by Sarah Jio
I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about my marriage or my daughter. If the circumstances arose, I’d fight for her. And yet, I don’t know the extent of Esther’s story, so I don’t pry. Besides, there’s a look in her eyes that tells me she had no other choice.
“At the time, a houseboat was all I could afford,” she continues. “The lake wasn’t fancy like it is now. I bought it for five hundred dollars, and now it’s worth five hundred thousand. Some investment, don’t you think?”
I smile. “Quite.”
“I was tempted to sell over the years,” she says. “Especially after that movie came out.”
“Movie?”
“Sleepless in Seattle. For a few years, it was like a pilgrimage. Folks came out here from all over the world wanting to live the lifestyle they saw in the movie.”
“I loved that movie,” I say.
Esther shrugs. “I never did see it.”
“You should; it’s really good.”
“Well, no amount of money could make me sell,” she says. “I travel frequently and I need a home base. I also left a big part of my heart here.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes,” she says. “And a man.”
“Oh?”
“He lives in a retirement home in Seattle. We haven’t spoken since 1943. But sometimes I’ll watch from the sidewalk when he’s out in the garden.”
I gasp. “You still love him.”
“I always will,” she says matter-of-factly. “I gave him my heart as a girl, and he’s still in possession of it.”
She must sense my confusion. “Listen, my dear,” she says. “My life has been convoluted and complicated, certainly anything but conventional. But I’m happy with it just the same.”
“But don’t you wish you could know him now, this man you loved so much? Don’t you wish you could have had a life with him?”
“Of course I do,” she says, sitting down on the sofa. I take a seat beside her. “But that wasn’t how our story was meant to be. You see, some love stories are different than others. Some last but a moment; others a lifetime. I was fortunate to have the latter; I just didn’t have the privilege of spending every day with him. It doesn’t mean our love was any less significant. Our time together had to end, but our love lived on.”
I think for a moment about James, about our short, sweet life together. And I know that no matter who else my heart encounters in this life, it won’t ever change what we had together.
“Well,” Esther continues. “Listen to me rambling on.”
“Why don’t you go see him?” I ask. “Don’t you want to visit him after all these years?”
She nods. “I do, terribly so. But I haven’t found the right moment. Honestly, after so much time, I’m a bit frightened. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if time has erased his love for me?”
I shake my head. “You have to go—before it’s too late.”
She nods.
“What’s his name?”
“Elliot,” she says. “Elliot Hartley.” She looks deep in thought, as though imagining a moment they shared long ago.
I hear a scratching sound in the direction of the bureau on the wall.
Esther looks at me. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What do you think it is?”
“A rat,” she says, standing. “Here, help me pull it out from the wall. We’ll shoo it away.”
I nod, placing my hands on the right side of the mahogany dresser.
“On the count of three,” Esther says. “One, two, three.”
Together we pull the dresser away from the wall, and immediately see the intruder, a squawking, feather-covered . . . duck.
“Well would you get a load of that,” Esther says. “It’s a duck.” She kneels down to level with the bird woman to woman. “Honey, what in the world are you doing in my houseboat?”
The mallard gives a defiant quack, then waddles out to the dock.
“That must be Henrietta,” I say.
“Henrietta?”
“She lives on the dock, with her husband,” I explain. “Er, duck husband. His name is Haines.”
“Oh,” Esther says. “Yes, I do remember Jimmy saying something about a couple of fighting ducks.”
It’s funny to hear her speak of Jim as Jimmy. “Oh, before I go,” I say, standing up, “there’s just one thing I’m hoping you can help me sort out.”
“Of course,” she says. “What is it, dear?”
“Do you recall a man named Collin who once lived on Boat Street?”
Her eyes close and open again. “Oh, yes,” she says. “How could I ever forget Collin? He was special. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“So you knew him?”
“Yes,” she says. “Briefly. He was a boat maker. He made extraordinary wooden boats.” I think of the Catalina, but I don’t interrupt her stream of memories, for fear they’ll cease. “He was only here on the dock a short time. He was running from something. I knew what that was like. I was too.”
“What happened to him?”
She sighs. “I wish I knew, dear. I came home from a trip to Europe and he’d already gone. That was after Penny vanished too. I like to think that they’re together. That they sailed off into the sunset and that was that.” She shakes her head. “But I’m not so sure it ended that way.”
“Why not?”
She peers out to the dock to make sure no one’s listening before continuing. “Because of the pact.”
“The pact?” I instantly recall Alex saying something similar.
She nods. “Those who were here the night that Penny vanished vowed never to divulge what they knew.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “I can tell you I never did find out the truth, and I don’t think I ever will. The secret will die with all of them. They’re stubborn that way, houseboaters.”
I don’t tell her that I’ve vowed to find out what happened to Penny, to drag the secret from the depths of the lake if that’s what it takes. “Well, I should be going,” I say to Esther. “It was so nice to meet you.”
She winks. “You, too, dear.”
I don’t see Henrietta when I walk out to the dock, and I hope she’s reunited with Haines—for Jim’s sake, at least. I return to my houseboat and unload the groceries. I remember what Joanie said about finding pages of a deposition from young Jimmy, and I’m eager to see if she’s sent it.
