The Map of True Places

by Brunonia Barry

  “Where are you living?” Ann asked. She knew about the split, but she didn’t know the details.

  Melville pointed toward Federal Street.

  “I love that street,” Ann said. While most of the McIntyre district had Federal period housing, Federal Street ironically had some of the earlier period homes.

  “It’s actually the street behind Federal,” Melville said. “You want to come up for coffee?”

  “I don’t drink coffee,” she said. “But I’d love to see your place.”

  He explained that it wasn’t really his place, that he was house-sitting. As they climbed the stairs, Bowditch snarled and barked and threw himself against the door.

  “What the hell have you got in there?” Ann asked, having second thoughts.

  “Wait till you see.” Melville smiled.

  The minute he opened the door, Bowditch jumped on him and wagged his tail. Then he waddled over to Ann and sniffed her.

  “Good puppy,” she said, laughing. “You’re a big faker.”

  Melville walked her to the kitchen.

  Old photos were spread out on the table, several of Finch and Zee in better times. An empty wine bottle sat upended in the sink.

  “Yesterday was not one of my better days,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ann said, meaning it. It sounded as if someone had died. It was almost as sad.

  “Whose place is this?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Someone I know at the Peabody Essex. He’s gone to China for the better part of the year.

  “And you inherited Cujo here?”

  “Bowditch,” he said.

  “As in Salem’s famous navigator?”

  “Nathaniel Bowditch. The very same.”

  Bowditch raised his head as if he were being summoned.

  “Sorry,” Melville said to the dog, who had started to stand up. “Stay.”

  Bowditch sighed and put his head back down.

  “He’s a good fellow,” Ann said.

  “That he is.”

  Melville went through the cabinets. “Good thing you didn’t want coffee,” he said. “I don’t have any.”

  She laughed.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  “No thanks,” she said. “Water would be great, though.”

  He poured them two glasses of water and sat down.

  Ann was looking through the photos. “These are great,” she said. There were several black-and-whites that Finch had taken of Melville and Zee with his eight-by-ten camera and another, much earlier one from the same camera of Maureen and Zee. “Where did you get this one?” she asked, turning it over and noting the inscription on the back: Christmas 1986. Ann thought it was a bit odd that he would have a photo of Maureen, even if Zee was in it, too.

  “I stole it from Finch,” he said.

  “You really are in a bad place, aren’t you?” she said, wondering why he would want such a reminder.

  “Let me put it this way,” Melville said. “It’s probably a good thing I ran into you tonight.”

  ANN STAYED UNTIL ALMOST MIDNIGHT. As he walked her to her car, she turned to him. “You know what I always do when I break up with someone?”

  “I’m sorry to admit I have no idea.”

  “I do all the things I couldn’t do when we were together,” she said. “It might not seem like much, but it helps you remember who you used to be.”

  He hugged her, and she got into the car.

  “Didn’t you once own a boat?” she asked.

  “I still do,” he said. “It’s been sitting in Finch’s driveway for the last six years.”

  “Maybe it’s time you put it back in the water,” she suggested, squeezing his arm good-bye.

  IT WAS A GOOD IDEA, Melville thought as he walked back to the house. Tomorrow he would call the boatyard and have them pick it up. It would probably need a lot of work, but he could do most of it himself. He didn’t know how long it would take to get the boat in shape, but it was something to do. And she was right, it would remind him of who he used to be.

  30

  AFTER THEY MADE LOVE for the second time that night, Hawk asked Zee out on a date.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why?” He was clearly amused. “You’re kidding me, right? You know, in some cultures, it’s customary for people to actually go on a date or two before they have sex.”

  “Not in ours,” Zee said. “Not these days.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “It’s difficult for me to get out,” she said. “Because of Finch. Jessina can’t often stay late in the evenings.”

  “So let’s make it on a night she can stay.”

  Zee didn’t answer.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now you’re starting to piss me off. Maybe I’ll just go climb into the window of someone who actually wants to be seen with me.”

  She laughed. “It’s not that. It’s that I just broke up with Michael, and…”

  “And you don’t want to be seen with me.” He grinned at her.

  She had to laugh. “I don’t want to run into Mickey,” she said. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “What if I take you to dinner out of town?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay when?”

  “Okay, as soon as I can set it up with Jessina.”

  Finch’s alarm bell went off. Zee got up and pulled on her robe. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said.

  He put his hands behind his head, looking up through the skylight at a patch of starry sky. He sighed. “Where would I go?” he said under his breath. But he was smiling.

  31

  MELVILLE AND ZEE MET for coffee at Jaho. He told her that he was having the boat picked up and was going to try to get it back in the water.

  “That’s a great idea,” Zee said.

  “It’s something,” he said. “Maybe we can take it out together sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  He paused for a moment, then asked the same question he always asked: “How’s Finch?”

  Zee wished she had a better answer to give him. “About the same,” she said.

  “You look a little tired,” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I think you need some more help.”

