The Silver Boat (9 page)

After sketching, she'd start her line art by going in with Pigma Sensei Manga drawing pens—archival quality, and shipped from Japan—using thicker strokes for foreground and thinner lines for background. After inking, she would erase the pencil.

Dar was considered ballsy among graphic artists for working in real, not digitalized, color; few did it, because one mistake could ruin the entire page. She'd color each panel with Prismacolor markers, light to dark, mainly shades of blue. In recent years she'd started using watercolor more often. The medium seemed more appropriate to characters and story involving so much water.

Then she'd go back in with small-gauge, .2 or .3 Sakura Micron pens and crosshatch the shadows—markings so small, readers wouldn't see the lines, only sense the change of depth in the color.

Each of the six panels represented a specific aspect of the day, translated into Dulse's world. This was the first reunion of Dulse and her sisters in over a century. Because Dulse was a water spirit, motivated by grief and desire, she was very powerful. She had the ability to float overhead like a cloud, or seep through floor cracks like spilled water.

Her sisters had been under a hundred-year spell cast by their grandmother. Where was this coming from? Dar wondered as she drew. Only Dulse had been aware of their father's loss, searching for him all this time. He'd had something to prove, only he'd disappeared before telling anyone what that was. Her sisters had been turned into
Rosa rugosa
, beautiful beach roses—soft pink with green leaves and sharp thorns, lining the dunes.

Once Dulse found out, from a letter hidden in her grandmother's ebony desk, she focused all her power into rain, pouring down on the roses, washing dunes into the sea, allowing raging ocean waves to devour the beach and grab at the roses' deep, gnarled roots. The roots turned into two girls' feet, and Dulse's sisters, Heath and Finn, came back to life. Dulse coalesced into a water column, and then a girl, and she and her sisters hugged.

The next frame showed them back at their grandmother's Vineyard house. Because their grandmother was dead, the sisters would be safe there. Why was she—or her subconscious—suddenly so suspicious of her grandmother? Heath buried her bare feet in garden soil, and Finn asked for elixir made from fermented honeysuckle nectar.

Dar sat back, staring at the room she'd drawn—familiar yet alien. It looked as if it belonged in their real house—decorated in period furniture with faded cotton curtains and their grandmother's braided rugs, books in the bookcase, a stone fireplace with chimney cupboards, a wide hearth, and copper washbasin to hold kindling—yet Dar had never seen it before.

She chalked it up to dreams and imagination, and began to draw a black SUV in the yard, Argideen making his first appearance in her series. She drew him exactly as he had looked: tall, slim but muscled, bald, dressed in a Hong Kong–tailored black suit. She gave him insipid brown, almost yellow, eyes.

Dusk was falling, the last light glowing red through the mist. She heard Andy's truck on the gravel and went out to meet him. He'd been building bookcases and painting the interior of a house on Edgartown's South Summer Street, and when he kissed her he smelled of sawdust, paint, and turpentine. His painter pants and boots were stained pale, spring green.

“They're going authentic?” Dar asked.

“Yep,” he said. “They went to the Historical Society to make sure their dining room walls would be in keeping with pre-colonial Edgartown.”

“Rich people,” she said, smiling.

“They pay my bills,” he said, holding her hand, leading her to the porch. “I wish I could help you with everything.”

“Oh, Andy.”

“You know I'd do anything.”

“I know.”

They sat in the tall rocking chairs, and Dar stared out over the pond. Past the dunes, she saw waves cresting, their foam tops lavender in the twilight. Andy took her hand. They hardly ever mentioned love, but their long friendship was layered with it. She felt his closeness, and that was enough.

“Tough day?” Andy asked.

Dar nodded.

“Did you finish the first floor?”

“Pretty much. That was our goal. Some of the upstairs bedrooms, too.”

“Want me to come over and help tomorrow?”

She smiled. “You have a job.”

“That I do,” he said. He had a wonderful, deep voice, and sometimes he would sing to her. She was about to ask, when she heard the first sounds drifting down from Abel's Hill, up from the trees surrounding Chilmark Cemetery, from deep woods and swamps and millponds all over the island.

