The sixteen-passenger tender bounced in a choppy sea, plunging up and down as it crossed a half mile of white-capped water to Karlskrona, Sweden’s original naval supplies base and now a UNESCO world heritage site. The island was an appealing mélange of dark green trees and multihued historic buildings, the colors bright and vivid in the clear northern summer light.
I sat with the Riordans on the back benches. Evelyn clamped a hand on the wooden back of the bench in front of her. “I had no idea it would be this rough.” She looked with concern at Val.
Val slumped on the bench next to me. Sweat beaded her upper lip. She breathed lightly, her eyes glassy, her face drained of all color.
“Look at the island, Val.” I pointed toward Karlskrona. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.” I pulled a plastic bottle from a side sling. “Splash some water on your face.”
Val held out shaking hands.
I poured an ounce or so. “There’s nothing quite so refreshing as cool water.” If I could keep her mind engaged, she might make it to shore without getting sick.
Val lifted her hands, patted the water onto her cheeks.
Kent leaned toward his sister. “Hey, Val, I got an e-mail from Angela this morning. She said when Heather saw the billboard, she cried. Do you think that’s good?”
Val focused on her brother. “I think”—she swallowed—“she’s coming around. We’ll call her again this afternoon. I’ve been thinking. The wedding ought to be outside. We’ll have an arch of roses. I can see the pictures now, you and Heather, framed by roses. All kinds of roses.” Some color came into Val’s cheeks. “Pink and red and cream and salmon and magenta.”
Rosie beamed at her sister. “You’re a genius. Lots of flowers. Do you remember when we used the language of flowers for a code? We found an old book of grandmother’s and it was full of all this stuff about flowers. That was so much fun.”
Val suddenly looked younger, eager. “‘I have a yellow acacia and can’t resist an apple because cedar leaf.’”
Rosie whooped with laughter. “It’s coming back. It’s coming. ‘I have a secret love and can’t resist—’” She frowned in thought.
“‘Temptation.’” Val managed a weak grin.
“‘—because I live for thee.’” Rosie was triumphant.
Kent stared at them in bewilderment. “I don’t get it.”
I chimed in. “In Victorian times, a young man could communicate with his lady love, no matter how well chaperoned, through the flowers he sent her.”
Madge sniffed. “Sounds awfully artsy.” She jangled the gold bracelet on her arm.
“Kind of fun, though.” Kent looked at his sisters. “What’s some more?”
Rosie’s eyes sparkled. “I remember some of them. African marigolds represented vulgar minds. That was a favorite. Rendezvous was chickweed. We’d write notes saying, ‘Let’s chickweed at the soda shop.’”
Val brushed back a straggle of auburn hair. “Bachelor’s buttons meant celibacy. We had a great time with that.”
Rosie patted Kent’s knee. “We’ll fix up the prettiest arbor you ever saw. Because my name is Rosemary—for remembrance—I memorized all the meanings of roses. Rose itself means love. Let’s see: white rose—transient impressions, Carolina rose—love is dangerous, red rosebud—pure and lovely, bridal rose—happy love.” She smiled at Kent. “Cabbage rose—ambassador of love. There’s lots more. It’s going to be fabulous.”
Alex poked his brother. “As long as there is plenty of champagne, the girls can drape roses over their ears and we won’t care.”
The tender thumped alongside the quay.
Evelyn surged to her feet despite the uneven motion of the boat. “Here we are.” Her voice was hearty.
We were among the last to disembark. By the time we climbed the steps to Fishing Square, Val looked queasy again. The broad cobblestoned square overlooked a harbor teeming with tour boats. Sailboats, white sails bright, slipped gracefully past. The Clio, riding at anchor, looked small in the distance, her dark blue hull glistening in the sunlight.
The cobblestone square was crowded with families, children squealing as they raced toward water’s edge. Evelyn studied a self-guided tour. She looked comfortable and at ease, stylish today in a ribbed peach blouse that matched the flower pattern on her white slacks. A matching peach hair band tamed her often flyaway locks. Madge looked almost too elegant for her surroundings in a beige silk blouse and trousers and sandals with rhinestones. She tugged on Alex’s arm, pointing at the vendors’ stalls. Alex shaded his eyes with his hand, looked toward the booths. His dark blue polo was overlarge, his khaki shorts mid-knee length. Rosie, of course, was spectacular as usual, her lovely hair fiery in the bright sunlight, her green cotton top and white capris both flattering and comfortable. She gestured to Kent, her words drifting toward me. “…I’ll keep calling Heather…” Kent’s handsome face was eager, at great variance with his sour expression earlier in the trip. True, he’d not bothered to shave, his blue cotton shirt was frayed at the neck and his khakis old and worn, but women from eight to eighty would notice him with pleasure. The Riordans made up such a genial group, their natural and wholesome demeanor quite in keeping with their holiday surroundings.
