B000FC1MHI EBOK (40 page)

Ending the call, she relayed the news to Janet. “There’s no sign of them. A Coast Guard cutter is out searching, but they haven’t a clue. They’re thinking something may have happened to them early in the day, because very few of Noah’s traps were moved.”

“Maybe they’re riding out the storm somewhere else?”

“If Noah did that, he’d have called to let someone know.”

“What about emergency signals?”

“He carries flares. The cutter hasn’t seen anything. But the fog is thick, thick, thick.”

“Can’t radar cut through fog?”

It certainly could. But if the boat had hit a ledge and broken up, there wouldn’t be a blip for radar to catch. Likewise if the boat had
blown
up.

Julia fought tears. She would never have entertained the thought of an explosion if Kim’s car hadn’t been blown up. Like death by drowning, this, too, was real. If a bomb was planted in Noah’s boat, set on a timer to hit when he was far enough from shore so that others wouldn’t see…

“Julia?” Her mother’s voice brought her back with a start. “Where were you?”

“Somewhere I don’t want to be,” Julia said and drove on under threatening skies.

Ian’s peanut butter sandwiches had been long since devoured. Huddled in the wheelhouse with the boy and the dog, exhausted and worried, with nightfall less than two hours away, Noah gave Ian one of the PowerBars he kept stashed in the cuddy, precisely for emergencies like this—which was truly pathetic. He kept PowerBars, but not a radio beacon, dye markers, or a backup ship-to-shore. He kept flares, as the Coast Guard required for a boat his size. But the flares were used up. So here were a whole other bunch of “shouldas”—all worthless. He could beat up on himself forever, but what good would it do?

He reasoned that Julia hadn’t betrayed him. Truly, he had no cause to think that. She had left to take care of unfinished business. She would be back.

And the storm would let up. Once that happened, they could drift on the
Leila Sue
until they were found. All they had to do was to hold out until then.

“We need pails,” he told Ian and pushed himself up. Snatching two from a stack inside the cabin, he passed one to Ian, then, holding on to the side of the boat, worked his way back to the bilge hatch and began bailing.

Ian joined him, with Lucas still tethered to his waist. They were both soaking wet—Lucas looking sickly thin with his fur plastered down—but there was no fighting that. Nothing was dry. Absolutely nothing. Noah could feel the wet through his oilskins, through his boots, through his jeans and shirt, through his
skin
. If he wanted to be morbid, he could say he was halfway to becoming a sea creature.

“I’m not going to college,” Ian declared loudly as he scooped up a pailful of water and heaved it over the side.

“That’d be dumb.”

“There you go. Calling me dumb.”

“I said not going to
college
would be dumb,” Noah shouted. He had a feeling using pails was going to be as ineffective as the pump, but he had to do something. Better to stand here, feet anchored in the bilge while he weathered the tilt and tip of the boat, than slide around the wheelhouse floor. “If you want me to talk, you have to take the good with the bad.”

Ian didn’t respond.

“Wise move,” Noah called.

The boat angled sharply to port, and another huge wave broke on the deck. Lucas was washed to a corner of the stern before the tether attached to Ian played out. Staying low to the deck, Ian scrambled over and carried him back.

“Why no college?” Noah called when he returned.

Ian retrieved his pail. “I need time off. Lots of kids are doing that now.”

“What would you do?”

“I don’t know,” he said and dug the pail into the water, “but what’s the point of college if I don’t know what I want to do with my
life
?” He hurled the contents of the pail into the sea.

Noah did the same once, twice, five times, ten times, while the boat yawed and pulled. Rain was indistinguishable from ocean spray, and with the bilge filling faster than they could bail, it suddenly seemed important to Noah that he keep talking. “That’s what liberal arts programs are for.”

“I hate the colleges I’ve seen. The classes are big, the dorm rooms suck, and the weekends are an orgy. You want me to do that?”

“Try small colleges,” Noah said, throwing another pailful over the side.

“Small means selective. My SAT scores stink.”

“Ah.” The bottom line. Noah straightened. “You’re afraid you won’t get into the schools you apply to.”

Ian, too, stopped bailing. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be for Mom?” he shouted. “Like, here she is, a big person at my school, and even with the pull of the college counselor, who is her friend, her own son can’t get into a college?”

“No one’s asking you to go to an Ivy League college,” Noah argued as the boat headed up another wave. With water in the bilge, they were riding deeper now.

Ian braced himself for the descent. “You went to one.”

“You’re not me.”

“Not as smart.”

