by ANN HYMES
“We watched Emily’s belly grow, and I recall the day your father told her she shouldn’t disappear alone down the beach anymore. She didn’t much like being told what to do, but she didn’t offer a peep of resistance to the idea. I think she knew it made sense. It was too cold to go sailing, but she loved to walk the beach. Your dad didn’t want her givin’ birth in a sand dune someplace. She was an independent thing, that Em, just like her mama.”
Theresa had a million questions to ask about her mother and grandmother, and here was a man who had the answers, but this special evening was for remembering her father. She wanted to fulfill his wishes with love and gratitude for his devotion to her. He had been her whole family until Kevin, and the voices now creeping from the past would have their own time to be heard.
“Ready to cast off?”
Stormy was already loosening the lines from the pilings. Theresa nodded and held her box tight. It felt heavy on her lap. She was holding her father in a way she had never imagined, and they were traveling together at last to meet her mother.
Jeff sat close to her. He did not offer to hold the box or to help Stormy but sat quietly, allowing them each to reflect on the situation that brought them together. Theresa briefly wondered whether Jeff was taking time away to sort through issues of his marriage as well. Did men think about their marriages—or only about their wives?
Early evening was a quiet time on the water. Tourists had already left the piers to find dinner or other amusement. Fishermen had returned with their catches, washing and readying their boats for the next day’s departure. Nets dried in graceful folds, like shawls draped across a chair after the party. Stars began to appear above the ghostly gray horizon, and bits of somber orange flickered through the darkening trees from a distant sunset behind Provincetown.
Theresa thought for a moment how much cheerier this boat trip would have been in early morning. She daily marveled at the huge, fiery ball that slowly pushed up to the glistening wet surface, revealing itself only in small amounts, teasing the viewer with its majesty. She watched with wonder this special gift of coastal living. Brilliant layers of gold and yellow shattered like fairy dust across the sparkling water as the sunrise took over each day. And then quiet ripples carried the color away.
Stormy was the first to break the silence. “Life preservers are in the benches under you. Anybody feel the need to put one on?”
The two passengers shook their heads, and Theresa realized that Stormy might be trying to gauge her fear as well as being obedient to Coast Guard regulations. Unconsciously, she patted the side of the box on her lap.
“We’ll go a little further out than required,” Stormy continued. “I thought you’d like to be clear of the night fishers and anchored parties. This is a private time, and I want you to feel private. It’s a beautiful night, warmer than we’ve had.”
Theresa turned her face toward the bow and let the wind blow her hair straight back. She was beginning to like being on boats and the feel of the water passing along under her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine sailing, without the noise of an engine. Sailing must create an incredible closeness to the water, she thought. A closeness and trust.
About twenty minutes passed without further conversation. The gray sky blackened, blurring the line between water and heavens. Scattered stars reached down around them, and a bright moon held its place, not quite full or perhaps no longer full. Theresa was better at observing sunrises.
Stormy slowed the boat and removed his cap. “How about here? The wind is calm, and the ocean is ours. Does it feel okay?”
Theresa wasn’t sure what would ever make this business feel okay, but she sensed that of all the choices she could think of, this was going to be the one.
“Yes … yes, it’s fine. Thank you, Stormy. And thanks for decorating your boat for us. I’m just so grateful we ran into you.”
She knew that tears were about to come and that they were for meeting this man who was so close to her family, as well as for saying goodbye to her father.
“Love takes shape in many ways,” she said softly to herself.
Stormy shut off the engines altogether, letting the small boat drift and bob. The lights on the boat seemed to twinkle, challenging the stars, and the red bandanas fluttered on the lines like butterflies trying to catch their balance. He let his passengers get used to the calm and the feel of being rocked by a great and gentle hand.
“Would you like to say a few words, Theresa?” Jeff asked.
Theresa wiped her eyes and hugged the cardboard box. “Daddy, I love you. Thank you for a beautiful life. Thank you for always being there for me, for loving me even when I probably didn’t deserve it. Thank you for your wonderful sense of humor, your patience, and your orange pancakes.” She laughed through her tears. “We had a lot of fun, and you will always be close to me. I miss you, Dad.”
A muted sound of bells began to echo across the water. Theresa turned and saw Stormy holding a long rack of brass bells wrapped with colorful bits of cloth. He shook them slightly, and joyous, tinkling sounds of celebration filled the air, dancing with the moonbeams.
“I got these when I was in the Pacific years ago. They’ve sent many a cold ash into this ocean, but the hearts always linger with the living. They stay with us always, Theresa.”
She smiled at this wise and curious old man. For a few minutes the bells rang, and grief was postponed.
“Guess we better do what we came for,” Stormy said. “You come around on this side, so you’re workin’ down wind. Not much blowin’ tonight, but we don’t want any surprises. Your dad wouldn’t want to be flyin’ around aimless-like, makin’ a mess. It wasn’t his nature!”
He laughed softly and held onto Theresa to steady her at the railing. She carefully opened the box and leaned out over the dark water, so black and cold-looking she wondered how life could stand to be in there.
