My Sister's Keeper (20 page)

The hours and the miles rolled past and by 9 a.m. I’d approached the intersection where the waterway and the Cape Fear River merged. Waterway traffic going both north and south had increased to a steady stream and was especially heavy going in and out of the Cape Fear. In spite of all the layers of clothing, my legs and feet had gone numb. My hands cramped and my back ached. I was cold, wet, and hungry and decided to rest a bit before crossing the rough mouth of the river. I steered into calmer waters to the right of the channel and cut the engine.

Standing, I stretched my back and let the blood drain back into my legs and feet. I pulled the lid off a can of pork and beans and popped the top on a Pepsi. Sea gulls gathered overhead just out of reach and pelicans sailed in dropping quietly onto the water around the boat.

Fifteen minutes later I was underway again without the ski mask. As I moved into the mouth of the Cape Fear, the channel got wider and the seas got rougher. The boat banged hard against the waves and sprayed seawater into the boat as I dodged large fishing vessels heading out to sea and cargo freighters heading for the State Port at Wilmington.

I wondered if Ashleigh could have done this in the dark, or if she’d waited for the sun to come up before daring to cross. Or had she avoided this entirely and gone north? Cruising on the water at night steering blindly from flashing buoy to flashing buoy with a full moon reflecting off the water is about as beautiful as it gets, but I wouldn’t want to do it in unfamiliar waters. There are just too many things floating around to chance it. But given that Ashleigh had taken quite a few chances already, she might very well have done it.

As I neared the south side of the Cape Fear, dark clouds rolled in and the wind shifted to the east forcing the boat to take each wave at a sharper angle, rocking it wildly. Water splashed into the boat more frequently now spattering my clothes and shoes, and collecting in the bottom of the boat. The cardboard boxes became soaked and lost their shape. I felt around for the drain plug under the engine and pulled it allowing the water to flow out.

There were hundreds of tiny inlets and creeks, some going no more than a few hundred feet inland, others twisting inland for miles. There was no way to check them all. Besides, it was my guess that Ashleigh would have looked for a place to blend into a crowd or grab another form of transportation. The most likely places were Southport, near the North Carolina-South Carolina border, or one of hundreds of places along the Grand Strand in the Myrtle Beach area some fifty miles farther. Southport was just a few miles ahead. From the waterfront in Southport, she could have walked to the bus station and disappeared forever.

The wind picked up as I approached the town docks and I could see rain falling to my left out over the ocean. When I’d started out that morning, I expected this to be more of an adventure. Instead, it had been miserable and uncomfortable. The temperature never got above the low 40s—unusually cool for this time of year. I reached into a box, snared the bottle of scotch I’d tossed in at the last minute, wrenched the cap off, and while taking a swig spotted another Boston Whaler between a couple of multi-million dollar Hatteras yachts moored at the yacht basin.

As a light drizzle began pocking the waters, I returned the scotch to the box, aimed the boat toward the yachts, and drew the poncho over me. Replacing the plug, I slowed and maneuvered close enough in the choppy seas to see that the boat was not the one I was seeking. This one was more disappointing than the rest. That’s
exactly
where I’d expected to find it

tied and abandoned on or near a yacht at Southport. No one would have paid any attention to it. Most of these big luxurious playthings were only used a few times a year at best—not very likely in April—and some looked as if they hadn’t been used in years.

I wheeled the boat around, docked at Captain Barnaby’s Seafood Restaurant, covered my boxes as best I could, and huddled over a hot bowl of the best Downeast clam chowder I’d ever eaten. By the time I’d finished, a “nor’easter” had blown in and the rain was coming down sideways. Boats along the waterfront bounced about like bathtub toys and the sea had turned into vicious rolling whitecaps. The sky had become so dark that the automatic lights in the parking lot had turned on. Visibility on the river was down to less than fifty feet and I hated the idea that I had to go back out there to get home in time for an afternoon rehearsal. Sitting alone in that restaurant, listening to the thrashing rain driven by a howling wind, I wallowed in my depression.

The waitress was kind and kept bringing the coffee. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before,” she noted, refilling my cup for the fifth time.

“
I haven’t been through here since I was a teenager.”

“
Picked a rough day for it.”

“
Well, I’m looking for someone.”

She smacked her gum. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“
A blond girl in her early twenties. Might have had six or seven strings of beads in her hair.” I pulled out the newspaper clipping. “She would have been through here Monday.”

She picked up the newspaper and popped her gum. “Yeah, she was here.”

27

S
YDNEY SAT ACROSS THE TABLE from Scott and stared down at her plate. She hated it when he mimicked her eating. If she lifted her fork, he lifted his. When she took a bite, he took a bite. She dropped her fork onto her plate and lifted her champagne glass. “What pleasure could you possibly get from doing that?”

He lifted his own glass. “Doing what?” His dark hair was overdue for a trim, hanging over deep-set gray eyes.

The eyes of a fox,
she thought.
Or a weasel.

Sunday brunch used to be their favorite meal together. They’d lay around in their bedclothes all morning, sip champagne, make love, eat a large breakfast around noon, and then spend the afternoon sailing.

But Scott had changed. He found more pleasure in tormenting her now and playing games with her head, making her feel stupid and clumsy, and Sydney’s love had faded.

She sipped her champagne and looked away at her cat, Tux, stationed on a nearby chair—tense, ready to spring, watching. Tux knew her better than anyone. He’d been with her through the good times and the bad.
“Do it!”
he seemed to be saying, his eyes fixed on hers. She exhaled and set her glass down. Scott set his down in unison. There were moments when Scott McGillikin could be the most annoying ass on the planet. This was one of those moments.

