Embers (36 page)

Allie, truly baffled, turned from Meg to Wyler.
"
I can
'
t believe this. I went to all this trouble so that you can see
Bar Harbor
the way the Norsemen saw it
...
and Samuel de Champlain
...
Henry
Hudson ... Captain John Smith ...
John Winthrop
...
Lafayette
...
Talleyrand
...
Lord Nelson himself, if the legend is true! You
'
re supposed to be the historian; where
'
s your sense of history?
"

"
I
'
ve seen it all by car,
"
Wyler said lamely.

"
Cars weren
'
t even allowed here until 1915! Cars aren
'
t historic!
"

"
Allie, if he doesn
'
t want to, he doesn
'
t want to,
"
said Meg, cutting in.
"
I have better things to do, anyway,
"
she added.

It dawned a little late on Wyler that Meg was trying to slide out of his grasp again. Normally she was as elusive as a wood nymph, but once or twice today, for whatever reason, she
'
d lingered near him. He wanted more of her, and if that meant going to sea in a galvanized tub, then that was what he
'
d do. At least she couldn
'
t slip away.

He got up from his nicely earthbound chair and flopped his visor over Meg
'
s hair.
"
I
'
m willing if you are, skipper,
"
he said in a low-key taunt.

Allie clapped her hands.
"
Awrii-ight!
"
she cried.

The three of them strolled down the lawn past a badminton game in progress. Once Terry and Timmy got wind of their plan, they begged to come along.

Meg said yes, Allie said no, and the twins fell in behind them, making the outing seem less like a ménage a trois and more like a typical Atwells free-for-all. The group scampered down the right-of-way
,
an overgrown cut through a neighbor
'
s brush
,
and emerged on a small, pebbly beach with an upside-down dinghy sitting above the high-water mark.

Wyler didn
'
t like the look of the dinghy, which was wood and undoubtedly leaked, and he didn
'
t like the look of the sailboat
, a
small, open thing moored a hundred yards away. They flipped the dinghy over and dragged it to the water
'
s edge, and Terry set the oars in their oarlocks.

They went out to the sailboat three and three, with Terry rowing Meg and his twin brother out first, then coming back for Allie and Wyler. Wyler was impressed: the boy knew what he was doing. Allie got into the bow of the dinghy and Wyler, who
'
d never been in such a cockleshell before, managed to shove off and get in without instantly grounding it. So far, so good.

Goddammit! I
t does
leak!
 
"
Is there something to bail with?
"
he asked with tight-lipped of
f
handedness.

Allie looked around and handed him a plastic cup
—
a plastic
cup!
— and
he began scooping what looked like the better part of the
Atlantic
out of the stern of the dinghy.

"
So, Terry,
"
he said, bailing furiously,
"
where
'
d you learn to handle a boat so well?
"

"
This isn
'
t a boat,
"
said Terry, snorting.
"
It
'
s just a dinghy.
"

"
His grandfather takes him fishing all the time,
"
Allie translated.
"
But Meg
'
s the only one who knows how to sail. She learned it from Paul.
"

"
That
'
s nice,
"
Wyler said, flailing with the cup. He
'
d forgotten just how deep his water phobia went. Somehow, having forced himself through two swimming courses at the Y, he thought he could handle anything that might come up. Obviously the jury was still out on that one.

They came alongside the sailboat and Wyler climbed aboard, counting his one blessing: that he was in water too deep to have seaweed that could wrap itself around his legs and drown him.

Allie climbed out next and Terry handed her the painter, whatever or whoever that was, and then Terry got aboard and tied the dinghy to the mooring ball. Timmy was unlashing the tiller and Meg was standing on the bow, already hoisting the damn sail. Allie, the designated hostess, was popping open a Coke for him. In the meantime, the boat was rocking like crazy with every little move. It was like trying to play golf on a teeter-totter.

The sail was up and flapping like mad over their heads, whipping the boom viciously and dangerously close to their skulls. Everyone had to stay ducked down. Meg yelled
"
Cast off
"
to Terry, who threw a line with a float attached off the bow and into the water. The boat fell away, the sail filled and quieted, and they were off and running.

Just like that. No team huddle, no prayer. Just your basic suicide mission. Wyler declined the Coke, declined to talk, refused to look at the water, and mostly concentrated all the forces of his being on the single syllable
"
ohm.
"
Meditation seemed like the only possible way to get through what was shaping up to be a genuine phobia-crisis.

At some point he remembered to exhale. It came out in a long shudder.

Allie said,
"
Are you prone to seasickness?
"

Oh, Christ.
He
'
d never had to consider whether he was prone or not.