I open my e-mail and see a new message from Joanie. I click on it with anticipation. “Here you go,” she writes. “Read the last line. It’s creepy.”
I pull open the document and wait for it to load. A moment later a scanned page from a typewritten police report appears on my screen:
TESTIMONY FROM JIMMY CLYDE, SON OF MR. GENE AND MRS. NAOMI CLYDE, OF 2209 FAIRVIEW AVENUE EAST, SEATTLE.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Son, please state your name for the record.
JIMMY CLYDE: Jimmy Clyde, sir.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Please state your age.
JIMMY CLYDE: Nine years old, sir.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Now Jimmy, please share with us how you came to know Mrs. Wentworth.
JIMMY CLYDE: You mean Penny?
OFFICER CLAYTON: That’s right, son. Penny Wentworth. Don’t cry, son; there’s nothing to be afraid of.
JIMMY CLYDE: But I . . .
OFFICER CLAYTON: What is it, son?
JIMMY CLYDE: Will she come back, sir? Will she ever come back?
OFFICER CLAYTON: That’s why we’re talking to you, young man. We’re trying to make sure she does. Now tell us how you came to know Mrs. Wentworth, Jimmy.
JIMMY CLYDE: She lived near me. She was always so nice. Nicer than anyone I’ve ever met.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Did she ever talk about anyone being unkind to her, Jimmy? Anyone who wanted to hurt her?
JIMMY CLYDE: No, sir. But she was sad a lot.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Oh? How do you know that, Jimmy?
JIMMY CLYDE: Beca
use I saw her crying. He made her cry.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Who, Jimmy? Come on, now, you can tell me.
JIMMY CLYDE: Mr. Wentworth.
OFFICER CLAYTON: And why did Mr. Wentworth make her cry?
JIMMY CLYDE: I don’t know.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Help me understand, Jimmy.
JIMMY CLYDE: Mother says he’s better than her. But that’s not true. Penny was the nicest lady in the whole wide world. Maybe he told her that. Maybe it hurt her feelings.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Now why would your mother say that about Mrs. Wentworth?
JIMMY CLYDE: I don’t know, sir.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Please, Jimmy, you have to help us here. You were one of the last people to see Mrs. Wentworth. Any clue you can give us will help our case.
JIMMY CLYDE: Will it help bring Penny home?
OFFICER CLAYTON: We hope so, son.
JIMMY CLYDE: Then I’ll tell you.
OFFICER CLAYTON: What is it?
JIMMY CLYDE: On the night she disappeared, Mr. Wentworth was angry at her. I heard him shouting, and it frightened me.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Jimmy, what did he say?
JIMMY CLYDE: I can’t remember, sir.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Please try, son.
JIMMY CLYDE: Why did he hurt her, sir? Why? She was an angel. She was an angel sent from heaven. I know it. And he had to go and hurt her.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Please, don’t cry, son. Everything’s going to be all right.
JIMMY CLYDE: But it won’t. And you know that. Because she’s never coming home.
OFFICER CLAYTON: Let the record show that Jimmy’s parents have submitted an injunction, which I’m holding in my hands now, halting any further interrogation of the child on the basis that he is mentally incapable of answering questions in a factual way.
I open my laptop and pull up my memoir in progress, but all I can think about is Penny and why any of the residents of Boat Street would have wanted to silence the truth.
Chapter 27
PENNY
There they are again,” Jimmy says, pointing to the men on Collin’s deck.
“You’ve seen them before?”
“Mama says they’re the police,” he says. “She says that Collin is a criminal.”
“That’s nonsense,” I say quickly, though it occurs to me that Collin has told me so little of his past.
Jimmy shakes his head. “He doesn’t seem like a criminal.”
“I assure you, honey, he’s most certainly not.”
“Then why do these men keep coming to look for him?”
“Maybe they just want to talk to him.” I say. The men notice us then, waving at me and gesturing toward the dock.
A few minutes later, they appear in front of us on the dock. “Excuse me, miss,” one says. “May we have a word with you?”
I stand up. “Of course,” I say, hoping they don’t detect the quiver in my voice.
“I’m Colonel Everett, and this is my colleague,” he says. I recognize military stripes on his jacket. “We’d speak to the others on the dock, but, well, they appear to have had a bit too much to drink.”
I remember the way Dex was slurring his words, and I nod. “How can I help you?”
“You see,” the man says, “we’re looking for a Mr. Collin McCleary. Do you happen to know him?”
I nod. “Yes,” I say honestly. “He is the neighbor on the next dock.”
“You see, miss,” the man continues, “Mr. McCleary is wanted for a serious crime against the US government.”
I gasp. “What do you mean?”
“He is wanted for treason.”
I notice Jimmy’s eyes go wide beside me, and I realize that I can’t let him hear a word more of this exchange. “Honey,” I say to him, “go on inside until I’m finished talking to these gentlemen, all right?”
He obeys and walks inside. When I hear the door close behind me, I turn back to the officer.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Treason?”
