Charlie St. Cloud Part 12

THE OCEAN HAD NEVER LOOKED SO Ma.s.sIVE. W WHITECAPS streaked to the horizon, and the thirty-five-foot Down East lobster boat careened through the waves. With one hand, Charlie steadied himself on the dashboard; with the other, he peered through binoculars and swept the confused seas. He and Tink were running a track leg in a search pattern on Jeffreys Ledge, an area not too far from where the fisherman had picked up debris from streaked to the horizon, and the thirty-five-foot Down East lobster boat careened through the waves. With one hand, Charlie steadied himself on the dashboard; with the other, he peered through binoculars and swept the confused seas. He and Tink were running a track leg in a search pattern on Jeffreys Ledge, an area not too far from where the fisherman had picked up debris from Querencia Querencia.

That morning in the Driftwood, he had absolutely refused to believe the news about Tess. At first, he had erupted: "No way. It's not possible." Then all eyes in the restaurant had focused on him.

"You know something we don't?" Hoddy had asked.

Charlie had wanted to tell them about her visit to her father's grave and their dinner in the cottage. He had wanted to describe their midnight walk and even their first kiss. But he had suddenly felt afraid. It was an unconscious reflex. Maybe something terrible had happened to Querencia Querencia on the water, and it was Tess's spirit that had come to the cemetery. It wasn't impossible, and in that instant, he knew he had to protect himself. "She's got to be around somewhere," he had mumbled, trying to mask his confusion. "Don't you think?" on the water, and it was Tess's spirit that had come to the cemetery. It wasn't impossible, and in that instant, he knew he had to protect himself. "She's got to be around somewhere," he had mumbled, trying to mask his confusion. "Don't you think?"

"What're you talking about?" Tink had said, stepping forward. "They found her rudder and a life ring. There's been no word from her in more than thirty-six hours. What more do you need?"

Charlie had felt himself scrambling. "What about her house? Anyone look there?"

"Of course," Hoddy had said. "No luck. Dubby Bartlett saw her dog running on the beach without a leash this morning. Her mother was expecting to hear from her by now, but there's been no word."

And so the men had paired off to start the search. Charlie joined up with Tink, who had borrowed a powerful lobster boat. The two had known each other only casually from the local beer-and-clam circuit, but they were both h.e.l.l-bent on finding Tess.

In the early hours, the search had produced all sorts of junk, including a floating Coleman cooler with a few Buds and a Nike golf bag minus the clubs.

Then in the middle of the day, they had spotted a life raft that was partially inflated and blackened with smoke. Hauling it aboard, Tink unraveled when he realized it belonged to Querencia. Querencia. First, he unleashed a gut-wrenching scream, then he shouted: "No!" That single, simple syllable stretched into an agonizing wail until he ran out of breath, and great gobs of tears coursed down his cheeks, soaking his scruffy beard. First, he unleashed a gut-wrenching scream, then he shouted: "No!" That single, simple syllable stretched into an agonizing wail until he ran out of breath, and great gobs of tears coursed down his cheeks, soaking his scruffy beard.

The boat had vanished. Tess was nowhere.

The only life they witnessed all day on that angry ocean was a pod of humpback whales breaching two hundred yards to starboard, spray blasting from their blowholes before they dived to the depths.

In the outer reaches of his mind, Charlie began to wonder what had really happened. Was it Tess in the cemetery last night or her spirit? He had seen thousands of souls come and go and he knew all the vaporous clues. He had never before been fooled. They all gleamed with an aura of light. The old no longer hobbled. The infirm were restored with vigor. At first, their edges would soften and s.h.i.+mmer like gossamer. Then their appearance would change subtly, and they would begin to look the way they had always imagined themselves. Soon, when they were ready to go on to the next level, they would fade away, deliquescing like mist in the sun.

