He had piles of data to go through; sharks had been active in local waters this week. Liam logged onto the “Predator Report,” a website originally designed to track near-shore sightings or attacks by sharks. Normally it dealt with seals, schools of bluefish and herring, the occasional dolphin or whale. But yesterday a man surfing the break just east of Halifax had reported a great white attacking his board.
Liam read the account—of course the board was yellow. Shark people referred to yellow surfboards as “yum-yums.” Sharks would spot them from below, confusing their oblong shape and pale color with their favorite food—seals. Based on the fourteen-inch radius of the bloody bite mark, Liam figured the shark to be a juvenile great white. He read the account:
“I didn’t see anything before the shark hit. He zoomed straight up and hit my board so hard, it sent me into space. I looked down from the air and saw a shark with his head out of the water, my board in his teeth. I landed on his back—smacked into his dorsal fin—at least eighteen inches high. I rolled off, and he turned and bumped me—right in the armpit. The impact tore my wetsuit, and I thought it was all over—but then the shark just went under and disappeared into the waves.”
The words had a force all their own: Liam felt he was right there, seeing the shark break the surface, watching that huge dorsal fin rise out of the sea. He closed his eyes; he remembered the first and worst time he’d seen it in person, how the fin had looked like a black sail on the devil’s boat. With his eyes shut, the water turned red in his mind … and when he opened them, he looked out at Cape Hawk harbor to see the darkness finally falling on the water, spreading over the still surface, making the blood disappear.
Liam took notes, writing down the guy’s name and address. He checked his clock—maybe he’d call him, finish his report right now. But it was ten after nine on a Friday, and he decided against it. Not just out of courtesy, but also because he was sick of being the geek who worked all the time, sick of being someone so obsessed with sharks and shark attacks and people who survived predators and people who didn’t.
He shut off his computer, stood, and stretched. Turned off the lights, locked the door, walked out of his office into old Tecumseh Neill’s grand entry hall. The original chandelier gave off a soft, welcoming light. It bathed the wall hangings—most of them made by Lily, but a couple of paintings done by Rose. Liam stood quietly in the light, staring at the needlework. He felt as if this center hall was the warmest place he knew. Home is where the heart is. He read the words on Lily’s sampler. How strange it was, to leave work to go home … yet to feel that this hallway—empty except for the few hangings—really was where the heart was.
As he stepped outside into the dim twilight, he headed toward his car. Strains of music, haunting and romantic, issued from the family inn. He hesitated, but the band was playing, calling him up there. The kitchen would be closing soon, but he knew he could get something to eat anyway. Besides, he could check up on his cousin, make sure everything was set for Rose’s party tomorrow… .
He crossed the quiet street, followed the music up the stone steps to the walk that curved across the long, sloping lawn. White Adirondack chairs, arranged in pairs, faced the harbor; people sat in them, enjoying the sunset and the last light, watching the stars come out. An owl streaked across the sky, into the pine forest that rose behind the inn, that sheltered Lily’s house above the town.
The inn seemed fairly full for a weekend this early in the summer. A placard advertised Boru, a Celtic band brought in from Prince Edward Island. Standing in the doorway, he listened to the guitar, fiddle, and pipes. His elderly aunt, Camille, swept by on her way into dinner. He faded back, not up for a third degree from the family grande dame.
“What brings you up here? I can’t remember the last time I saw you out on a Friday night… .”
Liam wheeled around, came face-to-face with Jude’s wife, Anne. While Jude oversaw the boats and whale-watch part of the family business, Anne managed the inn. She was equally excellent with people and with numbers, and she kept everything running well in the black. Liam knew their parents and grandparents would be proud. Camille had to grudgingly admit her talents. Camille had never been the same since her husband’s death—on a trip to visit a shipbuilder in Ireland for their whale-watch fleet.
“Good band, Anne,” he said.
“I’ve auditioned everyone from here to Quebec,” she said. “So many good musicians out there, but there was something about these guys—I hear them play, and I want to fall in love.”
