“Appreciate it.” He pockets the cash with a nod, then the door clicks shut behind him.
Desperation suddenly surges inside me. I can’t let him go, not yet.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running out of the apartment barefoot, chasing after him.
“Wait!” My voice bounces off the walls. “Do you really believe the girl died?”
He turns. “What girl?”
“The one from the camp. The girl that supposedly drowned six months ago.”
His eyes narrow, then widen with recognition. “Oh. I know who you are, ma’am. I knew that name on the door rang a bell.”His Adam’s apple bobs up then down. “Sadie Sutton. She was all over the papers. You’re her mother, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Something hot pricks behind my eyes. “Iam. I’m her mother.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mark’s gaze drops to the floor. He rubs the back of his neck, then looks up. “Ma’am…the camp’s a good place, always has been. My cousin’s boy went there two summers ago on a scholarship. People trust that place. But the sea?” He pauses to scratch his beard. “That’s a different story. If your daughter got caught by the wrong current—” He clears his throat and says nothing more, wanting to spare me the pain his next words would bring.
“So, you don’t think she could have survived?” My voice is almost a squeak. “Bodies sometimes surface, don’t they?”
After a moment’s pause, he blinks. “Ma’am, the sea doesn’t answer to anyone. But listen, not many people around here understand that better than Saul Daniels.”
“Saul Daniels? Who is he?”
“He’s been in this town since before it turned all fancy. If you want someone who understands the waters better than the coast guard, you talk to Saul. He’s been fishing this coast for years. If something of your daughter’s turned up on any stretch of that shoreline, trust me, word would’ve reached Saul’s ears.”
“Where can I find him?” I ask before thinking.
“He’s one of the old salts,” Mark adds. “Been here since dirt. He lives on his boat.”
The old salts. That’s what the locals who have been in Saltspray Cove since before it became wealthy are called. The men and women who’ve watched the town change and stayed anyway. Mostly fishermen, repairmen and women, boat owners, and bar owners. I also know the old salts don’t live in buildings like this one. From the way he speaks, I’m guessing neither does Mark.
“You’ll find him down by the lobster co-op,” Mark says. “Can’t miss the boat. TheBlue Hammock, it’s called. The name’s painted on the side, like a kid wrote it. Looks ready to sink with the next tide, but it never does.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he clears his throat again. “If your girl got carried by a current, he might at least be able to tell you which way. That man has pulled more things out of that water than anyone.”
Things, not just fish.
“Thank you,” I say, but my pulse is pounding hard.
Mark bows his head once. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly.”
I nod. He clearly doesn’t think Sadie survived, but that’s his opinion.
He walks away this time, leaving me standing between two versions of Saltspray Cove.
The one with glass balconies, manicured hedges, and pastel facades. And the one that remembers the dangers and secrets that lurk beneath the sea.
TWELVE
I go back into the apartment and close the door, but I don’t move. I remain standing there, barefoot on the cool tile, staring at the closed front door as if Mark Jacobs might knock again or ring the bell; as if he might suddenly remember something important, something that would crack everything wide open.
When I count to fifty and he doesn’t, I walk to Sadie’s room.
The new window makes the room whole again, as if nothing violent ever happened there. The jagged shards that mirrored how I feel are gone, replaced by a perfect pane so transparent it seems like an illusion, a sheet of nothing that separates the inside from out. Like it’s just air.
I put the dolphin back where it used to be and leave, fighting the urge to lock the door so no one can come inside and disturb it again.
