1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “And just when I think the youth of today is going to hell in a hand basket. What a sweet young man,” she told the crowd, put the programs in the closet on the top shelf for safekeeping, and announced dinner.

  February 17th1930

  Aryl stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie and dreading the day before him. Claire knocked on the door of his parents’ loft bedroom and let herself in. Arianna had loaned her a black dress, and although she looked slightly overdressed, it was better than buying something for the day.

  “You look nice.”

  “So do you,” she said, taking the tie from him and adjusting it.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “All right, I guess. When did everyone finally leave?” She had fallen asleep on the couch, and Aryl had asked the remaining guests to move to the kitchen, so he could lay out a makeshift bed for her in front of the fireplace.

  “Close to midnight. I’ll try to find more blankets or padding of some kind before tonight,” he said, reflecting on his own miserable slumber. “Too bad my folks got rid of that big house. We’d be a little more comfortable.”

  “It’s fine, Aryl. Flat and hard is almost better than lumpy and pokey,” she said, smiling as she finished his tie and straightened his jacket. “All ready. Everyone is waiting downstairs.”

  “I just want to get this over with.”

  ∞∞∞

  Aryl and his parents, followed by Claire, Liam and Sarah, were escorted to the front row of the chapel, as they were the only immediate family. They waited while the pews filled with friends. Aryl tried to look anywhere other than the table in front of him. It was decorated with a lace cloth, an open Bible, a framed picture of his uncle and a white urn. His eyes misted and a lump grew in his throat when he looked at the picture. He could no longer pretend he was here for another reason–a friend’s wedding or maybe Easter service.

  He was here to say goodbye to his uncle; a big, loveable man, an avid explorer who had a passionate affair with the sea that few people understood. He was liked by men and pursued by women, but all of his relationships ended the same way. No matter how lovely, witty or demure, no woman could compete with his lady, the sea.

  More times than he liked to count, his uncle had returned home to a note that released him back to his true love, and so he never married. Never had children. Instead, he had always treated Aryl like a son, and even though his father knew him and loved him, his uncle understood him. They shared a love of adventure and the inability to be confined to one geographical area or occupation. Until he met Claire anyway. And even then, although his uncle was brokenhearted that their adventures would never come to be, he was gracious. He told Aryl the last time they went out to sea together that if this woman called his heart stronger and louder than the adventure, more than the freedom of the sea, more than anything else in the world then Aryl was to go with her and never look back.

  Aryl had to look away again and think of something else. He went over in his mind the details of the contract he would soon sign, thought about the repairs, wondered what Jonathan was doing, and did some math in his head, anything mundane and emotionless.

  The organ music pulled Aryl back to the painful present. He felt imminent tears as the minister began to speak.

  “Aryl Sullivan was loved by many and will be dearly missed. Anyone who was lucky enough to know him will feel an absence in their lives and in their hearts forever. One can only be consoled by the knowledge that he is now with the Lord.”

  A shiver went through Claire’s entire body. It was eerie and uncomfortable for her to hear the repeated reference to the deceased, as her husband and his uncle shared the exact same name, and she was anxious for it to be over. She held Aryl’s hand and noticed as a few tears fell onto his pant legs. She put her arm around him, and he leaned toward her; Claire being the only person besides his parents that he wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of.

  After a brief opening from the pastor, Michael Sullivan stood to deliver the eulogy. He retold a heartwarming account of his brother's life, his antics, and his humor. He broke down several times as he struggled through. Aryl had been asked beforehand to say something after his father, but he found it impossible to stand when it was time.

  The pastor invited anyone who wished to speak to come forward. Aryl began listening to the emotionally recounted memories, but the open sobbing of the mourners became too much for him, and he told Claire he was going to the restroom. He washed and dried his face then walked outside to pull the salt air deep into his lungs and regain control of his emotions. He walked behind the chapel and stared for a long time at the ocean.

  It could have been five minutes or an hour; Aryl wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed when he noticed Claire standing beside him quietly.

  “It’s over,” she said softly. He put an arm around her shoulder, and they walked to his parents' car and rode back in silence.

  The house was overflowing with people eating, consoling each other, and reminiscing. Aryl leaned over the couch and kissed Claire on the forehead. “I’m going outside for a bit. It’s getting crowded in here.”

  He had only planned to walk down the road, but, lost in his thoughts and following familiar paths unconsciously, he turned onto a sandy path that led down to the ocean. He stood for a bit then sat down in the sand about twenty feet from the shore, pulled his knees up to rest his elbows and picked apart a piece of kelp. Concentrating on the sound of the crashing waves and the warm sun on his back, ignoring the chill in the air, he stared at the shimmering line on the ocean that grew longer as the sun began to sink behind him.

  His uncle’s voice echoed above the waves.

  See that line? When you’re older, we'll follow that sun line out, sailing for days and you know where we’ll end up?

  Where, Uncle Aryl?

