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The feeling of summer had faded; autumn would soon come. In the blue-green water of the pool, the body of Rachel Wood would rise. Sometimes, when Amy was tending flowers near the gate, she would see the woman’s black Denali slowly cruising past. Through the tinted windows she could make out Rachel in her tennis clothes, staring at the house. But the car never stopped, and when Amy waved at her, the woman never waved back.
“How much longer do you think we have to wait?”
“That depends on Zero. Man got to show his hand sooner or later. So far as he knows, I’m gone with the rest of them.”
It was the water, Carter had explained, that protected them. Its cold embrace was nothing Fanning’s mind could penetrate. As long as they stayed where they were, Fanning couldn’t find them.
“But he’ll come,” said Amy.
Carter nodded. “He’s bided his time a good while, but the man wants this thing done. It’s what he’s wanted from the start. Everything over.”
The wind was picking up—an autumn wind, damp and raw. Clouds had moved in, denuding the light. It was the time of day when a certain silence always fell.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
“That we are, Miss Amy.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could drop the ‘miss.’ I should have said that long ago.”
“I just meant it respectful. But as long as you’re asking, I’d like that.”
The leaves were spinning down. They fluttered across the lawn, the patio, the pool deck, tossing in the wind like skeletal hands. Amy thought of Peter, how she missed him. Wherever he was now, she hoped that happiness would find him in his life. That was the price she’d paid; she had given him up.
She took a last sip of tea to clear the blood taste from her mouth and drew on her gloves. “Ready?”
“Right you are.” Carter donned his hat. “We best get to work on them leaves.”
* * *
8
“Michael!”
His sister took her last two steps at a jog and wrapped him in a hug that made his ribs crunch.
“Whoa. I’m glad to see you, too.”
The nurse at the desk was staring at them, but Sara couldn’t be contained. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She stepped back and looked him over with a motherly eye. One part of him felt embarrassed; another part would have been disappointed if she hadn’t. “God, you’re thin. When did you get here? Kate will be thrilled.” She glanced at the nurse, an older woman in a boiled smock. “Wendy, this is my brother, Michael.”
“The one with the sailboat?”
He laughed. “That’s me.”
“Please tell me you’re staying,” Sara said.
“Just a couple of days.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I guess I’ll have to take what I can get.” She was clutching his upper arm as if he might float away. “I’m off in an hour. Don’t go anywhere, okay? I know you, Michael. I mean it.”
—
He waited for her, and together they walked to the apartment. How odd it was to be back on dry land, with its disconcerting stillness underfoot. After three years mostly alone, the hum of so much packed humanity felt like something scraping his skin. He did his best to conceal his agitation, believing it would pass, though he also wondered if his time at sea had wrought a fundamental change in his temperament that would bar him from ever living among people again.
With a stab of guilt, he noted how much Kate had changed. The baby in her was gone; even her curls had straightened. The two of them played go-to with Hollis while Sara made supper; when dinner was over, Michael got into bed with her to tell her a story. Not a story from a book: Kate demanded something from real life, a tale of his adventures at sea.
He chose the story of the whale. This was something that had happened about six months before, far out in the Gulf. It was late at night, the water calm and gleaming beneath a full moon, when his boat began to lift, as if the sea were rising. A dark bulge emerged off his port side. At first he didn’t know what it was. He had read about whales but never seen one, and his sense of such a creature’s dimensions was vague, even disbelieving. How could something so big be alive? As the whale slowly breached the surface, a spout of water shot from its head; the creature rolled lazily onto its side, one massive flipper lifting clear. Its flanks, shiny and black, were encrusted with barnacles. Michael was too amazed to be afraid; only later did it occur to him that with one slap of its tail, the whale could have shattered his boat to pieces.
