by Luanne Rice
Gwen lay completely still in bed. The red burn patches on her cheeks, chin, forehead, and where her eyebrows had been looked raw and were covered with salve—it looked as if she had a bad sunburn. The charred ends of her silvery hair had been trimmed away. Her eyes were full of almost unimaginable sadness. Her gaze followed Tom and Mariana as they entered.
“Gwen, you have a visitor,” Mariana said.
“Hi, Gwen,” Tom said. “Do you remember me?”
Although she didn’t speak or nod her head, he saw in her eyes that she recognized him. She seemed very calm. She didn’t make a sound.
“I’m very glad to see you,” Tom said. And he was. Emotion filled his chest. He remembered picking her up, lifting her into the rescue basket, and holding her hand during the helicopter ride. Mariana had been right—it was beyond a long shot that Gwen had been found at all.
Mariana indicated that he should sit in the chair by Gwen’s bed, and he did. He sat silently, gazing at Gwen, and she returned his gaze: a form of communication. A bell sounded from the hall—a patient summoning a nurse. Mariana stayed in the room for another minute. Then, seeming satisfied that Gwen was okay, she quietly left.
“You’re such a brave girl,” Tom said.
Gwen stared hard into his eyes.
“Finding you was one of the most important moments I have ever had in the coast guard,” he said. “It meant so much to all of us, Gwen. Everyone who was searching for you. And now, seeing you here right now, knowing you’re getting better—that is the best news we could have.”
She closed her eyes. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. Tom knew she was far from okay.
“I wanted to bring you something,” he said. “A book, a game, a stuffed animal—I just wasn’t sure what you might like. I asked my wife and stepdaughters, and they had some good ideas. But I started thinking, and then I knew.”
Her eyes opened, and she waited for him to tell her.
He unzipped the duffel bag, and he saw her watching him carefully, following his movements. He reached inside, pulled out the tiny dog. She was so small, barely bigger than his hand. He held her toward Gwen, who gasped and reached out her arms.
“Maggie!” Gwen cried.
Tom placed the Yorkshire terrier in Gwen’s arms, watched Gwen bury her face in Maggie’s fur, kissing the back of her head as Maggie squirmed with joy.
Mariana entered the room, gave Tom a hard look.
“Really?” she asked.
“I picked her up from the vet,” he said.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in here.”
“I figured,” he said and grinned. Watching Gwen pet and kiss Maggie, Mariana smiled too.
Tom knew that when Mariana said he had to leave, he would take Maggie home and keep her until Dan and Gwen were discharged. But for now, he just sat beside Gwen’s bed, watching the reunion between a girl and her dog, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.
THREE DAYS EARLIER
18
CLAIRE
Today I planned to bring the last pieces over to the gallery and help Jackie get ready for Friday. I had finally finished Fingerbone. I stood in my studio, doors open to a sea breeze and the sound of breaking waves, and leaned over the shadow box I had constructed to resemble a tidal pool.
I examined the placement of mussel shells, barnacles scraped from granite at low tide, crab claws, fragments of their carapaces, and sun- and sea-bleached twigs—each small section forming a knuckle and bones, fashioned together to look like the grasping hand of a skeleton.
People with no idea about Ellen’s death wouldn’t understand, but I did, and one other person would, and that was the whole point. There were ways to go about a divorce, but I would take nothing monetary from Griffin—not the house or alimony or any material object. I wanted only for him to know that I knew, without any doubt, exactly who he was and what he had done.
I would make sure he dropped his candidacy. Before I left for good, I intended to pull off his mask. And the timing had to be now: next week was a major campaign event, when Senator Stephen Hobbes would publicly endorse Griffin for governor.
“Well, hey there!”
I was so lost in thought that Nate’s voice made me jump. He stood in the doorway, then came toward me to give me a hug. He was as rumpled and shaggy as ever, and I fit into his arms so comfortably. We hadn’t been able to stay married, but he was the perfect ex-husband, and I would love him forever.
“You’re back!” I said. “How were the whales?”
