A Sea Change (17 page)

The meaning of his words wasn’t lost on her.

Twenty minutes later, about a mile from the mouth of Commencement Bay, and the city’s fireworks site, Maddy dropped anchor. They spread the food out on the bulkhead between the two back seats and sat cross-legged on the cushions, facing each other. She pulled apart the rotisserie chicken with her hands and, holding up two pieces, asked, “Breast or leg?”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Nick answered, spooning Maddy’s Greek salad onto his plastic plate.

“C’mon, Nick. Tell me what you want.”

Tearing off a piece of crusty French bread, he looked over at Maddy. “What I want is you.”

She blushed, then said, “To eat, Nick. What do you want to eat?”

“I just told you.”

“Oh, God…” His words went into her ears and roamed around her brain but the result was a dull throbbing between her legs.

He reached across the bulkhead and took the chicken leg from her hand. “This’ll do for now.” Nick grinned and took a bite. “I’m starving.”

The hunger pangs Maddy had felt earlier disappeared, replaced by a different kind of hunger. She had to force herself to take a bite of bread; to eat a couple of pieces of tomato. Nick was talking, and she was somehow responding, but she had no real idea what the topic was.

Maddy studied his upper torso and, for the first time, noticed the scar on his right shoulder.

“How did that happen?”

Nick’s eyes followed her pointed finger. “Souvenir of an accident. I had to have surgery.” He pulled a chicken wing off the dwindling carcass and sucked the meat off the bone.

“Car accident?”

He shook his head. “No. Sports. How come you’re not eating?”

“How come you’re changing the subject?”

“It’s not that interesting,” he said.

“You promised, Nick.”

“Promised what?”

“You owe me a story about yourself.”

Nick sat back against the side of the boat and dangled a scrap of chicken in front of Chloe’s nose. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“Too important to forget.” Maddy waited, watching his discomfort, then said, “Okay, how about this? I ask you one question, and you have to answer truthfully.”

He mulled over the proposition, then nodded.

“Name three women you trust,” she said.

The look of relief on his face was almost laughable, and Maddy realized her mistake.

“That’s easy. My mom, my sister, my daughter.”

“Let me rephrase that…”

“Oh, no. You had your one question.” Nick stood and stretched. “Man, I’m ready for a nap.”

“That’s not fair,” Maddy stated.

He came toward her. “If there’s one thing in life I’ve learned, it’s that it’s never fair.”

She angrily began clearing away the leftover food, tossing napkins and plates into a plastic bag, pointedly ignoring him.

He lightly touched her shoulder-blade. “You’re getting pink. That’s gonna hurt later on.”

“It hurts now, Nick. Go take your nap.”

He hunkered down next to Maddy and took both her hands in his.

“Go ahead. Ask the question again.”

She looked away.

“Okay. I know what you meant. There’s only one woman I trust. Mary Delfino.

Maddy nodded, pulling away from him.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“Forget it, Nick. I completely understand.”

“No, right now you don’t. But if it means anything to you, I think you will someday.”

Her head came up. A powerful surge of current suddenly connected them, and Nick was on his knees with Maddy’s legs wrapped around his hips. Their kiss was brutal; a starvation satiated.

This was the food she’d wanted all along.

He was nearly lost in her – had almost gone to that other world where nothing but sensation mattered – when he heard it: a relentless electronic beeping coming from somewhere on the boat. The sound didn’t process right away. When it did, Nick pushed Maddy back, tried to get to his feet, stumbled, and finally reached the pager he’d stowed in the mesh pocket next to the passenger seat.

Maddy, her heart beating hard from an unexpected combination of passion and fear, followed him. “What is it? Nick what’s wrong?!”

He turned to her and she saw dread.

“I need to get to a phone. Something’s wrong with Mary.”

Journal Entry

July 5

2:
40 a.m.

Nick’s asleep on the couch. He fought it. Didn’t want to leave Mary alone in the hospital, even though the doctor told us she was stable. The doctor said something about angina. That they’d run tests and know more by late morning. She was the one who finally convinced Nick to go.

Nick held her hand the whole time we were there. While the E.R. tech was changing her IV, he kept talking to her, smoothing back her hair. She looked pretty bad when they first brought her in, and I could tell Nick was really scared. I tried to make him understand that everyone looks terminal when they’re strapped to a gurney, tubes coming out of their arm, a respirator over their face. The intense fluorescent lights can make anyone look like death warmed over. But he wasn’t listening, and after I gave Mary a kiss, and she actually smiled at me, I just stepped back and let the nurses do their job. But Nick wouldn’t let her go.

The whole evening was a nightmare, in every sense of the word. The logistics alone were enough to make anyone question their sanity.

When Nick told me he needed a phone, I panicked. I pushed the
QVII
to her limit, but we were still passing Point Defiance Park which meant no private homes with docks. And we were about half an hour from the Tacoma Yacht Club. Then my brain started working again. We were surrounded by hundreds of other boats, and the third one I came up on had a cell phone on board. I told the guy it was an emergency, and he handed Nick the phone, no questions asked. While Nick dialed 911, I offered the man seventeen dollars – which was all I had in my wallet – but he refused to take it.

