Julia climbed the steps, crossed the porch, and knocked on the frame of the screen door. The woman who quickly appeared was in her early thirties, which Julia knew only because Zoe had filled her in. This was Jeannie Walsh’s sister, Ellen Hamilton. She was single and taught high school math in Ohio. With the accident, she had become an instant parent. Despite sandy hair and a face full of freckles, she looked ten years past her age.
When Julia introduced herself, Ellen put a finger to her lips and slipped outside, silently closing the screen behind her. She gestured Julia to a wood swing halfway down the porch. Once seated, she whispered, “They’re both asleep on the sofa. They’re exhausted.”
“You must be yourself,” Julia said softly. “I’ve brought dinner. Is there anything else I can do?”
Ellen smiled sadly. “No. Thanks, though.” Her smiled faded. Age and anguish returned. “Evan’s family is handling the funerals. Most of their friends have gone back with the bodies. We agreed the girls were too young to go. They’re coming to live with me in Akron. It’s really just a matter of packing up this place, and I’m the only one who can do that.” She looked bewildered. “How do you decide what to take? I live in a small place, so I can’t take it all. I’m trying to imagine what might have meaning for the girls when they’re grown.” Her voice had begun to waver, her eyes to water. Seeming unable to say more, she looked at the far horizon.
A soft sound came from the door, the breeze of a small child slipping out. She had dark hair in a tumbled mass, a ketchup-stained jersey and shorts, and dusty bare feet. Eyes barely open, she put her thumb in her mouth, slipped between the nearest pair of legs—which happened to be Julia’s—and laid a head on her thigh.
Without a thought, Julia scooped her up. The child was instantly asleep on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen whispered.
Julia wasn’t. She loved the feel of the little body against her. “It’s fine. I’m good at this.”
“She’s three. She has no idea what’s going on. Neither of them do. Boy, I’m not up for this.”
“You’ll manage.”
“But what harm will I do in the process? The thing is, there’s no one else. I’m Jeannie’s only surviving relative. Evan’s parents are older, and his two brothers already have nine children between them. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that for the girls.” She made a sound of disbelief. “Talk about life-changing moments. Little did I know when my phone rang yesterday morning…”
Five o’clock came and went without a call from Ian.
Noah pulled a beer from the stash that he kept in the cabin cooler now that summer was coming. Nothing else quenched thirst better on those days when the sun beat down with so much heat that the wind just couldn’t cut it. Nothing better chased down a lunch of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a hot day than a beer. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have even one sandwich now or that it wasn’t particularly hot. The beer was good.
A second beer followed the first, and by the time six o’clock came and went with no Ian, Noah had mellowed enough so that he wasn’t wholly annoyed. There would be less pressure this way, he reasoned. He’d have an easier time doing the funeral without having to worry about what to say to his son.
It wasn’t as if Ian and Hutch had been friends. The boy hadn’t been up to the island more than a handful of times. It had always been easier for Noah to visit him on his own turf.
Besides, contrary to what his ex-wife thought, Noah wouldn’t be alone at the funeral. He had lots of people here. Hadn’t they been coming by the Leila Sue all afternoon to pay their respects? They didn’t say much. They didn’t have to. Noah knew that they truly meant what few words they did say.
Sandi could never understand that. She could never understand the concept of communicative silence. She could never understand that when you were with the right people, you didn’t need words in order to know what they felt.
It was nearing seven when a woman appeared in the reflection his windshield gave of the shore. He spotted her the instant she reached the dock. There was no mistaking the crazy multicolored angora sweater that Zoe wore all the time. Nor was there any mistaking that this woman wasn’t Zoe. She stood apart just as much as she had back on the mainland, running down the dock to catch the Amelia Celeste . It might have been her fine blonde hair that was distinctive, or the delicacy of her build, or even the way she held herself, which was straight, as people did when looking good was part of who they were. She wore sneakers this time, likely Zoe’s also. And she wasn’t weighed down by luggage now, only by a light canvas bag that hung from a shoulder.
Several yards onto the dock, she grew tentative and stopped. She seemed lost. The wind was blowing her hair over her eyes. She held it back while she scanned the boats.
He imagined she was looking for him, then decided it was only wishful thinking. He was male, and she was female. He wasn’t so numbed by Hutch’s death—or by beer—that he couldn’t appreciate that. But there was more. The two of them shared something that had to do with life and death. In that sense alone, he wanted her to be looking for him. He didn’t quite know why, but there it was.
His wish was granted. Her reflection said she had spotted him. He decided it was a consolation prize after forty-eight hours of hell, but he wasn’t complaining. Without turning, he followed her approach in the glass. His heart was finally beating a notch above numbness. He felt relief, even comfort.
He waited until she was turning onto the Leila Sue’s arm of the dock before looking around to show he had seen her. He stood up, but didn’t move more than that. She seemed a little nervous. That made two of them. It was an odd situation, her being a total stranger who had shared something intimate with him. Intimate. Yes, that it was. Though he’d been born and raised here and had known most year-rounders nearly as long as that, he hadn’t shared an experience this intimate with any of them.
