Greely's Cove

by Gideon, John

  Jeremy finished his chore and strode over to the spot where his father and aunt sat. He was clear-eyed and rosy-cheeked. He wore a red tank top over baggy white trunks with deep pockets.

  “Dad, can I have a buck for a Slurpee? I loaded all the stuff, like you wanted.” His speech was boyish and very American. He seemed like a regular kid who happened to be big for his age.

  Carl dug into his khakis for money, handed over a five, and reminded his son to bring back the change. “And don’t fill up on Reese’s Pieces, or you won’t be hungry at lunch.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” shouted Jeremy, beaming. “I’ll be back in a flash!”

  He turned and pounded up the dock toward Halvorson’s Grocery, dodging the crab pots and floats stacked here and there at the mouths of slips “He’s a beautiful kid.” Lindsay sighed, watching him go. “He’s kind, inquisitive, full of adventure. He’s going to make you proud someday, Carl.”

  “Correction: He’s going to make us proud. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got as big a stake in him as I do.” He leaned close and kissed her sun-browned cheek. “If you want to know the truth, I think you were the center of Hannie’s last miracle. Somehow she made you want to be with me. If that isn’t miraculous, nothing is.”

  Lindsay gave him a peck in return, then leaned back on her hands.

  “Maybe it was all part of her miracle,” she said, lolling her head to let the sun warm her face, “everything that’s happened to us since Whiteleather Place. I mean, think about it: You and I and Robbie were able to pick up the pieces of our lives without ending up in a mental institution, which is nothing short of miraculous. Your wounds healed amazingly fast, and your shoulder’s almost as good as new.”

  “Except for the scars. I’ll never be able to take my shirt off in public again, which is a shame for the female population.” She gave him a good-natured punch on the arm. “And we were cleared of any wrongdoing by the investigation.” Whether this was indeed a miracle was debatable, Carl-the-lawyer pointed out. Stu Bromton, Hannie Hazelford, Ianthe Pauling, Corley Strecker, and Mitch Nistler had all disappeared and, like all the other victims of Hadrian Craslowe and the Giver of Dreams, had gone the way of their tormentors, leaving only their rags behind. Only the bodies of Mayor Chester Klundt and Stella DeCurtis attested to bloody wrongdoing, but the authorities lacked solid reasons for blaming Carl, Lindsay, or Robbie for it. Though the cases were still officially open, nobody seemed anxious to pursue them aggressively.

  “Still, it’s hard to believe that things could turn out this well without some kind of magic,” Lindsay insisted, resting her cheek on Carl’s shoulder.

  “You’re right, it is. But really, I don’t care whether it was magic or not—I’m just glad to be alive and kicking. It’s good to be a part of the twentieth century again. I like worrying about ordinary, everyday things like credit-card bills and the ozone layer, watering the yard and getting the car tuned up, instead of—” He cut himself off. For a bleak moment he endured the memory of a shrill voice, his own voice:

  “I’m one with you! You are one with me! As long as you live, I live!”

  “I know what you mean,” Lindsay said.

  Jeremy was walking back toward the boat with a large paper cup full of a purple, snowy substance, sucking it up through a pair of straws. When he reached the boat, he swung smoothly over the lifelines and bounded into the cockpit.

  “Let’s go, Dad!” he hollered. “The wind’s kicking up!”

  Carl got to his feet, laughing. “The kid’s a born sailor,” he said, pulling Lindsay up. “The wind comes up, and you can’t keep him in port.”

  “Buying that boat was a good move. It gives you something the two of you can do together.”

  “I wish it were the three of us,” said Carl. “Sure you won’t come along? Jeremy and I’ll do all the cooking, cleaning, and sailing. You wouldn’t have to think about anything except tanning that gorgeous body of yours. Don’t forget, the San Juan Islands are great this time of year.”

  “I’d love to go, Carl, but I think I’d better stick close to the grindstone for a while. Now that I’m back at work full time, I want to prove that I can carry a full load—which is exactly what I’ve got.”

  “I understand. But I’ll miss you.”

  “Miss you, too. It’s going to be a long week.”

  They kissed tenderly and long. They would have kissed longer had not Jeremy urged them to get on with it.

  “Time to push off,” said Carl, jumping aboard. “San Juan Islands, here we come: a couple of salty swashbucklers with money in their pockets and time on their hands!”

  “I’ll call ahead and tell them to hide their daughters!” said Lindsay, laughing.

  She untied the dock lines and threw them onto the deck, then helped edge the craft out of the slip. She stood and watched as father and son motored toward a gap in the breakwater, beyond which lay the dazzling blue openness of the Sound. Carl glanced back often to wave, or just to look at her, and Lindsay smiled after them. Too soon the boat rounded the breakwater and was gone, and Lindsay stood alone awhile, gazing at the summer water and listening to the cries of gulls.

  “Dad,” said Jeremy, once the sails were set and the boat was driving nicely northward, “is Lindsay really going to call people and tell them to hide their daughters from us?”

  Carl smiled and leaned back in the cockpit, steering with his knee.

  “No, Son,” he answered, shifting his toothpick to the other corner of his mouth. “At least I hope not.”