The Bay at Midnight (29 page)

One more scream cut through the air, this time forming a word:
“Help!”
It was Isabel’s voice. I was sure of it.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Izzy!” I shouted. “Izzy!”

I dropped to my knees in the boat again, tugging with all my might at the cord to the motor. I was barely aware that I was sobbing—sobbing, shouting, calling for my sister—and all the while fighting with a boat that carried me deeper and deeper into Barnegat Bay.

Lucy
1962

T
he moment I woke up in the attic, I knew I was alone. The reading light was on in Julie’s curtained bedroom, but the silhouette in her bed was a bulbous mountain that could not possibly have been her body unless she’d gained fifty pounds since the evening before. The windows were all open, the night sounds of crickets and lapping water sifting through the screens on a breeze. The curtains had not yet been pulled around Isabel’s bed and I could see that the white chenille spread was still tucked neatly beneath the pillows. I stiffened with the panicky feeling that was my companion when I found myself alone in the attic. I held my breath, trying to listen. Was someone behind the chimney that rose up through the middle of the attic? Or maybe in the bathroom, standing behind the curtain?

I tried not to lift my eyes to the ceiling, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. And there it was: the man’s head. I wouldn’t scream like I did that one embarrassing night. I was going to get out of there, but I wouldn’t scream like a baby while I was doing it.

I must have lain there for three or four minutes, my body paralyzed by fear, before I was able to sit up. I moved slowly and quietly, so as not to alert anyone who might be hiding behind the chimney or in the bathroom. I tiptoed to the door, but I nearly fell down the stairs in my race to get away from the attic. In the living room, I stood in the darkness, heart pounding. Where was everyone? The whole house was dark. What time was it? Julie was probably sleeping out on the porch, and Isabel must have stayed over at Mitzi’s or Pam’s house.

I walked down the hall and stood outside my parents’ room. Daddy was in Westfield, but I could hear the comforting sound of my mother’s even breathing. That was all I needed. I went back to the living room and lay down on the soft cushions of the sofa, inhaling the musty smell of the old upholstery as I drifted off to sleep.

“Lucy.”
My grandmother’s voice woke me up. She stood in the living room with a pile of plates, ready to set the porch table for breakfast. “Did you sleep here all night?”

I opened my eyes, confused for a moment, then sat up on the couch. “Uh-huh,” I nodded. “Isabel wasn’t home and Julie slept on the porch.”

“What are we going to do with you?” she asked, walking out to the porch. I watched her glance in the direction of the bed. “Where’s Julie now?” she called back to me as she set the plates on the table.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She must have gone upstairs.”

“Go get her and tell her it’s breakfast time,” Grandma said. “Are you sure she slept down here? The bed doesn’t look like it’s been touched.”

Still feeling groggy, I climbed the attic stairs. Julie wasn’t in her bed. Her night-table lamp was still on and I walked behind her curtained cubicle to turn it off. I could see where she’d sloppily piled her bedspread beneath her sheet to try to fool me. I was not in the least worried. She’d probably slept on the porch, gotten up early and made the bed—which I had to admit
was
unusual for her—and then headed out to go crabbing or fishing.

I put on my bathing suit and pulled my shorts on over it, then went downstairs again. The morning smells of coffee and bacon were already strong in the air and I could see my mother taking her seat.

My grandfather carried a plate of bacon through the living room.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, tousling my hair with his free hand.

“’Morning, Grandpop,” I said, following him out to the porch.

“Where are Julie and Isabel?” My mother looked at me as I took my seat at the table.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought Isabel slept over at one of her friends’ houses.”

My mother frowned. “Whose house, do you know?” she asked. “I don’t remember giving her permission.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said.

“Is Julie upstairs?” my mother asked.

“Uh-uh. I thought she slept out here.”

My mother glanced at the bed, as my grandmother had twenty minutes earlier. I watched her frown deepen. “I made that bed the day before yesterday,” she said. “It looks untouched.”

Grandpop stood up so suddenly the table shivered as his thighs brushed against it. He was staring toward the dock. “The runabout’s gone,” he said. We all turned as he pushed open the screen door and walked into the yard. We watched him look right and then left when he reached the fence by the canal. From where I was sitting, I could see two small sailboats heading in the direction of the bay.

Grandpop walked briskly back to the house and onto the porch. “I don’t see her,” he said. I felt frightened by the worry in his voice, and I dropped my slice of bacon onto my plate, no longer hungry.

Mom stood up. “I’m going to call Mitzi’s house,” she said. “Although…” She looked puzzled, turning to Grandma. “Why would they both be missing? And the boat? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t get worked up,” Grandma said to her. “There’s a logical explanation, I’m sure.”

