57

MELVILLE WAS UNAWARE THAT he’d been crying until he saw the teenagers staring at him as they walked across the ferry parking lot. He recognized one of them from Mickey’s store. Melville looked away.

TONIGHT MELVILLE HAD ALMOST MADE a huge mistake. He had almost told Zee that she was really his daughter. Though he would never have given her the suicide note, he had almost given her the book. He had even gone so far as to label the birthday card he’d intended to give her with her full name, Hepzibah Thompson Finch.

He knew he had to talk to Finch, and that it had to be tonight.

MELVILLE CARRIED THE BOOK AND Maureen’s letter into the nursing home. He signed the visitors’ log at seven forty-five.

“Charles Thompson?” the receptionist asked.

He nodded.

“Are you family?”

“Yes,” Melville lied.

“Visiting hours are over at eight,” the receptionist told him.

“I’ll be just a few minutes.”

Melville walked down the long hallway toward Finch’s room. When he got to the door, he paused. If Finch was asleep, Melville would have to wake him.

Feeling himself being watched, Finch opened his eyes.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“It’s Melville,” he said. “I came to talk to you.”

Finch didn’t move. Then, finally, when his eyes focused, he looked at Melville.

“Could you please put my bed up first?” Finch asked. “I can’t breathe with it so low.”

Heart pounding, Melville walked over to the bed. His fingers found the control buttons, he pushed the “up” arrow, and the head of the bed began to slowly rise, bringing Finch to a sitting position and the two men eye to eye.

“Is that good?” Melville asked.

“Wonderful,” Finch said, and sighed. He looked at Melville for a long time. “This is the weekend, right?” he said, trying to remember.

“It’s Labor Day weekend,” Melville said. “It’s early this year. This is Sunday night, Zee’s birthday. Tomorrow is the first day of September.”

They had done this before. It had become a ritual in the last few years they’d spent together.

“Yes,” Finch said. “September.”

Melville braced himself, waiting for Finch’s rage to surface. When it did, Melville would explain in a way that would make him understand everything that had happened. He’d explain well enough, and he’d ask for forgiveness. Finch would forgive him again, just as he had so many years ago. And if Finch’s rage came back tomorrow, he would explain again. And then, maybe one day, Melville would be able to convince Finch that they should explain the whole thing to Zee.

Finch returned his stare. But the anger wasn’t there.

It’s over, Melville thought, thanking God. This must be the next stage the doctor talked about, when they become less angry and for a while things seem almost normal again. Melville’s neurologist friend had told him about this. The honeymoon period, he had called it. The period before late-stage Alzheimer’s crossover.

“Are you comfortable now?” Melville asked, reaching over to fluff Finch’s pillows.

Finch nodded. Still looking at Melville as if he was trying to figure something out, he finally smiled. “I haven’t seen you working here before,” he said. “You must be new.”

58

THE FRIENDSHIP STOPPED IN Newburyport on its way south. The battery on Hawk’s cell phone was dead, and for some reason he couldn’t get reception using anyone else’s. When they got to town, he walked up to State Street looking for a pay phone.

He hadn’t called Zee the first week after their talk about Lilly. The second week he’d driven over to the house on Turner Street on two different occasions, finding the courage to ring the bell, then losing it just as quickly, as he sat in front of the house. She didn’t want to see him. The connection with Lilly made it too much for her. He could understand that. But at the same time, there were things he needed to say to her and questions he needed to ask. He knew he wasn’t going to let her go without those things being said.

Tonight Hawk wasn’t going to say any of those things. He just wanted to make sure she was all right. The story of Zylphia had done something to him, worried him in a way he couldn’t explain. True, the similarities were strange. But Hawk wasn’t someone who believed in ghost stories or even sea lore. No, this was different. He was worried about her in some exceedingly practical way, yet there was nothing practical he could put his finger on.

There’s a disturbance in the Force, he thought as he dialed.

It was Jessina who answered. She was cautious at first, not wanting to reveal too much.

“Is she there?” Hawk asked.

“Not at the moment,” Jessina said.

“Can you just tell me if she’s all right?” Hawk asked.

Jessina thought about it before answering. She liked Hawk a lot; she hadn’t really understood what had gone wrong between them.

“She’s fine,” Jessina said. “She’s at a wedding in Boston.”

“Right,” he said, remembering the invitation on the lazy Susan in the kitchen. Then he remembered that Zee had told him that the wedding was on her birthday.

Maybe the reason for his agitation was as simple as that. She would be seeing her ex-fiancé at the wedding. Hawk felt jealous just thinking about it, though he knew he had no right to feel that way. Maybe it was the wedding that was making him feel so tense.

Not knowing what else to do, he decided to leave a message. “Just tell her happy birthday.”

THE CREW HAD GONE TO dinner at the Black Cow and sat outside on the deck. The sailors were rowdier tonight than usual-he could hear them from around the corner as he approached. They were all good guys. He was going to miss working with them.

When Hawk sat down, they were talking about the application that the Friendship had recently filed to officially commission the ship. It was a great idea. If the ship was to be officially commissioned, they could take groups out sailing. And classes full of kids.

Too bad he wouldn’t be around for it, Hawk thought. He would have loved to be part of that.

59

ANN AND MICKEY CLOSED down the restaurant. It was surprising how much they had to talk about when they actually began to speak to each other. Mostly they talked about Zee and Maureen. And Mickey talked some about Ireland and about his brother Liam, the one who had died. They talked so much that they lost track of how late it was and were genuinely surprised when the waitress came over to tell them she was going home and would they please pay the check?

Ann excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. As she washed her hands, she looked into the mirror for a long time, trying to see something in her face, something that had changed.

Mickey paid the check and caught up with her at the door. They walked past the wharf and toward Ann’s shop.

“You want to come in?” she asked.

“Into your store?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll make you some tea.”

He looked at her. “What kind of tea?” he asked, thinking about the kind she was famous for.

She smiled at him.

“You sure?” he said.

“I’m not at all sure,” she said. “But I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, following her into the store, waiting as she locked the door behind them and led him through the beaded curtain to the back room. “But I won’t be needing any tea.”

“We’ll see,” she said.