“Pinkletinks!” she said.

He listened and nodded. “You're right,” he said.

Spring peepers: tiny tree frogs whose song sounded like tinkling bells, for one brief period in April. Only on the Vineyard were they called “pinkletinks,” a name dating back to the 1600s, when Bartholomew Gosnold, the English explorer, discovered the island and named it for his daughter Martha.

Dar closed her eyes, listening to the chorus. She'd felt a little bad about not having dinner with her sisters, but now she imagined them a short walk away, hearing the same song. It united them, and she imagined them being delighted. She held Andy's hand, rocking on the front porch, listening to the peepers' high, throbbing call.

“Would you like to go to a meeting?” he asked.

“I would,” she said, and got her sweater.

 

 

That night spring woke up. After dinner Rory and Delia stepped into the yard with all the kids, listening to the pinkletinks. They stood still, silent, and then everyone suddenly exploded into trying to make the same sounds: high, exuberant, trebly voices calling back to the frogs. Jenny did cartwheels and Obadiah started running around the yard, discharging tons of cooped-up energy.

“Grab your sweaters,” Rory said, heading for the station wagon. “We're taking a ride!”

She and Delia sat up front, Obadiah next to Vanessa and her doll in the car seat in back, and Silvy and Jenny in the way-back third seat. Rory rolled the window down, elbow cocked outside, letting everyone savor the salt air.

At first she aimed toward Edgartown, but when she neared the airport road, she glanced at Delia.

“Detour?” she asked.

“Do you think he's there?”

“I have a feeling,”

“Where are we going?” Sylvia called as soon as she realized they were bouncing down a rutted side road.

“To pick up a surprise guest.”

Rory followed the same route Dar had used, winding down the sandy pine road, turning in to the storage park, driving to the last unit on the top of the low hill. It was dark now, and she couldn't make out light coming from any of the units. But through the open car window she heard the faint sound of a baseball game.

“What is this place?” Obadiah asked, looking around. “It's kind of weird.”

“Mom, it's deserted,” Sylvie said.

“No, honey,” Rory said. “We're here to visit Uncle Harrison.”

“Yay!” Obadiah yelled, undoing his seat belt.

“This might be a mistake,” Delia whispered. “Dropping in at night, unannounced, with the kids?”

“How would we announce?” Rory asked. “He doesn't have a phone.” The kids were all out of the car by the time she caught a faint whiff of pot smoke. Delia made sure to slam all the doors loudly, and Rory walked over to the garage door and banged.

“Are you in there?” she called. “Your gang of admirers has come to kidnap you.”

Silence. Not even the baseball game; he'd turned off the TV and was hiding inside. Then she heard two squirts from an aerosol can, clearing out the evidence. A minute later the heavy metal door was rolled up, and Harrison stood silhouetted by the blue light of his muted flat screen.

“Well, well,” he said. “If it isn't my favorite gang of admirers.”

“You have more than one?” Obadiah asked, grinning.

“Hah! Many more,” Harrison said. “You're the third gang to stop by tonight alone.”

“Why are you here?” Jenny asked.

“Here?” Harrison asked, drawing out the word as if it were the strangest thing to be asked. “I live here.”

“No,” Jenny said. “You live in the big white sea captain's house in Edgartown.”

“With the dock!” Obadiah said. “Where you keep your boat.”

Harrison gave a dismissive wave. “Anyone can live in a big white house with a dock. This is much cooler.”

“It is, actually,” Sylvia said, glancing inside.

“Uncle Harrison,” Jenny said. “It's like a storage unit.”

“Well, you're right,” he said. “Many people would call it that. I prefer to call it ‘home.' Would you care to come inside and watch the ball game? Red Sox versus Yankees. And I have pretzels and beer.”

“We can't drink beer,” Obadiah said.

“Well, you can eat pretzels, can't you?” Harrison asked.

Rory took his hand. “You're coming with us. We're heading into town for ice cream.”

His eyes widened. Harrison had never been known to decline ice cream. He smacked his lips, and the kids all laughed. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, but he went inside to get a fleece and a pair of flip-flops. Everyone stood back while he pulled down the garage door.

