Chapter 16

That same afternoon, the bell rang outside Conley’s cabin cruiser, and he unzipped the tarp. Sage stood on the dock.

“Sage. Didn’t expect to see you.ˮ He offered a hand to help her aboard. “Come in.”

She stepped onto the deck tentatively, carrying a large sketchpad under her arm, and followed him into the cabin. He checked the thermostat and turned up the propane heater.

“You live on a boat in Seaport Marina in the winter?” she said. “Interesting.”

“Not by choice. My wife and I are separated, but not by much. She got the better end, the condo at the other end of the marina.”

“I made more sketches of the people at the parties. Despite your unwillingness to let him help, William thought I should show them to you.”

Conley let that sleeping dog lie. There was a history there he didn’t care to go into. “What have you got?ˮ

She sat on the bench across from him and opened the pad. The pages were so big they created a breeze when turned. She stopped at a full-faced woman with a tangle of wavy hair, broad nose, and thin lips.

Sage pinched a charcoal pencil between thumb and fingertips, and ran it under the picture’s chin in a U, barely touching the page. Satisfied, she lifted her hand and spoke.

“Carrie’s her name. She knew Victor.”

“She looks sad.”

Sage smiled. “Then I’ve succeeded. That’s the hard part, you know. Making the picture come alive.”

The bubbler hummed under the hull, its prop turning constantly to prevent the bilge from freezing. The propane heater hissed. She turned the page.

A thin-faced man with a devil’s goatee was next. His hair receded on both sides of his forehead, as if making way for horns.

“That’s Liam. Everyone’s scared of him, and they should be. He gets what he wants, doesn’t tolerate bullshit. Gets rough with the girls sometimes. The willing and the unwilling.”

“Is he the one who threatened Victor Rodriguez?”

“I think so.”

She ran the charcoal around Liam’s oval eyes, then looked at Conley’s as if comparing. “Sit down. I need to take your stitches out or they’ll leave scars.ˮ

He sat on the bed. She turned her chair, searched her bag, pulled out scissors and tweezers. She touched his eyebrows, worried the ends of the black stitches, cut them carefully, and pulled them through.

“How long have you and William known each other?” she asked.

“Forever.”

A long pull on the middle stitch. He winced.

“We were pretty close at one time,” he said.

She concentrated on a cut near his eye and rubbed her thumb against a spot as if trying to erase it.

“When we’re young, our heart is like clay. It gets molded from experiences, good and bad. Did you and William have a good relationship?”

“Yes.”

“He seeks your approval.”

He shrugged. “I like William.”

“Then why do you treat him like shit?”

He smiled, eyes shut, lips closed.

“He’s a good man,” she said. “God-fearing, and wise beyond his years. He saved me, rescued me from an empty life.”

“William needs to know there are boundaries, that’s all. He can’t show up in Ocean Park after a decade and think he’s going to be a hero.”

“Right. I see. Because that’s you. You’re the one who’s going to fix things, and he’s getting in your way.”

“That’s not true.”

She broke a capsule and rubbed fluid on the cuts.

“You know what my mother used to say, Conley? Love is not about sex or beauty or tenderness. It’s about being one. Momma said she and my daddy were so in love they could speak without words to each other and see without sight. William and I used to do that.”

“What happened?”

“You showed up. Now all William cares about is helping you. It’s like he owes you a debt, and it’s affecting him and me. We’re distant now.”

A debt? That wasn’t it. Truth was the young William was a runt, often bullied, always teased. Was he ever cowardly? Not that Conley could remember, but that didn’t matter because the seed of mistrust, a lack of confidence, was planted way back—when we were clay—and no amount of war stories could blunt that feeling.

Or is Sage right? Is he getting in my selfish way?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t deal with William right now. I know he wants to help. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She tilted her head.

“That’s one of God’s little jokes on us, you know. We’re links in a long, hanging chain. We cling to the loop above us, desperate to be one with them, but the link below hangs on us the same way, and we don’t even notice.”

She smoothed his eyebrow over the red skin.

“Sometimes letting friends help is the hardest thing we do,” she said. “It takes all of our courage.”

A voice called from the dock.

“Everything all right in there, Mister Conley?” Buddy, the busybody marina manager, asked clear and slow.

“Yeah, Buddy. Everything’s okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Buddy. Sage was just leaving.ˮ

Sage stood, tucked the portfolio under her arm, and buttoned her coat. “If you really want to save this city,” she said, “and from what I can see, it needs a lot of help—you’ll need William.”

Conley reached, held her hand still, and spoke.

“I can’t promise that, Sage.”

She sighed.

“That’s God’s other joke, you know. He puts fantasies in our head, windmills. Then He makes us want them so bad we’ll do anything. When we succeed, we wonder why we ever wanted the silly thing, and God laughs so hard even we can hear. Momma used to say that’s called thunder.”

She stepped out onto the deck, and with his help climbed the transom to the dock. She turned.

“Better keep an eye on those cuts, Conley. Your blood seems thin. You’ll probably bleed again.”