18

Cassie woke up the next morning with her head pillowed on her arms at the table by the window. Feeling cold and cramped and wondering how long she had been there, she looked at her watch. It was seven a.m., but even with the lamp on, the light in the room was dim. Looking outside, Cassie understood what Patty had said about the difference between mist and fog. She couldn’t see the railing at the end of the porch. This was fog.

Gradually, the memory of the night before returned. Sleep had been impossible, and Cassie had sat at the table alternately writing down all she could remember of her five-week relationship with Chan and making a list of steps she was going to take once the morning arrived.

That included finding someone, anyone, who knew Chan in Edmonds, and someone, anyone, in the Border Patrol or Immigration or FBI who could help her track down his records. She needed to let them know that her husband’s death was murder, not a hit-and-run accident.

Cassie stretched and rubbed her eyes. Remembering that Bishop Harris was an early riser, she decided to call to see if he had the Edmonds bishop’s number for her. Bishop was indeed an early riser. He was also an early jogger and was already gone, but Sister Harris, who was just on her way out, gave Cassie the number her husband had found.

Feeling that it was too early to call a stranger, Cassie decided to have breakfast first. She dressed quickly and did what she could to minimize the dark circles under her eyes, then she went downstairs and had a bowl of oatmeal and some juice. Patty was at the hotel desk as she came out of the dining room, and Cassie stopped to say that she was checking out right away.

“Are you going back to the mainland?” Patty asked, “Or someplace on St. Mary’s?”

“I’m going back to Seattle.”

Patty shook her head. “Not today. The ferry ran aground on a rock and creased the hull real good. It’s out of commission for who knows how long.”

“Don’t they have another ferry? A substitute?”

“Yes, but it’s on another run while that ferry is down for regular maintenance. If it’s real important, you can go on a foot-ferry. You’ll have to leave your car at Shingle Bay and come back and get it later.”

Cassie looked outside. It was like looking through a mass of spider webs. She could hardly drive in this anyway. “How long will it be?”

Patty shrugged. “A day. Maybe two.” She looked with concern at Cassie. “Are you all right? You’re very pale.”

Cassie shook her head. “I’m all right,” she said, but her sunken eyes belied her words. “I’m all right,” she repeated as she turned and walked heavily back up the stairs. She didn’t quite make it to her room before her chest began heaving convulsively. Fumbling with her key, she finally managed to unlock the door and gain the sanctuary of her room. She dropped to her knees by the bed and buried her head in the covers and broke down in great racking sobs.

She didn’t even try to stop; she just let the tears flow. She cried for all the bleakness and grayness of the morning, for the scary questions and even scarier answers of last night, for the futile list that made its mark on her cheek as she slept, and for her imprisonment on this island. She cried for her lost husband and for all the sweet moments they had together. She had chronicled them one by one last night.

When there were finally no more tears, she whispered a prayer, telling the Lord that she couldn’t carry the burden any longer. She would turn it over to him. Then she crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over her ears.

When Cassie awoke, sunlight was streaming in the windows. Blinking, she shielded her eyes against the glare until they had become accustomed to the brightness. Then she threw off the covers, sat up, and looked at her watch. Almost noon. “Time doesn’t mean anything to a prisoner,” she muttered, getting up and padding over to the window.

The sky was brilliant blue, and the water a shade bluer, flat calm as far as the eye could see. A heron waded up to its knees in the shallow at low tide, and two gulls floated on the water in front of the crimson hull of the Red Swan. The wind sock above the harbormaster’s cabin hung limply on its pole, and as she looked down, she could see Mr. Knuteson standing on the dock talking to someone.

Remembering that she needed to see him, Cassie went to the mirror to comb her hair. Appalled at what she saw, she got a tissue and cleaned off the black smudges where her mascara had run. Then she applied new makeup and brushed her hair. Leaving her purse in the room, she grabbed her sunglasses and stuck her keys in her pocket before going downstairs.

When she reached the harbormaster’s office, she was relieved to see the door standing open. Peeking her head in, she called, “Mr. Knuteson?”

The old man emerged from a back room with a mug in his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Jordain. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have a minute? I have a couple of questions.”

