***
That night, try as I might, sleep would not have me. The biological mechanics and cognitive gears in my brain had managed to scale the castle walls of disquiet and lured my mental self into a thicket of foggy turbulence, where thoughts and emotions collided with one another; their din kept me awake. I heard the occasional creak of floorboards upstairs, so I figured Sally must have been up milling about in the kitchen. A hot cup of tea and some warm companionship would be soothing. Hiking up the stairs, I had to squint to allow my eyes to adjust to the light spilling into the hallway from the kitchen. Much to my surprise, it was Aury in the kitchen, not Sally. He seemed slightly disquieted, and certainly preoccupied.
“Want some tea, Pop?”
I sat in the chair directly facing the bay window, and then nodded, “Please.” It was blissfully dark outside, save for the cycle of the light from upstairs.
“Dreams again?” he asked.
“No, just couldn’t get to sleep.” Steam rose from the cup as hot water gurgled from the kettle. Aury placed the teabag into the cup, then brought it over and set it in front of me with a spoon and some honey.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Filling the spoon with honey, I set it gently into the cup to let it dissolve. “Sal asleep?” I asked.
“No, she’s up on the lookout.”
“Oh?”
“Said you told her about what happened.” The silence, as it usually was between us, was awkward.
“Yes, I did. Has she said much about it?” I asked.
“Not really. We talked about it for a few minutes, then she got on me for not talking more to you.”
I wrapped the teabag string around the spoon and bag, and carefully wringing it out said, “You too, huh?”
He nodded, sipping at his tea
“She means well, Aury,” I said, trying to be comforting.
“I know she does,” he sighed.
“Did you two argue about it?”
“No. No, we discussed the lighthouse…”
“Really. What about it?”
“Pop, we’ve been over this a dozen times before.”
“Yeah, I know—how most ships use GPS or sonar to map courses around the shoreline, blah, blah, blah.”
“I love this lighthouse, Pop, I really do,” he protested. “But nowadays lighthouses are more a function of nostalgic romance than practicality.”
I took a cautious sip of tea. The warmth and sweetness of it was most comforting. “But even if nostalgic, romance is good,” I said, setting the cup down again. “Romance warms the soul.”
Aury opened his mouth to speak just as Sally came around the corner, “Both of you need to come with me,” she said without breaking stride.
“Honey, Pop and I were just…”
She was already in the mudroom donning her jacket. “This isn’t about you and Dad, Aury. Now c’mon.”
Aury and I looked at each other. I took a last sip of my tea, and then pushed back my chair. Sally had stepped outside onto the porch landing, flashlight in hand, while Aury and I slipped into our boots and jackets.
“What’s this about, Sal?” I asked.
She gave no reply, only beckoned with her free hand, which within seconds was clasping Aury’s. Sally briskly led the way with her husband practically in tow and me close behind. The beam from the flashlight cut softly through the darkness and bounced around in front of us. The brisk night air slapped me on both cheeks, waking me up, yet my mind was just as clouded and busy as ever; I hadn’t quite noticed the pair had stopped and turned to face me. Sally had one arm around Aury’s waist and shone the flashlight on my chest.
“Dad…” she said, nodding at the flashlight, then back over her shoulder. Aury leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head and motioned again with the flashlight. I looked between them, over their shoulders, but couldn’t make out anything.
Taking the flashlight from her grasp, I mumbled, “Okay,” and stepped around them, eyes constantly moving from the muted illumination at my feet to the cloaked beach ahead. I looked back again to see if they followed, but could only make out their vague silhouettes against the house.
She meant for me to go forward, alone.
Plodding through the wet sand, I stopped as soon as the sand gave way underfoot. The flashlight hadn’t revealed anything new or surprising: a few strands of kelp, some broken shells, and a small sand crab that skittered away from me as I continued to move across the beach. To my left…nothing. I turned my head to the right just as the beam from the lighthouse passed overhead casting just enough light to allow a quick, visual scan of the beach. It disclosed something bulky about thirty yards away. As I walked toward it my brow furrowed.
With just a few steps I could hear the water lapping against the object. As my pace quickened, the flashlight moved back and forth with each swing of my arm.
