Chapter 26

ADA

Alex drives me home from the restaurant and walks me back to my door. I invite him in and he follows me to the living room. He hasn’t said a lot since I told him my story at dinner. I wonder how it’s affected him, and I worry.

“You’re really brave, you know,” he says, looking deep into my eyes.

“No,” I say honestly. “Really, I’m not.”

“But you are,” he insists. “Coming out here, forging a new life for yourself. That takes guts.”

I sigh. “I wish I could tell you that it was my strength that got me on that plane, but it wasn’t. It was fear. I had to get out of New York. I felt that I had to escape all my memories. All my guilt.”

He turns to face me. “Guilt? Why would you have guilt?”

Tears sting my eyes. “Because I brought them to that godforsaken waterfall,” I say. “It was my stupid job and nothing else. If I hadn’t taken that assignment, they’d still be alive.” I’m making a fist now, shaking it into the air, and Alex calmly tucks it down on my lap.

“You did what you had to do,” he says. “Your work isn’t the reason for their deaths. You must believe that.”

I look down at my lap. I don’t know what to say.

“When I was fourteen,” Alex begins, “my father died. He was an alcoholic. He wasn’t home a lot of the time when I was young—in fact, hardly ever. But the year before his death, he got sober. And it was the best year of my life. I finally had a dad around who was coherent enough to play catch with me, to help me build those model rockets I loved. But it was too late, almost. A fourteen-year-old doesn’t want to hang out with his dad all the time. By then, I wanted to go to my friends’ houses after school, hang out at the mall—anything but be at home. I always worried that my distance hurt him. And then he relapsed, in a bad way. One night he drove home from the bar and hit a tree head-on.”

“Oh, Alex.”

“I hated him for a long time after that. I was so angry. But mostly I was angry at myself. I thought I could’ve prevented it from happening. If I’d played that game of Monopoly with him that evening like he wanted to, if I’d stayed home instead of going to my friend John’s for a sleepover. If I’d been a better son. But one day I just let it go. I stopped blaming myself. I stopped being angry. His death was tragic, but I couldn’t let it define my life. And most important, I didn’t cause it.”

I nod. “I wish I could get to that place.”

“You will,” he says. “Be patient with yourself. Promise?”

I nod. “I’ll try.”

Joanie calls the next morning at seven. It’s ten New York time, so I don’t mind that she’s calling so early. Besides, I woke up at four unable to sleep and spent an hour on the deck watching the white morning glory buds open with the sunrise.

“I tried calling you last night, but your phone went straight to voice mail,” she says. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I had company.”

“You were seeing what’s-his-name again?”

“Alex. We went out to dinner at the Space Needle and then came back here and talked until midnight.”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice is teasing, and I can imagine the look on her face.

“Stop,” I say. “We’ve only kissed once.”

“And? Is he a good kisser?”

“Yes,” I reply, feeling my cheeks warm a bit at the thought.

“So are you seeing him again today?”

“No. He’s on a shoot in Portland.” It occurs to me that he could be with Kellie. I failed to ask whether they still work together. But I don’t let my mind dwell on the thought, especially after all he shared with me.

“Hey, I almost forgot,” Joanie says. “I found something that might be helpful in your search for Penny.”

“Oh, what?”

I hear the sound of her sorting through papers. “A deposition given by a little boy named Jimmy. I was only able to obtain the first few pages, because a psychologist ordered him mentally unstable for trial.”

“You said his name was Jimmy?”

“Yes. I’ll e-mail you a PDF.”

That afternoon, I decide to go for a walk to Pete’s Market. It’s a cool day, so I put on a light sweater, and I grab my purse. An hour later I return with a bag filled with groceries. As I step onto the dock, I notice that the empty houseboat on the left seems to be inhabited. The windows are all propped open, as if someone’s just come home and is airing the place out. Just as I’m passing, an older woman appears in the doorway. Her gray hair is short and curled, the way my grandmother’s is. But she has a youthful smile, and adventurous eyes that hardly match her eighty-some years. “Honey,” she says, “can I talk you into helping me for a moment? I’ve just come home from an extended trip and I think I may have vermin living behind the dresser.”

“Oh no,” I say, setting the grocery bag down. “Of course.”

I step inside her houseboat. It’s small and clean. It has the look of a place that’s more of a stopover than a home. There are no pictures on the walls or personal items about. Just a suitcase on the floor and a coffee table and sofa with no throw pillows.

“I’m Esther,” she says, extending her hand. “You must be new here.”

“Yes,” I say. “Ada Santorini. I moved in recently. I’m renting the houseboat at the end of the dock.”

