Chapter 28

ADA

It’s after nine when Alex knocks on my door the next night. He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me softly. “I thought you were going to be staying over in Portland tonight,” I say.

“I decided to drive back so I could see you.”

I can’t contain my smile. “Really?”

“Really.” He walks into the living room and plops down on the sofa. “What are you working on?”

I quickly close my laptop. I may have told him about my past, but I’m not quite ready for him to read my private memoirs, at least not yet. “Just a little writing project.”

He nods. “Going to Bach on the Dock tomorrow night?”

“Is it already tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Naomi always makes a point of inviting me, even though I’m not an official resident of Boat Street.”

“I’m glad you’ll be there,” I say. “Frankly, with all the stuff I’m finding out about Penny, and the investigation, I’m starting to get a little creeped out by this dock.”

“Oh, don’t let it get to you,” he says. “These folks are a harmless lot. Quirky, but harmless. You should see the way Gene plays the violin. They used to have a full quartet; now it’s just him.”

“Are we supposed to bring anything?”

“Bring an app and a bottle of wine and you’ll be golden.”

The wind has picked up since this morning, and I hear it whistling in the eaves of the houseboat, which is swaying gently now. “Storm’s coming,” Alex says.

I hear a rattling sound upstairs in the direction of my bedroom, and I freeze for a moment. “Did you hear that?”

He nods. “Probably just the wind.”

“No,” I say. “It sounded like someone was opening the porthole in the bedroom.”

Alex stands up. “Want me to go check it out?”

I nod cautiously, then follow him upstairs. At the top of the ladder, I breathe a sigh of relief. “See?” Alex says. “No boogeyman.”

Then I notice the porthole is open. “Alex, something’s not right.” I walk over and pull the little window shut. “I always leave this window closed.”

I can tell he’s startled, just as I am, but he puts on a brave face. “It might have been the wind,” he says. “Look, it’s really rocking the boat out there.” I look out and see the Catalina bobbing on the lake, but we both know the wind wouldn’t be able to blow a solid metal porthole open.

“Want me to stay for a bit longer?” Alex asks once we’ve climbed down the stairs.

I nod.

“I could sing you a lullaby,” he says teasingly. “But you wouldn’t want me to, because I can’t sing.”

I grin. “James used to sing to Ella every night. She had colic as a baby, and singing was the only thing that calmed her down. Well, that and the vacuum cleaner.” Alex grins. “But there was this one song—it’s not even a lullaby—she loved most. He’d sing it over and over again to her, and it became their special lullaby, even as she grew up. He sang it to her the night before she died.”

“What was the song?” Alex asks tenderly. I can tell he wants to be a part of my memories, and yet like a person touring someone’s private garden, he’s careful not to trample the tulips.

“‘Puff, the Magic Dragon,’” I say quietly.

I nestle my head into his shoulder, and when my eyes begin to get heavy, I can hear James singing somewhere very far away.

“Morning,” Alex says the next day. I look at the clock. It’s after nine.

“Did I really fall asleep on the couch?”

“Sure did,” he says, filling a mug with coffee and setting it on the chest in front of the sofa. “And you talk in your sleep.”

The sunlight is bright, and I rub my eyes. “Oh no, what did I say?”

“Something about a deadline and a motorcycle.”

“I have no idea,” I say, smiling.

“Sounds like quite a dream,” he says, sinking into the sofa beside me. “I just hope I was in it.”

“Thanks for staying over last night.”

“You sure you didn’t leave the window open?”

“Maybe I did,” I say.

“There are so few incidents of theft on the docks, I don’t think we need to worry about intruders.”

I nod. “You’re probably right,” I say, stretching. I want to put the incident out of my mind as much as Alex does.

He squeezes my hand before standing up. “I’ve got to run some errands, but I’ll be back at five and we can go to Bach on the Dock together.”

He kneels down and presses his lips against mine, and I pull him closer to me.

“Do you have to go?”

“I do,” he says. “But I’m going to think of you every second today, now that I know how cute you are in your sleep.”

I smile as I watch him walk out the door.

That evening, Alex returns with a takeout antipasto plate he’s picked up from Serafina’s. Together with my baguette and bottle of wine, we leave for my very first Bach on the Dock. It’s a party, of course, but it feels a bit like a baptismal ceremony—my acceptance into the houseboat community.

We walk out to the dock together. Colorful Chinese paper lanterns are hung along the string lights. Someone’s hooked up a stereo and speakers, and jazz wafts in the air. I feel a little out of place, like a new girlfriend being introduced to a larger extended family who isn’t exactly keen on newcomers. Still, the neighbors smile warmly, and someone hands me a glass of red wine. I remind myself to smile back.

“Oh, good,” Naomi croons when she sees us. “How nice that the two of you could come together.”

“Gene,” she says to her husband, “you remember Alex, and our new neighbor, Ada.”

The old man nods vacantly as we set our provisions down on the table. He looks tired, and his mind is elsewhere.

