Rob and the girls took a room at Little Harbor’s only bed-and-breakfast for Charlie’s funeral. The bed-and-breakfast was on the Point, and while it was booked solid most of the summer the innkeepers opened a room they didn’t usually offer to guests and gave it to the Barnes family.
After Charlie’s body had been taken away by the funeral director from Ellsworth, Val had gone into the house and cleaned it and washed and changed the sheets. Eliza told her over the phone that she didn’t need to do that—she’d pay a cleaning service, Eliza said, she’d arrange for it all on the drive up.
“No,” said Val fiercely. “No, Eliza, I want to. Let me.”
The night before the funeral they were all sleeping, but Eliza couldn’t. She climbed out of bed and crept down the stairs and outside and drove to her father’s house, passing the beautiful homes on the Point, dark and quiet in the night.
She considered Charlie’s house from the outside: it was so small, so unassuming, you wouldn’t have given it a second look if you’d been driving past. And yet what full lives had begun and ended there. In fact, the little house seemed to know that; it seemed, in the pale light offered by the moon, to draw its very own rhythmic, settled breaths.
Eliza took her own shuddering breath and pushed open the door.
She flicked on the front hall light. She turned toward the living room, half expecting to see her father in the recliner, and it was like someone had punched her directly in the heart when he wasn’t. She inhaled carefully, and took in a scent of Pine Sol that called to mind her high school cafeteria.
Her foot slipped on something, an envelope with her name on it.
Dear Eliza,
Okay, here goes.
You know how gossip spreads whether it’s true or not especially in this town. I know how people talk here, and I know that what they’re talking about right now is some pills that were next to your dad on the nightstand when he died. I know people are talking about where he got them and if he meant to take as many as he did.
I know where he got the pills because I gave them to him. And I know that he meant to take them because he asked me for them.
Your dad helped me with something earlier in the summer. It’s a long story but basically I was in real trouble, and I was scared, and your dad made sure I was okay. He saved me.
The most important thing I want to tell you, Eliza, is that when your dad died I was with him. He didn’t ask me to stay with him. But it didn’t feel right to leave him alone and so I stayed and I’m glad I did. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve never seen anyone die before. But when your dad died he wasn’t scared or sad or uncertain. He was peaceful. He believed he was going to see your mom again and he was happy about that. I would say he was almost excited, or anyway relieved. He had pictures of you and your family all around him. He took the pills, and he went to sleep, and he didn’t wake up. That was it. And he wasn’t alone for any of it, I promise. I didn’t leave until it was over.
Your dad loved you so much. I’m telling you that because he seemed like the kind of man who might have some trouble saying it out loud. But he did, he lit up every time he talked about you. My dad is someone who was never around and I know the difference between lucky and not. I know that you are lucky and I hope that you know it too.
I know what I did is against the law in Maine. I know I could get in a lot of trouble for writing this down if anyone but you reads it. I know I could go to jail. I don’t think you will tell anyone else but I guess I don’t know that for sure so I’m just trusting you. I’m not writing to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. I would do it again. I know how sick he was and I know he didn’t want to get sicker. Your dad was a hero to me. He gave me hope when I didn’t have any. He was an angel. He’s more of an angel now, I’m sure of it.
Eliza read the letter three times in a row until she had committed it to memory and then she tore it up into very small pieces and she put the little torn-up pieces in her pocket and then she got into her car and she drove to where her family was. Her grief was unbearable, a weight pressing down from high above and settling on her shoulders, in her gut, in her soul, but she knew she had to bear it, and so she knew that she would.
51
LITTLE HARBOR, MAINE
Eliza
“Turn on the hauler, Mommy,” instructed Evie. “Let’s catch some lobsters.”
“I can’t, sweetie, it’s a Sunday.”
They had buried Charlie—the whole town had buried Charlie, there hadn’t been a funeral like that since, well, since forever. Then they’d had an early dinner at The Lobster Trap, and then they’d all gotten restless, so Eliza had suggested that she take the girls out on Charlie’s boat. Rob stayed back out of necessity—the sling—and Judith by choice, but the girls were eager.
“Ohhh.” Evie looked interested. “I forgot about that. What would happen if you did anyway?”
“Well, if I got caught, I’d lose my license.”
“You don’t have a license.”
“Even worse.”
“Who would catch you?”
“Marine Patrol.”
“What will happen to Grandpa’s traps?” asked Zoe.
“We’ll take them up,” said Eliza.
“Who will?”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Who will help you? Daddy?”
This made Eliza smile. “No, sweetie, not with his arm hurt.”
“Maybe Grandmother.”
Eliza laughed. “Maybe. But probably not.”
“Do you need someone strong?”
“Yes.”
“Deirdre’s strong,” suggested Zoe.
“She is.”
“But I don’t know if she’s the right kind of strong. Can I help you?” That was Evie. “I’m the right kind of strong.”
“No you aren’t,” said Zoe.
“I think you’re both the right kind of strong,” said Eliza.
“Can I help too?” asked Zoe.
“Sure.”
“Are you crying, Mommy?” asked Evie.
“No.”
“Why not? Aren’t you really sad?”
“I am really sad. Sometimes people get so sad they can’t even cry.”
“Are you that kind of sad?”
“I think I am.”
“Are you heartbroken?”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
Evie leaned against her and said, “Me too.” Then she said, “Can’t we just haul one? Nobody’s looking, I promise. Just one. Just to see what’s in there. We can put it right back down, I just want to look.”
For a split second Eliza thought about it. But the rules were far too ingrained in her; she couldn’t break them.
“I can’t,” she told Evie. “It’s the law. The law is sacred out here.”
“Sacred,” said Zoe. “Regarded with reverence. Secured against violation or infringement.”
“Wow,” said Evie.
Zoe shrugged modestly. “It was a vocab word last year.”
“Also, it’s dangerous, just me out here with the two of you, you could get hurt or worse if you got caught in the trap lines. It’s not worth the risk.”
“So how will you take them up, without Daddy?”