Chapter 46

Conley poured a cup of coffee and sat in the galley. The portholes were being lashed with a freak late-season snowstorm. Warmth and darkness made the cabin feel like a womb. He sat in the galley, opened the sketchbook Thompson had given him, and flipped the pages. They’d been through so much together—tragedy, heartache, justice and injustice. He bowed his head and reflected on how blessed he was to know each and every one.

Lloyd, Stefanos, Mazzarelli…Thompson.

The dock bell rang outside, a crisp clang muffled by the howling wind and snow. He crossed the deck and undid the transom zipper on the boat cover. Mazzarelli stood, shivering, his gloved hand still on the bell line. His entire body was caked with snow. Conley waved him inside.

“Boats are for summer, Conley. But it’s pretty nice in here. Warm at least.”

“I’m not looking for a roommate, Mazzarelli.”

Mazzarelli took off his jacket and hung it on the door hook. He removed hat and gloves and laid them on the galley counter. His cheeks were rosy, eyes glassy from the cold. Conley poured him a coffee and they sat. Mazzarelli wrapped both hands around the mug before he spoke.

“We just got transferred, me and the captain. South Shore.”

“Nice. You’ll be on Cape Cod for the summer.”

“Right. Us and every college kid and pickpocket in Massachusetts.”

“Don’t be so negative, Mazzarelli.”

Mazzarelli shrugged and retrieved an envelope from his coat. “Captain wanted you to have this—a letter of commendation. In case the O-P cops try to fry you again, there’s always the staties.”

Conley opened the envelope and read. He imagined Stefanos writing the words, sitting straight at his desk, brow knit, hand scribbling thoughtfully.

“Tell him I appreciate it.”

They drank. The wind howled, a fierce shriek that rocked the boat against its bumpers.

“You doing okay, Conley? Captain told me to ask.”

He smiled. “You tell the captain I’m okay. Better days are coming. That’s my new motto.”

Mazzarelli stood, shook into his coat and put on his hat. “Hard to imagine they’d be much worse.”

“Bye, Conley. By the way, you done good.” He looked around. “Yeah, this place ain’t half bad, but you deserve better.”

Conley walked Mazzarelli to the deck, watched him disappear into the whiteout, and returned to the galley. Mazzarelli had forgotten his gloves. Outside, the bell tolled again, insistently. He grabbed the gloves, went out again, unzippered the cover. An apparition stood in front of him, covered in snow, white as an angel.

Lisa.

Snow swirled around her. She wore a dress, no coat, and the left eye of her wet face sported a shiner. Conley jumped to the dock and helped her onto the boat. Her skin was gelid and her teeth chattered, her soft shoulders trembled, and her breath smelled of alcohol.

The wind died down, the water stilled, the snow fell quietly. A surreal peacefulness consumed him. A peace that surpassed understanding.

Heʼd take it. Because she’d never left, not really.

When he opened the cabin door, she stopped and peered inside. They stood on the deck, huddled in almost total darkness.

“Is someone here?” she asked. “I thought I saw someone from our balcony.”

He shook his head and led her inside. “No one. Just us, babe.” He brushed snow out of her hair and tightened his arm around her shoulder. “There’s just us.”