The box was awkward in her arms, and Jeff helped her tip the open end toward the water. The first ashes swirled high in the air and blew far out across the surface, landing beyond their view. Together they shook the box lower, and the remainder of the ashes floated like delicate snow, fine and fluffy, before settling on the water. Some blew on wind rows with the current, then slowly sank into the blackness.
Theresa stood watching with the empty box, wondering how the accumulation of so much lightness could have been so heavy. She whispered, “Goodbye,” but knew that the letting go was not over.
“Godspeed, my friend,” Stormy said with such tenderness that Theresa turned to look at him. The tips of his fingers brushed his forehead in a simple salute, and his watery eyes reflected the lights of the boat and the sorrow of many goodbyes. He reached down and picked up a long, curved piece of wood with intricate carvings and thumped it with a padded stick.
The haunting, mellow sound of the gong repeated again and again. Tied butterflies struggled to get loose, and a watchful moon stood guard.
Chapter Fourteen
THERESA WAS ANXIOUS to get back to Whimsy Towers. The hour-long drive gave her time to think about her life, the thirty-four-year prologue to this trip, and the visible and invisible imprints she’d left in getting here. The future sometimes raises its curtain slowly. She sensed that happiness and fulfillment depended on the improvement of moments, the gradual realization of promise. Had she wasted the years? Could she figure out the direction forward for her life?
The lights she’d left on inside gave the house a warm glow, with moonlight spreading over the roof. She stopped the car midway in the drive. Tomorrow she had plans to see Stormy again, and he would tell her things about this place that would bring the past right to her door. Whimsy Towers would no longer be a painted lady with secrets; she was about to be exposed.
Theresa heard Gypsy barking as she pulled up and turned off Red Rover. Hurrying around the corner of the house, she wondered what the commotion was ab
out. Gypsy was standing inside the door, barking anxiously, while wagging her tail with enthusiastic greeting. The front of her was on guard-dog alert, and the back half was pet-me friendly. Protective, eager love was a great companion, thought Theresa, as she glanced around to see whether anything looked amiss. Gypsy stopped barking only when Theresa let her race outside, eagerly sniffing the porch floor and following a scent that hung in the evening air.
“What’s the matter, girl?” asked Theresa. “Everything’s okay.” She tried to reassure her furry detective, but then her eyes fell on a folded piece of paper tucked under one of the large flower pots. There was not enough light to read the note, and her heart pounded with apprehension as she went inside. The phone began to ring.
“Hello, Theresa? It’s Jeff.”
“Well, hi.”
“I just wanted to be sure you got home all right and were doing okay.”
She didn’t remember giving Jeff her phone number.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. And thanks again for all your support. You’ve been my guardian angel, being there when I needed help. You really were the one who brought this all together, and it was a beautiful evening.”
“I was an unknowing facilitator!” Jeff laughed and then became serious. “I enjoyed being with you and meeting Stormy. He seems like quite a guy.”
“Yes, I look forward to getting to know him. He’s a gift of new family.”
The phone line became quiet, and then Jeff said, “I think relationships have a way of replenishing themselves. The players change, but the relationship connections get refilled. Do you think that’s a cold-hearted way to think of it?”
“No, I suppose that’s a very practical way, a healing way. People do not stay in our lives forever, but fresh beginnings have risk—and disappointment.” And then she added, wistfully, “I think what we hold onto is safety, wanting the certainty of the familiar, but I wish I could talk with my father and ask him why he kept Stormy and Grandmother a secret.”
Theresa could hear the waves through the still-open door. Crickets offered their night song, and Gypsy had disappeared into voiceless prowling. The lullaby of wind, water, and darkness was pulling her drifting thought away from conversation. She yearned to sink into the deep cushions and dream of birthday cakes and lacey socks, hamsters wearing pink bows, and Easter eggs hiding in the bushes. She wanted all her yesterdays. She wanted to line up the people from her life and be reintroduced.
“Theresa, are you there? Hello?”
The voice startled her, and she remembered with a jolt that Jeff was still on the phone.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking …. ”
“That’s okay. I know you’ve had quite a day, and I won’t keep you. But, Theresa … ” He hesitated. “Could I see you again?”
She tried to focus her drifting mood and understand what he was asking. The silence lingered a little too long.
“Maybe you could join the girls and me for a picnic,” he began. “Or a beach walk. We’re experts at finding sea treasures. Have you seen the gorgeous colored pebbles on the beach? They’re like rainbows just under the water. Provincetown is full of surprises.”
Theresa laughed to herself and wondered what Jeff really meant.
“That would be fine,” she replied. “You have two very nice little girls, Jeff, and I’d like to see them again.”
She suddenly realized it sounded as though she wanted only to see the children, but she lacked the energy to retract her words or fumble through innuendo. Let it be. After all, she was not positioning herself for a relationship, and friends set limits by behavior as well as words.
“They liked you, too, and that sounds great! I’ll call you in a day or so.”
