Five for Forever (25 page)

“Don’t make it sound like a fun thing,” Rick said. “She’ll order them to die. She might die!”

“She might also die in a different job. Would you argue the same way if she had decided to become an oil-rig engineer, or a mining expert, or a police officer? All dangerous jobs.”

“Yeah, I would hate these jobs, too!” Rick snorted. “I’m her father! I have to protect my little girl. My not-so-little girl. A corporate lawyer. Advertising. Building cars.”

“Yup, I think we are getting closer.” Hal laughed and took a sip and adjusted his sunglasses to look after an attractive woman walking toward her car.

Rick grunted. “Don’t turn against me. I need best friend advice, not have everyone against me.”

“I am not turning against you. But I am her godfather, remember, so I am torn both ways. But the best friend advice says, hug her, tell her that you love her, and ask her what kind of gun she wants as a graduation gift.”

“Very funny!” Rick crossed his arms and sulked.

Hal turned to his friend. “Agnes is your first daughter. Man, time flew for us the last eighteen years. Just yesterday we got drunk after Agnes was born. And then snap, seeing her grow up, Bella’s death, everyone around you shocked and coping.” Hal sat back again and took another sip. “And Charles turned certified-genius weird and Britta your little rebel. Agnes was the stoic role model of a daughter supporting her dad, keeping the family together. She was a leader. All the time. And face it: she already is an officer.”

“I love her for her support and feel kind of sorry for her at the same time. She basically had no late-teenage phase, grew up at fifteen.”

“Right. And now see my point, my friend: Agnes likes structure. Family offers a structure. She fought an uphill battle, to stay with the military analogy, to keep this structure working after Bella died. I think she is aware that growing up means leaving the original family structure. And she will find that in the military. The military will fit her like a glove. Without knowing, you always had a little officer in your house.”

Rick looked at Hal. “I am speechless about your insight into my family and our psyches. I’m impressed!”

Hal gave a small nod of the head. “I know you need to keep your money together, so I won’t charge for this session.”

twenty-four

The House of Waiting

Rick was able to rearrange the Nantucket visit for later that same week. The whole gang, chauffeured by infallible Floris to make sure that they found their way back all right, brought Rick to LAX, and from there his plane flew east.

Once more, next try.

He got onto the plane on a hot Southern Californian early autumn day and stepped out of the plane in Nantucket after changing planes in JFK in pleasant low-seventies with a steady cool breeze.

I remember now: there are seasons in other parts of the world.
His East Coast time had been long ago, and he had forgotten how much he had liked the real change of seasons.
Should have come by boat
, thought Rick as he saw the Atlantic spreading out left and right as he briefly paused on top of the stairs stepping off the plane.
More fitting than a plane.

A taxi brought him to the address that the granddaughter Vicky Wallace had mailed him. Nantucket Island had narrow streets and neat little houses. Everyone drove slowly, and the sky had clouds, real clouds, not the typical Southern California haze. Every now and then one cloud would cover the sun for a few minutes, and the light changed dramatically with shadows and colors. A lot of East Coast memories flooded back to him, already so many years ago. It made Rick feel old.

The taxi driver gave him a look through the rearview mirror. “Business?”

“Hunting down a mystery.”

“You’re a private detective?” Toothpick Driver glanced backward once more. “You got the look. I mean like this actor from TV,
Castle
?”

“Detective, me? No, shipbuilder.”

“Builder? Yeah, I remember, Folsom Shipyard. I am taking you to the old lady, right? Vera Folsom? She must be close to a hundred years old.”

“Close, yes,” Rick confirmed.

The taxi slowed. “Here it is. Sixteen dollars. Good luck with your mystery.” He handed over a business card. “Call me when I should take you back into town. I know you Angelenos have issues with walking.”

“Thanks. I might surprise you there. Keep the change.” Rick retrieved his overnighter and stepped out. The small, red, wooden Cape Cod house was somewhere in the middle of the island, a neat little garden, fruit trees, and shrubbery all around. Not a single palm tree and the absence of lush greenery were the first things Rick noticed. The island was green, but a different one. A slender blonde woman in blue jeans and a jean shirt came out of the house as Rick approached. She was about his age and clearly a sailor, with healthy tan and hair bleached by sun and saltwater.

