bookcase and pulled out a book by Edgar Cayce that one of her students had given her.
“Cayce is a good place to start,” she said.
Zee put the paperback in her bag.
“Have you started to believe in reincarnation?” Ann had to ask.
“No. Maybe… I don’t know,” Zee said. “What about you?”
“Pretty much. I believe more in simultaneous incarnations. Though I do agree with what Eleanor Roosevelt said about reincarnation.”
“What was that?”
“I’m paraphrasing here, but it was something to the effect of, ‘I don’t think the idea of my being here in a past life is any more surreal than the idea of my being here now.’ Something like that.”
“I always liked Eleanor Roosevelt,” Zee said. Then, thinking about it, she went on, “I’m considering giving up my practice.”
“Interesting segue,” Ann said.
Zee shrugged.
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m just not sure I’m any good at it,” Zee said.
“I would imagine that you’re very good at it.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Zee said.
“Has something happened?”
“A lot of things have happened,” Zee said.
“Like what?” Ann asked.
“Like, I’m not sure why I got into it in the first place.”
“That’s not too difficult to figure out,” Ann said. “After what happened to your mother.”
“That doesn’t mean it was the right choice, does it?”
“Not necessarily,” Ann said. “But I’m still surprised. You worked so hard to get there. Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“I don’t know,” Zee said.
Ann thought about it for a minute. “So you’re giving up your practice and your engagement all within a month,” Ann said.
“I’m just thinking about giving up my practice. I haven’t made any decisions.”
“Interesting,” Ann said.
“Which means?”
“Interesting,” Ann said again. She thought about it some more. “Don’t become a full-time caregiver,” Ann said.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve seen what it does to people. To Melville, for one.”
“Poor Melville,” Zee said.
“What the hell happened between those two?” Ann asked. She knew it was something big, could feel the weight of it, but she had no clue as to its origins.
“I wish I knew,” Zee said.
Some kids were setting off firecrackers on the wharf. A cat scooted under the bed.
“What was that?” Zee saw it flash past.
“That’s Persephone. She’s a Katrina cat,” Ann said. “They shipped a lot of them up here. I got her at the shelter.”
The three masts of the Friendship moved by Ann’s window. She was headed out for a Fourth of July sail. Ann noticed Zee watching it. She thought about the weather. There was no sign of a storm on the horizon as yet, so they should have smooth sailing for an hour or so.
Maybe it was the reenactors, maybe it was the Friendship itself-the three masts of the tall ship and its rigging made Ann think of Salem’s past days of shipping, the bustle of the busy wharves, the excitement of Salem as a world port. She pictured the powerful shipping families, the man they called King Derby who owned the next wharf and the Pickerings who owned this one. At any time there might be a hundred ships like the Friendship in port, loading and unloading their bounty. The tunnels that ran under Derby Wharf and up to the houses owned by the shipping families were a perfect place for hiding their taxable goods. Ann lived in one of the historic houses up on Orange Street. In the middle of her kitchen floor was a trapdoor that led to the old Derby tunnel. It was a place that Persephone loved to hide, and Ann had taken to blocking it off at night, so the cat wouldn’t end up lost in the tunnel somewhere under the wharves and more frightened than ever.
One of the Friendship’s sails was set, and the huge ship moved solely on wind power as she left the harbor now. Hawk was high in the rigging, helping set the foresail.
Ann observed Zee watching the ship and handed her a pair of binoculars she kept on her desk.
“Binoculars. A police scanner. Have you started working for the CIA?”
“Just nosy by nature,” Ann said.
Zee held up the binoculars and looked at the ship.
Ann watched as Hawk moved quickly down one mast and up another. “I’m surprised he doesn’t fall,” she said.
“He moves really well,” Zee said.
Something about the way she said it took Ann by surprise.
The people on the wharf began to cheer and clap as the Friendship hoisted her second sail.
Zee didn’t stop looking and was still watching Hawk as the ship reached the mouth of the harbor.
Oh, my God, Ann thought. She’s sleeping with him. The thought came to her in words, and she was relieved to find that she hadn’t uttered those words aloud.
And just as quickly another thought came to her, and before she had a chance to censor herself, this time the words did come out of her mouth. “Be careful of that one,” Ann said to Zee. “He’s not who you think he is.”
“What?” Zee asked, surprised to have her thoughts so clearly invaded.
Ann knew that Zee didn’t believe in any of this stuff. But she also observed a blush starting on Zee’s face that quickly spread all the way down her neck.
26
LIGHTNING HIT THE MAST of a moored Hunter 31 that had sailed north to the tip of Cape Ann and into Rockport Harbor even before the storm appeared on the horizon. Luckily there was no one on board at the time. The charge traveled down the aluminum mast, and, not finding a path to ground, it side-flashed, blowing out the boat’s hull.
“Shit,” someone said. “That boat just exploded.”
Hawk flew down the rigging of the Friendship as if he were on a slide.
“Lightning,” he said.
No one agreed. The sun, so strong just minutes ago, was now behind a cloud. But the sky was still bright blue. The general opinion was that it was probably a leaky propane tank, but Hawk had seen the strike from his post high in the rigging.
The captain listened to Hawk and put into Sandy Bay, just outside Rockport Harbor. “Better safe harbor than sorry sailor,” he said. The plan had been to reach Newburyport in time for the fireworks, but the wooden mast on the Friendship had been hit once before, and the captain didn’t want to risk it again. Though Gloucester Harbor would have been a much better choice, there was no time to get there. Within five minutes the sky had blackened and lightning flashed overhead like natural fireworks.
The Friendship dropped anchor.
“Everybody below deck,” the captain ordered. “And don’t touch anything metal.”
As a general rule, Hawk liked thunderstorms. He especially liked them on the water, where they came up fast and you could see the thunderheads forming and pushing upward in the sky. But this one seemed to have come
