INTRODUCTION 11 page

They sat silently by the pond and listened to the bullfrogs. In the distance, a boat engine rumbled. The night was as real as it had ever been. She heard noise on the lawn and turned to see the guests leaving. Then the lights went off in the kitchen and living room. Through the window, she watched her mother's

silhouette climb the stairs. She saw her come to her bedroom window, scratch Bobo behind the ears, look out for a few moments, then close the curtains.

Tess pulled her knees close to her and wrapped herself in a ball. She felt like a fleck in the universe now. She was lost and she desperately wanted to be comforted by the only person who could help her through this lonely night.

TWENTY-FOUR

THE CHARTS WERE STREWN ALL AROUND. SO WERE THE printouts from the Weather Service and NOAA. With ruler and calculator, Charlie was reckoning where to search at dawn. He didn't care that the Coast Guard's supercomputer had crunched all the data on tides, currents, and water temperature and concluded that Tess's chances of survival were slim to none. In fact, he conceded that the situation appeared hopeless, especially since Tess's spirit had already alighted in the cemetery. But with his brain in complete denial and his heart aching, he was grasping for some other explanation of the incredible events of the last twenty-four hours.

He knew plenty of examples of miracles on the ocean, sailors subsisting for days, weeks, or even months on life rafts or lashed to wreckage. Heck, the Hornblower had gone down last summer on Stellwagen Bank, and fifty-five hours later they had rescued her skipper and his family from the brink, where they were bobbing in their life vests, strapped together with a green deck hose. Sure, the water was warmer, but Tess had a Gumby suit that was rated for freezing temperatures. In theory, she would have been wearing it when her boat sank, so she could still be alive.

The logs in the fireplace had burned down to embers. The time on the VCR said it was almost midnight. How did it get so late? At first he didn't notice the tree branches rustling against the window, but then they grew louder. That was strange. The cemetery had been silent all night. He stood up, straightened his T-shirt, re-tied his gray sweatpants, and adjusted one of his red wool socks. Then he went to the door, opened it, and looked outside.

Charlie's heart leaped. Tess was standing in the shadows. "God, am I glad to see you," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside. She looked at him with the saddest eyes.

"I think something's happening to me," she said. "I couldn't even knock on the door. There wasn't any sound when I tried, so I had to make the wind jostle the tree branches instead."

Charlie tensed. She was losing her physical connection to this world. It was the first clue that she was fading, but he still couldn't believe it. Every single feature was as perfect as God had made it, and he couldn't detect a single sign that she was a spirit. Most ghosts had a gleam in their eyes and luminosity in their skin. Sam shimmered when the light caught him a certain way, and sometimes, when he moved quickly, the lineaments of his body blurred. But Tess was all there, every angle and curve. She stood in the middle of the darkened living room, looking at the mess of maps and weather data. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She shuddered, turned, and looked into his eyes. She was definitely afraid. He tried to put his arms around her, but she stopped him.

"I wish we could, but Sam says it's against the rules."

"Sam? That little bugger."

"He says it's too much to handle."

"I'm willing to take that risk." His hands circled her and he pulled her close. Her body pressed hard

against him, and he could tell she was soft where it mattered. She was all there in his arms. There was no mistaking it. She was real.

When they let go, she moved toward the big leather couch, plopped down in the middle, and buried herself in the pillows. "I can't frigging believe this is happening," she said. "I just can't . . ."

"Tell me about tonight," Charlie said, sliding in beside her.

"I went to my mom's with Sam," she said. "I couldn't take it. It was just too sad. I can't believe I put her through this again." She pulled a pillow into her lap. "My crazy friend Tink thinks he's going to rescue me tomorrow. God bless him. Poor Mom is clinging to that hope." She threw the cushion down.

Charlie put his arm around her. He could feel her shaking with every breath. And that was what seemed impossible to explain. She was a spirit and yet she was shuddering right there in his arms.

"What about you?" she said. "Where've you been tonight?"

"I went down to the dock to see what was going on." He stroked her shoulders and her hair. "Coast Guard says Querencia was destroyed by fire. They've been picking up charred wreckage all over Cape Ann. They think there's no way you survived."

"Do you believe that?" she asked.

"No," he said, trying to convince himself. "Not until we find your body."

