Safe Harbor (32 page)

Mommy, is that you?

It is, Quinny. Hold on. Let go of that box. Drop it now. Tell Allie to let go of Kimba. She'll be fine, you both will, but you need all your strength.

Was it possible? Quinn shivered with joy. She had just heard her mother's voice, felt her presence in her heart. “Hold tight, Allie. Someone will come along and rescue us. Remember the mermaids? They're coming, Allie.”

“There aren't any mermaids,” Allie said. Quinn looked at her face. She was pure white, and her lips were blue. The tips of her fingers, clinging to Kimba and the boat, looked almost transparent, like little fins. Her mother's voice continued:
Give her hope, honey. Tell her to drop Kimba, use both hands. You too—both hands right now!

“There are, Al. They're going to save us. There's one here now, and I think it's Mommy. Hang on.”

“Mommy!”

Allie's hand slipped. She fell into the waves, and slapping the surface in an exhausted attempt to swim, pulled herself back. Quinn had a pit in her stomach, and her head was getting light. Were the words real? She had to do something.

Now, Quinn.

The tackle box was weighing her down. It contained five thousand dollars, and all she wanted to do was repay that old man, Jack Conway. This was for her parents, maybe the last thing she would ever do for them. The desire had driven her this far, through the storm, and she hated to give it up. But she knew, looking at her sister's face, hearing her mother's voice, that she had to.

“Oh, Mommy,” Allie cried.

“Allie,” Quinn said as a wave hit them both. “Listen to me.”

“I thought you said Mommy was here. But where, Quinn? Where is she?”

“Holding us up, Al. She's with us now.”

“Why can't I see or hear her?”

“I don't know—listen to me. She says you have to drop Kimba.”

“I can't, Quinn,” she said, hysterical.

“Allie—I'll drop the money first, okay? Then you can let go of him. Mommy says so. . . .”

That's it, my brave girl. Keep going. . . .

“I can't . . .” she cried.

“He won't drown,” Quinn said. “He knows you love him. He'll go down to the bottom of the sea, to be with Mommy and Daddy.”

Yes, honey. With me. My baby's toy . . .

Allie seemed to hear that. She kissed Kimba, still unable to let go. Quinn looked at the gray plastic box.

You too, Aquinnah. Let go now.

The box had caused her parents so much unhappiness, and she had believed the only way to give them peace would be to return it to its owner. But she heard her mother's voice, and she had to save her sister, so she dropped the tackle box into the deep gray sea.

Wonderful, honey. That's it. Now hang on. Watch your sister. . . .

Seeing Quinn drop the box, with a huge sob Allie kissed Kimba and let him go. She wept, holding on to the side of the boat with both hands. Quinn pressed up beside her. Their legs moved in the same rhythm underwater, trying to stay afloat. Her chest ached. From swallowing so much salt water, her throat stung.

“Oh, Mommy,” Allie cried, her head on the boat's blue bottom.

Touching her head to her sister's, Quinn rested there too. She imagined Kimba drifting far into the deep, and for some reason that made her cry almost as much as Allie. She felt so tired. The sea was pulling them down, and she almost couldn't fight anymore. “Mommy,” Quinn said. “Mommy.”

Suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore. She looked over at Allie, and she seemed to be holding herself up more easily. Quinn's legs felt like sand; she stopped moving them, and now she knew for sure that someone was holding her up. The same was true for Allie. Resting against the boat's bottom, her sister seemed to float easily.

My darlings,
the voice came.
I love you so much.

“Is it . . .” Allie began.

“Mommy?” Quinn asked.

Aquinnah and Alexandra.

“Where are you? We have to see you,” Quinn demanded.

“She's here,” Allie cried, her face glowing. “I hear her!”

I'm always here. Whether you can see me or not, whether you can hear my voice or not.

“You saved us!”

Your love saved each other. Remember that always, children. The love of sisters is even more powerful than the love of mermaids.

“But what about mothers?” Quinn asked, holding her sister's hand.