But Tess was different. He had gazed into her emerald eyes. He had stood right next to her. He had listened to her incredible laugh. He had even felt himself falling a little in love. No, she couldn't have been a spirit. There was nothing diaphanous about her. She was too real, too substantial, too alive. There had to be some mistake.

A wave crashed over the deck, slapping him hard across the face and stinging his eyes. He fought to keep them open, struggling not to blink, for fear of missing her in the water. All day he had prayed to G.o.d that He would not take away a person so fine and rare. For each disturbing fact, Charlie had supplied an optimistic answer. Her boat wasn't in its mooring where it belonged, but the ocean was vast and she could be sailing anywhere. That debris recovered by the fisherman wasn't necessarily proof of a s.h.i.+pwreck. Maybe it had just fallen off Querencia Querencia.

Still, there was the matter of the burned-out life raft. Charlie checked the digital gauges on the dashboard. The thermometer indicated the ocean was fifty-two degrees. From paramedic training he knew that cold water stole body heat thirty times faster than air. Without protective gear, unconsciousness would occur after thirty to sixty minutes and death in one to three hours. But even if her boat had burned and gone to the bottom, Tess had a survival suit onboard that was good for at least seventy-two hours in these temperatures. That was still plenty of time to find her.

In the western sky, Charlie saw splashes of rust and plum. The clouds were bunching in great gouts. The angle of the sun was low on the water, and he suddenly realized for the first time in thirteen years he hadn't thought about Sam all day. Not even once. Now his heart began to pound. He could feel the panic. There was only an hour of light left to find her-and an hour of light to get home. It was an impossible situation.

Tess was missing. Sam was waiting.

Just then, Tink turned the wheel sharply. "Tank's almost empty," he said. "We're losing the sun. I hate to go back to port, but we don't have much choice."

Charlie nodded but felt no relief. It would be incredibly close. "Want me to drive?" he asked, thinking he could increase their speed and improve his chances.

"I'm fine," Tink said.

So Charlie went to the stern and sat down. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He saw Tess sashaying down the gravel walk in the cemetery. He imagined her pirouetting in the night. And then he replayed every moment in his mind, trying to make sense of it all.

Maybe her beauty had overwhelmed him. Maybe the sparks had distracted him from the signs. Or maybe G.o.d had some other reason. How could he have been so wrong?

Charlie stood and moved forward to the c.o.c.kpit beside Tink. He glanced at the speedometer. Fifteen knots. Tink's face was flushed, and he was grazing through a giant bag of Oreos. There were black crumbs on his chin.

Charlie looked out and watched a s.h.a.g dive for mackerel behind the boat. The low light of dusk was slanting off the water, and he knew the sun would be gone at 6:33 P P.M.

"Can we speed up a bit?" he asked gently.

"What's your frigging problem, Mario Andretti? Why the big hurry?"

"I just need to get back."

He turned the wheel five degrees to starboard. "You got something more important to do? A hot date? League night at the Bowl-O-Mat?"

Charlie didn't even bother to answer. He stood silently, listening to the thud of the waves against the boat. After a while, Tink reached out with the Oreo bag. A peace offering.

"No, thanks."

"Look, I'm sorry. My nerves are fried." He rubbed his big hands on the wheel. Charlie thought he saw tears in the man's eyes. Then Tink said, "So how do you know Tess again?"

"We just met."

But Tink wasn't really listening. He seemed lost in his own fears. "I never should've let her go out into that storm," he said.

That was strange. Tess hadn't mentioned bad weather. "Whatever happens," Charlie said, "she's going to be okay."

Tink looked over with sad eyes. "You think?"

"You just have to believe."