My mother called Mitzi’s house, then Pam’s. Isabel was not at either one, and the girls claimed not to have seen her since late the night before when she’d left Mitzi’s to come home. I watched as my mother hung up the phone after speaking with Pam. She was facing the Chapmans’ house, and although there were several walls between her and Ned Chapman, I knew that was who she was seeing in her mind.

She took off her apron and walked quickly out the back door. Grandma and I sat at the table, not touching the food. “We’re all getting worked up over nothing,” Grandma said.

Grandpop stood at the screen door, his gaze on the canal as he waited for my mother to return. In a moment, I saw her run across the yard toward our porch. I’d never seen my mother run before and I knew something terrible had happened.

Grandpop pushed open the screen door for her and she rushed onto the porch.

“Something’s wrong,” she said. “Ned hasn’t seen her since yesterday morning. And Joan Chapman said she was up at sunrise this morning sitting in their yard, and she noticed that our boat was gone even then. She thought you’d taken it out for an early fishing trip.”

I stood up, starting to cry, wringing my hands together like an old woman.

“We should call the Marine Police,” Grandpop said.

My mother looked toward the Chapmans’ yard, where I could see Ned untying his boat from their dock. “Ned’s going to take his boat out to look for them,” she said.

Grandpop pushed open the screen door again and stepped outside.

“Where are you going?” Grandma asked.

“With Ned,” he called over his shoulder to us.

“I’m calling Daddy.” My mother started toward the French doors that led into the house from the porch. “He needs to come here—”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Grandma said. “Don’t you think—”

My mother spun around to face Grandma. “Mother!” she said, sounding more like Isabel than herself. “They are both
missing.
The boat is missing. It makes no sense. Something is wrong.”

Grandma had gotten to her feet, her arm tight around my shoulders. “You’re upsetting Lucy,” she said.

“Well, maybe she
should
be upset.” My mother walked past us into the living room.

My grandmother let go of me, muttering something in Italian as she began clearing the forgotten food from the table. I walked to the screen door until my nose was right up against the wire mesh. It smelled like dust and metal, a smell I would always equate with that moment, as I watched my grandfather and Ned in the Chapmans’ boat, speeding toward the bay.

Julie
1962

S
ometime during that horrible night, my boat hit land. I’d hoped I’d run aground on one of the small shrubby islands in the head of the bay, but I was so disoriented by darkness and anxiety that I wasn’t sure. The water barely made a sound as it lapped against my boat, and crickets and frogs created a steady barrage of white noise behind me. The mosquitoes were invisible and insatiable, buzzing in my ears and dive-bombing my arms and legs and face. I was so rarely afraid of anything in those days, but I was filled with fear that night.

I cried over what Bruno might have done to Isabel, and I prayed that she’d managed to escape from him before he could hurt or rape her. I pictured her running home, barefoot and possibly naked, never stopping to catch her breath until she’d
reached the safety of the bungalow. If she was unharmed, I promised God, I would never have another impure thought, never tell another lie, never again disobey my parents. I needed to change my ways. I was a terrible girl.

I sat in my boat, afraid to get out of it because I did not know what I might step on in my bare feet. Suddenly my world was not safe. For the first time, I thought I knew how Lucy felt in the dark attic. I would not make fun of her again. I would treasure my sisters.
Please, please, God, let Isabel be all right!

When it was apparent I was going nowhere, I lay down on the bottom of my boat. I wished I had a towel to cushion the hard and unyielding floor, and that’s when I remembered that I’d left Isabel’s towel on the other side of the canal. I cursed myself; I’d made one mistake after another that day. I tried to get as comfortable as I could with the mosquitoes trying to eat me alive. Above me, a few stars shot across the dark bowl of the sky, but I could take no pleasure in being a witness to them, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, the sound of my sister’s scream echoing in my head.

I awakened beneath a pink sky, the rising sun just beginning to heat the air above the bay. I jerked up suddenly, remembering where I was and why, and yelped with the pain in my neck from sleeping on the hard surface of the boat. I had to turn my whole body to look around me, to see that I was indeed on one of the small islands in the head of the bay, so far from our beach that I could not even see the platform in the water. If my boat had missed this island, who knew where I might have ended up?

There were a few other boaters in the water. I could see a couple of sailboats in the distance and a runabout like mine with
two men in it, probably fishing. I stood up, balancing carefully, and waved my arms.

“Help!” I called. “Please help me!”

The fishermen didn’t seem to hear me, and the sailboats never changed direction.

I heard the sound of a motor and turned around to see a ski boat shoot past my little island. I waved my arms frantically, screaming “Hey! Over here!” as I tried to get the attention of the four people in the boat. I thought I’d failed, but then the boat circled around and headed toward me.

