Court of the Myrtles (14 page)

“It ain't raining yet,” I say, snapping out of it.

“But when it does, it's going to be choppy out there. So you know where you'll find me.”

“Hurling over the banister?”

She grins sheepishly.

“Thank you for that lovely visual,” I say.

“There's worse things, you know. Ever been shit on by a seagull?”

The whistle blows as the ferry backs away from the dock before chugging slowly into the harbor. Everybody on the boat hollers out, waving goodbye to those left on the shore. My hand is in the air waving at nobody but just going along with the whole whale-watch ritual. I smile up at a man whose sleeve brushes mine, just to see if he can see or feel my chest pounding. He doesn't seem to notice but he catches my glance.

“Think we'll beat the showers?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I shrug, turning my body towards the open water. I don't want to connect to him. Not right now. I just want my mom to be my path. Even if she's there out at sea, I know she won't
really
be there. But now that I'm on this boat, it's my closest thing to heaven.

Lowering my waving arm, I can't help but tear up, but I don't want Alice to notice so I turn my face into the salty wind. It's like the blind leading the blind, both of us on this mission of hope.

Then ever so carefully I cast my eyes to the left to see if Alice is watching. She is. The look on her face, the tears forming in the corners of her eye, says that no words are needed just now. We both feel our individual sense of loss—my mom and her Joy. As much as I want this miracle to happen today, no doubt Alice, for her own reasons, wants my mother to appear in some way, shape or form. Please God, just give us a sign, a sign to give Alice hope, to give me hope, and to give the world hope that we do go on, can go on.

Different regret, maybe, but for Alice and me, the pain is the same. We'd forfeit everything in this lifetime in order to have just one minute back with Rosie and Joy. As I open my mouth to form words, we both blurt out the same question: “Why did she have to die?”

I place my hand on hers and she looks out to the sea. “I can't believe I was robbed of my baby and my grandchild. Both of them,” says Alice. “And my son-in-law…” Her voice softens. “What am I saying? I should remember how they lived.” Alice stops and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Besides, this is your moment and I've been meaning to say this to you, Marla. I never knew your mother, but I got to know you, and I can see how wonderful she must have been.”

The boat jostles us and we hang onto the railing for support as it rounds the buoy and begins to pick up speed, making its way toward Provincetown. Alice grasps the banister to steady herself as she studies the growing waves. I watch as she turns to take in
the wake left behind the propellers, the wind whipping through her red tousled hair. “My Joy had such insight about life. How about Rosie? What was Rosie at her best?”

“She had so much charisma, a sense of humor and the biggest heart so full of compassion.”

“Joy took a real interest in others, and not just to be polite. She always knew what to ask somebody; ‘How's your sick dog? Your uncle's broken ankle? Your daughter's Girl Scout cookie sales?' My Joy remembered every detail.”

“So did my mom—with a curiosity about the world that was completely infectious.” My eyes follow Alice's gaze out to the horizon. “I bet Joy was just wonderful.”

“I bet Rosie was wonderful too,” says Alice, the salt-spray misting our faces. It feels good to feel. To be alive.

“We have to remember that Joy lives in the ocean, the sky, the land, everywhere around us,” I say. “You taught me that, Alice. She's there, right?”

All of a sudden thunder rumbles, a bolt of lightning strikes and the skies turn grey. Everyone on the boat jumps up startled, but we laugh out loud. “There's Mom now!” I joke, slapping the banister.

“What are the chances?” says Alice, playfully, looking around to the other people who don't seem as amused as us. They gather up their lunches and knapsacks and aim for shelter.

“Hey, it's sprinkling,” I say, raising my palms to the sky and then grabbing her hand to scramble for cover. “C'mon!”

“You bring a slicker?”

“Right here,” I say, pulling a rumpled yellow raincoat from my backpack.

We all huddle under the awning, finding a space with the others braving the outer deck.

“Look, can't see land anymore,” says Alice.

“We're really out here now,” I say, “In the middle of the sea. And you aren't sea sick!”

