimes suspected that she might have guessed. He wondered if it would fade, but wasn't even sure that he wanted it to.
Diane stirred again. It was time for him to return.
And he would — after just a little while longer.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-ee2d26-d4aa-4f44-02b8-4fca-6cde-3e7cb7
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 16.03.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.22, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Gallagher, Stephen
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The Boat House Page 29