Safe Harbor (29 page)

“She loved it about you, but yes—she wanted you to come home. You were her sister, and she missed you.”

“I miss her,” Dana said, her eyes burning with tears.

“Oh, I know you do, honey.”

They sat together, thinking of Lily, keeping watch for her daughters. Dana could hardly bear the anxiety, the not-knowing and waiting to hear. She wanted to paint, to go down into the garage Quinn had tried to transform, use the north light to paint a magical talisman, something that would bring the girls home. That made her touch the key around her neck, think of the locket Lily had always worn.

“Remember Miss Alice's store?” Dana asked her mother.

“Of course I do. The place where you and Lily spent every cent of your allowance. Until you started saving up for the boat . . .”

Dana shuddered, wishing she and Lily had never bought the
Mermaid
. “When I went to Mark's office,” Dana said, “I started thinking how cool it was, right upstairs from Miss Alice's shop. Do you think that was Lily's doing?”

Her mother smiled. “Definitely. Lily loved connection. Mark having his office there was a connection to you, to your childhood, to so many things.”

“Miss Alice's shop,” Dana said, picturing the shelves crowded with penny candy, books, china tea sets, and glass bowls.

“It's where Lily bought her hope chest.”

“Her what?”

“Her hope chest.” Her mother shook her head. “That's what she used to call it anyway. It wasn't very big—about the size of a schoolbook. You must have seen it in her room.”

“She had so many boxes over the years.”

“Well, this one was special. It was inlaid with moonstones, supposedly found on Little Beach. It's where she used to keep her diary. Back when I committed the cardinal sin of reading it . . .”

The moonstone box. Dana hadn't thought of it in years, but she could see it now: polished mahogany with a row of small glowing stones all around the edge.

“The things I'd do over if I could,” her mother said. “Never invade your rooms, never read your diaries, trust that you'd turn into the wonderful women you both became.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dana said.

“It bothered me so much, seeing that box on her bureau,” her mother said, wiping her eyes. “I stuck it up in the linen closet so I wouldn't have to look at it. Made me feel ashamed of myself every time—”

“The linen closet?”

“Upstairs,” her mother said. “On the top shelf.”

Dana kissed her mother's head. Maggie jumped off her lap and headed up the stairs, as if something had suddenly become more important than staying with her mistress. Dana didn't know what she was hoping to find, but her heart was racing as if Lily had just walked into the room.

 

S
AM STOOD
on the deck of the Coast Guard boat, scanning the water all around. The driving rain stung his eyes and rolled off the yellow slicker. The boat was beating back and forth through the Hunting Ground, the destination Sam and Dana had predicted the girls would head for. A hundred yards away, in the shipping lane, a tanker and barge passed each other.

“Why here?” Coast Guard officer Tom Hanley asked. “There's nothing out here.”

“It's where their parents' boat went down.”

“I know—the
Sundance
. I got called out on that one. But what would two little girls be doing, coming to the place their parents drowned?”

“You don't know them,” Sam said, picturing Quinn.

“Terrible thing, that sinking,” Hanley said. “Could not make heads nor tails of it. Calm night, solid boat, good sailors.”

“They hit a tow rope,” Sam said, watching a tug approach from the west.

“Really? How do you know?”

“I dove on the boat. Found rope fibers and sent them to a captain in your squad. The chances of locating the tug aren't great, but he's checking the shipping records from that night.”

“Well, makes sense,” Hanley said. “Think about it—this is Long Island Sound. All these pleasure boats skipping around, and this here's the superhighway of commercial boat traffic between Boston and New York City. It all comes through here—people try to cross the highway, they might get hit. It's amazing it doesn't happen more often.”

“I hope it doesn't happen today,” Sam said, watching for the
Mermaid
.

“Shit, if the weather doesn't get them first,” Hanley said, shaking his head. “As storms go, this one isn't very bad. But they're so young, and that's a very small sailboat they're in.”

“I know.”

