Home Fires (25 page)

Screaming with horror, Maggie watched a torrent of sandpipers skitter across the windshield of Kurt's car. Their tiny white bellies grazed the broken glass, then disappeared. She was going to die here.

D
RIVING
cross-island from town, Thomas knew he had never felt happier in his life. The evening would be perfect: another half hour of silvery-purple sunset, and then a night of stars. Such clear weather in June was unusual. When Anne had suggested a beach picnic, Thomas had known there was only one spot: the secluded cove at Tim's Lookout.

They drove along in his truck, holding hands across the bench seat. Every so often Thomas couldn't help shooting her a helpless look of love, and she'd throw one right back. They spent most of the trip with big grins on their faces, thrilled just to be together.

Rounding the bend at Old Whisper Creek, Thomas noticed wide black skid marks on the road.

Braking, he followed them with his eyes. Just off the side of the low bridge, he saw the nose of an old wreck clearing the surface of the tidal marsh.

“I don't remember seeing that before,” he said, gazing at the car's rusty hood tilting skyward.

“Me neither,” Anne said.

Thomas gave her an apologetic glance. It was probably nothing, but he had to check. Striding to the edge of the pavement, he heard Anne give a low wolf whistle. He blushed, in spite of himself. He was a middle-aged guy in jeans and a sweater. She could be having cocktails on any terrace in Newport or Edgartown if she wanted to. Why in the world would she want to be with him?

But when he got close to the guardrail, his heart quickened, and not because of Anne.

“What is it?” Anne called, getting out of the car.

“This just happened,” Thomas said, noting for the first time the cracked guardrail, broken reeds, and fresh tire tracks in the mud.

He heard Anne gasp, and he turned to see her face. A mask of horror, she was staring at the car.

“Maggie!” Anne screamed.

There, her face barely visible through the car's window, was Maggie Vincent. The tide zipped fast through here, creating the noise of a loud whirlpool. But if you listened hard, you could hear Maggie crying, pounding on the car door.

Before he knew what was happening, Anne was pulling off her sandals, plunging into the water. He watched her fight the current swirling from the marsh to the sea, swim straight for the automobile. Her dusky pink dress tugged her down, but she reached out a hand for the girl trapped inside.

“Don't touch it!” Thomas bellowed.

Anne stopped, treading water, a frantic look on her face. Kicking off his shoes, Thomas dove into the water. Holding his breath, he swam beneath the becalmed Volkswagen, the current rushing past him.

The automobile's rear end floated freely in a wildly flowing torrent. What prevented the entire car from sinking, from filling with seawater instantly, was the fact that its front axle rested precariously on the tangled root system of an old tree. The illegal dumping practices of some local landowner had just saved Maggie's life. If it weren't for the twisted roots of some forgotten oak, she would have already drowned.

Thomas surfaced, sputtering.

Anne treaded water, meeting his eyes. She glanced from him to her niece and back again.

“It's a seesaw,” he said. “The car could go under any minute.”

Maggie was panicking, rocking the car back and forth with her efforts to open the mangled door.

“Maggie!” Anne called in a ringing but perfectly calm voice. “Don't move. I'm here with you. I won't let anything happen.”

Out of panic, Maggie rattled the door for another moment. But then Anne's serenity touched her, and she met Anne's eyes. She gulped the rising water, her head tilted back. And she nodded.

“What can we do?” Treading water steadily, Anne asked Thomas these words in a perfectly easy voice, her eyes on Maggie.

“We need help.”

“Go get it,” Anne said, with no change of tone.

Thomas struck out for shore. He scrambled up the bank and ran for his truck. Clicking on the CB, he called in a code. For not even one second did his eyes leave Anne in the swift current or Maggie pinned inside the car. Peggy Lawson was dispatcher.

“Send an ambulance,” Thomas commanded, giving his location. “Divers. The hydraulic tow, and the Hurst. On the double, Peggy.”

“Roger, Dev,” she said.

M
AGGIE
was swimming with Anne. They were separated by a bloodstained window, but they were together. If only Maggie could wrench herself free of the metal holding her prisoner. She could wiggle into the creek, and Anne would take care of her. Anne would carry Maggie to her mother, and everything would be okay.

Something veiled Maggie's eyes. Ripping off a shred of seaweed, she nearly lost her breath. The sun was going down. Soon it would be as dark as a blindfold. Wadding the seaweed into a ball, she swallowed a muddy mouthful of salt water. Kurt's head kept coming back. She pushed it out of the way, hysteria bubbling into her throat. Could Anne see?

