by Sarah Sundin
Something jumped in his chest. “Do you think she’s interested in me?”
“I—I don’t know. She’s always guarded her emotions. But I never asked, never even gave her a chance to tell me whether she loved you. How could she when I proclaimed I’d come to Boston to make your dreams come true?” Quintessa groaned and rested her head in her hands.
Jim smashed his lips together. So that’s what happened. “If she loved me, she would have told you.”
“Would she?” Quintessa rummaged in her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. “Not Mary. She’d never interfere. That isn’t like her. She always puts others first, puts me first. She—she helped me, insisted you and I have time alone together, insisted . . .” She held the handkerchief still on her cheek, the tears making her eyes even greener.
Jim frowned. “Insisted . . . ?”
She patted her eyes with the handkerchief. “I thought it was odd how she avoided us. After all, weren’t you two great friends before I arrived? Then after I arrived, she fled whenever you came over.”
“Do you think—”
“Oh, I don’t know. I took her at her word, that she wanted to give us privacy. But what if seeing us together broke her heart?” She let out a low moan. “Oh goodness. Oh dear. She did that for me. She—she sacrificed for me.”
Hope rose from his heart and threatened to fill his head, but he tamped it down. “We don’t know that for sure.”
“I got in the way. It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I never told her how I feel, and if she’s interested in me, she never told me either.” Except with one luscious kiss.
“That’s my fault too.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, the handkerchief draped over her eyes. “When I was in Chicago, she talked about you so much in her letters, I asked if anything was happening between you. She said she didn’t think so because you didn’t act like you did around me in high school.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “You mean, I didn’t act like a fool.”
Quintessa nodded. “I told her if you were interested, everyone in town would know because you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
“Not anymore, I don’t.” If only he had.
“Oh dear. There’s more. You’re going to hate me. You’re both going to hate me.” She slid the handkerchief over her eyes. “I lied to her. When you told me you’d kissed her, I was jealous and angry, and I acted like a spoiled brat. I wanted to test her. So I . . . I told her you’d kissed me too. I told myself it wasn’t really a lie, because you’d kissed me on the forehead, but it was a lie, a peevish little lie.”
Jim puffed air into his cheeks. Mary definitely thought he and Quintessa were an item.
“Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. I made a mess of things.”
“So did I. Believe me, the mess is all my fault.”
“Ready to order?” The waitress stood next to the table.
“I’m not hungry.” Quintessa looked at Jim, misery in her eyes. “And you need to find Mary and talk to her right now.”
Jim gave the waitress a sheepish look. “Sorry. Just coffee.”
She rolled her eyes and strode away. “Coffee don’t pay the rent, pal.”
Jim slipped out three dollars, more than he would have paid for lunch, then set his hand on Quintessa’s arm. “Stay as long as you want, and—and thanks.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. Please?”
“I will.” But he had other things to say first.
Jim jogged down the street to the subway station. People clogged the stairwell, he couldn’t find the right change, the ticket lady took her sweet time, and he missed the train.
The next train took even sweeter time. Then it stopped in North Station far longer than necessary, and the conductor apologized for the delay but wouldn’t explain, and Jim seriously considered walking the rest of the way.
When the train inched into City Square Station, Jim couldn’t find a cab, so he marched up the hill to Mary’s apartment.
Now that he wanted to make waves, he didn’t want to wait a minute longer. But what to tell her and how?
If only he could just kiss her and let his lips do the talking. But since she thought he was Quintessa’s boyfriend, a kiss would make the situation even messier. No, he had to talk.
Floating had always seemed easiest, but this time he’d floated onto the rocks. Quintessa and Mary had charted his course, and he’d let them. No more of that.
Jim pounded on the apartment door, his breath white in front of him.
Yvette opened the door.
“May I speak to Mary?”
Yvette studied him. “You missed her. She left.”
Jim groaned and glanced down the road. “When will she be back?”