The
Leila Sue
crested the wave and soared down. “
Just
as smart,” Noah shouted, bracing himself as Ian was doing. “Maybe smarter, only growing up in a different time and place.”

They hit the trough. The bow went way under, water poured up against the wheelhouse windows, then rose to the roof and threatened to continue on over into the body of the boat—it seemed forever that the
Leila Sue
hung there, forever that Noah waited in horror, until the whole thing reversed itself and the bow was buoyant again.

Then he heard a strangled cry. He looked back at the stern in time to see Ian off the boat on the tail of a wave—boy and dog both—and Noah whirled, lunged for the end of the tether, and grabbed it tight. Losing his footing, he slid through several inches of water all the way into the stern before his boots caught, but he came up pulling the rope, pulling as hard as he could. Ian was ten feet behind the
Leila Sue
and being dragged right along into the next wave.

He would be immersed. Human lungs were no match for the power of the storm. Even if Noah could go back for the life ring—which he couldn’t—Ian could be pushed underwater and held long enough to nullify the effect of the life jacket.

Keeping his eyes on the boy, he pulled at the rope; the water fought him, or maybe it was the weight of boy and dog, but he kept at it. He pulled harder, pulled faster, saw Ian moving closer, but at the same time felt the upward surge of the boat. He didn’t shout to Ian, just pulled that rope, then, when the boy was close enough, reached down, grabbed his wrist, and hauled him up and aboard, all six feet, 170 pounds of him, as though he were a child. Lucas was next. Noah got him aboard seconds before a huge wall of water hit the deck.

Just south of Boston, the rain began. Julia put on the wipers and tightened her hands on the wheel, but she didn’t slow down. Mind, heart, soul—all were on Big Sawyer with the rest of the people who were gathered at the Grill, anxiously awaiting word on the
Leila Sue
—and when mind, heart, and soul weren’t at the Grill, they were out in the storm. Julia felt the water again as she had the night of the accident. She relived the pull of the waves, the submersion, the terror. She was over her head in memories: split-second flashes of faces and cries, the pointed purple bow of
The Beast.

“He must be something,” her mother remarked gravely.

Returning to reality with a start, Julia shot her a blank look.

“Noah Prine,” Janet said. “We’ve been out of Baltimore all this time, and you haven’t once asked how I feel about going up there. It’s not going to be easy, Julia. Seeing your father is only the first challenge. The bigger one is seeing my sister. It’s been twenty-five years. I’m sitting here remembering everything, everything before and everything after. You haven’t asked about that.”

No. Julia hadn’t. Nor did she plan to. This was one of the things she had learned in the past three weeks. There were times when her own needs came first. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m on overload here. I can’t deal with that right now.”

“That’s why I say he must be something.” Janet paused. “Yes?”

Julia checked her rearview mirror. Putting on her left blinker, she moved into the passing lane. “Yes.”

“Is he the reason you’re divorcing Monte?”

“No. I’m divorcing Monte because our marriage has no meaning anymore. I’m divorcing him because he’s a hopeless cheater. I deserve better.”

“Where does Noah come in?”

Julia passed one car, then a second, cleared it comfortably, and blinkered right. “He is… just… a breath of fresh air.”

“That could mean anything,” said Janet. “What about him is so fresh?”

“The way he looks at me,” Julia offered without having to think. “The way he talks. The way he smiles. It’s all genuine.” She did think then. “His
silence
is fresh. We don’t have to be talking. There’s stuff up there that takes the place of words. Everything is sensual.”

“As in pleasing the senses,” her mother correctly put in. “Is that what Zoe loves about the island?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it, but I’d guess it is. Life there is rich.” She shot her mother a curious look. “I don’t know if that makes sense to you.”

Janet didn’t confirm or deny. Instead, she said, “You were enthralled with the place right from the first. That’s one of the reasons I sent you and your brothers back. They had other things to do, but you had less, and you always looked forward to going. Could you live there?”

“I think so.” Actually, she knew so, all the more the nearer they came. She was returning to a place she wanted to be. As frightened as she was for Noah, as much as he filled her mind, there was room for that knowledge.

“What if Noah’s not there?”

“Dead, you mean?”

“Would you want to stay there then?”

She hadn’t gone that far. She did know that her feelings for Big Sawyer were wrapped in and around her feelings for Noah. Big Sawyer without him?

She teared up. “He’ll be fine,” she insisted and took one hand from the wheel only long enough to brush a tear from her cheek. “He won’t die. He’ll be fine.”

