Luanne Rice (23 page)

“‘Residents
of Ard na Mara,’ ” Patrick read. “What’s Ard na Mara?”

“The town in the west of Ireland where her parents were killed.”

“What does
it mean?”

“In Gaelic,
Ard
means ‘peak,’ and
Mara
means ‘sea.’ ”

“I never
knew Mara was named for the sea!” Clara said.

Maeve
nodded.
“And for that town.
It’s where her mother was
born. Keep reading, Patrick.”

“‘Residents
of Ard na Mara have set up a memorial for the victims of the ferry disaster. A
brass plaque containing the names of each person aboard the fated vessel will
be mounted on a slab of granite, donated by a family from Nova Scotia, Canada.
Frederic Neill had come to Ard
na
Mara to meet with
Aran Shipbuilders, to commission the third and largest vessel in his family’s
tour boat fleet. Camille Neill, his widow, was reached at her innkeeping office
in Cape Hawk, Nova Scotia. “The family wishes to keep Frederic’s memory alive,”
she said of the monument. She had no further comment.’ ”

“Wasn’t
that a lovely thing to do?” Clara asked.

“I wonder
whether the family tour boat fleet includes whale-watching boats,” Patrick
said, staring into Maeve’s eyes.

Her hands
were shaking, so she held them quietly in her lap.

“What do
you think, Maeve?” he asked.

“I really
haven’t any idea.”

“Cape
Hawk,” he said. “That’s one of the places people can go to see beluga whales.”

Clara
smiled. “Well, they have belugas right at the aquarium in Mystic. And Maeve,
you have a membership!”

“Yes, you
do,” Patrick said. “Don’t you?”

“Mmm,”
Maeve said, holding her shawl tighter. It wasn’t a cold night by any means—the
fireflies were dancing in the side yard, and the air smelled of summer flowers.
But she felt something like an arctic chill blow through the open window.
Perhaps her stomachache wasn’t indigestion at all, but the beginning of the
flu. She had had a terrible case last winter. It had nearly landed her in the
hospital. Maybe she’d put the heat on again tonight.

“You look
pale, Maeve,” Patrick said.

“It’s just
the candlelight,” she said.

“So, that’s
why it was so hard to read the stories,” Patrick said, but he didn’t smile. He
seemed fixed on his plans, whatever they were. Maeve was sure he was just being
polite, sipping his tea. She wished he’d hurry up, get started on the next
phase of his investigation. Or did she? Her stomach churned at the thought.
There had been so much hurt, danger, disappointment.

“Did you
find the articles helpful?” Clara asked.

“I don’t
know yet,” Patrick said. “There’s at least a coincidence
… .”

“What would
that be?” Maeve asked.

“The mention of Cape Hawk in the story about the ferry memorial, and the
fact that it came up in my research earlier tonight.”

“Regarding
whales,” Maeve said.

“Isn’t that
an odd coincidence?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t
believe in coincidences, myself,” Maeve said. Patrick was staring at her. She
held his gaze for a few seconds,
then
saw his eyes
flicker down to her eyeglass case. It was old and well worn, some of the
needlepoint stitches worn off after so many years. He stared at it for a
moment, as if trying to decipher the word and discern the shape. Could he make
out the tail?

“You’re
saying you think there’s a connection?” he asked, steering himself back to the
matter at hand.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Quite.”

She took
off her bifocals and put them back into the case. Her hands were shaking, and
she felt
a sheen
of sweat on her brow.

“You know,
dear,” Maeve said. “I’m not feeling well. I have quite a case of indigestion,
and I might be coming down with
a summer
flu. I’m
chilled to the bone. Why don’t you take the articles with you?”

“I’ll do
that, Maeve,” he said, not looking away.

And Maeve
shivered—not because the room had gotten any colder, but because for the first
time, Patrick Murphy had looked at her as if she were the enemy. And he had
every reason to.

Chapter 20

M
arisa’s fingers ached from pushing the needle in
and out, embroidering the words “Bring Rose Home” on pillow after pillow.
Lily’s shop was quiet, except for the Spirit CD playing on the stereo. Marisa
had put in
Aurora,
and Jessica kept
playing the title song over and over. The sounds of boats and seagulls drifted
in from the harbor. As she sewed, Marisa’s mind wandered back to her childhood,
when she had sat at her mother’s knee, learning how to mend her clothes.

“That’s it,
sweetheart,” her mother had said, praising her for the worst, biggest stitches
anyone had ever made. “You’re really getting the hang of it!”

Marisa had
loved all the time she’d spent with her mother. Sewing, cooking, gardening—it
didn’t matter. Even driving—her mother had let Marisa sit behind the wheel of
her bright orange Volvo, driving it in and out of their cul-de-sac, when Marisa
was only twelve years old. She’d been the envy of all her friends.

