by Mary Haskell
"Yeah?"
"How're you doing?"
"Okay. It's just I've got a pretty bad stomachache. It'll be gone tomorrow."
"I think you should move in with me. Your father can sleep in here or on the couch." That would solve two problems.
Rick didn't protest. He struggled out of bed and fol owed his mother down the hal , dropping like a lead weight onto Larry's bed.
Jenny slipped into the kitchen, got a bowl, located a washcloth, and went back into the bedroom, where she gently washed her son's hot face. He moaned a bit but didn't resist. A search of the bathroom turned up no rubbing alcohol, so Jenny once again managed to slip in and out of the other room without attracting any undue attention— certainly not, she noted, from her husband. This time she fil ed a glass with gin. At least if ol'
Ken saw her, he'd figure she had decided to loosen up. She swathed Rick's chest and back with the sharp-smel ing stuff.
The cold shock of the liquid jarred Rick awake. His nose crinkled at the acrid smel . "Mom, what're you doing to me? Trying to get my skin drunk?"
She had to smile. "No. But alcohol is alcohol. This will bring your fever down. Just think of yourself as a prisoner in a juniper patch."
"Thanks a lot, Mom." Just the same, he smiled his gratitude for her care as he snuggled down to go to sleep.
"Rick, if you wake up feeling worse, be sure to cal me, okay?"
"Okay." He was already half asleep.
She pushed Larry's things into his bag and stepped into the hal to put the bag outside the door. Just as she did, she almost ran into her husband. "Jen? Where'd you go?" He saw his bag. "What're you doing?"
"Rick has moved in with me. You can sleep in Greg's room or out on the sofa."
"Now how the hel is that going to look to the Clarksons?"
"Now why the hel should I care?"
"What's the matter with you?" He was speaking slowly, enunciating each syllable.
"You're drunk."
"Me? I never get drunk."
"Larry, you're out of control. Go sleep it off."
"So... what's s'bad about that? Why can't you get just one little tiny bit out of control once in a while?"
Somewhere, beneath the deadness, a flicker of rage sparked. She stomped it out. "What do you want of me, Larry? You have asked me to stand by with calm, col ected, reasonable control until you decide whether you do or don't want me. Now you're mocking me for doing so. Now listen, and listen careful y. Right now, at this moment, I believe beyond any doubt that if that control goes, so wil our marriage." She whirled around, stepped into the bedroom, and slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Ten
The fol owing morning the fog was worse. Jenny's heart plummeted when she peered out the window. She had so hoped for a clear day. Sitting up, she looked over at Rick. He was sleeping soundly, his body straight and a peaceful expression on his face. Thank God, he seemed to be better. Jenny got dressed, packed her bag, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Shortly after eight Rick shuffled out, rubbing his eyes. "Hi, hon," Jenny greeted him. "How are you this morning? I've got some pancake batter mixed. Would you like some breakfast?"
Rick looked at her through darkly circled eyes. "No thanks, Mom, I stil don't feel too hot. What time are we leaving?"
Jenny studied him more closely. He stil looked flushed. "I don't know. The fog is worse than it was yesterday.
Maybe we should stay over, or at least wait to see if it lifts." "It didn't lift al day yesterday, and I have our course al plotted. It's not hard to find Stonington. You and Dad have done it lots of times, haven't you?"
She nodded. Both of them were familiar with these waters, and fog didn't usual y deter them. It was just that this was particularly thick, and she was afraid it might not hold a candle to the thickness of her husband's head when he awoke.
By ten everyone was up and discussing the weather. Larry's face matched the gray tinge of the fog. But far more alarming than his morning-after symptoms were the glimpses she caught of Rick, bent over and holding his stomach when he thought no one was watching. A creeping alarm began to invade her heart. She maneuvered Larry to one side. "I think we should get going."
Larry grimaced. "I don't know, this fog is wicked. We might do better to hang around until tomorrow and hope for a wind change. Besides, I feel rotten."
"How you feel is beside the point. Rick has been sick since last night. He also has a lot of pain that he's trying to conceal."
A glint of alarm immediately appeared in Larry's eyes. "You don't think..."
