Years from now, I would attend an opening at Dill’s art gallery and be forced to air kiss Brizzey on both cheeks. I might travel all the way to New Zealand for a regatta only to find myself competing against Race. I’d receive newsletters and updates about Kriffo’s sports injuries and Stuyvie’s big plan to replace his father as dean. I would remain steeped in all their glories.
I found myself near the once forested area where we’d had the groundbreaking for Prosper Hall. Somewhere there was a picture of my father, Windsor, and me smiling our ceremonial smiles as our shovels cut the earth. Trees had been cleared, construction begun, the dimensions of the new dormitories made clear with cement and rebar. I wondered who would live in these quarters, boys or girls. Would there be a fire escape, or would the windows be sealed to prevent anyone from sneaking in or out? I’d never really thought about having children, but any son or daughter of mine would be a legacy at Bellingham, would have a home named after him or her. A home borne of a father’s desire to hide his son’s shame.
Just one last time, just to say good-bye, I walked down to our beach. As I trudged across the familiar sand, I stripped off my suit, leaving my clothes on the shore, and dove into the cold Atlantic.
The wind was picking up. I scanned the harbor for yawls. For one I might steal and sail across the equator, past the horse latitudes, down to the southern hemisphere. Hoping to find myself under Argo Navis, the ship of stars. The boat that ferried Jason and his Argonauts to their Golden Fleece. The constellation, once the largest in the sky, had been broken up, separated by astronomers. Where once there had been a single constellation, now three smaller groupings of stars glittered. Carina, the keel; Vela, the sails; Puppis, the stern.
I wanted to sail under our shattered constellation. Aidan and Cal my fellow privateers. The two of them giving off more light, more warmth than I deserved. Cal would teach Aidan how to work the lines, her red hair fiery in the moonglow. She would whisper to Cal how sorry I was. Convince him to forgive me. It was only because of Aidan that I had begun to forgive myself and only because of Cal that I had learned to care for Aidan. The three us part of some larger whole.
I wanted to swim until the dark water and navy sky were one. I felt myself rising, soaring away from this school. Hunting the sky for yachts. Believing that it took those three extravagant boats and those sturdy helicopters to chariot Aidan and Cal away from me. The tide was coming in, the waves gaining strength, but I felt buoyant, triumphant, even. I ducked my head underwater, held my breath, lengthening the keel of my body. Swimming closer to the rocks, I heard the waves and wind creating their own siren’s song, the soft voices of my lost friends. I flipped over, floating on my back and leaning into the starboard sea. The night descending, stretching above me like a map promising instruction, direction.
I would spend the rest of my life searching for guiding stars.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful for the generous support I have received from The Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Vassar College, Emerson College, the University of Houston, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, and Inprint. I would also like to thank my colleagues at Rice University, Justin Cronin, Marsha Recknagel, Susan Wood, and my colleagues and students at Agnes Scott College.
For his incomparable wit and careful reading, I extend my deepest gratitude to the brilliant Ethan Bassoff, a man who works tirelessly and dreams brightly. I am in awe of my editor, the radiant and wise Daniela Rapp, and forever grateful for her luminous vision. Thank you to all the good people of InkWell Management and the sainted souls at St. Martin’s. Much adoration for Lindsay Sagnette, who first gave me shelter. Cheers to Cynthia Merman for her thoughtful and elegant copyediting.
Thank you to my family for their warm, open hearts. Big love to: Amy, Gerry and Joseph Heroux; Jared, Heather, Jasper and Dashiel Dermont; Johanna and Kathy McCarthy; and Catherine McCarthy and Stella Dermont.
A special blessing to Megan Bloomfield for the meaningful conversations she had with me about running before the wind.
I am honored to have studied with the dear departed Frank Conroy and Barry Hannah, whose early comments and encouragements kept me writing. For their invaluable lessons, I am indebted to Ted Weesner, Andre Dubus III, Robert Boswell, Edward Hirsch, Roxana Robinson, James Alan McPherson, Mark Doty, Antonya Nelson, and Marilynne Robinson.
I would like to thank the following individuals whose friendship and love continues to inspire: my fellow seafarers, Holiday Reinhorn, Andrew Porter, and Jonathan Blum; my matinée idol, Mark Jude Poirier; my great blessing, Amy Margolis; my dream girls, Jericho Brown and James Allen Hall; my dear poets, Michael Dumanis and Cate Marvin; my sweetness, Justin Quarry; my mosquito bite, Christopher Borg; my stars, Sabrina Orah Mark and Reginald McKnight; my ideal, ZZ Packer; my graces, Laurie and Paris Watel; my friends for always, Maribel Becker, Tanya Ceccarelli, and Victoria Allen; and the exquisite Connie Brothers.
And finally, I offer my deepest love and thanks to my parents, Joseph and Joanne Dermont, who gave me an ocean, a library, their love. I am so lucky to be your daughter.
For my parents
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
the starboard sea. Copyright © 2012 by Amber Dermont. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (TK)
ISBN 977312-642888
First Edition: February 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
THE STARBOARD SEA
adcard (TK)
The Starboard Sea: A Novel Page 34