Family Trees (15 page)

“Before this thing hits, put on a safety harness and attach yourself to the jackline.” She handed him the harness and put the other one on herself. If he had any objections, the look on her face must have stopped him short.

The wall of clouds rolled in above them like a phantom chasing away whatever residual light was left in the sky. As the water and sky darkened around them, Ryan flipped on the boat's nautical lights. It was reassuring for Shelby to see his focused expression. He looked steadfast and strong. She put her trust in him.

When the storm wall hit the
Spindrift,
the boat heeled sharply to the port side. Shelby was caught off balance and fell headfirst into the storage locker beside her. In the cabin below, she heard a cabinet door slam, books hitting the floor, and the loud clatter of kitchenware shifting in the galley.

“Shelby!” Ryan jumped to her aid, but she motioned him back to the wheel.

“I'm okay!” She regained her balance and managed to stand up on the vessel, which was already getting bounced around in the frigid, choppy water. She felt a hot, stinging pain on the side of her mouth.

“You're bleeding,” Ryan shouted over the storm's menacing howl. “Sure you're okay?”

Shelby touched her swelling lip with her fingertips and could taste the iron-like saltiness of her blood, but there wasn't time to worry about it now. “I'm fine!” she yelled back, instinctively crouching down and grabbing hold of the boat as a wave splashed over the starboard gunwale.

Shelby was in a partially protected area of the cockpit and worried about Ryan, who was entirely exposed. She saw him tighten the harness around his waist and brace himself behind the steering pedestal to stand up to the force of the weather. The stern of the boat lifted with every white-capped wave that heaved in from behind and caused the bow to thrust dangerously downward toward the water.

Although they were traveling at a good speed, it seemed as though they were barely making headway against the mounting waves, spray blowing horizontally off their crests. Visibility was so poor that the islands had disappeared behind the sheets of rain and they relied entirely on the gauges for direction. Their hands and faces were now numb in the icy wet. The wind whipped their hair and screamed in their ears.

Just then, a flash of lightning lit up the sky like a strobe as thunder clapped so loudly that Shelby could feel the sound vibration.
Dear God,
she prayed, trying to suppress her mounting fear. She knew lightning strikes could hit the water and jolt back up into the air. And if that happened directly next to their boat and the electricity . . . she couldn't think about it.

As she and Ryan raced the storm, memories collided in her mind like the waves that slammed against the
Spindrift
's hull.
Jeff. All alone on Lake Superior. Sailing on the
Cadence.
Had he been scared? Or had adrenaline taken over? Did he feel any pain? This goddamned lake!

She heard Ryan's voice and turned to see him standing solidly at the wheel, wet black hair slick against his face, his drenched clothing flapping against his body. He asked her to take the helm.

“We can do this!” he assured her as she made her way to the helm, keeping her body low and holding on to anything she could for fear of slipping on the slanted, wet deck. When she took the wheel, Ryan gave her a quick, reassuring kiss on the cheek. “Just keep us on course for the southern tip of Rocky, adjust the main sheet.” He hurried to the port side of the boat to adjust the lines.

Shelby smiled bravely before spitting blood onto the cockpit deck. The hammering rain washed it away in an instant. She could feel the vibrations and pull of the wheel in her hands as she held on tight. She was using all of her strength to keep the rudder steady against the power of several thousand pounds of water pressure. With burning muscles and a racing heart, she looked away from the bow just long enough to check on Ryan. In that instant, the wind changed direction and caught the mainsail.

“Shelby, turn back into the wind—NOW!” Ryan commanded, cranking the winch and leaning against the angle of the boat's heel to stay balanced.

Shelby watched helplessly as the metal boom of the main swung across the cockpit like a baseball bat. “
Jeff!
Look out!” she screamed, reliving the tragedy that had been haunting her for the past three years. Ryan ducked and fell forward just in time for the boom to flash past him and careen out over the water. “Oh God! Are you hurt?” She dared not leave the wheel for fear that the boat would turn direction and become vulnerable to capsizing.

“Shit!” he cursed, while pulling himself up from the floor of the deck, his face flushed and his eyes squinting up at her through the pelting rain.

“Ryan?” She continued to grip the wheel with white knuckles while her eyes darted between Ryan and the bow of the boat, which was chopping into the oncoming waves. “Please tell me you're okay!”

“No better than you,” he answered, looking at her bruised jaw, swollen lip, and terrified expression. Then he began to laugh. Lightly at first. And then louder, fuller. Despite being consumed with fear—or perhaps because of it—the sound of his laughter was contagious. With tears in her eyes and throbbing pain in her jaw, Shelby started to laugh, too.