Maggie felt the water rising on her body. It was up to her chest. The car lurched, tilted forward. She screamed, frantic. But then, as if the car had found the fulcrum's sweet spot, it held steady. Maggie huffed every breath, straining out water. It helped to know that Anne was right outside, but she couldn't stand to open her eyes. She was terrified of seeing Kurt's head.

T
HE
call came just as Ned and Josh were tacking in from a totally frustrating sail. The tide had been stronger than usual, and in spite of Josh's genius reading of the tide charts, they hadn't made it past the breakwater.

“What's that?” Ned asked at the sound of Josh's beeper.

“Emergency,” Josh said.

Whizzing into the dock, they occupied themselves with hoisting the centerboard, lowering the sails, walking the boat over to the ramp, and loading it onto the dolly. Only when they had reached Josh's Taurus did they hear the scanner, broadcasting to volunteers everywhere:

“Submerged vehicle,” the woman's voice crackled. “Passengers trapped inside. That's Old Whisper Creek where she meets the Great Salt Breachway.”

“On our way, Peggy,” Josh blurted into the microphone.

Thinking of Maggie, wanting to go straight to her, Ned nearly protested. Then he gave his own stupid hormones a good talking-to. You signed on to the force, he told himself. Someone needs your help. Think about what's important in life.

Someone needs your help.

Chapter 22

R
eports of a sunken car spread like wildfire among islanders, and so did the rumor that four island teenagers had died in the wreck. Gabrielle heard it while presiding over the Rocheleaus' clambake.

Standing outside at the buffet table, making sure everyone got a lobster and enough clams, or grilled sirloin steaks for the two guests who did not care for shellfish, Gabrielle was dressed in a sand-colored linen dress with a big silver necklace. Even though she was still riled at Anne and, especially, Maggie, she gave all the guests her best smile. You never knew who might be a potential client.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Vincent?” said Paula Draper, a pretty girl one year ahead of Maggie at Consolidated, one of Gabrielle's most reliable waitresses.

“Yes?” Gabrielle said, filling a cup of extra melted butter for one of the guests.

“Would it be okay if I used the telephone inside?” she asked. “Someone just said there was a bad crash out on Cross-Island, and a bunch of kids died. I just want to call my boyfriend, make sure he's okay.”

Gabrielle frowned. Usually she would say absolutely not, no using clients' telephones for personal calls. But she nodded. Something inside her chest was doing cartwheels. Watching for Paula to return, she spilled a ladleful of butter on the white tablecloth.

Paula emerged from the house smiling. She started toward the tables where guests were seated, but Gabrielle waved her over.

“Well?” Gabrielle asked. “What did you hear?”

“Oh, Jay's fine. But it's true, supposedly. Some car went into the water with kids inside.”

Gabrielle walked away from her station without thinking to ask Paula to cover for her. She walked toward the house, and then she started to run. Through the front door, trying to remember where she had seen a telephone. Kitchen wall. Her hands shaking, she called home. The answering machine picked up.

Maggie might have gone to Anne's, she told herself. But Anne's number rang and rang.

She dialed the number at the big house.

“Hello, uh, Fitzgibbons',” came Steve's voice.

“Steve, is Maggie there?”

“Not that I know of. I'm just sitting here, shooting the shit with Matt. He kinda needs a shoulder, you know?”

“There's been an accident. All I know is it happened somewhere on Cross-Island, and kids are hurt.”

A long silence while Gabrielle's panic seeped through to Steve.

“I'm sure everything is fine,” Steve said slowly. “I'll drive out to check, but what are the odds—”

“It's Maggie,” Gabrielle said, her voice spiraling down a wind tunnel.

Patting her pockets for keys to the van, she headed out the door and intercepted Paula.

“You're in charge,” Gabrielle said. “Do everything right, and you'll get an extra fifteen percent.”

“Okay,” Paula said, flashing Gabrielle a concerned look as Gabrielle ran toward the driveway.

Gabrielle drove the van around the circular drive. Cars were parked thickly here; she had to maneuver carefully to avoid swiping them. She edged past the thick briar hedge onto the road that would take her to the Cross-Island Highway.

