by Gail Cleare
They sat at the little table in a private bubble of emotion, while all around them customers busily filled their shopping baskets and chatted with their friends.
What an amazing puzzle it is—what love will make us do. There was no doubt in her mind that Mom saved Jake out of love. She also believed that Mom had ultimately suffered for it. She’d lost Ginnie, and she would lose Jake too. What else could she do but help him? A woman of much conscience, Mom would have struggled with telling less than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But Nell still didn’t believe that Jake was totally innocent, no matter what Adam might think or Mom had testified. The accident had conveniently rid him of a jealous, unwanted wife and cleared the way for a deeper relationship with Nell’s mother.
What we do for love… to ourselves and for each other.
Chapter 22
Mary ~ 2004
Mary lifted the picnic basket over the side of the boat. Jake dragged the cooler down the dock and hoisted it onto the deck, where Ginnie pulled flotation seat cushions out of the storage compartments. The sun was still bright and warm, but rain was predicted, and Mary eyed the clouds on the horizon with a measuring glance. They had planned to get going in time for one big lap around the lake before the weather changed.
Jake reached out a hand to help her climb on board, looking up at her with a warm smile.
“Do you have to do that?” Ginnie’s voice had a nasty tone.
He turned around, the smile still on his face. “Do what?”
Ginnie stood, pouting. She pointed as he steadied Mary by holding her elbow. “What do you think I mean, Jake? Do you have to touch her all the time?”
Mary stepped onto the deck and went to Ginnie, putting an arm around her friend. “Now, Virginia, you know Jake was just being polite. An old lady like me needs a hand now and then.” She spoke sweetly and broke the tension.
Lately, Ginnie had been nervous, behaving oddly. Jake flirted with Mary a little more than usual, pulling the tiger’s tail, but they’d decided years ago that it would never go further. At sixty-five, and a widow, the last thing Mary wanted was to shake up the comfortable arrangement she had with her neighbors in Vermont. Jake didn’t take the situation seriously enough and insisted on making mischief, but Virginia’s emotional outbursts concerned Mary, who recognized some potentially dangerous symptoms. Her friend seemed deeply depressed.
Ginnie had always been high-strung, but her moods now swung back and forth for no apparent reason. Younger than Mary, she complained about the typical woes of the onset of menopause, but that didn’t seem like enough to explain her paranoid behavior. As an army nurse and married to Thomas for so long, Mary knew a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder. Ginnie’s symptoms were much the same. It seemed as though something had happened in the Bascomb home while Mary had been busy taking care of Thomas. Ginnie and Jake’s relationship had deteriorated.
Their house echoed with remembered laughter and footsteps since Adam had moved out, a hard transition for every aging couple. Mary knew Jake drank a lot, probably too much. She wondered if the couple had fought about it. He went off into the woods to do it and thought nobody would notice. She came across the empty gin bottles when out walking Winston.
Somehow, Ginnie fixated on the idea that after all this time, Mary had suddenly decided to steal her husband. When the night sweats woke her up and he wasn’t in bed, she decided he’d gone to see Mary.
Jake unhooked the moorings and pushed off from the dock, motoring slowly out beyond the harbor area before he raised the sails. Focusing on Ginnie, Mary diverted the conversation to chat about the new library addition. Ginnie seemed to relax, and for the moment, her mood passed. The two women sat together and chatted, enjoying the margaritas, corn chips, and guacamole. Jake piloted them halfway around the lake to the remote area where very few houses hugged the shore and the boat traffic dwindled to next to nothing. He lowered the sails and dropped anchor.
Laughing, drinking, and acting goofy, they were the three amigos again. Jake wore Mary’s straw hat, with its long red ribbon, and stood at the tiller like a gondolier, singing in Italian. Mary wore his Red Sox cap and took a swing at an apple with one of the oars, knocking it over the port side. They watched it sink, then rise back to the surface and bob. The thermos of cocktails went down fast and easy, so Jake and Ginnie started on the jug of white wine he kept in the cabin below. Mary felt drowsy and lay down on one of the bench seats in the sun and rocked, her eyes drifting shut. When she woke up a while later, the sun was gone, the air was chilly, and Ginnie was at it again.