The young man at the wheel stopped the boat about ten yards from the island, obviously afraid he’d run aground if he came any closer.

“You stuck?” he called to me. There was another guy in the boat with him, along with two girls. A pair of skis jutted up from the floor.

“Yes,” I said. “I couldn’t get the motor…I mean, I stalled and can’t get it started again.” I didn’t see the need to tell him how long I’d been out there. I was itching all over from the mosquito bites. God, I wanted to go home! I would gladly take whatever punishment was meted out. I just wanted away from the mess I’d gotten myself—and my sister—into. I wondered if she’d had to go to the hospital. Did you go to the hospital if you were raped?

The guy in the boat pulled off his T-shirt, jumped into the waist-high water and waded over to me. He came on shore, then climbed into the runabout. He was much younger than I’d thought, probably only sixteen or seventeen. He worked at the motor, yanking the cord over and over again, but with even less luck than I’d had.

“It’s dead,” he said. He stood up, looking down at my motor,
shaking his head. “Get in our boat and I’ll take you to…where do you want to go?”

“I live on the canal,” I said. I wanted to be home in the worst way.

He grunted as though he wasn’t crazy about my answer. “Okay,” he said. “Your boat’s not going anywhere. Come on.”

I waded back to his boat with him, and as his fellow sailors were helping me in, I spotted the Chapmans’ Boston whaler not more than fifty yards away. I saw my grandfather in the boat with Ned, and I was so exhausted and confused that it didn’t even register as odd to me that the two of them would be together.

“Hey!”
I yelled, startling the people in the boat. “That’s my grandfather,” I said to them. “Hey,” I yelled again, and the guy who had tried to help me start my boat laid on his horn.

My grandfather looked toward us and I waved my arms over my head again. Instantly, Ned’s whaler changed direction and headed for me. When the boats were side-by-side, I thanked my rescuers and transferred to the whaler, my grandfather holding my arm. I sank down onto one of the seats, so relieved to have my ordeal over that I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t do that in front of Ned.

“Where’s Isabel?” Ned said as the other boat pulled away from us.

“What do you mean?” I asked. A slow horror began to fill my chest.

“We woke up this morning and you were both gone,” Grandpop said.

I froze. Instinctively I started thinking of lies to protect myself.

“I…I forgot to tell her you couldn’t meet her last night,” I said to Ned. “And I…” I remembered my prayer of the night
before.
Keep Isabel safe and I’ll stop lying.
“I didn’t forget,” I admitted. “I didn’t tell her because Bruno wanted to talk to her, so I told him she’d be on the platform at midnight.”

Ned stared at me. It was so early that he didn’t yet have his sunglasses on, and for the first time I could remember, I saw anger in his blue eyes.

“You set her up with
Bruno?
” He looked at me with disbelief.

“What’s this about a platform?” my grandfather asked.

Ned took a step toward me. He put his hands on my waist, lifted me up and threw me overboard.

I shot through the water like a stone, then sputtered to the surface. Ned leaned over the edge of the boat. “You little bitch,” he said.

“Hey, hey,” my grandfather said. He held his hand in the air to stop Ned’s words, then he leaned over to help me climb back into the boat. I was shivering, although the air had to be eighty degrees and the water was not much colder. My stiff neck sent shards of pain up the back of my head. “All right, you two,” my grandfather said, taking charge. “Whatever differences there are between you, put an end to them now. This is serious and I want the truth.” A larger boat sailed by and the wake lifted us up and then let us fall. I felt sick. Ned and I looked at each other. We both had things to hide, and I could tell that he knew as well as I did we could hide them no longer.

“Isabel and I meet on the platform at the beach sometimes,” Ned said. “At midnight.”

I could see my grandfather struggle with his anger, not letting it show on his face. “All right,” he said. “And what happened last night?”

“I asked Julie to tell Isabel that I couldn’t meet her last night.”

“And Bruno stopped by and asked where he could find Isabel and I said I didn’t know right then but I knew he could find her on the platform at midnight. And I was out here then, and I…” I was afraid to say the words out loud.

“You what?” Ned asked.

“I heard her scream. I heard her call for—”

“Hit your horn!” Grandpop said to Ned, but he stepped past him and blew the horn himself, waving with his other hand. Ned and I turned to see the Marine Police clipper he was trying to flag down.

We were quiet as the clipper came beside us. “We’ve got the twelve-year-old—Julie,” Grandpop said to them, and only then did I realize they’d had the Marine Police out looking for me. “But the older girl’s still missing.”

“They weren’t together?” one of the officers asked.

Grandpop shook his head. “Check the platform at the Bay Head Shores beach,” he said. “This one heard a scream there around midnight last night.”

We followed the clipper in the direction of the beach. Grandpop stood next to Ned, holding on to the windshield, staring straight ahead.