Her mother
had taught Marisa and her sister how to drive a stick shift, how to prune roses
just below the new growth, how to look for three-and five-leaf sets on old
rosebushes, how to transplant orange day lilies, how to take ivy cuttings,
where to look for wild blackberries, how they should never approach
swans—because swans, although beautiful and graceful, were very aggressive, and
would attack humans.

She had
taught Marisa to protect herself from swans, but not from sweet-talking men.
Not from Ted. Glancing up, Marisa looked at Jessica across the shop. It was
their turn, among all the Nanouks, to work in Lily’s store. They wanted to keep
it open—keep Lily’s business going strong—so that when Lily and Rose returned
from the hospital, they wouldn’t have to worry about an income.

Lily had
told Anne, who was serving as the In Stitches bookkeeper until Lily’s return,
that she should pay everyone a salary for their work. Many of the Nanouks
refused—donating their proceeds straight back into the “Bring Rose Home”
account—but Marisa didn’t have that luxury.

Their
exodus had been a financial hardship. As carefully as she had planned the
escape, she hadn’t counted on such difficulties. She had followed instructions
from a couple of different domestic violence websites: stayed as even-tempered
as possible, so Ted wouldn’t suspect her intentions, hidden money in a fake
frozen orange juice can in the freezer, started emptying accounts, taken
proceeds from the house sale.

He had
charmed her into putting his name on so many of her investments, including her
main account at the brokerage where he worked—United Bankers’ Trust.
All of her first husband’s
pension had been there, as well
as her inheritance from her father. Ted had made such a show of caring, of
wanting to help her invest wisely—“so you will never have to worry.”

“You” meaning Marisa and Jessica.
How
benevolent he had sounded—when, in fact, he had been using them the whole time.
The longer Marisa stayed away, the more she was beginning to see. Was it
possible that just a few months ago—right after leaving him—she had had some
doubts, had actually felt some longing for him? Had been missing the feeling of
his arms around her shoulders?

He had been
like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He could be so funny and sweet, but his mood
could change in a flash—just like a storm whipping up on a summer day. His
moods had kept both her and Jessica so off-balance.

Now,
listening to Spirit sing “Lonesome Daughter,” Marisa looked over at Jessica and
wondered how long they would have to keep up the charade. Knowing that Lily was
down in Boston, in New England, made Marisa homesick. She missed her sister Sam
and the music they had played together. What had she been thinking, hauling her
daughter way up here, to this far-north outpost? “White Dawn” came on, haunting
and powerful.

“Mom?”
Jessica asked.

“Yes,
honey?”

“When is
Rose coming back?”

“After she
has surgery, it should take about two weeks before they let her leave the
hospital.”

“I want to
talk to her.”

“I know.
You will, soon.”

“She’ll be
happy to get home, won’t she?”

Marisa
nodded, looking over with curiosity. It seemed funny to hear Jessica refer to
this place as “home.”

“We’re so
lucky to have such a cool place to live,” Jessica said.
“With
so many whales and hawks and owls, and friends.
I never thought I’d be a
member of a secret society.”

“The Nanouk Girls?”

Jessica
nodded. “They didn’t even know us, but they took us right in and let us be
members. And now look at us, raising all this money for Rose.”

Marisa
swallowed hard. Hearing her daughter sound so happy and grateful was worth
almost everything—all the pain that had led up to her decision to do this, to
drop out and abandon everything at home,
even
their
real names and identities. It reminded her a little bit of the Internet—message
boards, where everyone took on a phony name and tried on different personas.
Discouraging, to say the least.
Yet she did it too. Marisa
had logged in her share of time chatting online, at times when she couldn’t
sleep or didn’t want to feel.

Footsteps
sounded on the porch, and then the bell above the door rang. Marisa looked up
to see Anne, Marlena, Cindy, and two of Cindy’s daughters walking in with
sandwiches from the inn.

“Lunchtime,”
Anne announced.

“I’m almost
finished with another pillow!” Jessica announced to Allie.

“We made
two last night,” Allie said.

“They’re
selling out, as fast as we can put them at the inn desk,” Anne said as everyone
pitched in. Thermoses of iced tea and lemonade, plastic cups, slices of lemon
and orange, turkey sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, paper plates, napkins,
all came out. Marisa cleared off the counter; women friends amazed her.
Although they hadn’t known each other for very long, they had bonded completely
over concern for Rose Malone.

Marisa
watched Jessica, carefully passing out paper plates. Her heart swelled,
thinking of how it was Jessica who had made this happen. While Marisa hid
inside, afraid to trust anyone or show her real self, her daughter had reached
out to Rose—and beyond that, to Lily and the Nanouks.

Now,
looking around the circle, Marisa desperately wanted to tell them all the
truth. It killed her, to hold so much back from these women who had given
her—and continued to give her—so much. She thought back to nursing school, when
she had first realized how generous and healing women were by nature. She
thought of Sam. The Nanouk Girls of the Frozen North were further proof.