Tess was staring at the burning log. "A fire . . ." she whispered. She seemed lost somewhere for the longest time, and then suddenly her eyes sparked and she said, "Charlie, my God. I think I remember what happened. . . ."

The boat had been upside down forever. It was pitch black in the cabin, and the floodboards were floating around her. She was doused with diesel fuel, battery acid, and salad dressing. The water was rushing in, but she couldn't tell how much or how fast. And, most frightening of all, the boat was making the most horrible noises. Querencia was in agony. Tess was praying to her father to guide her through the ordeal. She was too proud to activate the EPIRB beacon or radio for help. She would tough it out until there was absolutely no other choice.

Then, like a miracle, the boat righted herself.

Thank you, Dad, wherever you are. . . .

Tess feared that the boat had been dismasted in the rollover. She crawled through the galley, pushing pots and pans and gear out of her way. She zipped up her suit, fastened her mask, and climbed up the ladder of the companionway. At the top, she stopped for an instant to listen. She could hear the fury of the storm, but she needed to check the rigging. She held her breath and opened the hatch.

The pressure changed instantly as the wind burst inside along with a gush of seawater. She quickly hooked her tether onto the jack line and pulled herself on deck. The sky and sea had merged into one great wall of white, and it felt like she was flying.

She wasn't sure she could stand upright in the high winds, so she stayed in a crouch as she scanned

Querencia for damage.

Sure enough, the mast had been sheared like a toppled tree from the deck, leaving only a jagged stump of carbon-fiber splinters. The remains of the pole, fastened by halyards, were swinging from the boat and slamming into it like a battering ram with every ransacking wave. Tess knew she had to chop them loose immediately or they would pierce the hull, and she would founder.

The boat was pitching violently. She scooted to the cabin locker and pulled the bolt-cutters from the bracket. It took all her strength to slice through the stainless-steel rod rigging and to sever the main halyard, two jibs, and spinnaker. Instantly, a massive wave swept the mast away.

Then she duckwalked to the cockpit and surveyed her instruments.

Damn!

The autopilot was off. How long ago did that happen? Must have been when she lost power. She punched the button to get it going again, but it was out. She tried the backup. It was gone too. Now there was no choice: She would have to steer her way through this. But where the heck was she? She peered at the compass, trying to get her bearings. North. South. East . . .

Before she could finish, a wave smashed into the rear deck, slamming her hard against the wheel. It knocked the wind out of her, and she bent over, gasping for breath. A thunderous boom overhead made her stand right up. She looked to the heavens and saw a brilliant flash, then a zigzagging web of lightning. It spread out like lace across the sky. Even in the maelstrom, she appreciated its beauty. But she also knew the lightning rod had been swept away with the mast and with it her only protection.

She leaned back toward the controls and tried to calculate her location. She had been running without steering for a few hours. It was hard to tell which way the wind and current had carried her, but she estimated that she was somewhere between--

Tess never finished the thought. The boat breached violently, and she toppled toward the lifelines. She skidded along the deck, slammed into a stainless-steel stanchion, then felt her safety harness cutting hard into her ribs. Now she was lying flat on the deck, staring up into the darkness.

Her side ached, and she wondered how long the boat could take this beating. She pulled herself back to her feet, inched toward the cabin, and peered inside. The water had already swallowed the bunks and was rising fast.

It was a surreal moment, but Tess recognized it was time literally to abandon ship. Every good offshore sailor knew that you waited until the last possible moment and never got into a life raft unless you were stepping up into it from a sinking ship. Indeed, many sailors had perished over the years by deserting boats that managed to stay afloat, only to be swamped by the seas in an inflatable dinghy. But Querencia was going down. So she pulled the cord on the thick bundle strapped in the back of the cockpit, the CO₂ canister hissed, and the raft began to inflate.

Now she had two choices: hurry below and activate the distress signal, or stay above and contact the Coast Guard on Channel 16, the emergency frequency. The radio in the cockpit was faster and, incredibly, it was unscathed. She reached for the mike.

Before she could even say "Mayday," without any warning of thunder, a lightning bolt slammed into the deck. Tess felt the blast of heat from an explosion, then saw fire on the starboard side of the boat where

the fuel tank was stored. Even in this tempest, the flames leaped high in the air.

Suddenly, the boat pitched to starboard, Tess lost her footing, and she felt the full force of her body slam against the jack line. For an instant, she was dangling upside down over the transom. Then she felt the safety wire snap and the tension release on her harness. Now there was nothing keeping her on the boat. She began to slide into the churning ocean.