"I don't know."
Larry crossed the room and sat beside Rick, talking to him softly, checking over the studiously prepared nautical directions that were written on smal sheets of notepaper. He looked over at Jenny with a concerned frown and nodded. They were going.
The rumble of the engine seemed startlingly loud as they made their way slowly around the south end of the island. Rick livened up the moment the fresh sea air hit his face. He seemed determined to continue his role as skipper, so he stood close beside Larry, giving directions, leaving his side only long enough to help his mother with the sails. "Okay, Dad,"—Rick consulted his little slips of paper— "we've gone between Matinicus and Black Rock, so we can set our course for Stonington." Larry adjusted the wheel, checking the compass.
Jenny sat in the cockpit, keeping an anxious watch on her son's face. He appeared to be doing better and was intent on his sailing duties. This fog was oppressive, dark and heavy and stifling. It matched the mood she had been in since the night before.
Larry had attempted a gruff apology, but the wal between them was thicker than the fog. The hurt she had tried to shut out had broken through and was gnawing at her.
Rick's voice cut through her reverie. "That's Whalebank Bel , so set the course at sixty-four degrees magnetic for Saddleback Ledge Light."
"Is that the one off Isle Au Haut?"
"Yeah. About three miles offshore. It's eleven nautical miles from here, so it should be a pretty free run for a couple of hours."
Jenny stepped to Rick's side. "Do you feel al right now?"
He grinned reassuringly. "Sure, fine. The pain's a lot better."
Maybe it was just the cloying fog that gave him that ashen color. "In that case, I'm going down to the cabin to take a nap. But if you need me, hol er." It was good to sleep. When she was asleep she didn't have to think.
Rick patted her shoulder. "Have a good nap, Mom. You're in expert hands."
As Larry watched her descend the steps he experienced an immense sense of loss. It felt so much better to have Jenny here at his side. But he had been such a jackass the night before, he could understand her wish to stay away from him. Damn, what a mess.
He furtively studied Rick. Despite the boy's insistence that he felt fine, Larry was worried about him. He spread his feet wider apart and steadied his hold on the wheel. The sea wasn't rough, but the waves were big and rol ing, requiring constant attention and effort at the wheel. He glanced over at Rick, who had huddled under a blanket on the seat and was drifting off to sleep. A sure sign, if ever there was one, that he wasn't up to par.
Larry had already decided that when they reached port they would head for a good restaurant and a warm hotel instead of spending the night on the boat. He didn't know whether his troublesome premonitions were due to his taut nerves or to the bluish tinge of his son's skin. Let's face it, he thought, he'd been expecting disaster to strike for weeks, and being out in the ocean in this thick chowder with a sick son didn't help.
He wished he could stop his mind. He hated having time to think, his thoughts were such jumble. He thought he loved Ky. He knew he loved Jen. Al the decrees of his upbringing dictated the impossibility of truly loving two women at the same time. He had no quarrel with the decrees; he hated being torn like this, hated this mind-boggle. But how did anyone turn off love, or for that matter, lust? Were they different, or one and the same? He shook his head, trying to make
the wheels stop.
What was that? A muffled sound caught his attention. He glanced at his watch: the two hours had passed. It must be the whistle off Saddleback Ledge Light. He held the wheel steady and strained to listen. He could barely hear the whistle, and more important, he couldn't tel whether it was coming from port or starboard.
"Rick!"
The boy was instantly awake, sitting up, rubbing his eyes, then coming to his father's side. "What's up, Dad?"
"Can you tel which direction that whistle is coming from?"
Rick dropped his head, listening careful y. "It's so hard to tel . I think it's port."
"Damn. It sounds like starboard to me. You'd better get your mother. She has the tuned ear, and we can't afford to miss that one."
A few minutes later, Jenny was there, turning her head from side to side to catch the sound. "It's on the port side."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Good enough, thanks." Jenny once again descended into the cabin. Hel , Larry thought, she can't even stand sharing a deck with me. Wel , who's fault was that? "Rick, what's our new heading?"