Darkness snaked into the fog. There hadn’t been a monster wave since the last once, and though the boat continued to buck and turn and rise and duck, Noah was too exhausted, too numb with relief to do anything but sit in the wheelhouse with Ian. Their backs were against the console, their sides were touching. Ian had lost his boots to the sea, but he was alive. Same with Lucas, who lay sprawled, trembling, across their legs. Each had a hand on the dog. He was the connector, the one they touched in lieu of touching each other.

In a situation that was grossly surreal, Noah picked up where he had left off. Quietly now, lacking the strength for more, he said, “The thing about Ivy League schools? It’s okay.” He breathed, shooting for greater calm. “Barely a third of my high school class went to college, and none of those applied to the ones I did. That gave me an edge in the admissions process.” He drew in another breath, though the air was saturated with water and salt. “I know that competition is bad in your class. But opting out is worse.”

Ian was totally drained. His voice was weak. “What am I supposed to do?”

Noah felt an inkling of strength. “Apply to different schools from those your friends choose. Pick ones you like. Don’t be pressured by anyone else, not by me or your mother or the college counselor, and certainly not by your friends. Here’s a chance to do what you want, for a change. Go for it.”

“If we live.”

“We’ll live,” Noah said, feeling even more strength. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? If you didn’t die back there in the water, you won’t die now.”

Nor would Noah, he realized. He had been spared dying on the
Amelia Celeste
so that he could mend his relationship with his son, and he was on his way to doing that. There were things they could do together, things that went beyond lobstering. And then there was Julia. For a little while, sitting there beside Ian, with the weight of Lucas holding them down against the rock and reel of the boat, he let himself think about her. It started with images of the night they’d shared and went on to more innocent ones. Work, play, travel, family, sex—he could share it all with her, could do it in a heartbeat. He had let his marriage die of attrition. Julia was his second chance. Wasn’t this another reason why he hadn’t died with Hutch?

Go for it,
he had told Ian. The same applied to him. Realizing that, he felt conviction, and feeling conviction, he was suddenly calm.

Then he realized that the calm wasn’t only internal. The
Leila Sue
continued to roll in the waves, but the waves were no longer as angry, nor the rain as fierce. Sure enough, as night fell, the storm waned.

T
hirty minutes shy of Rockland, Julia got word from Molly that the weather had begun to improve. By the time she parked at the pier, the rain had stopped. Even in the dark, the fog had lifted enough for her to see Matthew Crane and his nephew’s Cobalt, in full canvas, waiting to take Janet and her to Big Sawyer.

Matthew helped Janet board, then Julia, who gave him a hug. Drawing back, she asked, “Any word?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you see enough to get us back?”

“I got me here, didn’t I?” Matthew said lightly. “There’s no one else better in these waters than me. Know how many times I’ve made this crossing? There’s reason they sent me to get you. Besides, the others are heading out to search for Noah.”

Julia didn’t ask him to speculate on what had happened to the
Leila Sue,
but just let him pilot the Cobalt. Inside the boat’s canvas, the three of them were protected from the lingering mist and sea spray that rose. The waves were hearty, but the Cobalt cut neatly through, and the fog continued to lift. Increasingly, Julia could see the running lights of other boats, lobster boats that would never be leaving port this late at night if one of their own weren’t in trouble.

In less than fifteen minutes, Matthew steered into the harbor, and the chop was considerable even here. Julia could only begin to imagine what it had been like at the height of the storm. It was hard to imagine what docking would be like in less-skilled hands than Matthew’s. True to his word, he did know wind and waves, and negotiated the boat neatly alongside the wharf. Of all the people gathered there in jeans, slickers, and hats, front and center were Molly and George.

Julia glanced at her mother. She had seen them, too. She looked unsure of herself, which was so uncharacteristic that Julia moved close and said, “He’s waiting for you. He loves you.”

Janet didn’t answer. Eyes brimming, she simply swallowed.

The lines were tied. So many hands were there helping them from the rocking boat onto the dock that Julia didn’t know whose was whose, but she did know Molly’s arms when they wrapped around her and held her with a desperate need. Molly would have to know about Monte and her, but not now, not when so much else was at stake.

Julia looked around. George was hugging Janet, and the hug was mutual. Janet’s arms held George as tightly as his held her.

“Where’s Zoe?” Julia whispered to her daughter.

Molly whispered back, “Just ashore, at the end of the dock. She doesn’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Shifting a bit, Julia spotted her through a hole in the crowd. She stood alone, arms folded across her middle, but in a gesture of self-protection, not obstinacy. Molly was right; Zoe didn’t know what to do. Julia wanted to go to her, but she wasn’t the person Zoe needed.