As soon as he hung up with the emergency people, Nick called Mary. It took her a long time to pick up and we were both holding our breath. All I could hear was Nick’s side of the conversation, but it didn’t sound good. He was saying things like, “don’t move” and “where’s the pain.” He told Mary to leave her back door open, that he’d described the place in detail to the Fire Department. He wouldn’t hang up until they got there. In the meantime, I was trying to explain this to the nice man who’d loaned us the phone, when Nick suddenly turned and told me to be quiet. It hurt me until I realized he was absolutely terrified.

I heard Nick say something to Mary about the Fire Boat, and that’s when it hit me: the usual emergency methods didn’t work on Salmon Beach. They couldn’t go down 200 steps with a gurney, much less back up with a patient. The ambulance would be a hydrofoil. They got there in less than twenty minutes.

Nick talked to one of the E.M.T.’s, found out they were taking her to St. Joe’s, hung up, and handed the phone back to its owner, thanking him. Then he started barking orders at me. I kept my mouth shut and drove the boat. I don’t think either of us said a word until we reached the public dock.

Nick jumped out and was running up the dock to the phones before I had a chance to start tying off. I got dressed, grabbed my purse, and was halfway to Nick when I remembered Chloe. I literally came to a screeching halt. I didn’t know what to do about her. I finally ran back to the boat, found her in the hold, and shoved her in my beachbag.

It didn’t take long for the taxi to get there, and we arrived at the hospital about fifteen minutes before Mary. We spent half the night in the E.R. It was a three-ring circus jointly directed by Fellini and Hitchcock. On top of the usual gunshot wounds and car accidents, there was the added horror of fireworks injuries. And, of course, there was Mary.

They were good with her. Fast.

When they moved Mary behind a curtain, Nick told me to stay with her and went to take care of paperwork. He hadn’t said more than twenty words to me since the whole thing started.

Mary was doing much better at that point, but when I took her hand it felt like someone else’s. Not the strong, work-toughened one I knew. She suddenly seemed frail, not a word I’d ever have associated with Mary Delfino. But her powers of observation hadn’t been affected in the least. She tugged me down to her level, and whispered, “Don’t let Nick’s behavior bother you, Madeleine. He’ll be himself again soon.”

About that time, Chloe made her presence known, and Mary smiled. I opened the bag just enough for her head to pop out, and she meowed again. Mary laughed at that, but I pushed Chloe back inside and zipped it up before any of the staff could see what was going on.

Just as they started to wheel her up to the I.C.U. I kissed her again and told her I loved her.

“You don’t know how much that means to me,” she said.

I watched them push the bed down the corridor to the elevator. Nick had just finished with the red tape, and when he saw them taking Mary away, he snapped, “Why aren’t you with her?” He took off down the hall. I went after him, saying, “They won’t let you go with her,” but he ignored me, and I stopped walking. When he caught up with them I could see how agitated he was. I don’t know what Mary said to him, but he finally backed away. He waited till the elevator door closed before coming back to where I stood.

We took another cab back to the beach. The fireworks show had started, and we could see the last few minutes of it during our very quiet ride. I couldn’t help thinking about what the night might have been, and then realized how selfish that was, and guilt reared its not-particularly-pretty head.

As we walked down the stairway, the whole mess finally hit me, and I exploded.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was sick?” I asked. “How long have you known?”

“I didn’t know, okay? This afternoon she told me it was from the heat.”

“God, Nick! If you’d told me she wasn’t feeling well I never would’ve done this.”

“So this is
my
fault?”

We went on like this all the way down the path. And as we walked toward our houses I realized I didn’t want the night to finish that way, so I apologized.

We were both exhausted – emotionally and physically – and I didn’t want to be alone. I told him that, and even though I believe he would’ve rather gone home, he agreed to come in “for a little while.” He sat on the couch, and I went into the kitchen to get him a drink. When I came back out he’d fallen asleep sitting up, so I took off his shoes and covered him with a throw.

I was too tired to sleep, so here I sit, in my bed with too many thoughts in my head. The evening brought back memories of other E.R. visits. The last time I was in one was because of Danny. He seemed to attract injury. Just the usual boy stuff – broken bones and bad cuts.

But the trip to the E.R. I remember best stemmed from a fight he’d gotten into defending my honor. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. It started with me trying to protect him, but ended with Danny suffering a broken nose.

He was waiting to walk home with me after school – I was a junior, Danny was a freshman – and when I came out of the assembly I noticed he was surrounded by a bunch of his classmates. Danny getting picked-on was a fairly regular occurrence, one that always made my blood boil. I stood back, hoping the cretins would move on to some other form of entertainment, but they didn’t. So I pushed my way through them and, of course, this gave them a newer, better reason to rag on Danny. “Little boy can’t walk home alone…” Stuff like that.

But Danny got up from the step he’d been sitting on, and we started through the small mob. There’s always one in a crowd, though, and this particular pimply-faced moron looked me up and down, then very simply said, “Woof.”

I stared hard at him, then said, “Like it matters to me what a freshman
boy
thinks.”

And this poster-boy for high school dropouts says, “Woof, woof.”

