15

MAUREEN’S MANUSCRIPT OF “THE ONCE” had never been completed. Though she wrote dozens of drafts with varied endings, she had never been able to finish the fairy tale. Maureen had re-created the legend as far as historical documentation would allow, but she had no idea where to go from there.

What she did know about the story was that the chief clerk at Derby Wharf had reported the missing dory to the Salem authorities. It was found days later and returned by a ship heading into port after dropping off sick sailors on the Miseries. Its thole pins (or oarlocks) were worn down and ruined from the long row. No sign of either Zylphia Browne or her young lover was ever seen again.

Maureen’s own belief in The Great Love would dictate a happy ending, but she could not seem to find the happily-ever-after for the fairy tale she was writing. The reason was simple. Partway into the story, Maureen had decided that the only suitable escape for the star-crossed lovers was aboard the Friendship, not the re-creation of the tall ship that sat at Derby Wharf these days, the one the tourists lined up to see, but the ship that had sailed out of Salem during the early 1800s.

Maureen had done significant research and had discovered that the young sailor of her story had originally been part of the Friendship’s crew. But the problem was that, on the very voyage in which the Friendship might have been instrumental in carrying the star-crossed lovers to their happily-ever-after, the ship was captured by the British in the recently declared War of 1812. There was certainly no record of the young woman, who would most probably have tried to disguise herself as a man or, barring that, as a cabin boy, in order to safely make this voyage with a predominantly male crew. A woman’s passage as anything but a captain’s wife was not only considered unlucky but dangerous for her as well. Yet when Maureen searched the records of the Friendship, she was unable to find any mention of either the young man who had sailed earlier aboard the ship or, had he decided to travel under a different identity, of any new names on the ship’s register.

That the young woman, Zylphia Browne, had escaped her home and her abusive husband was a matter of public record. Whether or not she had poisoned her husband was speculation. The captain, who was known for his brutality, had many enemies. It was well documented that he had been poisoned with a substance that was most likely brought back on one of his own ships and that his death was as painful as the beatings he’d been known to inflict not only on his crew but on his servants and his wife.

Even Maureen had to admit that there’d been little real evidence about Zylphia Browne’s escape. There was some documentation by an eyewitness who had seen someone rowing the stolen dory in the direction of the Miseries. The witness knew it to be Zylphia, he said, only by the red hair that escaped from under the brim of a boy’s cap. The dory was later discovered on the Miseries, oarlocks worn down to bare wood. But no sign of the young lovers was ever found.

Maureen never questioned the idea that the lovers escaped. Her belief in The Great Love would allow for no other possibility. But try as she might, she could never find the happily-ever-after ending that she so needed to complete the story. Though most of her stories were fictional, and though her original intention was to create the happily-ever-after, she found herself obsessed by her search for the truth. In the writing of the story, she had developed a strong bond with Zylphia Browne. She knew the woman well, she said. She told Zee that it almost felt as if she were walking around in Zylphia’s skin.

Zee had known for a while that her mother had begun to believe that the story was her own. And so when Maureen announced one day that she was certain she’d been Zylphia Browne in a prior lifetime, Zee wasn’t as alarmed as she should have been.

Looking back on a tragedy, there is often a moment one can point to when everything changes and begins to move more quickly toward its inevitable climax. As Zee looked back, she realized that the moment for Maureen had been the day she began to talk about reincarnation. For while she had initially believed that Maureen was talking about who she had convinced herself she’d been in her last life, Zee realized only later that she was also talking about who she was most certain to become in her next.

“People reincarnate in groups,” she told Zee in those last days. “So do not despair, for we will most certainly see each other again in another place and time.”

16

ON TUESDAY MORNING THE occupational therapist showed up. Jessina was there, hand-feeding Finch. Oatmeal spilled down the front of his shirt.

“Can’t he feed himself?” the OT asked.

“He can,” Jessina said.

“Then he should be doing it.”

“He likes it when I feed him this way, don’t you, Papi?”

Finch managed a weak smile.

The OT addressed Finch directly. “It’s important that you do this yourself. You have to keep up your skills.”

She walked through the house taking notes, more like a Realtor than a medical professional. She pointed out two more spots in the bathroom that needed grab bars, one more in the shower next to the one that Melville had put in earlier and another one next to the toilet. “You should raise the seat in here,” she said. “Try Hutchinson’s on Highland Ave.” She also suggested a hospital bed. “They can be rented,” she said. “His insurance will probably cover it.” Zee followed her back to the hall. “You’ll need a railing in this hallway,” she said. She looked at the tilt of the floor, the slope of old pine.

“Do you know of anybody who can install one?” Zee asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t. But a local carpenter can probably do it for you.

“And get rid of these newspapers,” she said. “Falls are inevitable with Parkinson’s, but this is an accident waiting to happen.”

The OT wrote out her report, leaving a copy for Zee. She said good-bye to Finch, who ignored her. Zee walked her down the long hallway to the front door.

“He really should be in a nursing home,” the OT said.

It shocked Zee to hear it. “I was thinking maybe assisted living of some sort.” There was a nice place in Back Bay not far at all from where she lived. But even that was only in case of emergency, meaning if Melville didn’t come back and she couldn’t figure out anything else.

“He wouldn’t qualify for assisted living,” the OT said matter-of-factly. “He’s incontinent, and he needs to have his meds administered. A few years ago, maybe, but not now.”

Zee barely heard the rest of the instructions. All she wanted was for the OT to leave.

“Make sure he showers every day. And gets dressed. I forgot to ask you about skin breakdown.”

“I haven’t noticed any,” Zee said.

“Pay attention to his skin,” she said. “There’s always a danger of skin breakdown with incontinence. And skin breakdown can kill them. That and falls.” She gestured toward the newspapers again.

“I’ll take care of those,” Zee said.

SHE WORKED ALL AFTERNOON ON the piles of papers. When Jessina was making dinner, Zee decided to walk down to the wharf to pick up some more recycling bags.

“Can you stay a little longer tonight?”

“Sure,” Jessina answered. “What else do I have to do?”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious or if you’re being sarcastic,” Zee said.

“I am never sarcastic,” Jessina said.

“Again,” Zee said, “I can’t tell.”

Jessina laughed. “Go. Take your time. I can give him his pills and get him to bed if you like.”

Technically, Jessina wasn’t supposed to give Finch his pills. But with her nurse’s training, she was certainly capable. Zee left the seven-o’clock dose on the table.