by Ben Sherwood
Hoddy Snow, the harbormaster, was huddled in the back by the jukebox with his two deputies. Tink and a crew of sailors sat at their regular table in the front. Charlie approached Bony and his gang, took an empty seat, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Big news in the police blotter,” one of the guys said. “Check this out. ‘Midnight. Friday. A moan was heard from a bush on Rose Avenue. One squad car responded. Investigation turned up nothing.’ ”
“I bet it was Bony and his girlfriend,” Charlie laughed.
“I wish,” Bony said, “but if you ever hear me moaning in the bushes, you better call an ambulance.”
Charlie saw Hoddy stand up in the corner. “Can I have your attention, fellas?” he said in an urgent voice. He was a hulking man, and his shiny Grecian Formula hair was combed neatly in law-enforcement style. He wore a snug polo shirt with his name and title sewn in block letters over his heart. “Your attention please.” The room fell silent. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but we’ve got a serious situation and we need everyone’s help.”
Hoddy definitely had a way with drama. A few years ago, he had appeared in an episode of Unsolved Mysteries to talk about the notorious fifty-four-year-old Atherton murder. And when Tucker Goodwin pulled up a dead body snagged in a lobster trap not long ago, Hoddy had a field day with the Boston papers and TV stations.
“It’s a real bad situation,” he was saying.
“Someone skinny-dipping in the harbor without a license?” Bony said.
“Knock it off,” Hoddy said. “We just got a call from the Coast Guard in Gloucester. They want our help putting together a search. A fisherman picked up a life ring and a rudder floating off Halibut Point. They think it’s from Marblehead.”
“What boat?” Charlie said. “Whose is it?”
Hoddy’s eyes narrowed. His voice choked up for a moment, and there was no doubting his seriousness. “It’s Querencia,” he said. “Tess Carroll’s boat is missing.”
EIGHTEEN
BOBO GALLOPED, LIKE A DOG POSSESSED, DOWN Devereux Beach.
Tess stood on the cool sand and called out to him but he ignored her, charging ahead, splashing through the surf. From the moment she had opened the door at dawn, he had bolted into the street and taken off without her. He was old, deaf, and arthritic, but they still ran together every Sunday morning, cutting through the quiet streets of the old town, loping along the shore, looping around the Neck, and always finishing in the cemetery. Normally, he stayed on the leash, lumbering along beside her, barking at the Blaneys’ cats on Merritt Street and nosing around the trash cans behind the Shipyard Galley. But not today. He was in some kind of hurry.
Tess felt the wind rising off the ocean as she watched Bobo bound up to a fisherman sitting on a lawn chair. He was about 500 feet away, but she could tell it was Dubby Bartlett with his prized casting poles planted in the sand, lines spinning out into the surf. He always fished there Sunday mornings while his wife was in church praying for them both.
“Dubby!” she called out. “Hold on to Bobo! I need to get him on the leash.” He petted the dog, then looked up and down the shore, like he was expecting her to be right behind.
“Dubby!” she shouted again. “Over here!”
The wind was blowing pretty hard, sending up a spray of sand, and Tess’s voice must have gotten lost in the swirl. Bobo jumped up on him, nuzzled his face, barked, then took off again. For a moment, Dubby watched the dog go, then he went back to his reels.
Tess gave chase again, shouting for the retriever to stop. She was getting angrier. What on earth had gotten into him? He was like a puppy again, totally uncontrollable, prancing along the shore, covering another mile without stopping.
“Bobo!” she yelled. “Come back here right now!” But the dog trotted along the trail that ended on the rocky banks of Waterside cove and ran up the sloping embankment through the back gates of the cemetery.
Tess lost sight of him but knew he was heading to the top of the hill speckled with tombstones. Strolling now between rows of markers, she saw Midge Sumner across the lawn. She was one of her mom’s dear friends, bundled in her old purple parka, standing on a stepladder, cleaning the life-size statue of her sister Madge, who’d died of pneumonia as a child. Midge came every weekend to wash Madge’s plaster ears with Q-tips and scrub her body with sandalwood soap.
