Blue Water by A. Manette Ansay

Author:A. Manette Ansay
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins

Eight

imagine a woman stumbling along a solitary trail, the eastern horizon dark as glass, overgrown branches beating at her like sharp, balled fists. The pain at the back of her head like the most insistent cliché: a pounding, a drumming, a hammering with ice picks. She is positively aching with righteousness and rage, yet, already, the first few tendrils of regret have begun to emerge like quiet assassins, like slim, venomous snakes. She wonders what it was, exactly, that has made her so blindingly angry. Bernadette’s capacity for forgiveness? The idea of forgiveness itself?

You’re deluding yourself. Even if this were true—and it is, there is no doubt in her mind on that point—why should it matter? What difference can it make? Why does it feel like a personal attack?

Somehow, she’s passed the turnoff to the marina; the path dead-ends at the back of one of the new condominium developments. There are shrink-wrapped blocks of cream-colored tile, bags of concrete, a stack of small, kidney-shaped swimming pools. Cursing her mistake, she cuts between the skeletal frames until she reaches the water. From there, she follows the shoreline back to the marina, picking her way along the rocky strip of beach until, at last, she emerges from behind the restaurant, startling a couple kissing passionately by the pool. They stare at her as if she is an apparition. Her feet are cut, bleeding. They stick to the wooden slats as she steps up onto the pier. It is only when she reaches the dinghy dock that she understands she’s been hoping, all along, that she might still catch up with Bernadette. Say something. Say anything.

But Rubicon’s dinghy is gone.

By now, it is well after midnight, closing in on dawn. Still, the marina is wide awake. People stand in their cockpits, drinking, talking, listening to music. Halogen beams shoot like dealership spotlights from the tall tuna towers of the sport-fishing boats, and the air is thick with the odor of grilled fish, barbecue, the musty odor of rum. The fish smell makes the woman’s mouth water unpleasantly; she sits down at the edge of the pier, feet dangling, waiting for the feeling to pass. Out in the cove, mast lights wink like fireflies. She can just make out Chelone’s, taller than the others, brighter. By now, Rex’s poker game is over, and she hopes he has gone to bed instead of sitting up, waiting, worrying. The last thing she wants to do is face him, explain what has just happened, admit that she’s thrown a fat, knotted rope into their past. By tomorrow evening, the truth will have boarded every last boat in the Cove. They will no longer be anonymous.

For the first time since their arrival, they will find themselves alone.

Christ, her head is aching. The soles of her feet sting horribly, and there’s an unexplained burning—like a ringing in her ears—at the back of her neck, across her shoulders, down one arm. The burning seems to be expanding. Perhaps, she thinks,

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