The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer (3 page)

"I don't know,” said Mary. "I know I'm
going to be scared. You really think it'll be safe?"

"Sure. If the whales are bothered in any way,
they just take off. Trust me."

"
Okay," I said. "So when are you guys
due back at the lab?"

"Monday afternoon. And knowing 'hardass'
Hartzell, Andy better not be late, storm or no storm. So I guess
we'll drive back down early Monday, which gives us the whole weekend.
I'm luckier than Andy; I'm doing something I really love. My 'work'
is going out in boats and watching whales, and recording their
songs."

We hauled the rest of the dirty dishes into the
kitchen and I washed them by hand because the power was off. Andy
asked if it was all right to make a phone call. I said certainly, and
he went upstairs carrying his duffel bag and clothes to use the
extension in the bedroom. I assumed it was a personal call. To Alice
Henderson, perhaps? None of your business, Adams.

When the dishes were done I sat back in the study
corner of the living room, relighted my pipe, and looked at the
cottage by candlelight. The living room has low, beamed ceilings,
which go well with the fieldstone fireplace and rough plank mantel
above. A wooden model of the Grand Banks schooner Bluenose sits atop
the mantel and on each side are brass ship's running lights with red
and green lenses. I love the living room at the Breakers. The wind
still howled, and although the tide was ebbing, it was doing so with
a thunderous fuss, as if it didn't want to leave. I smoked my pipe
and listened to the storm.

Eventually, Andy returned downstairs. He looked
disturbed. Jack suggested chess. Andy agreed, but seemed preoccupied.
They played for over an hour, with Andy shifting nervously in his
chair and glancing at his watch. Suddenly, he got up from the table
and said he'd had enough chess. He threw on his water-proof slicker
and told us he was going for a walk.

"
In this weather?" asked Jack.

"Yeah. just for a while. My stomach's a little
upset; I think I need some air."

"just a second, I'll go with you," said
Jack. But Andy said he'd prefer to go alone, and would return
shortly. He went back upstairs to the guest room briefly, then
returned, all bundled up, and left.

"Gee Charlie, what's that all about?" said
Mary, after he'd gone out the door.

"Well, if I were forced to guess, I would
surmise a tiff with Alice. But then, it's not our business."

"I don't think he called Alice," said Jack.
"She's on the Westward now."

"In this weather? I hope not."

"
Oh, that's right . . . ,” said Jack, a
confused, rather hurt look on his face. I hurt for him, too. With my
children, I am much too tender for my own damn good.

"
Oh well, it should sort itself out."

While we waited for Andy to come back, Jack and I
played chess by candlelight.

He returned, soaked to the skin, at ten-thirty. Mary
had gone to bed, and Jack and I were getting concerned; he'd been
gone almost two hours.

"
Gee, Andy, we were worried about you," I
said. "I was afraid you got struck by lightning."

"Oh. Sorry I took so long. I got lost in the
dark and the rain. I missed the road and went on past it. Hey, I
think I'll go up and hit the rack; I still don't feel so hot. Maybe
I'm coming down with the flu or something."

I said I hoped not. That would be a helluva way to
spend the weekend. He removed his dripping slicker and said good
night, then struggled upstairs to the spare bedroom he would share
with Jack. Somehow, he seemed a changed person, illness or no. Was it
the phone call? The words with Jack over Alice Henderson?

We put the chess set away.

"It's great to have you here, guy," I said.
I hugged him. I was careful not to hug him too hard or too long. It
might embarrass him. But God, I lived for that.

"Dad, you okay? You crying?”

"No, I'm okay. I'm just glad to see you. You
don't have any idea how much I miss you and Tony."

"But Dad, we're right nearby. We're all here in
New England, right?"

"Right," I said, and went upstairs.

"I love you, Dad," he called after me.

"I love you too, boy," I managed to reply.
"More than anything on earth."