“It’s a serious offense, and we want him for questioning.”
“But what has he done?”
Colonel Everett looks at his partner, then turns back to me. “He defected from his unit in Korea. He’s been living under an assumed name.”
I shake my head. This can’t be happening. “You mean Collin isn’t his real name?”
“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”
I don’t want to know his real name. I don’t want to know any of this. In the period of a minute and a half, these men in their dark suits and their lapels full of military insignia are threatening to change my view of Collin, and I don’t want to hear another word of it.
“Well,” Colonel Everett continues. “If you see him, please call this number.” He hands me a stiff white business card.
I nod despondently, and then they turn to leave. Jimmy tiptoes out to the deck a moment later. He must sense my worry, because he tucks his hand in mine. “Are you afraid?” he asks.
“I’ll be honest with you, Jimmy, darling,” I say, kneeling down so that my eyes meet his. “I am, a little.” I think of Collin’s love for me, and I know that even despite the setbacks—the moment on the dock, the unknown men who seek him so relentlessly—things will be fine. We’ll be fine. I smile. “You see, even grown-ups feel afraid sometimes.” I smooth his hair with my hand. “I wish someone would have told me that a long time ago. When I was a little girl, I thought that perfection was waiting at the end of growing up. But it hasn’t happened that way for me.”
He nods, but I know that true understanding of my words might be years away. I sigh over the painful passage of time and look out to the lake, desperate to move the seconds forward. I’m all but certain that the light brightening the nighttime horizon is Collin, my knight on a white sailboat, coming to take me away.
It takes some persuading, but I finally convince Jimmy to go home. I stay out on the deck, alone. There is no sign of Dex. The sound of music and laughter continues up the dock, so I know the party is still raging on. So I wait. And then, just after eleven, the faint light I’ve been so hopefully tracking is suddenly upon me. I see the sailboat motoring in from the dark water, the dim light of the moon reflecting on Collin’s face. He’s seated beside the tiller, and he kills the engine, letting the sailboat creep in quietly.
I rise to my full height, and wave to him with open arms. Neither of us speaks, but I can see his expression ease. A minute later, he secures the boat to the dock, and he leaps out to stand beside me. The tension between us burns. The slightest touch is certain to generate a spark, or perhaps an electric shock.
“You came,” I say, sinking into his embrace. The elation lasts but for an instant, dulled at the thought of the men who were standing on the dock just hours prior.
“Collin, we have to talk about something important.”
He looks startled and then frowns. “You still love him, don’t you?” Before I can answer, he continues. “I saw the way you were dancing with him tonight.”
“No, I—”
“I want your whole heart for my own,” he says, “but I suppose that’s more than you can give. That’s why I stormed out.” He looks at his feet, before turning his gaze up at me again, expectantly. “Penny, I’d be happy if I just had half of it.”
“Oh, Collin,” I say, squeezing his hand reassuringly.
His eyes brighten.
“There’s something else,” I say, letting go of his hand. “Two men have been looking for you. Collin, they told me that you’re being charged with treason.”
He looks silently out to the lake.
“So, it’s true?”
He raises his hands to the back of his neck and lifts off the silver chain that holds his military dog tags. I studied the metal plates on nights we were together, and held them in my hands, listening to the way they clinked together on Collin’s bare chest. I asked him to tell me about his time in the military, but he was always silent. Until now.
He opens my hand a
nd sets the silver chain, still warm from his skin, in my palm. “They’re not mine,” he says. “I never wanted to join the military, but when I turned eighteen, my father marched me down to the station and told me it was the honorable thing to do. I wanted to make him proud, but I didn’t realize I was actually signing my life away.”
I nod and continue listening.
“At first I thought it would be adventurous, shipping off to Korea, but when I got there, I realized I had made a horrible mistake. I knew how to build boats, but I never wanted to use them to kill people. Penny, I saw death and destruction all around. Women, children were cut down by bombs and bullets. I held a little Korean boy in my arms after our attack took out his village. I held him as he took his last breath.”
I look away. This picture of war is more than I can bear.
“When my unit was hit, we were miles away from our base, on leave for the night,” Collin continues. I’m not ready to hear his story, but he needs to tell me. I hold still. “A man was badly burned. Unrecognizable. His name was Collin, and he was on his last tour. He was heading home to Washington the next day. That night I had two choices: Find my way back and continue fighting that miserable war, or take the chance to start a new life for myself.”
“So you took his dog tags,” I say. “You took his identity.”
“I did,” he says. “Penny, I’m not proud of what I did. But I have to live with my choices. And because of them I will always be running.”
“And what about his family? Do they simply think he’s missing in action?”
“When I made it home,” he says, “I went to see his folks. I told them the truth. They didn’t take it very well. They wanted their son buried properly, instead of beneath a tombstone mismarked with my name. But I gave them every cent I had, which at the time was quite a bit. I’d made four boats and assisted in the building of dozens more, so I had money saved before the war. It only seemed fitting to give it to them.”
“And that kept them silent?”
“I hoped it would,” he says. “But I guess they’ve finally gone to the authorities. I knew they would when the money ran out.”
