“And”—Percy pointed a warning finger—“you will write to your mother every week.”
“Yes, sir.”
Percy prayed his son’s promise would be enough to assuage Celeste’s heartache when he summoned the courage to tell her. But he knew it would take more than prayer to ensure the safe return of his son. He wondered whether a deal with the devil would serve him better. Percy lowered his weary head and sobbed as the stunning truth descended upon him. He had brought this plight on his family by defying that vile curse. For wasn’t Robert Toomey Beelzebub himself?
~
Present day
On my walk back to the house to gather items for the sail, I had to stop myself from automatically turning toward the barn. I’d been avoiding the studio ever since Vince and Ashley gently suggested a break from painting after finding me rolled into a ball and sobbing in front of my new series. They were right to be concerned about my unhealthy obsession. For now it was best to steer clear altogether.
At least the harsh, acrid odor that had been shadowing me for months had finally diminished. Which brought my thoughts to the burning bush. Such a symbolic acknowledgment of Percy and Celeste’s deaths … yet it seemed strange that Vince and Ashley would presume to do something of such a personal nature without first seeking my permission. It was different for the unknown boy—my family had merely provided a peaceful place for his remains to rest, and anyone had a right to pay tribute to his short life.
I was struck with a disquieting thought: Was it possible Ashley and Vince had lost a child? It could explain why they’d assemble such a meaningful memorial. And Ashley’s distress at the clinic might have been from her own painful memories. I decided against mentioning the plants or statue. If my theory was correct, I had no wish to rekindle the grief of these two people I’d grown so close to so quickly.
* * *
I arrived at the dock first and was surprised to find the rigging loose and the mainsail cover on the Queen Jacqueline partly undone. I thought immediately of the vandals Brooks had complained about, then Johnny Hotchkiss’s stolen Mercury, and finally, whoever might be creeping around in the woods. I would definitely report this to Brooks first thing after we got back from our cruise.
I felt subdued during the sail and was glad to have Vince captaining with Ashley as first mate. I lazed on deck and looked more closely at their matching tattoos.
“What type of bird is that?” I pointed to the artwork that graced Ashley’s shoulder when she took a rest from her crew labors.
“The phoenix. You know, from Greek mythology?”
“The one that sets itself on fire at the end of its life and is reborn from the ashes?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s the significance?”
“The short version of the story is we lost something important in a fire, and we handled it like the immature college kids we were: by finding the nearest bar and getting drunk.” She shook her head with dismay. “The next morning we woke up with these. I suppose after several shots of tequila, it all made perfect sense.”
“You regret it?”
She cast an admiring gaze toward Vince. “Not at all.”
“Coming about,” Vince called out, and his first mate leaped up to assist as I ducked from the boom with Whistler.
I envied their way with each other, how easily they seemed to communicate. Had I ever felt so in tune, so relaxed with anyone, like these two were? I mentally filed through my short list of romantic failures. The answer was an unqualified no. I’d been in a brooding mood before we set sail and was even more dispirited when we glided back into our small cove.
Vince made swift work of the cleat hitch as he tied the Queen Jacqueline to the dock, then used a thief knot to secure a small bundle to his backpack.
“I see you’ve become a master of sailing knots.”
“I’ve been studying the book you loaned me.” He’d borrowed my father’s copy of The Art of the Sailor.
“My man’s a quick study.” Ashley hopped off the boat and leaned down to plant a spontaneous kiss. “I, however, can’t seem to remember how to tie a bow knot.”
“The bow knot is the most useful one in sailing. Here, let me show you.” I took the end of a line attached to a fender and demonstrated my technique. “Now, you try.”
Ashley took the rope and managed a fair attempt. “I’d better keep practicing, since my husband has discovered a love of the sea.”
He smiled up at her. “One day we are going to have our own sailboat.”
“I’m game. We’ll just have to be sure to plant ourselves near a suitable body of water.”
“Maybe you’ll be lucky and end up on the coast, or at least near a large lake. Have you found out your assignment yet?”
“Still waiting to hear.”
With October less than two months away, I thought it unfair of Ashley’s employers not to give her more details about her new job.
“Why don’t you come with us to Wizards?” Vince suggested, expertly securing the mainsail.
“Where?” I looked up from my task of wiping down the hull.
“It’s a tavern we found in Eastham,” Ashley explained. “Mostly locals.”
“It’s not a place that draws in tourists,” added Vince.
“I’ve never heard of it, but sounds like my kind of spot.”
“The beer is frosty, and the burgers are to die for.” Vince indeed looked as if he’d gone to heaven just thinking about scarfing down a juicy burger—or three.
“Please come with us,” Ashley pleaded.
“Why not? I could go for a cold brew.” I was sun-drenched, wind-burned, and thirsty. More importantly, I didn’t want to be home alone. Nor did I trust myself to refrain from phoning a certain bad influence, one who just happened to have the day off.
* * *
“Dudes.” The sandy-haired bartender’s lazy smile reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place it.
“Hey, Teddy.” Ashley walked behind the bar for a hug.
“Hands off my wife, Theodore.” Vince reached in for a fist bump.