Midge was too busy scouring to notice her, so Tess kept heading toward her dad’s grave, where she knew Bobo would be sitting by the headstone.
“You’re a bad dog!” she said. “What the heck has gotten into you?” Bobo rolled over and scratched his back in the grass. “Don’t think you can charm your way out of this,” she said. “I’m really mad. That was crazy!” She sat down beside him and ignored his yelps.
Instead, she looked out on the harbor and was amazed by the strange brilliance of the day. The blue of the ocean seemed more vivid than ever, and the sails on the boats shone like mirrors against the sun. Querencia’s mooring was blocked by a gorgeous Dijkstra forty-two-meter schooner that had probably come into the harbor to pick up gear from Doyle Sails. Tess inhaled the unmistakable odor of herring bait from the lobster traps stacked on the wharf. Even her sense of smell was more acute today, and the fishy fragrance reminded her of Dad coming home every night from the sea. Then she heard laughter and shouting behind her. She turned and saw a beagle sprint from the woods, chased by a gangly boy in jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
“I’m going to get you!” the kid was yelling, his Red Sox cap askew on the dark curls spilling from its brim.
Tess stood up and called out, “Hey! You need a hand?”
The boy saw her and stopped running. A puzzled expression crossed his freckled face, and he approached slowly. His beagle was growling at Bobo, and the kid asked softly, “Does he bite?”
“No,” she said. “He’s an old guy. Lost most of his teeth.”
The kid dropped his mitt, kneeled down, and gave the retriever a big scratch on the belly. Then he looked up at Tess with curious eyes.
“He likes that,” she said. But the boy didn’t answer. He just stared.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Nobody looks at someone like you’re looking at me and it’s nothing.”
“You can see me?”
“Of course I can.”
“But that’s impossible.”
Tess assumed the kid was playing a game. “Are you invisible or something?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. That’s pretty cool. What’s your secret?”
Sam didn’t answer. The boy and his beagle just stared. It was beginning to unnerve her a little. Then, after a long moment, he finally said, “What’s your story? When did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” Tess said. “My dad’s buried here. So are my grandparents and great-grandparents.”
“That makes sense,” Sam said, picking up his glove and ball. “You feeling all right?”
“Definitely,” Tess said. “Hey, you play for Marblehead?”
“Obviously not anymore.” There was an awkward silence. Then he said, “You’re Tess, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I heard about you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, from Charlie,” he said. Oscar barked at the sound of his name.
“Charlie?”
“He’d kill me for saying anything. Swear you won’t tell.”
“Cross my heart.” She smiled.
“He hasn’t sucked face with anyone in a really long time,” Sam said. “I think he likes you.”
Tess felt a twinge of embarrassment. “Well, I like him too.” Her cheeks felt warm from blushing. “You know where I can find him right now? Is he home?”
“Did he know you were coming?”
“No. I didn’t tell him.”
“What else didn’t you tell him?” Sam said. His eyes were locked on.
“I’m not quite sure what
you mean.” The kid was starting to get to her again. It’s those video games, she thought. It’ll ruin them all. “Do me a favor, okay? Give Charlie a message?”
“Sure.”
“Let him know I came by.”
“Will do.”
The kid threw his ball and the beagle took off after it. “Hey, Tess,” he said. “You play catch?”
“Sure.”
“You throw like a girl?”
“Not on your life.”
“Then come back tonight. Charlie’s always here at sundown. See that forest over there? The big blue spruce?”
“Yes.”
“Follow the trail on the other side of the old log.”
“And then what?”
“You’ll find us in the clearing. We’ll throw the ball around.”
“Sounds fun,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She took a few steps down the hill. She was liking the thought of playing catch with Charlie and the boy. Then she spun around, and said, “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”
He hesitated for an instant before he answered. “I’m Sam. Sam St. Cloud.”
