Sisters One, Two, Three

by Nancy Star

  Ginger looked out the window and saw it, a daytime moon. “There’s a full moon now.”

  She found the notes under Callie’s pillow, two small pieces of paper folded like little origami hats. Both messages were the same. I want to swim in the Cut. She ran her finger over the words. Her sister’s handwriting was like that of a young child. Ginger whispered, “Be safe.”

  She joined Mimi and Thomas in the living room—“I found two notes”—and gave a note to each. After Thomas read his, he offered to drive. When they got to his truck, Ginger saw Echo in the driver’s seat.

  “Why is Echo with you?”

  “Sometimes if Callie’s going somewhere she thinks Echo won’t be happy, she’ll drop him off at the house. That dog does not like to be alone, but he does like to lie on my mom’s feet.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks like we’re going to have a storm.”

  “Will they postpone the opening if it’s raining?” Ginger asked.

  “Not usually. But I can make a call. I know the guy who drives the digger. If they’re digging today, he’ll know where. Location changes, depending on conditions.” He stepped away to make the call. “You might want to grab rain gear,” he told them. “Or bathing suits. You’re probably going to get wet.”

  By the time Ginger had changed into shorts and a T-shirt with a raincoat over it, Thomas was off the phone.

  “No answer,” he told them. “That doesn’t mean anything. But we should probably get going.”

  As she got into the truck, Ginger noticed a defib kit in the flatbed and next to it, a rescue board, emergency blankets, and flares. “Why do you have all that equipment?”

  “Volunteer paramedic. Always got my gear.” He slid behind the wheel. “The pond is big. There’s lots of choices where to dig. It may be a bit of a hunt.”

  “Is there time for a hunt?” Mimi asked.

  And Ginger answered, “Yes,” because she would not accept any other option.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sepiessa and Long Point both had public access to the pond, so Thomas stopped there first. But the dredge was not at either location. They headed next to Quansoo. “There’s not a lot of public entries,” Thomas said. “It’s mostly locked beaches. But Callie wouldn’t have a problem getting in.”

  “Why not?” Mimi asked.

  Thomas made a turn at the sign for “Sherriff’s Meadow.” “Clients. She’s got a bunch who like her to take their dogs to their private beaches for a run. So they give her keys to their gates.”

  The daytime moon, low in the sky, followed their movements like a malevolent eye. “How much farther?” Ginger asked.

  “Almost there.” The truck bucked in and out of a ditch, and Thomas apologized for not going faster. “These are private roads and some of the owners, they let them get run-down. To keep people from going fast. Some of the owners, they’d prefer we didn’t come here at all.”

  The rain stopped and now Ginger saw drops glistening on the low grass of the wide meadows that stretched for miles around them, no homes or people in sight. Remote, except for the trees on the side of the road, which leaned in hard, as if they’d been whipped by the wind for so long they were permanently shocked into impossible angles of submission.

  As they passed a grove of gnarly oaks, twisted branches testifying to their resolve, the road narrowed further. Thomas had to slow even more. Now, Ginger could make out giant wood hollows in the wide-trunked trees and though she couldn’t see them, she could hear the rustling of small creatures. Above a hawk circled. Echo poked his head out the back window and barked, and a cloud of startled butterflies burst up out of the meadow.

  “Can’t we go any faster?” Ginger asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “No. This road likes to eat tires for lunch.” He held tight to the wheel as the truck rocked in and then out of a deep rut. “We’re almost at the boat launch. Callie’s a good swimmer,” he added to reassure them.

  A few minutes later they reached a parking lot. Thomas pulled his phone out and checked for a signal. “Good. I’m going to go make a call. See whose boat I can borrow.” He stepped away.

  “Mimi, look.” Ginger pointed to a row of trucks, half a dozen parked close together, the pole racks on flatbeds and above the grills all empty. “Fishermen are here.”

  She and Mimi stepped out of the truck, and before they could stop him, Echo leaped out and took off, his leash doing figure eights in the sandy soil.

  Mimi ran after him, calling, “Echo!”

  Thomas returned, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “All set.”