  “I’m handling things,” she said.

  “There’s a lot to handle.”

  “He thought I was Maureen this morning,” she said. “He thinks that a lot.”

  Melville considered. “It’s an honest mistake,” he said. “You look like your mother.”

  “Not that much, I don’t,” she said.

  “So what are you doing for you?”

  She wanted to tell him about Hawk but thought better of it. She already knew what he would say. It was too soon.

  “Enough,” she said.

  “Name one thing.”

  “I play skee ball.” She smiled.

  He laughed. “God, that brings back a memory.”

  In the summers when Melville had first lived with them, Zee had a habit of disappearing. Melville often hunted her down at the Willows playing skee ball. Sometimes, if it wasn’t too late and Finch wasn’t worried about her, Melville would play.

  “I’ve developed the perfect bank shot,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “I’m really all right,” she said again. “Good, in fact.”

  MELVILLE DIDN’T WANT TO INTERFERE, but he was worried about Zee. He thought this was all too much for her. She wasn’t herself. He was worried about Finch, too, if the truth be known. He still spoke with Jessina once in a while, still paid her weekly salary, though Zee had told him not to. It was the least he could do, he said. Meaning it was something.

  He wanted to stop by the shop to talk to Mickey about it. He was aware that Mickey hadn’t forgiven him for Maureen, probably would never forgive him for breaking up her marriage, but it didn’t matter. This was about Finch, and it was about Zee, and some things were
more important.

  He walked down Derby Wharf, past the rigging shed, looking up at the Friendship as he went by. He remembered when they were building her, had donated money for it, in fact. He’d been there the day that lightning had struck the main mast, and they’d had to raise more money to replace it. She was an amazing ship, if you thought about it, though he found he couldn’t think about it without thinking about Maureen and the story she’d been writing when she died.

  Seeing Mickey was like looking at Maureen. Their eyes were the same. But as soon as Mickey spoke, the illusion shattered.

  “Hi, Melville. What can I do you for?”

  It was an old New England expression, but the twist was implicit.

  “Funny,” Melville said.

  “I want to talk to you about your niece,” Melville said. “I’m worried about her.”

  Mickey listened without interrupting to insert his usual sarcasm. In the end he promised to help out. To take Finch out once in a while, just to give Zee some relief.

  “You were friends once,” Melville said by way of justifying his request. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. Mickey had already agreed.

  “Age-old rule,” Mickey said. “Stop selling when you get to yes.”

  “Thank you,” Melville said. He started toward the door.

  “Hey,” Mickey said, calling him back.

  “What?” Melville said.

  “I may never like you,” Mickey said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you do for my niece.”

  32

  TODAY ANN WAS READING lace. She’d been doing this more and more in the last few years, ever since her friend Towner Whitney had given her all of her late Aunt Eva’s pieces. Ann thought of the lace as another reader might think of a crystal ball, something that you gazed into to help you see images. She’d done two readings before lunch and was now turning and crumpling a piece of black antique lace in an effort to gain more perspective about her regular customer, the one who wanted so badly to get married.

  What she got was more of the same, a bad relationship that was getting worse by the moment. Ann thought it was time to tell the girl everything, and she was just trying to find the words when an image began to form in the lace. It looked like a vine, and it was moving. Ann watched as the vine turned to feathers and one of the longer feathers turned into a woman’s neck. Ann realized that what she was looking at was a swan. And then she saw something in the lace that she’d never seen before, but something she’d heard her friend Eva describe from her own lace reading. The swan began to move, and it turned to a man, and she recognized Melville.

  The hopeful bride looked strangely at Ann, who had been staring, trancelike, into the lace for a very long time. The breeze from the ocean cooled the room, breaking the spell. Ann turned toward the open door in time to see Melville walking away from Mickey’s shop and across the parking lot toward town.

  She excused herself, hurried to the door, and called to him. He turned around. She could see that he was upset. He waved to her, but he didn’t stop.

  33

  ZEE PAID JESSINA TO stay until morning. Her son was on an overnight at Children’s Island Camp, and she was free.

  They took Hawk’s boat to Clark Landing in Marblehead and walked over to the Barnacle for dinner. She could see Children’s Island from here and thought about Jessina’s son, who had helped her clean out some of Finch’s things just the week before.

  They sat on the porch and watched as dogs played on the patch of beach below. They skipped dessert in favor of getting ice cream on the way back. After dinner they walked up to Fort Sewall and sat on a bench looking out to sea. All of the border islands were visible from here: Children’s, the Miseries, and Baker’s Island with its lighthouse off to the north. In the middle distance, she could see Yellow Dog Island, the shelter for abused women and children. Zee thought about May Whitney, who ran the shelter, and the great work she was doing out there. Zee wished that she had been able to do as much for Lilly.

  But she didn’t want to think about Lilly tonight, didn’t want the thought to come between them. Instead she concentrated on the beautiful view. It was Race Week in Marblehead, and sailors from all over the world had come to compete. A long line of spinnakered J/24s moved along the horizon.