Liam laughed. “You and Jude are coming up on your—what is it—twentieth anniversary?”
“And what’s wrong with falling in love with my own husband?” she asked. Then, gently punching him in the arm, she added, “I understand that you are responsible for making him work tomorrow—this will be his first Saturday at the helm in I don’t know how many years!”
“Well, I just thought someone really experienced should—”
“Captain the birthday cruise?” Anne teased. “You think the nine-year-old girls will mutiny? Or perhaps their mothers …”
Liam pictured Rose sitting in the town square, her head down, trying to get a good breath. His own heart squeezed as he remembered how cold her hand felt in his, the pleading in her eyes. “It’s good for him to take the Saturday duty,” Liam teased back. “Instead of getting too important for his own good.”
“Well, he’d better find plenty of whales for the birthday girl,” Anne said. “Or he’ll have to answer to me.”
“You?”
Anne nodded. “I’ll be aboard. I’m a Nanouk Girl, you know.”
“Lily’s club, right?”
“Oh, we’re just a bunch of friends. We all met through Lily and started a sewing circle. But we’re all going aboard to celebrate Rose’s birthday.” At that, Anne’s expression grew serious. “We’re all worried that it could be—”
“Anne, no—it won’t be,” Liam said. He heard the echo of her unspoken words: her last birthday. Even with the doctors’ optimism, laypeople were intimidated by Rose’s condition.
“Lily has been so manic lately,” Anne said. “Planning the party, making Rose’s present, getting Rose ready for the surgery. I’m so glad you thought to ask Jude to captain. Honestly, if it weren’t Lily, I wouldn’t book the charter at all. The potential for liability, but that’s not the main thing. It’s just, well, you’re a scientist, Liam. Not a doctor, a medical doctor, anyway. But you’re a biologist—you must know—what are the chances Rose will survive? Not just this operation—but into adolescence, adulthood?”
“Like you said, I’m not a doctor,” he said, his stomach flipping. “But Lily tells me Rose will be fine, so I believe her.”
“I know it’s serious,” Anne said. “Lily tries to accent the positive, whenever possible. She’s done such a good job of mainstreaming Rose. But even the name of her condition …”
“Tetralogy of Fallot,” Liam said.
“It scares the heck out of me. Sounds like a monster.”
“In a way, it is,” he said. “Rose was born with a heart with four defects. From the Latin, tetragonum—quadrangle. Four.”
“God,” Anne said, shivering. “Lily is always so matter-of-fact about it. She talks about Rose so openly. Rose’s illness is just a part of her life. She wants Rose to have all the fun and opportunities of any other nine-year-old.”
“And she should.”
“I worry about her, Liam. What would happen if … well, if something happened to Rose. I always remember your mother, after Connor …
“It’s not the same,” Liam said sharply.
“No, it’s not. At least she still had your father, and you. Lily has no one.”
Liam just stood there, listening to the band play. His arm began to tingle—not his right arm, his good limb, but his left, the one that wasn’t there anymore. He felt the skin prickling—pins and needles, as if he had just lain on it for too long, as if the feeling were just starting to co
me back. The band slid into a sweet waltz, and people at the tables got up to dance.
“Lily,” Anne began, but Liam interrupted. He turned to face his cousin-in-law, ice in his eyes.
“Lily won’t have to face what my mother went through,” he said. “I let Connor die, but I won’t let Rose.”
“Liam! It’s not the same! You couldn’t have saved Connor—no one could have. That shark really was a monster—and you were just a boy, hardly older than your brother.”
“Sharks aren’t monsters,” Liam said. “They’re just fish. My brother shouldn’t have been in that water. None of us should… . Look—I have to go now. Have a good cruise tomorrow. Watch out for Rose, will you?”
“We all will,” Anne said, her blue eyes troubled.
Liam turned to walk out. As he strode through the lobby—filled with weekenders in town to enjoy the scenery, the peace, the band—he sensed people giving him a wide berth. He was tall and dark, and he felt the scowl radiating out. People always noticed his prosthesis. He was different, other.
