The Memory of Water

by Karen White

  You once told me that sailing was like tricking the wind to move your boat. I smiled again, remembering Trey’s words. “I’m fine,” I said, meaning it more than I expected.

  I looked around to inspect the boat for the first time. Trey had removed the sail cover, hanked on the jib, and attached the sheets and halyards so that the sails impatiently waited in the breeze, begging to be hoisted. I began to feel the familiar thrumming in my veins as I turned my face into the wind, the best indicator of wind direction despite the yarn telltales on the shrouds. My body took over from my brain, my limbs seeming to move from memory as I settled myself next to the tiller, preparing to move us away from the docks into Jeremy Creek, then to the Intracoastal before finally heading out into open water.

  My fear seemed lost in the cool breeze as I began to hoist the mainsail, pulling on the halyard as hard as I could until the sail was as high as possible, then made the halyard fast to its cleat, relishing the familiar slip and groove of the lines through my fingers. Then I moved to the jib sail and hoisted away until it was absolutely straight, with no scallops between the hanks as my mother had shown me to do a million years ago. Satisfied, I made the halyard fast to its cleat and stowed it neatly. Checking to make sure the centerboard was down and the sails luffing freely, I gave Quinn the signal that it was time to slip the mooring pendant.

  I pulled the jib sheet tight to force the bow away from the mooring as Quinn moved forward and released the line. When the boat fell about forty-five degrees off the wind, I trimmed the mainsail to stop the boat from turning and to begin our movement forward. I felt the pull of the wind as the sails filled like pregnant bellies while the liquid movement beneath my feet reminded me again of the memory of water. I turned my face into the wind once more and heard a yelp of glee, surprised to find that it had come from my own mouth.

  Gripping the side rail, I watched as Quinn walked down the wind-ward side of the deck to join me in the cockpit. I felt the saltwater spray on my face and opened my mouth to shout again. My eyes met Quinn’s, and he gave me a quick nod, making my chest tighten in unfamiliar ways. He understands, I thought, thinking that I knew, too, why he had gone parasailing after he had once been trapped high up in a tree while his brother’s body lay beneath it. I did shout then, cutting loose the power the grief had held over me and letting it go into the oceanborne wind. I wasn’t cured; my fears still waited in my pockets until I rediscovered them after a season of forgetting. But at last I knew as the wind caught my hair and teased my face, I had finally found my way home.

  CHAPTER 23

  The sail, the play of its pulse so like our own lives: so thin and yet so full of life, so noiseless when it labors hardest, so noisy and impatient when least effective.

  —HENRY DAVID THOREAU

  Quinn

  I took a weeklong class trip to Italy once when I was a senior in high school. In Florence, we’d gone to the Uffizzi Museum, where they had a special Leonardo da Vinci exhibit showing the inventor’s greatest achievements in science, aviation, and art. Splattered among the exhibits were quotes from da Vinci, the one I remember most being something about finding the one thing in life that made your soul sing. And when I saw Marnie Maitland on the open water in a sailboat, I knew that she, at least, had found it.

  We stayed on the water for almost two hours, skirting the coast and never straying too far from the shore. Except for commands to adjust our sails as our course changed, we didn’t exchange words during the entire time. There was no need. Her hands and feet were her language as she moved about the boat, trimming the mainsail and commanding the wind. We spent the first twenty minutes or so becoming accustomed to the Pelorus, testing the fine line between the boat’s heel and her sail performance. As Marnie became more comfortable, we began sailing closer and closer to the wind, while I went along for the ride, trimming the jib and hanging on tightly as the boat heeled dangerously close to capsizing. Watching her, I finally began to understand why Trey Bonner had called her wild, and I began to recognize the woman I had once seen all those years ago and with whom I had fallen inexplicably in love.

  Marnie put the boat through its paces as she sailed in various directions, finally setting the course with the wind behind us to minimize the wind chill on our faces. She seemed to be lost in a different world in a different time as we sailed along in silence for almost an hour.