Suddenly, there seemed a lull in the voices of those on the dock and the sounds of the sea. It was in Julia’s mind, of course, because there was Janet, separating herself from George and the rest, and walking down the dock.

Zoe dropped her arms as her older sister approached.

Julia would never know what words were said. It was not her business to know. She saw Janet stop several feet away, saw her stand there for a minute, then move closer, raise a hand and touch Zoe’s cheek.

Julia looked away, then. It was a beginning, and it was between Janet and Zoe. More crucial now, Julia needed to know about Noah.

They drifted, exhausted as much by the aftermath of terror as by the physical exertion of keeping the
Leila Sue
afloat. In short bursts of strength, they bailed enough water from the bilge to avoid sinking. For the most part, though, they sat in the wheelhouse, rode the gentled ocean swells, kept their eyes out through the thinning fog for the lights that would mean their rescue.

For all the times Noah had wondered what to say to his son, there was no wondering now. They didn’t have to talk to know what they had shared. Noah would never have invited an adventure like this, and they had yet to be rescued. But he knew that what they had been through would be with them always. It was a bond. He didn’t need words to say that. He could feel the knowledge in Ian, who was working with him now, not against him—feeling with him now, not against him—thinking with him now, not against him. As initiations went into the brotherhood of lobstermen, Ian had suffered trial by fire. He’d made Noah proud.

At ten o’clock, after seventeen hours on the water, the first lights emerged from the lifting fog and headed their way. With the sighting, they let out whoops of relief and stood at the gunnel, energized despite their exhaustion, shouting and laughing. In his exuberance, Ian threw his arms around Noah, and the rescue was complete.

Revisiting that morning two days and a lifetime before, Julia couldn’t keep tears at bay. Then, the emotion had been sadness at leaving Noah and fear of facing Monte. Now she also felt fear—fear that Noah had rethought his feelings for her. Her fear, though, was paired with happiness. Regardless of what happened between Noah and her, she was thrilled he was safe.

Leading a parade of lobster boats, the Coast Guard cutter entered the harbor shortly before eleven. The night waters were lit by running lights, searchlights, and torches blazing on the dock. Noah and Ian were off the cutter the instant it docked—and Lucas! Julia hadn’t known Lucas was aboard the
Leila Sue
. The dog looked damp but glad to be on his home turf, to judge from the exuberant way he raced down the dock. Noah and Ian had none of that freedom. Friends converged on them in a circle of backslapping and hugs.

Julia stood at the shore end of the dock. On this eve of the Fourth of July, there was much to celebrate, all the more so after the tragedy of three weeks before. This time, the story was life all the way.

Noah wasn’t a hero. Each time Ian repeated the story to those gathered around them of how his father had fought the waves to pull on that rope and save him from drowning, Noah felt more awkward. He had done the only thing he could.

Suddenly, incredibly, he felt itchy again. He wanted to go after Julia, but he couldn’t do that now. He could go after Haber and Welk, though. That was a start.

Breaking out of the circle, he was immediately intercepted by John Roman, who fell into step and asked, “You’re sure it was water polluted the tank?”

“I’m sure,” Noah said. “I know the signs.”

“And the radio wires were cut.”

“Clean through.”

“Haber and Welk?”

“Got another suspect?”

“Not me,” John replied. “You call it, friend. We’ll pay them a visit whenever you want.”

“I want now,” Noah said.

“It’s pretty late.”

“Too late for you?” Noah challenged.

“Hell, no. Not for Charlie Andress, either. We live for things that break the routine. I’m thinking of you. You’ve been up since, what, four? Five?”

“I’m not ready to sleep, but they should be. This time of night we’ll have the best chance of finding them home. Your boat has radar. The ocean’s into the calm after the storm. Give me ten to change clothes, and we’ll take a ride to West Rock.”

“I’m game,” John said.

It was a plan. Noah felt good.

In the next instant, he stopped walking. As if to compensate, his heart began to race. Julia stood not ten feet away, breathlessly beautiful with her hair shining in the night. She wore white pants, a lime green blazer, and stacked sandals, and looked more cosmopolitan than he had seen her look since that first night aboard the
Amelia Celeste
. She had a hand pressed to her mouth and tears of regret in her eyes, and she didn’t move toward him.

I’ve lost her, he thought. She’s come back to say good-bye.

Then he noticed the strangeness of the hand that was pressed to her mouth, and suddenly realized the tears he saw weren’t of regret at all, but unsureness—and things clicked. A handful of steps took him to where she stood, and all the while she looked at him with a kind of fearful yearning.