“Oh, the old Wentworth residence,” she says, looking me over. “And how are you liking it?”

“Very much. It’s lovely here on the lake.”

“It is and it isn’t,” she says, turning back to the dresser and making a displeased face. “So many critters.”

I smile. “How long have you owned your home here?”

“Oh, forever, I guess,” she says. “I came here in the 1940s. I left a bad marriage.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a hard time,” she says. “I had to leave my darling daughter behind on Bainbridge Island and start over. In those days women didn’t stand a chance in divorce battles, so I just threw in the towel. I didn’t want to fight.”

I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about my marriage or my daughter. If the circumstances arose, I’d fight for her. And yet, I don’t know the extent of Esther’s story, so I don’t pry. Besides, there’s a look in her eyes that tells me she had no other choice.

“At the time, a houseboat was all I could afford,” she continues. “The lake wasn’t fancy like it is now. I bought it for five hundred dollars, and now it’s worth five hundred thousand. Some investment, don’t you think?”

I smile. “Quite.”

“I was tempted to sell over the years,” she says. “Especially after that movie came out.”

“Movie?”

“Sleepless in Seattle. For a few years, it was like a pilgrimage. Folks came out here from all over the world wanting to live the lifestyle they saw in the movie.”

“I loved that movie,” I say.

Esther shrugs. “I never did see it.”

“You should; it’s really good.”

“Well, no amount of money could make me sell,” she says. “I travel frequently and I need a home base. I also left a big part of my heart here.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes,” she says. “And a man.”

“Oh?”

“He lives in a retirement home in Seattle. We haven’t spoken since 1943. But sometimes I’ll watch from the sidewalk when he’s out in the garden.”

I gasp. “You still love him.”

“I always will,” she says matter-of-factly. “I gave him my heart as a girl, and he’s still in possession of it.”

She must sense my confusion. “Listen, my dear,” she says. “My life has been convoluted and complicated, certainly anything but conventional. But I’m happy with it just the same.”

“But don’t you wish you could know him now, this man you loved so much? Don’t you wish you could have had a life with him?”

“Of course I do,” she says, sitting down on the sofa. I take a seat beside her. “But that wasn’t how our story was meant to be. You see, some love stories are different than others. Some last but a moment; others a lifetime. I was fortunate to have the latter; I just didn’t have the privilege of spending every day with him. It doesn’t mean our love was any less significant. Our time together had to end, but our love lived on.”

I think for a moment about James, about our short, sweet life together. And I know that no matter who else my heart encounters in this life, it won’t ever change what we had together.

“Well,” Esther continues. “Listen to me rambling on.”

“Why don’t you go see him?” I ask. “Don’t you want to visit him after all these years?”

She nods. “I do, terribly so. But I haven’t found the right moment. Honestly, after so much time, I’m a bit frightened. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if time has erased his love for me?”

I shake my head. “You have to go—before it’s too late.”

She nods.

“What’s his name?”

“Elliot,” she says. “Elliot Hartley.” She looks deep in thought, as though imagining a moment they shared long ago.

I hear a scratching sound in the direction of the bureau on the wall.

Esther looks at me. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” I say. “What do you think it is?”

“A rat,” she says, standing. “Here, help me pull it out from the wall. We’ll shoo it away.”

I nod, placing my hands on the right side of the mahogany dresser.

“On the count of three,” Esther says. “One, two, three.”

Together we pull the dresser away from the wall, and immediately see the intruder, a squawking, feather-covered . . . duck.

“Well would you get a load of that,” Esther says. “It’s a duck.” She kneels down to level with the bird woman to woman. “Honey, what in the world are you doing in my houseboat?”

The mallard gives a defiant quack, then waddles out to the dock.

“That must be Henrietta,” I say.

“Henrietta?”

“She lives on the dock, with her husband,” I explain. “Er, duck husband. His name is Haines.”

“Oh,” Esther says. “Yes, I do remember Jimmy saying something about a couple of fighting ducks.”

It’s funny to hear her speak of Jim as Jimmy. “Oh, before I go,” I say, standing up, “there’s just one thing I’m hoping you can help me sort out.”

“Of course,” she says. “What is it, dear?”

“Do you recall a man named Collin who once lived on Boat Street?”

Her eyes close and open again. “Oh, yes,” she says. “How could I ever forget Collin? He was special. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“So you knew him?”

“Yes,” she says. “Briefly. He was a boat maker. He made extraordinary wooden boats.” I think of the Catalina, but I don’t interrupt her stream of memories, for fear they’ll cease. “He was only here on the dock a short time. He was running from something. I knew what that was like. I was too.”