“Grandpop,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard me over the deafening sound of the engine as we sped toward the beach. Ned slowed his boat when we reached the water near the empty platform. The only person on the beach was a woman walking a large brown dog.

The Marine Police clipper pulled alongside the platform, but Ned was staring toward a clump of sea grass at the edge of the beach. Suddenly he stood up.

“Oh, God,” he said. He pulled off his T-shirt and dove from the boat. I grabbed Grandpop’s arm as we watched him swim toward the reeds and cattails, and it took me a long time to realize that there, among the low grass and seaweed, was the body of my sister.

My strongest memory from the rest of that day was of a dull pain in my chest and throat. I thought I was having a heart attack. It was the day I learned what the word
keening
meant. And the day my mother hit me. She’d never before laid a hand on me, but she slapped me hard across my face when she learned about my part in my sister’s death.

“How could you do such a terrible thing to her?” she asked me.

My cheek stung and tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

“You sat on the porch with your grandmother and me last night,” my mother said. “You heard us talk about the Walker boy being a rapist, and you said
nothing!
How could you do that? Why didn’t you tell us?” She tried to strike me again, but Grandpop had moved next to me and he raised his arm to catch the blow.

“Maria, don’t,” he said to my mother.

“Why didn’t you tell an adult what was going on?” my mother screamed at me. Grandpop put his arm protectively around my shoulders, but my mother could not stop yelling. “How could you
do
this?” she cried.
“How?”

I had no answers and the words
I’m sorry
would be so weak, so useless, that instead, I said nothing. I hung my head, trying to lean into my grandfather’s chest, but even he seemed distant from me in spite of his arm around my shoulders. I felt my insides coiling up like a snake ready to squeeze the life out of me.

“I’m going to throw up,” I said, and pulling away from my grandfather, I ran to the bathroom.

I did not throw up; I had nothing inside me to come up. I sat hunched over on the closed toilet, sobbing, listening to the wailing of my mother and grandmother in the living room. No one came to comfort me. I must have sat there for forty minutes, afraid to leave the room, afraid to face my family.

I heard my father arrive, heard him with my mother in the hallway outside the bathroom. I pictured them embracing. His sobs were as loud as hers, and I cried harder, hugging my arms, rocking back and forth, knowing that I had stolen his favorite daughter from him. I heard car doors slamming and leaned forward to look out the window. A police car was parked on the dirt road in front of our house, and two men in uniform were walking up the sidewalk.

I closed my eyes, listening to the voices in the hallway. There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Julie?” It was my grandfather. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” My voice squeaked.

“You need to come out,” he said. “The police want to talk to you.”

I wanted to stay in the small, safe room, but I stood up and opened the door. I looked at my grandfather’s basset-hound face. His eyes were red. “Grandpop,” I said. I wanted to say that I never meant for this to happen, but that was an excuse for what I’d done, and there were no excuses big enough to cover this particular multifaceted sin. He put his arm around me again and led me down the hallway. I could see all the way through the living room and porch to our yard, where the police were talking to my father. And I could hear voices coming from my parents’ bedroom. My mother and grandmother and
Lucy were in there, hushed voices cut with sobs. I heard my sister hiccup.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand as we walked across the porch. Grandpop opened the screen door and I nearly tripped down the two steps to the yard, my legs felt so wobbly. My father and the policemen looked up as the screen door slammed closed behind us. I recognized one of the policemen as Officer Davis, who had lauded me when I’d found the little boy. I felt humiliated now, the fallen heroine.

Ned and his father were there as well. All at once, I realized what a fool I’d been: Ned was a man, standing there with four other men. I was a skinny-legged idiot for thinking he could ever be romantically interested in me. I’d been playing a twelve-year-old’s game with grown-up consequences.

My father limped forward to hug me, and the gesture caught me off guard. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said into my ear, his voice cracking on the last word. I would never forget the gift he gave me with those words. He pulled away from me, turning back to the police.

“And you were supposed to meet her last night?” Officer Davis was asking Ned.

Ned looked as though he was already tired of answering questions. “Originally,” he said. “But I couldn’t…” He glanced at his father, and I remembered the argument that had led to him telling me he could not see Isabel last night. “I wasn’t allowed to go out last night. So, I asked Julie if she’d give Izzy that message.”

“Why weren’t you allowed to go out?” the other office asked.

“He hasn’t been helping out much around the house this summer,” Mr. Chapman said. “Always on the go. My wife and I decided he needed to stay in for a change. Help the family out.”

“And did you?” Officer Davis asked. “Did you help the family out last night?”

Ned nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. The word came out in two syllables.

“What exactly did you do?”

“I didn’t kill her,” he said. “Why aren’t you talking to Bruno Walker?”