I did have wet eyes after saying good night to him.
And a lump in my throat, too. My little Jackie was all grown up and
leaving us. He hadn't planned the departure, and maybe didn't even
know it was happening. But there it was, plain as day. That huge,
inexorable clock keeps ticking, swinging its giant pendulum, knocking
away the years. The Great Going On stops for nothing and nobody, and
there's not a thing any of us can do about it.

I couldn't wait to go out with him to watch the
whales.
 

TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Saturday, Mary and I awoke to the
sound of heavy rain on our bedroom windows and the constant eerie
wail of wind. The moaning rose and fell, rattling the windows in the
gusts, but it never died away. We got up and dressed and went down to
make coffee. While it was brewing, I tapped the barometer.
Twenty-nine point two and rising very slightly.

"
I wonder what happened to the DeGroots?"
asked Mary over the rim of her cup. Her black eyes shone under the
anchor light that hangs over the kitchen table. Her dark hair was
pulled back in a big thick single braid. She was, having spent only
twelve days on the Cape, as dark as a Tahitian.

"I don't know. With this storm, I'm hoping they
never left. But I don't like not hearing from them, either. It's not
like Jim to keep us in the dark."

I looked outside at the ugly leaden sky. At the foot
of the bluff, the tide was coming back in, roaring and slamming every
inch of the way. The sea was higher than I'd ever seen it on the bay
side of the Cape. I switched on the short-wave receiver and heard the
reports. We had another day, maybe two, of the heavy rain to look
forward to, but the wind would abate early Sunday. Sensing that the
reception was bad even for a major storm, I went outside on the deck
to see that the antenna mast on the roof had blown over, the lead
disconnected. We were missing a bunch of cedar shingles, too.

After coffee, we put on our rain gear to take a walk
outside and assess the damage. But before we left I went to the foot
of the stairs and yelled up at the boys to get up. I heard a muted
thumping on the ceiling, which told me they were stirring. Then Mary
and I went down to the beach, leaning into the wind and rain and
shouting to each other over the roar of the surf. We found our yellow
beach umbrella, which we had carefully tied shut and stowed against
the cottage wall, wedged at the base of a sand dune a hundred yards
up the beach. Our lounge chairs were scattered over a thirty-yard
radius, having been swept off the deck in the gusts. But the most
amazing and ominous sight was the water. The ocean had intruded over
our forty yards of beach and was pounding against the base of our
bluff. We skipped and jumped nimbly to avoid the rushes of water that
followed each breaking wave.

"Charlie! There's so much stuff on the beach.
Look!" I saw piles of brush, large hunks of driftwood, and even
a big metal milk can, rolling and thumping in shallows. Where it had
come from was anybody's guess. Had it washed ashore from some passing
ship? Did it drift to our side of the bay from a dairy in Plymouth or
Provincetown? Heaven only knew. No boats were out on the bay; the
horizon was empty. All the sea birds were gone, hiding somewhere out
of the wind. We got back to the cottage soaked, and I went into the
living room to build a fire. I saw Jack coming down the stairs as if
sleepwalking.

"Dad?"

"What's up? Get Andy down here; Mom's going to
cook pancakes."

"Dad?"

"Hmn?"

"Dad, Andy won't wake up."

"What? What do you mean, he won't wake up?"

"I can't rouse him; I think maybe he's in a
coma."

The three of us hurried up the stairs. I opened the
door to the bedroom and went over to Andy's bed. He was lying there
on his side, his head on the pillow, as if asleep. But as soon as I
touched his head, a chill went up my spine. I probed for a pulse. I
retrieved Mary's hand mirror and held it up to his mouth. Nothing.

"
He's not in a coma, Jack," I whispered.
"I'm afraid your friend Andy is dead."

The bedroom fell silent. Outside the wind howled, and
the ocean crashed onto the beach.
 

