1929 (44 page)

February 17th1930

Aryl stood in front of the mirror,
straightening his tie and dreading the day before him. Claire
knocked on the door of his parents’ loft bedroom and let herself
in. Arianna had loaned her a black dress, and although she looked
slightly overdressed, it was better than buying something for the
day.

“You look nice.”

“So do you,” she said, taking the tie from
him and adjusting it.

“How’d you sleep?”

“All right, I guess. When did everyone
finally leave?” She had fallen asleep on the couch, and Aryl had
asked the remaining guests to move to the kitchen, so he could lay
out a makeshift bed for her in front of the fireplace.

“Close to midnight. I’ll try to find more
blankets or padding of some kind before tonight,” he said,
reflecting on his own miserable slumber. “Too bad my folks got rid
of that big house. We’d be a little more comfortable.”

“It’s fine, Aryl. Flat and hard is almost
better than lumpy and pokey,” she said, smiling as she finished his
tie and straightened his jacket. “All ready. Everyone is waiting
downstairs.”

“I just want to get this over with.”

∞∞∞

Aryl and his parents, followed by Claire,
Liam and Sarah, were escorted to the front row of the chapel, as
they were the only immediate family. They waited while the pews
filled with friends. Aryl tried to look anywhere other than the
table in front of him. It was decorated with a lace cloth, an open
Bible, a framed picture of his uncle and a white urn. His eyes
misted and a lump grew in his throat when he looked at the picture.
He could no longer pretend he was here for another reason–a
friend’s wedding or maybe Easter service.

He was here to say goodbye to his uncle; a
big, loveable man, an avid explorer who had a passionate affair
with the sea that few people understood. He was liked by men and
pursued by women, but all of his relationships ended the same way.
No matter how lovely, witty or demure, no woman could compete with
his lady, the sea.

More times than he liked to count, his uncle
had returned home to a note that released him back to his true
love, and so he never married. Never had children. Instead, he had
always treated Aryl like a son, and even though his father knew him
and loved him, his uncle understood him. They shared a love of
adventure and the inability to be confined to one geographical area
or occupation. Until he met Claire anyway. And even then, although
his uncle was brokenhearted that their adventures would never come
to be, he was gracious. He told Aryl the last time they went out to
sea together that if this woman called his heart stronger and
louder than the adventure, more than the freedom of the sea, more
than anything else in the world then Aryl was to go with her and
never look back.

Aryl had to look away again and think of
something else. He went over in his mind the details of the
contract he would soon sign, thought about the repairs, wondered
what Jonathan was doing, and did some math in his head, anything
mundane and emotionless.

The organ music pulled Aryl back to the
painful present. He felt imminent tears as the minister began to
speak.

“Aryl Sullivan was loved by many and will be
dearly missed. Anyone who was lucky enough to know him will feel an
absence in their lives and in their hearts forever. One can only be
consoled by the knowledge that he is now with the Lord.”

A shiver went through Claire’s entire body.
It was eerie and uncomfortable for her to hear the repeated
reference to the deceased, as her husband and his uncle shared the
exact same name, and she was anxious for it to be over. She held
Aryl’s hand and noticed as a few tears fell onto his pant legs. She
put her arm around him, and he leaned toward her; Claire being the
only person besides his parents that he wasn’t embarrassed to cry
in front of.

After a brief opening from the pastor,
Michael Sullivan stood to deliver the eulogy. He retold a
heartwarming account of his brother's life, his antics, and his
humor. He broke down several times as he struggled through. Aryl
had been asked beforehand to say something after his father, but he
found it impossible to stand when it was time.

The pastor invited anyone who wished to speak
to come forward. Aryl began listening to the emotionally recounted
memories, but the open sobbing of the mourners became too much for
him, and he told Claire he was going to the restroom. He washed and
dried his face then walked outside to pull the salt air deep into
his lungs and regain control of his emotions. He walked behind the
chapel and stared for a long time at the ocean.