“What happened to him?”

She sighs. “I wish I knew, dear. I came home from a trip to Europe and he’d already gone. That was after Penny vanished too. I like to think that they’re together. That they sailed off into the sunset and that was that.” She shakes her head. “But I’m not so sure it ended that way.”

“Why not?”

She peers out to the dock to make sure no one’s listening before continuing. “Because of the pact.”

“The pact?” I instantly recall Alex saying something similar.

She nods. “Those who were here the night that Penny vanished vowed never to divulge what they knew.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I can tell you I never did find out the truth, and I don’t think I ever will. The secret will die with all of them. They’re stubborn that way, houseboaters.”

I don’t tell her that I’ve vowed to find out what happened to Penny, to drag the secret from the depths of the lake if that’s what it takes. “Well, I should be going,” I say to Esther. “It was so nice to meet you.”

She winks. “You, too, dear.”

I don’t see Henrietta when I walk out to the dock, and I hope she’s reunited with Haines—for Jim’s sake, at least. I return to my houseboat and unload the groceries. I remember what Joanie said about finding pages of a deposition from young Jimmy, and I’m eager to see if she’s sent it.

I open my e-mail and see a new message from Joanie. I click on it with anticipation. “Here you go,” she writes. “Read the last line. It’s creepy.”

I pull open the document and wait for it to load. A moment later a scanned page from a typewritten police report appears on my screen:

TESTIMONY FROM JIMMY CLYDE, SON OF MR. GENE AND MRS. NAOMI CLYDE, OF 2209 FAIRVIEW AVENUE EAST, SEATTLE.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Son, please state your name for the record.

JIMMY CLYDE: Jimmy Clyde, sir.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Please state your age.

JIMMY CLYDE: Nine years old, sir.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Now Jimmy, please share with us how you came to know Mrs. Wentworth.

JIMMY CLYDE: You mean Penny?

OFFICER CLAYTON: That’s right, son. Penny Wentworth. Don’t cry, son; there’s nothing to be afraid of.

JIMMY CLYDE: But I . . .

OFFICER CLAYTON: What is it, son?

JIMMY CLYDE: Will she come back, sir? Will she ever come back?

OFFICER CLAYTON: That’s why we’re talking to you, young man. We’re trying to make sure she does. Now tell us how you came to know Mrs. Wentworth, Jimmy.

JIMMY CLYDE: She lived near me. She was always so nice. Nicer than anyone I’ve ever met.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Did she ever talk about anyone being unkind to her, Jimmy? Anyone who wanted to hurt her?

JIMMY CLYDE: No, sir. But she was sad a lot.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Oh? How do you know that, Jimmy?

JIMMY CLYDE: Because I saw her crying. He made her cry.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Who, Jimmy? Come on, now, you can tell me.

JIMMY CLYDE: Mr. Wentworth.

OFFICER CLAYTON: And why did Mr. Wentworth make her cry?

JIMMY CLYDE: I don’t know.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Help me understand, Jimmy.

JIMMY CLYDE: Mother says he’s better than her. But that’s not true. Penny was the nicest lady in the whole wide world. Maybe he told her that. Maybe it hurt her feelings.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Now why would your mother say that about Mrs. Wentworth?

JIMMY CLYDE: I don’t know, sir.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Please, Jimmy, you have to help us here. You were one of the last people to see Mrs. Wentworth. Any clue you can give us will help our case.

JIMMY CLYDE: Will it help bring Penny home?

OFFICER CLAYTON: We hope so, son.

JIMMY CLYDE: Then I’ll tell you.

OFFICER CLAYTON: What is it?

JIMMY CLYDE: On the night she disappeared, Mr. Wentworth was angry at her. I heard him shouting, and it frightened me.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Jimmy, what did he say?

JIMMY CLYDE: I can’t remember, sir.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Please try, son.

JIMMY CLYDE: Why did he hurt her, sir? Why? She was an angel. She was an angel sent from heaven. I know it. And he had to go and hurt her.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Please, don’t cry, son. Everything’s going to be all right.

JIMMY CLYDE: But it won’t. And you know that. Because she’s never coming home.

OFFICER CLAYTON: Let the record show that Jimmy’s parents have submitted an injunction, which I’m holding in my hands now, halting any further interrogation of the child on the basis that he is mentally incapable of answering questions in a factual way.

I open my laptop and pull up my memoir in progress, but all I can think about is Penny and why any of the residents of Boat Street would have wanted to silence the truth.