Except, of course, for Val.
Val walked like an old woman, head down, shoulders slumped, to a stone bench not far from the Erik Höglund statue The Fisherman’s Wife. I quietly followed, slipped onto the hard bench next to her. Several strands of dark red hair had slipped loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. The vagrant strands made her look disheveled, emphasized her pallor and the bluish smudges beneath her eyes. She hadn’t dressed with her usual care. Her blouse and slacks matched in color but the blouse had a spot near the shoulder.
“Here, Val. Take the water.” I held out the bottle.
She took it docilely, looked at me with a forlorn expression. “I don’t feel good.”
“I know. Drink some water. You’ll feel better. Rest here for a while. You don’t have to go on the tour.”
“I don’t?” She uncapped the water.
“No. I’ll stay with you. It’s a lovely view.” I gestured out at the harbor. “The air is fresh. We can watch the children.”
Her smile was tremulous. “You’re very nice.”
The words twisted within. I wasn’t nice. I was as predatory as a tiger. I forced a smile. “Oh”—my tone was careless—“I like to sit by the sea.”
Rosie was suddenly beside us. She looked down at Val, her gaze questioning. “You okay, baby?”
Val lifted the bottle. “This is all I need. I’m going to sit here with Mrs. Collins, enjoy the view.”
Evelyn rounded up the group. “It isn’t far to the Maritime Museum. I want to see the glass tunnel.” She stopped beside the bench. “Come on, Val. You’ll be sorry you missed it. Mrs. Collins won’t mind.”
“I don’t ever want to move again.” Val drank deeply.
After they left, Rosie with one last worried glance back toward us, I remained silent, letting Val garner strength, sitting in peace on the hard bench in the mild sunlight, cooled by the brisk breeze.
“I wanted to get away from the ship.” Val’s words were abrupt. “But it doesn’t do any good. I can’t forget. I hated her. I wanted her to die. And now I can’t remember”—her hands came together, twisting, twisting—“anything about that night. Every time I try to remember, I have a terrible feeling, an awful feeling. I needed a drink. I didn’t have anything to drink, the bottle was empty. I came out into the hall and I didn’t know which way to go. It was like a nightmare when your feet get stuck in slime and you don’t know where you are, nothing’s familiar. I started off and the floor kept moving. I don’t know which way I went. I wanted to run and I couldn’t run.”
I sat as still as the bronze statue of the fisherman’s wife, one hand forever linked to her cart. The timing had to be so close. It was possible that Val, woozy and disoriented, turned toward the stern. If she reached the cross hall just as someone unlocked Sophia’s door, she might have seen the back of a familiar figure. If she could remember…
Val shuddered. “I try to remember, but I don’t want to remember.” She looked toward me. “It couldn’t have been me, could it?” Her eyes, filled with foreboding, stared into mine.
I wished I knew. What memory did she fear? Was it what she did? Or what she saw? Or was her foreboding the product of an alcoholic haze, peopled with phantasms of her own making?
I temporized. If Val was sincere, I couldn’t deepen her misery. If she wasn’t, it didn’t matter how I responded. “I’d try not to think about that night. Perhaps in time the memories will come back.”
Val gulped in a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” She looked at me hopefully. “Rosie said I came up to the bar and I was with you. Was I okay?”
I saw terror in her eyes. I was glad I could offer some comfort here. “You’d had too much to drink, but you acted quite normal.” If it was normal to obsess over the death of a sibling.
She gave me a tremulous smile.
I patted her hand. I liked Val, felt enormous sympathy for her. I hoped that she was what she appeared to be, a distraught young woman burdened by anger and guilt, frightened by alcohol-induced memory lapses, not an accomplished film director with the skills of a consummate actress.