The boat moved slowly west, away from Hubbard's Point and toward the green can that marked the start of the Hunting Ground. The Sound was rising, four- to five-foot waves forming peaks and troughs, but if it had flattened out and Sam had turned around to look behind him, due east, he would have seen a small blue sailboat, one of its white sails ready to tear, beating eastward away from the Hunting Ground toward the island of Martha's Vineyard.

CHAPTER
24

T
HE WEATHER CHANGED VERY FAST.
T
HE DAY HAD
been so bright and calm, and now the sky was gray and the waves were big. Not huge, like in hurricanes or even nor'easters, but pretty tall. Higher than any waves Quinn had ever sailed through in this boat. She held the tiller with all her might, pulling it in against her chest, surfing into the trough just to keep the boat from flipping over. Allie stared at the compass as if it were a crystal ball. Kimba was drenched in the crook of her arm. Everyone was drenched.

“Ninety, Quinn!” Allie called out, reading the compass.

“Good going, Al.”

“Are we almost there?”

Quinn exhaled. Jeez, what did she think this was, a car ride? It was just like Allie to get bored on a trip, have to ask every two minutes whether they were almost there. Their mother used to think up games to keep her occupied: count the license plates from all fifty states, watch for white horses in the fields, ask who will be the first to see the Welcome to Rhode Island sign?

“Are we, Quinn?” Allie asked as the waves got bigger. “Almost there?”

“Allie, do you see any signs? How about a mileage marker?”

“Don't yell at me.”

“I'm only yelling so you'll hear me over the wind,” Quinn said. The wind howled in her ears. It had torn the jib just slightly, about halfway up, and that one rip made the sail now sound like a wildly snapping flag. She would never have set out if she had known the weather was going to do this.

She glanced from right to left, trying to get her bearings. They had left Orient Point far behind an hour earlier—the land on her right. To the left, they had passed Silver Bay and New London, and now she thought maybe they were passing Noank. That big land mass almost dead ahead had to be Fishers Island.

“Is that the Vineyard?” Allie screamed, taking her eyes off the compass for ten seconds.

“Nope. It's Fishers.”

“Let's stop there, Quinn!” Allie shrieked. “We can wait for the storm to be over and start up again later.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes, holding the tiller so hard, she was getting blisters. The rain pelted her face and braids. Allie's idea had merit, but it was flawed. If they did stop, grown-ups might find them and send them home. They'd be grounded for life, never get this chance again. The tackle box filled with money was nestled in the bow, as safely stowed as Quinn had been able to secure it.

The other problem was herself. She had to admit something: She was scared. Not just for herself but for her sister. This storm was more than a little rain. Once they got past Fishers Island, they'd be out of the Sound, into the ocean. Quinn had never sailed in the ocean before.

“What about our mission?” Quinn asked, wiping her eyes to look at Allie.

“Paying the man back?”

“Yes.”

“Can't we do it later?”

“We might not get the chance.”

“It's for Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yes, it is.”

Allie gave it some thought, then nodded hard. “Okay,” she said. “I want to keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Ninety, Quinn,” Allie yelled over the wind as she started staring at the compass again. “Keep going!”

Why did you do it, take it. . . . You've ruined us. . . .
Quinn heard her mother's voice crying over the sound of the wind. She caught her breath on a sob.

“No one can ruin us, Mommy,” she said out loud, and she didn't even care if Allie heard. They were in this together, all of them, the Grayson sisters and their parents, even Aunt Dana and Grandma; Quinn knew it was up to her to make things right for her family, no matter what.

So, pointing into the storm, Quinn kept sailing.

 

T
HE LINEN CLOSET
was just a simple cupboard of two old doors, one over the other, cut out of the same dark wainscoting as the rest of the walls. The bottom level was filled with extra blankets, quilts, and mattress pads. The upper door opened to reveal four shelves, the lower two filled with towels, the top two stacked with sheets. Standing on tiptoe, reaching as high as she could, Dana found the moonstone box.

She took it down and held it in her hands. It felt heavy, and when she moved it, things slid around inside. The tiny lock was half an inch in diameter, and when almost by instinct Dana inserted the key hanging around her neck, the box opened.

