Yours Until Morning

by Patricia Masar

  “All right. You can stay with Ben. But I want you to be extra careful. Don’t try to pick him up. If he wakes up, just let him stay in his crib. I won’t be gone long. I’ll bring Evie back with me as soon as the boat comes in. She probably won’t want to stay around for the weighing, anyway.”

  June had misgivings about leaving Claire alone with Ben, of course, but she was glad not to have to take him down to the harbor again with all that noise and confusion. He would only cry and she’d able to walk faster on her own, unburdened by the stroller. Without a toddler in tow she would look carefree and youthful when Richard saw her, likely for the very last time. And this time around she would give him the cold shoulder, not say a word. Just appear icy and elegant and unavailable.

  The area around the harbor was littered with paper napkins and the discarded cups of snow cones. Tufts of cotton candy drifted along the ground. The brass band, back from a long lunch break, was in full swing again as they geared up to greet the first boats to come through the checkpoint and into the harbor. June treated herself to a bottle of Coke and stood in the shade of a hot dog stand to drink it. The first boats, just dots on the horizon a little while ago, were coming into the harbor now accompanied by cheers from the crowd. June strained to see Evie’s yellow blouse among the passengers on the decks. She hoped John wouldn’t wait until the very end before coming back. She didn’t want to stand out here all afternoon, not with Claire alone in the house with Ben. Her mind wouldn’t rest until they saw the doctor on Tuesday. A little reassurance was all she wanted. White-coated, doctorly reassurance that everything was going to be all right. Thinking about Claire made her so jumpy and taut with nerves that she looked for a payphone to call Mrs. Cranshaw. It wouldn’t hurt to have her at the house to keep an eye on things. She fished a dime out of her purse and dialed the number.

  “Mrs. Cranshaw? June Kerrigan here.” She cupped the receiver with her hand and shouted into the phone. “June, Mrs. Cranshaw, June Kerrigan. Listen, I’ve had to leave Claire alone in the house with Ben while I wait for John to come back from the Derby. Would you mind going over to my place to sit with them till I get back? You’re sure it’s all right? Oh, you’re a dear. Thank you ever so much. I won’t be long.” When June hung up she felt a little better. At least now Claire wouldn’t be all alone with Ben if something happened.

  She finished her Coke and set the bottle on the ground. All she wanted to do now was concentrate on watching the boats coming in. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. More boats were crowding into the harbor, but she still hadn’t seen any signs of the Sabrina Jane. She swept her gaze over the crowd and spotted Emma Sanders, but she looked away quickly before Emma could see her. She wasn’t ready to face her yet, not after what happened the other day in Hammett Mills. It’s not that Emma was likely to treat her any differently, if anything June would inspire pity, an emotion she couldn’t bear. But she felt ashamed and embarrassed all the same. Not just because of Claire’s illness, but because she’d been lying to Emma all this time. Emma must be hurt that June hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her something like this.

  Standing by herself among Lockport’s residents, people she had known for years but had never truly felt a part of, June felt oddly detached from it all. For years she’d been waiting to feel as if she belonged to the town, but it hadn’t happened yet, and now she felt it probably never would. She would always be an outsider here, no matter what she did. So perhaps it was time to stop trying so hard and let it go.

  June nodded and waved to several people she knew, but she was not interested in chatting with anyone to pass the time. All she wanted to collect Evie and go, knowing she would need all the energy she could muster to put on a happy face, to smile and wave and look excited, as if her heart didn’t feel like a giant bruised plum. She closed her eyes and a picture of Richard filled her mind. Not from any of the times they had been together, but how he had looked that morning on the boat, in his role as Benson Sandhurst’s friend, comfortable in his elegant surroundings, secure in his sense of privilege. That’s where Richard belonged, in a world of wealth and privilege, a place she’d never be a part of, no matter how hard she tried.