“Not easy, man.” The bartender raised his hands in surrender.
Ashley kept her arms snuggly around the young man’s waist. “Don’t be jealous.”
Teddy, or Theodore, was obviously enjoying the repartee. “Dudes. Dudes. I’m a peace-loving man.”
“Okay. You can keep her for a while. This is Cassie,” Vince said as an introduction before guiding me to a corner booth. He called over his shoulder, “A pitcher of Genesee? Three glasses.”
“I can see why it was okay to skip the shower.” I took in the clientele. “A very, um, casual crowd indeed.”
“These guys are mostly fishermen. They stop in after selling their catch at the local fish markets and before handing over their take to the missus.”
“Here we go.” Ashley set down before us a tray with the beer and a large basket of popcorn. “First round is on the house.”
“Teddy’s never going to get out of this place if he keeps throwing his money away.”
“We’ll make it up with the tip. Cheers.” We clinked frosty mugs and quickly downed the first round.
“What’s his story?” I was still trying to place whom he resembled. “Is he from around here?”
“He pretends to be a proud native Cape Codder, but he’s actually a transplant from Boston.”
“He certainly carries off the surfer dude persona.”
“Teddy is really quite bright, just not very motivated,” Ashley said, coming to his defense.
“You know him well, then?” I asked, stealthily sneaking another peek.
“He’s a friend of sorts.” Vince lifted a shoulder. “We’ve known him since we discovered this place, back when we first arrived at the Cape.”
“What’s his last name?”
Ashley sent Vince a searching look. “Do you know?”
“No, do you?”
She shook her head, and they both laug
hed. “I guess it never came up.”
For the next couple of hours, we drank from the oft-refilled pitcher and munched on burgers, with fries smothered in malt vinegar, while my two friends told stories about the various regulars at Wizards.
Our boisterous laughter provoked Teddy to throw a lime at Vince. “If the story’s so funny, why don’t you share it with the rest of the gang?”
“Yeah. What’s the joke?” A shaggy man ambled toward our table, glass in hand. “Come on, kids—spill.”
That was when I noticed Brooks sitting at the far end of the bar. I stood and gestured grandly for the man to take my place. “My pals here will tell you all about it. I have to say hello to an old friend.”
As the man squeezed into the booth next to Ashley, she mouthed a sarcastic Thanks.
I shrugged innocently and tottered to the other end of the tavern, then hopped up on the unoccupied barstool beside Brooks.
“Buy a girl a drink?”
He fixed me with a cool look. “It appears you’ve had enough.”
I made a pouty face. “Come on, Chuckles.”
He reddened, and I laid my arm atop his shoulders, bringing my lips close to his ear. “Sorry, old buddy. You know, old habits die hard, and all that.”
“Funny you should mention old habits.” He took a swig from his bottle. “Wasn’t that Billy Hughes I saw sniffing around you earlier?”
My back went rigid. “You’re mean. And besides, that’s very old news.”
He pursed his lips and cocked his head. “Depends on what you consider old.”
The thought of Brooks knowing about my brief but life-altering affair with Billy sobered me quickly. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.” He gave me a knowing look.
But how could Brooks possibly know? I looked down at my hands, twisting my ring as I considered. It was doubtful Ethan had told anyone, and besides, he’d packed up his things and driven back to Chicago right after we filed the divorce papers. As for Billy, it didn’t reflect well on him to have been involved with a married woman, even one with whom he had a long history. The people of Whale Rock could be unforgiving. Just ask Robert Toomey. Billy was smart enough to understand that a rep as a home-wrecker wouldn’t be good for business; despite his narcissism, Billy would never put La Table in jeopardy.
The only person I’d told other than Ashley was Brit. I became queasy as a memory smacked me in the face: my best friend had confessed to a careless fling with one of Whale Rock’s finest right before embarking on her great Italian adventure. She hadn’t said who it was, and under no circumstance could I have imagined it had been with … I looked searchingly at Brooks.
“Yep. It was Brit. And I might add, neither of you handle alcohol well.” Brooks waved Teddy over. “I’ll have another Sam Adams, and could you brew a pot of coffee for my friend here?”
“Forget the coffee. I’ll have a shot of tequila.”
Brooks gave a subtle shake of his head, but the bartender answered with a look of defiance. He poured the golden liquor and placed the shot in front of me along with a salt shaker and wedge of lime. “On the house.”
I downed it and slammed the glass on the bar.
“Thanks, Teddy.” I smiled, taking in those deep blue eyes and the lopsided grin. In the brief clarity that comes only in an alcoholic haze I knew with certainty whom the young man resembled. Then—snap!—just as quickly as the revelation had come to me, it was gone again.
11
Later that night
“Where are you taking me?” It was dark, I was drunk, and I didn’t have a clue in what direction Vince was driving.
“Grand Funk Ink,” he answered.
“You mean Grand Funk Railroad?” I managed, then collapsed into hilarious laugher.
“I think you turn right here.” Ashley was sitting in the middle of the backseat and pointed, hitting my nose and sending us both into another fit of giggles.
Vince steered the truck down a side street and parked in front of a brightly lit shop, remarkably still open at—what time was it? Midnight?