“Stealth move,” he said. “Know what I mean, Obadiah?”

“No.”

“It means you don't want anyone to know you live here,” Sylvie said.

“That's right, baby,” Harrison said, giving her a high five. “I'm under the radar up here.”

“Is it illegal?” Sylvie asked.

“What an unpleasant word. Let's not use it. Let's just say I wouldn't want this place catching on, everyone else moving in. I like it nice and private.”

“It is private,” Delia said.

“And so dark and quiet,” Rory said, admiring the stars and the beam of Edgartown light sweeping across the sky.

“I'm riding shotgun,” Harrison said, climbing in front.

Delia didn't argue, squeezing in with Obadiah and Vanessa. Rory felt Harrison take her hand after she started up the car. She glanced over, saw him grinning at her.

“Except for the fact I have three kids in back,” Rory said, “this feels
so
much like old times.”

“Who loves ya, baby?” Harrison asked.

As Rory backed the car around, the headlights swung low across a thicket of brush. Something gleamed in the brambles, and for an instant she thought she'd caught the eyes of a deer. But then she recognized the intelligent, dignified, familiar face of Harrison M. Thaxter, Sr., and knew she was looking at the infamous bronze bust.

She saw Harrison salute in his father's direction as they pulled away, and Rory waved, too. Harrison turned the radio on; the local station was playing reggae. He began to bop his head and sing along to “Breakfast in Bed.”

“And a kiss or three . . . nothing need be said . . . no need,” he sang, making the kids laugh for absolutely no reason at all except for the fact it was Harrison. Rory headed into Edgartown, parked on Water Street. She'd been holding her breath to see whether Mad Martha's was open yet for the season, and it was.

They went through the usual ritual of deciding what flavor to have, entertaining new options, but ordering old favorites: mint Oreo cream, mango sorbet, buttercrunch, sinful chocolate. Everyone but Harrison got double-scoop cones, and he asked for an extra-large hot fudge sundae with five cherries.

“Mmm,” he said as they walked down Main Street toward the town dock. “Still as good as when you girls worked there.”

“What girls?” Jenny asked.

“Your mother and Delia had summer jobs at Mad Martha's,” Harrison said. “All the boys would have ice cream every day just to get served by them.”

“Dad too?” Obadiah asked.

“Of course,” Harrison said. “First in line whenever possible.”

Rory knew it was true. She'd always work slowly when Jonathan came in, prolong their moments together as she assembled his favorite—two scoops of coffee on a sugar cone, chocolate jimmies on top. Hearing Harrison tell it made Rory feel happy.

“Did Aunt Dar work there, too?” Sylvia asked.

“No,” Delia said. “Even her summer jobs were artistic. One lady hired her to paint tiny bagpipers on her kitchen knobs. And another paid her to tear real vines down from an old barn, because it was wrecking the windows, and to paint trompe l'oeil English ivy and morning glories there instead.”

“Tromp loy?” Obadiah asked.

“It means to fool the eye,” Harrison said. “Very useful word. I'd like you to write a memo on it and have it on my desk tomorrow, Obes.”

The kids giggled.

When they got to the parking area overlooking the harbor, it was just as if they'd summoned Dar: there she was, sitting beside Andy in his truck, which was facing across the darkly shimmering water toward Chappaquiddick. Rory assumed they must have pulled in after going to a meeting.

Everyone surrounded the truck; Andy had his radio tuned to the same reggae station, and Harrison told him to turn it up. Handing Andy his almost-finished sundae, Harrison slipped one arm around Rory, grabbed her hand with his sticky one, and began to dance.

She didn't recognize the song, but it didn't matter. Her feet knew what to do as she leaned into Harrison, let him twirl her away, dip her and pull her close again. The music was sweet, the salt air fresh, the bell buoy ringing, and suddenly everyone was pairing up to dance.

Dar and Andy got out of the truck, began to move. Sylvia held Vanessa, whirling her around, pointing up at stars in the sky. Obadiah tried to cut in on his mother, but Harrison wouldn't let go. Instead he swept Obadiah and Jenny in with him and Rory, and the water sparkled and the dance went on.