Oh, that's the most powerful love of all. It lasts forever. Remember that, Quinn and Allie. Whenever you feel alone, remember: I'm your mother. For ever and ever.

“I tried to make everything right,” Quinn said. “To pay the man back. I wanted to do it for you and Daddy.”

Thank you, sweetheart. My good, loyal child.

And suddenly, they heard the sound of wind, but it was actually a big sailboat coming at them. Quinn knew she should yell and wave to attract its attention, but she didn't want her mother to leave. Neither did Allie; her sister had her face in the cloudy water, looking into the waves for the source of that voice they both loved so much.

“Don't go,” Allie called.

“Mommy!” Quinn yelled.

The big sailboat bore off the wind. Quinn could see that the mainsail was reefed, but now it came down entirely. The motor started. Driving closer, the captain peered over the side.

“Are you both okay?”

“Yes,” Quinn said, her teeth chattering.

“It's just the two of you? Was there anyone else aboard?”

“Not
aboard,
” Quinn said, answering as honestly as she could. The man wore a white slicker, and as he leaned over, Quinn pushed her sister up into his arms.

She wanted to stay in the water as long as she could. The waves pushed her legs. She felt the force against her ankles, her knees—or was it something else? When she was very little, she had loved to play in the bathtub. Her mother would hold her feet, teaching her how to kick.

I want you to be a strong swimmer, Quinn. We live by the sea, and I know you're going to grow up to be a beach girl just like me and your aunt. When the tides are strong, or you find yourself far from shore, just kick your legs and get yourself back to safety. Kick, kick, kick. That's my girl.

“Kick, kick, kick,” Quinn said out loud now, just as she had then.

Sisters,
her mother said.
Love your sister, Quinn, the way I love mine.

“Aunt Dana,” Quinn said.

The water surged with more force than ever before.

“I love her too, Mommy. And so does Sam. You don't know him. He's kind of young, but he's wonderful. . . .”

I do know him, sweetheart.

“Sam helped me know that you didn't leave on purpose.”

Never, Quinn. Never would I leave you on purpose.

Quinn's voice caught in her throat. She could hardly speak for joy, and for all the love she felt for her mother.

“Okay, now you,” the man said. Reaching down his arm, he waited for her to grab hold. She hesitated, looking around.

Just to the west, a wave rose. The water spread thin in a long green curl, as if it were about to break. Transparent, the crest was filled with fish. Quinn saw them all—blue, red, orange, looking like a school from the tropics, like the tiny fish in the mermaid's globe.

On deck, Allie was waiting. She was wrapped in a blanket, and she opened it up to let her sister inside. Quinn huddled against her, and together they stared over the rail into the sea.

The men were on the radio. Quinn heard them calling the Coast Guard, the airwaves crackling with static, to say they had pulled two young girls out of the water, right at the mouth of Narragansett Bay.

“Not the Vineyard?” Allie asked.

“Not quite,” the captain said. “That's where you were going?”

“Yes,” Quinn said. “We had an errand.”

“In this storm?”

“It was important,” Allie said sadly.

“Well, we're taking you into Newport,” the other man, tall and blond with a Navy haircut, said. “If that's okay with you. Your aunt will be waiting for you there.”

Quinn remembered what her mother had said about sisters. She had a lot to tell Aunt Dana. Nodding, saying it was okay, she held Allie's hand. The men turned the boat around, and the two sisters stared off the stern.

“Are you looking for Kimba?” Quinn asked.

Allie shook her head, her eyes shining. “Mommy has him,” she said.

Quinn nodded. She didn't have to say anything because she knew Allie's words were true. But she couldn't stop scanning the sea, watching for another clear wave, as if it were the mermaid's globe. The girls stood together, holding hands, not saying one word about what had just happened.