Ashley placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “You do not have to go through with this.”
Go through with what? I was hazy about the past hour or so.
Vince hopped out of the driver’s side and trotted around the front to open my door. “Just come in and take a look around. If you don’t feel comfortable, we’ll leave.”
It wasn’t until we stepped through the door that I finally remembered our mission.
I’d shared a friendly drink with Brooks at Wizards, although the “friendly” aspect had quickly dissipated after he admitted sleeping with my best friend. The shock was compounded when I learned Brit had betrayed my confidence about the affair with Billy Hughes. This inspired anger of the red-seeing variety and thus provoked the hasty and defiant downing of not just one but also a second shot of tequila before I rejoined Vince and Ashley at the booth. Somehow the conversation drifted to the subject of their tattoos, which I’d admitted a fascination with, and from there the plan was hatched to drive to Provincetown and get myself inked too.
The artist working late that night appeared relatively hygienic and was in possession of a full set of teeth, one of which was capped in silver. His thick black mane bore a shocking white streak and was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. The man himself was surprisingly ink-free, save for one mesmerizing serpent creature coiling around his lower left arm.
“I can’t do all three of you tonight,” he informed us gruffly.
“Our friend here is the only one who’ll be getting one.” Ashley told him.
I gave a little wave. “I’m Cassie.”
He nodded once. “Skunk.”
I managed to stave off another eruption of giggles, not wishing to offend the person who would be applying a sharp needle to my body.
“Have a seat,” he instructed and then returned his attentions to the only other customer in the shop. A twenty-something Pink wannabe was having a guardian angel tattooed on her shoulder.
“Any pictures she can look at for ideas?” Vince asked.
“Over there.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the counter.
As I perused the images in the notebook, the giggles returned, partly a reaction to the more seamy choices, but mostly from nerves.
“She been drinking?” Skunk asked Vince.
“Last time I checked I was still here.” Where had the sudden bravado come from? “And clearly of an age to make my own decisions.”
“Just don’t want you waking up tomorrow with two hangovers.” He sent me a pointed look. “One that’ll be permanently etched across your ass.”
Now there was a sobering thought.
“Where should I get this done?” I whispered to Ashley.
“I guess it depends on which tattoo you pick.” We flipped through the pages, but none of them really spoke to me.
“Will it hurt?”
“Can’t remember,” she admitted.
Vince added, “We were pretty far gone the night we got ours.”
“Believe me, you’ll feel it,” the tattoo artist interrupted.
I was beginning to think Skunk was hoping to scare me off so he could close up shop. If that was his intent, he’d misjudged me, because now I was all the more determined. But what image could I live with into perpetuity?
Ashley turned a page and pointed to an image of a phoenix. “Why not join our elite club?”
It was the flames that drew me in as much as the phoenix itself. Hadn’t fire been an integral part of my heritage? It would be like a Mitchell family branding iron seared into my skin forever.
“I nearly got a tattoo when I was in high school,” I admitted.
“What happened?”
“Granny Fi overheard me plotting with my best friend, Brit, and foiled our plans.” She’d been quite firm, saying, “Nobody should get a tattoo until they are at least twenty-one.” But she did promise to give her blessing,
and even pay for it, if I still wanted one on my twenty-first birthday.
“What would you have chosen back then?”
“I was into Metallica at the time, so I planned to get their emblem tattooed on my ankle.”
“Seriously?” Ashley was amused. “I’m having a hard time imagining you a heavy metal fan.”
“I had an unsavory boyfriend at the time.”
“In that case, it’s probably wise you listened to Fiona.”
I twisted my ring. “I completely forgot until just now about my grandfather’s tattoos. He got them before he left to join the Navy, and Fiona once described them to me.”
“What were they? Your grandfather’s tattoos?”
“He had one of Vulcan, and the other was Neptune. The Roman gods of fire and water.”
“That’s so cool. Back home there’s a statue of Vulcan on top of Red Mountain.”
“Where’s that?” I asked. “You’ve never said.”
Before she could answer, Skunk called out, “Next.”
~
Eighty years ago
Three months before the fire at Battersea Bluffs
“Fi, you must come out and meet me tonight,” Ambrose Mitchell whispered in the ear of sixteen-year-old Fiona Patrick.
She looked around cautiously, making sure neither of her parents were anywhere to be seen. “Where?”
“I’ll be at the pier by the Femme Celeste at nine o’clock.”
“So late?”
“Can you manage? It’s important.”
“Fiona!” Mr. Patrick’s voice boomed as he rounded the corner of the market. “The produce has been delivered, and your mother needs you.”
“Yes, Pop.” Fiona scurried away, turning back once to mouth the words I’ll try.
“Are you not working today, Ambrose?” Mr. Patrick fixed him with a stern look.
“I’ve just returned from Boston, sir. I’ve joined the Navy and will be shipping out the day after tomorrow.”
“Not soon enough for me,” Fiona’s father grumbled under his breath. “And leaving your father to run the business himself, aye?”
“Only a three-year tour. My folks and I struck a deal. I’ll go off and see the world and then come back to take over, settle down here in Whale Rock, get married, and have my own family.”
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