The Summer I Dared: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  Julia glanced at her mother. She had seen them, too. She looked unsure of herself, which was so uncharacteristic that Julia moved close and said, “He’s waiting for you. He loves you.”

  Janet didn’t answer. Eyes brimming, she simply swallowed.

  The lines were tied. So many hands were there helping them from the rocking boat onto the dock that Julia didn’t know whose was whose, but she did know Molly’s arms when they wrapped around her and held her with a desperate need. Molly would have to know about Monte and her, but not now, not when so much else was at stake.

  Julia looked around. George was hugging Janet, and the hug was mutual. Janet’s arms held George as tightly as his held her.

  “Where’s Zoe?” Julia whispered to her daughter.

  Molly whispered back, “Just ashore, at the end of the dock. She doesn’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  Shifting a bit, Julia spotted her through a hole in the crowd. She stood alone, arms folded across her middle, but in a gesture of self-protection, not obstinacy. Molly was right; Zoe didn’t know what to do. Julia wanted to go to her, but she wasn’t the person Zoe needed.

  Suddenly, there seemed a lull in the voices of those on the dock and the sounds of the sea. It was in Julia’s mind, of course, because there was Janet, separating herself from George and the rest, and walking down the dock.

  Zoe dropped her arms as her older sister approached.

  Julia would never know what words were said. It was not her business to know. She saw Janet stop several feet away, saw her stand there for a minute, then move closer, raise a hand and touch Zoe’s cheek.

  Julia looked away, then. It was a beginning, and it was between Janet and Zoe. More crucial now, Julia needed to know about Noah.

  They drifted, exhausted as much by the aftermath of terror as by the physical exertion of keeping the Leila Sue afloat. In short bursts of strength, they bailed enough water from the bilge to avoid sinking. For the most part, though, they sat in the wheelhouse, rode the gentled ocean swells, kept their eyes out through the thinning fog for the lights that would mean their rescue.

  For all the times Noah had wondered what to say to his son, there was no wondering now. They didn’t have to talk to know what they had shared. Noah would never have invited an adventure like this, and they had yet to be rescued. But he knew that what they had been through would be with them always. It was a bond. He didn’t need words to say that. He could feel the knowledge in Ian, who was working with him now, not against him—feeling with him now, not against him—thinking with him now, not against him. As initiations went into the brotherhood of lobstermen, Ian had suffered trial by fire. He’d made Noah proud.

  At ten o’clock, after seventeen hours on the water, the first lights emerged from the lifting fog and headed their way. With the sighting, they let out whoops of relief and stood at the gunnel, energized despite their exhaustion, shouting and laughing. In his exuberance, Ian threw his arms around Noah, and the rescue was complete.

  Revisiting that morning two days and a lifetime before, Julia couldn’t keep tears at bay. Then, the emotion had been sadness at leaving Noah and fear of facing Monte. Now she also felt fear—fear that Noah had rethought his feelings for her. Her fear, though, was paired with happiness. Regardless of what happened between Noah and her, she was thrilled he was safe.

  Leading a parade of lobster boats, the Coast Guard cutter entered the harbor shortly before eleven. The night waters were lit by running lights, searchlights, and torches blazing on the dock. Noah and Ian were off the cutter the instant it docked—and Lucas! Julia hadn’t known Lucas was aboard the Leila Sue. The dog looked damp but glad to be on his home turf, to judge from the exuberant way he raced down the dock. Noah and Ian had none of that freedom. Friends converged on them in a circle of backslapping and hugs.

  Julia stood at the shore end of the dock. On this eve of the Fourth of July, there was much to celebrate, all the more so after the tragedy of three weeks before. This time, the story was life all the way.

  Noah wasn’t a hero. Each time Ian repeated the story to those gathered around them of how his father had fought the waves to pull on that rope and save him from drowning, Noah felt more awkward. He had done the only thing he could.

  Suddenly, incredibly, he felt itchy again. He wanted to go after Julia, but he couldn’t do that now. He could go after Haber and Welk, though. That was a start.