"
Anty Meg, can I sail?
"
asked Terry.

Wyler was scandalized, then relieved, when Meg said,
"
Not downwind, Terry. It
'
s a little tricky. Maybe later.
"

Terry
'
s blue eyes turned squinty and sullen. A minute later, while Allie was pointing out grand estates, Terry tried again.
"
If you hold the helm with me can I sail?
"

Wyler could see that Meg didn
'
t want to crush the boy
'
s
fledgling interest in something legal.
"
Okay,
"
she said,
"
but you have to let me do most of the steering.
"

Terry began changing places with Timmy
—
far too recklessly; did he think they were in a parking lot? In the meantime Timmy noticed a pair of dolphins and cried,
"
Look! Over to starboard.
"

Everybody looked, of course, even Meg; and that was when it happened. The boom came crashing from port to starboard with no warning, whacking Terry on the back of the head and knocking him out of the boat.

Wyler saw it all in slow motion: The blue-and-green-striped T-shirt, the blue shorts, the two white legs and two tanned arms, the mop of brown hair
—
all of it sent flying like a rag doll into space, landing with a tremendous splash and then sinking, disappearing altogether.

Allie screamed and Meg cried out his name. After an eternity Terry popped back up, coughing and spitting and flailing his arms wildly. He was in a complete panic.

Wyler
'
s heart constricted. He was Terry, Terry was him. It was
Humboldt
Park
and the seaweed, all over again.

"
I
'
ll save him,
"
Timmy scre
amed in a high, cracking voice.

"
Sit down, Timmy! Sit down! Watch the boom!
"
Meg cried.

Wyler grabbed him and threw him on the seat.
"
Stay there! I
'
ll get him.
"

He hardly recognized his own voice. Someone else, inhabiting his body, was speaking for him. Someone else was pulling off his sneakers while he said quickly to Meg,
"
Can he swim?
"

"
Yes, but
—
"

"
Can you get the boat any nearer?
"

"
Yes
...
alongside. Watch for us. Can
you
swim?
"

"
Some.
"

He stared for one brief, eternal second at the deep blue water. Meg said,
"
Allie! Timmy! Move to the other side!
"

To balance my weight as I go over,
he realized, admiring Meg
'
s presence of mind.

He slipped into the shockingly, offensively cold waters of the
Gulf
of
Maine
. His body seemed to contract into a fetal position.
Drown, hell. I could have a heart attack.
He fought his way back to the surface, blowing air out of his nose, but salt water got in anyway. It was everywhere, different and vile, making him crave a drink of fresh water as he kicked and moved one arm, then the other, in the direction of the panicky twin.

Half a dozen more strokes, and he was there. Terry was croaking
"
Help, help,
"
in choking gasps, still thrashing hysterically.

"
Terry, I
'
ve got you,
"
Wyler shouted as he reached him, even though it wasn
'
t quite true. Strictly speaking, Terry had
him.
The boy grabbed onto Wyler and threatened to take them both down.

"
Relax, Terry. Calm down.
I've got you. It's all right. I've got you. It's all right. It's all right."

****

The sail back was long, cold, and wet. They had to
"
beat
"
back into the wind
—
perfect word
—
which meant that the boat stayed over on its ear the whole time, and the air felt twenty degrees colder. Wyler was forced to brace his injured leg, still throbbing from the rescue effort, against the opposite seat as the boat thrashed to windward. Every time they hit a wave, the boat lurched and shuddered, forcing him to brace himself still more, and ice-cold spray came over the bow, making sure his wet clothes stayed wet.

So why was he so happy?

Because a phobia the size of
Cadillac
Mountain
had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew, really for the first time in his life, that he could handle a crisis on the water. It was a great, liberating feeling, but he kept it to himself. Anything else would
'
ve been inappropriate right now.

He studied the shaken faces of the others and realized how much he
'
d come to care for every one of them: for Allie, shivering without the sweatshirt she
'
d given Terry; Meg, apologizing repeatedly for letting the boat jibe; gentle Timmy, temporarily disillusioned with his tough, clever brother; and especially for Terry himself.

It was Terry that Wyler was concerned about most. The boy was clearly horrified with himself for panicking in front of everyone and had retreated behind a wall of bitter silence. Wyler understood all too well how Terry was feeling. He was determined to reach out to him now
—
before the boy
'
s fear and embarrassment turned into a full-blown phobia.

After the whole crew was ashore, Wyler told the others,
"
You go on ahead. Terry and I will stow the dinghy.
"