As I stepped into my cabin after our return from Karlskrona, I saw the envelope that had been slipped beneath the door. My name was on the outside in Jimmy’s familiar script.
I fixed an icy club soda, settled on the small sofa, opened his sealed note.
Henrie O,
Glenn asked me to pack up Sophia’s things. They’re finished with the cabin. Glenn said I could get into the cabin at nine-thirty in the morning. I’d be glad of your help, but if you’d rather not, I understand.
Hope the afternoon in Karlskrona offered some respite. Please join me for dinner at seven in the main dining room.
Love—Jimmy
I felt cold, knew the chill wasn’t from my icy drink. This time last week Sophia had laughed and loved, been angry, felt chagrin, enjoyed the caress of silk against her body, reached out for Jimmy’s hand, knowing it would be there. Now her husband steeled himself to touch clothes that bore her impress, carried her scent. To be in that silent suite, look toward the balcony, would be terribly difficult for me. Yet those moments would be much harder for him.
I didn’t want to go. I would go.
Now it was time to shower and dress for dinner. The living sit down to meals no matter the turmoil in their minds and hearts.
All through my shower, I pictured Sophia’s suite, the small sofa where she’d faced me and told me how much she loved her husband. Jimmy must now rid the cabin of her belongings. On the next cruise, new occupants would enjoy its elegance, stand on the balcony looking out at the sea, unaware that death had preceded them by only a few days.
I toweled quickly, used the hair dryer, brushed my hair. As I pulled on the comfortable terry-cloth robe, I heard the telephone. I steeled myself, moved quickly to answer.
But it wasn’t Jimmy.
“Henrie O.” Evelyn talked fast. “I’m glad I caught you. I thought it would be a good thing for all of us to have dinner together tonight. I’ve already talked to Jimmy and he’s agreed.”
That didn’t surprise me. Jimmy would grab any opportunity to be with the Riordans.
“We’ll meet in the main dining room at seven. I think we should—well”—an uncomfortable pause—“we can’t bring Sophia back and we need to remember her”—Evelyn’s tone was an odd mixture of uplift and gravity—“but we can’t let ourselves get mired in grief. Don’t you agree?”
I had difficulty picturing any of the Riordans overcome by grief. Fear. Worry. Relief. Even elation. The disliked stepmother gone, their father’s fortune theirs to share. There were many possible emotions, but not grief.
“I certainly do.” I saw my wry expression in the mirror.
“Good. We’ll see you then. Oh, and thank you for being so kind to Val. She’s much more herself now. We’re so glad.”
I put down the phone. All was right with Evelyn’s world, a world Sophia no longer inhabited.
I liked being outside on my balcony in the darkness, swept by sea-scented air beneath the canopy of stars. I’d settled there to watch the Clio’s departure at nine. We were on our way to Travemünde, the port for our visit to Lübeck and our last stop before we spent two and a half days at sea en route to London, where the cruise ended.
I felt worn and worried. Dinner had been a strain, a long meal studded with awkward pauses. We’d eaten together in the main dining room, everyone who began the journey with Sophia.
I realized before the first course was done that Evelyn simply wanted to make everything appear as normal as possible, underscoring her belief that Sophia had been the victim of an unfortunate accident.
I watched distant lights glide past, another cruise ship heading north, and pictured the Riordans at dinner. Evelyn had been alternately vivacious and quiet, chattering to her family, looking anxiously at Jimmy. Rosie smiled steadily and covertly watched her sister. Val’s hands trembled, but she’d drunk only water with the meal. Madge burbled happily to Alex that she wanted to stay over in London, do some shopping, she’d seen an article about the most wonderful jewelry shop on Regent Street. Alex nodded agreement with his wife, eagerly discussed investment plans with Kent. Kent had been on his best behavior, freshly shaven, dark curls well brushed, wearing a blazer. He’d managed small talk though his face in repose was creased by uncertainty. So, no contact yet with Heather. If Kent had any thoughts about Sophia, they were well hidden.
Jimmy was quiet, though he responded to conversation. His eyes moved from face to face around the table. He was seeking answers. He hadn’t found any. Nor had I.
I rose and walked to the railing of my balcony, knew I should turn in. I placed my hands on the damp wood, looked down at the froth marking the Clio’s passage. Tomorrow the ship docked at Travemünde. Tomorrow night it departed, en route to London. Time was running out.