  Breaking out of the circle, he was immediately intercepted by John Roman, who fell into step and asked, “You’re sure it was water polluted the tank?”

  “I’m sure,” Noah said. “I know the signs.”

  “And the radio wires were cut.”

  “Clean through.”

  “Haber and Welk?”

  “Got another suspect?”

  “Not me,” John replied. “You call it, friend. We’ll pay them a visit whenever you want.”

  “I want now,” Noah said.

  “It’s pretty late.”

  “Too late for you?” Noah challenged.

  “Hell, no. Not for Charlie Andress, either. We live for things that break the routine. I’m thinking of you. You’ve been up since, what, four? Five?”

  “I’m not ready to sleep, but they should be. This time of night we’ll have the best chance of finding them home. Your boat has radar. The ocean’s into the calm after the storm. Give me ten to change clothes, and we’ll take a ride to West Rock.”

  “I’m game,” John said.

  It was a plan. Noah felt good.

  In the next instant, he stopped walking. As if to compensate, his heart began to race. Julia stood not ten feet away, breathlessly beautiful with her hair shining in the night. She wore white pants, a lime green blazer, and stacked sandals, and looked more cosmopolitan than he had seen her look since that first night aboard the Amelia Celeste. She had a hand pressed to her mouth and tears of regret in her eyes, and she didn’t move toward him.

  I’ve lost her, he thought. She’s come back to say good-bye.

  Then he noticed the strangeness of the hand that was pressed to her mouth, and suddenly realized the tears he saw weren’t of regret at all, but unsureness—and things clicked. A handful of steps took him to where she stood, and all the while she looked at him with a kind of fearful yearning.

  He touched her hand—touched the spot that looked so odd without its wedding band. Linking his fingers through hers, he brought her hand to his heart so that she could feel its thud, and she smiled through her tears.

  What that smile did to him! For a minute he couldn’t breathe— thought it was his runaway heart and that he might suffocate, then realized it was emotion gathering in his chest.

  “Dad?” Ian came up behind him. “John’s waiting.”

  Noah cleared his throat. He took a breath to steady himself. “We’re going to West Rock,” he told Julia softly. “Bearding the lion in his den.”

  “I’m coming,” she said. She was holding his eyes like she would never let them go, holding his hand the same way.

  “No, ma’am. And neither is he,” he said, tossing his head at Ian.

  “They nearly got me killed,” Ian argued. “I have a right to go.”

  “These are criminals, Ian,” Noah said, though the message was meant for Julia, as well. “I’ll be with John and Charlie. They have guns.”

  “But—”

  “I messed up bad with the boat. No radio, no cell phone—it was stupid of me, and it nearly got you killed. Don’t put me in that position again. Tell you what. We need dry clothes. Then you stay at the house with Julia. That way, I’ll see both of you when I get back.”

  In the end, Ian came. For a boy who had been sullen and silent less than a week before, he wouldn’t stop talking now, and he was eloquent. It’s my fight, too, he said. Then, Four against two is better than three against two. And the clincher, If it had been your dad and you when you were seventeen, would you have gone? And, of course, once Noah said Ian could come, Ju
lia looked ready to rebel. I’ve spent my life sitting on the sidelines, those beautiful hazel eyes said in protest. It took a quiet moment with her, and the sharing of bits of his heart and his hopes, before she acquiesced.

  John’s boat made the crossing to West Rock in seven minutes. Charlie Andress met them at the dock and drove them to where Haber and Welk were staying. It was a typical fisherman’s cottage, more a bungalow than a house, and as run-down as any on the road. Not so the black Porsche sitting in front. Charlie’s headlights picked it right out.

  “Whoa,” said Ian. “Cool car.”

  “A little out of character for a lobsterman,” John remarked.

  Charlie said, “The car’s registered in Florida. We figure they could suffer the shack, but couldn’t resist having the car.”