She came up to the side of the boat and stopped. “I’m, uh, Julia. I just heard about your father. I wanted to say how sorry I am.”
He nodded.
“And how grateful,” she went on, seeming more sure here. “You saved my life. I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t given me that cushion to hold.”
“You’d have been okay,” he said, because he was no hero, not after he’d ordered his father to the stern of the Amelia Celeste, as if the man were a dog. “Rescue wasn’t long in coming.”
“But would they have spotted the speck that was me without the cushion?” she asked with a speed that suggested she had been agonizing over the question. “Would I have swallowed too much water and been taken under by a wave? Would I have been too close to the ferry when that last explosion came?” Her eyes went out to sea. They were haunted when they found his again. “Until this minute, I hadn’t even thought about that second explosion. I keep stumbling over these little memories that I didn’t know I had. All these questions. And then there’s the big one.”
The big one. He didn’t need to wonder what that was. “Why us?” he said. “Why were we spared? Why not them?”
She nodded, seeming relieved that he knew what she meant. “I’ve asked myself that a hundred times. I mean, there’s the whole thing about mortality. I’ve been lucky. This is the closest I’ve ever come to death, and that’s enough to get me thinking. But then there’s the randomness of what happened. If we’d been in the stern… or if the racer had hit the bow… I don’t know how to explain that.”
Noah didn’t either. “My father wanted to stand in the bow,” he blurted out. It had nothing to do with his aversion to being a hero, and everything to do with his own inner torment. “I made him sit in the stern.”
She didn’t blink. “Evan Walsh offered me his seat. I turned him down.” She took an unsteady breath. “It could so easily have gone the other way.”
He nodded with feeling.
Neither of them spoke for a full minute, and he was fine with it. She was easy on the eyes. More than that—she
was beautiful. But it was more than that, too. With her standing here, something raw in him was soothed.
“Well.” She pressed her lips together, nodded, seemed ready to wrap things up. “I just wanted to express my condolences.” Her eyes abruptly widened. “And to give you this.” She slid the bag from her shoulder and passed it down to him over the gunnel.
He peered inside at a foil package.
“It’s dinner. I cooked. It’s one of the few things I’m good at. Today it was therapeutic. Not that I can eat much myself. My stomach keeps turning over.”
Noah knew the feeling. The only thing he’d eaten since the accident had come on the fly from Rick Greene. He had eaten it without tasting a bite.
But whatever Julia had cooked smelled good. “Thanks,” he said. “This is really nice of you.”
“It’s the least I can do,” she said with a smile that came and went so quickly he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching closely. He was thinking that there was something shy about her when, looking haunted again, she said, “Zoe called just before I left. The divers found the body of the young man who worked for her.”
“Todd.” Noah had already heard. “Does she know if he has family?”
“She thinks so. She found mail in his apartment. She’s working with your police chief to track down the senders. Todd was the last one missing.”
“Yes. Now they’re looking for anything that might help them reconstruct the accident.”
“Why do they have to do that?”
“It’s their job. There may be insurance issues. They have to investigate. Who knows? They may find your bags in the process.”
“I don’t care about my bags,” she avowed soundly—then blinked and blushed. “Oh. You mean life insurance issues. I guess they would want to learn as much as they can because of that. Have you talked with Kim Colella?”
Noah kept forgetting about Kimmie. Or maybe he was just preoccupied with Hutch. “I haven’t. I think she’s with her family. How long are you here for?”
“Two weeks. I was supposed to take one of Tony Hammel’s courses, but my equipment…” She moved her hand in a telling arc.
“He could loan you some.”
She wrinkled her nose, gave a tiny smile. “I’ve lost my taste for it.”
“And not for Big Sawyer? I’ll bet you head back early.”
“No.” She said soberly. “Don’t ask me to explain. It’s complex, and I’m not up for complex things right now. I’m feeling…” She searched for a minute or two, finally looked at him in bewilderment. “What am I feeling?”
She was so beseeching—and sweet at it—that he might have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so dire. What was she feeling? He considered the options.
She might have been afraid of going on a boat again, hence unable to leave just yet. But he didn’t think it was that.
She might have been tied to the island out of guilt. Hadn’t she mentioned Evan? Evan might have survived if she had switched places with him. But Noah had mentioned Hutch in the same regard, and it wasn’t guilt he felt as much as regret. Hutch could have stood in the bow with him. Then neither of them would have died. Julia struck him as being a sensible person. She wouldn’t be feeling guilt, per se.
She might have been feeling an obligation to the people here, but he ruled that out the minute it came to mind. Part of being sensible was being smart, and smart people understood the nature of islanders. Islanders were independent and strong. They chose to live off the water and knew the risk that went with leaving port in a small boat each day, and any who might have forgotten had seen the movie of The Perfect Storm a hundred times. The video remained the hottest commodity at the rental counter in Brady’s Tackle and Gear.
What am I feeling? her eyes continued to ask.
“Singled out,” he said. He didn’t know where the words came from, hadn’t thought them before. But that was what he was feeling. He was feeling different from the old friends who had come by today. Yes. Singled out.