In that instant, dragged away by the waves, she looked back at her beloved boat, and those were the last images she could remember: Querencia on fire and the white sky and sea closing in all around.

TWENTY-FIVE

"WOULD YOU EVER LEAVE SAM?"

Tess's question lingered in the glow of the fireplace. Perhaps they were simply in denial about the facts or maybe they were swept away by each other, but they had abandoned the gloomy subject of the shipwreck and were dreaming out loud about what life would be like together.

"Would you ever leave the cemetery?" Tess asked. Her face was tucked into Charlie's neck. "I mean, would you ever come with me around the world?" She couldn't believe she was asking the question, but it was true. She didn't want to go solo anymore. She wanted to be with him.

"You've never seen me sail," he said. "Be careful what you wish for."

"Don't joke. I'm being serious." Then she found herself asking a question that seemed almost too direct: "Are you going to stay here forever with Sam?"

Charlie stroked her hair. "Remember that bullfighting book I told you about?" She nodded. "There's a pass called al alimon, where two matadors challenge a bull while holding on to the sides of just one cape. It's suicide unless they're in perfect harmony. In Spain, they say that only two brothers know each other's thoughts and movements well enough to pull it off."

"You and Sam."

"I couldn't face life without him."

He kissed her softly on the forehead, and she felt safe enough to ask once more, "So what about us? What's going to happen to you and me?"

He pulled her closer. "trust your heart / if the seas catch fire," he whispered, reciting the poem from her father's funeral.

"(and live by love / though the stars walk backward)," she answered.

"That's what I want to do with the time we have." He kissed her gently on the cheek. Then he whispered, "Come with me." He slipped from the couch and stood up.

Tess watched him beckon and she didn't know what to do. One candle was still burning on the coffee table. The fire was out. The room was silent.

"Come upstairs," he said. "I won't bite."

"We can't," Tess said as the sadness returned. "It's impossible. I couldn't even knock on the door. I'm not really here."

"Can you feel this?" he said, leaning forward and kissing her on the corner of her eye.

"Of course."

"Can you feel this?" he said, running his hand across her shoulders and down to her breasts.

"Yes."

"You're still in between. You haven't crossed over yet. Anything is possible."

"Pretty smooth," she said. "So this is how you get into a ghost's pants?" She poked him in the ribs. Then he took the candle from the table and crossed the living room. "This way," he said.

Tess followed through the darkness, up a steep staircase, down a little hall into his room. It was small and cozy, with a vaulted ceiling and exposed beams. A big craftsman bed took up almost all the space. He set the candle on the nightstand.

In the low light she could see Charlie take off his T-shirt and dive onto the bed. Below his muscled chest and stomach, his sweatpants were enticingly low on his waist. A small part of her wanted to play hard to get and make him work. It was a reflex from years of experience and disappointment. But that was ridiculous. This wasn't the time for games. It was now or never.

"Tell me the truth," she said. "Have you ever done something like this before?"

"You mean sleep with a spirit on a second date?" He was flashing that incredible dimple.

"Don't push your luck, pal." She pulled the clip from her hair, and it fell around her shoulders. She began to unbutton her shirt. And suddenly she noticed. The lines of her hands were softer. Her skin was fainter. Even the feeling of her clothes was different. Everything was less substantial. It took a moment to process, but then she realized.

She was beginning to fade away.

It filled her with pure terror. This was really, truly the end. Soon she would evanesce to nothing. It made no sense. Sam had promised the timing would be her decision. She had made up her mind: She didn't want to go yet. She wanted to stay right here with Charlie.

"Hey, what's taking so long?" he said.

"Calm down, boy." She didn't know what to do, but there he was with his arms open. And so she finished the last buttons of her shirt and kicked off her shoes. She dashed over to the bed and blew out the candle. She didn't want him to see her this way. She didn't want him to know it was already happening.

Then she dived onto him, feeling his warmth against her own. Their fingers touched, and they were together, his arms encircling her waist, and her hands moving around his neck. Their kiss was deep, connecting, like a familiar story with a beginning, middle, and end. They caught their breath, and then she kissed his forehead, face, and shoulders.

Now her hands were on his chest, her fingers gliding along the faint ridges of what seemed like scars. "What're these from?" she asked.