I smiled then, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea you didn’t speak English. But, then what would I expect from a son of a bitch.”

He didn’t get the joke, but some of his buddies did, and one or two of them snickered, which didn’t sit well with Jojo, the Dog-Faced Boy.

Well, he came after me – grabbed a handful of hair – which is when Danny kicked him in the back of his knee, and all hell broke loose.

A couple of teachers broke it up, but Danny was pretty bloodied up. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, but Mr. Hinshaw – Danny’s geography teacher – insisted, and he drove us to Tacoma General, where I waited while the doctor packed and bandaged Danny’s nose, and put a few stitches in his left eyebrow. Mom came and got us. I think it was the only time Dad ever showed any pride in Danny. He couldn’t get over the fact Danny had actually fought for something. I remember Dad calling one of his friends that night to brag about his son’s broken nose.

When the bandages came off, Danny’s once-perfect nose had acquired a slight bump. The cut over his eye healed, but the scar remained. By the time he was a senior you could see how truly handsome he’d be as a man, and the scars from that fight gave him a slightly dangerous look. I’d give anything to see him now.

I’m so tired. I should get up. Check on Nick. All of a sudden, even with him in the house, I feel very alone. I wish he were here in bed, sleeping next to me. At least that would give me the illusion of a real relationship.

Ch
apter Seventeen

Nick sat at the helm of a large boat. The gentle rocking motion relaxed his every muscle. He lazily smiled as, first Becky, then Mary and Maddy, came up from below. They wore long, flowing dresses of an indescribable shade of blue. The color soothed him. Warmth flowed through his body. Surely nothing bad could happen now.

As if by magic, they appeared on the wide prow of the boat and, in unison, got down on their knees. All three watched him. Their eyes enveloped him with love, and he closed his in a complete state of peace.

Suddenly, a chill shot through him, and he opened his eyes. A dense fog surrounded the boat. The three angels lay prone, each silently pleading with him, each with one hand outstretched. He watched in horror as they slid toward the edge of the boat. Rooted to the chair, he helplessly looked on as Mary went over the side first. Maddy followed. When Becky disappeared, he recovered his ability to move.

He stood on the ledge and stared down at the gray water, immobilized again. An overwhelming feeling of despair came over him. He only had two hands, but there were three to save.

“Help me…help me.”

He heard the words repeatedly. But it was his voice saying them.

Nick wanted to wake up. It seemed to take him forever. When he finally did, and he brought his hand up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, his fingers came away moist.

“Shit,” he whispered to the night.

It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, and what had happened. He pushed aside the woven blanket and sat up. A dim light emanated from the bedroom, and with its help his eyes soon grew accustomed to the darkness. His throat was parched, and he was about to make his way to the kitchen when he saw a glass on the coffee table. It was the ice water Maddy had brought to him earlier. Now it sat in a small pool of condensation. It was warm as bathwater, but he drank it down before rising from the couch and calling the hospital.

The red numbers on the stove’s clock told him it was 3:30. Now that he knew Mary was okay, he ought to go home. Go back to bed.

Nick scribbled a note to Maddy, quietly entered the bedroom, and came to a standstill. She slept on her stomach, sprawled diagonally across the bed, one arm hugging a pillow, one knee drawn up. She wore a tiny satin slip. The hem of the pale green fabric had hiked up to reveal the start of the soft curve of her buttock, and Nick was entranced. The note – and any thought of going home – was forgotten, and he stepped closer.

As he reached the side of the bed his bare foot came down on the edge of something hard, and Nick picked up the book. He turned it over to close it – to place it on the nightstand – when he saw his name.
All of a sudden, even with him in the house, I feel very alone
, she’d written.
I wish he were here in bed, sleeping next to me.
His eyes moved to the top of the opposite page, but the fragmented sentence didn’t make any sense to him. He flipped back and found the beginning of that day’s entry. There was his name again.
Nick’s asleep on the couch…

Curiosity got the better of Nick. He wanted to know what she’d said about him. But as he started to read, he realized he was curious about Maddy, about her life, about her thoughts. He didn’t begin to think of it as prying until he got to the part about her brother.

He tried to close the journal. He honestly did. But the story held him in a way no work of fiction ever could, because it was the real Maddy. A Maddy he couldn’t even begin to fathom. And so he read the entry to the end.

Nick set the book back on the floor, the way it had fallen, and gently sat on the bed. She didn’t move. He watched her sleep, and wondered what had happened to Danny. Wondered why she kept him a secret. Wondered why she’d lie rather than acknowledge the fact she had a brother, because there was no doubt in Nick’s mind Danny was the boy in the photograph he’d seen.

He reached out to touch her shoulder, and saw he’d been right. The sun had burned her just a little, and without thinking, he bent down to kiss the inflamed skin. It felt hot on his lips. He tasted it with his tongue – salty, a combination of the heat of the day and time spent on the water. She moved slightly, made a small noise. He whispered her name.

Maddy slowly blinked against sleep and the light, and turned to look at him with those eyes that lit a match somewhere deep inside him. This was the first time he’d seen them just waking. It was something he wanted to get used to.