The sun's last light was fading, and all the cars had their headlights on. At first, Gabrielle didn't make the connection, but then she realized it was too dark to see. Trembling, she fumbled for the switch; as the beams illuminated the twisty, sand-strewn road she found herself—not an especially religious woman—saying the Lord's Prayer out loud.

I
N
the dark, Anne could no longer see Maggie. The wind had whipped up, and small waves were splashing against the windshield, which protruded seven inches above the water's surface. Anne had wriggled out of her dress, to keep herself afloat. She gulped water as a larger wave broke over her head, temporarily turning her around.

She talked out loud to Maggie, doubting the girl could hear her. Needing to reassure herself that Maggie was still alive, every so often Anne would dare to tap on the window. After a moment, as if it took enormous effort or she had dozed off, Maggie would always tap back.

Sea creatures grazed Anne's legs. Something sharp, like a fish's dorsal fin. Whispery eels, minnows, cunners. Seaweed wrapped itself around her legs, and she kicked it off. She refused to feel afraid. She was feeding all her strength to Maggie.

The rescue vehicles had arrived. On the road above her she heard booming engines, the sizzle of radio static. Glaring ice-blue strobe lights skittered across the creek's murky surface, bouncing off silver marsh grass on the far bank. Divers in wet suits with air tanks strapped to their backs swam around the car, assessing the delicate situation. She heard them talking when they surfaced, saying the car was hanging by a thread.

Thomas was among them.

Get out of the water, he had told Anne, but she would not.

I understand, he had said, you're terribly worried, but you're not helping. Something could happen to YOU.

I promised Maggie, she had replied. I'm staying.

Anne, blue-ribbon swimmer at Salt Whistle Beach in second, third, fourth grades. Junior lifesaver, senior lifesaver, Red Cross—certified to be a lifeguard.

Staying with Maggie.

How can a car be hanging by a thread when it's balanced on the entire root system of some giant tree? I can't help Karen, but I will not
will not
let you die.

Tap, tap
. Hi, Maggie.

I wish I could see her. Can she see me in the blue light from the fire trucks, the police cars, the ambulance waiting to take her straight to the hospital, wrap her in blankets, bandage her wounds, put her to bed after a nice hot supper?

Thomas swam over with a life jacket, bright yellow, so Anne could float more easily without treading water. She'd also be easier to see from shore. You don't mind putting this on? he asked, helping her into it. A kiss.

Tap, tap
. Hi, Anne.

Anne swallowed more water, overcome with the relief of hearing Maggie answer. How much longer would this take? How terrified Maggie must feel! The black night brings cold, fear, darkness, the dark's only consolation being the fact that it makes invisible that horror. Anne had seen the human head bobbing under Maggie's chin just before the sun went down.

“S
O
, what do we have here?” Josh, the old hand, asked Marty Cole when they arrived at the scene.

Why was Marty staring at him like that? Ned wondered, looking behind him, to see if Marty was watching something over his shoulder. This scene was a thrill, all the big equipment and the guys ready for anything, the lights flashing like crazy.

“Ned, your girlfriend's in there,” Marty said, his hand on Ned's forearm.

“In where?” Ned asked, stopping cold.

“There,” Marty said, pointing.

All you could see in the black creek was a pane of glass, a windshield, maybe, reflecting the strobes and spotlights.

“Maggie's in the car? That went into the water?”

“Yeah. They think she's alive.”

Ned ran to the edge of the bridge. Guys were swimming around, on and under the surface, scuba tanks on their backs.

“I want to go in,” he said out loud.

Here came Chief Wade, limping over to see him. Ned knew he was supposed to be polite, that the chief would probably tell him to stand back and watch, they were doing everything they could. To hell with that! Ned started to push past him, but the chief grabbed his arm.

“Slow down there, Neddy,” the chief huffed. “No sense getting yourself hyperventilated.”

Did this damned old wheezebag have any idea of what was happening? Maggie Vincent, the girl Ned loved, was in that car, and there was no way Ned wasn't going to try to save her.

“Excuse me, Chief,” Ned managed to say, knowing that if the old man tried to hold him back he was prepared to deck him good.

“You're built like your dad. Too big for the wet suits we got available. Get yourself a tank and a buddy, and be careful going in. Call out to your father, let him know you're coming.”

Ned nodded with gratitude, ripping off his shirt as he ran to the dive truck.

