The Whale's Footprints - Rick Boyer Page 2

"I don't really like him; I just don't hate him the way you do, Andy. And you gotta admit, you do antagonize him."

  "You keep saying that."

  "Well, let's go in, the mussels are done," said Mary, and we followed her into the dining room.

  An hour later, just as Mary took the lasagna out of the oven, the power went out and we found ourselves in the dark except for the fire and the candles on the mantel above. We scurried around lighting lamps and candles, and soon were operational again. The low light and pounding rain made the place even cozier. Andy asked if the power outage would affect the telephone. A quick lift of the receiver proved it had not. Then we sat down to cat.

  "No wine?" asked Mary, holding the bottle over Andy's glass, which he had covered with his hand.

  "No thanks, Mary. I already had two beers, and that's all I should have."

  "Well, he's certainly not a member of this tribe," said Mary, hoisting her glass.

  "The reason is medical," Andy said softly. Since he did not elaborate, we let the subject drop. Dinner was just about over when Mary asked the question.

  "Wel1, have either of you guys fallen in love yet?" she said. She asked nonchalantly, as if to make conversation. But it didn't work; a solemn hush fell over the table.

  "Did I say something wrong?" she finally asked.

  "Nope," said Jack, spooning lasagna into his mouth. More silence.

  "Hey. Don't everybody talk at once," she said.

  As if following her advice, nobody did. Mary and I took the dishes over to the sink. She endured the unexplained silence another minute or so, then spun around.

  "All right you guys," she demanded, "what the hell's going on?”

  "You tell her," said Andy.

  "Me? Why should I tell her? She's you're friend."

  "Well, she was your friend, too."

  "Yeah. Was. Was my friend . . ."

  "Is anybody gonna tell me, or am I going to die waiting?" said Mary.

  "Maybe it's private," I suggested. Mary waved me away, so I excused myself, went to my chair in the living room, and lighted a pipe, listening to the rain. I could hear them around the corner.

  "Okay, what happened was, I met this girl down there at the beginning of the summer, in June, and was going out with her. Then Andy comes along and, well, takes her away from me."

  "Uh-uh," I said, butting in from around the corner. "Nobody steals a woman away from you. A woman leaves because she's unhappy, but she isn't stolen away. That's a myth."

  "Thanks a lot, Dad."

  Mary poked her head around the corner, frowning. "When we want your opinion, Charlie, we'll ask for it."

  Then I heard her voice: "Okay, tell me all about it. Everything. I want to hear it all."

  "Her name is Alice Henderson. She's enrolled in the SEA program—that's an ocean-going school—and cruises on the Westward. Her dad's one of the biggest commercial fishermen around Buzzards Bay. She's studying liberal arts. Maybe she'll go into biology. Who knows?"

  That was Andy talking. Now Mary:

  "How'd you happen to meet her, Jackie?"

  "We met at the Kidd."

  "Oh, we know the Kidd," said Mary, referring to Woods Hole's best-known bar and nightspot, the Cap'n Kidd.

  "Let's get back to the lovely Alice Henderson," I said, walking around the corner and joining the group. "You guys still are friends, aren't you?"

  "Huh, oh, sure," said Jack. Then it was Andy's turn to speak, looking down at the kitchen floor.

  "See, when I met Alice, she'd been seeing Jack only a couple of weeks. I met her through her brother Terry, who works on his dad's boat, the Highlander. We were just talking one day when she came up, and we went out to get a Coke, you know—"

  "And the next thing I knew," continued Jack, "she was seeing both of us. That was for about a week. Then just Andy. But hey, it's no big deal." His mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren't.

  Andy continued staring at the floor. He said: "She said maybe it was a big deal, Jack. That you were kinda like real down about it. So, hey, what can I say, I'm sorry—"

  "Well, she's lying! " shouted Jack. Then, realizing he'd betrayed himself, he spun on his heel and stomped into the living room.

  "Come on now, you guys," Mary said. "I hope you don't let this thing get in the way. You're both young . . . whatever happens, you'll realize in a couple years it really isn't a big deal. C'mere, Jackie."

  Reluctantly, Jack re-entered the room. I realized how young he still was in some ways. How sensitive, and quick tempered, too. Mary diplomatically changed the subject. "We didn't tell you: the DeGroots are motoring down to Wellfleet on Whimsea tomorrow. Then on Tuesday we're going to do some cruising with them."

  "Not in this weather we're not," I said. "Which reminds me, I better call them and see what's up."

  I let the phone ring eight times with no answer. Uh-oh, I thought, had Jim and Janice headed out despite the storm warnings? I hung up the phone and mentioned my uneasiness to Mary.

  "No, Charlie. Even Jim wouldn't do that. They're probably out to eat, or at the club."

  "Jim and I have been talking about some cruising," I said. "Remember last year we motored up to Portland from Cape Ann? Well, we were thinking about heading out into the Gulf of Maine later in the summer for some whale watching. You think Whimsea's big enough?"

  "Definitely," said Jack. "We've been out there in sea skiffs—even little runabouts, smack dab in the middle of a pod of humpbacks."

  "Weren't you scared?" asked Mary.

  "Well, so far nothing's happened. I think the whales like the little boats better. They seem less afraid of them. A guy we know at the MBL went out in a twelve-foot motorboat. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by a whole pod of forty-footers. Three of them were females with calves—"

  "Well what I mean is, what if the whales got mad?" she said. "Couldn't they just smash a boat in half with their tails?"

  "Oh yeah, in a second," said Andy.

  "Well . . . jeez."

  "Well then, how do you know they won't get mad and kill you?" I asked.

  "You don't," said Jack. "But after a while, you get accustomed to seeing these fifty-foot shapes gliding along under your boat. Then you think: hey! Each one of those guys weighs fifty tons, as much as seven bull elephants! So what do you do about it? Nothing. You forget about it, and just enjoy it."

  "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 an
d 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."