A sound escaped her, and Maggie danced at her feet. As she lifted the lid, her heart pounding as she thought of what might be inside, her eyes filled with tears. There was Lily's locket.

Dana's fingers closed around it. She felt the size and weight: a sterling silver oval, hand-tooled and etched, quite heavy, the approximate size of a misshapen, somewhat oblong silver dollar. The hall light, an overhead globe, was too dim. Dana carried the box and locket into her sister's bedroom for better light.

Sitting on the edge of the double bed, she opened her hand. There it was, right in her palm. The locket her sister had worn against her skin for twenty-eight years. Dana had bought it for her when they were thirteen and eleven, and over the years it had held pictures of just about everyone Lily held dear. No wonder Sam hadn't found it on the sea bottom; Lily would never have worn her precious locket out sailing.

Hands shaking, Dana opened the locket now. She undid the clasp with her thumbnail, feeling the small click of release. The two silver ovals, hinged on one side, fell open like a book, and a second, even tinier key dropped onto her lap. Dana closed her eyes, almost afraid to look. When she finally did, her pulse began to race.

On the right side, Dana stared at a small shot of Lily and the girls in the herb garden. Mark must have taken it from far off, but it was a portrait done in love by someone who had known the subjects very well. Lily wore her sun hat, and she was circling both her daughters with her arms.

All three smiled at the camera. The picture showed Quinn before her rasta phase, her brown hair beautiful and flowing in the sunlight. Allie's bright curls gleamed, nearly as brightly as her smile. Each girl playfully wore one of Lily's garden gloves, holding her trowel and rake like scepters. Lily held a small book in the hand she rested on Quinn's shoulder, a pen in the one on Allie's.

The other side of the locket held a picture of Dana and Lily. The same era as the garden photo, it must have been taken about three years ago. Dana stared at it, seeing the love in her sister's eyes. Her heart ached, realizing how much she missed that love. As she drifted to the window, looking for boats, she knew she'd never feel such deep, abiding, forever, knowing love the same way again. Yet, wishing for it, missing it terribly, made her thoughts turn to Sam.

Sam was out there, looking for the girls. Dana trusted him so deeply. He had inserted himself into their family just when they all, but Dana especially, needed him most. She wanted him to bring home Lily's daughters; more than anything, she wanted to care for those girls the way her sister would want her to.

Right there, in their own house, the home Lily had loved so much. Dana thought about blame, her mother trying to blame herself for the girls' sailing away. Maybe it was actually Dana's fault, she thought, holding the locket. She shouldn't have gone to New York, left Quinn alone when she was so vulnerable and volatile.

“I'm sorry, Lily.” Her voice broke as she spoke to her sister's picture. “I didn't mean to cause them harm. Tell me what to do—please, Lily. Help me know what to do!”

Now, when she looked at the picture of herself and Lily, she noticed the chain around Lily's neck. It held this locket, and just behind it—glinting gold—the tiny key. Dana saw it with a start, and she touched the same key on the cord around her own neck.

Looking right at the picture of Lily, Quinn, and Allie, Dana saw the book.

It was a reddish volume, almost brown in color. Quite small, it was the size of a child's diary. Peering more closely, Dana saw by the strap and lock that it
was
a diary. Rain lashed the windows, and strengthening wind snapped the awnings. What could it matter? They'd found the sunken boat, learned about the accident. The tackle box of money was a source of shame, something concerning the Sun Center, but what did it have to do with their family today?

The locket burned in her hand. She stared at the pictures, and something made her glance at the little globe beside Lily's bed. The mermaid seemed to beckon, and Dana lifted the glass and shook it. The water swirled with tiny red, yellow, and blue fish. The globe had come from Miss Alice's shop, around the same time Dana had bought the locket.

She's magic, girls,
the old lady had told them, her fingers gnarled around the precious crystal ball. White hair pulled back in a bun, face as wrinkled as an old witch's, Miss Alice had stared into the mermaid's globe with love and joy, and somehow Dana and Lily had known that any magic that came from her hands was of the best, kindest sort.
Mermaids exist, you know. They live right here in New England. They spin nets out of moonbeams, and they pull stars down from the sky. Whenever you need their help, all you need to do is ask. Say Mermaid, mermaid, tell me true . . .

