“Oh great, the panini have arrived!” Ellen says when she sees the cooler. She’d sent us up the bread earlier in the day. “Did you toast them already? Or shall we do it here?”
I watch the three women, Hannah, Ellen, and Mom, working at the outdoor cooktop. Of course, after two seconds, Mom starts singing a Rat Pack song. This one is “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.” I cringe for a moment, thinking she could’ve picked something better to hum for Ellen’s sake, but apparently the Rat Pack is universal, because pretty soon Ellen is humming along with her.
And I think, If Ellen can hum this with a smile on her face after all she’s been through, then maybe someday I can embrace my real name. Marilyn Monroe.
Nah.
There’s a coolness in the air. We’re trying to make the most of a dying summer day. We go back to school in a week, so I’ll see Henry less. But I’ll go over to the mainland and be part of his world whenever I can. For now, on the island, he’s still part of mine.
The net’s in place and our sides are picked when Grant comes to me, visibly upset. “Oh my God, Pixie!”
“What is it?”
Everyone comes running over. We take Grant’s fears seriously these days. Very seriously.
He’s crying, inconsolable. “I lost your dog.”
I look around the beach. I don’t see her anywhere. Where could she have gone? This is the first time she’s been out of my sight since she came out of the crate two weeks ago.
There’s a cluster around Grant now. A crowd telling him not to worry, that she’ll turn up. Then a chorus of voices shouting “Calamity! Calamity! Here, girl!”
I don’t see her anywhere, but a cloud bank has rolled in over the beach.
Then I see another dog.
Patience is standing in a sea of driftwood logs at the edge of the spit, waiting for me to follow her.
She leads me around the point of the beach, almost to the lagoon. As I reach the edge of where the waters turn, I hear the creak and groan of timbers. It could be that Mr. Shepherd has accelerated construction of the Herons, but I know he has not. And then I see him.
? ? ?
There he is, this man I think of with so much affection. He sits on a log, Patience at his feet. He gently strokes her ears. This must be what it’s like to have a father.
I sit next to him. I love his nearness. I love his white hair and the way his uniform is so worn but so well kept. Most of all, I love the way his gray eyes have depths I can’t fully understand. I look for bits of myself in his features, and I fancy I find them. It’s not hard. He’s tall and has a similar long face to mine. He points over my shoulder, and I turn to see Calamity running toward us, practically tripping over her own feet.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with that dog, I say. She’s too timid to be a scent hound. She’s useless.
He smiles at me. That makes her perfect, doesn’t it?
I never thought of it that way, I say.
I hear shouts coming from the background. Timbers groaning. Just out of sight, something massive is straining and about to move.
The man cranes his head around.
I have to go soon, Marilyn. I wanted one more chance to see you. I wanted to tell you that you’ve done well. It could have come out a lot worse, you know. Sammy could have lost a lot more than just pieces of his hand. And that poor family . . . they’ll have a hard enough time.
We worked together, I said.
And it’s true, so many misguided people, so many mistakes made, but all of us trying to do the right thing. I’m surprised anything turned out right at all.
Do you really have to leave? I ask him.
I think of Meredith with her mother, the both of them basking in the shared touch. I yearn for this, a little space carved out of nothing, where we can just sit and be together and listen to the water.
Tide’s coming in, he says.
I hear shouting coming from the background.
Mr. Whidbey! Come now. The keel’s off the sand. We don’t know for how long.
That’s me, he says, standing up, and I realize he’s more than just tall, he’s a giant. Of course this big, strong man could navigate Deception Pass in only a kayak.
The troll is back in his wreck. He won’t come crawling out anytime soon. You’ll tell your brothers, won’t you? That I’m proud of them?
I’ll tell them, I say.
He nods to me and smiles, then turns his back and walks away. I watch it until there is nothing left but mist.
It should be a more poignant parting. He’s made it sound as if I’ll never see him again, Mr. Joseph Whidbey of the HMS Discovery, who, if you believe in things that are out of reach, as I do, just might be my father. I should be saddened that all I’ve had with him are a few short moments here and there.
But I am not. I know I’ll see him again.
There’s one thing I’ve learned living by the sea.
The tide always turns.
Things always come back.
AUTHOR’S NOTE