The Summer I Dared: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Doesn’t look it,” said Noah. “Lobster boat races are a fixture on the Fourth of July weekend, but word is they may be canceled. The forecast isn’t good. They’re predicting wind and rain late Sunday and Monday. Hear that, Ian?”

  Ian was with Molly—and Molly with Kim, to Julia’s gratitude—all three crowded as deep into the wheelhouse as they could be without disappearing into the cuddy. Jackets were zipped, hoods tied, and hands pulled up into the shelter of sleeves. Julia was hooded herself, rain slicker over sweatshirt, over more layers both above and below.

  “I could use a day off,” Ian said.

  “Sorry,” Noah said, sounding not sorry at all. “If the forecast holds, we’re working Sunday, too. The law won’t allow us to lobster, but it gives us leave to move traps if a storm is brewing.” To Julia, he said, “Traps in the shallows will be knocked around by high wind and storm surge. We’ll haul them up and set them deeper. It’s either that or risk losing half the stock.”

  Julia was peering out the front window. “How can you see to do anything?”

  Noah tapped the screens before him. “Besides, I know these waters.” He gave the radio an extra jiggle. It came right on. There was static and strands of conversation, but they filtered out into the wind.

  “Do you know where the accident was?”

  “Longitude and latitude, yes.”

  She didn’t say anything more, nor did she move from his side. In weather eerily reminiscent of the day of the accident, he represented safety.

  The Leila Sue picked up speed. Assuming that Kim was thinking back to that day too, Julia caught the girl’s eye. “Okay?” she mouthed.

  Kim had removed the watchman’s cap, so wisps of red hair blew around the edge of her hood, but she didn’t appear happy—actually looked as though she might scream, which would probably have been the best thing in the world for her.

  In the end, she didn’t scream, just gave a nod.

  As the boat pitched ahead through the seas, there was no talk, just the thrum of the engine, the sputter of the radio, the rush of the wind, and the slap of the hull. It wasn’t a long ride. The Amelia Celeste had been nearly home when The Beast hit. Keeping a close watch on the instrument panel, Noah plowed on. Finally, he said, “This is it,” and killed the engine.

  The boat rose and fell, and the wind whistled over the wheelhouse, but all else was still. Noah went to the gunnel and stood somberly. Moments later, Ian joined him there. He didn’t touch Noah. A solid arm’s length separated them. Julia was nonetheless grateful for the gesture.

  Wanting to give them time alone, she went to the stern. It was here, on the Amelia Celeste, that so many people had died. The Leila Sue was a different boat—smaller than the Amelia Celeste and outfitted for lobstering, not ferrying—but Julia was instantly transported back to that night. She didn’t recall the details of the boarding. She had been rushed; they were still a blur. But she felt the presence of the eight people who had been lost—felt it so clearly that she shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. Moments later, Molly was there. Seeming to know what to do this time, she gave Julia a hug.

  “Do you feel it?” the girl whispered.

  “I do,” Julia whispered back.

  “Did those people know what hit them?”

  “They knew The Beast was coming.”

  “Did he do it intentionally?” Molly cried with more feeling now.

  Julia was about to say she didn’t know, when something cold touched her hand. With her hood up, she couldn’t see on her left. Now she turned and saw Kim.

  The girl’s eyes were filled with sorrow. They went from Julia to Molly and back. In a deliberate motion, she shook her head.

  “Not intentionally?” Julia asked.

  Kim repeated the head shake and touched her own shoulder.

  “Because he was shot,” Julia interpreted. “But why was he still driving the boat?”

  Kim shook her head in bewilderment.

  “You don’t know?”

  Another head shake, more vehement this time, with a hint of panic.

  “But you were there,” Julia whispered.

  Panic gave way to something so far beyond regret as to be painful, and the answer was suddenly clear. Julia would have asked more, if it hadn’t seemed irrelevant to the moment. Explanations could come later. Right now in Kimmie’s eyes were agony and need—agony over what had occurred, need to be accepted despite it.