“The humpbacks send their regards,” he said. “It was hard leaving them. I’m not sure which I loved more—watching them feed in the Bering Sea or calve in Baja. You should come next time. I kept thinking of you, how inspired you would be.”
“Let’s do it,” I said. I smiled into his twinkling blue eyes.
“Don’t tease me,” he said, his sun- and wind-weathered face crinkling into a grin. “Griffin will never let you travel with me. I’d never bring you back.”
“I’m so glad you’re home again,” I said. “Why didn’t you call to let me know?”
“I figured I’d stop by and surprise you, get an early viewing of your new show.” He smiled again. “And it’s the middle of the afternoon, so I know Griffin’s at court or deposing someone or charming some audience or sweet-talking donors, whatever it is he does.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Today he’s taking depositions.”
“So, okay if I take a look at the work?”
“Sure,” I said, and I was excited to hear what he thought. Nate had always been my favorite early viewer of my work. More than anyone, he understood how I tried to express human life and emotions through elements of nature. He had invited me to speak to his classes at Yale, where he taught about extinctions, psychology, and how the decline of species affected human existence. His nine-month sabbatical had seemed forever—I had really missed him.
“These are beautiful, Claire,” he said once he had made the circuit of my studio. “But they’re dark.”
“You see that?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “I know you. You’ve captured pain and apprehension. What took you to this place?”
“The way the world is,” I said. I left it open for him to interpret: the political landscape, growing fascism, the suffering of refugees, failure to address climate change. If anyone could look into my heart and see my own personal darkness, it was Nate—but just then I wanted to hide it from him.
“The global situation is beyond troubling,” he said. “Being on the research ship was a respite, in a sense. I avoided the news as much as possible. But I felt it as soon as we made port.” He turned toward Fingerbone and shuddered. “This one looks like the end of life on earth. Is that what you intended?”
“Yes,” I said, not lying.
Outside, I heard voices coming from the main house. My pulse raced—it was only three thirty, too early for Griffin to be home. Even though he was publicly accepting of my friendship with Nate, privately there was hell to pay whenever he knew I saw him.
“Oh boy,” I said.
“The monarch of all he surveys?” Nate asked.
I went to my studio’s north-facing window, looked out. Griffin stood on the terrace with Wade Lockwood. At least he wouldn’t blow up in front of Wade—or Nate, for that matter. But there was always later. As I watched, I saw Griffin and Wade walk into the house.
“He’s home,” I said. “He must have seen your car, and I guess he’s giving us the chance to catch up.”
“Nope,” Nate said. “I came by dinghy, beached her at the foot of the bluff. I doubt he knows I’m here. C’mon, let’s go. We can go get the bigger boat. I’ll spirit you away, take you to Shelter Island for dinner, and regale you with tales of humpbacks.”
“Next time,” I said, giving him a hurried hug. “Do you mind just . . .”
“Leaving?” Nate asked. “Okay, I get it. But Claire . . .”
I saw the worried look in his ey
es. Even though Griffin shone his charm on Nate, my ex-husband was too sensitive not to see what lived below the surface. And there was no doubt Nate was picking up on my anxiety now. The thing was—at that moment, I didn’t care whether Griffin saw Nate or not. I just wanted my next encounter with Griffin to follow the script I’d written in my mind.
“I’ll get out,” Nate said, his expression grave. “But this exhibit . . . it makes me worry for you. You want me to think it’s geopolitical.”
“It is,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s all you. The darkness is personal. He’s a power-hungry asshole, no matter how much you try to protect him, and there’s something going on. Tell me, Claire.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let’s drop it, okay?” I asked, glancing out the window. “Will I see you at the gallery on Friday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nate said, giving me one last skeptical, worried glance. Then he left by the seaward door and disappeared down the narrow overgrown path to the beach. After a few minutes I heard his outboard engine start up. I went back to my studio’s north window, stared at the house, and waited.