“Vicky Wallace,” she introduced herself. “You don’t need to introduce yourself. You really look exactly like on TV and on the Internet.” She laughed.

“No escape from my girlfriend’s fame. Sorry about the busted date a week ago.”

“At least your excuse was well documented,” she said. “Grandma is having her midday nap for another hour or so. She’s really excited to talk to you.”

They stepped into the house, and she offered him some lemonade. They talked about the trip, the kids, and about living on an island in the Atlantic.

“I like the fact that we have seasons,” Vicky said. “The summers are beautiful, you enjoy being outside. The winters are brutal with storms and tons of snow, but beautiful in their own way.”

“Not sure you’re selling me with these arguments. I learned my trade in Portland, Maine, with Ned McConnaugh’s shipbuilding outfit, and I hated the weather for the first two years.”

“How is your own shipyard doing?”

“Not good, to be honest. The current client and his project is the only thing keeping us afloat.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. My father shut down our shipyard when I went away to college in Boston, and it was clear that there was nothing for me to inherit except debts and loans.”

“No other kids to take over the family business?”

Vicky shook her head. “Only child. I became a teacher and got a job at Nantucket High School. Mom moved away to Florida after Dad died.”

“See, the weather is a decider for many.”

“Maybe.” Vicky gave a little smile.

“And you are taking care of your Grandma? No Florida for her?”

“No, born and bred in the Northeast and planning to die here, too. She is still a tough cookie; would hunt whales with a rusty old kitchen knife if Greenpeace would let her.”

They could hear Vera Folsom before they could see her, some floorboards creaking and someone slowly moving upstairs. Vicky excused herself and went up to help her grandmother.

Rick looked around at the house of three generations, at the photos on the wall that chronicled a life with nothing left other than this house and an ending family line. There was no indication that Vicky had any children of her own, no recent photos or toys. Opposite from the Flint household, where everything was always out of order but full of life, this house was tidy but waiting. Waiting for death, waiting for things to be over, waiting for things to change. And Rick briefly wondered how his life would look thirty years from now. Well, he had four kids, and in thirty years probably about fifteen grandkids, and maybe even great-grandkids. He had to smile at that. Grandma Agnes. Then he thought about Officer Flint, and his mood soured.

A whirring noise brought down Vera Folsom on a staircase lifter—slow motion defined. For someone close to a hundred years, she still looked young. Her eyes were a piercing blue and she had a long, straight nose. A walking cane held her upright and helped her in getting out of the lifter.

“Stay seated, Mr. Flint, I enjoy doing things. It’s the only exercise I get.” An old lady’s rusty voice but no out-of-air wheezing.

“I’ll leave you two alone, Grandma,” Vicky said. “I’ll be in the garden.”

Vera slowly walked over and sat in a comfortable armchair that was probably her dedicated place to sit, read, and watch the garden through the bay windows.

“You found the
Vera
,” she started without preamble, her eyes steady on Rick.

“Well, she found me. Or Mr. Hancock to be more precise. I am just the builder.”

“Young Mr. Hancock. But still, you are here, and he is not.”

Rick shrugged. “He is touring the Asian region for a movie promotion, so my kids tell me.”

“Why are you here then?”

“I have been hired to restore the
Vera
to its former glory. And from what I can see and from the few things I have heard, she must have been quite a boat.”

Vera Folsom sighed. “You young people are so full of energy, hope, and optimism.” She looked at Rick. “You might think that these words have nothing to with why we are here. But I assure you, this is all that this is about.”

“You’ve lost me, ma’am,” Rick said.

“What was your honest first impression when you visited this house? Can you describe it in one all-encompassing word, Mr. Flint?”

“Call me Rick, please.”

“Only if you call me Vera.”

“Deal. One word?” Rick thought for a moment.

“You are already thinking too long, Rick. Make it honest and from the heart.”