It could have been five minutes or an hour;
Aryl wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed when he noticed
Claire standing beside him quietly.

“It’s over,” she said softly. He put an arm
around her shoulder, and they walked to his parents' car and rode
back in silence.

The house was overflowing with people eating,
consoling each other, and reminiscing. Aryl leaned over the couch
and kissed Claire on the forehead. “I’m going outside for a bit.
It’s getting crowded in here.”

He had only planned to walk down the road,
but, lost in his thoughts and following familiar paths
unconsciously, he turned onto a sandy path that led down to the
ocean. He stood for a bit then sat down in the sand about twenty
feet from the shore, pulled his knees up to rest his elbows and
picked apart a piece of kelp. Concentrating on the sound of the
crashing waves and the warm sun on his back, ignoring the chill in
the air, he stared at the shimmering line on the ocean that grew
longer as the sun began to sink behind him.

His uncle’s voice echoed above the waves.

See that line? When you’re older, we'll
follow that sun line out, sailing for days and you know where we’ll
end up?

Where, Uncle Aryl?

A little island called Madeira. Talk about
adventure, boy! I’ve been there! There are caves to explore,
mountains to climb, exotic food and beautiful women. But you won’t
need to worry ‘bout that part for a while.

Older Aryl winked and grinned.

It’s a whole different world. You’re going
to love it. We’ll go there as soon as you’re old enough. Now get on
home before your mother has my hide. We’ll do some more planning
tomorrow.

“Well, some things never change.” Kathleen
stepped carefully down the beach, her black slippers sinking into
the sand with each careful step. “I turn my back and ya gone, have
to come searching for ya.” Aryl rose quickly, his mother looked
like she would lose her balance any moment. “Sit back down,” she
ordered. “And I’ll sit with you for a moment.” She sat beside him
with a little difficulty from stiff bones. “Everyone’s done eating
and we’re about to head out. It’ll be sunset before you know
it.”

“We never did go to Madeira.” Aryl squinted
out at the ocean.

“You still can.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.” He shook his
head.

“I have to wonder, Aryl. Do you have any
regrets? I mean, it is a little early to start tallying you’re
should-haves, but sometimes it’s good to take stock before you’re
old and can’t do anything about it. What would you have done
differently, looking back?”

“I don’t regret Claire, Mom.” He knew what
she was getting at, and it made him uncomfortable. “I know I gave
up a lot when I settled down, but–” He shrugged and picked at a
fresh piece of seaweed. “She's worth it.”

“That’s not what I mean. I can’t picture ya
without Claire any more than you can.”

Aryl thought about it for a few moments. “I
would have told her family to go to hell. I know now that she would
have married me without a dime to my name. I would have taken one
of the boats and just run off with her,” he said and smiled,
repeating Claire’s words and sat up a little straighter. “I would
have had Uncle marry us on the open sea, and we would have just
wandered from port to port, working long enough to get to the next
exotic place.”

“It’s not too late to make that happen.”

His smile dropped and he narrowed his eyes.
“We’re kind of wrapped up in stuff in New York.”

“Things have a way of working themselves out,
Aryl.” She patted his hand and pointed far down the beach. “Are you
going to take Claire to your special lighthouse while you’re here?”
she said and grinned mischievously.

“How do you know about that?” He jerked his
head toward her then looked away, embarrassed.

“Ya know your father can’t keep a
secret.”

“Maybe.” Aryl looked down the beach. He
wondered how much she knew about that night. Knowing his father,
probably everything.

She looked back at the setting sun. “We
better get a move on. They’re probably waiting at the marina.”

Aryl stood, pulled Kathleen up with both
hands and they brushed sand off their clothes.

At the end of the sandy path, the old Model-T
was parked on the side of the road. Aryl looked at the empty car
and back to his mother.

“When did you learn how to drive?”

“Last year,” she said and smiled proudly.
“And I’ve only caused two accidents.”

“Mom–”

“They hardly qualified as accidents,” she
said, laughing. “Little bumps and scrapes really. C’mon, hop
in.”

