by Glen Carter
“Steaks and swordfish. I’m sure you can handle it.”
The barbeque had been Sarah’s choice. No fuss. The last thing she wanted was the headache of a fancy affair for the entire leadership of the Republican Party. William didn’t care one way or another. It was her call, but the details had taken days to sort out.
Sarah glanced at the two expressionless agents in front of Diana’s house. They would keep her little secret because the protectee had privileges, and at that moment, discretion was one of them.
Why had she come? To reconnect with an old friend. It’s what she had told herself. Needing to say it more than once, because the truth was harder to wrap her head around. Sarah knocked.
Footsteps approached on the other side of the door. When it opened, Diana greeted her with a big smile.
Sarah’s trepidation suddenly melted away. “Helloooo.”
“I was thinking about you when you called,” Diana said. “But you know, there’s not a day goes by I don’t.” The hug was genuine and lasted for a long time. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too.”
They held hands. All the way to the dining room, where Diana had set out a treasure of fine porcelain. Cookies and crispy little cakes were piled high on a beautiful blue plate. Slices of homemade bread, her signature talent, were stacked on another. Fresh butter was sculpted in a matching dish next to a crock of berry jam. The teapot sat steaming in the middle of it all.
Diana poured carefully. Two cups, into which she plopped cubes of sugar and dollops of milk.
“You remember.”
Diana nodded. “You were the only one I knew who understood the difference between afternoon tea and high tea. I would never forget what you take.”
She lifted her cup and blew across the rim. Then she sipped. God, it was wonderful. Smooth and sweet, with hints of cinnamon and sage. “Mmm. You haven’t lost your touch.”
“It’s nice to see when someone appreciates it.”
They spent a while catching up. The gossip. The dirty little rumours. So and so was having an affair. Someone else was in big trouble with the IRS and facing the possibility of prison. The daughter of one of the local doctors was pregnant by a New York stage actor.
She enjoyed being in Diana’s company again and regretted the years they had drifted apart. It was the routine of grief. Distancing yourself from the people who reminded you of loss. Diana would have understood, and Sarah was certain she harboured no hard feelings. In fact, there was still deep affection between them.
“I know why you called,” Diana said. “And it wasn’t for the wonderful tea, though I wouldn’t blame you if it was.”
Sarah nervously laughed. “Was it that obvious?”
“No one knows you’re here. Except, I would say, those two nice gentlemen outside. Should I bring them out a cup?”
“No offence, but they wouldn’t accept it.”
“You’re wondering about one of my guests,” she said. Then, “A young man.”
Sarah nodded.
“You’ve met somehow.”
Sarah told her.
“And now you don’t know what to make of him.”
“It was so strange,” Sarah said. “When I looked into his eyes, it was Kallum staring right back at me.”
“I know. And there’s the obvious question,” said Diana.
“You’ve done some digging.”
“I have.” She told Sarah what she knew.
Afterwards, Sarah stared into her tea. Samuel Bolt was indeed a mystery. His parents, unknown. An orphan with a murky past and an equally misty present. From Las Vegas he had come to Harbour Rock, where he had connected with Diana. Curiously, he had gone to Kallum’s grave. A son would have done that. But first he would have had to solve his own mystery. Involving a family he never knew. A father he’d never met. Kallum had a full life before they’d married. Maybe there was some woman, and even a child. Would Kallum have kept a secret like that? Sarah wasn’t ready to believe that he would have. Still, there had been something electric during her TV interview. No, not electric. There were no words to describe it. Sarah’s hand twitched, spilling her tea.
“It’s a lot to sort through,” Diana said. “I wish I could tell you more.”
“I understand,” Sarah replied, which was a big fat lie.
“Do you? Or are you thinking something else?” Diana said.
“What would I be thinking?”
“That Kallum was unfaithful, and Samuel Bolt is the product of some fling we never knew about.”
Sarah was doing the calculation. “How old is he?”
“I’m afraid it would have happened after you were married.”
Diana would never have believed that. Kallum was her son. “Never,” Sarah said, firmly.
“I agree,” Diana said. “My son would never have done that to a woman he loved.”
Inwardly, Sarah winced. The statement stung, no matter how unintentional. “So, where does that leave your house guest?”
Diana simply shook her head. “I wish I knew.”
Sarah was taken aback by her disappointment. She’d come, not so much out of curiosity, but of need. To satisfy something that took hold the moment she met Samuel Bolt.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Diana offered. “A lovely coincidence that can’t be explained.”
“Maybe,” she replied.
Diana simply nodded.
They spent another thirty minutes talking. Diana was curious about becoming the next First Lady. The enormous responsibilities. It was the White House, for God’s sake.
“You never take voters for granted.” It was all she was prepared to say.
Diana understood. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Always.”
“Hang on to yourself, Sarah. There’ll be so many powerful forces. Tugging, ripping. Trying to knock you overboard. Hang on tight, my dear.”