And neither girl said one thing as they took their last look at their sailboat, the Blue Jay their mother and aunt had bought with the proceeds of their hot dog stand so many years ago. Watching with a lump in her throat, Quinn saw the name done in proud gold letters:

MERMAID

Aquinnah Jane Grayson held her sister's hand, watching as that painting on the boat's transom, done by two other sisters of one mermaid with two gilded tails, was covered by one great wave. The sailboat hovered just beneath the surface. Quinn held her breath, watching. And then it sank into the sea.

EPILOGUE

T
HE FERRY RIDE WAS BRISK, EXCITING.
T
HE SEA
and sky met in a line of vibrant blue, and the air held the first true chill of autumn. Dana stood on deck with Sam. She kept a close eye on Quinn and Allie, thinking the ride might make them nervous, but it didn't at all. They leaned into the wind, never taking their eyes off the waves.

It was Columbus Day weekend, the first long weekend since school had started. Dana had reenrolled the girls in Black Hall. She couldn't pinpoint any single moment when she knew she wasn't taking them back to France; the change had come gradually, over the summer. If there was any one instant, she might have said it was that moment, driving the girls back to Hubbard's Point after they had nearly drowned in the surf off Newport, that they had pulled up to the house and Sam had said, “We're home.”

Sam stood beside her now. He had his arm around her shoulders, as if the jacket she wore weren't enough to keep her warm. She shivered in the October chill, and as if it went straight through him, he held her closer. They had caught the ferry in Woods Hole; he had shown the girls where he'd gone to grad school, the stone library on Eel Pond, where he'd spent so many hours dreaming of their aunt.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She smiled, looking up into his green-gold eyes. They were bright today, reflecting the golden sky and the autumn colors onshore. She had never felt so known by any person but Lily. Sam could tell with a glance what she was feeling. Her mission in life—whatever it was—seemed to suit him just fine, and he always seemed happy to be along for the ride.

“I'm fine, Sam. How about you?”

“I'm great. A long weekend with you—what could be better?”

“We're doing Quinn's mission.”

“An excellent reason to come to Martha's Vineyard.”

Dana laughed, snuggling into his arms. But deep down, she still wished she could change life, wished there were a different reason for coming.

Now the announcement came, that it was time to return to the cars. Downstairs everyone went, climbing into their vehicles and feeling the sense of anticipation that comes from getting to the island.

With the girls sitting in back, Dana reflected how they had all come full circle. This was the island where Quinn was conceived and born. The girls had been rescued just a few miles south of Newport, where Dana and Lily had first met—and rescued—Sam. The summer had ended, but life was just beginning. They had money to repay, ashes to scatter; the girls were finally ready. It was Dana who wasn't sure she wanted to say good-bye.

The
Islander
bumped the dock. As if Sam could read her mind, he reached over to take her hand. He drove the van onto the dock, and the minute the tires hit solid ground, Quinn breathed: “My island. I've come back at last.”

 

T
HE FIRST STOP
, even before getting to Gay Head, was an old garage in Quissit. Quinn had the address all written out. Down Main Street, past all the restaurants and inns and ice cream shops, was a narrow lane. The houses there were small and old. Across from the fish market stood Conway's, an old filling station, the pumps no longer working, with an apartment out back.

Aunt Dana had looked up the address. She offered to walk in with Quinn, and so did Allie. But Quinn said no. This was really between her parents and Jack. Quinn was just their emissary.

“Looks like this is the place,” Sam said, staring at the whitewashed building.

“Yep,” Quinn said, holding the new tackle box on her lap.

“You don't have to do it, Quinn,” Allie said.

“Yes, I do,” Quinn said, taking a deep breath. She looked at Aunt Dana and Sam in the front seat. She tried to smile, but she felt too nervous. “I'll pay you back. I promise.”

“Don't worry about that,” Aunt Dana said.

“We trust you.” Sam grinned.

“We'll have to have a lot of hot dog stands,” Allie groaned. And with that, Quinn got out of the car.

She walked up the short sidewalk. Yellow leaves covered the trees. A picket fence surrounded the white building, and pink roses were still in bloom. She thought it funny that a garage would have roses. The garage and fence looked freshly painted, and there was a new truck in the driveway. Quinn's stomach flipped, but she knocked on the apartment door anyway.