Pulleys squealed as Jake started to raise the sails, preparing to head for home.
“I know everything, and you don’t think so,” Ginnie teased in a singsong voice, following him around as he readied the boat for sailing and took his seat at the tiller.
Jake sent her a venomous look. Mary guessed he’d had enough of Ginnie’s irrational nagging. And it looked as if the two of them had polished off the whole jug of wine while Mary napped. Ginnie staggered and tried to plant her feet more firmly on the deck of the rocking boat.
“Shut up, Virginia. You don’t know shit,” Jake shouted with a snap of temper.
“Don’t you swear at me, Jake Bascomb.” Ginnie’s voice slurred as she watched him with squinted eyes, her curly hair whipping madly in the wind.
The sails flapped noisily as they rose. Mary sat up and reached for her jacket, noticing the storm blowing in from the west. Big, dark thunderclouds huddled on the horizon, spreading toward the lake.
“I’ll say whatever I want,” Jake taunted, moving clumsily to get the boat in motion. “You’re a crazy old biddy, that’s what you are. Now shut up and sit down.”
Ginnie screamed with rage and leaped on Jake, using her fingernails and knocking him away from the ropes he was trying to secure. His forehead was bleeding. Mary shook her sleepy head in shock, slow to respond. The boat was rocking back and forth as they scuffled.
“You trying to get us all killed?” Jake yelled, shoving Ginnie down on the other bench seat, across from Mary. She sat sulking. He struggled to get the boat under control as the breeze picked up, caught the sails, and sent the vessel gliding out into the middle of the lake where the water was dark and deep. Gusts of wind pushed them on a bumpy course, and whitecaps foamed on top of the ragged chop.
Mary could see that at the other end of the lake, everyone had either tied up or gone home to their private docks. The sky was nearly dark now, and the wind moaned. The thought occurred to her that they might be in serious trouble. She looked around for the life jackets. Nobody ever wore them, but Jake kept them on the deck when they were sailing.
Mary’s eyes refocused, and she saw Ginnie standing in front of her, fists clenched.
“Stay away from my husband,” the woman growled. “Stay away from my family. You’ve had your chance. You think now that your husband is finally dead, you can take mine.”
“That’s not true, Ginnie.” Mary reached toward her, pleading, but the boat lurched, and they both lost their balance. Mary sat down again hard, and Ginnie fell to the deck onto her hands and knees. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” Mary shouted. “Please believe me.”
“Virginia,” Jake yelled. “Don’t be an idiot. Sit down and stay there.” His face was furious, and the look he gave her was lethal. “Weather’s going to catch us, Ellie. Go in the cabin and get the rain gear. You girls will freeze. Hold on and be careful.”
He fought with the sails and the tiller as the bow rose up and crashed down again, splashing them with frigid water. He headed across the lake diagonally, pushed by the wind coming from the west and using its power to help the boat cut through the rough waves.
Mary half crawled to the cabin door and got it open, dropping down into the quieter dry space below. She spied the yellow slickers and quickly put one
on, bringing two more back out to the slippery deck. She slid the jackets over to Jake and to Ginnie, who put hers on but left it open, flapping in the wind and doing little good. Jake got his snapped seconds before the storm struck.
The wind howled, and with a loud rushing, seething sound, the rain came. It fell hard enough to sting where it lashed Mary’s bare skin. The gray surface of the lake was textured with craters and spouts. The water churned and foamed like a boiling stew.
Jake seemed to be trying for one long tack across the widest part of the lake, and he gestured for the women to stay seated and hang on. The boat tipped and moved along fast, nearly on its side, as they all leaned against the tilt to keep from capsizing. Jake took his eyes off the sails for a moment to check his passengers, and Mary returned his smile of encouragement. Ginnie saw them exchange glances and stood up to scream at them again.