“Now
that's
a miracle!” says Alice.

I struggle to put on my slicker as my body gets wetter by the moment, but I don't mind. The rumble of thunder seems to complement my mood as the blue sky becomes completely grey. The waves turn first to dark opal and finally to black, a big open vortex that could suck the very life from me. I'm completely enthralled, and the darkness sends my mind wandering at the speed of light. What if Mom's not there? What if she is? What if it's true? Do I jump overboard? What if this is all a silly memory of childhood? What if she lied to me on the beach that day? Could she really be a whale? What if…?

“What kind of guy was Eddy?” whispers Alice.

“Huh?” I say, breaking my train of thought.

“Eddy? What kind of a guy was he?”

“Eddy was the kind of guy who would love me even if I ended up in a wheelchair.”

Alice seems surprised by my blinking certainty. “Okay, then, love him back. The past is a bucket of ashes.”

“I do love him, but…”

“Then go meet him at that Spanish place.”

“You mean the Alhambra?”

“Yes.
That
place—the Court of the Turtles.”

“Myrtles. Court of the Myrtles.”

“Turtles, Myrtles; potato, potahto. Go meet him, okay? You told me you picked the date just in case….”

“When do you suppose we'll start seeing whales?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject.

“Probably when we round the tip of Provincetown.”

“I think we're past Truro now,” I say, looking around for a lighthouse, another boat, or some marker to identify how far we've sailed. Instead I find the crowd's mood changing. Kids are whining and people are huffing under their breath. The boat begins tossing back and forth in waves a little rougher than bargained for. Alice struggles to steady her balance.

I hold the banister firmly, my posture strong, my eyes fixed on the horizon like a sailor's wife on a widow's walk hoping to see her captain's ship.

“And I paid money for this,” shouts out some loud guy in a Cape Cod sweatshirt.

The Japanese tour group read their translated brochures as though it will give them direction on how to survive rain and wind when out on a choppy sea.

“Takes a really good friend to do this with you, Marla,” jokes Alice.

I don't respond. Suddenly it's gotten serious. My entire life seems to rest on this one moment where the past and the future should culminate. But not one person on this boat has any idea just how important this whale watch is to me.

“It's just a shower,” says Alice, calming her own panic. “I'm sure of it. It'll clear up soon.”

“The whale isn't there,” I say, looking out across the sea.

“Pretend it is,” says Alice.

“But it's not,” I say, pulling back.

“What kind of whale was it supposed to be?”

“I don't know, Alice. My mom wasn't specific.”

“Humpback? Minke? Right Whale? Finback?”

I look at her in total disbelief. “Since when do you know so much about whales?”

“National Geographic.”

I give a snide huff under my breath. She's made me smile again. She always manages to do that. The crowd grows more impatient with the weather. Everyone begins clamoring for space inside the cabin. Those who forgot raincoats are using shopping bags or their morning newspapers for protection. The loud guy yells out again, “We gonna turn this thing around or what?” Everybody nods their heads in agreement. They want the ferry to go back.

Except me. I can't imagine going back to shore now. This is exactly as my mom said it would be. What are the chances I'd be on a whale watch with downpours that could stop and then turn into a rainbow just as she promised? She did say a rainbow, right? Rainbow and then the whale shows up? Am I remembering right?

Zombie-like I walk to the railing, no longer feeling the rain, refusing to leave the side of the boat, refusing to admit that this was all a farce.

Thoughts of death creep through my thoughts of hope. Thoughts of what my mom went through when she was murdered. Did it hurt? Was it quick? Were her last thoughts of me?

“Don't hope for another life, Marla, just enjoy this one,” whispers Alice, coming up alongside me in the rain that neither of us seem to feel. “This is your life. Not your mother's. ‘You are here,' like those signs say, remember? You are here. Right now.” I ignore her, but she continues, her tone suddenly changing to something I've never heard before. “Don't give up, kid. Trust me. Our time is so short here compared to eternity.”