  A little island called Madeira. Talk about adventure, boy! I’ve been there! There are caves to explore, mountains to climb, exotic food and beautiful women. But you won’t need to worry ‘bout that part for a while.

  Older Aryl winked and grinned.

  It’s a whole different world. You’re going to love it. We’ll go there as soon as you’re old enough. Now get on home before your mother has my hide. We’ll do some more planning tomorrow.

  “Well, some things never change.” Kathleen stepped carefully down the beach, her black slippers sinking into the sand with each careful step. “I turn my back and ya gone, have to come searching for ya.” Aryl rose quickly, his mother looked like she would lose her balance any moment. “Sit back down,” she ordered. “And I’ll sit with you for a moment.” She sat beside him with a little difficulty from stiff bones. “Everyone’s done eating and we’re about to head out. It’ll be sunset before you know it.”

  “We never did go to Madeira.” Aryl squinted out at the ocean.

  “You still can.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same.” He shook his head.

  “I have to wonder, Aryl. Do you have any regrets? I mean, it is a little early to start tallying you’re should-haves, but sometimes it’s good to take stock before you’re old and can’t do anything about it. What would you have done differently, looking back?”

  “I don’t regret Claire, Mom.” He knew what she was getting at, and it made him uncomfortable. “I know I gave up a lot when I settled down, but–” He shrugged and picked at a fresh piece of seaweed. “She's worth it.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I can’t picture ya without Claire any more than you can.”

  Aryl thought about it for a few moments. “I would have told her family to go to hell. I know now that she would have married me without a dime to my name. I would have taken one of the boats and just run off with her,” he said and smiled, repeating Claire’s words and sat up a little straighter. “I would have had Uncle marry us on the open sea, and we would have just wandered from port to port, working long enough to get to the next exotic place.”

  “It’s not too late to make
that happen.”

  His smile dropped and he narrowed his eyes. “We’re kind of wrapped up in stuff in New York.”

  “Things have a way of working themselves out, Aryl.” She patted his hand and pointed far down the beach. “Are you going to take Claire to your special lighthouse while you’re here?” she said and grinned mischievously.

  “How do you know about that?” He jerked his head toward her then looked away, embarrassed.

  “Ya know your father can’t keep a secret.”

  “Maybe.” Aryl looked down the beach. He wondered how much she knew about that night. Knowing his father, probably everything.

  She looked back at the setting sun. “We better get a move on. They’re probably waiting at the marina.”

  Aryl stood, pulled Kathleen up with both hands and they brushed sand off their clothes.

  At the end of the sandy path, the old Model-T was parked on the side of the road. Aryl looked at the empty car and back to his mother.

  “When did you learn how to drive?”

  “Last year,” she said and smiled proudly. “And I’ve only caused two accidents.”

  “Mom–”

  “They hardly qualified as accidents,” she said, laughing. “Little bumps and scrapes really. C’mon, hop in.”

  ∞∞∞

  Claire stood with the rest of the family, close friends, and the pastor on the dock. They boarded the small boat and Aryl and Liam pulled up the ropes. Michael Sullivan steered the boat out to sea before shutting down the engine and dropping anchor.

  The family gathered at port side, faced the setting sun, and just as it dipped into the horizon, the pastor recited Psalm 23; Michael, Aryl, and Liam held the urn and slowly tipped it.

  A gust of wind carried the swirling ashes away from the boat before settling gracefully on the fading white and gold shimmering line cast by the last of the setting sun.

  February 18th 1930

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

  “I know, Mom, but I have to get back to work. And we’re moving into the place that we’re buying on the first. There’s a lot to do.” He reached for a second helping of biscuits and bacon. “I’ll write you with the new address as soon as we're settled.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you kids had planned today, but I need you to go with me this morning, Aryl. And Liam, too.”

  “Where to, Pops?”

  His father looked down and spoke quietly. “The reading of the will. Just downtown Rockport. Won’t take long.”

  Aryl didn’t want to go, but nodded in agreement. His father had said ‘I need’ and therefore, he felt he couldn’t refuse. “Liam should be here shortly, we’ll leave then.”

  ∞∞∞

  The car sputtered up to the family attorney’s office, and all three men were hesitant to go inside. Aryl hadn’t thought about the will until it was mentioned. He had had a sense of relief that the most agonizing part of this trip was over.

  Inside the old office, Michael and Liam sat in front of the attorney’s desk, but Aryl pulled a chair to the window, so he could tune out the attorney who droned on without emotion in his voice as he listed how his uncle’s estate would be divided. Aryl busied his mind with tasks back at home again, wondering about his friends and hoping he could make it out to the lighthouse with Claire before they left. Maybe we could pack a picnic and bring some blankets. It would be great to spend the night there–

  “Aryl, did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” He turned from the window.

  Michael looked at the attorney. “Read it again, please. Just that last part.”

