Chapter 13: Home Again Home Again
Quiet. Everything was...quiet.
Mary and her family had filled the ship with noise. Izzy had yammered and sung from sunup to sundown. She had made me laugh, and the leagues had disappeared beneath my hull.
It was quiet now.
Even a month ago, silence had never bothered me on my ship. Why did it bother me now? I found myself humming old tunes and blasting music from my phone once I was free of the portal. The lap of the waves against the fiberglass-and-teak ship wasn’t as soothing and melodic as it normally was.
It took about two weeks between leaving Izzy’s shipyard and pulling into the bay at home. The house was bright in the morning sunshine, the dock ready and waiting for my ship. There it was, waiting for me as always, another home I thought I’d left behind me only to sail back to, time and time again: Heron’s Landing.
Heron’s Landing for all your special occasion needs, both great and small! Step back in time and stay at our luxurious historic mansion, where you’ll experience delights unavailable anywhere else on the Eastern seaboard. Our boutique resort features unparalleled bay views from every room, culinary farm to table delights prepared by an on-site chef, and a variety of activities on our 15-acre estate.
The old mansion-turned-resort was the same except now Izzy wasn’t there waiting for me. She wouldn’t come out to greet me at the dock and ask how my trip was or exclaim over how I never seemed to pack enough food. I’d wrecked that for myself. I’d stolen her from her life and turned her into a ghost. Her blood was on my hands now, along with all the others.
I laid out the solar panels to charge on the deck and stowed the sails, all while continuously looking back at the house out of habit. Normally she'd be trotting down the yard toward me. The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas had finally destroyed the final place she could call home. I patted my ship; it was just the two of us now.
My phone had zero messages. No one here to talk to anymore. It was a Tuesday morning. Mom would be out for some mimosa breakfast with the old biddies. I shoved all my dirty clothes in a sack and hiked up to the house.
Once I got the laundry started, I turned my music up loud enough to drown out the voices in my head and got in the shower. I was a filthy mess. My hair was matted and greasy. Dirt was caked into my soul, I swear. I lathered gently around my wrists and various other wounds and let the hot water run over me until it gave out. I reveled in soft towels and fell asleep in fabric softener-scented sheets.
I woke up when the music was suddenly shut off.
“Anne?” My mother was at the door to my room, her mimosa-drinking dress slightly wrinkled from the drive home in her car. “I thought you were going to be away all summer. It’s barely been a week.”
I sat up and wiped the grogginess from my eyes. “There was a change in plans.” I kept the sheet low around me to hide my legs and grabbed some clothes, an unceremonious jeans and t-shirt combo, and dressed out of her sight in the bathroom.
“Is she alright?” Mom called from outside the door.
“She’s fine.” I exited the bathroom and tried to ignore how loose the clothes hung on me.
“Well, you are looking nice.” She evaluated me. Six weeks of near-starvation will help you drop a few dress sizes. It was always irritating to me to come back to this era where life-giving calories were derided and I was hailed as healthy and fit when I’d literally been starving to death.
“I’m hungry. Is there food in the house?”
“No,” she answered, pulling out her phone. She was dialing up her hairdresser. “Yes, we’ll be right in.” Mom tossed me some shoes. “Finished getting dressed. We have to do something about your hair, and then I’ll take you to lunch.”
“Mom, I don’t—”
“Not a request, Anne. I’ll meet you in the car.” She high-heeled away, and there was no use arguing. God, she was so annoying! I pulled on a pair of tennis shoes and stomped down the stairs to the garage.
We didn’t speak the whole drive to the salon. Then I was the only one not speaking as my mom and her stylist, Guillaume, nattered on and on about the state of my hair. Guillaume picked and pulled and brushed and cut and conditioned me into a coma.
I felt unrecognizable by the time he was finished. My hair lay in glossy sheets around my shoulders, and he looked like he needed a smoke and a Medal of Honor. Mom was ecstatic and tipped him generously. I studied myself in the mirror as she paid. I enjoyed the play of light over my hair and swished the locks around to feel how soft it was. I hardly ever looked in mirrors or reflective surfaces anymore. What was there to see? There wasn't even a mirror in my cabin. I’d smashed it a long time ago and never bothered to fix it. I wasn’t terrible-looking, and my hair did look really nice. I twirled a lock around my finger. Graham would have thought it looked nice too.