“Waiting,” Rick said. “The feeling I get is, the house and its inhabitants are waiting.”

Vera looked at him for a long time. She nodded slowly. “That well describes it. Maybe even better than I would have done myself. I would make it more about my own state: dying. But waiting is more accurate. I am waiting for my maker to take me. Vicky is waiting for someone to take her from this home.”

“And the house is waiting for laughter, kids, a new layer of paint, kisses on the staircase, and making love in the master bedroom,” Rick added.

“It will come to that in a few years, I am sure,” Vera said, looking at her granddaughter through the bay windows, cutting roses in the garden. “If my granddaughter has any spark left in her, she will have a new start, move away, make room in this house for new life. Otherwise she will continue the next forty years of her life in waiting herself.”

“So, you want the story of the
Vera
.”

“If you have any issues in telling it, I won’t insist. I have a more technical desire, getting an idea what she looked like originally. We have neither photo nor drawing of her original deck and rigging,” Rick explained.

“It is an interesting story, one that doesn’t happen anymore, young man.” Vera looked Rick over. “Well, maybe in your case, it still does.”

“You make it sound like a romantic story around a boat.”

“And that is what it is, Rick,” Vera said. “There is a certain significance in the fact that Josh didn’t come himself to discuss the
Vera
with Vicky and me.”

Rick looked astonished. “He knows both of you?”

“Of course. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.”

Rick started with what he knew. “John Scott built the
Vera
. And that is no coincidence; he was in love with you, we know that from his diaries.”

“Diaries? He kept those? A romantic fool he was.” Vera collected her thoughts. “Let’s go back in time. The postwar late fifties, buzzing in New York or Boston maybe, but not in sleepy Camden, Maine. Folsom Boats was a recognized name, a popular brand in sail- and motorboats; that’s what people bought in those optimistic postwar days. John was a young engineer and designer who got a job with my father.”

“This is when you met him?”

“Yes. I was a young widow. My first husband, Mitch, had died in the Korean War shortly after we were married. John was five years younger than me, but fell helplessly in love. We didn’t date formally, but I was around the shipyard, he was around, we talked, liked each other. Things developed. Feelings developed. The first time we were alone was on a sailboat! Where else?”

“A wooden one, I presume,” Rick smiled. Vera’s face had lit up considerably during the storytelling, and her eyes brightened.

“Of course a wooden sailboat! I was a Folsom girl after all. It was some sort of company sailing regatta and the luck of the draw had placed us together. Maybe he had helped Lady Luck and had bribed the woman who took the draw. Both of us had started arguing who was to take the helm, and rock, paper, scissors decided in my favor. Man, he was so annoyed having to take the foresail under a woman skipper. But we had a great afternoon, and afterward both of us were helplessly in love with each other.”

She gave a bittersweet smile. “Like I said, youth and optimism.”

“But it didn’t hold?”

“It wasn’t meant to. You see, I was already promised to another man.” Vera held up her hand. “I know what you want to say, but we are talking New England in the late fifties. Mothers held their hands over their daughters’ eyes when Elvis came on the tube. And I came from a good family, so I was about to be married into another good one, even for the second marriage.”

“I understand. Was it hard for you?”

“Not at all. I was in love with my second husband-to-be, too. They were very different men, so I had reasons to love them both. I had to decide after a year which way to go. Marry my designated Franklin or run away with John. And I went with Franklin.”

“Was it the right choice?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter now. We make our decisions, and life does the rest. It’s all ancient history, including Franklin and our two sons. All dead and gone, too soon. Only Vicky and I are left.” She stared over at the old dining table where a lot of old photos were displayed. “Like you said,
waiting
.”

“And John?”

“He never got over it, I think.” Vera rubbed her nose. “No, I am sure.”

“When did he build the
Vera
?”

“That was after we had split. He had quit my father’s company and moved through a string of other similar jobs as a designer. Any designs he came up with were on the market under names not his own. What beautiful boats did he build! Very ambitious, and very successful. It was as if he had poured his anger and frustration, his passion into creating great boats.”