  He had looked magnificent in his pressed white trousers and navy blue polo shirt. So nautical and healthy with his burnished skin and brown eyes. And he’d look even better when they got back in, with the wind in his hair and joy on his face from a fine day spent out on the water on such a beautiful yacht. Most likely he would be grinning and joking with her husband as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And tomorrow Richard would get into his car with his wife and son and they would drive away from Lockport and return to their own lives, to their townhouse in New York, their social life, private school for Paul. Next summer they would vacation at their summer home in Newport and she would never see him again. Raising her fingertips to her face, June touched her lips gently as if they were tender and bruised, then made a fist and bit her knuckles hard to keep from crying.

  She looked at her watch, impatient now, and feeling faint in the full heat of the sun. It was nearly four and there was still no sight of John. After all this, would he be disqualified? She couldn’t imagine him running that kind of risk. He was such an exacting and careful man and she knew how much he wanted to win that money, if not for himself, than for her. But nearly all the boats were in now, easing into their mooring slips or anchored to buoys in the harbour, and there was still no sign of the Sabrina Jane.

  An atmosphere of suspense was growing in the crowd, the long day of waiting having risen to a fever pitch. The big clock ticked. One minute, two. A horn sounded. The derby official out in the dingy stood up and shouted something into a megaphone. June couldn’t make out what he said, but he must be announcing the official end of the contest. She looked at her watch. It was exactly four. Where was John? Her concern turned to disbelief. How could he have missed the cut off? He must be here, he must be. June anxiously scanned the harbor, shading her eyes from the sun. Maybe she’d been so busy feeling sorry for herself on account of Richard that she’d failed to see the boat pull into the harbor.

  Confused now, but now yet worried, she discretely elbowed her way through the crowd and moved in the direction of the docks. There was much laughter and jubilation from the returning derby participants, who were holding up their catches, or hauling bottles of beer out of ice chests as they congratulated themselves on a great day out. From the snatches of conversation and shouts around her, she gathered that the fishing had been good.

  It was difficult trying to pass through the crowd, but she made her way over to the mooring slip where the Sabrina Jane had been docked earlier in the day. It was empty. June stood on her toes and scanned the bustling harbor, willing the boat to appear. Her thoughts whirled. She had barely eaten anything all day and her head felt light. Approaching some of the men in the nearby boats, she shaded her eyes against the sun and called out. Had anybody seen the Sabrina Jane? Anyone hear from John Kerrigan? The men shook their heads. Those who knew him frowned. It wasn’t like John to come in after the official time was called. He’d had a good feeling about the derby this year and was aiming to win. It was strange for him to be late.

  June chewed her thumbnail. She didn’t know what to do. Stand around and wait? He’d be coming in any minute now, she was sure of it, but why would John have stayed out on the water this long? For the first time she began to wonder if something was wrong. Did the Sabrina Jane have a radio on board? Perhaps she should ask the harbor master to send out a call. But she didn’t know if there was a radio or not. John hadn’t said anything about it. She was sorry now that she hadn’t paid more attention to him when he talked about Sandhurst’s boat. She milled about in the crowd, biting the end of her thumb, unsure of what to do.

  A crew of men in rubber overalls was taking the fish off the boats, where they were tagged and carried to the weighing station. Much cheering and friendly kidding erupted from the crowd as the fish were held up and hung on the
scales. A man called out the numbers. There were groans and applause. June turned away from all the excitement and walked up the slight rise behind the harbor to get a better view of the crowd of boats.

  Where was John? It was four-thirty now. She should be getting back to the house. At a loss as to what to do next, June stood where she was, unable to move. Should she stay here and wait? Call Mrs. Cranshaw and tell her that John wasn’t back yet? Her mind reeled. Where were they? Panic caused her throat to clench up and her palms itched. Something must have happened. Had the motor conked out? What else could it be? The ocean was as flat and calm as a lake, the air so clear she could still see the lighthouse all the way over on Hobben’s Point. June scanned the horizon and the sea. The triangular sails of a couple of Sunfish dotted the blue surface, seagulls wheeled overhead, but there was nothing else. Where were they?