“
Why do you do that?” she asked. “Do you have any idea how irritating that is?”

Scott made a chuckling sound deep in his throat. “I think I do.”

She lifted her napkin and wiped her chin. “And to think there was a time when I would have married you.”

“
Yeah, thank God I didn’t ask, huh?” He wiped his chin.

Sydney’s lip quivered. She flicked a tear out of her eye and picked up her fork.
Yes, thank God you didn’t ask.

At twenty-nine years old, Sydney was trapped in a relationship with a man she could no longer stand to be around while her youth was quietly slipping away. Outside of her dance school, her life had become empty and meaningless.
Why am I so weak?
she thought.
Why can’t I tell him?

With tears blurring her vision, she broke a piece of toast in half, held it on her plate, and scooped a bit of grits and scrambled egg on it, then ate it. As Scott did the same, she caught the arrogance in his eyes and knew the time was near. She lifted a glass of orange juice and took a long drink. As she waited for the cold liquid to calm her nervous stomach, she slid the moist glass across her cheeks, eyes, and forehead. “Scott, what happened to that interesting, sexy, intelligent guy you used to be?”

The smile in the corner of his mouth slumped into a smirk. He reached forward, dipped two fingers into his water glass, and flicked them at her.

She flinched as the droplets struck her face and glared at him.

“
Can’t you take a joke?” he asked.

“
Yes, Scott. I can take a
joke
.”

“
Good. At least I’m still funny.”

She wiped the spray off her face. “We need to talk.”

He lifted his fork and jabbed a bit of egg. “Let me guess. About us?”

“
Yes, Scott. About us.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to control the quiver in her voice. “I appreciate all the things you do for me, Scott. I do. But, I don’t know what I want anymore. I need—”

“
Where is this going, Sydney?” he blurted.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’m…just…not happy anymore, Scott.”

He exhaled through his nostrils. “So what else is new?”

Drawing a deep breath, she turned her eyes to Tux for support, then closed them and forced the words out, one at a time. “I want you…to leave.”

For a moment Scott just sat there staring at Sydney, his arms resting on either side of his plate—a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. She did not look up until he dropped the utensils simultaneously onto the table and startled her. Snatching his flute of champagne off the table, he sat back, raised the glass, and drank as a chuckle sounded through his nose. When he’d drained it, he flipped the glass at Sydney smashing it against a silver candleholder knocking over a lighted candle, showering Sydney’s face and arms in molten wax and glass. As Sydney vaulted from her chair, Tux bolted from his. Snatching up her cloth napkin, she swiped at the burning wax, smearing it across her face. “Thanks, a lot!”

Peeling soft wax off her burning skin, she crossed to the kitchen with Scott following.

“
I’m sorry, Sydney. I didn’t mean to do that. That was an accident.”

Hanging over the sink, she splashed cold water onto her face and dug her nails at the hardened wax.

“
Really,” he said laying a hand on her back. “I mean it. That was an accident.”

Sydney shifted to the side. “Just pack your things and leave.”

Scott let that sink in, his head bouncing when it did. “You think all you have to do is snap your fingers and say it’s over, and that’s it? That you can just end everything…” Scott flashed a hand past her and snapped his fingers in her face. “…like that?”

She winced and laid a wet cloth on her face. “I don’t love you anymore, Scott. You scare me.”

“
Oh, give me a break.”

“
Look, I know this seems impulsive, but it isn’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and now that I’ve made up my mind, I want to move on before it’s
too late
.”

He leaned toward her, his voice bitter and threatening. “And that’s that, huh? Case closed.”

Turning the water off, she moved away from the sink with hardened wax still clinging to her face. “You’re hardly even here during the week anymore, Scott. Forty-five minutes at dinner

if you bother to show up

and forty-five minutes in the middle of the night every now and then when
you
feel like it. I have a deeper relationship with Tux than I do you.”

“
Jesus, Sydney. I’ll do whatever you want. What do you want?”

Sydney didn’t know how much longer she could remain strong. She knew he’d eventually wear her down if she let him. She slammed the heel of her hand on the edge of the counter. “I want you to leave!” Her jaw quivered, but she held her eyes fixed on his.

His face hardened. His eyes narrowed. “Why, Sydney? Isn’t this kind of sudden?” She didn’t answer. “Is there someone else?” Remaining silent, she looked away picking bits of wax off her chin. “Is that it?” he questioned seizing her shoulders, forcing her back against the counter, trying to kiss her.

“
Stop it!” she screamed shoving him away.

Scott didn’t like being bested

in a courtroom or on
any
turf. A jolt of pain fired through his left eye and voices shouted in his head. He grabbed her arm and pinned her in a corner of the kitchen. “Then, tell me what you want, Sydney! What do you want?” The muscle under his left eye twitched. “You want to get married? Is that what you want?” He dropped to one knee and looked up at her, his hands around her thighs pulling her to him. “Is that what you want?”

Gripping the edges of the counter to steady herself, Sydney looked away and sighed. “It’s too late, Scott.” Her voice was quiet. “It’s too late.”

He rose to his feet. “No, damn it. It’s not! Let’s do it. Let’s get married, Sydney. I know a judge that’ll do it tomorrow.”

“
I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you anymore, Scott.”

“
Oh, come on, Sydney. The new boat’s going to be ready soon. You said you were going to spend the whole summer on it.”

“
Please, don’t make this any harder than it is already.”