∞∞∞

Claire stood with the rest of the family,
close friends, and the pastor on the dock. They boarded the small
boat and Aryl and Liam pulled up the ropes. Michael Sullivan
steered the boat out to sea before shutting down the engine and
dropping anchor.

The family gathered at port side, faced the
setting sun, and just as it dipped into the horizon, the pastor
recited Psalm 23; Michael, Aryl, and Liam held the urn and slowly
tipped it.

A gust of wind carried the swirling ashes
away from the boat before settling gracefully on the fading white
and gold shimmering line cast by the last of the setting sun.

February 18th 1930

“I wish you didn’t have to leave
tomorrow.”

“I know, Mom, but I have to get back to work.
And we’re moving into the place that we’re buying on the first.
There’s a lot to do.” He reached for a second helping of biscuits
and bacon. “I’ll write you with the new address as soon as we're
settled.”

“Well, I don’t know what you kids had planned
today, but I need you to go with me this morning, Aryl. And Liam,
too.”

“Where to, Pops?”

His father looked down and spoke quietly.
“The reading of the will. Just downtown Rockport. Won’t take
long.”

Aryl didn’t want to go, but nodded in
agreement. His father had said ‘I need’ and therefore, he felt he
couldn’t refuse. “Liam should be here shortly, we’ll leave
then.”

∞∞∞

The car sputtered up to the family attorney’s
office, and all three men were hesitant to go inside. Aryl hadn’t
thought about the will until it was mentioned. He had had a sense
of relief that the most agonizing part of this trip was over.

Inside the old office, Michael and Liam sat
in front of the attorney’s desk, but Aryl pulled a chair to the
window, so he could tune out the attorney who droned on without
emotion in his voice as he listed how his uncle’s estate would be
divided. Aryl busied his mind with tasks back at home again,
wondering about his friends and hoping he could make it out to the
lighthouse with Claire before they left. Maybe we could pack a
picnic and bring some blankets. It would be great to spend the
night there–

“Aryl, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He turned from the window.

Michael looked at the attorney. “Read it
again, please. Just that last part.”

The old man huffed his breath impatiently and
read quickly. “To my nephew, Aryl, I leave my shack, four fishing
boats, and all related fishing equipment to do with as he sees
fit.”

“Why would he leave it to me? It should go to
you. You’re the one still fishing.” Aryl looked at his father in
shock.

“He knew I was having a hard time handling
what I do have. I’m getting older, last thing I need is more boats
to tend.”

“Nonsense, you could fix up the boats, hire
men to take them out and do five times the work. Make five times
the money.”

“And so could you.” His father looked at him
knowingly.

Aryl didn’t hear a word his father said all
the way home but stared out the window, his brow furrowed in
concentration, his mind at full speed.

“Hey, Pops, can I borrow your car?” He asked
his father when they pulled up in front of the cottage.

“Sure, what for?”

“I need to go for a drive with Claire.” He
jumped out without further explanation and found Claire in the
kitchen with his mother. He took her by the arm and led her a few
feet away.

“I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” The look in his eyes worried
her.

“Get your coat and meet me in the car.” Aryl
went digging in the icebox, pulling out meat and two jars. “Mom,
where’s that old picnic basket?”

“Right above ya head.” She looked at him
concerned. “What’s the rush, Aryl?”

He looked shaken and preoccupied. He quickly
threw random things in the basket and grabbed a few quilts on his
way out the door. She smiled at the back of her son’s head as she
followed him to the door.

“Ah, young love,” she whispered under her
breath. He turned around at the last minute and kissed her on the
cheek quickly.

“Pops will explain.”

“I'll bet he will,” she said and grinned,
waving at Claire. “I don’t care where ya goin’, just come back with
a grand baby!”

Aryl threw everything in the backseat and
sped off, leaving a plume of dust behind him.

“Aryl, slow down! Would you mind telling me
what this is all about?”