“Ready, Anne?” Mom asked. “I made our lunch reservation just around the corner at Maison de Jouissance.” I got up from the chair.
“Great. It’s my treat.” I was feeling buoyant and pretty. I could pry open my accounts and pay a few bucks for lunch.
Going out to eat was an old trick of ours to reduce the chances of ending a meal in a fight. When Izzy wasn’t home, we rarely ate at the table together. We both tried harder not to piss the other one off when we were surrounded by ears. I ordered the heaviest items on the menu and a glass of red. Mom got a light salad with pears and a glass of rosé.
We managed to get through one drink staying on the topic of my hair and Guillaume before Izzy came up again.
“So, where is she?” she asked in a casual-not-casual-at-all tone.
“She’s fine. She just – didn’t want to come back. She met someone.” My eyes began to burn, and I wiped at them.
“And she started spending a lot of time with him or her or them?”
“Him.”
“Him?”
“Yeah.”
“And that meant she had less time for you?” Mom sipped her wine too casually.
“It’s not like that. I’m not jealous. Mom, she wants to marry this guy. She hardly knows him!” My voice cracked, betraying me, just like my eyes. Mom handed me a napkin, and I wiped the stupid tears off my stupid face again.
“Izzy has always wanted a family of her own. It doesn’t mean she’s leaving you behind.” She tried to put her hand on mine, but I pulled away. I couldn’t bring my face out of the napkin. My shoulders shook as I inexplicably cried in the middle of this French restaurant.
“Yes, it does.” My voice was rough as I sobbed into the napkin. This time Mom patted my shoulder, and I didn’t shrug her off.
“No, Anne. Izzy’s adding to her life, not subtracting. She’d never leave you.” Mom’s simple words cut deep. Izzy hadn’t left. I’d left. I’d left because I’m a great big coward. I’d left her stranded centuries ago.
“Have they set a date?” she asked.
“Mom!” I cried out. Of all the questions she could ask – should ask! She wanted to know the date?
“It’s a logical question.” She defended herself like I was the crazy one. Her too-young daughter was getting married to some random guy she had never met, and here Mom was, wondering about dates?
“Yes.” It was in two days. Sort of. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s too young.”
“She’s older than I was when I married your father.”
“And look how well that turned out.”
“Tact, Anne,” she reprimanded me. “Izzy is different from us. She understands people. I’m not surprised she made a connection so quickly.”
“It’s only been a week, Mom. This is insanity.” It had only been a week for her, at least.
“Feels longer.” Our food was delivered, and Mom nibbled at her salad in silence while I went to work on my gravy-laden plate.
“I cannot believe you are okay with this.” I stabbed a bite of potato.
“I cannot believe you took her with you.” She countered with a pear. “I imagine the wedding is too far for me to attend?” My eyes flashed to her face. She was too cool and collected with that statement. I’d always suspected she knew more about my affairs than she let on.
“Yes.” To put it mildly.
“Then I’ll have to put together a gift for her. You will take it with you and deliver it.”
“Mom, I’m not going.” I stabbed another piece of potato but didn’t eat it.
“Yes, you are. Isabelle is not getting married without her family,” she insisted. “And since I can’t go,” she paused, weighting the moment with her words, “you will.”
We ate in silence until the wine was gone and our plates cleared. My curiosity burned away at me the whole time.
“Mom,” I ventured, “do you—”
“Whether you want to see it or not, Diane, you are very much like your father.” She halted me before I could say anything more damning than I already had. “Now let’s go. We have some stops to make.” Mom stood up and high-heeled it from the table faster than I’d have thought possible on such thin stilettos.
****
Over the next few days Mom drove me all over the place. In addition to various wedding gifts and attire, I was able to buy bulk supplies for the ship, which was an unusual relief to my preparation responsibilities. I loaded my ship up with MREs, protein bars, candy, rice, salt, and anything else that wouldn’t need refrigeration or that the humidity couldn’t attack and spoil. Mom went around the house wrapping items and writing a long card. She had found Izzy’s hope chest and pilfered many of her gifts from there.