"Ten degrees magnetic, for the whistle off Outer Scragg Ledge. It's six nautical miles, about an hour and ten minutes."
"Want to lie down again?"
"Yeah, just for a few minutes."
Larry hunched his shoulders. They felt leaden with fatigue. He looked at the curled-up form of his son.
Something was definitely wrong. "Rick, why don't you go below where it's warmer?"
"Ah, Dad. I real y don't want to. I want to stay here and give you the directions. I've looked forward to this for such a long time."
"We can take another cruise when you're feeling better and the weather isn't so foul."
"It wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be my birthday."
"Actual y, your birthday isn't until the day after tomorrow."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
"Dad, do you want me to take the wheel? You must be awful y tired by now."
"No, I'm fine. You stay there and keep that blanket around you."
"I could go get Mom. She can take over for a while."
"No. Leave your mother alone. I don't think she's feeling too hot either."
Time seemed to stand stil . The heavy blanket of fog made it feel as though they were rol ing endlessly on the same wave, going nowhere. That's about what his whole life was doing, Larry thought.
He checked his watch. He should have heard that whistle by now; it was a good hour and fifteen minutes since the last checkpoint. He hated to disturb Rick again, but he'd better. If they missed the whistle buoy off Outer Scragg they could end up on the pinnacle that rose up suddenly in Brown Cow. Lots of others had done so.
"Rick? Rick!"
Rick slowly unwound his body from its rol ed-up position and stood on wobbly legs. "Yeah, uh." He seemed to be having trouble getting his bearings. Larry was scared by his appearance. He looked almost shriveled, strangely pul ed in on himself. "Rick, I don't want to leave the wheel in this sea, and I haven't heard the Scragg whistle. Wil you go down and wake up your mother? I'm going to need her help."
"I can help, Dad. We don't have to make Mom get up."
"Rick! Do as I say. Dammit, you're sick. Now quit trying to pretend you're not and go get your mother. And you stay below. Got that?"
A defiant look crossed Rick's face and quickly disappeared, replaced by resigned acceptance. "Okay."
"Hurry, Rick, we may have missed the whistle, and I'd like to get the jib reefed."
"I'll get it."
"Rick! Wait!"
But Rick was up on the cabin housing. He rol ed the jib quickly and secured it.
Larry exhaled his relief. "Good! Come on down now."
Suddenly Rick grabbed his bel y with both arms, leaning forward. The boat took a sharp rol to the port side, and he teetered dangerously.
"Rick!" Larry yel ed, pul ing at the wheel. Just in time the boat rol ed to starboard and the boy grabbed the shroud, weaved for a moment, then fel . Larry watched in horror as the limp form of his son dropped just forward of the mast. "Oh, sweet Jesus." Larry ran, letting the boat drift as he climbed up beside Rick. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
Rick's head had hit the anchor, producing a bloody, gaping wound. "Rick? Rick! Oh, God, please." Larry felt for a heartbeat, unsure that there was one. He ever so gently moved the boy's head, cradling it in his hand while he maneuvered him into the gutter off the housing.
Rick's body gave a great lurch, and he vomited, huge racking heaves. "Thank God, at least you're alive," Larry murmured. "Easy, boy, easy, I'll be right back." He checked to be sure Rick was safely wedged, then headed to the cabin. "Jenny! Jenny!" The relentless wind, blowing across the stern, carried the sound fruitlessly off across the water. Larry raced down the ladder. "Jenny!" He yel ed as he shook her awake.
Her eyes shot open, wide and alarmed. "What... Larry? What is it?"
"Quick, Jen. Hurry, it's Rick."
Jenny took one look at the terrified face above her and jumped up so suddenly she almost fel .
"Easy, Jen. I need you." He grabbed a stack of towels out of the cupboard, soaked one with water, and started back up.
"What's wrong?"
"Rick. He fel . Jen, he's hurt. Be prepared."
Jenny heard the flapping of the loose sail above the wild beating of her heart as she fol owed Larry. The moment she caught sight of the crumpled form near the housing she was engulfed by panic. "Ricky! Ricky!"
There was no answer. Stupefied, she watched as Larry washed the wound. "Oh Lord, Larry, what happened?"