“You’re still doing it. You won’t stop. You’ll never stop.” Ginnie’s wet hair streamed out behind her like snakes as she crouched on the deck, sobbing, and flung her hands in the air. “You and your secrets. I can’t take it anymore. I hate you both.”
“Ginnie, watch out! It’s not safe.” Mary reached for her hand.
“Virginia, sit on the bench. We don’t have time for this bullshit. I need to come about now. Get ready, stay down.”
Jake fought the wind and the thrashing waves, hanging onto the tiller with both hands.
Mary stood up and lurched to Ginnie’s side, slipping on the wet deck. She threw all her weight on top of the woman, pushing her down on the bench seat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jake nod at her and turn the tiller. The boom began to swing across the deck when the sails caught the wind.
“Don’t touch me,” Ginnie screamed, squirming on the bench until she wriggled free of Mary’s hold. Grabbing for her again, Mary’s hands slid off slick, wet skin. Ginnie got up and stalked toward Jake to leap on him again, hands like claws.
“Ginnie, don’t,” Mary shouted, but the wind picked up her voice and carried it away.
The boom moved faster as the sails wheeled about and the boat turned. Mary saw the look of surprise on Ginnie’s face as she noticed the heavy wooden spar coming straight for her. Jake lunged for his wife to push her down, but it was too late.
The boom hit Ginnie squarely on the side of the head with a sickening smack. It lifted the small woman up off her feet and flung her over the side to disappear into the water with a little splash. Mary watched in a state of shock, unable to believe her eyes. Jake, a desperate look on his face, dropped the sails and dove into the water.
Then the hissing noise of rain on water was the only sound. Mary sat alone on the lake, the only living thing in a steel-gray landscape of misty, foaming water. She couldn’t see the docks anymore or the shoreline. The air had filled with clouds of condensation and darkness.
In a second, they will both come up to the surface, and we’ll bring her home. She’ll be cold, and we’ll have to watch out for shock and concussion. Mary started going over first-aid procedures in her mind, thinking about clearing Ginnie’s airway, doing CPR. Then she saw Jake’s head bob up near the spot where Ginnie had disappeared. He gasped for air and dove again, then again. Mary got up to toss out a few life preservers, but they immediately floated away. There was no sign of Ginnie. No sign at all.
The boat was drifting, so Mary lowered the anchor. She yanked open the cabin doors and ran downstairs to call for help on the radio then came outside with a handful of emergency flares and started firing them off.
Still, Jake dove and dove again. When the flares were all gone, Mary leaned over the side and shone a big flashlight into the water, but it was even darker in the deep. Finally, the rescue boats came with underwater lights and divers in scuba gear. The professionals took over and made Jake get out of the water to rest. They had dry blankets for him and Mary and hot coffee.
The divers searched for hours, the rain finally stopped, and eventually, they found Ginnie’s body on the bottom of the lake, hooked under a fallen tree.
When they pulled up at the town dock, towing Jake’s sailboat behind, police cars waited with their lights flashing silently. A policewoman took Mary home, convinced her to take a hot shower, then had her write and sign a statement. She got to lie down in her own bed that night, crying herself to sleep, filled with dreams of horror and guilt.
But they took Jake directly to jail. Mary was afraid it would be a long time before he slept in his own bed again.
Chapter 23
Nell ~ 2014
Nell kissed her mother good night, careful not to wake her. She reminded the night nurses of her cell phone number and drove back to the cottage slowly, trying to shake the spacey feeling that had hung on her for most of the day. She felt as if she hadn’t slept in days, though it wasn’t true. The constant stress was getting to her, and she desperately wanted her sister to arrive.