  Rattled now, unsure of what to do or where to go, June started to head over to Dot’s Coffee Shop to wait, but then realized it would be full of chattering women talking about the derby and she wasn’t in the mood for company or mindless gossip. Not until she knew that John and Evie were all right. She walked back down to the docks and climbed the wooden steps to the harbor master’s office. From the top of the stairs she had a clear view of the harbor and she searched again for the boat, trying to spot a flash of yellow in the bustling scene. Her heart leaped when something bright yellow passed her field of vision, but it was a young boy in a baseball cap. Nothing else. No sign of John or Evie anywhere.

  She entered the office and approached the man in charge. Somehow his starched white shirt and official tie reassured her. She briefly told him her story. Her husband had gone out on the Sabrina Jane that morning with the fishing derby and he wasn’t back yet. Had he heard anything?

  The man raised his eyebrows. “John Kerrigan? John’s not back yet?” He took a clipboard off the wall and flipped through the list of that day’s outgoing and incoming boats. There were weather maps on the wall and photos of boats for sale tacked to a bulletin board along with a number of handwritten notes. A buxom girl in a bright polka dot bikini smiled from a pin-up calendar. June looked away.

  “The Sabrina Jane was registered only yesterday,” the harbor master said, consulting his clipboard. “Under the name of Benson Sandhurst.”

  June nodded. “That’s right. He’s the owner. John took the boat out himself because Mr. Sandhurst had some business to attend to in New York.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a radio on board, but I could try sending out a call. You want to wait?” He pointed to a folding metal chair.

  June perched on the edge of it, flattering her handbag on her knees. Her knuckles were white and she clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking as the harbour master sent out the call. He tried a couple of different frequencies, turning the dial, hoping to bring up some response from the Sabrina Jane. But the radio was quiet. He tried again. There was no response.

  The man turned and looked at June. His face was bland, expressionless. Part of his job, she imagined to look calm and cool at all times.

  “Like I said, I’m not sure there’s a radio on board, so no response doesn’t really mean anything. I’m sure everything’s fine, Mrs. Kerrigan. John probably just lost track of the time.” He looked at the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes after five. “Why don’t you go home and wait. I’ll send out a call to other boats in the area for any news. If you leave me your telephone number I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

  June thanked the man and wrote down the house number on a scrap of paper. After leaving the office she was reluctant to leave the harbor, but she was afraid to stay away from home much longer. What if Claire had a seizure while she was gone? Fell and knocked her head on something. Maybe even now she was lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs, blood flowing from a gash in her skull. Would Mrs. Cranshaw know what to do? Panic gave wings to her unease. Home, she had to go home. She swept her gaze over the harbor one more time, willing the Sabrina Jane to appear on the horizon.

  The sea was as flat and calm as it had been all day, the sky an endless cobalt blue. The fish had been weighed and the derby winner announced, though June hadn’t the slightest idea whose name had been called. None of that mattered now. The brass band began to pack up, the hotdog vendors were shutting down their carts. Tufts of cotton candy, grimy with sand, blew wanly along the ground. Above the harbor seagulls wheeled in the sky, screeching and calling. They hovered over the water, ravenously eyeing the entrails of discarded fish, then folded their wings and dropped like stones into the sea.

  22

  Afterward, June didn’t know how she found the strength to get through it all. The initial hours of waiting, the eternal days of anguish, the nights of despair.

  After the search for the boat had been called off, when all hope of finding them was lost, a stream of visitors made their way to the house, bearing food and condolences. An endless river of mourners, their faces cast down before her like flowers in the rain. She hadn’t known there were so many people in Lockport who want to comfort her in her grief. But it was really John they were coming for, and for that she was grateful. A well-loved figure among the townspeople, John would be missed. And now they were coming to pay their respects.