  “Now there’s a pattern,” Noah observed, leaning in from the back-seat, where he and Ian sat. “They go to some effort to pass as regular lobstermen—get a lobstering license, paint their buoys, put tags on their traps. Then they ignore local law and start a gear war, like they couldn’t resist that either.”

  “They’re thugs,” Charlie said, parking in front of the house.

  “No lights on,” observed John. “They must be sleeping.”

  “Good,” Noah declared and opened his door. As far as he was concerned, the more disruptive their visit, the better.

  Charlie took the lead, since this was his jurisdiction. He knocked on the door while the others waited—knocked loudly, with confidence and intent. Totally aside from the remark about thugs, that knock said he had no love for Haber and Welk either. He wanted to wake them up.

  A light came on. The door opened. One man stood there and was joined seconds later by another, but neither had been asleep. Both were wide awake and fully dressed. Of average height and build, they were bearded, as many lobstermen were. One had a shaved head, the other did not. Both wore rain jackets.

  “You know me,” Charlie said in a lazy way. “This here’s John Roman from over Big Sawyer. We need to talk with you.”

  Even with the only light coming from behind the two in the doorway, their tension was obvious. “Bad time, man,” said the hairless one— Welk, Noah decided, recalling the picture on John’s computer. “It’s kinda late.”

  “Doesn’t look to me like you were in bed,” Charlie remarked.

  “We just got back.”

  “Oh? Where you been?”

  Noah wanted to hear the answer, too. West Rock was half the size of Big Sawyer. The only eatery was a diner, and it closed at eight—and even if that wasn’t so, he didn’t think they had eaten out. Faint cooking smells wafted through the open door—garlic, onion, fried ground beef—smells now several hours old. Thugs? They were goddamned felons. No, they hadn’t been out for dinner. Where then? Rain jackets notwithstanding, given the storm had so recently ended, he didn’t think the boys had been out for a cruise.

  Welk gave a halfhearted shrug. “Here and there.”

  Charlie grunted. “Not in that car. I touched the engine cover as I went past just now. It’s cold.”

  Welk darted a glance at Haber, who said, “We were out walking. Is there any law against that?”

  “No. If you ask me, though, you look a little too dry to be just coming in. There’s still a wind blowin’ up rain from the storm. No, I’d say you’re on your way out. Where you headed?”

  “To bed, as soon as you leave.”

  “Well, now, that may be a while,” Charlie said in an easygoing way. “Like I said, we need to talk. How ’bout inviting us in?”

  “How ’bout getting a search warrant?” Welk snapped back.

  Haber made a small stay calm gesture with his hand.

  Still leisurely, because that was clearly annoying the two, Charlie said, “I’m not searching anything. Just wanting to talk. We can either do it here or back in the office.”

  “In the morning,” Welk said anxiously. “Okay, man?”

  “Actually,” Charlie mused, “it’s not okay. I got folks here who have a gripe, and they’ve come all the way over to see you. My friend Mr. Roman and his friend Mr. Prine think you sabotaged Mr. Prine’s boat. He’s prepared to bring charges. I want to hear your side.”

  Welk checked his watch and, with a calm that said he wasn’t calm at all, lowered the wrist.

  Haber said, “Our side is he shot at our hull.”

  Noah was about to deny it when Charlie advised, “I wouldn’t make that charge, if I was you. I looked into it when you first filed the complaint. I got witnesses saw you do that yourself.”

  “They lie.”

  Charlie shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first. Others have done even worse to justify a gear war.” He looked to be enjoying himself, which gave Noah an idea of how much of an annoyance Haber and Welk had been on West Rock, too. In the same exasperatingly slow way, the police chief went on. “I’m just telling you what my witnesses say. They say you go out in the boat at night, and I’m asking myself why you do that. Are you pulling traps in the pitch black? Or spray-painting buoys? Or sliding up to the dock at Big Sawyer and fouling the fuel tank of its most respected citizen?”

  “They also cut the radio wires,” Ian charged, making his presence known, which was precisely why Noah hadn’t wanted him along. Knowing of his existence gave Haber and Welk another weapon to use against Noah.

