Tess Gerritsen - Presumed Guilty

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 me, whether she can forgive me. For being a Tremain. For being this symbol of everything, everyone who’s ever hurt her.”

“I think Miranda’s the one who’s searching for forgiveness.”

He shook his head. “What should I forgive her for?”

“You have to answer that.”

He sat in silence for a moment, rubbing the ugly head of that ugly dog. What do I forgive you for? For showing me the real meaning of innocence. For making me question every stuffy notion I was brought up to believe in. For making me realize I’ve been an idiot.

For making me fall in love with you.

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 had to be at the landing. Where else would she and Dr. Steiner go, except back to the island?

It was the last ferry of the day and he’d never catch it in time.

Happy endings are not automatic. Sometimes one has to work for them.

Okay, damn it, he thought. I’m ready to work. I’m ready to do anything it takes to make this turn out right.

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 Jenny B growled to life.

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 sure of it. But she’d been wrong before, terribly wrong. I don’t want to make the same mistake, suffer the same consequences.

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.

I do love him, she thought. I know I do.

But it’s not enough to make a future. Too much stood in the way. The ghost of Richard. The shadow of mistrust. And always, always, those metaphorical train tracks on whose wrong side she’d grown up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but then, she was merely Miranda Wood. Perhaps, to a Tremain, it made all the difference.

“Bow line’s free!” called the deckhand.

The engines of the Jenny B throttled up. Slowly she pivoted to starboard, to face the far-off green hillock that was Shepherd’s Island. The deckhand strode the length of the boat and released the stern line. Just as it slipped free there came a shout from the dock.

“Wait! Hold the boat!”

“We’re full up!” yelled the deckhand. “Catch the next one.”

“I said hold up! ”

“Too late!” barked the deckhand. Already the Jenny B was pulling away from the dock.

It was the deckhand’s sharp and sudden oath that made Miranda turn to look. She saw, far astern, a figure racing toward the end of the pier. He took a flying leap across the growing gap of water and landed with only inches to spare on the deck of the Jenny B.

“Son of a gun,” marveled the deckhand. “Are you nuts?”

Chase scrambled to his feet. “Have to talk to someone — one of your passengers—”

“Man, you must want to talk real bad.”

Chase took a calming breath and glanced around the deck. His gaze stopped at Miranda. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“Real bad.”

Miranda, caught standing against the rail, could only stare in astonishment as Chase walked toward her. The other passengers were all watching, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Young man,” snapped Dr. Steiner. “If you sprained your ankle, don’t expect me to fix it. You two and all your damn fool stunts.”

“My ankle’s fine,” said Chase, his gaze never leaving Miranda. “I just want to talk to your patient. If it’s all right with her.”

Miranda gave a laugh of disbelief. “After a leap like that, how could I refuse?”

“Let’s go up front.” Chase reached for her hand. “For this, I don’t need an audience.”

They walked to the bow and stood by the rail. Here the salt wind flew at them unremittingly, whipping at their clothes, their hair. Above, gulls swooped and circled, airborne companions of the plodding Jenny B.