And that was exactly what Charlie was forcing himself to do-believe Tess was okay. But, of course, with every pa.s.sing moment, with every empty stretch of ocean, his growing fear was that she wasn't. He knew all about the middle ground between life and death and how spirits separated from their bodies. He had been there briefly himself, only to be shocked back to life. He had to accept the possibility that Tess's soul had come to the cemetery to find her father without realizing what had happened to her body. Folks often showed up bewildered by their own heart attacks or aneurysms. Sometimes they didn't even comprehend that life was over and had to spend a few days figuring things out. Others knew right away what had brought them down, and they screamed at G.o.d and the world from the moment they arrived. They were the ones who held on to family and friends as long as they could. And then there were the folks who had it the easiest of all, letting go quickly and moving right on to the next realm.

So where did that leave Tess? Could she be wandering the streets of Marblehead, totally unaware that she was a spirit? Or, worse, maybe she had already taken the next step, and he would never see her again.

Up ahead, Charlie saw the mouth of the harbor. The sky was dark gray, and the lighthouse flashed its familiar green beam. As they pa.s.sed the Corinthian Yacht Club, Rick Vickery, the dockmaster, was getting ready to strike the colors and fire the sunset salute cannon.

Tink steered toward the wharf and glided in smoothly. Charlie jumped out. As he tied up, he heard the blast of the guns. "I've got to run," he said.

"You sure you're okay?" Tink asked. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine. Call me later if you hear anything."

"Will do," Tink said.

With that, Charlie took off in a sprint. He knew he would be late. Five minutes, maybe even ten. He raced up State Street, cut through an alley, hopped a picket fence, and dashed across Mrs. Dupar's lawn. A dog in the window barked as he flew past. A delivery van screeched when he cut across Was.h.i.+ngton.

It was almost dark in Marblehead. Lights glimmered behind curtains. Smoke spiraled from chimneys. And Charlie ran as fast as he could . . .

For Sam. And for life itself.

TWENTY.

HE HAD A St.i.tCH IN HIS SIDE AND HIS LUNGS ACHED AS HE made the last turn down West Sh.o.r.e Drive. When his fists closed at last around the heavy wrought-iron bars of the gates, he rested his forehead for a moment against the cool metal. Then he wiggled the key in the lock, tried to turn the latch, and, for the first time ever, it wouldn't open. He felt a shot of panic, pulled the key out, jammed it back in again, and twisted it with all his strength. He heard the metal click, and he hurried inside. The main gravel path felt good underfoot, and the wind brought the scent of burning leaves. made the last turn down West Sh.o.r.e Drive. When his fists closed at last around the heavy wrought-iron bars of the gates, he rested his forehead for a moment against the cool metal. Then he wiggled the key in the lock, tried to turn the latch, and, for the first time ever, it wouldn't open. He felt a shot of panic, pulled the key out, jammed it back in again, and twisted it with all his strength. He heard the metal click, and he hurried inside. The main gravel path felt good underfoot, and the wind brought the scent of burning leaves.

He found the utility cart beside the Fountain of Youth and he aimed the little vehicle toward the Forest of Shadows. He steered along the b.u.mpy trail and stopped under the low branches of the blue spruce. He was in such a hurry this time that he didn't even bother to check over his shoulder.

Instead, he reached under the front seat and patted around until he found the glove holding the ball in its firm embrace. Then he leaped over the old rotting log and dashed through the woods, up a little hill to its crest, past a copse of maple trees, then down beside a waterfall and swirling pool. A sliver of gray graced the canopy of the cedar grove as he tore into the clearing with its perfect lawn, ninety feet long and wide. In the twilight, he could just make out that the pitcher's mound, rubber, and plate were empty.

"Sam!" he yelled. "Sammm?"

The seesaw and swings hanging from the thick arm of the sycamore were empty too.

"Sam?!"

But there was no answer. Charlie could feel the dread begin to rise-first in his stomach, then his chest. His head began to pound. It certainly didn't help that he was so tired. Fear flooded through him.

He knew he had to stop himself from thinking the absolute worst. So he crossed a few yards of gra.s.s and settled onto the slat of wood suspended by ropes. He leaned back, kicked at the hollow of dirt beneath his feet. For a moment, he could see the crescent of moon right above his toes and then he swooped back again.