19
SALLIE
Sallie wished she could take a shower and wash yesterday from her body and mind. The memory of waiting for Edward aboard his boat and fending off Ford filled her with feelings of disgust, mainly for herself. She had scheduled a design consultation with a couple who had just bought an antique Georgian house on the Connecticut River, but she canceled. She needed to stay home. She gave Harriet, the nanny, the day off.
She wore her comfiest jeans and the pink Someone at Black Hall Elementary School Loves Me T-shirt that Gwen had given her for Mother’s Day, just two weeks ago. She sat in the living room on the sofa with Maggie snuggled by her side. She called her sister, Lydia, to ask her to come over, but Lydia was a publisher’s rep for children’s books, and she was visiting bookstores in New Hampshire and Maine today.
Sallie couldn’t shake off the slimy feeling of Ford’s hands grabbing her, the sound of rage in his voice, and the smell of his vomit. She felt like running out of the house, but she had nowhere to go. Her most important refuge, Abigail Coffin’s yoga center, had turned into a place she now felt unwelcome.
At first, it had been wonderful. Abigail taught deep breathing and talked about mettā—the Pali word for loving-kindness. While Sallie had always felt compassion for others—her family, friends, and strangers—she had never directed it toward herself.
Feeling semigood about herself was a new skill. It was partly what had led her to Edward, to allowing love—both physical and emotional—into her life. After class one evening, Abigail handed her a bottle of water.
“I’m so glad you started coming,” Abigail said. “We have to stick together.”
“Women, definitely,” Sallie said.
“Actually, I meant the Monday Night Sisterhood. Wives of the Last Monday men. Our husbands have their secrets, don’t they?” Abigail asked, watching for Sallie’s reaction.
“I suppose,” Sallie said. “But Dan doesn’t go anymore.”
“Really?” Abigail asked, frowning. “Why?”
“One day he just stopped,” Sallie said. She knew it had something to do with a disagreement with a member, but she didn’t want to say that in case it was Abigail’s husband.
“No one just stops,” Abigail said. “It’s a lifetime membership. Only twenty at one time—it’s an honor to join.”
“I suppose,” Sallie said.
Abigail backed away, as if Sallie had suddenly turned toxic. Sallie wondered what she had said that was so bad. Abigail disappeared into her office for a few minutes. Sallie heard her voice, muffled on a phone call. When Abigail returned, she was smiling again, as serene as ever.
Abigail, with her long brown hair and big eyes, her yoga body, seemed so able to bounce back from negative feelings. Sallie had never returned after that incident; she still felt hurt by Abigail’s reaction to what she had said about Dan leaving the club.
So now Sallie didn’t have the yoga studio, and she didn’t have Edward. He had never replied to her text about loving him. The truth had been there all along, but she hadn’t let herself see it until yesterday on the boat: she was just a mistress to him, nothing more.
She sat immobile on her couch with Maggie, trying to meditate, counting her breaths, letting painful and unwanted thoughts pass through her mind like clouds through a blue sky, until she heard the school bus stop at the end of the driveway.
Maggie woke up, shimmying and barking with joy, and she raced outside as soon as Sallie opened the door. The kids tore off the bus, crouching to hug and pet Maggie on the house steps. Gwen scooped the Yorkie into her arms, letting Maggie kiss her face. Charlie reached up, trying to get his pets in.
“Why are you here instead of work?” Gwen asked, putting Maggie down to hug her mother. Sallie held her tight, rocking her, grabbing Charlie into the family embrace, eyes squeezed shut, afraid she couldn’t trust herself to speak and not cry.
“I wanted to be here when you got home from school today,” Sallie said, keeping her voice steady.
“Where’s Harriet?” Charlie asked, pulling out of the hug and looking around for their nanny.
“I gave her the day off,” Sallie said.
“Why?” Gwen asked. “Don’t you have meetings?”
Sallie shook her head. “No, not today,” she said.