NINETEEN
THE OCEAN HAD NEVER LOOKED SO MASSIVE. WHITECAPS streaked to the horizon, and the thirty-five-foot Down East lobster boat careened through the waves. With one hand, Charlie steadied himself on the dashboard; with the other, he peered through binoculars and swept the confused seas. He and Tink were running a track leg in a search pattern on Jeffreys Ledge, an area not too far from where the fisherman had picked up debris from Querencia.
That morning in the Driftwood, he had absolutely refused to believe the news about Tess. At first, he had erupted: “No way. It’s not possible.” Then all eyes in the restaurant had focused on him.
“You know something we don’t?” Hoddy had asked.
Charlie had wanted to tell them about her visit to her father’s grave and their dinner in the cottage. He had wanted to describe their midnight walk and even their first kiss. But he had suddenly felt afraid. It was an unconscious reflex. Maybe something terrible had happened to Querencia on the water, and it was Tess’s spirit that had come to the cemetery. It wasn’t impossible, and in that instant, he knew he had to protect himself. “She’s got to be around somewhere,” he had mumbled, trying to mask his confusion. “Don’t you think?”
“What’re you talking about?” Tink had said, stepping forward. “They found her rudder and a life ring. There’s been no word from her in more than thirty-six hours. What more do you need?”
Charlie had felt himself scrambling. “What about her house? Anyone look there?”
“Of course,” Hoddy had said. “No luck. Dubby Bartlett saw her dog running on the beach without a leash this morning. Her mother was expecting to hear from her by now, but there’s been no word.”
And so the men had paired off to start the search. Charlie joined up with Tink, who had borrowed a powerful lobster boat. The two had known each other only casually from the local beer-and-clam circuit, but they were both hell-bent on finding Tess.
In the early hours, the search had produced all sorts of junk, including a floating Coleman cooler with a few Buds and a Nike golf bag minus the clubs.
Then in the middle of the day, they had spotted a life raft that was partially inflated and blackened with smoke. Hauling it aboard, Tink unraveled when he realized it belonged to Querencia. First, he unleashed a gut-wrenching scream, then he shouted: “No!” That single, simple syllable stretched into an agonizing wail until he ran out of breath, and great gobs of tears coursed down his cheeks, soaking his scruffy beard.
The boat had vanished. Tess was nowhere.
The only life they witnessed all day on that angry ocean was a pod of humpback whales breaching two hundred yards to starboard, spray blasting from their blowholes before they dived to the depths.
In the outer reaches of his mind, Charlie began to wonder what had really happened. Was it Tess in the cemetery last night or her spirit? He had seen thousands of souls come and go and he knew all the vaporous clues. He had never before been fooled. They all gleamed with an aura of light. The old no longer hobbled. The infirm were restored with vigor. At first, their edges would soften and shimmer like gossamer. Then their appearance would change subtly, and they would begin to look the way they had always imagined themselves. Soon, when they were ready to go on to the next level, they would fade away, deliquescing like mist in the sun.
But Tess was different. He had gazed into her emerald eyes. He had stood right next to her. He had listened to her incredible laugh. He had even felt himself falling a little in love. No, she couldn’t have been a spirit. There was nothing diaphanous about her. She was too real, too substantial, too alive. There had to be some mistake.
A wave crashed over the deck, slapping him hard across the face and stinging his eyes. He fought to keep them open, struggling not to blink, for fear of missing her in the water. All day he had prayed to God that He would not take away a person so fine and rare. For each disturbing fact, Charlie had supplied an optimistic answer. Her boat wasn’t in its mooring where it belonged, but the ocean was vast and she could be sailing anywhere. That debris recovered by the fisherman wasn’t necessarily proof of a shipwreck. Maybe it had just fallen off Querencia.
Still, there was the matter of the burned-out life raft. Charlie checked the digital gauges on the dashboard. The thermometer indicated the ocean was fifty-two degrees. From paramedic training he knew that cold water stole body heat thirty times faster than air. Without protective gear, unconsciousness would occur after thirty to sixty minutes and death in one to three hours. But even if her boat had burned and gone to the bottom, Tess had a survival suit onboard that was good for at least seventy-two hours in these temperatures. That was still plenty of time to find her.
