Suddenly the buzz of conversation in the dining room stopped as a young man in a yellow slicker burst through the main door and appealed to the bartender in a loud voice.
“Is Jack Schmale here?” he cried. It was Prendergast, the deputy from the sheriff’s office. The diners turned their attention to the intruder. Everyone in the room knew who Jack Schmale was, and this, combined with the urgency in Prendergast’s voice, riveted their attention. The waitress emerged from the kitchen and leaned against the bar. The lights from above made her crown of braids look like a halo.
Prendergast, feeling all the eyes in the room on him, took advantage of the situation to press his search. “Anyone here seen Jack Schmale?” he called out in an official voice. Several of the diners murmured to one another, but there was no reply.
Finally a man in a checkered coat called out, “Didja try down at the steamship office? He might be checkin’ out the ferry situation on a night like this.”
Prendergast’s forehead cleared as if the thought had never occurred to him. He waved gratefully to the man and turned to leave. The waitress glided over and put a hand on his arm. “Hey, Eric,” she asked the young officer, “what’s up?”
“It’s Jess Herlie,” he announced importantly, as the continued silence in the room indicated that the diners were hanging on his words. “Guess we’ve finally found him. His boat just washed up on the North Beach.”
“Is he… all right?” asked the girl, her voice quivering.
The young man’s solemn reply echoed through the silent room. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Looks like he musta drowned.”
20
The flashing of lights and the squawking of radios gave the deserted North Beach a gruesome carnival atmosphere as Owen’s jeep careened to a halt on the sandy shoulder. Before the jeep had even stopped, Maggie had tumbled out the door and was scrambling over the damp sand of the dunes, stumbling and sinking down into them as she ran.
“Wait a minute, goddammit,” Owen cursed as he heaved himself out of the jeep and started after her. His bulk moved unsteadily over the mountains of sand. He dreaded what he would find when he reached the beach. The more he struggled to keep his umbrella up over him, the more the wind and whipping rain seemed to mock his efforts. He trudged and slid down the sodden hills. Ahead of him, in the darkness, he could see the arcs of flashlights, helter-skelter across the surface of the sand. The surf was pounding angrily on the shore, tearing up the beach. A knot of men, talking into radios, stood huddled around the wreck of a small boat, its jagged planks torn apart by the promontory of rocks it had crossed to reach the shore. A few feet apart from the group of men, Maggie shivered, staring at the wreck of the craft. Her clothes
whipped around her like sails come loose from their rigging. She seemed stunned, unconscious of the rain beating down on her. Owen hurried toward her and held his mangled umbrella gallantly over her dripping head and shoulders.
“What’s going on?” Owen shouted impatiently at her.
Maggie stared at the broken dinghy, which lay on its side on the beach. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think it’s Jess’s boat.” The flashlights that traveled over the broken craft illuminated the words “Sharon Too” painted across the stern.
“Did they find Jess?” Owen shouted.
Maggie shook her head numbly. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, maybe the boat just broke loose in the storm,” Owen said gruffly. “Here, hold this.” He handed her the umbrella. “Somebody around here must know what’s happening.”
Shoving the handle into her cold fingers with their puckered fingertips, Owen marched over to the group of men on the thundering strand and began yelling to them. Their flashlights roved drunkenly through the sky. Maggie stood rooted in the wet sand, her eyes on the boat in front of her. The dinghy. She had forgotten Jess even had one.
Maybe Owen is right,
she thought.
Maybe it just broke free.
She tried to visualize the dock behind his house. Had he just left it tied there? She remembered him proudly pointing out the powerboat in the shed. He’d already put it up for the winter. “The
Sharon,
” he had said. “I haven’t gotten around to changing the name. Actually, I didn’t have another name for it. Till now. We’ll paint it over in the spring.”
Maggie turned away from the broken rowboat and stared out at the angry sea that was roaring against the force of the winds. The ocean he loved. Had it swallowed him? Taken him from her? Become his grave?
Owen trudged back toward her, his head down against the gale. She grabbed onto the lapel of his coat and shook it. She gazed up into his face, her hopes naked in her eyes.
The big man shook his head and began to propel her up the dunes. “Let’s get back to town,” he said.