"Burn marks when the paramedic shocked me."

She kissed each one gently and then moved lower, gliding her mouth over his stomach and hips, untying his sweatpants, sliding them off. Then her hands wrapped around him, all heat and power, and she reveled in a new discovery: He was the most perfect man she had ever touched.

She didn't want to let go, but he rolled her over onto her back, unzipped her jeans, and in one fluid motion lifted her up to pull them off. His strength was impressive, and his instincts were very, very good.

He handled her as if she was weightless, and her anxiety began to melt away. After kissing for the longest time, they began to fold into each other slowly and smoothly, and she felt him fill her completely. For the first time ever, venturing deeper, Tess lost her sense of where she ended and he began.

When it was over, they held on to each other with all their strength. Tess was afraid even to loosen her grip. She was clinging to love and life. Soon Charlie was ready again, and they found their rhythm. This time she dissolved into a sublime state that she had not even known in her younger, wilder days. With sparks between every synapse and energy in every cell, the sensation was surreal, like the bliss she had always dreamed of and had almost given up hope of ever finding.

Afterward, with Charlie resting his head on her stomach, she felt the tears begin to well up, then spill.

"Please don't cry," he said.

"I can't help it. I want to stay here with you. I don't want to go."

"Don't worry," he said. "There's no rush."

But in the shadowed bedroom, he had not seen her fading form. She ran her hands through his hair and rubbed his sinuous back. She pulled him toward her once more. She didn't want to waste a single moment. There was no time to rest or sleep, for in her heart and soul she knew they would only have tonight.

There's no rush . . .

The lies we tell ourselves, Charlie thought as he kissed her nape and followed the muscles of her neck down to her shoulders and breasts. He cupped one and then the other. They were so warm in his hands, and then his mouth.

She was right there--arching, twisting beneath him--and yet he knew this rapture was fleeting, and it only made him more ravenous. He ran his tongue along her ribs, over her stomach, down her sides, marveling at her nooks and curves. He kissed the points of her hips, then her thighs, and she curled up in giggles.

"No fair," she murmured.

"All's fair," he answered.

Earlier, when she had flopped on the bed and they had joined together, it had felt like some mysterious experiment. Could they really touch, let alone make love? Was this even possible? With disbelief and tentativeness, they had pushed against each other, like force fields, a flurry of friction and energy, mouth against mouth, hand vs. hand.

Now, this time, as he eased into her again, they merged ineffably. The resistance was gone, and so

was the distance. Their bodies coalesced in ways he could not fathom, and the sensation was stirring and soulful.

And so, sweeping aside the impossibility of their union, Charlie pushed deeper and deeper into her until he was completely gone.

TWENTY-SIX

THE TRADE WINDS ROCKED THEM GENTLY IN THE hammock. The flag on the mast of the Catalina 400 rippled. They were anchored somewhere in the cays off the coast of Belize. Sipping from a coconut, Tess was nuzzled up against Charlie. She offered him the straw, he took a sweet sip, and he kissed her lips and throat. He could smell the tanning lotion, sea salt, and that unmistakable scent that was just hers.

Now she was above him, moving in a swirl of motion, caressing him all over. Now they were swinging more, the hammock wobbling, and the coconut drink flying, bouncing across the deck into the ocean. Now she was all around him, pulling, pressing, dancing to some inner music.

It was fast at first, then it turned slower. The swaying in the hammock ceased. Their faces were side by side. Her mouth was open. Tendrils of hair draped over his chest. Her breathing was strong, and she made little sounds that were not quite whimpers. Then her intensity began to grow, and her arms tightened around him. Her hips were pushing harder. She put one hand behind his neck.

"I love you," she said, her eyes reflecting the sun and sky.

Just as he was about to swear his love, Charlie heard clanging. He lifted his head and looked down the length of the boat. An American flag fluttered at the stern. They were all alone, but there was more clanging, like someone beating a pan. "What's that?" he asked, but Tess didn't answer. Her eyes were distant now. She suddenly seemed far away. He struggled to make sense of the noise. Then a man's voice called out.

"St. Cloud! Charlie! Hello?!"

The words shook him from his dream. He opened his eyes and rolled over. He reached out for Tess.

But she was gone.

