THE BEDSIDE CLOCK READ 3:17 WHEN I CAREFULLY laid aside the sheet and swung my feet to the floor. Red mumbled something and rolled onto his side. I sat for a full minute until his breathing evened out.
I crouched beside the bed and groped beneath it for the clothes I’d stashed there early the morning before. I dressed quickly. Outside in the hallway I carried my old sneakers in one hand and felt along the wall with the other as I avoided the creaky boards on the staircase.
From the closet underneath the steps I pulled out the Judge’s old hunting coat and slipped it on. In the formal parlor, the scent of the wedding flowers lingered. I especially treasured the bouquet from the Eastman family. Thanks to her aunt Tessa, Kimmie had been in remission for nearly four months. The death of Deshawn Mitchell was under investigation, but so far as I knew, no decision had been made about whether or not Joline would be brought to trial.
At least for now, the circle of life went on.
I retrieved the box from its place of honor on the mantel and tiptoed through the kitchen out onto the back verandah.
The moon had nearly set, but I stood a while, inhaling the smell of damp grass, my ears tuned to the endless sound of moving water that had formed the backdrop of my entire life at Presqu’isle. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked once, then fell silent. When my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I took the steps slowly, feeling like a procession of one, and walked straight toward the short dock that jutted out into the Sound.
The paper had called for high tide at 2:33, and I could tell by the tops of the reeds poking out along the shoreline that the water had begun to ebb. I set the box on the weathered boards and shoved my hands into the pockets of the old canvas coat. I let my mind wander back over the months and years, the pain and joy, truths and lies, secrets and revelations. Surely more triumphs than failures.
No tears, I’d promised us both.
Some time later, I stooped and retrieved the box, its bronze finish cold in my hands in the pre-dawn chill. I removed the lid and held it out over the water. My voice carried out across the wide expanse:
O’er all the hilltops
Is quiet now,
In all the treetops
Hearest thou
Hardly a breath;
The birds are asleep in the trees:
Wait; soon like these,
Thou too shalt rest.
A wafting, offshore breeze ruffled the damp hair on the nape of my neck as I tilted the box and let its contents drift out onto the water.
“Johann von Goethe,” I said and watched the invisible current carry its passenger toward the sea. “ ‘Wanderer’s Nightsong.’ Two points.”
A solitary tear rolled down my cheek as I turned back toward the house.
I had kept all my promises to my father save one.