“Certainly. Have a seat. Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Cassie sat, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head.

Mr. Knuteson settled his long frame in the rocking chair and looked at her expectantly.

“I have a question about the Red Swan. I understand the slip is sublet to me—to my husband, and therefore to me—from someone else. Is that so?”

“Yes. That is so.”

“How long is that slip available? I imagine I will sell the boat, but I don’t know how long that will take. I don’t know how long it will be until it is mine to sell. Arizona is a community property state, but there may be some legal hoops I have to jump through before my name is on the title. I’d like to have an idea of how long it can stay where it is.”

“I can’t speak for the person who has the slip, but I think it will be a while before he will have a boat that he wants to put there.”

“So, as long as I pay the rent, I can leave the Red Swan there?”

“Yes. But you may want to consider pulling her out of the water for the winter. If you decide to do that, I can put you in touch with someone who will take her out and store her for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about that.”

“You sure you don’t want some coffee?”

Cassie shook her head.

“Well, I’ll just go get me a half a cup. Back in a minute.”

When he returned, Cassie asked, “Do you know anyone who might be willing to take me out in the Red Swan again? At the going rate, of course.”

Mr. Knuteson took a noisy sip of his coffee. “Where’s the young man, took you out yesterday?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d still be here today, so I didn’t make any . . .” Cassie’s voice trailed off.

“Oh, yeah. The ferry. I guess you’re not going anywhere for a day or two. Well . . .” He stroked his chin. “Let’s see. I may know someone, though I’m not sure of his schedule. Let me give him a call.”

Setting his cup down, Mr. Knuteson went over to the desk in the corner and spoke on the telephone to someone named Aaron. Hanging up, he said, “It’s all set. He lives up on the hill. Be down in a minute.”

“Great! I’ll just go along now and open it . . . open her up. He knows which boat?”

“He knows.”

Cassie rose and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Knuteson. I’ll let you know what I want to do about the Red Swan.”

She stepped out into the sunshine and made her way down A Dock, reflecting that the spring in her step was more than the bounce of the float. The gloom of the morning was past, and as she approached the boat, she realized that she was really looking forward to a pleasant hour or two out on the water.

Cassie climbed over the gunwale and dropped down to the back deck and felt a glow of ownership as she turned her key in the padlock. After the door was open, she stepped inside, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head and looking around curiously. The boat was laid out very compactly, with cupboards and cubbies for storage everywhere. Just inside, to her right, there was a door that she opened, revealing a small bathroom, complete with marine toilet and shower. Forward of that, in the middle of the house, was a set of cabinets that came up to waist height, and forward of that was the high captain’s seat facing a small spoked wheel. Windows all around made the cabin very light.

Walking around the captain’s station, Cassie examined the small galley on the other side of the boat. It had a sink and an under-counter fridge, an alcohol fueled stove, and an eating bar with two stools that looked out on the back deck. Next to the captain’s seat a fold-down chair had been cleverly built so that someone could sit up next to the captain when access to the galley wasn’t needed.

The cabin roof stepped down so that the house over the bow was not tall enough to stand up in. Just before the step-down, there was a bank of storage cupboards on each side of a small hall leading to the low-ceilinged V-berth, where a single bed ran along either side of the boat, joining halfway down as they followed the contour to the pointed bow. Cassie sat on one of the bunks and looked out the porthole on the opposite wall. Right above her was a hatch with a transparent cover that let in light and made the berth a pleasant place to lie.

Exploring further, Cassie stood and began opening cupboards in the little hallway. In one were sweatshirts and sweatpants, folded and stacked neatly. In another were life jackets; in another foul-weather gear. Opening a top cupboard, she jumped back as a bulky yellow apparatus fell out with a thud. She stooped to pick it up, puzzled at the rolled-up canvas core wrapped around and around with a braided rope.

“It’s a sea anchor.”

Cassie looked up, and her heart sank. Standing in the doorway was the net mender of yesterday, and though the five o’clock shadow was gone, his eyes were still flint-hard. The scar on his cheek was a ragged patch of shiny skin.

Cassie could only stare stupidly and repeat, “Sea anchor?”