Then she asked about the dress.
“What’s Izzy planning on wearing, do you know?” She was pulling dresses out of her closet.
“I hadn’t thought about it.” I didn’t want to think about it now.
“She’ll need something beautiful. Will any of these work?” Mom laid out many of her designer-label gowns, and I looked them over, shaking my head.
“I don’t think so. No.”
“Surely you can get her something, wherever she is.” She continued diving through her closet.
I felt the velvet nap of the closest gown and shrugged.
“What will you wear?” She eyed the gown I was touching. “Would you like that one?”
It was a fancy gown, a rich Merlot color. With a few adjustments I could make it look period-appropriate. Andrews would love the feel of the velvet as we danced. No. Stop. No. I wasn’t doing this. I would go to the wedding, give her the gifts, and leave. No dancing. Besides, if I was going to wear a fancy dress, I would wear…
“Wait, I do have something.” I left Mom in her closet and went to my ship and pulled out my embroidered gown from under the mattress then returned to the house. I spread the gown out on her bed. Without the petticoats and bustle underneath it didn’t look distractingly historical. Mom was entranced. She ran her hands up and down the embroidery and the rich silk underneath.
“Anne, this is beautiful. Did you make it?” She examined the seams and hem. I nodded. “This must have taken you—”
She stopped herself and looked steadfastly at the dress, not at me. “It needs dry cleaning. Marchaud’s will do a rush order on the dry cleaning for us. Come on.” She scooped up the gown carefully, and we were back in the car and driving again.
****
While we waited for the dry cleaners to work on the dress, Mom took me next door to get our nails done. Hers were pristine, of course, but I couldn’t tell you the last time any polish had been on a nail of mine. It was somewhat relaxing, I guess. I only let them put clear polish on. Mom was distracted. She wasn’t nitpicking at me or pressuring me for one color or another. She stared into space as the nail tech filed and coated and dried her hands. Overall, we were having the most pleasant day the two of us might have ever shared.
On the drive back home, she continued her out-of-character thoughtful silence until we were in our neighborhood. “You should give her something. It’s tradition at a wedding to give the bride a trinket. Why don’t you do borrowed?”
“What are you talking about?” I’d been lost in thought too. I hadn’t expected to leave again so soon and was checking weather patterns on my phone.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” she snapped.
I put my phone down and raised my eyebrows at her. This was much closer to our usual energy.
“Surely you have some trinket or other that you can let her borrow for the ceremony?” She tried and failed to sound calm.
“I said I’d go to the wedding. None of my stuff needs to be held hostage to make sure I witness the whole thing,” I snapped back.
“It’s tradition.” She stopped the car somewhat short at a stop sign, jerking me forward in my seat. She was angry.
I rolled my eyes and went back to my phone. We were almost home. I had dared to dream I might escape a trip home without fighting with her.
“I’ll find something,” I mumbled. The concession appeared to mollify her. Once home, I pulled the dress out and wrapped it carefully in cloth and stowed it in its spot under my bunk.
****
Mom was already up. She was the only one I knew who was awake and moving as consistently early as myself most days. Our similarities started and ended with this morning-person persona. She read the morning news as I studied weather reports and made lists in my notebook. Today was my last day here. The weather was on point for departure, and I’d concluded all my restocking yesterday. I’d be on the water for dinner tonight. A few days to reach the portal, another week once I exited, and then I’d be docking at Andrews’.
Electricity exploded down my stomach: Andrews, Izzy’s wedding, Bermuda so close to the stake…I wanted to crawl back under my covers.
“Tell me about him,” Mom asked as we sipped our coffee. She wanted more information about the young lieutenant. I hadn’t been very forthcoming about the man. One, I didn’t know much. And two, I hated him.
“He’s fine,” I grumbled.
“What’s his name? I don’t think you’ve told me yet.” Mom had pulled out her wedding card and fancy pen.