An old man answered.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“I'm here to see Jack Conway,” she said as businesslike as possible.

“That'd be me. Come in.”

Right inside, Quinn saw the walker. She glanced around. The place was bright, with the sun streaming through the square windows. Crocheted doilies covered every surface. Photos of the old man with an old woman hung on the walls. Facing him, Quinn handed him the tackle box.

“I believe this belongs to you,” she said.

Looking confused, he opened it. The bills were different. The old ones had sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. But Quinn had borrowed five thousand dollars from Aunt Dana, and together they had gone to the bank, to convert the check into cash. On the way they had stopped at Bayside Bait to get a new tackle box, as close as possible to the old one.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's the money you gave my father,” Quinn said. “I'm Aquinnah Grayson.”

“Ah,” the old man said, and his watery blue eyes turned sad. “Mark. I heard about what happened to him and your mother. I'm sorry.”

“You paid him—” Quinn had to hold back from saying “off.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You didn't have to. My sister and I want you to have this back.” She looked around the small, modest room. Obviously, he could use it. Anyone could—five thousand dollars was a lot of money—but maybe Mr. Conway in particular. Quinn saw bottles of medicine on a table across the room; through an open door, she saw someone lying in bed, covered with a blanket. She tried not to stare.

“Your father helped us out,” he said.

“Who is it?”

“Emma, my wife.”

“How did he do that?”

“He gave me a job. It's not easy, at my age, getting hired for work like that. I'm a carpenter by trade. My father taught me everything he knew, and I've carried on my whole life. We're islanders, see? This filling station belonged to Emma's family, and I took it over when I married her. We had a ground leak with the pumps about ten years ago, and we couldn't afford the cleanup. Had to close.”

“Oh,” Quinn said.

“I got work where I could, but it was scarce. Lot of young guys coming over on the boat, taking the best jobs. I've known your dad a long time—he used to pump gas here for a summer job. And he worked with me, banging nails.”

“Really?” Quinn asked, looking outside as if she might see her father standing at the pumps, building things.

“Yes. He was always a good boy. When we heard he was developing those tracts down the way, Emma told me to see him. She's got diabetes now, poor circulation in her legs. We need the money for her care and everything else. She told me to take a chunk of our savings, give it to Mark as a sign of goodwill—to slip my name at the head of the list for carpenters. Damned if it didn't do the trick.”

“He never spent it,” Quinn said, pushing the box closer. “He never would.”

“Well, I didn't want to take the chance. Mark's a good man, but he had business to think of. Would've been easy for him to give the job—building the foundations—to someone half my age. But he gave it to me. Did a damn fine job too. Best new construction on the island.”

“My parents would want you to have this back.”

“Please keep it. I gave the money to Mark, and it's only right his children should have it.”

Quinn shook her head. Her braids were much longer now, and they brushed her face. She wouldn't be deterred, and she had other aspects of her mission to accomplish. “It's a different tackle box,” she said. “What happened to the other one is a long story, but the money's all there.”

“Well, thank you, young lady. You're just like your father—very generous.”

“I hope your wife gets better,” Quinn said, glancing at the bed in the other room.

“I'll tell her you said so,” Jack Conway said, shaking Quinn's hand as he led her to the door. Walking down the path, smelling the October roses as she passed the white fence, she saw her aunt, sister, and Sam watching her from inside the van, and she gave them two thumbs-up and started to run as Allie opened the door.

 

T
HE ISLAND
had changed in some ways. Many big, new houses, like the ones Mark had built, dotted the landscape. But mainly, looking across the rolling hills and long salt marshes, Dana thought it was the same as she remembered. They drove up-island, past fenced-in pastures and golden meadows, the old stone walls covered with briars and vines. They passed Alley's Store and the old graveyard, with the Atlantic Ocean shimmering on the left and the inner harbor of Menemsha a bright blue jewel on the right. They passed Honeysuckle Hill, four new rooftops nestled into the tall trees; Dana found herself unable to really look.