“She won’t. She’s moving to Michigan.”
“What?” Jim gaped at her. “Michigan?”
“She has a new job, and she left ten minutes ago.”
“That can’t be.” He shook his head hard. “Quintessa didn’t say anything.”
“She doesn’t know. I didn’t know either.” She stepped to the mail table and picked up an envelope. “When I came home from mass, Mary was packing her trunk. She wanted to tell Quintessa over lunch, but she couldn’t, so she left a letter.”
Jim reached for it.
Yvette drew back. “It is for Quintessa, not you.”
The coffee churned in Jim’s belly. “Why didn’t she tell us? Why would she keep it a secret? That doesn’t make sense.”
Yvette held the envelope behind her back, her eyes dark. “If she will not tell you, neither will I.”
“She left.” Jim rubbed his hands down his thighs. “The train. Which station? Do you know?”
“She’s flying. She wanted an adventure by land, sea, and air.”
Jim blinked, but everything looked murky, sounded murky. “Land, sea, and air?”
“Yes. She took a cab to the airport, but she wanted to take the ferry also, to see the city from the water one last time.”
“The ferry.” Only one ferry ran on the harbor, between downtown Boston and East Boston, where the airport was.
“I know. It is ridiculous. So slow. But she insisted. The taxi driver will drop her off at one terminal, and she’ll catch another taxi on the other side. She is wasting money and time.”
But that bought Jim time. “Thanks.”
He loped down the steps, searched for a cab, couldn’t find one, and started walking. Finally, a cab. He hopped inside. “Eastern Avenue Ferry Terminal, please.”
The driver nodded and drove away. Slowly. Of all the cab drivers in Boston, Jim had to find one who obeyed the traffic laws.
His foot tapped on the floor of the cab. Why would Mary leave without telling anyone? Only one thought came to mind, but was it just wishful thinking?
What if she did love him? What if seeing him with Quintessa did break her heart? What if she was fleeing Boston so she wouldn’t have to watch them?
What if he’d swallowed too much oil when the Atwood sank and he had brain damage?
The taxi drove south onto the Charlestown Bridge. Traffic slowed to a stop. Horns beeped. Jim cranked down his window and leaned his head outside. The El tracks ran down the center of the bridge on two decks, one heading south, the other heading north. Vehicular traffic ran on either side of the tracks.
Ahead of him, drivers stepped out of their cars.
Jim groaned. An accident or something. Swell. Maybe the Lord didn’t want him to declare his love after all.
Yet he knew that wasn’t true. It was time.
What could he do? Get out of the car, walk past the traffic jam, and hope he found another cab? How long would that take?
Down below on the Charles River, sailboats zipped along, racing sailboats with sleek lines, manned by Harvard boys in dark red sweaters. With a boat like one of those, he could catch any ferry in the world. But he didn’t have a boat like that, didn’t have any boat at all.
Jim opened the door and
marched to the rail of the bridge, his fists balled in his coat pockets, his breath steaming from his nostrils. All this year, he’d worked so hard not to act like a fool. And all along, Mary thought he showed love by acting like a fool. In the end, Jim had made a fool of himself by not acting foolish.
“Biggest fool of all time, Avery.”
Jim stopped in his tracks. An idea floated into his brain and lodged there, bold and crazy.
If he was a fool, he might as well act like one.
45
Mary leaned against the port rail of the ferry. Across the harbor before her, the Bunker Hill Monument lifted its farewell.
How she’d loved living in its shadow. And how she’d loved working at the Boston Navy Yard with dear Mr. Pennington. Even before the sabotage case, her work had satisfied her. Now she was leaving when everything was settling down, when everyone was beginning to work together again.
Too bad she’d miss having Lillian Avery for a roommate, but Quintessa and Yvette would make her feel welcome.
Mary faced away from Charlestown toward downtown Boston. The wind twirled a lock of hair in front of her face, and she held it back. So chilly today, just above freezing, but it would be far colder in Michigan.