G
ABRIELLE
arrived at the scene at the same time as Steve and Matt. Together they ran to the police line, where throngs of islanders and vacationing curiosity seekers jostled for a better view.

“Hey, watch it!” someone yelled as Gabrielle stepped on their toes. Shouldering her way to the front of the crowd, with Steve and Matt right behind her, Gabrielle could hardly breathe. She kept hearing the words “kids,” “dead,” “drinking,” “drowned.”

A bright yellow tape kept everyone back from the fire trucks, from the scene, and two young police officers were patiently explaining to a woman Gabrielle recognized from a recent party that yes, there were casualties and no, no one was allowed to get any closer.

At the sight of Gabrielle and Steve, Joe Nevers, a cop who occasionally worked construction with Steve, stopped talking. Without saying a word, he lifted the yellow tape to let them pass. Gabrielle ducked, and by the time she straightened up, she was weeping. She had known in her mother's heart, but Joe Nevers had just confirmed that Maggie was in the car.

Leaning into Steve, Gabrielle let herself be led forward, into the circle of Maggie's fate.

Y
ES
, there she was. Right in that flash of blue-white light. Maggie tried to keep Anne in her sight, but Anne was bobbing around in the dark water, sometimes hidden by the waves.

Inside the car, the water had risen just higher than Maggie's chin. The chilly water numbed her body, making it possible to perform the contortions necessary to breathe. The car was sliding backward, so to keep her mouth in the air pocket, Maggie had to lean forward, her breasts pressed tight against her thighs, her head tilted way back. Her nose just grazed the windshield.

Unconsciousness kept reaching for her. Her head would wobble, and she'd wake up sputtering dirty water. Stay awake, she told herself out loud. Stay awake. But talking meant moving her mouth too wide, and water would rush in. Blowing it out, she struggled to breathe.

Anne?

Anne was gone. Don't go, don't leave me, Maggie thought, panicking. Men with black hoods, scary frogmen, kept popping their masked faces out of the water. The sirens she had heard, the flashing lights, the emergency vehicles on the bridge above frightened her, instead of comforting her as she had thought they would. They were trying, of course they were trying, but time was ticking by.

The big equipment said terror to Maggie. Didn't you always see it on the news? All the fire trucks, the ambulances, the police and firemen, hundreds of people struggling to save a boy who had crashed through the ice, a girl who had fallen down the well?

Hundreds of heroes working all through the cold night to save the little boy, the little girl, Karen, Maggie. And the same people still there the next day, daybreak a time for hope, but what do you always see on the TV? The police chief shaking his head, the parents crying, the child being carried away in a little shroud on a stretcher.

Even when Maggie closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see all the useless rescue activity, the blue lights pulsed through her eyelids. The sea's gentle rhythm pushing Kurt's head lightly against her chin: there, there. A tuft of his hair in her mouth.

Crying, she spat, and tried to push it away with a sweep of her left arm. Her sobs like a pump's intake, her own emotion choking her to death. Drowning her.

Tap, tap.

There was Anne! Maggie couldn't see her, but just outside the car, right on the other side of the window glass, was Maggie's aunt Anne.

Or was it Karen? Peering at the glass, Maggie saw, illuminated by the emergency lights, the bright face of a little girl.

“Karen?” Maggie asked.

Yes, it was! The Little Mermaid herself, returned to life with a squadron of helpers—dolphins, friendly blue fish, wise crabs, and brave lobsters—to save Maggie. In the months since Maggie had last seen Karen, in all that time apart, Karen had grown up.

Karen had turned into a beautiful young lady.

That very last day on the beach, when Maggie and Karen were building their last sandcastle, hadn't that been Karen's wish? Hadn't Karen squinted up at Maggie, shielding her pretty eyes from the sun, and said, “I can't wait to grow up. To be like you.”

What a sweet dream, something to get lost in . . .

Where am I? Maggie wondered suddenly, tossing her head, choking on a mouthful of seawater. She felt puzzled and frantic.
Frantic!
To have her back hurt so fiercely, to be so freezing cold. To be up to her nose in salt water!

Tap, tap.

Right! Karen.

What a regal sandcastle they had built that hot, August day. The balconies decorated with pebbles, the walls adorned with misty green and blue-green sea glass. Karen shielding her eyes, peering up at Maggie. “I can't wait to grow up,” Karen had said. “To be like you.”

“How do you want to be?” Maggie had asked, drizzling wet sand on the castle for turrets.