  Julia pulled her close on the right while Molly stayed locked to her on the left, the three of them steadying one another against the roll of the boat as they looked out over the stern. They were buffeted by the wind, but appropriately so—reality pushing, pushing, pushing against what the human soul could bear.

  Larger than the women and more used to the roll of the boat, Noah stood firm at the starboard gunnel staring out at the sea. He barely noticed the wind or the spume that rose up when the bow of the boat dug into a wave. Taking deep breaths, he felt the life of his father consolidate and rise from the depths. Scenes scrolled up over the white-caps—Hutch working dawn to dusk without complaint; Hutch saving to buy his wife a new and finer wedding band for their fiftieth wedding anniversary, though she was terminally ill; Hutch standing at the side of the truck that September morning when Noah left for college, watching him go, just watching, not moving an inch until the ferry was out of sight.

  With these memories came the connection Noah sought. He and his father had shared more than an occupation and a house. They may never have said it aloud, but there had been feeling between them. That feeling now crowded Noah’s throat.

  And he had thought Kim needed this? He needed it. He hadn’t been to this spot—to this very spot—since the accident. Since then he had lived through the funeral and the cleaning-out. He had returned to work, hauling traps through the day and using Haber and Welk as an outlet for his anger, filling in the quiet times by thoughts of survival, opportunity, and mission. But he was the one who needed closure. Here now, at the place where his father had breathed his last, he felt that.

  Eyes filling with tears, he took the best of Hutch, tucked it inside, and prayed he could be as good a man. It struck him that if he had been spared death for nothing else, it was to gain this understanding of what, at the core, his father had been.

  He felt someone beside him and looked over quickly. Ian was close now, awkward and unsure. “I didn’t know him,” the boy said.

  Noah nodded. He faced the sea, faced the fact that it was his fault.

  He should have had Ian here every summer. He always told himself that the boy was busy with other things, that Sandi wouldn’t want him on Big Sawyer so long, that Noah and Hutch had serious lobstering to do summers and couldn’t be slowed down by a child. But they were all excuses for Noah’s own insecurity. He could try to blame it on his marriage, but that didn’t get him anywhere. It was time he took responsibility for his behavior. That was another reason why he had survived the accident.

  He had three weeks. He was determined to make the most of them, starting with dinner tonight at the Grill. He wanted to introduce his son to his friends. They might not have the advanced degrees that Sandi’s friends had, but they were good people. He wanted Ian to hear their stories about Hutch.

  Grateful to have direction, he glanced back at the stern. Julia’s eyes met his. Worried still, they said that Kim hadn’t talked.

  He refused to be discouraged. If this hadn’t worked, something else would. Returning to the wheel, he started the engine. As soon as the women were in the shelter of the wheelhouse again, he turned the Leila Sue and headed for shore. Riding with the tide, they made better time. But the fog remained thick. He had to slow to a crawl inside the harbor markers to avoid hitting other boats, and was relieved when he pulled into the slip.

  Kim was off the boat the instant the lines were tied. Head bowed again, she hurried down the dock to the shore. Each step took her farther into the fog. She was nearly at the gauzy bit of blue that was her car
when Molly cried, “Oh, look—she dropped her hat.” Snatching the black watchman’s cap from the deck, she scrambled out of the boat and ran after the girl.

  At the same time, Kim must have realized she had left it, because she had barely closed herself in the Honda and started the motor when she climbed out again. Leaving the car running, she ran back toward the pier. She had just met Molly when an explosion rocked the Honda, and it burst into flames.

  Chapter 17

  Within seconds of the explosion, Julia was out of the boat and racing down the dock. She was vaguely aware of Noah and Ian passing her, but her focus was on Molly, who had sunk down to the wharf with Kim, the two of them a conjoined shape in the mist. She ran with her heart in her mouth, frightened enough not to see the pier, where people stood unharmed but in shock, far closer to the blazing car than were Molly and Kim. It was only when she reached the girls and pushed her way through the cluster that now included Noah, Ian, and half a dozen others that she found Molly unhurt, holding Kim, who was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Molly raised terrified eyes to Julia’s.