It's as though my own mother is standing beside me, gently reprimanding me, expecting me to look at her when she speaks to me. I turn straight to Alice now, looking so deeply into her eyes that I can see right through to her broken heart.

And then my stare is broken by the sound of clapping in the crowds. “It's stopped!” yells out a woman, her palms held up to the sky.

“Just a passing shower,” says another lady moving from out beneath the awning and removing her ball cap.

I look overhead and see the clouds moving swiftly to the east, carrying the rain with them. The sky cracks open to deliver a shaft of sun that casts shadows on the deck. The waters brighten, lifting the color of the sea in one sweeping orchestra from black to deep blue then turquoise, then aqua and finally peaks of whitecaps floating atop each individual wave.

Alice leans in to whisper, “See that. Life is just full of surprises.” She points to where a rainbow cuts the sky and sea just behind our ferry, as though delivering a pot of gold. This is my moment. This is my truth.

And then…

“Look, over there!” yells out the loud guy in the crowd. “It's huge!” Everybody's eyes shift toward the Stellwagen Bank of the boat. “Look—three of them. Three! Did you see them?”

The crowd makes their way across the deck to the other side of the vessel. One of the Japanese men yells out, “Grab your camera!” as he pushes past a woman and her husband in order to position himself for the best shot.

As the crowd moves forward, I fall behind to a complete standstill. My feet won't carry my legs and my legs won't carry my weight. My body is utterly glued to this spot.

But my eyes can move, and they follow the crowd's line of vision, until I see it jump from the water, right there in front of me. A big
glorious
whale with its slick back glistening. She cuts through the waves spraying a massive force of water at our boat, before her tail curves through the white caps, plunging beneath the sea and then emerging again. Everybody claps.

“Did you see him? Did you see him?” yells the guy.

Did you see “her,” I think to myself. Did you see
her
?

Heaven has just broken over me and I feel the arms of my mother. I feel her everywhere. I feel warmth. I feel life.

People begin to bustle about me in excited conversation, removing their rain gear and wiping the water from their deck seats, but my eyes remain fixed on the ocean where two seagulls have joined in the show, dipping down to the sea, playing tag with one of the whales as the gull's wings flutter, his webbed feet touching the tops of the waves. He
pick up speed and races the whale out to the wild blue yonder. The sun pounds down and frames them.

I can hear my mother's voice: “Remember those whale watches? Maybe I'll come back as a whale…”

But before the last of the three whales goes, one turns around for a last plunge in my direction. Everybody snaps photos. And then, she's gone.

Then I remember Alice, the only person capable of sharing what I'm feeling. Darting my eyes around the deck I finally see her at the back of the boat watching me. I let loose a big grin, throw my arms up straight overhead like a victory salute in the Tour de France, the tears coming down hard, the truth coming down even harder.

Alice gives me a midair punch back before making her way toward me. “I told ya!” says Alice. “Which one do you suppose she was? The smaller whale? Or that deep grey big one?”

“The prettiest one,” I say trembling. We stand for a long time staring at the sea, mother and daughter, daughter and mother, the two of us, completely immersed in this moment.

“You got your wish, Marla.”

“Yes, I know,” I say, as though life has momentarily shifted back to normal.

“Now do something for me.”

“What's that?” I ask.

“Learn from my mistakes.”

“What mistakes?” I snap. But she doesn't answer. “What mistakes?” I repeat, but she plunges into more advice.

“Don't stop living. Enjoy
Every. Single. Moment. Of. It.
Stop and smell the roses, my dear, and smell the garbage, too.”

“Okay, I will,” I said, turning back to see the whales one more time in the distance, making their way out to the horizon. “I miss you, Mom,” I whisper.

We travel the way back in silence and satisfaction. I can see the harbor again, and it's Alice who finally talks first, as the engine cuts its speed and we round the buoy.

“Treat every moment like it's your last because someday it will be,” says Alice. “Take in everything around you. Remember to look up and look down, left and right. Look sideways like a rainbow. Most of all: control your own destiny.”