Another ten miles and the sailboat passed a cargo ship the length of an aircraft carrier, stretching across the surface like a giant guarding the edge of the world. Hawley rode the waves from the wake and shifted the motor to neutral. The boat floated easily, rising and falling. Once the freighter was past, he tied off the tiller, then scrambled over the bow to unfurl the jib and then the mainsail, hanging his weight against the rope. The wind drew the battens tight and the canvas filled with air. Then he cut the motor.
He’d forgotten how nice it could be, using only the power of the wind. Nothing but the sound of the waves slapping the sides of the hull and the soft echo of the halyards against the mast. It was humbling to be set against such a landscape, cutting through the miles that stretched above and below, layers of creatures of every size and shape passing beneath the sailboat’s fragile hull on their way toward eating one another.
A large swell approached off the port side, and Hawley leaned on the tiller so the boat would face it head-on. The bow rose and then came out of the water, before landing hard with a smack into the hollow left behind after the wave had passed. Deep inside the hold Hawley heard something tumble and then set to scrambling. He drew the Colt and cocked it. The hatch opened and his daughter climbed out.
“Hi Dad.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hawley lowered the hammer, then returned the Colt to his pocket. He pushed the tiller starboard and set the boat into the wind. He let loose the sheets and the sails luffed, the ropes whipping like snakes as the boat drifted, then came to a stop. “How the hell did you get on board?”
“I snuck out Mabel’s window after she went to sleep and drove the Firebird into town. If you didn’t show I figured I’d just go back in the morning.” The breeze was pushing her hair into her face. No matter how she tried to hold it back, the ends kept getting in her mouth. “You know his bunk is full of porn down there.”
He’d left Loo at her grandmother’s house. Just to be safe. And now it was all for nothing, even the old woman softening and thanking him on the phone. He’d finally done something to mend fences, and now Mabel Ridge was going to be pissed.
“I can’t believe you took the car again.”
“She promised to sign the title over to me if I came for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So technically it wasn’t stealing this time.”
“We’re going back,” said Hawley.
“But we’ve got to be close by now,” said Loo. “And I brought sandwiches.”
“I’m still turning around.”
“Don’t. Not yet. I’ll do whatever you say.” Loo took hold of her hair firmly with her fist. She pulled an elastic band out of her pocket and tied it back tightly, until all the strays were caught. “I want to be here with you, if you find him.” Her face was determined. And so much like her mother.
In the past year Hawley had blinked once, twice, and his daughter had grown into a woman carrying her own secrets. He’d tried to protect her. Now he hoped only that Loo would not end up like him. Hawley took off his coat. He removed the bulletproof vest. “Put this on.”
She slid her arms through. It was too big for her.
“I’ll sink in this.”
“Then you’ll wear a life jacket, too.”
He dug one of the orange life vests from under the side bench and zipped it open, wrapping his daughter in layers of fabric and foam.
“I look like the Michelin Man.”
“That’s the deal,” said Hawley. “In or out?”
“In,” said Loo, and then she climbed up onto the bow and took out her binoculars. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that floats.”
Hawley turned the boat away from the wind. He took hold of the sheets and the sails filled and he pulled until they held the perfect amount of air. The wind was from the southwest. The spray from the waves speckled their faces with salt. Loo cleared the long guns and the ammunition from the deck and stored them in the cabin to keep dry. Occasionally a gust would come up and the boat would heel too far, the side dipping into the water. But as soon as Hawley leaned his weight on the opposite rail, it would steady again.
As the hours passed they took turns steering and crawling down to the tiny head in the hold, a pump toilet that smelled of chemicals and piss. In the galley everything was miniaturized: a tiny sink, the pots and pans held in place with latches on the shelves, each cup and plate secure. Hawley opened the cupboard and found packages of ramen noodles and a giant tub of peanut butter. There were sleeves of saltines and a jar of iced-tea mix and some instant coffee. Under the sink was a tank of potable water, a boat horn, a box containing a flare gun and three bottles of whiskey.
He brought one of the bottles up on deck.
“Where’d you find that?”
“In the galley.”
The wind had slowed, so Hawley started the engine again. Loo took the bottle and turned it over, as if she were looking for the price tag.
“We used to drink together when you were a baby,” said Hawley.
“Whiskey?”
“Just a drop. It kept you from crying.”
Loo unscrewed the cap and sniffed. It was strange for Hawley to think she had no memory of the lake house. What happened had happened to both of them, but was his to carry alone. He would never forget the tug on his finger, the silence and relief when she’d finally stopped screaming. Her tiny hand wrapped tightly around his, her eyes wide and focused and watching.
“I have to tell you something.” Loo capped the bottle and slid it underneath the bench. She seemed suddenly nervous. “It’s about Mary Titus.”
“What about her?”
“People think you did it,” said Loo. “The shooting at her place.”
“Really.” Hawley tried to keep his face serious.
“It’s my fault,” said Loo. “I gave Marshall one of your guns. For protection. And he shot up his own house.”
Hawley pulled on the mainsheet until the sail was tight. “A real winner, your guy.”
Loo ducked her head, embarrassed, and Hawley wished he hadn’t said anything. He’d been relieved when he heard the boy had left town. But he knew that Loo was still hurting.
“When the police came I thought they were going to arrest you. I thought they’d traced the bullet.”
“From the Beretta?” Hawley asked. When she looked surprised he said, “It was the only one missing.”
“I should have told you,” Loo said. “And I shouldn’t have trusted him.”
Hawley pretended to think this over. But he already knew everything she’d just said. Everything but Marshall shooting his own house.