Mom was never much of a drinker, maybe one or two glasses of wine with dinner, tops. She said too much alcohol gave her a headache. Nell doubted that she would suddenly change her lifelong habits. And Mom was one of the most even-tempered people that she knew. Even when Nell and Bridget were little and exploded in screaming fights, as sisters did, their mother always remained calm and patient. She said her training as an army nurse taught her to keep her head in the whirlwind. The story Mom had told the police made no sense to Nell. It seemed obvious that her mother had lied to get Jake off the hook.
What really happened? From what Nell knew, only one person on the sailboat that day was a belligerent heavy drinker. According to all accounts, he was at the tiller when his wife went overboard.
Was Ginnie’s death a tragic accident, or is Jake really guilty of murder? In a sailboat, the person at the helm controlled the boom, and someone standing in the way could be hit with it quite easily if they weren’t paying attention.
But the story just didn’t add up. There was something Jake was hiding, Nell felt sure. And for reasons of her own, Mom was helping him hide it.
Nell carried the groceries inside and was greeted by an exuberant Winston, who leapt up and yipped with excitement as he followed her into the kitchen. She opened the back door and let him into the garden, bringing his dish of kibble out to the porch. It was nearly dark, and fireflies were coming out. She got herself a glass of white wine and sat on the back steps to watch the sparkles.
The moon looked full that night. Fat and yellow, it swelled behind the ragged navy-blue and purple clouds, rising so fast she could almost see it move. A dramatic sky soared overhead, filled with mystery—the kind of night when shadows seemed to walk and wolves howled in the woods.
A shape stirred in the trees beyond the rose arbor. Winston pricked up his ears. He ran up the steps to sit beside her, pressing his body against hers as he peered into the shadows.
“Something out there?” Nell said to him. His ears went up, then down, then up again. A little whine sounded in his throat, and he trembled.
Frowning, Nell tried to see into the woods, but it was too dark. Then she heard the noise again… a stick breaking, a rustling.
Winston barked once. The sharp sound made Nell jump.
“Let’s go inside, shall we?” She got up to hold the door open. When they were inside, she quickly locked the door.
“Probably just a raccoon,” she said to Winston, who looked up at her trustingly.
She put the chicken in the oven and went into the den to snuggle with the dog on the couch in front of the TV. While dozing, she heard a knock at the front door, and Winston went crazy with barking.
Nell flipped on the outside lights and swung the door open. Bridget stood on the front porch with Lulu under her arm, a puzzled expression on her face that quickly turned to a smile when she saw Nell.
“Hey, there she is. Hooray!” Nell threw her arms around her sister. “You can�
�t imagine how glad I am to see you.”
Bridget hugged her back, nearly squishing the little poodle between them, then set the dog down in the yard, where she scampered around and sniffed the plantings, her tail wagging.
“Me too.” Bridget had tears in her eyes. “Glad to be here, baby sister.”
“Let’s get your luggage inside.” Nell headed for the driveway, where a red Jeep Cherokee was parked behind her rental car. They hauled Bridget’s bags inside the cottage, and she called Lulu to follow.
“Who’s this?” Bridget asked as Winston greeted the newcomers with a flourish of his feathery white tail. The two dogs raced around in happy circles.
“Mom’s dog. His name is Winston,” Nell answered with a sly grin.
“Mom has a dog?”
“Yep.”
“They let her have him at Maplewood?”
“Nope. Guess again.”
“Mom snuck him into Maplewood?”
“Nope. One more guess.”
Bridget paused and looked around at the living room of the cottage. She sent her sister an impatient glance. “Mom got him up here? On vacation?”
“Nope. Last guess. You lose. Though he does live here—you were right about that.”
“Eleanor Reilly, you tell me what is going on right now. No more fooling around.” Bridget stood with her hands on her hips.
“Okay, calm down.” Nell couldn’t resist teasing and raised her hand with a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to Mom’s very own secret hideaway, our new, old country cottage.”
Bridget walked slowly through the living room and into the kitchen, where the delicious aromas of dinner cooking rose out of the oven. There was a suspicious look on her face, and she frowned at her sister.
“In here,” Nell said, leading her into the den and turning her around to face the wall of photos.