  The old man huffed his breath impatiently and read quickly. “To my nephew, Aryl, I leave my shack, four fishing boats, and all related fishing equipment to do with as he sees fit.”

  “Why would he leave it to me? It should go to you. You’re the one still fishing.” Aryl looked at his father in shock.

  “He knew I was having a hard time handling what I do have. I’m getting older, last thing I need is more boats to tend.”

  “Nonsense, you could fix up the boats, hire men to take them out and do five times the work. Make five times the money.”

  “And so could you.” His father looked at him knowingly.

  Aryl didn’t hear a word his father said all the way home but stared out the window, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mind at full speed.

  “Hey, Pops, can I borrow your car?” He asked his father when they pulled up in front of the cottage.

  “Sure, what for?”

  “I need to go for a drive with Claire.” He jumped out without further explanation and found Claire in the kitchen with his mother. He took her by the arm and led her a few feet away.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s wrong?” The look in his eyes worried her.

  “Get your coat and meet me in the car.” Aryl went digging in the icebox, pulling out meat and two jars. “Mom, where’s that old picnic basket?”

  “Right above ya head.” She looked at him concerned. “What’s the rush, Aryl?”

  He looked shaken and preoccupied. He quickly threw random things in the basket and grabbed a few quilts on his way out the door. She smiled at the back of her son’s head as she followed him to the door.

  “Ah, young love,” she whispered under her breath. He turned around at the last minute and kissed her on the cheek quickly.

  “Pops will explain.”

  “I'll bet he will,” she said and grinned, waving at Claire. “I don’t care where ya goin’, just come back with a grand baby!”

  Aryl threw everything in the backseat and sped off, leaving a plume of dust behind him.

  “Aryl, slow down! Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  “When we get there.” He stared straight ahead with a stone expression.

  “Get where?”

  “The lighthouse.”

  ∞∞∞

  “What do you mean someone bought it?” Jonathan sat down hard on the couch with a shocked expression.

  “I went to measure the windows for Arianna again, and the owner stopped me on my way in.” Caleb paced Jonathan’s living room. “He was apologizing all over the place. Said an investor had come along, gave him an offer he couldn’t turn down. It paid off the building with plenty left over for him to retire on.”

  “So, it’s gone.” Jonathan turned his head toward the fire.

  Ava’s heart began to race, her eyes fixed on Jonathan. He had been living for this, and now he might go back to that dark place.

  “It’s gone,” Caleb repeated, his hands on his head. “This is gonna kill Aryl.” He appeared on the verge of panic. “What are we gonna do, Jon? He’s going to be back tomorrow night. And I have to tell Arianna something.”

  “Give me a minute to think.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, something he had always done when he was making very important decisions. It was quiet for several minutes before he stood up and looked at Caleb.

  “Let’s go.” He reached for his coat by the door.

  “What are we doing?” Caleb followed him but still looked scared.

  “The only thing we can do. We’re going to scour this city looking for a similar deal. Knock on doors cold if we have to. When Aryl gets home tomorrow night, we’ll at least have a few leads we can work on.” He turned to Ava and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be fine, Ava.” He bent down slightly to meet her eyes, which were starting to mist. “No, don’t cry. I’m going to fix this. Something will work out. I promise you. I’m going to fix this.”

  “I know you will,” she said and smiled through her tears, grateful to see him strong and willful.

  He pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t say anything to Arianna. Not just yet.”

  ∞∞∞

  Aryl parked the car and walked quickly to the passenger side. He practically yanked Claire out of the front seat, slammed the door, pulled her along behind him over
the rocks and tide pools toward the lighthouse and she struggled to keep up.

  “Aryl, this isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic reunion with our lighthouse,” she complained to him. They got to the door and found it chained shut. He rattled them in frustration then looked toward the car.

  “I think there’s a crowbar in the back,” he said and turned back.

  She grabbed his arm. “No, Aryl. Tell me what this is about.”

  He looked over her shoulder, down the hill of jagged rocks at the base of the lighthouse and watched as several large waves crashed against them. Claire turned her face away from the spray.

  “He left me his boats,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the sea behind her. “He left it all to me. The boats, all the equipment, everything to run a fishing business.”

  “What does that mean?” She stared at him, her mouth fallen open, not caring about the spray or the chill.

  “It means we have some decisions to make.” He took her hand, went to the car, slower this time, for the blankets and basket, and led her down to a sandy patch of beach amid the rocks. “I’ve rolled it over several times, and it comes down to one of two decisions.” He spread out the blanket and sat down next to her. “We can sell it all and use the money for investing in real estate in New York, or we can move back here. Give it a go.”

  She took a few minutes to process the possibilities. He took her hand and played with her ring, twirling it around her finger and studying the engraving; a lighthouse with their initials linked in hearts at the base, identical to his own ring. “I’m torn right down the middle,” he admitted.

  “What about Jon and Caleb? Where would this leave them if we moved here?”