Everything around me melted away as my concentration leveled and fixed upon her: there she was again—the Emma Jeane had found her way back to our beach. She rose and fell, almost imperceptibly, with each wave that slipped underneath her hull and hit the shore, instantly reminding me of when I would just sit and watch Emma sleep, the sheet gently rising and falling with each breath. I reached out and touched the railing, ever so gently, wishing it were her soft skin under my touch.
“Em,” I whispered aloud. Say what you will about dreams and their fallibility. I had, under my gaze and caress, certain proof that mine were not the result of subconscious malaise.
In the year that she’d been gone, I hadn’t forgotten any part of her; with great care I let the flashlight’s beam reveal every viewable inch, scouring the sun-and-salt-bleached interior for a trace of something, anything. Crawling aboard, I was able to scrutinize each crevice, screw, and rivet. Nothing seemed to have changed since the last time she beached herself. I finished inspecting the starboard side. When I began searching the port side, I noticed the open hasp.
Perhaps it was like that last time and I never noticed, but we’d always kept a lock on the small compartment. It was the boat equivalent of a glove compartment, and as such, we kept important documents inside. Maybe the Coast Guard cut the bolt during their investigation. I reached for the hasp and hesitated, momentarily fearful of what I might find—or not find. My craving to know won out.
The hinges stuck at first, but gave with a second sharp tug. The cover creaked open. Leaning it against the port rail, I brought the flashlight to the lip of the compartment. All the documentation was gone—not that it mattered at this point. Casting the beam to the opposite side, it caught the corner of something. I gently pinched it between my thumb and forefinger, not sure if it would be stuck or what condition it would be in, but it withdrew easily. A large Ziploc baggie enclosed a smaller one with a piece of folded paper inside.
I looked over my left shoulder to see Aury and Sally still standing in the same spot, then turned my attention back to the package. It looked startlingly like a letter I’d written to Emma when we’d first been engaged. Long ago I’d placed it in a cardboard box along with other sentimental treasures. It was one of many notes she and I had exchanged over the years. She must have pulled it out when we first bought the boat. Why she would have hidden it on the boat was beyond any reasonable explanation I could think of—yet here it was. The plastic bags preserved it well. The bag trembled slightly, a by-product of my own shaking hands. I opened the baggies and retrieved the paper as carefully as a parent holds a newborn for the first time. The flashlight revealed every word, and every word breathed Emma. With sublime delicacy I replaced the letter in the big baggie and zipped it closed, then slowly climbed out of the boat.
Aury and Sally stood in the exact spot where I’d left them. I walked up and handed Sally the flashlight.
“Was it there?” she asked.
I looked into her eyes and smiled, then looked over at Aury. Taking a single step forward, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as hard
as I could.
“Pop, what was there?” he asked excitedly. I could hear the worry in his voice.
I stepped back and wiped my eyes. “The Emma Jeane. She’s on the beach again. Go and look if you like.”
Aury placed his hand on my shoulder. “Not tonight, it’s late. We’ll dock it in the morning.”
Sally gently grabbed my elbow. “Did you find what she promised?”
Her husband looked first at her, then at me.
“Sal, did he ever tell you how he got his name?” I asked, pointing to Aury.
“Uh, I remember he said his mother held an interest in many things of Roman antiquity,” she said, shaking her head with confusion.
“Yes, she did,” I replied, handing her the baggie. “Go ahead and read it, if you can. When you get to the postscript, read it aloud, please.” Nodding, she gently opened the bag and extracted the letter.
So as to minimize any disruption of her reading, I stepped closer to Aury and asked, “Remember when I told you the answer to why I wouldn’t ‘let it go’ was written in your name?”
He nodded.
Sally looked up, visibly shaken. “Dad, this is beautiful. You loved her so much.”
“Did you reach the end yet?”
“Yes.”
I motioned for her to read it.
Her gentle voice floated like an apparition over the sound of the water lapping upon the shore, “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart—Marcus Aurelius.”
Calmly I set my hand upon Aury’s shoulder. “There’s the answer, son. That’s why.”
I felt like the hardest part of my journey was over. The Emma Jeane had become my emissary, my bridge between loss and love. Finally, I was ready for sleep, and couldn’t wait to dream.