There was the Custom House, and if she used her imagination, she could see Park Street Church. How she’d miss her friends, the choir, and Dr. Ockenga’s inspired preaching. So much history in Boston, and she’d loved exploring every bit of it.
A heavy sensation squeezed her chest, but she drew a deep breath to rid herself of it. Yes, she’d loved her life in Boston, but a wonderful new life awaited her in Michigan.
If only this ferry would transport her toward that new life a mite faster. Although she had plenty of time to catch her three o’clock flight, she wanted to move faster, farther.
But the ferry plodded along, barely fluttering the water beneath her. Why, that sailboat would pass them in the blink of an eye. Trim and fast, she sliced through the harbor at a jaunty angle, men at work on sails and helm.
Pain coiled around her heart. Not so long ago, Jim had stood behind her at the helm, guiding her hands, showing her how to sail.
Mary pushed away from the rail and strolled around the stern of the ferry to the starboard side, away from that sleek boat and her bittersweet memories.
If only she could leave her memories behind in Boston. At least at home in Ohio and in her new job in Michigan, she’d form new memories and the old ones would lose their power and their sting.
Meanwhile, Jim and Quintessa could grow in their love without Mary’s impedance. How long until she received a wedding invitation? Six months? A year? By then she’d be ready, surely she would. She would attend, she would rejoice with them, and she would wish them well.
Her departure today was a form of blessing on their relationship. Why shouldn’t the two people she loved most find love with each other?
A low commotion rose on the port side of the ferry. Mary glanced over her shoulder behind the aft end of the cabin. People gathered at the rail, pointing down to the water, smiling, talking.
Hadn’t Mary caught a glimpse of Harvard maroon on the men’s sweaters? They were probably up to some college pranks.
She smiled and shook her head, glad to be away from antics and commotion as the frosty air nipped at her cheeks.
“Mother! You have to see.” A girl of about fifteen dashed to the lady to Mary’s right. “It’s so romantic.”
“Romantic?” her mother asked.
The girl clapped her hand on the green bow on top of her head and pointed to port. “There’s a Navy officer on a sailboat, calling for his girl. I think I’ll change my name to Mary.”
Mary’s heart went into a jitterbug, but it couldn’t be Jim. He loved Quintessa and was with her this very moment. Besides, naval officers were a dime a dozen in Boston. As were women named Mary.
The girl dragged her mother to the other side, but Mary remained, studying the Inner Harbor and the waterfront.
The commotion built, and the crowd continued its migration.
Curiosity tugged on Mary. She did love a good romance even if she didn’t have one herself. What would it be like to be that other Mary, to have a man chase after her in an extravagant gesture? She would melt, completely dissolve.
With a sigh, she followed the crowd. People lined the rail three or four deep, blocking her view. Through an opening, she glimpsed a bright white sail and a maroon sweater.
“Mary!” A man’s voice climbed above the muttering of the crowd. “Mary Stirling!”
Her hand flew to her mouth. Jim? What was he doing? Calling her name? Why on earth?
“I need to find her. Mary! Mary Stirling!”
Oh dear. Maybe something awful had happened to Quintessa and he was trying to track her down. Mary found a slim opening and squeezed closer.
Between two ladies’ hats, Mary spotted Jim.
He stood, holding onto the mast, leaning forward, his navy blue overcoat unbuttoned and flapping behind him. He cupped his hand over his mouth. “Mary!”
“What’s the matter, sailor boy?” a man called down to him. “What’d you do to break her heart?”
The sailboat tacked away from the ferry, and Jim laughed, big and merry. “Never had the chance to break her heart. Never told her I love her. That’s why I need to find her. I need to tell her I love her.”
The deck, the whole world pitched beneath Mary’s feet. She gasped and hid behind a large brown hat. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.
“I love you, Mary! Are you there?”