  My nose had become numb from the November wind, and I was about to suggest that we return to the dock when I caught a look on Marnie’s face. At first I thought she’d seen something in the water—something she didn’t want to. I knew her attention had strayed when the leech began to oscillate and the boom lifted, both signs of sailing too close to an accidental jibe and a sure way to damage the rigging or be knocked overboard by a wayward boom. I was alarmed because I spotted it before her. Her eyes were focused behind her, but not seeing, and when I called her name, she didn’t respond. It was only when the jib flopped over that she sprang into action, steering the boat out of danger as smooth as the incoming tide. But I’d seen the expression on her face and wondered if finally, after all of her running from the water, her memories had finally caught up to her.

  “Are you ready to go back?”

  She nodded, concentrating on the sails again, but her movements had become rote and she’d begun to sneak glances toward land.

  With teamwork, we efficiently maneuvered the boat back to its mooring and lowered the sails as we waited for Trey to come out and pick us up. I’d expected Gil to come with him, but my son remained on the dock as if he, too, had sensed something from Marnie. I looked at her again and felt suddenly as if I’d been in an elevator that had dropped several stories before abruptly stopping.

  I helped her into the jon boat and felt her fingers trembling in my hand before she let go and reached for Trey’s outstretched hand. I climbed in after her and sat on the front bench seat.

  “How’d it go?” asked Trey, unaware of the undercurrents that seemed heavy enough to swamp the small boat.

  “It was wonderful,” I said, sensing Marnie nodding in agreement.

  “Did you get to practice a few tight maneuvers?”

  She shot a quick glance at me. “The wind was perfect for a little running. Thank you for letting us borrow your Pelorus. She’s a great little boat.”

  Her words were so flat and so inadequate to describe what I had just witnessed that I wondered if she’d seen something in the water, after all.

  “You’re welcome—anytime,” he said, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

  We reached the dock, and a waiting Gil and his wide smile faded as he caught sight of Marnie. Quickly flipping his sketch pad closed, he traded places with Trey in the jon boat.

  Trey gave him a high-five as they passed. “It was fun hanging out with you, Gil. Hope your dad and your aunt don’t have to deal with the sugar rush after what you had for lunch.”

  Even that remark didn’t elicit much of a smile from Marnie. We said our thanks and goodbyes, then pulled off from the dock toward home.

  Unwilling to ask Marnie about her sudden change of mood in front of Gil, I instead focused on my son.

  “You should have seen your aunt Marnie, Gil. She may be small, but she’s a great sailor.”

  Gil smiled brightly.

  “Did it make you want to go out on the water again?” I asked.

  He glanced over at Marnie and she smiled at him. “I won’t lie to you, Gil. I was about as nervous as a turtle in a horse race when I got on that boat. But sailing keeps you so busy that it’s easy to forget about everything else in your head. By the time we were out there and zipping along, you know what I felt like?”

  Both Gil and I focused our undivided attention on her. She looked up at the sky as if seeking help in finding words that eluded her. “It was like finding an old friend I’d been looking for, for a long, long time.”

  Gil continued to regard her solemnly, as if he, too, couldn’t believe the inadequacy of her words, becau
se he’d been there and knew what it was like to feel the wind in your hair and on your face. He knew. Sailing was what made Marnie’s soul sing.

  “She’s almost as good as you, huh?”

  Gil looked at me with laughter in his eyes and shook his head.

  “I don’t know about that. I think you could certainly give her a run for her money.” I turned to focus on the marsh, pretending to study the fauna as I navigated the small boat. “The Rockville Regatta is coming up in the spring, you know. It’s not a qualifying race or anything, but they have family races where crews of all ages can race. I thought it might be something fun for the three of us to enter.”

  I felt the stony silence behind me and didn’t turn around.

  Finally Marnie, her voice sounding as if it had been brushed over sand said, “That’s a great idea, Quinn. But I’ve never seen Gil sail. I just don’t know if he’d be good enough to crew with me.”