"He bent over, as if his stomach were hurting, and lost his balance. He almost went overboard; we rode the wave just in time, and he fel into the boat." Larry was improvising a pack out of the towels to stop the flow of blood.
"Larry..."
"Jenny, we can't leave the boat drifting. We never heard the Scragg whistle; we could be in trouble any minute."
Jenny held herself quiet for a moment. She took two deep breaths, clenching her hands together. She must get under control; Rick needed her. "What do you want me to do?" She was relinquishing the lead to Larry.
"Take the wheel. Stay to port so we'll miss Cow and listen for the Mark Island Growler. I'll clean Rick up, wrap him in blankets, and secure him. I don't think he should be moved. Then I'd better take a look at our course."
At that instant, unbelievably, from up above that layer of ghostly murk, the heavens opened and it began to pour. Straight-fal ing, driving torrents of water pelted them, bouncing off the decks, smacking their heads and drenching them in seconds.
Their eyes caught, mother and father, transmitting panic. Larry hunched his shoulders and wiped the water out of his eyes. "Grab your slicker, Jen, and get on the wheel. I've got to get Rick covered."
Her frightened glance moved to the open gash on his head. "But..."
"Jen, it would be far too dangerous to try to get him out of here."
"You're right." With as much haste as she could manage Jenny ran to get her slicker and take the wheel, fighting down the rising waves of terror. The ocean didn't scare her. She had been in bad conditions before; they just required extreme caution and careful plotting. But she had never been trapped in fog with her child in mortal need of medical help.
She kept one eye on the compass and one on Larry, who had located an extra sail and was, very cautiously, winding it around Rick. Jenny's heart was pounding in her throat. She had to take shal ow, quick breaths to get enough air. She had never fainted in her life; she must not do so now. Larry covered Rick completely, making a tentlike covering for his head. Then, with a piece of line, he lashed him in place. Oh God, Jenny prayed, please let him be al right. Larry came back to stand beside her. "Is he..."
"He's alive, Jen. That has to be enough for now. We have to get to Stonington as fast as possible. Have you seen those sheets of paper that Rick had the course and distances written on?"<
br />
"Did you look through his pockets?"
"Yes. Didn't find them." Larry checked around the cockpit, then went to look around the area where Rick had fal en.
Jenny watched him pick something up and look at it, then saw his shoulders sag. She went cold to the bone, knowing before he returned what had happened. He stood beside her, holding a sopping wet wad of pulp in his hand. He hesitated for only an instant, then dropped the useless papers onto the deck. "Okay, that's that. I'll go below and check the charts. It'll take a little time. You okay?"
"I'll be fine." She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes.
"Good girl. Listen for the growler. If you hear it, cal me."
"I wil ."
Larry went below, shaking some of the water from his clothes. He dried his hands, then turned on the ship-to-shore radio. It gave two pops and a loud screech, then went dead. Despite his frantic efforts to fix it, he soon had to acknowledge the fact that the radio was gone.
He began to search through the chart drawer and Rick's duffle bag for the detail map of Deer Island Thoroughfare. Like a persistent sleuth, the ominous truth caught up with him. Rick must have left both the detail map and the ruler back at Criehaven. He dropped onto the bunk, consumed by a sensation of helplessness. If this was retribution, why was it consuming his wife and his son in its wreckage?
Al right, Larry, his mind snapped, stop this wal owing and get cracking. You have a course to figure. He pul ed out al the charts, making himself take care to check the numbers cautiously. Okay, number 1203. Not the detail chart, but it would have to do. Now, something straight to use for a ruler. Unbelievable how few straight edges there were in cabin equipment. His gaze fel on an old Time magazine. It would have to do.
With a great deal of difficulty and no smal amount of guesswork he plotted the new course, hoping beyond hope that he was making an accurate estimate about their present location. With the course tucked inside the pocket of his slicker, he went back on deck. "Have you heard anything?"
"I thought I did, but I couldn't locate it. The combination of the fog and the rain wipes out the sound and visibility at the same time. I'm running on intuition. I hope it's at least close."