  Even as more people came on the run, some heading for hoses to put out the fire, Julia dropped down and held them both, quaking bodies and tremulous limbs, hoods fallen back, faces pale and wet with tears.

  “Oh God… oh God… oh God.” The voice was fractured, words a sobbing whisper, but they definitely came from Kim.

  Molly said shakily, “Someone bombed the car.”

  “He wants me dead,” Kim cried between sobs. Her voice was reedy and high, but there was no mistaking the words.

  “Who?” Noah asked gently.

  “He tried once,” she wailed brokenly, “but I grabbed the gun. It wasn’t supposed to go off—but he just kept holding on—and then it did.”

  Artie. The pieces fell into place. As stunned as Julia was by the bombing, as shaken by what might have happened to her own daughter, as muddled by memories of another explosion and death, she was still able to think. Those thoughts painted a new picture of what had happened that day on The Beast.

  Noah’s eyes met hers. They reflected the same picture.

  “Let’s get her out of here,” he said softly, because more and more people were crowding around, and a public confession wouldn’t do. As he said it, John Roman was breaking out of the fog at the far end of the parking lot and running their way. Off to the other side, hoses had doused the worst of the flames, leaving Kim’s car strewn in pieces around a smoldering core.

  “My office,” John said.

  Noah shook his head. “My house. It’s less threatening. Besides,” he added in a warning to John, “I want to hear what she has to say before I turn her over to you.” He helped Kim up. With Ian dashing ahead and a number of the townsfolk coming along, he held her against his side and walked her down the dock to his truck.

  Julia helped Molly up and then held her, just held her there on the dock for the longest time. People hovered, offering comforting words, a quick touch, the gentle squeeze of an arm—all gestures that helped. They showed caring and support in a place that, three weeks earlier, had never heard of Julia Bechtel or her daughter. Still, the panic that had been so instinctive in the seconds after the blast now returned in lurid detail. Had Molly been faster or Kim slower, the two would have been at the car when the blast occurred. They would have died. Thinking of the possibility, Julia had trouble breathing.

  But she wanted to be with Noah and Kim. When she had recovered a measure of composure, she wrapped an arm around Molly’s waist and started walking. There was no talk about Molly returning to work at the Grill. Rick Greene was one of those on the dock and accompanied the two women to Julia’s car. He even offered to drive, but Julia smiled, shook her head, and thanked him. She needed to feel in control of something. By the time she arrived at Noah’s, she was sure enough of Molly’s safety to focus on Kim.

  They were gathered in the living room, where upholstered furniture, aged wood side tables, and amber lamps offered comfort, while the corner woodstove gave dryness and warmth. The room was an escape from the fog and fear beyond.

  Kim had sunk deep into a corner of the sofa. Her mother and grandmother arrived shortly after Julia, but they stood apart, seeming wary of what Kim might say.

  Noah sat on the coffee table near Kim, elbows on his knees, a compassionate look in his eyes. “What happened today—that’s why you need to tell us about Artie. We can’t protect you unless we know what kind of danger you’re in.”

  Kim was looking at him, clearly clinging to the assurance in his voice. She held a glass of water braced in her lap, but it was none too steady even then.

  “Were you on The Beast that day?” Noah asked.

  She nodded.

  “Had you been at the house first with Artie?”

  She nodded again, and with that second silent gesture, Julia feared the muteness had returned. But then Kim took a drink of water, cleared her throat, and said in a rusty voice, “I went to talk with him. I needed him to explain what he was doing.”

  “What he was doing with you, you mean?”

  She shook her head. “We never did that.”

  “Never had an affair?”

  “No. It was just supposed to look that way.” Her eyes fell. It was another minute before she cleared her throat again and raised her head. “It was supposed to cover up the other.”

  “The other?”