  In the end it was the numbness that saved her, the gradual deadening of her mind and body that pulled her through the infinite hours of darkness. The sun rose and set as it always had, and the days passed, but she was oblivious to time and tide, grateful for the dark blanket that settled over her soul. It saved her from caring when the rumors began, hovering over the town like a flock of birds. The boat had been overturned by a breaching whale or torpedoed by a Russian submarine. It was a mob hit on Benson Sandhurst. Who knew what murky dealings he was involved in back in New York? Or it was Richard Hutchinson who was the target. Hadn’t an associate of his come snooping around the fish cannery only two days after it burned to the ground?

  The commercial fishermen talked knowingly of rogue waves, those monstrous walls of water that rose up from the sea floor out of nowhere. But June didn’t pay any attention to the talk. A rogue wave, a vengeful whale, a Russian sub, what did it matter if they were all buried at the bottom of the sea. What did it matter how they got there if her husband and daughter were dead, water filling their lungs, their eyes wide with impending doom.

  In her darkest moments, in the endless hours of the night when she lay sleepless and staring in her bed, June was convinced it was her own wicked thoughts that had caused the disaster. Hadn’t she wanted to hurt Richard for abandoning her, hadn’t she wished him dead? Yes. Yes. She struck her fist against her chest. She had wished it in the deepest recesses of her heart and in doing so had sent her own family to its death.

  Did Evie know this, looking down at her mother from her own corner of heaven? June prayed that she didn’t, apologizing to her daughter over and over again in her prayers, and begging forgiveness. But she could apologize to her daughter till the end of her days and it would never bring her back. That would be her cross to bear.

  Every day, for weeks afterward, she climbed the bluffs at the back of town and looked over the harbor and out to sea. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and held her breath, her heart silent. Would today be the day they came back? Would she see the boat come chugging into the harbor, John and Evie smiling and waving, her daughter’s dark hair blowing in the breeze. It was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. She could hear John’s voice now. Caught in a freak squall, blown miles off the coast, how everyone must have worried. June imagined her husband’s smiling face, his blue eyes snapping with excitement as he related the tale of their adventure. How he’d take her in his arms and assure that from now on everything would be all right.

  Every day, for weeks afterward, she climbed the bluffs to look out at the sea, knowing what it felt like to be a wife from the old whaling days, pacing the upper floor of her home, haunting the widow’s walk, scanning the horizon for a sig
n that her seafaring husband was coming back to her. How long did those women have to wait? Years, June thought. They must have had to wait for years. And as each day passed, how could they ever know if their husbands were alive or dead, were sailing back to them with sails aloft, or if there was nothing left at all of their loved ones but bones picked clean on the bottom of the sea?

  The Coast Guard search had yielded nothing. They’d sent out boats, even helicopters, and combed the water, criss-crossing back and forth across a vast tract of sea. Not of trace of them could be found. The Sabrina Jane had vanished from the face of the earth as surely as if a giant hand had reached down from the sky and plucked it from the surface of the sea.

  In those first days of anguish and waiting, June had gone over to Stone cottage to say something to Elizabeth Hutchinson, hoping they could reach out to each other in their shared grief. But when June showed up at the front door, Elizabeth had not allowed her to cross the threshold, had practically accused John of criminal negligence. Something had obviously been wrong with the boat and whose fault could it be but John’s? And if it wasn’t John’s fault, then it was that colored man he never should have hired in the first place. What could anyone expect from a colored man but surliness and shoddy workmanship? Those two had driven her beloved husband and son to their deaths. Mrs. Hutchinson had been drunk, June was sure of it, but her contempt was chilling, her eyes like ice. June was not to darken her doorstep again.

  The first day of school arrived and June kept Claire at home. She could not deal with that worry as well, not when she was numb with grief and waiting. And how could Claire possibly go to that school now and walk the dark hallways without the comfort of her sister nearby? With nothing to fill her days, Claire spent most of the time shut up in her room with the door closed. She wouldn’t talk, had not said more than a few words since the boat disappeared.