He came to where she stood and took it from her. The cabin seemed very crowded all of a sudden. “If you were to lose power in a heavy sea, you throw this over,” he said, “attached to a couple hundred feet of line. It’s like a parachute, and it does two things.” His voice was impersonal, and Cassie got the impression that he was used to giving instructions. “First, it keeps you from drifting close to shore. As long as you’re in deep water, you’re relatively safe. That is, if you don’t broach, and a wave coming broad on your beam doesn’t capsize you. That’s the other thing the sea anchor does: it keeps your bow into the waves. She’ll ride out the roughest sea, if you just keep her into the wind.”

Cassie moved aft to stand by the open door, but her interest was piqued as she watched him open the cupboard and put the anchor back on its coiled-up-rope nest. His voice had held something else as he talked about Red Swan’s ability to ride out a storm. Was it pride? Affection? Admiration?

“I’m Cassie Jordain,” she said. “Did Mr. Knuteson explain that I’d like you to take me out?” She blushed and added quickly, “In the boat?”

“Keys?” Impersonal voice. No small talk. He held out his hand.

Fumbling in her pocket, Cassie felt for her key ring. “The ignition key is the one with—”

“I know which one it is,” he assured her brusquely, waiting for her to bring the keys.

Cassie hesitated before walking the five paces to where she could put them in his hand. Then she turned on her heel and went out to the back deck, wondering if this had been such a good idea. I wore my boat-friendly shoes, she thought. It’s too bad I didn’t get a landlubber-friendly pilot.

The engine rumbled to life, and she was just about to announce that she had decided not to go after all, when she saw Mr. Knuteson coming down B Float toward her. “I see Aaron got here all right,” he called. “Good. I’ll cast off for you.” Undoing the bow line, he handed it to Cassie and then untied the stern line and tossed it over the gunwale. “Have a nice run!”

With some misgivings, Cassie watched the dock slide away as the Red Swan backed out and around. Then they were on their way, with Cassie resting her folded arms on the top of the house as they idled slowly through the marina and out into the harbor.

Looking through the door, she could see the broad shoulders of her pilot as he sat ramrod straight at the helm. Daunted by his flinty manner, but determined not to be intimidated, she marched into the cabin and stood to the side of him. “I introduced myself,” she said, “but you didn’t tell me your name.”

“Aaron Fletcher.” He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon.

Cassie’s voice was studiously polite. “Hello, Mr. Fletcher. Thank you for taking me out.” With that, she walked to the back deck and took her seat on the bench.

She was surprised to see Aaron Fletcher emerge moments later, carrying something blue with straps dangling from it. He handed it to Cassie and told her to put it on.

“What is it?” she asked, holding it up with a puzzled expression.

“It’s a life vest. A PFD. Personal flotation device. It’s perfectly comfortable to wear, and the minute you hit the water, it inflates. Put it on.” He turned to go back into the cabin.

“I notice you’re not wearing one,” Cassie said.

He ignored her, returning to his post without a backward glance.

Feeling a little rebellious at his high-handed approach, Cassie nevertheless slipped the life vest over her head and buckled it around her waist. She found it surprisingly unrestricting, and her rational nature surfaced. He probably feels responsible for me, she thought, determined not to let ill feelings spoil the trip.

In that she was successful. The trick was to not look into the cabin, and that was accomplished by turning sideways and looking off to either side of the smooth-running craft. Cassie leaned her arms on the gunwale and rested her head on her hands and felt herself becoming in tune with the boat. She hummed the note that the engine was sounding and wondered what it was. B flat? Raising her voice a third, she hummed a harmony to the engine’s note. Then she took a deep breath of salty air and sighed, wondering how she, a citizen of the desert who embraced the grays and browns and reds, could be so at home in this world of blue and green. She remembered Bishop Harris’s voice saying, “You’re where you need to be.” Maybe the healing powers of the sea were what she needed right now. Maybe it was a blessing that the ferry had run aground.

Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a cracking sound, like a gunshot, and a sheet of frigid salt water hit her with such force that she came up drenched and gasping for air. There was an ominous hissing sound close by, and Cassie wheeled around, frantically searching for the sound, afraid something on the boat may have broken loose. The gunshot sounded again, and she was hit with another spray of water as she stood next to the cabin.