  “The money.” She shot John a wary look.

  “Ignore him,” Noah said. “What you say here is not any kind of formal confession. It’s just friends wanting to know what happened that day. He hasn’t read you your rights. Nothing you say now can be held against you, and if he dares quote anything from this discussion, we’ll all deny it was said.”

  That would be perjury if they were under oath at the time, but Julia knew she would commit it in an instant if someone tried to railroad Kim. She felt passionately about this. It was good to be passionate about something that mattered. Her life had lacked passion. She had never had to fight over Molly, which was probably a good thing. Then again, perhaps if she’d had to—if she had been forced to show passion—she would have grown up long before now.

  Noah shared the passion. His was quiet and controlled, but there was no doubting that he meant every word he directed at John.

  Kim seemed to calm. She swallowed. “I was making cash deposits for him in Portland. He was paying me to do it.” She faltered and took a drink. “He said he was sheltering it from taxes. I knew it was wrong for him to do that, but he was offering me good money to make runs to the bank, and I”—her voice cracked—“I really wanted that money.”

  “For what?” John asked.

  Does it matter? Julia cried silently. She knew what the money was for; Kim had told her, in no uncertain terms. But how could the girl tell these people who loved Big Sawyer that she did not? She couldn’t afford to offend them. In the legal sense, they held her future in their hands. She was in a precarious position.

  But Julia didn’t know the Kim who had tended bar prior to the accident, a woman who could hold her own against the roughest of auto mechanics, shipyard workers, and lobstermen. She had more moxie than Julia imagined.

  Her chin grew firm. With only the slightest glance at Nancy and June, she said, “To leave here. To go somewhere else.” Raspy though it was, her voice strengthened. “I didn’t know what he was doing—didn’t have a clue that the money was from smuggling illegals into the country until I overheard a conversation. I was at his house and the phone rang. I didn’t want to answer it because it might have been his wife, and she really would have gotten the wrong idea. But the phone kept ringing, and once before he yelled at me for not answering it when he was expecting a call, so I picked up. We both did at the same time. He said hello first, and he didn’t realize I was on the line, and then it was like if I hung up he would know I was there and think I was snooping. It seemed better to be invisible. So I held the phone and listened, and even then it took me a while t
o figure out what was going on. I went home, and I went over and over what I had heard. That was when it hit me that he was using me for something way past evading taxes. So I went to his house to ask him about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That I was wrong. That I had misheard and misunderstood, and why didn’t we go out for a ride on the boat, because he really needed some air. So we did, and before I knew it, he pulled out a gun.” Her voice was shaky now, her eyes wide. “He aimed it at me. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he meant to kill me, and I didn’t want to die. So I jumped at him.” She jerked back. “The gun went off, and he was, like, totally unable to believe he was shot. He kept touching his shoulder and looking at the blood on his hand, and touching his shoulder and looking at the blood again. By the time he went looking for the gun, I already had it. I went way back to the sun deck, as far away from him as I could get, and I held that gun and would have killed him if he’d come at me again.”

  “Good girl,” said Nancy.

  Kim turned on her, eyes brimming with anguished tears. “I shot him, Ma. I shot him, and I got the gun, and then I was so upset about the whole thing that I looked away at the end, and because I did, we hit the Amelia Celeste and nine people died! I’m not good. I don’t think I’ll ever be good!”

  Julia pressed a hand to her mouth, because Kim wasn’t just saying the words. She meant them. That was what two and a half weeks of silence had been about. Just because she was speaking now didn’t mean the guilt was gone. Things like that lingered—Julia knew. She hadn’t planned to get pregnant, had been raised thinking that good girls were responsible for preventing the unexpected. When Monte was eager to get married, the pregnancy seemed like nothing more than an advance on a good thing. At some point, though—possibly around the time of his first affair—she began to wonder if he had felt trapped. He hadn’t actually said those words, but she felt them. An argument could be made that his affairs were a way of punishing her, and that she put up with them to ease her own guilt.