He touched her hand—touched the spot that looked so odd without its wedding band. Linking his fingers through hers, he brought her hand to his heart so that she could feel its thud, and she smiled through her tears.

What that smile did to him! For a minute he couldn’t breathe— thought it was his runaway heart and that he might suffocate, then realized it was emotion gathering in his chest.

“Dad?” Ian came up behind him. “John’s waiting.”

Noah cleared his throat. He took a breath to steady himself. “We’re going to West Rock,” he told Julia softly. “Bearding the lion in his den.”

“I’m coming,” she said. She was holding his eyes like she would never let them go, holding his hand the same way.

“No, ma’am. And neither is he,” he said, tossing his head at Ian.

“They nearly got me killed,” Ian argued. “I have a right to go.”

“These are criminals, Ian,” Noah said, though the message was meant for Julia, as well. “I’ll be with John and Charlie. They have guns.”

“But—”

“I messed up bad with the boat. No radio, no cell phone—it was stupid of me, and it nearly got you killed. Don’t put me in that position again. Tell you what. We need dry clothes. Then you stay at the house with Julia. That way, I’ll see both of you when I get back.”

In the end, Ian came. For a boy who had been sullen and silent less than a week before, he wouldn’t stop talking now, and he was eloquent.
It’s my fight, too,
he said. Then,
Four against two is better than three against two
. And the clincher,
If it had been your dad and you when you were seventeen, would you have gone?
And, of course, once Noah said Ian could come, Julia looked ready to rebel.
I’ve spent my life sitting on the sidelines,
those beautiful hazel eyes said in protest. It took a quiet moment with her, and the sharing of bits of his heart and his hopes, before she acquiesced.

John’s boat made the crossing to West Rock in seven minutes. Charlie Andress met them at the dock and drove them to where Haber and Welk were staying. It was a typical fisherman’s cottage, more a bungalow than a house, and as run-down as any on the road. Not so the black Porsche sitting in front. Charlie’s headlights picked it right out.

“Whoa,” said Ian. “Cool car.”

“A little out of character for a lobsterman,” John remarked.

Charlie said, “The car’s registered in Florida. We figure they could suffer the shack, but couldn’t resist having the car.”

“Now there’s a pattern,” Noah observed, leaning in from the back-seat, where he and Ian sat. “They go to some effort to pass as regular lobstermen—get a lobstering license, paint their buoys, put tags on their traps. Then they ignore local law and start a gear war, like they couldn’t resist that either.”

“They’re thugs,” Charlie said, parking in front of the house.

“No lights on,” observed John. “They must be sleeping.”

“Good,” Noah declared and opened his door. As far as he was concerned, the more disruptive their visit, the better.

Charlie took the lead, since this was his jurisdiction. He knocked on the door while the others waited—knocked loudly, with confidence and intent. Totally aside from the remark about thugs, that knock said he had no love for Haber and Welk either. He wanted to wake them up.

A light came on. The door opened. One man stood there and was joined seconds later by another, but neither had been asleep. Both were wide awake and fully dressed. Of average height and build, they were bearded, as many lobstermen were. One had a shaved head, the other did not. Both wore rain jackets.

“You know me,” Charlie said in a lazy way. “This here’s John Roman from over Big Sawyer. We need to talk with you.”

Even with the only light coming from behind the two in the doorway, their tension was obvious. “Bad time, man,” said the hairless one— Welk, Noah decided, recalling the picture on John’s computer. “It’s kinda late.”

“Doesn’t look to me like you were in bed,” Charlie remarked.

“We just got back.”

“Oh? Where you been?”

Noah wanted to hear the answer, too. West Rock was half the size of Big Sawyer. The only eatery was a diner, and it closed at eight—and even if that wasn’t so, he didn’t think they had eaten out. Faint cooking smells wafted through the open door—garlic, onion, fried ground beef—smells now several hours old. Thugs? They were goddamned felons. No, they hadn’t been out for dinner. Where then? Rain jackets notwithstanding, given the storm had so recently ended, he didn’t think the boys had been out for a cruise.

Welk gave a halfhearted shrug. “Here and there.”

Charlie grunted. “Not in that car. I touched the engine cover as I went past just now. It’s cold.”

Welk darted a glance at Haber, who said, “We were out walking. Is there any law against that?”

“No. If you ask me, though, you look a little too dry to be just coming in. There’s still a wind blowin’ up rain from the storm. No, I’d say you’re on your way out. Where you headed?”