“I have to
tell you all something,” she said out loud, her mouth dry.

They looked
at her, smiling, ready for anything.

“Jessica
and I …”

Anne
paused, thermos poised over the empty glasses.

“We’re not
who we seem to be,” she whispered.

“Mommy?”
Jessica asked—and there was warning, even panic,
in her eyes.

“What do
you mean?” Cindy asked.

“We’re on
the run …”

“You told
us,” Marlena said.
“On the boat, the day of Rose’s birthday
party.
We understand, honey. You’re escaping a bad marriage. It
happens.”

“But we’re
using false names.”

“Mommy!”

The women
stared at her. Marisa was shaking, thinking that they would feel so
betrayed,
they’d just walk out the front door. They wouldn’t
speak to her again; they’d kick her and Jess out of the Nanouks. Anne’s eyes
were bruised, as if she was terribly hurt. Marlena’s eyes widened, and Cindy
hung her head. Cindy’s two daughters just stared at Jessica, and Jessica turned
bright red.

Suddenly
Anne stood up, came around the circle, put her arms around Marisa. She hugged
her so
hard,
Marisa felt it in every bone in her body.

“I’m so
sorry,” Anne said. “For whatever you went through that made it necessary for
you to do that.”

“We know
something about it,” Cindy said.
“Because one of our other
members had to do it too.”

Anne and
Marlena nodded, exchanging glances with Cindy. Marisa knew, without them
telling her, that they were talking about Lily.

“Did you
ever go to a safe house?” Cindy asked. “Were you able to get a restraining
order against him?”

“You don’t
have to tell us,” Marlena said gently.

“Yes, I did
try,” Marisa said. “But the kinds of things he did were too subtle. The judge,
when I went to court begging for an order of protection, told me that if Ted
hadn’t literally tried to kill me within the last twenty-four hours, he
wouldn’t issue one.”

“Fucking
idiot,” Marlena said. “It’s just what Lily told us. The courts don’t understand
domestic violence.”

“You can
say that again,” Cindy said.

“How can it
happen to such strong women?” Marisa asked, not understanding, thinking of
Lily, with her clear eyes, with the fortitude she had to get through Rose’s
illness. “How did we attract them?”

“First of
all, you can’t blame yourself. That’s what we told Lily,” Marlena said. “You
were both vulnerable. You’d lost your husband, and Lily had never really gotten
over losing her parents. Her husband saw that she made good money—from her
needlework design business—and he went after it.”

“Mine did
the same,” Marisa said. “He came after my first husband’s pension.”

“The point
is
,
you’re both wonderful. We all have different sorts
of issues and problems—that’s life. Thank God we came together—to keep each
other safe and warm. We have a lot to talk about, and a lot of strength and
spirit to offer each other.”

“It’s not
all about escaping rotten husbands,” Cindy said. “In fact, they are completely
beside the point. It’s about being friends and having fun.”

“We have
plenty of other things in common,” Anne said.
“Beyond our
problems and worries.”

Marisa
smiled, remembering how Lily had said, “Welcome to the thaw.”

“See?”
Marlena asked. “We don’t care what your real names are. We love you for who you
are inside.”

“Sometimes
I don’t even know who that is,” Marisa whispered. “I feel as if I left her
someplace far away
… .”

“Well, we
know who you are,” Anne said.
“Someone loving, kind, caring,
and open.
A woman who’d give up her summer afternoons to look after
Lily’s store, and make pine pillows to raise money for Rose.”

“Thank
you,” Marisa said.

“The pine
pillows were my idea,” Jessica reminded everyone, and they all laughed.

“That’s
right, they were,” Cindy said.

“I still
want to tell you our real names,” Marisa said. “I trust you all, so much. And
he—Ted—lives hundreds of miles away. He has no idea where we are—none at all.
Cape Hawk is a mystery to him. He’d never suspect that we’d come here.”

“He
wouldn’t,” Jessica said, her eyes brightening at the idea of revealing the
truth.

“Well,”
Anne said. “We can promise you that nothing you say will leave this room. We
won’t even tell the other Nanouks, unless and until you say it’s okay.”

“I believe
you,” Marisa said.

“So do
I
,” Jessica said, smiling.

“Okay
then,” Cindy said.

“Who are
you really?” Marlena asked, with a big grin.

And Marisa
told them their real names.

The Florida
disaster, Hurricane Catherina, had brought out the best in people—especially in
Spirit fans. Secret Agent had filled his coffers the last few weeks, with
contributions sent in by all his friends on the SpiritTown message board. He
had woven a story that just kept getting better and better. His sister and her
husband had lost everything—everything. The 150-mile-per-hour winds had blown
the roof off their house in Homestead and destroyed everything inside. His poor
little nephew Jake had needed stitches from all his cuts caused by flying glass.
Now he needed plastic surgery.