When they got to what should have been Gay Head, the sign read
AQUINNAH.

“Oh, my God,” Quinn said, seeing it.

“They changed the name because of you?” Allie asked.

“Probably,” Sam said. “Makes sense to me.”

But, in fact, that was the real name of the town. It had always been the Indian name, and by a narrow margin the town council had voted it in again—they were told by Elizabeth Raymond, the woman from whom they picked up the key to their cottage.

It was the same place Dana and Lily had rented so many years before. While the girls jumped on the bikes they had carried on car racks, Sam and Dana walked around the place. They found the spot in the yard where Dana had staked her tent, her outdoor studio where she had painted her first sea-columns.

They sat on the porch, gazing across the long, amber meadow that led to the bright blue ocean. Dana knew the path that led past the brick lighthouse to the beach, but for now she was content to sit beside Sam and feel the memories of that long-ago time sweep through her with the ocean breeze.

At night the full moon rose out of the sea, turning the island silver. They cooked bluefish on the grill, and both girls were yawning before they had even finished eating. The sea air and the full moon and the new-old island had gotten them, along, perhaps, with the knowledge of what they were going to do the next day. They shared a double bed, the brass box of their parents' ashes on the table beside them, and they were fast asleep by the time Dana walked in to kiss them good night.

“How are they?” Sam asked, sitting on the porch. His face looked ruddy in the light of the gas hurricane lamp, his eyes bright green. Moonlight spread across the field, turning it gold.

“They're asleep.”

“Good,” Sam said, pulling her close. He was very respectful, not wanting them to see him and Dana sleeping together. But when they weren't looking, he wanted to hold her all the time. She leaned into him now, feeling her heart beat with his through their thick sweaters.

“I can't believe we're in this same house,” she said.

“It's the one I drove by,” he said. “And saw you painting in the yard. Do you think if I'd stopped then, we would have been together all this time?”

“I don't know,” Dana said, kissing him and thinking about the mysteries of time, about how love and secrets seemed so intertwined, like the vines growing on the Vineyard walls. “But I don't want to think so. I don't want to think of all that wasted time. . . .”

“Wasted time?” he asked, holding her on his lap.

Dana couldn't help it. She touched her stomach. She thought of the girls sleeping inside the house, how she had never had a baby of her own. She thought of the time she had spent in solitude, denying the possibility of love while she gave everything to her art, to paintings of the deep blue sea. She thought of Jonathan, of the mistrust and betrayal that had brewed between them. Years alone, then with the wrong man. Gazing across the space, she smiled sadly. Sam was so bright and handsome, so full of love. He would make a wonderful father.

“Thinking of life,” she said. Of her nieces', just beginning, of Mark's and Lily's, all over, of herself and Sam, of the babies she had never had.

“Oh,” he said, trailing off.

He kissed her face, her lips. She held on, filled with passion. But she knew life was strange. It had given her this wonderful man to love just as her body was getting ready to stop being able to have a family. She was forty-one, almost forty-two. She had spent her whole life painting and adventuring, and it had taken Lily's death to bring her home, make her want to settle down.

“What are you thinking of?” she asked, holding his face in her hands.

“You,” he said. “How beautiful you looked playing in the waves . . .”

“That was so long ago,” she said. “I was as young as you are now.”

“You're more beautiful now,” Sam said.

“No, I don't think so.”

“You are, Dana. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sam,” she whispered. The air was spicy with the scent of salt, apples, wood fire, and grapes. They heard the salt hay blowing in the breeze, and they saw the moon shining in the sky overhead. The lighthouse stood there, a dark sentry in the moor, shining its beam across the sea.

“You say you're thinking of life,” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

“Am I in it?”

“Oh, Sam . . .” She didn't know what to say. Yes, he was in it. But how long would he want to stay? She had lived so much longer than he had. She knew how people changed their minds, how they could be ripped apart in an instant.

“I want to marry you, Dana.”