"Sam!" he tried again. A covey of doves burst from their nests in the spruce trees and flew into the darkening slash of horizon. When the rustle of wing beats pa.s.sed and the air was still again, Charlie called once more.

"Sammm . . ."

And then, as his voice trailed off, a little miracle happened. Charlie heard a sound-so faint at first that he wasn't sure it was anything more than his own imagination.

"Charlie!"

There was Sam in his Sox cap, shorts, and high tops, coming from the forest. Oscar pranced behind him.

"Where've you been?" Charlie said, jumping from the swing. "You scared me."

"I'm here. Relax, everything's okay." Sam smiled. "Want to play catch?"

"No, I need to talk about something."

Sam walked over to the picnic table and sat down. "What's going on?" he said. "How was your day?"

"Miserable," Charlie said.

"What happened?"

"It's Tess."

Sam's eyes were wide. "So you found out."

Charlie felt his stomach clench. What did Sam know? How did he know it? "Have you seen her?" Charlie asked. "Has she been here today?"

"She came looking for you."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, I saw her." His voice was soft, like he was cus.h.i.+oning the blow. "And she saw me."

Charlie felt himself deflate. There was no denying it anymore. In all his years in Waterside, he had never met a living person who could see his brother, or any other ghost for that matter. Salem was full of self-proclaimed witches who claimed they could speak to the dead, but Charlie had never seen any proof. Psychics and mediums stopped by at Waterside all the time with desperate clients in tow. But again, they never seemed to notice Sam frolicking with Oscar on the gra.s.s or the spirits of their loved ones reaching out in a gentle breeze or sending an autumn leaf sailing onto their shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me last night?" Charlie asked.

"I didn't know. Honest. I didn't get a good look," Sam said. "Remember? You didn't want me anywhere near her."

"Does she know yet?" Charlie asked.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"I think she's figuring it out."

"Is she fading already? Is she moving on?"

"I can't tell."

Charlie threw his head back and looked up into the darkness. All day he had hoped she was alive, but now he understood she was a spirit in the middle ground. Across the western sky, he saw the fuzzy patches of the Magellanic Clouds, each with 200 billion stars like the sun, and he suddenly felt insignificant and without hope.

Sam was sitting right next to him, but for the first time it wasn't enough. Charlie knew he wanted more. He needed more. He ran his hands through his hair and wondered if Sam knew what he was thinking.

"It's going to be okay, big bro," Sam said softly.

"How can you be sure?"

"Don't worry," Sam said. "She's coming here tonight."

TWENTY-ONE.

WHAT HAD BEGUN AS MERELY THE STRANGEST DAY OF HER life had quickly morphed into the most frightening. It had started with that headache that refused to go away and it had ended in total despair back at her father's grave. life had quickly morphed into the most frightening. It had started with that headache that refused to go away and it had ended in total despair back at her father's grave.

After meeting Sam St. Cloud in the cemetery, Tess had spent the day in a thick soup of confusion. The kid was Charlie's brother, but he was dead, killed thirteen years ago in that terrible car wreck. How was it possible to have a conversation with him? Maybe it was true what they said: Hang around a graveyard too long and you start to see ghosts. Was the boy an apparition? Or was she hallucinating?

On the other hand, maybe it wasn't Sam St. Cloud at all. Perhaps it was some punk playing a stupid trick. More than ever, she knew she had to see Charlie again, and she would ask him about his brother.

As the sun had risen over Marblehead and the weekend sailors had made their way from the harbor, Tess walked Bobo back home to Lookout Court. No one greeted her on the street, not even her old friend Tabby Gla.s.s, who was jogging on the far sidewalk behind a stroller with her new baby girl.

"Want some chow?" Tess asked when they finally reached her house, but Bobo just plunked down on the front steps.

"All right, suit yourself," she had said. "I'm going down to check on Querencia Querencia."