Maggie shook her head helplessly at him.
“His gear was in the boat,” Owen conceded in a weary shout. “Schmale has it. They already brought the stuff back to town. Come on. It’s freezing out here.”
The men with the flashlights were beginning to disperse. Several of them were dragging the wreck of the boat up the beach. Maggie stared out at the implacable sea, which crashed down on the beach with its angry, unyielding force. Deadly in its raging. Then she closed her eyes and let Owen lead her away.
“That’s the lot of it,” Jack Schmale sighed, tossing Jess’s torn and soggy jacket on the knapsack and bait box on the chair beside his desk.
Maggie and Owen stared down at the pile of effects.
“Life preserver is gone,” Jack observed, “but I don’t guess he ever had a chance to make it back to shore. This storm put an end to it.”
“It’s impossible,” Maggie breathed.
The old policeman scratched his forehead and sat
down heavily in his swivel chair. “I guess he went out for a little night fishing and ran into some trouble with the boat. It’s hard to say what. The sea’s a funny place. Anything can happen.”
“Well, how come all this stuff was still in the boat,” Owen demanded, “and no sign of Jess?”
“Oh, he had a footlocker in that little dinghy of his. Most of this stuff was still in it. Even found a couple of cans of beer. I guess he planned to make a night of it. The jacket was stuffed up underneath the bow. It got caught on a nail.”
“He’d already put the powerboat away for the season,” Maggie said tonelessly.
Jack shrugged. “He must’ve kept the dinghy in the water.”
The door to the police station banged open and Prendergast burst in. “They’ve got the boat back here,” he announced.
“Leave it down to the dock, for tonight,” ordered the chief. “We’ll deal with it when this weather clears up.” Prendergast acknowledged the order and banged back out the door. Jack sighed. “I’d better call his folks down in Florida. I think I got their number in here.” Jack extracted a black phone book from his desk drawer. “I hate doing this,” he said.
Maggie walked away numbly and sat down on a bench in the corner of the police station. Jack looked up from his phone book and peered over at her.
“You’re free to go now,” he advised her.
“I think she just needs to get her wind back,” Owen told him, glancing at Maggie’s drained face.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” said Jack kindly. “You can rest there as long as you like. I meant you’re free to leave the island. If you still want to go.”
Maggie looked at him uncomprehendingly and then nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As Jack began his conversation with the operator, Owen sat down beside Maggie on the bench. “I could use a drink,” he said. “How about it? Come on over to the John B. with me.”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to.”
“It’ll do you good,” Owen urged her. “We can talk. Hash it out.” He thought briefly of their unfinished conversation in the restaurant. He wondered if he would ever know what she had been about to tell him. Probably not tonight, at any rate.
“You go ahead,” she said. “I’m just going to sit here for a minute. Then I’m going home.”
“Do you need a ride?” he asked.
“No, I’ve got my car. I think I’d rather be alone. Really.”
“If you’re sure,” said Owen.
“It’s okay. Really. Go on.”
“Okay. Good night,” he said, squeezing her hand lightly. Then he stood up. “Good night, Jack.”
Schmale waved absently as he pressed the receiver to his ear. “Speak up, operator,” he insisted. “We’ve got a terrible connection.”
Maggie’s eyes rested on the pile of Jess’s belongings on the chair.
So this is how it ends,
she thought.
Just gone. Love ended, without even a good-bye. Just like every other time.
Every other man she had loved. She tried to remind herself that it was not a chain, one death
linked irrevocably to the others, but she could not still the whisperings of doom inside her. It was an accident, she told herself. But her mind reeled backward, out of control. Her father’s heart attack, and Roger’s murder, and Jess’s accident. Death sat on her shoulder, an invisible vulture. Maggie recognized her punishment.
“Hello, Sara?” Jack yelled into the phone. “Sara, it’s Jack Schmale. Yeah, up at the island. Is Marcus there? Well, you’d better call him.… Yes. I’ve got some bad news, dear. Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s about your son.”
