Peter Geye: Safe from the Sea

“It’s so big,” she said.

Noah only smiled. They stood silently for a few minutes.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Noah removed his father’s old watch from his pocket. Before he left Boston he’d had it repaired, had the escapement and jewel replaced, had a new crystal put on it. He opened it. “It’s almost four.”

“I can’t believe I’m already hungry again,” she said.

“I can,” Noah said. He closed the watch but then opened it again. He read the words his mother had had engraved on the case back all those years ago, read them for the thousandth time since his father had bequeathed it to him. YOU WILL COME SAFE FROM THE SEA, it read.

He turned to face Natalie. He put his hand on her stomach, which had only recently begun to show. She held his hand where it lay.

To my father, for answering so many questions and offering so much advice. And to my mother, for her unfailing support.

To Laura Langlie, for her patience and counsel and fortitude.

To Greg Michalson, for his tireless work on this manuscript, it shows on every page. And for giving me a chance.

To Goran Stockenstrom, Patricia Hampl, Bill Lavender, Stuart Dybek, Richard Katrovas, Peter Blickle, Jon Robert Adams, and Jaimy Gordon, my teachers. And to Joseph Boyden especially, who has been much more than a teacher.

To Kim Barzso, my confidant in the beginning. And to Laura Jean Baker, for reading and rereading and not sparing a single thought.

To my brother, Tony, for building a beautiful website.

To Dale and Sandy Hofmann, for their support and for the use of their cabin on so many weekends. Without the quiet weekends there I might never have finished.

To Finn and Mac and Liese, my story beggars.

And to Dana, for positively everything. You inspire me in ways I’m sure I’ll never understand. No broad breaker will fall, nor waves of blue, and we will . .

The text of this book is set in the typeface Bembo.

The display type is called Koch Antiqua and is based on forms of old Roman writings, chiseled in marble.