“That’s what I want to tell you, Nick. I want us to be together — really together.” She looked down, then up again and into my eyes. “New Carrie, new Nick, new life. That’s why I wanted to bring you here. Tucker’s Wharf, gateway to the world. Gateway to the future.
“You’ve been so patient about Aaron. I know I’ll never get over him, but I am ready to move on, and that’s the important thing. I want the future to be about us.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t. You don’t need to say anything.”
We stood up and walked arm in arm for about twenty minutes until we reached a small protected cove.
“Little Harbor.” She swept her hand across the bay. “Mom always called this the place where it all began. The founders, some of them her family, put down their roots here in 1629. The settlers cut back the forest to build tiny thatch-roofed cottages and fishing boats. I can still hear Mom saying, ‘From here, strong-hearted men set out to fish uncharted waters.’ I loved her stories of the founding families. They were gutsy, venturesome, in search of personal liberty, a plot of land, a place by the sea…”
“They had a point.” I was surprised to hear myself saying it out loud. “Marblehead is pretty much my fantasy, too, you know.” I hadn’t known places like this existed when I was skipping school in Peckham.
“Tucker’s Wharf was about departures, Nick. This is about arrivals. It’s our new start. I feel we’re at the start of something, and I wanted to bring you here to tell you that. I’ve never shared this place with anyone, not even Aaron.” She smiled again. “Ready for some more history? Our ships traded with the known world, dried fish for clothing, tools, gold and silver. Everybody prospered and there were two big news stories — war with the French, and pirates. They harassed the coast for decades.”
She hesitated for a moment, embarrassed. “I got you this.” From under her coat she produced a carefully wrapped gift, tied with shiny blue ribbon. She beamed. “Go on, open it. It won’t bite.”
I removed the ribbon as delicately as I could.
A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates by Captain Charles Johnson.
She could barely conceal her delight as I flicked through the pages, pausing at each illustration.
“It was first published in 1724. I had to get this edition from a little place in New York. I know it’s not the Middle Ages, but there’s a whole lot about ships from New England being boarded en route to London. I knew you’d like it. And, besides, it’s to remind you of everything I’ve been boring you about just now.”
I closed the book. “You haven’t been boring me. I loved every word of it.”
We got back into the car and drove to Gregory Street. The house had been in the family for years. Built in 1824, it was originally a fisherman’s cottage overlooking the sea. Various additions and renovations over the years, probably during the Golden Age she was talking about, had turned it into a spacious family home. A wooden pineapple was nailed above the front door as a sign of welcome. They were all over the place in this part of the world. A couple hundred years ago, sailors returning from long voyages would place a pineapple by their door to show they were back and people were welcome to come and visit. I would normally have made some quip about that, but thought better of it today.
She swung the car into the gravel driveway and headed toward a white Taurus parked in front of the annex, next to my covered-over Yamaha 600 motorcycle.
Carrie didn’t seem too concerned. “I thought Mom wasn’t expecting anyone until Saturday. Oh, well, I’ll go see if she remembered to put out the cookies and coffee. Got to look after the guests!”
As we got closer I could see Massachusetts plates. The vehicle was so clean and sterile it had to be a rental.
She parked beside it and we both got out. She threw her keys at me over the roof. “Tell you what, why not take a shower and I’ll be right back? And make sure you shave. We have some catching up to do.” There was a smile before she nodded at the annex. “Go.”
Excited, she ran back down the drive toward the front of the house as I went into the annex. It was huge, much bigger than the last house I’d lived in, and tastefully furnished in dark wooden furniture that had been in the family for generations. I always felt as if a photographer from Architectural Digest would appear at any minute to take pictures of me reclining by the log fire. I didn’t spread myself around too much, though. I didn’t have much to spread.
She had made a big effort for my homecoming. There were flowers, and a bottle of champagne on the mantelpiece. Leaning against it was a plain white card that said in her distinctive, large, and neat handwriting, “Welcome home.”
I put my duffel bag on the floor in the bedroom, went into the bath suite and got the shower going while I undressed. The hot water ran down my smelly body and I did something I hadn’t done for a while. I started to think seriously about the future.
I got to work with the soap and razor before stepping out to dry myself with soft white towels.
I heard the front door shut. “I’m in here…”
The bedroom door opened and she stood in the frame, tears running down her red face.
I had a bad feeling about this, and it had to do with the Massachusetts-plated Taurus parked in the driveway. “Carrie?”
Her green eyes, just as red as her face, stared at me as I moved forward to comfort her.
“George is here. Tell me what he’s saying isn’t true, Nick.” Her eyes searched mine, and I had to look away.
“What’s he saying?”
“That you’ve been working for him.”
“Carrie, come and sit down—”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Then tell me, before I go crazy,” she said, and I could hear her starting to lose control. “What are you going to tell me? Why won’t you simply say that my father is lying?”
“Because it’s not that simple,” I said.
“It is simple! It’s fucking simple!” She could no longer keep the panic out of her voice. “He says you work for him. But that’s not true, is it, Nick? Is it? You’ve been in Egypt, haven’t you, as a tour guide? Christ, Nick, are we living a lie here?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say.
Carrie looked at me as if I’d knifed her. “You bastard!” she gasped. “You fucking bastard!”
“You don’t need to know this shit,” I said. “My work for him is finished. I’ve done one job for him. I only did it to get my citizenship. George has gotten me a U.S. passport. We can—”
“We nothing,” she snapped. “We don’t exist anymore.”
“But—”
“You don’t understand what you’ve done to me, do you?”
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Carrie moved toward the door, anger and sadness etched across her face. She stopped and looked at me for a long time, as if she had something to say but couldn’t find the words. Then she was gone.
I didn’t move. I told myself I needed to give her some space. In truth, I just didn’t have the balls to go after her.
Then the decision was made for me. The engine of the Plymouth fired up and the car shot down the drive.
Chapter 7