“Hook,” some kids had called him in high school. “Scar,” others had whispered, those who’d seen him with his shirt off in gym class, who’d seen the jagged tears. Reconstructive surgery wasn’t what it was now, and the fourteen-inch bite radius—the shark had been a juvenile great white, just like the one he’d read about earlier that evening, attacking the surfer east of Halifax—looked like a crater in his flesh. The bite had been so deep, the serrated teeth had nicked three of his ribs.
The funny thing was, as he exited the lobby of the Cape Hawk Hotel, he realized that although he still felt different, it wasn’t for the same old reason. It wasn’t so much his arm or his scars anymore. They were part of him. No, he felt different because he was so alone. With all this family around him, all he could see were couples, families, here in Cape Hawk for the weekend. Spending time together …
When Anne had said Lily had no one, Liam had felt a stab in his heart. He felt that way himself.
And it was worse than anything.
Chapter 6
The day was brilliant, clear and fine, perfect for the cruise. Rose woke up with the sun. She lay in her bed, watching orange rays come through the pines. They roused every bird in the forest, and suddenly the air was alive with song. She lay still, listening, wondering whether Nanny could hear the birds and know they were singing “Happy Birthday” to Rose. Would Nanny show up for her party? Almost nothing mattered to Rose more. Except for wishing that Dr. Neill would be allowed to join them …
As Rose began to sit up, she felt a tug in her chest. It took her breath away. She lay back down for a few minutes, on her side with knees drawn up, closing her eyes tight. Outside, the birds grew louder, as if more were arriving by the minute. They were migrating north after the long winter. Rose imagined how tired they must be, how fast their tiny hearts were beating.
Once Dr. Neill told her that pine siskins migrated all the way down to South America—birds no bigger than a pinecone! And he said that whales and dolphins migrated down to the Caribbean Sea. If they could do it—fly and swim all that way—then Rose could do it too. All she had to do was stay well enough to have her surgery. One more surgery, and she would be fine.
Sometimes thinking made her feel better—dreams of birds, or of Nanny, or of her birthday. Her best friend Jessica … she thought of Jess, joking that they had almost the same birthday. Only why didn’t it feel like a joke? To Rose, it had seemed true—and how wonderful that would be, if it was. Very slowly she sat up again, swung her legs over the side of the bed. She looked down at her hand, gripping the mattress. Her condition had left her with slightly clubbed fingers—another way she was different. Today they didn’t bother her—it was her birthday, she thought, getting out of bed. The spell had passed. Padding barefoot down the hall, she smelled fresh orange juice.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” her mother said. “Happy birthday …”
“Thank you. I’m nine now,” Rose said, smiling.
Her mother smiled back. She tried not to show that she was checking Rose for symptoms, and Rose, for her part, tried hard not to exhibit any. She knew she should tell her mother that she’d just had a blue spell, but she also knew that might make her mother cancel the party.
But she made it through the once-over, drank her orange juice and ate her cereal, took her vitamin and antibiotic—counting down to the surgery, preventing any possible heart infections that would delay things. Her mother was playing music on the CD player: one of Rose’s favorites—“Aurora,” by Spirit. It made her happy just to hear the song, and she knew her mother had put it on because she loved it so much.
“Should we save these for the boat?” her mother asked, standing there with several wrapped packages.
Rose rubbed her hands together and bounced in her seat. Her mother’s smile widened, as if she were happy just to see Rose so excited. “Do we have to?” Rose asked.
Her mother shook her head. “Not at all, honey. It’s your birthday—you can open them all right now.”
So Rose did. Her mother had wrapped every package differently—with beautiful papers of pink roses and blue ribbons, of birds flying in formations shaped like hearts. Rose undid the bows, pulled off the paper, and found four new books, a telescope, a diary with a lock and key, and the new needlepoint square.
“Mama,” she said, unrolling the canvas. It wasn’t framed yet, like the others. Rose felt the square in her hands—the fine meshwork around the edges, the soft field of yarn creating a picture straight from her mother’s heart—the latest in the story of Rose’s life, to hang on her bedroom wall. “It’s beautiful.”