“What's a girl supposed to do?” Dana asked out loud now, bypassing her sister Lily for the surest help of all. She shook the globe, and the fish swam madly around. Something made Dana look back at the pictures in Lily's locket, at the diary in her hand.

Dana spun back in time. Where had Lily hidden her diaries?

Under her mattress, behind the books in the bookcase, over the window, in the attic: Dana had found all of those places, and Lily had known. But there was one place Dana had found that she had kept secret. Lily's last spot, the one she'd used before they'd both started art school, that Dana hadn't let on about.

Since finding the gold key—the wrong one, as it had turned out—she had wondered where the adult Lily would hide a diary. But why would Lily try to improve on perfection? Why hadn't Dana thought of it before now?

Because she hadn't asked the mermaid, she thought, tearing down the stairs, out the kitchen door, into the rain, the second key held tightly in her hand.

 

T
HE
C
OAST
G
UARD
boat beat north and south across the Sound, with Sam standing on deck with binoculars. He trained them on the Hunting Ground, from the red bell to the green can, into the shipping lane, all the way to Orient Point.

“No sign of them?” Hanley asked.

“No.”

The rain hadn't let up, and the wind had slightly increased. Sam leaned against the rail to keep from losing his balance. Thinking of two small girls in a small sailboat filled him with fear, and he kept the glasses fixed to his eyes.

“No pleasure boats out here at all,” Tom Hanley said. “For once, people had their eyes on the sky. Most people, that is. Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Sam said.

Sam could have sworn Quinn would come out here. Where else would she go? A novice sailor, she definitely had Underhill blood. Sam had no doubt her mother and aunt would try sailing in this, feeling the ultimate in wind and sea. He remembered from that summer in Newport, when Dana had let the class sail and race in the midst of small-craft warnings.

The captain slowed down, and Sam's gut lurched—for a minute he thought some debris had been spotted. If they didn't find the boat, they might still find bits of wreckage. They might come upon the girls clinging to the mast.

“What's he doing?” Sam asked, turning to look up at the bridge.

“Going back,” Hanley said.

“But they have to be here somewhere!”

“We'd see them if they were. Maybe they've ducked into a cove or beach somewhere. We'll ride along shore, look for them there.”

Sam put the glasses back to his eyes. He began to scan the Connecticut shoreline, still looking for signs of the
Mermaid,
for Dana's nieces waving for help. Knowing what she'd been through with Lily, he wasn't going back to her without them.

 

“T
HIS IS IT,
Allie,” Quinn said as they flew along the north shore of Fishers Island.

“This is what?”

“
It.
Our last chance to stop.”

“Our last chance before what?”

“The open ocean.”

“Is it scary there? Worse than this?” Allie called.

How could Quinn answer that question? She hung on to the tiller with white knuckles, the waves starting to splash over the bow. The boat was moving so fast, the water washed through the hull like mercury, running out the drain holes in back. If she had a speedometer, she'd bet it would show they were going a hundred miles an hour. But she didn't, so all she could do was guess.

“Worse than this!” she yelled. “Bigger waves and more wind.”

“Will we tip?”

“I won't let us.”

“Are there shipping lanes?”

“Don't think so! The ocean's too big!”

“What if we sail right past the Vineyard? What if we miss it?”

“Then we'll wind up in France, and Aunt Dana can come to get us!” The boat rose and crashed on a wave, knocking the laugh right out of Quinn's mouth. “But we won't miss it, Al. Just keep us on course. That's your job. Mine's sailing the boat, yours is reading the compass.”

“Ninety, Quinn!”

“Ninety, Al,” Quinn yelled over the wind as they rounded the island's northeastern point and sailed straight into the Atlantic Ocean.

 

D
ANA DIDN
'
T HAVE
a coat or hat on, and she didn't have a shovel. She held the second key in her teeth and knelt in the herb garden, digging with her bare hands. The rain fell in sheets, blowing in off the Sound, flooding the small garden.