She loved her work, but lately she had hardly been able to concentrate on it. She had used it as an excuse to see Edward. It didn’t matter what time of day: if it was early morning, before breakfast, she would say she had to drive to the design center in Boston. If she wanted to leave the house after dinner, she would invent meetings with clients who had to work all day and were only available in the evening. On Saturday afternoons, when Edward’s wife, Sloane, was out with friends, she would say she had to go fabric-wallpaper-granite-paint shopping with a customer.
But today she was home.
“I don’t like when you have to go to work,” Charlie said.
“Neither do I,” Gwen said.
“Neither do I,” Sallie said. “I’d rather be with you two. What should we do today?”
“The beach!” Charlie said.
“That’s a great idea,” Sallie said. “What do you think, Gwennie?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Grab your bathing suits, and let’s go,” Sallie said.
They climbed into the white Suburban. The cargo space was full of sample books from Clarence House and Scalamandré: a basket filled with swatches of vintage silk velvet, cashmere velvet, nacré velvet, chiffon velvet, and ciselé velvet, all in shades of white. She had long been obsessed with velvet and usually found it incredibly beautiful and sensual, but right now she felt like throwing it all away.
At the beach club, Sallie and the kids changed into their bathing suits. Maggie raced around, checking out every corner. The snack bar would open for the season in three days, for Memorial Day weekend, but for now the windows were still shuttered. Later, Sallie would take the kids to Paradise snack bar, pick up sandwiches to take home. She would let them eat ice cream in the car, before dinner.
Charlie raced down to the water’s edge, Gwen and Maggie right behind him. He was the first one in, diving into a small wave, swimming underwater for a few yards before coming up for air, sputtering and grinning, waving to make sure Sallie saw.
“Great job!” she called. They had spent every Wednesday afternoon throughout winter and spring at swimming lessons. Last summer Charlie had been afraid to put his face in the water. Now he was fearless.
“Mom, can Maggie come in with us?” Gwen asked.
“Sure,” Sallie said. “But we’ll have to stick close to shore. I’m not sure how well she can swim.”
“That’s okay. I’ll stay with her,” Gwen said.
Sallie watched her daughter lift Maggie,
hold her against her chest. She walked slowly into the Sound, dipping Maggie’s paws in to let her get used to the feel of it. Gwen had been asking for a dog since she was seven; Dan and Sallie had given Maggie to her for her ninth birthday, with an agreement that Gwen would feed and walk and take care of her.
Gwen had embraced the responsibility with all her heart. She walked Maggie twice a day, helped Sallie to train Maggie to sit and come and to fetch a small ball and—knowing the family would be out on their boat a lot this summer—walk the beach, tease the waves along the tide line.
“She needs to know how to swim in case she falls overboard,” Gwen had said.
With the way Gwen took care of Maggie, Sallie thought it really unlikely the dog would ever leave the cockpit, get anywhere near the boat rails. She made a note to see if she could find a tiny Yorkie-size life jacket. There might not be time before they went out this weekend, but she and Dan made sure the kids wore PFDs on the boat—why not the dog too?
Now, standing barefoot in the warm sand, Sallie watched Gwen ease Maggie into the water. The two of them paddled around, Maggie obviously overjoyed to be near her favorite person. Charlie dived down to the bottom, came up with a strand of seaweed, held it over his head so Sallie would see. She applauded, and he dived again.
This was her real life—this moment here on the beach with her children was what Sallie lived for. How could she have been so foolish and come so close to throwing it all away? She swore she would make things better with Dan. They were good parents together. And right now, that seemed good enough.
Sallie walked knee-deep into the water. She took a sharp breath—Long Island Sound in late May was still cold. It really didn’t warm up until after the Fourth of July, but her kids were water dogs, just as she had been at their age. She dived straight in, swimming underwater as far as she could go.
When she came up for air, her children swam over to her, and the three of them trod water in a small circle, legs kicking and arms moving, with Maggie in the middle. They were all smiling with the sheer joy of one of summer’s first swims, of being together. They stayed there for another minute, until Gwen decided it was time for Maggie to get out and warm up, and then they all walked onto the beach, and Sallie tilted her face up toward the sun.
