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Long after Julie and my sisters had gone to bed, I sat on my bunk in my pajamas, staring into the depths of my suitcase, wondering what the following day would bring. Had David survived? Maybe he’d be better off … I shook away the thought. Nobody, in my opinion, was better off dead. There should always be a tomorrow, a chance to start a better life.

Ruth coughed, tugged at her duvet and opened an eye. ‘Are you all right, Hannah?’

‘I’m trying to gin up the energy to pack.’

‘Well, the elves aren’t going to do it for you, and if it’s not out in the hall before two, you’ll have to carry it off the boat yourself.’ She rolled over, faced the wall. ‘A word to the wise,’ she murmured.

I dumped the contents of my half of the closet into the suitcase, tucked shoes around the edges, laid a couple of paperback books on top and zipped it shut. After making sure that the luggage labels were secure, I set the bag out in the passageway with hundreds of others, extending for what seemed like miles in both directions.

That done, I snagged a bottle of water and let myself out onto the balcony. I picked my favorite of the two chairs, slouched down in it comfortably, and propped both feet up on the balcony rail.

On moonless nights, the sea is as black and sleek as a raven’s back. I stared into the inky darkness, then blinked. Where the blue-black sky met the black of the sea, lights were strung like an amber necklace along the horizon. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. We were approaching the mouth of the Bay.

I nipped inside for my iPhone, powered it on and when a three-bar signal appeared, I took it out on the balcony and telephoned Paul.

The meeting with the F.B.I. had gone well, he thought. Based on what the Baltimore agents had told him, Paul fully expected them to meet the ship in the morning.

‘There’s a possibility that Channing might not be aboard,’ I told him.

Paul snorted. ‘No? So what happened? He sprout wings?’

‘He jumped overboard tonight, in a manner of speaking.’ I explained about David forcing Channing on to the chair, Channing’s tumble, and then David jumping over the side himself. ‘Maybe it was some sort of crazy rescue attempt,’ I added. ‘Or maybe not. They picked up one of the men, but we don’t know which. They’re still out looking for the other – at least, they were a couple of hours ago.’

‘I worry about you, Hannah. Is everybody all right?’

‘A little beat up, perhaps, but we’re all fine, honest. Even Julie’s pretty solid.’

‘We can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. We’ll be at the terminal to meet you tomorrow, all three of us.’

‘Bring leis,’ I said, ‘and hula girls.’

Back in our cabin, I considered the selection of games on my iPhone without enthusiasm, still thinking about my conversation with Paul. Who had been rescued? I couldn’t sleep until I knew.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb Ruth, I pulled a T-shirt on over my red-plaid pajama bottoms and slipped into a pair of flip-flops. I opened the cabin door a crack and eased out into the corridor.

A surprising number of people were abroad in the night. While most of the passengers slept, crew members busily collected luggage from in front of cabin doors, schlepping them in carts down to the bowels of the ship where they would await transfer to the terminal’s baggage claim facility in the morning.

Walking slowly so as not to draw too much attention to myself, I made my way forward along deck four to the stairway that would take me down a level to deck three. As I passed the elevator, a man was explaining to his po-faced wife how he’d lost nearly two hundred dollars on the slots. On the stairs, I passed a young couple, giggling as they ricocheting from one banister to the other, clutching one another for support as they staggered back to their cabin, presumably from one of the late-night bars.

As I emerged on deck three, I had to swerve to avoid running into a guy balancing a tray loaded with beverage cups, chip packets and a small stack of triangular boxes that I knew contained individual slices of pizza. ‘Ball game,’ he explained as he stepped aside to let me pass. ‘Nationals at Philadelphia.’

I took in the stylized ‘N’ on his cap. ‘Go Nats,’ I said, without much enthusiasm.

There was no guard posted outside the door to the clinic, which I took as a good sign. Cautiously, I peered inside. The nurse who had cared for Julie earlier sat at a desk in the outer office, filling in the blanks on a form with a black pen.

‘Jeannie?’

The nurse started, looking around in confusion before catching sight of me in the doorway.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you.’

Worried lines creased her brow. ‘Is Julie…?’

‘Julie’s fine. Now that her attacker has been identified, I think she’ll be able to sleep a little easier.’

‘I heard,’ Jeannie said.

‘Is he…?’ I gestured toward the door that led into the examination room.

‘I could get in trouble,’ she said, reading my mind.

‘Sorry,’ I managed, choking up. ‘It’s just that David Warren and I have grown pretty close. If he’s still out there somewhere…’ I took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I really need to know.’

Jeannie rose without speaking and crossed to the door, gesturing for me to follow her. She turned the knob and slowly pushed it open.

Inside the examination room, on a gurney and covered by a lightweight blanket, lay David Warren. He appeared to be sleeping. I grabbed the doorframe, weak-kneed with relief.

‘Thank God!’ I whispered.

In addition to the bandage on his forehead – courtesy of Jack Westfall – David now sported a neon-blue air splint on his right arm. But the biggest surprise was who sat on a chair next to the gurney: Elda Homer. Her hair a bit disheveled, but still dressed in her evening finery, she held David’s good left hand.

My heart flopped in my chest, and I couldn’t suppress a smile.

We backed away silently. ‘She’s been by his side for a couple of hours,’ Jeannie whispered back as she closed the door on the quiet domestic scene. ‘Like you, she just showed up. David asked her to stay.’

‘Good,’ I said, feeling slightly choked. Perhaps David had found something – or someone – to live for after all.

‘Is he going to be OK?’ I asked the nurse.

‘I can’t comment on a patient’s medical condition, you know that,’ she said kindly.

‘But would you do me a favor? When he wakes up, tell him Hannah Ives was here.’

‘I’ll do that,’ she said, touching my arm.

I couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘Well, that’s it, then,’ I eventually croaked, completely undone. I managed to hold it together until I got out into the corridor, where tears of relief began to spill from my eyes and course hotly down my cheeks.

I gave into the tears, until there were none left to cry.

TWENTY-FIVE

‘If it’s calculated in a notebook, it ends up being geometry. If it’s written or researched, it might be history. When people are watching, it has the potential of being magic.’

Jim Steinmeyer, Hiding the Elephant,

Da Capo, 2004, p. 329

Long before dawn, while most of the passengers slept, the Islander passed under the Francis Scott Key Bridge, veered left at Fort McHenry, and ghosted into its berth at the Port of Baltimore. As the great white ship waited for the first rays of the sun to light its stacks, its generators thrummed, contented. Islander was prepared for whatever the day would bring.

Beyond our window, the Baltimore sky burned gold with reflections from the arc lamps that lined the city’s streets, streets that glistened in the gentle rain like black coal.

Eventually, dawn crept in out of the east, defining a building, the cars in the parking lot, a highway sign. When it was bright enough that I could read the sign – Fort McHenry Tunnel Restrictions – dock workers materialized, rolling the gangplank up to the ship, where they made it fast.