"Tess?!" His heart ached as he leaped from bed to the window. Outside, silver sheets of rain obscured the cemetery. That racket had to be Tink down on the dock, clanging the bell on the post. A century ago, the clamor was the fastest way to summon the gravediggers when a casket from the North Shore had arrived by boat.

"Okay, okay!" he grumbled. "Give it a rest! I'll be right there!" He turned and grabbed his clothes from the chair. And there it was.

A note on the pillow.

His pulse quickened as he unfolded the piece of paper.

My dearest Charlie,

As I write this note, I can barely see my hands or hold this pen. By the time you open your eyes in the morning, I know you won't be able to see me anymore. That is why I must go before you wake.

I'm sorry to leave without saying good-bye, but it's easier this way. I don't want you to see this happening to me. . . . I just want you to remember our time together.

I had hoped to stay longer. There's so much we could have done. I only wish we had cooked a few more meals, gone to a ball game--Patriots, of course--or even sailed the world. But I'll never forget how you opened my heart and made me feel more alive than I ever dreamed possible.

Sam told me that the timing of moving on was my decision. But apparently it's not. I wanted to stay close to you but I can't anymore.

I hate the thought of leaving, but I'm hopeful about what's to come. I'm not afraid. You see, I think we were destined to meet. There's a reason for everything, you said, and though it's a mystery to me now, I know it won't always be so.

Someday, we'll be together. I believe that with all my heart. Until then, I want you to dive for dreams. I want you to trust your heart. I want you to live by love. And when you're ready, come find me. I'll be waiting for you.

With all my love,

Tess

Charlie felt the numbness spread from his fingers up his arms and all the way through his body. Dammit. When had he fallen asleep? How could he have let her go?

He threw on his clothes, folded the note, and put it in his shirt pocket. Tink was still clanging the bell on the dock. Charlie ran down the stairs and straight out the door. He didn't even bother to grab a coat. He raced across the lawn, weaving between monuments, splashing through the puddles. When he got to the dock, Tink was in a lather.

"Been waiting here for twenty frigging minutes!" he said. "What took you so long?"

"I'm sorry," Charlie said. The rain was cold, and he was shivering in his T-shirt.

"You ready? Forget your coat?"

"It's too late," Charlie said.

"Too late? For what? You're the only one who's late."

"There's no point anymore." The water was streaming down his face and arms.

"What're you talking about?"

"Tess is gone."

"Did Hoddy call you or something? Last night you were the one who said we can't give up on her."

"I know," he said, brushing the rain from his face. "I was wrong."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"You won't find her out there. She's gone."

"Dammit, St. Cloud, you're out of your mind." He gunned the boat engine. "I'm going without you. And screw you for wasting my time." He pushed away from the dock and cursed as he steered into the channel.

Charlie stood for the longest time, soaked by the freezing rain. He watched Tink's boat disappear into the mist. Slowly, he felt himself steeling inside. The emotional fortifications were going up. The defenses and buttresses were moving into place. And just as he had done for thirteen years, he forced his mind to ignore the hurt.

It was Monday morning. The week was starting. His workers would be arriving soon. There were graves to dig. Hedges to cut. Headstones to set. And when the day was done, his little brother would be waiting.

Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

TWENTY-SEVEN

IT WAS A MISERABLE DAY, EVEN FOR A FUNERAL. ABRAHAM Bailey, one of the richest men in town, had died in his sleep, and Charlie, bundled against the wind, was on Eastern Slope, dressing the grave. Good old Abe had made it to 101 years old. In the morbid calculus of the cemetery workers, that meant the coffin would be lighter and the job therefore easier. Centenarians never weighed much.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders at the thought. Those were the kind of grim facts he would have to ponder every day for the rest of his life. Along with the iron gates and stone walls, they were the bleak realities that immured the cemetery, like the chill in the air. He dreaded the frigid months ahead, not least because the cemetery was actually colder than anyplace in the entire county. In summer, all that marble and granite stored the heat and raised the temperature, but when winter came with snow and rain, the stone held the frost and made it worse.

Charlie now slogged through every step by rote. He dug the hole with precisely twenty-six scoops of the backhoe. He covered the dirt pile with Astroturf. He installed the lowering device.

With every action, memory fragments exploded in his mind: Tess's eyes, her laugh, her legs. Down the hill was the lake where he had first seen her. Stop! Pay attention to the job, he admonished himself. Set up the tent. Put out the chairs. Arrange the floral tributes.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 609