In the western sky, Charlie saw splashes of rust and plum. The clouds were bunching in great gouts. The angle of the sun was low on the water, and he suddenly realized for the first time in thirteen years he hadn’t thought about Sam all day. Not even once. Now his heart began to pound. He could feel the panic. There was only an hour of light left to find her—and an hour of light to get home. It was an impossible situation.
Tess was missing. Sam was waiting.
Just then, Tink turned the wheel sharply. “Tank’s almost empty,” he said. “We’re losing the sun. I hate to go back to port, but we don’t have much choice.”
Charlie nodded but felt no relief. It would be incredibly close. “Want me to drive?” he asked, thinking he could increase their speed and improve his chances.
“I’m fine,” Tink said.
So Charlie went to the stern and sat down. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He saw Tess sashaying down the gravel walk in the cemetery. He imagined her pirouetting in the night. And then he replayed every moment in his mind, trying to make sense of it all.
Maybe her beauty had overwhelmed him. Maybe the sparks had distracted him from the signs. Or maybe God had some other reason. How could he have been so wrong?
Charlie stood and moved forward to the cockpit beside Tink. He glanced at the speedometer. Fifteen knots. Tink’s face was flushed, and he was grazing through a giant bag of Oreos. There were black crumbs on his chin.
Charlie looked out and watched a shag dive for mackerel behind the boat. The low light of dusk was slanting off the water, and he knew the sun would be gone at 6:33 P.M.
“Can we speed up a bit?” he asked gently.
“What’s your frigging problem, Mario Andretti? Why the big hurry?”
“I just need to get back.”
He turned the wheel five degrees to starboard. “You got something more important to do? A hot date? League night at the Bowl-O-Mat?”
Charlie didn’t even bother to answer. He stood silently, listening to the thud of the waves against the boat. After a while, Tink reached out with the Oreo bag. A peace offering.
“No, thanks.”
“Look, I’m sorry. My nerves are fried.” He
rubbed his big hands on the wheel. Charlie thought he saw tears in the man’s eyes. Then Tink said, “So how do you know Tess again?”
“We just met.”
But Tink wasn’t really listening. He seemed lost in his own fears. “I never should’ve let her go out into that storm,” he said.
That was strange. Tess hadn’t mentioned bad weather. “Whatever happens,” Charlie said, “she’s going to be okay.”
Tink looked over with sad eyes. “You think?”
“You just have to believe.”
And that was exactly what Charlie was forcing himself to do—believe Tess was okay. But, of course, with every passing moment, with every empty stretch of ocean, his growing fear was that she wasn’t. He knew all about the middle ground between life and death and how spirits separated from their bodies. He had been there briefly himself, only to be shocked back to life. He had to accept the possibility that Tess’s soul had come to the cemetery to find her father without realizing what had happened to her body. Folks often showed up bewildered by their own heart attacks or aneurysms. Sometimes they didn’t even comprehend that life was over and had to spend a few days figuring things out. Others knew right away what had brought them down, and they screamed at God and the world from the moment they arrived. They were the ones who held on to family and friends as long as they could. And then there were the folks who had it the easiest of all, letting go quickly and moving right on to the next realm.
So where did that leave Tess? Could she be wandering the streets of Marblehead, totally unaware that she was a spirit? Or, worse, maybe she had already taken the next step, and he would never see her again.
Up ahead, Charlie saw the mouth of the harbor. The sky was dark gray, and the lighthouse flashed its familiar green beam. As they passed the Corinthian Yacht Club, Rick Vickery, the dockmaster, was getting ready to strike the colors and fire the sunset salute cannon.
Tink steered toward the wharf and glided in smoothly. Charlie jumped out. As he tied up, he heard the blast of the guns. “I’ve got to run,” he said.