Sputtering and wiping her eyes, she heard another alien sound. It was Aaron Fletcher laughing. When she could finally see, she found that he was standing on the deck with her, and he was pointing off the starboard stern. Cassie followed with her eyes and her jaw dropped to see a pod of orcas jumping and breaching, not thirty feet away.

They stood together and watched the huge black and white animals leap and dive, leap and dive. There must have been six of them, though it was hard to keep count. Two of them were smaller than the others, but they leapt as gallantly as the rest.

Suddenly the largest one made a tremendous leap and, instead of diving down headfirst, turned on its back in a five-ton cannonball that launched a wall of water in all directions.

“Watch out!” Aaron called, and immediately they were showered again, though it was nothing like the first time. He laughed, and Cassie couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“It looks like your life vest inflated,” he said. “I told you it would inflate when it got wet, but I thought you’d be overboard when it happened.”

Cassie suddenly stopped laughing. “When it happened?”

“No. No. I meant if it happened. Look, they’re leaving.”

The leaping had stopped, and now the pied behemoths could be seen surfacing and curling over like porpoises as they distanced themselves from the Red Swan.

“I’m sorry to see them go,” Aaron said. “It’s a privilege to happen on them like that. Oh, people pay money to go whale watching. They track them down like prey. But this . . . this is a gift.” He turned and smiled at Cassie. He had the same rectangular creases when he smiled as Chan, and something tugged at Cassie’s heart.

She smiled back. “I’ll remember that.”

“Let’s get that PFD off and rearm it.” He helped her lift the life vest off over her head. “Are you all right in those wet clothes? Do you want to change?”

“No. They’ll soon dry here in the sun.”

“If you get chilly, let me know.” Opening a cupboard just inside the cabin door, Aaron opened a box and took out a small metal canister, which he exchanged for the spent CO₂ cartridge on the life vest. Pocketing the dead one, he handed the vest back to Cassie.

“There you go.” He nodded to her and went back into the cabin.

Cassie put on the vest and resumed her perch on the bench in the stern. She heard the gears engage and saw the V-shaped line of the wake as they began to make way. She no longer avoided the sight of her pilot, but glanced every now and then at the straight back and square shoulders of the man sitting at the helm.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Cassie’s clothes dried as they motored along, and she took a keen interest in all she saw along the coast, occasionally poking her head in the cabin to ask a question. “What is the name of that tree with the raggedy bark? Is that a bald eagle in the tree? Are those seals lying up on those rocks?” When they finally turned back toward Quarry Harbor, Cassie was sorry to see it end. As they approached the slip, she put out the bumpers and stood on the gunwale with the bow line in her hand. Jumping off, she tied up to the forward cleat and came back to do the stern line.

Aaron stepped out of the cabin and was surprised to see that she had done the deckhand duties. He stared hard at her for a moment and then seemed to recollect himself. “Thank you,” he said and closed the cabin door. There was no return of that smile.

“Don’t lock it,” Cassie cautioned. “I’ve got to put my life vest away.”

He nodded and opened the door again.

“I’ve come off without my purse,” Cassie apologized. “Will you come up to the hotel with me, and I can pay you there?”

“Forget it. The orcas paid my fee.”

Cassie smiled, remembering. “They were beautiful, weren’t they?” She extended her hand. “Well, Mr. Fletcher, thank you. Would you be interested in taking me out again tomorrow?”

He shook her hand. He had a strong, rough grasp. “No,” he said in answer to her question.

Cassie waited a moment for an explanation, an excuse. None was offered.

“Oh. Well . . . then, thank you again.”

He handed her the keys, touched the brim of his blue wool hat, stepped onto the dock, and walked away without a backward look.

Feeling rebuffed, Cassie watched his retreat through narrowed eyes. Then she took off her life vest and stowed it in the cupboard inside. Reluctant to leave, she sat in the captain’s chair, looking at the dials and gauges and testing the feel of the helm. When her stomach began growling, she realized it had been a long time since the bowl of oatmeal, so she locked up and climbed onto the dock, wondering if Mr. Knuteson knew someone else who would be willing to pilot the Red Swan tomorrow.