  “That’s a real good point, Marnie. I guess you couldn’t just take my word that he’s an excellent sailor and would be a superb addition to our crew.”

  “No,” she said, her voice still dry and strained. “I’d really need to see all crew members in action before hiring them on. I’ve seen you now, so I’d say you can join. But I don’t know about a third member….”

  Gil slapped my leg, and I turned to him, pretending to be startled. “What, Gil? You want to give it a try on Mr. Bonner’s boat?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. He glanced at Marnie, but her face remained neutral, as if she knew that Gil’s decision had to come from him without coercion from anybody else. Her eyes met mine above his head and my chest tightened.

  Slowly, Gil nodded.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  Gil nodded again, this time without hesitation.

  “Great. That’s good news. I’ll call Mr. Bonner tomorrow and see if he’ll let us borrow his boat again. It’ll be fun.” And, I added to myself, I’d have to talk to Diana again. I didn’t relish that conversation at all.

  I looked at Marnie and Gil and almost wanted to laugh at how their dark expressions didn’t really translate into fun. I turned toward the marsh once more, recalling Marnie’s face the way it had been when we’d first set sail, determined now to see it again. “It’ll be fun,” I said again, more to convince myself than anybody else.

  When we reached our dock, I helped Gil and Marnie out of the boat, and then Marnie and I fell into step behind Gil. When we got close enough to the house to see the porch, Gil spotted his great-grandfather bundled up in a rocker and ran ahead of us. I slowed my pace to match Marnie’s.

  “Thank you for today, Quinn. I never thought I’d do that again. I never thought that I’d want to do it again.”

  I regarded her closely. “But what happened out there? You were so happy, and then all of a sudden, you couldn’t wait to get to dry land again.”

  She looked at me sharply. “There’s not a lot you miss, is there?”

  “No, not really.” I tried to lighten the tone but she didn’t smile. “Did you remember something? For a moment out there, I thought you’d seen a ghost.”

  Her face blanched. “Maybe I did.” She shook her head and smiled tightly. “Actually, I just didn’t want to keep Gil waiting much longer.” She stopped walking and faced me. “But thank you, Quinn. It was marvelous. It’s just going to take more than one afternoon, that’s all.”

  “I never thought it wouldn’t. Even I signed up for three parasailing lessons, after all. Doing just the one sounded a little conceited on my part.” I reached for her hands and they felt cold. “I want you to go again as soon as possible. When I take Gil out, I want you to go with us.”

  “That will be too soon….”

  I pulled her a little closer. “I don’t think it will be soon enough. I finally saw the real Marnie out there. She was strong and brave and a damn fine sailor. Maybe if you told me what it is that’s bothering you…”

  She pulled away and began walking ahead of me. “I told you it was nothing—just nerves, maybe. I’ll let you know if I’ll be ready to go again with Gil, assuming Diana ever says yes.”

  I caught up to her and matched my stride to hers, but remained silent as I listened to the pine needles crunching under our feet, and smelled their soft aroma that always reminded me of Christmas.

  “Diana wanted to go to the nursing home again today with Gil and me. I said I’d ask you.”

  “But she was just there a few days ago.”

  “I know, but apparently her friend is obsessed with the Maitland curse—I guess Diana’s been filling her head with stories for months now. But now Diana is almost as obsessed with demonstrating how different Gil is from her and the rest of the Maitlands. It’s like she wants to prove that the curse ended with Gil, that he’s mostly Bristow, I guess, and unable to pass it on to his offspring.”

  “I’ve never understood this whole curse thing. When Diana’s healthy, she has always been pretty rational in her thinking except where this silly curse is involved.”

  “It’s not her fault, really. Our mother pretty much drummed it into us from the moment we could talk, although it was mostly aimed at Diana.”

  “Really? Why was that?”

