The day was typically Puget Sound overcast. With Rachael’s funeral behind them, the old friends were together again, minus one. Once again, John Owen’s boat was outfitted for a long run with lots of food and fuel. Just ahead of them a break in the clouds admitted a single shaft of sunlight, lancing down at the gray water like a searchlight.
“I’m still numb as a dead toe, Gabriel,” John said. “I turn around in the boat, expecting to see Rachael. And Elisabeth, well she…” His voice cracked and he let the sentence trail off. It was still too much to bear.
Gabriel was standing next to his old friend, as if to shelter him from grief; both were wearing yellow slickers. John was wearing his favorite crumpled fishing hat, while Gabriel’s braids flapped in the wind. Newly-pregnant Elisabeth and Snowfeather sat talking softly at the stern of the boat. When Elisabeth slumped and began crying, she shook her head and turned to look out at the water. Snowfeather put her slender arm over her friend’s shoulder.
Dr. Owen looked back at his daughter’s husband. Josh was a tall, sturdy, thirty year-old man with clear, kind eyes, preoccupied with the tackle box. When Josh immediately got up to comfort his wife, John looked away. Alice, dressed in her favorite crimson parka, approached John and Gabriel with two steaming metal cups. She projected cheer, but her eyes were dark.
“It’s very hot, guys. Strong coffee and trace amounts of cocoa.”
Gabriel kissed his wife on the cheek and John took a cup with one hand while still holding the wheel in the other. “Thank you, Alice,” he said. “It means everything to have friends here right now.”
“Ready for a break, Capt’n?” Alice asked. “I’d love to take the helm. This thingy is the helm, isn’t it?” she added impishly. John’s bleak solemnity gave way to a smile, his first in ten days. “Get ye aft Capt’n, and have a drink.”
“Yes’m,” John said. He yielded the wheel. As Alice steered and the Seattle skyline dropped below the horizon, the two men sat in a shelter near the stern, across from Josh and their daughters, and sipped from their battered metal cups. After several silent minutes, Owen slipped his empty mug into a holder. His movements were excessively careful, like in a dream. Then he bent forward and covered his face with his hands. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said, his voice muffled. “I knew Rachael shouldn’t have ever gone into that godforsaken clinic. I knew it. I knew it…” He shook, trying futilely to hide the sounds of his sobbing. Gabriel reached out, patting John’s back. Then John raised himself up, trying to smile. Tears were running freely. “God, I miss her.”
Gabriel started to say something, but held his silence. Moments passed, with John looking out at the water, Gabriel feeling helpless. A minute later, as if by unspoken agreement, Elisabeth and Snowfeather quietly joined them on either side, each young woman settling next to her father. Josh stood awkwardly at a distance. Dr. Owen had stopped shaking but Gabriel could see the tears still streaming, and he began rubbing his friend’s shoulders. John eventually straightened, reached over and patted Gabriel. “I’ll be okay,” he said, attempting a smile. Elisabeth leaned her head against her father and started crying softly. Josh approached, then, and patted Elisabeth.
Gabriel wanted to look directly at John, but forced himself to join him looking out at the distant water. Gabriel started to say something, but the words died.
“It hurts,” John whispered. “It hurts so damned much.”
Snowfeather squeezed her father’s hand. The boat plowed on through the gray water, heading toward the column of sunlight. “I know,” Gabriel said, “I know.”
“In a way, they killed her,” John said.
“Who killed her, John?” Gabriel asked.
John Owen just stared ahead.