No. No, she wasn’t. How could he say he loved her? How could he do this to Quintessa? She’d never taken him for the type of man to dally with two women’s hearts, but what else could she think?
Mary reached between the two ladies and gripped the rail for balance. A stew of emotions simmered inside her—anger, confusion, wonder, joy. But how could joy rear its head when this man was breaking her best friend’s heart? Did Quintessa know what he was doing?
Oh, she had some questions for Ensign James Avery.
She wormed closer to the rail, then halted. If she answered Jim’s call, everyone on the ferry would stare at her. And wasn’t this a conversation to have in private? This time, avoiding the spotlight had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with propriety.
“Mary! Has anyone seen Mary Stirling? About this tall. Dark brown hair and the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen, all silvery like moonlight on the ocean.”
Mary ducked her chin, breathing hard. That couldn’t be Jim. Couldn’t be.
“Isn’t that sweet?” the lady to Mary’s right said.
“The poor lovesick boy,” her companion said.
“Mary!” Jim yelled, his voice smaller, farther away. “I can’t let you leave Boston without talking to you.”
He knew she was leaving. How? Did Quintessa read him her letter, her pathetic letter detailing all her reasons for leaving? And what about Quintessa? What had he done to the poor thing? What had he said to her?
That was it. Attention or no attention, she needed some answers from that man in blue.
The sailboat tacked back toward the ferry.
Mary shouldered her way to the rail. “Excuse me. Excuse me, please. I’m Mary Stirling.”
She couldn’t believe she was calling attention to herself, but it worked. People fell back from the rail and cleared a path. Gaping at her.
Mary grasped the rail, her stomach wound into a knot tighter than any sailor could tie. “Jim Avery! What do you think you’re doing?”
A grin spread over his face, wide and luminous. He took off his cover and held it over his heart. “My Mary.”
A sight she’d longed to see and words she’d longed to hear, but how dare he? “I’m not your Mary. What on earth are you doing?”
“What I should have done months ago—telling you I love you.”
All the tittering, the pointing, the staring. Mary put it behind her and focus
ed on that adorable, infuriating man. “You shouldn’t say such things. What about Quin—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I never loved her. How could I when I was already in love with you?”
Mary’s head spun, and she pressed her hand to her forehead, but the dizziness intensified. “How could you do this to her? Poor—”
“She’s fine. She says to tell you she’s sorry. She told me to find you and tell you I love you.”
Just when things couldn’t get more nonsensical. “I don’t understand. I don’t. This is crazy.”
“I know.” Jim swept his arm in a grand gesture. “Isn’t it great?”
His exuberance, the glow on his face, the boldness of his actions—for her. Yes, it was great, and a smile sneaked up, but she wrestled it back down. “We need to talk.”
His boisterous laugh bounced over the waves. “Yes, we do. Hold on a minute.” He leaned over and conferred with the college boys, with much discussion and pointing.
The murmur of the crowd built, even as the space around her increased, everyone trying to get the best view of the woman on display.
Mary put on mental blinders, focusing on the man in the sailboat. So tall and handsome, so intelligent and strong, so thoughtful and enthusiastic. He was everything she ever wanted, everything she could ever want, but too many questions remained. She couldn’t let herself get swept away.
Yet the thought of getting swept away into his arms . . . of feeling his kiss on her lips . . .
A tremble ran from her fingers straight to her heart, delightful and giddy and completely illogical.
No. She needed those cold hard facts. Why this sudden declaration when he’d never shown any interest in her?
Down below, Jim and the Harvard boys pointed to a spot, the sails luffing from inattention.
He said he’d never loved Quintessa? How could Mary have misunderstood? He’d been crazy about her in high school, confessed his love this spring, and when Quintessa arrived in Boston, he . . .
What had he done? He’d looked dazed. He’d asked Mary to come with them. He’d asked her about the kiss.
And what had she done? She’d told him the kiss meant nothing, told him his dreams had come true, and hustled them out the door.