  Marnie shrugged. “I figured because Mama always called her more Maitland than me. She had the blond hair and the artistic talent to go with it, so I guess it made sense.” She was silent for a moment. “I was so jealous of her. Knowing what I know now, it was petty and stupid, but for a young girl, it was devastating to be so different from your mother in every way that you wanted to be like her. And then having a sister who was everything you weren’t.” She smiled to herself but didn’t say anything.

  “What?” I prompted.

  She paused for a moment. “Mama once told me to be careful what I wished for. I was never really sure what she meant.”

  We had reached the back porch, which had recently been vacated by Gil and his great-grandfather, the chairs swaying gently as a reminder of their recent occupation.

  I stood on the bottom step. “Did it ever occur to you when you were a girl that it was the other way around for Diana?”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”

  “That it was she who envied you.”

  “But that’s silly. I didn’t have anything to be envied.”

  I stepped onto the porch so that I stood in front of her. “No. Just everything that Diana didn’t have. Like your mother’s unconditional love.”

  Marnie shook her head. “Diana had that more than anything.”

  “Actually, from what I’ve learned from Diana and from you, it would seem that your mother’s love was very conditional with Diana. She had to be a better artist. She had to ignore her illness and pretend it didn’t exist. But you were free to be you, to strike out in any direction you wanted to, and you did. That is the one thing Diana never did have. And I think that was what she always wanted the most.”

  Marnie looked up into the winter sky, the sun’s glare making her eyes seem transparent. “I’ve never seen it that way before.” Her voice sounded far away. “Today, when we were on the boat��” She faced me, her eyes haunted.

  “What, Marnie? What did you see?”

  She shook her head. “I’m…I’m not sure. I just think that I’m finally beginning to understand what my mother meant when she told me to be careful what I wished for.”

  I watched as her eyes clouded over before she pressed the pads of her fingers against her eyelids. I wanted to hold her, but stayed where I was. She was strong enough to face her own demons, and we both knew it. I just hoped that she knew that I would be here waiting for her when she was ready. “What is it?” I asked again.

  She didn’t answer right away, but turned to the door and opened it. With her back to me, she said, “Call Trey right away and see how soon we can get the boat again. I’ll be there with Gil.”

  She let the door shut behind her as she walked back to me, put her hands on my shoul
ders, and kissed me. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes serious and her lips roughened by the wind.

  “You’re welcome,” I said to her retreating back, unsure what I’d done to deserve her thanks, but hoping I could figure it out so I could do it again soon.

  Marnie

  I sat in the driver’s seat, my gaze switching from Diana’s tight-lipped form beside me to Gil’s white face in the back. We’d been at the nursing home for two hours, long enough for me to have fallen asleep on the couch in the reception room. I came awake seeing Gil’s wide-eyed face hovering over me and hearing Diana’s agitated voice in the hallway. When I looked through the doorway, I saw Diana approaching with a nurse.

  “We need to go now.” Both Diana and the nurse were unsmiling.

  I sat up suddenly, my head spinning. “Is everything all right?”

  “Just fine. Let’s go.” She faced the nurse. “Tell her…tell her I’m not sure when we’ll be able to come back.”

  The nurse’s face creased with concern. “You know how much she looks forward to your visits.” The nurse glanced at Gil. “And she’s especially enjoyed getting to know your son.”

  “Yes, well…” Diana pulled on her gloves. “It’s almost Christmas, and it’s always crazy busy for me. Let’s just wait and see.” Diana began walking toward the exit, not even checking behind her to see if Gil and I were following. If I hadn’t been so concerned about what had just happened, I would have found it amusing, since I was the one with the car key.

  I said goodbye to the nurse, then rushed to follow Diana out to the parking lot.

  As we slid into our seats, I asked, “What was that all about?”

  She was staring out her window, and I thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer. Finally she said, “Sailing.” She didn’t look at me, but I saw her cheek muscles move in either a smile or a frown. “Damn. I wish I had a cigarette.” She glanced in the rearview mirror to see if Gil had heard her.