“Happy endings,” said Miss St. John, “are not automatic. Sometimes one has to work for them.”
Chase took the advice, and the cup of coffee she handed him, in silence. The advice was something he already knew. Hadn’t experience taught him that happy endings were what you found in fairy tales, not real life? Hadn’t his own marriage proved the point?
He sipped his cup of coffee and absentmindedly scratched Ozzie’s wild black mop of hair. He didn’t know why he was petting the beast, except that Ozzie seemed so damn appreciative. A glance at his watch told Chase he had plenty of time to catch the twelve-o’clock ferry to Bass Harbor. To Miranda.
All night he’d lain sleepless in bed, wondering about their chances, their future. The specter of his brother couldn’t be so easily dispelled. Just a few short weeks ago Richard had been the man she loved, or thought she loved. Richard had taken her innocence, used her, nearly destroyed her.
Events, emotions had moved at lightning speed these past few days. A week ago he had called her a murderess. Only hours ago he had come to accept her innocence as gospel truth. She had every right to resent him, to never forgive him for the things he’d once said to her. So many cruel and terrible words had passed between them. Could love, real love, grow from such poisoned beginnings?
He wanted to believe it could. He had to believe it could.
But those doubts kept tormenting him.
When Miss St. John had come knocking at the cottage door at ten o’clock with an offer of coffee and a morning chat, he’d almost welcomed the intrusion, though he suspected her invitation was inspired by more than neighborly kindness. Word of the night’s goings-on must already be buzzing about town. Miss St. John, with her mile-long antennae, had no doubt picked up the signals and was probably curious as hell.
Now that she’d been brought up to date, she was going to offer an opinion, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
“Miranda’s a lovely woman, Chase,” she said. “A very kind woman.”
“I know,” was all he could answer.
“But you have doubts.”
He sighed, a breath that seemed weighted with pain and uncertainty. “After all that’s happened…”
“People are entitled to make mistakes, Chase. Miranda made one with your brother. It wasn’t a terrible sort of mistake. It had nothing to do with cruelty or bad intentions. It had only to do with love. With misjudgment. The mistake was real. But the emotions were the right ones.”
“But you don’t understand,” he said, looking up at her. “My doubts have nothing to do with her. It’s
“I think Miranda’s the one who’s searching for forgiveness.”
He shook his head. “What should I forgive
“You have to answer that.”
He sat in silence for a moment, rubbing the ugly head of that ugly dog.
With sudden determination he put down his coffee cup and rose to his feet. “I’d better get going,” he said. “I’ve got a ferry to catch.”
“And then what happens?” asked Miss St. John, walking him to the door.
Smiling, he took her hand — the hand of a very wise woman. “Miss St. John,” he said, “when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”
She waved as he headed out to his car. “I’ll count on it!” she yelled.
Chase drove like a crazy man to the ferry landing. He arrived an hour early, only to find a long line of cars already waiting to board. Rather than risk missing the sail, he decided to leave his car and board as a foot passenger.
Two hours later he walked off onto the dock in Bass Harbor. No taxis here; he had to hitch a ride to the hospital. By the time he strode up to the patient information desk, it was already two-thirty.
“Miranda Wood,” said the volunteer, setting down the phone receiver, “was discharged an hour ago.”
“What?”
“That’s what the floor nurse said. The patient left with Dr. Steiner.”
Chase felt ready to punch the desk in frustration. “Where did they go?” he snapped.
“I wouldn’t know, sir. You could ask upstairs, at the nurses’ station, second floor.”
Chase was about to head for the stairwell when he suddenly glanced up at the wall clock. “Miss — what time does the ferry return to Shepherd’s Island?” he asked.
“I think the last one leaves at three o’clock.”
Twenty minutes.
He hurried outside and glanced up and down the street for a taxi, a bus, anything on wheels that might take him to the landing. They
It was the last ferry of the day and he’d never catch it in time.
He took off at a sprint down the street. It was two miles to the ferry landing.
He ran every step of the way.
The deckhand yelled, “All aboard!” and the engines of the
Standing at the rail, Miranda stared out over the gray-green expanse of Penobscot Bay. So many islands in the distance, so many places in the world to run to. Soon she’d be on her way, leaving memories, good and bad, behind her. There was just this one last journey to Shepherd’s Island, to tie up all those loose ends, and then she could turn her back on this place forever. It was a departure she’d planned weeks ago, before Richard’s murder, before the horrors of her arrest.
Before Chase.
“I still say it was an idiotic idea, young lady,” said Dr. Steiner, hunched irritably on a bench beside her. “Checking out just like that. What if you start to bleed again? What if you get an infection? I can’t handle those complications! I tell you, I’m getting too old for this business. Too old!”
“I’ll be just fine, Doc,” she said, her gaze focused on the bay. “Really,” she said softly, “I’ll be just fine….”
Dr. Steiner began to mutter to himself, a grumpy monologue about disobedient patients and how hard it was to be a doctor these days. Miranda scarcely listened. She had too many other things on her mind.
A quiet exit, some time alone — yes, all in all, it was better this way. Seeing Chase again would be too confusing. What she needed was escape, a chance to analyze what she really felt for him. Love? She thought so. Yes, she was
And yet…
She gripped the railing and gazed off moodily at the islands. The wind had come up and it whistled across the water, blew its cold salt breath against her face.