THREE

l LOOKED OUT the Breakers's front window and saw Joe
getting out of his cruiser in the rain. It had started up again at
lunch time, stronger than ever. Now, at four o'clock, it was still
coming down. How much rain had we had in the last twenty-four hours?
Six inches? Eight? I had never seen it rain so heavily. As he leaned
over getting out, the wind caught the back edge of his trench coat
and blew it up over his head. I saw his mouth working through the
driving rain; he was cussing as he threw off the coat and dumped it
in the back seat. Then he slammed the door and made a beeline down
our little flagstone walkway toward the front door. I let him in.

"Son of a bitch!" he said, shaking the
water from his big, tan face. Its lower half was purplish-black with
beard stubble. I gathered Joe hadn't had a chance to shave in maybe
three hours. "Son of a bitch! "

"Here. Stand in front of the fire. Want a
drink?"

"Do I want a drink he says. Jesus Christ. Do I
want a drink. Double Scotch up, splash—now where's Sis?"

"She's over in Eastham Center with Jack. They're
talking with the police up there. You believe this?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I believe it. Anything shitty like
this happens, I believe it right away. Part of my job. So, I take it
the boy's parents have been notified?"

"No. We've tried getting in touch with them all
morning; no answer. We're assuming they're away for the weekend. God,
are they going to have some news waiting for them when they get
back."

"And I guess they're taking the body back to the
state lab?"

"Have to; you know that, Joe. It's an
unexplained death; there has to be an autopsy. They were going to
take the body back up to the morgue at Boston City Hospital—"

"Boston City? Not Boston City! Good God, I hate
that place. I ever take you there?"

"Once. It was enough."

"The elevators don't even work anymore. You
gotta tote the stiffs up and down the friggin' stairs, for
Chrissakes. I hope they tear that—"

"Yeah, well they decided to take the body up to
the forensic lab and morgue at Ten Ten. Right to your own building,
Joe."

"I just left there. Left Kevin holding the bag.
And know what I heard? The resident M.E. of Barnstable County just
retired. They don't have an M.E. down here on the Cape. So guess
what? I recommended you."

"You what?"

"I gave 'em your name. It's just temporary, of
course. I mean, it's an appointment that's got to be confirmed and
everything and I know you wouldn't want to do it full time. But you
are a doctor, a full-fledged physician, right? Even though you just
work on mouths and jaws now? Anyway, as soon as I mention your name,
Doc, everybody starts noddin'."

I sat down on the sofa to collect myself. Joe
reminded me about the drink, so I went to the kitchen and made a
couple. We sat in front of the fire and sipped.

"Joe . . . listen," I sighed, "I am
not a good candidate for medical examiner. One: I don't want any part
of it. Two: I'm not qualified. Thr—"

"
Hell you're not. All I hadda do is mention a
few incidents of the past couple a years. The guys are all nodding,
grinning. 'Yeah, he's a good one to fill in for now. Great choice,
Joe,' they're sayin'. 'Couldn't be a better one.' "

"Good God, Joe. Look: I'm not interested."

"Well, okay then. But you might think about it.
It's only for a month or so."

"All right, I'll think about it. But it's hard
right now to think about anything except the late Andy Cunningham."

"Jesus, doesn't this remind you of that other
kid? Friend of Jack's? What was his—"

"I don't want to talk about that, Joe. I mean
it. just please shut up about that, okay?"

I realized I was on my feet, glaring right down at
him.

"Okay, okay," he said softly. "I
didn't realize it was so, uh, personal."

"Of course it's personal, Joe. And you know why.
Allan Hart would still be alive today if it weren't for me." I
took a gulp of the Scotch and let it slide down my throat, burning
all the way down. Joe lighted a Benson and Hedges and leaned back in
the sofa, looking at the fire.

"Know what it is, Doc? It's the goddamn curse.
My goddamn curse is rubbing off on your family. That's what."

"Aw, c'mon. Don't get going on that shit again.
Give it a rest."

So we sat there for maybe ten minutes, not saying
anything, each of us feeling sorry for himself because he was such a
jinx. We were a fine pair. The door opened and Mary came in.