Her eyes lit up. She nodded. In the next breath, though, the spark faded. “Singled out for what? Survival?”
“No,” he said. That wasn’t it.
“Recompense? I’ve had a good life. I’m not owed anything.”
“Me neither.”
“Singled out by whom? God?”
He felt an instant annoyance. He didn’t want to think about the God issue, not with the games He had played on the water two nights ago.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You have enough on your mind. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. It’s just…” She gave a tiny shake of her head and another of those touch-and-go smiles. Then, raising a hand in a wave, she turned and started back down the dock.
He didn’t stop her. It wasn’t his place. He had nothing to add to the conversation, though he wished he did. He was as confused as she was.
But he felt better now, he realized. Being confused wasn’t so bad when someone else felt the same. It was the old misery-loves-company thing, and it took the edge off his angst—at least until the angst took on a new focus. That happened the following Tuesday, at the tail end of his father’s funeral.
Chapter 4
The island graveyard sat on a hill overlooking the sea. Given the nature of those who lay there, this was fitting. Equally fitting, the head-stones were cut of island granite and locally carved. A small chapel stood off to the side, built of stone for practical reasons. Exposed to the elements on the hill, a chapel of wood might have crumbled under a regular battering by wind, sea salt, and rain. On this spot, everything had to be solid. “Eternity” was the operative word.
Of the victims of the accident, the Walshes, Todd Slokum, and Artie Jones were being buried back near family homes on the mainland. The rest were buried on Big Sawyer. They were islanders related to islanders, which meant that their funerals were attended by just about everyone who lived there. Dar Hutter’s was Monday morning, Greg Hornsby’s that afternoon, and Grady Bartz’s the next morning, all in fog, reminiscent of how they had died. For the most part, Julia stood with Zoe, and at those times was as much a part of the community as any stranger could be. It was when the eulogies were done and Zoe turned to talk with friends that Julia felt separate.
At those times, rather than stand idly at Zoe’s side, she drifted off to the edge of the cemetery and gazed out over the sea. It calmed her. It was as though she was familiar with the ocean in a way that she wasn’t with these people, as though she and the ocean were connected. Likewise Noah. She didn’t talk to him, but she knew he was there. That knowledge grounded her.
Hutch’s funeral was the last. It was held Tuesday afternoon at four, a time that allowed members of the local lobster fleet to return from their day’s work and attend.
For Julia, the scenario here was the same as the others; ostensibly, she was neither more nor less a part of the gathering. But this funeral was different for her. She had never met Hutchinson Prine—could no more pick him out from the memory of the people gathered in the stern of the Amelia Celeste than she could pick out any of the others—but she did feel a connection to his son. This time, it didn’t bother her to be on the fringe of the crowd. She was even comfortable enough to stay on when Zoe slipped away to meet the afternoon ferry. Todd Slokum’s brother was coming to take Todd’s things back home, and Zoe felt responsible.
Comfortable with the silence of being alone, Julia stood at the end of the line of funeral-goers waiting to pay their respects to Noah. The sun had broken through the fog for the first time in two days. Its rays heated the trees on the slope of the hill, sending the fragrance of pine and spruce up into the graveyard.
As she moved slowly forward over the grass bordering the granite headstones, she thought about the quiet words that had been said about Hutch. A loyal man, one friend said. An independent man, another said. An able man, said a third.
She found herself wondering what would have been said about her, had she been the one who died. Loya
l wife, surely. Loving mother. Able homemaker. Obedient woman.
Obedient woman. She didn’t know whether being called “obedient” was a compliment, but it was true. Obedient she was. She had been an obedient daughter to her parents and an obedient sister to her brothers. She had been an obedient student—always obedient in school—and an obedient bride. Oh, yes, she was that. Ten years her senior, Monte wanted babies, and Julia accommodated him. Miscar riages followed their initial success, though, and by the time it became clear that there would be no other children, he was successful enough in the world of high finance that he needed Julia as his hostess. Which she was. Obediently.
It could be said, she realized as she neared the front of the line, that taking this two-week trip to Big Sawyer without Monte was the most independent thing she had done in her life. Not that he appeared to mind. As promised, he had sent a package containing everything she would need to prolong her stay—money, credit cards, a set of car keys, and a new cell phone.
Loyal. Loving. Able. Obedient. Running through the list, she stopped short at the end.
Loyal. Loving. Able. Obedient. And… what else? She felt there ought to be something. But she couldn’t come up with a word.
When the person in front of her moved off, she approached Noah. He wore a sweater and slacks, the islanders’ equivalent of a jacket and tie. His were of fine quality, accommodating his significant height, well fitted over a trim, tapering body and the longest of legs. His dark hair was flecked with gray and the skin around his eyes was creased, but the impression was less of age than of exposure. Likewise, his face held color from the spring sun, though she sensed that the last few days had washed out much of it. His eyes were the dark blue of the sea, and they looked weary.
Still, she felt the same comfort she did each time she saw him. It was especially nice that he managed a smile. It was small, perhaps more a spasm than a smile. But for a few seconds it softened his face.
The Summer I Dared: A Novel Page 7