  Noah drew their attention to him with an anger that was just rearin’ to go. “Fouled the tank and robbed me of my radio right when a storm’s about to hit—which resulted in our being out on the ocean in a disabled craft through the whole of that storm. Bottom line? That’s attempted murder.”

  “Why’re you looking at us?” Haber asked. “We’re just lobstering for the summer. So you guys don’t like outsiders. That’s your problem, not ours.”

  “Wrong,” Noah said. “You trespassed on my property when you disabled my boat. Willful destruction of property is a state crime.”

  Haber produced a snide smile. “What about the traps we lost when someone cut our lines?”

  Noah was about to call him on the painted buoys, when Charlie stopped him with a hand. Calmly, he told Haber and Welk, “Pot warp is cut all the time. You won’t find any witnesses to that.”

  Haber still wore his smile. It seemed plastered on his face, despite the fact that he was putting a hand in his pocket, taking it out, shifting his weight from one hip to the other. “I want a lawyer.”

  Charlie smiled right back at him. “Maybe in the morning.”

  “Okay,” Welk said quickly. “Morning’s fine. Come on, Curt.” He seemed eager to close the door.

  “You sure you guys aren’t heading out?” Charlie asked curiously.

  “At twelve-twenty?” Haber countered. “It’s late, man. If you’re gonna charge us, do it. If not, get the hell off my doorstep.”

  “I might remind you,” Charlie mused conversationally, “that this isn’t really your doorstep. This house belongs to an old friend of mine who hasn’t lived here in six years because his wife isn’t well, and she wants to be close to her family in Indiana. So he rents it out. Too bad, but it’s vacant most of the time. Not many people come to West Rock. So it was a boon when you two showed an interest in renting, and you didn’t even dicker with the amount of the rent. Pretty steep, if you ask me, but my friend can use the money. I don’t think he’ll be happy to hear that you’ve broken the local laws.”

  Haber shot an urgent look at Welk, and Welk looked so like a man trying to ignore a snake crawling down the back of his shirt—both of them seeming on the edge of panic—that Noah had a thought. He was about to nudge John, when John said, “Okay, Charlie, I think we’ve imposed on these gentlemen enough. Let’s let them get their sleep. We’ll all be fresher in the morning.”

  The two men at the door visibly relaxed.

  “I was just getting started,” Charlie protested.

  But John gestured him back to the car. As soon as they were all four inside, John said, “Go round the corner, Charlie, jus
t like you’re meaning to leave, then park and put out the lights. I want to see what they do.” Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, he flipped through it in the cast-off light of the dashboard.

  “Are you thinking what I am?” Noah asked.

  “That there’s reason one checked his watch and the other knew the exact time? I’ll bet I am.” He found the page he wanted. Flipping open his cell phone, he punched in a number.

  Charlie pulled around the corner, out of sight of the house, parked, and killed his lights.

  “What?” Ian asked Noah.

  Noah remembered the meeting of the trap group on the day of Hutch’s funeral, when Mike Kling had suggested that they would be killing two birds with one stone if they could prove that the fruit guys, already in trouble for intruding on Big Sawyer turf, had also shot Artie. That wasn’t the case; Kim had shot Artie. But there might be another stone…

  “What if Haber and Welk are heading off to do business?”

  “In the middle of the night?” Ian asked skeptically.

  “That’s when smuggling is done,” Noah replied. He could hear John on his phone in the front, using words consistent with INS talk.

  “But if they were involved in smuggling,” Ian persisted, “why would they do all the rest?”

  Noah snorted. “Stupidity?”

  “Seriously. Wouldn’t they want to be invisible here?”

  “They may have thought being lobstermen would do that. Artie let people think he and Kimmie were having an affair as a cover. Haber and Welk might have used lobstering as theirs. They got their license, rented a place, did the things they thought they had to do. They didn’t check out local law, because it’s not written down. So they unwittingly set traps in our space. When we called them on it by knotting their lines, they lashed back. Didn’t have the good sense just to move their traps. Had to try to best us.”