Maggie jerked herself to her feet. She could not bear to overhear the conversation. Without a word to the police officer on the telephone, she walked out the door of the police station. A cluster of men in foul-weather gear stood talking under the shelter of the porch roof. Trying to skirt them, Maggie walked toward the steps with her eyes lowered. “Leave me alone,” she muttered. “Just leave me alone.” Someone mounted the steps and stopped directly in her path. Maggie looked up into Evy’s pale eyes.
The two women stared at one another for a moment. “I heard about Jess,” Evy blurted out. “I came right over.”
Maggie turned away from her and sank wearily against the railing of the porch. She rested there, trembling from the cold, and hung her head. Evy stood beside her, carefully arranging her old raincoat around her, trying in vain to pull the sleeves down so they would cover her wrists.
“They think he drowned,” Maggie said dully.
Evy nodded. “That’s what I heard. I can’t believe it.”
Maggie did not reply.
Evy eyed her warily. “What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted.
A prolonged silence fell between them. Finally Maggie noticed that Evy was struggling to speak. The girl did not meet Maggie’s eyes. Her voice was shaky but deliberate. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I guess you feel very badly about Jess. Believe me, I know how you feel.”
As weary as she was, Maggie felt a spark of surprise at the girl’s words. She studied the wretched face for a hint of derision, but there was nothing but misery written there.
She
does
know,
Maggie thought.
She loved him too.
Tentatively, she reached out a hand and placed it on the girl’s frail, veined wrist. “I know you do,” she said. “Thank you.”
Evy shrank from Maggie’s touch and quickly assumed a normal tone. “I imagine Grace will be here soon.”
Maggie shivered and shook her head. “I don’t want to wait,” she said. “I’m going home.”
“Already?” Evy asked.
“Right now,” Maggie said grimly. She looked out at the shining streets. “It’s still pouring.”
“Coming down in sheets,” Evy agreed. She stood up. “I guess I’ll go too.”
“I thought you were staying,” said Maggie, faintly surprised.
“I might as well go,” said the girl.
Maggie nodded. She glanced back briefly at the closed door of the police station. Then she started down the steps. Evy followed close behind her.
“Where’s your car?” Evy shouted, tying a plastic rainhat over her hair.
Maggie pointed toward the
Cove News
offices.
“Come with me. I’ll drive you there,” Evy suggested, opening the door to her car.
“Thanks anyway,” said Maggie. “I’d just as soon walk.”
“You’ll get drenched,” said the girl.
“I already am.” Maggie started off in the direction of her car. The street lamps blurred before her tired eyes on the rain swept streets.
Evy watched her departing back for a few moments and then slid into the clammy front seat.
All right,
she thought.
Whatever you want to do is fine with me.
She turned on the engine and backed up out of her space. Then she started slowly up the street in the direction that Maggie was walking. As she passed the bedraggled figure trudging up the road in the rain, she tapped lightly on her horn and waved. Maggie raised a hand listlessly and glanced at Evy’s passing car. Evy looked down Main Street as she passed and noticed the old black Buick parked near the corner. Maggie was nearing Main Street on foot. Evy continued on up the road, and then, when she knew her car was well out of sight, she turned left down a long block, then left again.
Evy circled the block as slowly as she could. When she came around the corner onto Main Street, she was startled to see that Maggie’s car was still sitting where
it had been parked. Evy quickly pulled into the parking lot at Lou’s Market and killed her lights.
Why is she just sitting there?
Evy wondered. The longer she sat, the more difficult it became. Evy drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. It was a good night to act. The storm was keeping most people inside. She could go about her business unobserved. Now that they had found Jess’s boat, had made their big catch for the night, Jack Schmale and Prendergast would probably be content to stay inside filling out forms and rehashing the possibilities until the weather cleared.
The thought of Jess reminded Evy of Maggie, emerging white-faced, from the police station. The news had been a shock to her. Evy was glad of that. Maggie was behaving as if she were about to crack, muttering to herself.
It’s all going to work out perfectly,
Evy thought.
If only she would get moving.
Suddenly, the car she was watching lurched forward, as if propelled by the force of her thoughts.
Finally,
she thought. Evy waited for a moment to start her own engine. The realization that the moment she had waited for was at hand left her breathless with anticipation.
Carefully now,
she thought.
No mistakes.