  Together, he and Ginger unloaded the gear. Ginger took the throw blankets and rescue board. Thomas carried the defibrillator. They caught up to Mimi on a path that cut through a meadow. She held Echo tight, by his leash. Together, they hurried on, past high white sea grass, a small cluster of red lilies poking up out of the white like a surprise.

  “It’s not far,” Thomas told them.

  Ginger caught a glimpse of the moon disappearing behind gathering clouds. In the distance she could make out water, the same steely gray as the sky. A narrow stream snaked along beside them. A couple paddled by in a kayak, as if it were any afternoon, and Ginger, Mimi, and Thomas were a random group of hikers who just happened to be jogging at a pace befitting an emergency. “Is this the pond?”

  “Tidal pools. Hear those paddlers arguing?”

  The wind carried over the nagging melody of discord. She nodded and Thomas sped up. He was working hard to keep the conversation going as he hurried, keeping things light, Ginger guessed, so that panic wouldn’t set in. “Guarantee,” he told her, “when that couple pushed off this morning, they never gave a thought to what the current would be like when they wanted to come back. We call those two-seaters ‘divorce kayaks.’”

  Ginger turned and saw that despite how hard the couple was paddling, their uncoordinated strokes were confounding any chance of forward movement.

  “They’ll be fine,” Thomas assured them. “They don’t have far to go.” The path curved and he started running faster. “Neither do we.”

  A pair of starlings startled out of the meadow, and in a motion that looked choreographed, swooped close together and then separated, so from opposite directions they could dive at a raven to drive it away. “Nest must be nearby,” Thomas said.

  Ginger and Mimi were full-out running now, to keep up. They hurried past wooden signs stuck into the earth like pickets. “Danger to Swimmers” “Danger: Steep Beaches” “Dangerous Currents” “Danger: Shifting Winds”.

  Thomas pointed. “This way.”

  “Walking on Private Shoreline Prohibited” “Horses Prohibited” “Trespassing Prohibited Regardless of Water Level”.

  Thomas led them down a short staircase. “Here we go.” They stepped out onto a wide beach. As Ginger caught her breath, she waited for the first flush of fear, but nothing came.

  Echo pulled hard at his leash, and it flew out of Mimi’s grasp. She called after him, but this time the dog ignored her, loping into the rough water and paddling out, snout in the air.

  “Is he okay to swim in the ocean?” Mimi asked.

  Thomas whistled for Echo, but the dog ignored him too. “This is the pond.”

  The pond. It was easy to understand why Mimi mistook it for the ocean. Sizable waves lapped at the shore, and the air held the smell of a seaweed stew. Ginger tasted salt on her teeth and on her fingers. Small cuts she didn’t know she had began to announce themselves. A low fog had set in now, covering everything in a hazy scrim. In the distance, half a dozen sailboats bobbed and then vanished in the clouds. She heard a dim hum, but it was hard to know if it was a hidden boat or a small passing plane. A hard wind skipped off the water and crept in through buttonholes, armholes, neck holes. Her shirt and raincoat billowed like sails.

  “The dredge was here. You can see.” Thomas pointed and Ginger saw them, tractor tracks on wet sand, disappearing before her eyes, swallowed up as the water raged from the pond towar
d the sea. “This way.” Thomas guided them to his friend’s boat. He handed Ginger a life vest and she clipped it shut.

  Mimi said, “You stay. I’ll go.”

  “No.” Ginger blinked hard to see through the mist.

  Thomas whistled again and Ginger saw Echo paddling hard into the wind, trying to get back. They boarded the boat and headed toward the dog. When they got close, Thomas cut the engine. The boat rocked as they idled, and Mimi leaned over, grabbing Echo’s rear and heaving him up and in. The dog stumbled, righted himself, shook off the water, and nuzzled Mimi’s leg.

  Thomas restarted the engine, and the boat moved slowly across the pond. Water blew in from all sides. Though the beach had vanished in the fog, Ginger could make out the current going both ways at once.

  “There should be lifeguards,” Mimi said. “There should be swim cables. Why aren’t the police guarding the shore?”

  “There’s miles of coastline.” Thomas kept the boat on a steady slow course. “We’d need an army. We do the best we can.”