“Do you like it?” her mother asked, leaning over, arm across Rose’s shoulders.
“I love it,” Rose said, gazing at the images of Cape Hawk: the great sweeping bay backed by the tall cliffs and pines, the grand white hotel … and in the foreground, two girls—unmistakably Rose and Jessica—riding on the back of a white whale. “Me and my best friend,” Rose said.
“Everyone needs a best friend, sweetheart,” her mother said.
“Will she come today?”
“Jessica? Her mother said she would. Now, let’s get ready. The boat leaves at nine sharp, and we don’t want it to leave without the birthday girl.”
Rose nodded. While her mother quickly did the dishes, she walked down the hall to her room, to change into her party clothes. She placed the canvas on her bed, staring down at the smiling faces—Rose and her two best friends: one old, one new. Closing her eyes, she stood by the window and wished, wished …
Her birthday had always brought many different wishes, most of them secret. In past years she had wished for her father to magically appear in her life, to love her, to want her, to want to be part of their family. She had wished for a grandmother to appear in the garden and make the flowers grow. She had wished for a healthy heart … not just so she could run and play, but also so her mother wouldn’t have to be so scared, so worried about losing her.
But this year, Rose wished for just two things. They were so, so small—not so very much to ask, considering all the gigantic wishes she had made over the years. Two small, secret wishes …
At eight-thirty, Marisa and Jessica drove past the sign NEILL FAMILY WHALE-WATCH CRUISES and into the gravel parking lot. Marisa still hadn’t completely stopped looking in her rearview mirror, checking to see that she wasn’t being followed. She had chosen this location because it was so remote—the likelihood of Ted stumbling upon them—if he was searching at all—was so very small. But at the same time, she had a secret reason for coming here that would shock him if he ever figured it out.
Her husband’s great-grandfather had been a whaler from Canada. And in one of his old photo albums, there had been a picture of the whaling ship—right here at this same dock, in winter—with the snowy cliffs of the fjord rising majestically behind the ice-coated spars. Marisa remembered staring at that picture, thinking it looked like a port at the end of
the world. Beautiful, austere, and mysterious.
Now, parking the car, she backed into the spot—so she could see what was coming. She didn’t like anyone coming up from behind her.
She had left a man so brutal, he had killed her daughter’s puppy—just because she barked at night. Marisa had had to uproot her child, run away from their home, make up pretend birthdays to throw him off the track. She had learned to be careful, always.
Opening her purse, she pulled out a small box.
“Honey, I know we said we would stay completely true to our story, and our new lives, but I couldn’t resist this. Happy birthday to you …”
“Mommy!” Jessica said. “It’s for me? Can I open it?”
“Yes. Your real birthday is in just a few days. I thought we would use Rose’s party for a secret celebration of our own.”
Jessica pulled off the ribbon, tore the paper, and opened the little velvet box. The look in her eyes was worth every minute of trouble they’d been through: sheer and total happiness.
“It’s Grammie’s ring!”
“That’s right, honey. Her nursing school ring …”
“She wore it when she was a Navy nurse, and a pediatric nurse, and a private nurse, right?”
“Yes. You know all the stories. She loved helping people so much, and that’s what inspired me to become a nurse too. Maybe it will inspire you.”
“So I can help Rose?”
Marisa nodded. She had been up late last night, reading as much as she could about pediatric cardiac care. She didn’t know Rose’s diagnosis, but from the symptoms she had exhibited and the fact she was scheduled for surgery, she knew that it was serious. Maybe having Marisa’s mother’s ring would give Jessica a feeling of some control, in the face of her friend’s serious illness.
“Mommy, will we get seasick on the boat?”
“No. That’s why I got you this bracelet,” Marisa said, slipping the elastic circlet over Jess’s thin wrist. “The little bead rests against your pulse, and it keeps you from feeling motion sick.”
Luanne Rice Page 6