Theresa was touched by his enthusiasm and genuinely grateful for the help he had been to her, but she was tired, exhausted beyond civility, and feeling adrift in new currents. She briefly closed her eyes. Oddly, she wanted to call Kevin.
Leaning back into the pillows of the couch, she gazed at the kitchen ceiling and saw the painted life preserver ring with the words, “Too Late.” She said Kevin’s name aloud and reached to dial the number, but the room closed in and gently carried her off with the painted angels, slipping between the clouds.
She awoke in an hour, still clutching the recent delivery. Slowly unfolding the paper, she saw the same careful handwriting as before. Theresa needed answers about these nibbles and notes! She paused as curiosity chased dread, and then began to read:
I run fast when the ocean calls. Trees hurry by the other way as we pass. They sing in wind of danger and sorrow. They echo the whisper of lost baby. I look for her. Every day I look for her. The water is empty of babies, but the clouds look down with softness. Tree voices tell clouds to make a pillow for the baby. She can trade her cold wet sleep for softness. I look for her. Every day I look for her.
Theresa read the note several times and felt strangely comforted by it. The writer of these words was not a threat to her or a danger. A poetic and thoughtful stalker? This writer had an aching soul and a desire to help. There was love in these words. But who was the lost baby? And why was the message at Whimsy Towers?
She reached again for the phone and dialed Kevin. A groggy voice answered on the third ring.
“Oh, Kevin, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. What time is it?”
“Are you calling to set your clocks?”
“No, Kevin,” she answered, not sure whether he was being humorous or irritated. “I wanted to tell you about my day.”
“At midnight? Is everything okay?”
She seemed to be asked that question rather often recently. She put it aside for future thought and did not answer.
“I buried my dad tonight. And I met Stormy. He took us out this evening in his fishing boat.”
She did not explain the “us,” but let it float in the space between them as if she meant her father. Theresa had not talked to Kevin since before the whale watching trip and losing the ashes the day before, and she had news to share that was safe and nonthreatening to their marriage. Her clipped sentences did not immediately convey the information or betray her emotions. She could tell that Kevin was waiting patiently for the details to unfold.
“It was really peaceful. The ashes just melted into the water. A painless union.”
She was rehearsing the evening as if talking to herself.
“Nobody else was anywhere near. Just us and the vastness of forever water and sky. Mission accomplished. My parents are together again.”
Her midnight musings were eating up her husband’s scarce sleep time, but Theresa needed to sort slowly through the events that were opening up Whimsy Towers, and Kevin was part of the discovery process. She wanted to include him, but only from a distance that would allow facts without personal exposure.
“How did you meet Stormy?”
“That’s a miracle!” exclaimed Theresa, eager to share her new connection to the past. “I went on a whale watch, and someone there recommended him as a way to send off ashes to the sea. When I met him, I asked if he knew my grandmother. I mean, how many ‘Stormys’ can there be? What do you think the odds were of that happening?”
“Just enough. Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in chance.”
“No, I don’t really. I believe that things happen with purpose, that there is a plan. I don’t think I was there by coincidence.”
“Where does he live?” continued Kevin, which avoided a philosophical detour.
“I really don’t know. We met in Provincetown. He has a small fishing boat, and I assume he’s a fisherman and takes out charters. I have so many questions! I’m going to meet him there tomorrow for dinner—or rather, tonight, I guess. Want to be jealous of a weathery old man?”
She hadn’t mentioned the other two men she had spent time with, and she suddenly blushed with the memory of
Rick. Kevin didn’t pick up the bait, and she was glad not to go down that slippery road. She wanted Kevin to know what she was discovering about her family but not about herself.
“I’ll be anxious to hear what you learn,” he said.
Kevin’s response was his way of wrapping up the conversation. Useful information that would open closed doors of the past was coming in installments. Theresa knew that until she had peace of mind, they would both be unsettled by her restlessness.
She fell asleep on the couch, stretched out full length on the flowery cushions. Still warmly dressed from being out on the water, she dreamed of walking the beach, looking for a lost baby, calling helplessly in the wind. She walked and walked, as if the beach had no end and the search had no answer.
A faint scratching sound startled her, and she opened her eyes unwillingly. A little more time. She needed a little more time to find the baby. Feeling exhausted from the dream, Theresa lay still and watched the clouds float on the ceiling. Daylight filled the room. She felt the soft cushions around her and realized she was in her own house, and there was no baby.
The scratching persisted. Theresa sat up and heard short bursts of whimpering from the direction of the porch, a mournful plea of distress and expectation.
“Oh, Gypsy!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Gypsy, girl! I forgot you!”
The dog had spent her first night outdoors. Theresa saw a rounded indentation in the fresh mulch around the lilacs, just about the size of a middle-aged, curled-up Labrador.
“Thanks for staying close to home. Let’s have some breakfast,” she said as she followed Gypsy into the kitchen and began to turn off the lights. “It’s going to be an exciting day.”
Gypsy munched her dry food eagerly, as if hungry for the return of familiar routine. The tea kettle whistled a piercing, loud scream as the phone rang. Theresa ran for one and then the other.