  The wind kicked up, howling its worry as it whipped them from every angle.

  “What if we’re too late?” Mimi’s voice sounded small.

  “We’re not,” Ginger said. We can’t be, she thought. She looked up and saw a faint suggestion that beyond the clouds a sun existed. “It’s going to blow over.” She predicted this even though she couldn’t know for sure. “We’re going to find her.”

  Water thrashed the boat and Thomas stood up, knees soft to keep his balance. With a hand shading his eyes, he scanned the horizon. Echo moved next to him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Ginger rose to join the search.

  Mimi held her arm. “Don’t.”

  Ginger pulled away, and like a lighthouse turned, slowly, in a circle, searching in every direction. “Wait.” She saw something. “There.” She pointed.

  Picking up a scent, Echo lurched to the prow of the boat and before anyone could stop him, the dog was overboard, off again, paddling hard toward what they could now see was a small figure in the water.

  Ginger cupped her hands. “Callie!”

  Thomas grabbed a rope with a small float attached to one end, and tied it to a cleat.

  “She’s okay,” Mimi said. “She’s doing the dog paddle. She’s okay.”

  But Ginger saw something else. “She doesn’t look okay to me.”

  Thomas agreed. “She’s in trouble.” He reached back and threw out the float rope. “Callie!” The wind carried her name away. “She’s trying to outswim the rip.” He drew the rope back and threw it out again. “She should be swimming perpendicular. She knows that.”

  “Then why isn’t she doing it?” Mimi asked.

  “Panic?” Ginger offered. “She looks tired.” She dipped her hand into the water. Good. It wasn’t cold. “How deep is it here?”

  “Not very.”

  Ginger unbuckled her life jacket, took off her raincoat, and put the jacket back on. She moved to the front of the boat. “Is the ladder the best way in?”

  “Don’t.” Mimi grabbed her arm. “I’ll go.”

  “Whoever’s going,” Thomas said, “needs to put on the rescue rope now.”

  “Ginger can’t go. She’s afraid of the water.”

  Ginger took the safety rope out of Thomas’s hand and attached the snap hook to her life jacket. Thomas adjusted the rope so it was tight to her waist.

  “No matter what,” he warned her. “Do not let go of this rope. And don’t let Callie drag you down.” As he moved to the cleat, making sure the knot on the throw rope was tight, he told her, “Drowning people do crazy things. Best approach is from behind. If she still manages to grab your neck, just peel her hands off. She puts her hands on your head, you push them away. She pushes you underwater or tries to climb on you, you let go and use the rope to get back to the boat. I’ll get you out.”

  “I can’t leave her.”

  “Then don’t go. If she’s desperate and you don’t let go, we lose you both.”

  “Please don’t go,” Mimi begged.

  “That won’t happen.” Ginger started down the ladder.

  Thomas tugged on the rope. “When I tug like this, it means I’m asking if you’re okay.”

  Ginger tugged twice in reply. “And I’ll tug back so you’ll know that I am.”

  Thomas steered the boat as close as he dared to where Callie was swimming, close enough so that Ginger could see that although her sister’s arms were thrashing, her legs were no longer doing any work.

  “Go now,” Thomas told her. “Stay safe.”

  Ginger scrambled down the ladder and she was in, in the water, all the way in, except for one hand holding on to the bottom rung. She felt the pull of the water on her weightless body. She let go and went under.

  When her head came up she saw Echo ahead of her, back legs hanging loose, paddling fast toward Callie, who was struggling. Propelled by adrenaline, Ginger kicked hard, put her head under the water, came up to breathe, reached her arms over her head and fell into a strong rhythm. Reach, reach, reach, breathe hard, mouth sucking in air, reach, reach, reach, push air out in a rush, reach, reach, reach, and then, one last burst, and she was there, beside her sister.

  Immediately, Callie’s hands clawed at Ginger’s neck and with great purpose, Ginger peeled them off. She repositioned her sister’s arms so they wrapped around her waist, but Callie seemed determined to use Ginger’s head as a lever to heave herself out of the water and when that didn’t work, she tried to make a ladder out of Ginger’s torso.