I really wish she’d chosen less flashy paper and colors but, nothing doing, Vivienne St. Germaine was going to write her daughter the card she wanted to write. I refocused on her questions. What was the young lieutenant’s name? Huh. That was a head-scratcher.
“Ross? Roger? Something like that.” There was a developing storm in the southern hemisphere I was keeping an eye on. It wouldn’t hit me here, but would the 17th century be experiencing similar conditions? I made a note in my book.
“Does Ross or Roger have a last name?”
“I don’t know. Probably,” I mumbled.
“Diane, I am not amused.” My mom slammed her hand down and made me jump. “My daughter is getting married. You will remember, and you will tell me about my new son-in-law. Do you really care that little for me and your sister?” Her cheeks were red and her knuckles white around her mug.
I met her stare and felt for the first time how deeply my mother was lying to both herself and to me. She was going to miss her daughter’s wedding. The only wedding she’d ever believed she’d get to throw. She was missing her daughter’s life – she’d already missed so much of mine. Her manner and words had been light regarding preparations to send me back, but underneath that veneer were depths of sorrow. She was missing everything. I could relate.
I closed my eyes and searched my memory. The young lieutenant had introduced himself to me at the dock. Surely Izzy had mentioned his name when she visited me in prison…
“Ian. His name is Ian. I don’t—” What the hell was his surname? “Cov – Cov-something. Covington.” It was close enough. When Izzy was done with this fling, she could tell Mom his full name herself. We’d sit around this table together, and she could tell Mom all sorts of stories about her blue-eyed lover, just like she had told Mom about falling in love with my friend Maui when I sailed her to Cabo.
“Ian Covington?” Mom asked.
“Yes.” Probably. Mom brought the envelope in front of her and wrote their names in bold silver calligraphy. I did not like seeing those letters intertwined together.
“And he’s a soldier?”
“A lieutenant.”
“That makes sense. She has a type.” Mom made a final silver flourish.
Maui had fought wars too. Telling Izzy that my best friend, her first love, had died in battle was one of my hardest moments. When I thought back on it, that was the start of the two of us drifting apart.
“And he loves her? She loves him?” Mom was thoughtful as she held the silver pen over the cardstock.
The memory of the two of them looking at each other with such trust and tenderness on my last night in prison flashed through my mind. It only served to highlight how lonely I felt. “Yes.”
“She loves you too.” It was nice of her to try.
I messed around with the toast on my plate and didn’t realize she was looking at me until I looked up a minute later. I nodded my head and quickly looked away.
I thought she’d gone back to writing until she asked, “What happened to your wrists?”
I quickly pulled my sleeves lower and my hands away. Mom reached out to lay her fingertips on the back of my hands to stop me. Her small touch was stronger than the iron manacles; I couldn’t move. I rarely came to Heron’s Landing broken, bleeding, in pain, or wrapped and bandaged. It was a bad idea to expose my mother and sister to the dangerous life I led. Their questions were more vicious than blades.
“Don’t hide them—” Mom’s voice caught, but I couldn’t look past her manicured nails resting on my rough, tanned skin. “Stop hiding, Anne. Talk to me. Tell me—”
“I need to check the cargo hold,” I interrupted her. She and Izzy talked. She and Izzy could tell each other things. They always could. I was the third wheel in this family. I needed to go. Nothing was out of order on my ship, but I couldn’t be in this kitchen any longer.
The boat was loaded. The tides were right. If I was going to leave before dark, the time was now. I looked up at the lonely house and saw my mother on her way towards me with a bundle in her hands. It was the velvet dress.
“Take it. It’ll look beautiful on you.” She pressed the dress into my arms.
I nodded my thanks and accepted her gift. While my hands were full of velvet, and before I could protest, she wrapped her arms around me. I stood there in shock.
“Come back to me someday, Anne.” She threw caution to the wind and kissed my cheek.
I nodded. “I will.”
“Fair winds, following seas,” she whispered in my ear.
I hugged her back. When we let go, she wiped her eyes and went back to the house where I’m sure a glass of wine was waiting for her. Once my ship hit the open water, I opened my own bottle and wondered at what I had thought this trip would be and what this journey had actually become.