  “Mickey says you could make your way across the ocean just by looking at the stars.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Hawk laughed. “The Park Service is running a class in celestial navigation, if you’re interested.”

  “Didn’t you teach that class?” She thought she remembered him saying something about teaching such a class.

  “Just a few classes,” he said. “I’m not a teacher.”

  “Not a carpenter, not a teacher. It must be nice to know what you’re not,” she said.

  “Are you having doubts about your career?” It was a real question.

  “Let’s change the subject,” she said.

  “I understand that we can’t talk about Lilly, but now we can’t talk about your career either?”

  “The two are hopelessly intertwined, I’m afraid.”

  He sat silently for a minute.

  “I think I need to talk about it,” he said.

  “About your career?”

  “About Lilly Braedon,” he said.

  “I understand why that might be true,” she said.

  “That’s just it, I don’t think you do.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said.

  It was meant to politely end the conversation, but it had the opposite effect on Hawk.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “If you’re having trouble reconciling your feelings about her death, and you need someone to talk to, I can give you some names. It just can’t be me.”

  He was clearly annoyed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I understand that you might be angry at me.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said. “Let’s drop it.”

  THEY WALKED BACK TOWARD THE car in silence. At sunset the cannons from the yacht clubs fired, the blasts echoing around the harbor.

  She assumed that the date was over. But she noticed Hawk’s mood lifting as they reached Coffey’s ice-cream shop. The line was out the door.

  “Do you still want ice cream?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “I mean, if you do.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “We have to do something to save the evening.”

  He held the door for her, and she walked inside. “Do you know what you’d like?” Hawk asked, still formal but softening a bit.

  “Not really,” she said, looking at the display case. She’d bought ice cream for Finch, always coffee. Michael had been a Häagen-Dazs guy, either that or gelato. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d ordered ice cream for herself. It was ridiculous to be flustered by such a small thing, but there it was. He was waiting for her choice, and she didn’t have one. She felt suddenly the way a little kid might feel. The decision seemed monumental. Her mind raced. She thought back to what she would have ordered as a kid. “Moose Track and Bubble Gum with gummi bears,” she said.

  “You’re kidding,” he said. “I was going to order that, too.”

  “Funny,” she said.

  THEY SAT ON ANOTHER BENCH down by the landing eating their ice cream. In the harbor, sailors blasted signals for the launches. The owner of the ice-cream store locked up and walked to his car, nodding to them as he passed.

  “Show me how to navigate by the stars,” she said.

  He looked at her strangely but didn’t respond.

  “I’d really like to learn.”

  “There are too many lights here,” he said. “You can’t see the stars well enough for a lesson. Plus, you have to take your readings at dawn or dusk when you can still see the horizon.”

  “Too bad,” she said.

  “Maybe another time,” he said, meaning it.


  THEY SAT FOR A WHILE longer. “What do you want to do now?” she asked. “I hired Jessina for the whole night.”

  He thought about it. “I have a place up the street,” he said, “though it’s pretty much a dump.”

  She didn’t have to be back until morning, so going to his place would be the easiest thing to do. But she wanted to offer something more, something of herself she couldn’t explain to him in words, so she made a counterproposal. “I might have a better place,” she said.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Someplace dark enough to see the stars.”

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  HE LET HER PILOT THE boat. She checked the fuel level automatically, then laughed at herself. She hadn’t been at the wheel of one of these boats since she had stolen them when she was a kid. There was something freeing about it.

  She maneuvered slowly through the crowded moorings of Marblehead Harbor, and when they passed the red nun and the end of the 5 mph limit, she opened up the engine and headed for Baker’s Island.

  34

  JESSINA DECIDED TO BAKE cookies for Finch. It was hot, and she had the kitchen windows open to the offshore breeze. She rifled though the baking cabinet, pulling down red and green sugar, more Christmas than July colors. Though it was past July Fourth, she’d been hoping for red, white, and blue. Still, she made stars with the colors she had, shaking powdered sugar over the red and green.

  Finch loved her cookies, which she made soft enough for him to eat. Each afternoon he ate two with a large glass of milk, not the 2 percent kind Zee ordered from Peapod but the full old-fashioned stuff Jessina bought at one of the colmados on Lafayette Street. Finch needed to put some weight on—he was wasting away.

  WHEN THE PIRATE FIRST APPEARED at the window in his tricorn hat and eye patch, Jessina thought she was seeing things. Then, when he spoke, she recognized Mickey’s voice. She’d heard him do local radio spots, seen him marketing his tourist traps on Salem Access TV. A lot of the kids who lived in the Point worked summer jobs for Mickey, which made him a good guy at least in that respect. He did use mostly college kids from Salem State, but he also gave the Dominican high-school kids a chance. She was hoping that next year, when he was too old for day camp, Danny might get a job working for Mickey.