“You make it sound so menacing,” she said. “Like that painting in my foyer.”
Diana nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve both seen our share of stormy seas. Just know when to look for safe harbour.”
Sarah was about to say something but pulled it away.
“What is it, Sarah?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” There was so much she could have said, but even with their deep friendship, it was far too personal. She would never reveal the regrets she’d suffered after Kallum. Things that could never be undone. A deep sadness washed over her, which threatened tears and a thousand belated apologies.
Ten minutes later, they said good night with another long hug and a plan for another pot of tea. Then Sarah walked out the door.
On the drive home, she thought about everything that was said. Diana had brought her back to a sweeter life that was long past, but never forgotten. So much had been lost, and it saddened her. The affection between them was still strong, even after all these years. But damn it, a mother could pinpoint her DNA in a hurricane. Sarah was sure that Diana was holding back about Samuel Bolt. Whether she knew it or not.
She looked at her watch. “Turn here. There’s another stop.”
Once again, discretion would be required.
* * * * *
Car doors slammed, followed by the sound of burly voices topside. The boat dipped to the stern. Something banged across the deck.
Bolt went to a porthole.
Without a knock, the hatch flung open. A dark figure stood there.
“Get off my boat,” Abe barked, launching for the steps.
A weapon was drawn and pointed. A woman screamed, which got everyone’s attention.
Abe’s hands went up. A growl. “Back in the day, people actually asked for permission to come aboard.”
“Those were t
he days,” Bolt said, ducking his head for a better look.
A short time later, while Bolt and Abe watched, the two Secret Service agents swept the boat. When they were satisfied, they climbed the steps and disappeared. A moment after that, a woman’s shapely figure descended the same steps.
“Talk about making an entrance,” Abe said with a wide smile.
Five minutes later, after Abe’s great big hug, and now caressing a glass of wine, Sarah Vanderson was staring. “Las Vegas?”
“Not originally,” Bolt replied.
They were sitting close, knees nearly touching. Abe watched them both with a grin.
“So, I take it you’re not really an employee of the television network,” said Sarah.
“I was helping a friend.”
“Elizabeth Munroe is a good friend to have. I’m sure she appreciated it.”
“She’s a pro.”
Sarah refused to release him from her stare. She was looking for something. No, more studying him. All her senses were into it, like sensors collecting data. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay. Is there anything else you want to ask?”
“Yes.”
Bolt waited.
“Can I have a top-up?”
Everyone laughed. Bolt grabbed the bottle and did the honours. Feeling pretty good about the situation. The wonder of where this night was headed. There was an itch he couldn’t scratch but wanted to.
Abe picked up his guitar and began to play.
Sarah smiled. “That was my favourite, Abe. Remember?”
“You always teared up,” Abe said.
“Her lover is lost at sea.”
Abe quickly picked up the thread of a lyric. Strumming. Sarah sang along.
It was surreal. This reunion of dear friends. Abe was having a time. Sarah was enjoying it, too. Bolt leaned back, hands behind his head, taking it all in. Time had given Sarah the sensual bloom of a perfect flower without taking anything in return. Kallum had been a very lucky man back in the day. She was only a teenager then, and barely in her forties now. Side by side, Bolt decided he would have seemed the older of them both.
“Come on, Samuel,” Sarah said. “Your old man loved this song.”
Abe froze, mid-strum.
“Oops,” said Sarah. “Did I just introduce the elephant in the room?” She brought the glass to her lips and swallowed half of its contents. “Actually, I do have a question,” she said, glassy-eyed. “Was Kallum Doody, my late husband, your goddamn father?”
* * * * *
Abe excused himself and escaped topside. “Those boys are probably thirsty,” he said, and grabbed a couple of glasses. “And clearly too high-strung to be left alone.” He pushed the hatch open. “It’s me, lads, Abe. Don’t shoot.”
Alone now, Sarah and Samuel. Sarah swept a finger around the rim of her glass. Waiting for his answer. Her eyes demanding it.
“Was Kallum Doody my father?”
Sarah nodded. “Because if he had a son, I have a right to know.”
He could tell her yes, but that would have been a lie. His thoughts were not a son’s. The flashbacks, or déjà vu, or whatever the hell they were. “No,” he said. “Your late husband was not my father.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Trust me.”
Sarah sat forward. “But look at you. Your voice and mannerisms.”
“Go figure.”
“Showing up on Diana’s doorstep. Reconnecting like old buddies with Abe and Sully.”
“Great guys.”
Sarah ignored it. “Why did you go to Kallum’s grave?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m waiting.”
Sarah poured another glass of wine, but it sat untouched while Bolt spoke. She listened, giving nothing away. When he finished, Sarah folded her arms.
Bolt didn’t care for her body language, but he forged on while he could. “When I was a kid, I had this toy boat. Kinda obsessed with it, actually, carving the wood, making it the perfect little ship.”