If someone had told her a week ago that she'd be caught in the middle of a wildly dangerous storm, struggling to stay afloat somewhere off Devil's Island, with William Chambers Jr., she wouldn't have believed it. And doing it while laughing like kids on a joyride? It would have seemed ludicrous.

“Come on, Meyers,” Ryan said, back at the winch and cranking in the boom. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

C
HAPTER
16

“W
ho's Jeff?” Ryan asked Shelby as they huddled together inside the teak-paneled cabin of the
Spindrift,
which now floated securely in a protected bay along Rocky Island. The storm had thundered through and left a steady, early evening rain in its wake. Within the cabin, the narrow space felt intimate and safe. Around them, they could hear rain tapping against the boat's decking and showering into the lake. Even though they were anchored close to shore, ribbons of water cascaded over the cabin's portholes and blurred it from view.

“You called me Jeff earlier, when the boom nearly clipped me.”

The side of Shelby's lower lip was slightly swollen, the greenish-blue bruising on her jaw was becoming noticeable, and her hair was drying into a tangled mess. And yet, he thought she was still as beautiful as ever.

“I did?” Shelby looked at him, her eyebrows pinched together, folding her legs beneath her as she sat on upholstered seating.

He nodded, not wanting to make an issue out of it, but curious to know whose name she had shouted out in that moment of fear. Ryan slipped the blanket they shared off his legs and went to the galley to flip on some overhead cabin lights and make a pot of coffee.

“I didn't realize . . .” Ryan heard her say softly as he filled a stainless-steel pot with water.

“Friend of yours?” Ryan lit the propane burner on the stovetop and placed the pot down with a heavy
clank
. Disliking the smell of the natural gas that came from the stove, he cracked open a porthole in the galley just enough to help ventilate the cabin and laid a towel beneath its narrow ledge to catch the drops of rain. The flow of crisp air against his face was refreshing.

“He's an old boyfriend,” she said, and then corrected herself. “
Was
an old boyfriend.”

“Was?” Ryan turned to look at her.

“He died a few years ago, when we were still in college.” She spoke softly while sitting alone, wringing a corner of the blanket with her hands.

“Shelby—I don't know what to say.” Ryan rejoined her on the seat and when he placed his arm over her shoulders, she closed her eyes and leaned into his chest. “I'm so sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said, placing her hand over his.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“He, um . . .” she stammered. “He died in a boating accident.” She gave him a hopeful smile, but he knew the irony was not lost on either of them.

“So that's why you called me. . . .”

“I really said his name?”

Ryan nodded.

“I don't remember doing that.”

He looked down at her and noticed a catch of light in the corners of her closed eyes as they welled with tears. Not wanting to push her, he sat quietly beside her and watched the rain through the portholes on the opposite cabin wall. The boat rocked gently from side to side like a hammock swing. He felt peaceful in the stillness, the intimacy of the space, and the warmth of her hand.

A shrill whistle then shattered the moment, screaming from the spout of a boiling teapot. Ryan quickly pulled away from Shelby and nearly stumbled as he rushed to the stove. The pot was now spewing coffee and grounds through its spout like a muddy geyser. Ryan hastily transferred the mess from the stove to the sink without getting burned in the process.

“Did you put the grounds
in
the pot?” Shelby asked with amusement.

“Aren't you supposed to?” Ryan asked as he grabbed the rain-soaked dish towel from the porthole ledge and used it to wipe away the coffee spill.

“Not when you're using a plain coffeepot.” Shelby chuckled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Did you think it was a French press or something?”

“No,” he said, regaining his composure and glad to see that, although it took a bit of a coffee fiasco, he had managed to cheer her up. “This is how I always make coffee.”

“Oh, really.”

“Okay. Maybe not,” he admitted. “Hang on, I think I can salvage it.” He opened a drawer and rifled through various kitchen gadgets until he found a handheld sieve. With a questionable amount of finesse, he poured gritty coffee from the leaking pot into two coffee mugs, using the strainer to catch the grounds. He then held up a round Tupperware container of sugar and a pint of milk from the small refrigerator for her approval. She nodded, smiling. After a quick stir, Ryan brought two mugs of coffee back to Shelby.

“Just ignore the little bits floating at the top,” he said sheepishly. Shelby lifted an end of the blanket so he could slide in beside her.

She fished out the few black granules that had settled along the edge of her cup and took a hesitant sip. “I'm surprised,” she said, looking up from the steam. “This isn't half-bad. You may be on to something.”

“If you don't mind picking Folgers out of your teeth,” he said before running his tongue along his gum line. He took a few more sips before bringing up the boyfriend again. “Do you want to talk about him?”