“It’s just like the old days,” Naomi says, taking my arm. “We used to do it up big back then. A quartet, a full bar, the works. Those were the days.”

I wonder if her life has turned out the way she anticipated. She’s still married after all these years, and her son lives nearby. It all adds up to the picture of a happy life, and yet there is a sadness that lingers behind Naomi’s eyes, and I long to know why.

“So Boat Street was quite the place in its heyday?”

“Indeed it was,” she says. “It had an energy that practically pulsated.” She stops beside the potted plants in front of her deck as more guests arrive and mingle on the dock.

“I suppose it still does,” I say. “The spirit is still alive.”

Naomi shrugs, kneeling down beside a terra-cotta pot and pulling out a sprig of morning glory. “It’s not what it was.” She tosses the little vine into the lake, and I watch its white bud drift away helplessly. “The soul is gone.”

As different as we are, her words resonate with me then. I know how it feels when the soul has left a place. After the accident, it was as if the warmth had been sucked straight out of my apartment in New York.

She stands up and brushes a bit of dirt from her hand. “But some things never change, like this deplorable morning glory.”

I think about the soul of Boat Street, and I can’t help but wonder if it left the dock the night that Penny disappeared. If so, why?

“Naomi,” I say seizing the moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, about a young woman who lived here—”

“Oh, look,” she says abruptly, walking ahead. “Lenora’s here. I’ll go and greet her.”

Alex walks over to me. “Is it my imagination, or do people seem a little tense tonight?”

I nod. “I know what you mean. Have you seen Jim?”

“No. Gene said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“That’s strange.”

“I know,” Alex replies. “He never misses these houseboat events.”

We all look up when we hear the sound of violin music. Gene stands alone at the top of the dock, and he plays a sad, slow version of “The Way You Look Tonight.” I’ve heard it sung by Frank Sinatra and others, but never played this way on the violin. Its notes sound sad and pensive, and when a gust of wind blows through the dock, I shiver and wish I’d brought a sweater.

Later, Alex and I sit on his deck as the stars twinkle overhead. He’s left the radio on, and I can hear it in the distance. “Is the music bothering you?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “It’s nice. In this age of iTunes and OnDemand, it’s sometimes nice to be surprised.”

He nods, weaving his fingers through mine.

“What did you think of the party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking of my prickly interaction with Naomi and her unwillingness to speak of the past. And yet, who am I—a newcomer—to dig around so openly? I can almost understand Naomi’s reticence. I shrug. “The people here have one thing in common, and that’s their collective love for the dock.”

Alex nods. “Strange that Jim wasn’t there, wasn’t it?” He’s lowered his voice. We have to be careful on the water. Sound carries.

I nod. Alex and I stopped by his house to check on him, but he was terse with us, speaking through a crack in the door. “I wonder what’s bothering him?”

“Maybe it’s his dad,” he says. “Gene’s not doing well.”

I hear the interlude to a song on the radio, and I instantly recognize it. “Here’s to Life,” by Shirley Horn. “I love this song.”

“Me, too,” he says, standing. “Dance with me?”

I stand up, and he wraps his arms around me. We fit perfectly, and he holds me with ease, as if we’ve danced like this a hundred, a thousand times.

I listen to the song’s lyrics: “No complaints, and no regrets, I still believe in chasing dreams . . . ” I sigh. “I hope I can look back on my life and feel that way when it’s all said and done,” I say.

“Me, too.”

I close my eyes tightly, then open them again and search Alex’s face—so warm, so anchored to this moment, to me. The tears fill my eyes again. “I want to live again, really live.”

He holds me tighter. “Don’t you see?” he says. “You’re doing that now.”

Our eyes meet for a moment before he cups my face in his hands and pulls me toward him passionately. I close my eyes. I feel like I’m floating. I can see James, suddenly, in the distance. It’s dark, and I can’t make out his face. I open my eyes and step back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He sounds a little injured, and it makes me feel terrible. For a moment I wonder if I’m worthy of his affection. If he gave me his heart, could I be trusted with it?

“I, I . . . I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looks down at his feet. “Oh.”

I take a step closer to him and take his hands in mine. “I want to, so much,” I say, shaking my head. I’m a mess. I’m afraid. “I need a sign. I need a sign before I can take the next step. I need him to give his blessing.”

James. I feel him. Is he seeing me now? I’ve often thought that Alex and James would hit it off. They share a sense of humor, a deep humanity. Beneath each of their surfaces, there are so many layers to experience. So many beautiful layers. But would James approve of his wife walking into the arms of a man who possesses the advantage of being alive when James is not?

We face each other for a moment, in silence, as the waves lap against the houseboat. And then a new song comes on the radio. At first I don’t recognize the melody. It’s folksy, and there’s the strumming of a guitar. And then Peter, of Peter, Paul and Mary, is singing. I shake my head, astonished. “Puff, the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea . . .”

Tears sting my eyes. We don’t need to say anything. We know. I nestle my head into Alex’s chest and he holds me as we listen.

I look up at the sky. “Thank you,” I whisper into the night air.