  Ginger could feel her sister’s feet desperately scrambling to find footing on her shoulders and then on her head. It was just as Thomas had described. Callie was in a full panic, ready to do anything to get air. But Ginger would not push her off. She would not let her sister drown.

  The water rushed over them both, and again Callie pushed down on Ginger’s head to try and get to air. Down Ginger went, down and further down and then, there was something behind her, Echo behind her, pushing at her back.

  Taking advantage of momentum, Ginger forced her body up, her head up, gasping for air. Beside her, she saw Callie staring, wide-eyed and confused.

  “Hold this.” Ginger tried to force the goose-egg float of the rescue rope into her frightened sister’s hand, but Callie flailed. Ginger felt herself tiring. The thought came like a life raft, her mother telling Callie she would not be scared if she sang.

  The song came into Ginger’s head out of nowhere. “Sing with me, Callie. ‘There once was a boy in the north country.’ Sing like Mom told you. ‘There once was a boy in the north country.’ Hold the float, Callie, and sing with me.” And she saw it, Callie’s hand closing around the small float. The pond water was stinging Ginger’s cheeks as she urged her on. “Sing, Callie Claire. Sing.”

  And head tipped back, water spraying her face, Callie’s lips parted and moved. In a quiet voice, she began to sing. “‘He had sisters one, two, three.’”

  “Keep going, Callie Claire. We’re almost there.”

  “‘Love will be true, true to my love. Love will be true to you.’”

  Ginger’s hand smacked against the side of the boat and then Thomas was pulling Callie in. Thomas and Mimi both were pulling Callie in together, and with her last remaining bit of energy, Ginger heaved herself over the lip of the dinghy and belly flopped onto the deck.

  For a moment she lay still beside her sister, both of them breathing hard. When their heads turned toward each other, Ginger saw Callie’s eyes open wide, the same bright blue as their mother’s.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Ginger told her in a rush. In that moment, it was as if no one else was there. “Charlie died. Julia left. You cannot get hurt.”

  Callie turned on her side and spat up the sea. When Ginger heard the sound of crying she thought it was Callie and then realized it was both of them, sobbing together.

  The bottom of the boat scraped at the shore of the pond. Ginger sat up. “Where’s Echo?”
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  Callie tried to move, but she was too exhausted. Mimi kneeled beside her and stroked her sister’s hair. “Thomas is turning the boat around. He’s taking us back. We’re going to get Echo now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  There wasn’t a life cycle event that Mimi didn’t think could be improved by a theme. It took some brainstorming, but she figured it out. The scattering ceremony theme would be “Cast Party.” With Richard, Neil, and the boys—collected from the last ferry of the day—sitting in the living room with Ginger and Callie, Mimi made her pitch. “Imagine a Lifetime Achievement Award after-party kind of thing. Perfect, right?”

  Neil and the boys mumbled sounds of consent without looking up from their devices.

  “Sounds good to me.” Richard sat close beside Ginger on the couch, both of them leaning in to keep their bodies touching at all times, like teenagers. They’d only had a moment in private after the ferry got in, but that was enough time to let each other know they were committed to making things better between them.

  Callie pulled a list from her pocket. “This is what Mom wants.”

  “You’re kidding.” Mimi grabbed the paper from her. “This better be the last one. There’s nothing left to decide after this.”

  Callie nodded. “Last one.”

  Of course Glory couldn’t anticipate all the particulars Mimi would come up with, but she managed to cover most of the bases. Mimi read aloud: “‘I know darling Mimi will want to plan the world’s most amazing memorial but don’t go crazy with the food. I’ll be dead, and you’ll be too sad to be hungry. A little something to nibble is enough. Nothing fancy. Nothing messy. And no flowers. All the decorations I need will be right there, by which I mean all of you. Musicians, also no. You want music, use your voices. Callie Claire, remind everyone to project. Gingie, remember your posture. Slumping won’t make you less tall. For the boat, I want Captain Lou. Callie, you call him. Tell him you need the big boat. On the big boat everyone will fit—the originals, the husbands, the boys, Julia.’” Mimi shot Ginger a look.