“You know what's interesting? I think about Jeff nearly every day, but I rarely talk about him. No one does.” She held her cup with both hands. “He and I basically grew up together. We knew all of the same people. Our families were friends. So everyone seemed to grieve his death at the same time, like we were holding on to one another in a collective hug. But now, no one seems to want to talk about him much anymore. I don't understand why that is.”

“I can see that you loved him.”

“I still do,” she admitted without hesitation. “I always will.”

“Then he was a lucky guy.” Ryan meant it.

“This might sound strange, but I think you would have liked him. He loved the outdoors as much as you do. And he was an excellent sailor. He practically worshiped this lake. We finished up our junior year at Madison in mid-May, and as soon as we were back home he couldn't wait to get out on his boat—the
Cadence
. How big is this boat?”

“Forty feet.”

“His was much smaller. And a bit run-down. He and his family took great care of it but between the lake, the weather, and age, it ended up with so many dings and scratches over the years. No matter how hard he worked on it, that boat would never be as nice as this one.” Her eyes gazed around the boat's interior, as if seeing it for the first time.

Ryan nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“The
Cadence
had just been put back in its slip for the season and Jeff's parents had barely started the spring routine—cleaning the boat, engine maintenance, making minor repairs and replacements, and so on. Jeff was in such a rush to go out that he didn't bother to check to see that the life jackets had been stowed on the boat. His parents always stored them in their basement over the winter and they hadn't been returned yet. It was so unlike Jeff not to check. . . .” Her voice trailed off. She stared into her mug. “He took off on his own that day. Ordinarily, that would have been fine. But when a storm came up, they say Jeff faced two problems. An old boat and not a single PFD on board.”

“What happened?” Ryan asked carefully, already knowing how the story ended, but also sensing her need to recount it to the end.

“The storm that hit him was similar to the one today—it came out of nowhere,” she continued. “He was always so careful, you know? He followed weather reports, he knew how to navigate in poor conditions . . .” When Shelby set down her coffee and pressed her hand over her eyes, he reached out to hold her.

“That's why it was so hard for all of us to believe he was gone.” Shelby spoke with a quavering voice and a brave smile. “Jeff was the last person anyone thought would get into trouble out here.”

“Was he over by Devil's . . . like us?” Ryan asked carefully.

She took a deep breath. “No. He was just on a day sail, going around Madeline. The Coast Guard said he was in the channel between Michigan Island and Madeline, making his way toward Big Bay. Based on some evidence recovered from his boat, they believe the boom swung across and struck Jeff in the head. He fell overboard.”

“So when the boom almost hit me . . . ?”

“Is that when I said his name?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said softly. “Where did they find him?”

She shook her head and began to cry. Jeff's body was never recovered. Ryan had always heard that about Lake Superior. As the coldest and deepest of all of the Great Lakes, legend said that Superior didn't give up her dead. If you went down, chances were your body would never be found. He was angry with himself for putting Shelby in danger and triggering such tragic images to run through her head.

“I am so sorry. I know you didn't want to go out to Devil's today, but you did it anyway. And I know you did it for me. I should have listened to you last night, when you were telling me about the weather at this time of year—and about Devil's being so exposed. I should have listened to you. You know this lake far better than I do, and I didn't take it seriously.” He pressed his lips against the crown of her head. “It won't happen again.” He rubbed her shoulder and smoothed out her hair to help soothe away the tears.

An image came to Ryan's mind of when he met her in the orchard on that first day. She was wearing a red baseball hat. In fact, he was fairly certain she was wearing it again when he saw her at Applefest. “That cap you wear . . . the UW Badgers?”

She lifted her face to his and looked at him with mournful brown eyes. He knew without her answering that it had been Jeff's. Ryan imagined it was a way for her to feel connected to him, so he didn't ask anything more. He understood.

“Do you still see his family?”

Shelby dried her eyes and took a calming breath. “Of course, but not very often,” she said, the strength in her voice returning.

“Is it difficult for you to have those reminders of him?”

He felt her body relax in his arms. “It's just the opposite, actually. I love seeing them. I never want to lose the memory of him,” she answered. “In fact, Jeff's older brother and his wife had a baby boy just a few months after Jeff's accident. His name is Benjamin and he has these amazing blue eyes, just like his uncle Jeff's. Seeing him—hugging him . . . it helps.”

Another image came to Ryan's mind. It was the moment after he had run into Shelby at West Bay Outfitters.
I hardly noticed her,
he thought to himself.
Until I saw her holding that little boy.
While Shelby was basking in Jeff's memory and expressing her love through the child—lifting him off of his sandaled feet and twirling him around in giggles—she was also taking Ryan's breath away.