Sarah forced half a smile. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
Bolt chuckled. “You sound like Father Oscar.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Anyway, my little project was returned to me recently. There was a name on her little transom.”
“A good boat has to have one.”
Bolt paused. “Mystic Blue.” He waited for Sarah to react. But evidently she wasn’t impressed. Like she knew exactly how the doves were stuffed up the magician’s sleeve, to be revealed with great flourish.
“The schooner parked at the end of your dock.”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“She’s a fine-looking boat.”
“She was Kallum’s. She sat in a shed for years. Eventually, I had a couple of men from town finish the renovations that Kallum started.”
“Billy must enjoy her.”
Sarah went coldly still. “He takes her out for photo ops. That’s about it. Years ago, William took a magazine writer on board. Steel men and wooden ships. That kind of schtick. It played well. Maybe when you were a young boat builder, you saw the article and used the photos to build your own little ship.”
Bolt doubted Father Oscar would have allowed Republican claptrap anywhere near the children. A couple of years after he married Sarah, Billy had been elected the youngest senator in state history. He had tapped into more than an old schooner. Any cynic would have seen it for the gold digging it was.
An anger suddenly took hold inside him. “How long was it, Sarah?”
“Excuse me.”
“How long before you abandoned the memory of your husband?”
“How dare you.”
He couldn’t stop. “How lonely it must have been. Not having anyone to turn to. Billy came back, Kallum didn’t.” A pause. “Rutter wanted you. How in the hell did you start wanting him?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“You came looking for a son that Kallum never had.”
“I think that has yet to be determined. And you?”
“I came to unload this ghost,” he said. “And the bloody pieces of someone else’s life.” A swallow of rum. A long slide down. “Believe me, or don’t. It’s up to you.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Fine.”
“Yes. Fine,” Sarah replied.
* * * * *
Abe lumbered down below. “The gunmen are getting antsy. Any time now they’ll be breaking through that hatch and pulling their sidearms. We’re done, Bolt. You and me. Holding the future First Lady hostage aboard my boat.”
No one was in the mood. “Sorry,” Abe said. “But Bert and Ernie are worried about Little Bird.”
“Little Bird?” Bolt said.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Every protectee has a nickname. I didn’t pick it.”
Bolt smiled.
Sarah jumped to her feet. “Get up,” she said. “The both of you. We’re going on a little trip. Abe, do you have another way off your boat?”
“Sure do. But it’s not pretty, and maybe not seaworthy.”
“Let’s go.”
Bolt helped her up. “I’m guessing Bert and Ernie aren’t invited.”
“Definitely not,” she replied.
Abe led the way. Sarah followed, with Bolt behind her. No one uttered a word. Bolt closed the hatch, and soundlessly they picked their way to the back of the boat. Then they stepped onto the swim platform. Bolt checked their six o’clock. The car was running. Bert and Ernie were inside, with the windows open. Music played, whic
h Bolt was thankful for. Abe untied a rope and slowly pulled a skiff over. He held it still while Sarah stepped in, followed by Bolt. When Abe got aboard, water rushed over the stern, dooming them. Then Abe shifted his weight farther forward. Bolt gave a look of relief and grabbed the oars. Silent strokes got them moving. A few feet at a time.
Next, Abe produced a bottle from his jacket and handed it to Sarah. She took a respectable swig and offered it to Bolt, who did the same. “Now, put your back into it, city boy,” Abe said.
A few minutes later, when Bolt stopped rowing, they were in the middle of the harbour. Back at the dock, loud voices suddenly broke the quiet. A flashlight flicked on. Shafts of light sliced frenetically across Abe’s boat. A few minutes later, the car doors slammed shut, the engine revved, and tail lights raced away.
“Better get to shore, fast,” Sarah whispered. “They’ll be out of their minds mad. Losing a protectee is the quickest way there is to Alaska.”
“Then we’re gonna need help.” Abe held out a hand. “Cellphone, please. Little Bird.”
Sarah obliged.
Abe made a call.
Five minutes later, when they nosed into the harbour apron, Sully was standing there. He helped Sarah to the wharf, leaving Abe and Bolt to fend for themselves. Once inside his cab, everyone took a moment to breathe.
“Where to,” Sully asked. “And forget about the highway. Sheriff’s got roadblocks up. By the sounds of it, you two are wanted. They’re saying you’re probably armed.”
Sarah told Sully where to go.
Bolt was worried. He was now a fugitive headed to God knew where. “Why don’t we take you home,” he prodded. “No crime. A little talking to smooth it over with Bert and Ernie and we’re all good. No one gets shot.”
Sarah shook her head.
Sully’s eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror. “Bolt’s got a point.”
“Drive,” Abe slurred.
Sully dropped more foot on the gas, and the cab shot through downtown. Street lights passed in a blur. The town’s radiating footprint darkened, and in a few minutes there was nothing but the beam of the cab’s headlamps.