Ellen Block - The Language of Sand

“How about I take you to stay with Ruth? That way you’re not alone.”

“Sheriff, you were about to rob me. Forgive me if this sudden wave of concern seems a bit phony.”

“It wasn’t personal, Abby.”

“This island is too small for it not to be personal. Isn’t that what you told Merle?”

“You’re one of those people who remembers everything, aren’t you?”

It was true. Abigail’s memory was her finest asset. It was also the source of much of her pain. Regardless, she was thankful for it.

Wind rocked the patrol car as Larner steered a course across the slippery roads. The windshield had become a sheet of gray. The thrumming of the rain was punctuated by the cracking of tree limbs.

“This is dangerous, isn’t it?”

Larner nodded and radioed in to the station. “What’s the latest, Ted?”

“Bad news is we lost power,” the deputy radioed back. “The good news is the state police issued a report that the hurricane is gonna miss us. Radar is saying it’s already turned and heading to sea.”

There would always be good news and bad news. Probability dictated there would be equal parts of both. Of late, the odds had not been in Abigail’s favor. But math didn’t lie. She was due some good news and she’d gotten it. The hurricane would not hit Chapel Isle.

“Can I come with you to the station? I want to be there when you let Nat out.”

“Is that smart? We don’t need him suspecting you had a hand in his release. Him or anybody else.”

Abigail thought it over. “How about I say I flagged you down after my car got stuck?”

Her intentions clear, Larner acquiesced. “I still think you should go to Ruth’s. It’s going to be a rough night.”

“Maybe Nat could give me a ride there.”

“That’d be the least he could do.”

Rainwater overran the cobblestone square, and the boats tied to the pier were sloshing violently in the surf, caterwauling dolefully. A gale blew off the water, nearly knocking Abigail from her feet. Larner caught her by the arm and aided her into the station.

Ted was hunched over the radio as if he could warm himself by it. His wet hair was dripping down his neck and collar. “Happy you’re back, Caleb.”

“Ted, this is Abby Harker. She’s the new caretaker over at the lighthouse.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He wiped his hand on his trousers. “Sorry. Everything’s wet.”

“I know the feeling.” Abigail shucked off her sopping windbreaker.

“Hadn’t heard there was a new caretaker.”

The fact that her arrival hadn’t reached Ted’s ears convinced Abigail that her pact with Sheriff Larner would remain in confidence. Secrets escaped only when their keepers let them, when they personally had nothing to lose. Neither she nor Larner would allow that to happen.

“Have a seat, Abby,” he said, then Larner took Ted aside and whispered to him. Abigail heard him mention Ruth’s name and something about Hank taking his wife’s death hard.

“Oh,” the deputy responded. “Guess you’ll be wanting me to let him out, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do.”

Ted disappeared into the rear of the station. Soon Nat staggered out with him. He’d been asleep. His hair was mussed, his clothes rumpled. Abigail gave him a wan smile, and Ted handed him his personal belongings, including his hat, which Nat tugged onto his head like a disguise.

“You releasing me?”

Larner nodded, unwilling to admit aloud that he’d been wrong. “You need to sign some papers before you can be on your way.”

Nat scribbled his signature. “That’s it? Can I go?”

“You can go.”

“Mind if I get a ride with you?” Abigail asked. “My car got stuck.”

Nat eyed the other two men.

“I’d ask them, but they’re swamped, what with the power being down on the island.”

Too tired to argue, Nat motioned her along with him. He strode brazenly into the rain while Abigail battled the whipping wind to keep pace.

“Truck’s by the pier.”

Hank’s truck was the lone vehicle in the parking lot. Nat took a deep breath and got inside. Key in the ignition, he hesitated before starting the engine.

“Larner tell you what happened?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about Hank. I know you were close.”

“What’d he say?”

“That Hank went over with the net. Intentionally.”

Hearing it stung Nat. “If Larner believed that, I wouldn’t have been in lockup.”

“You’re free now.”

“Does everyone know?”

She shook her head. “They had the hurricane on their minds.”

Rain was pelting the hood of the truck, and each gale sent tremors through the cab. The vacant parking lot was a dangerous place for them to be. They were sitting targets. Nat couldn’t bring himself to start to the motor.

“Hank tried once before,” he confessed. “He took pills. I found him. He’d thrown them up. Jeez, was Hank pissed about that. He was going on about how his body wouldn’t let him die.” Nat’s jaw clenched, as if he was fighting the words he spoke. “It was his idea to go fishing that morning. Claimed the storm would kick up a stellar take. I told him to forget it, but he wouldn’t drop it. I saw him letting out the nets. He was staring at the water. I turned away for a second. One single second. Happened so fast. I thought he was getting better.” His voice wavered. “I thought he was getting over it.”

There were things people had the right not to get over, but that they had the duty to get past. Not everyone could do it. Abigail had to try.

She put her hand on Nat’s shoulder. She could have told him she understood, that she was in the unfortunate position of knowing exactly how he felt. She didn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. Neither Nat nor her.

“I think you would rather have people believe this was your fault than that Hank did it to himself.”

He blinked, an affirmation.

“Except I don’t think that’s what Hank would have wanted. Do you?”

At last, Nat turned the key, started the truck, and drove into the wind.

Ruth Kepshaw’s house had a wide front porch, and Nat pulled as close to it as he could.

“Are you okay?” Abigail asked. “For the storm, I mean. Do you have candles and food and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

Abigail realized she was treating him the way her parents treated her. She was fully aware that being badgered by other people in the name of sympathy wasn’t fun. Abigail also knew that what awaited Nat made the hurricane pale in significance. With Hank’s death came countless duties, from making funeral arrangements and notifying next of kin to stopping his mail and dealing with his personal effects. There would be much to do. The first travail would be going home to the apartment over Hank’s garage, where everything would remind Nat of his friend.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Nat said nothing. Abigail understood. There was nothing either of them could say.

Hood on, she hurried from his truck to the porch and rang the doorbell. Nat didn’t leave until Ruth came to the door.

“I’m going to have Denny’s head on platter,” Ruth growled, ushering Abigail inside.

Candles were burning in the living room, which made the oak paneling glow. The furniture smacked of a bygone era but was well maintained, giving the house the feel of a seaside rental rather than a permanent home. A can of diet soda and a book of crossword puzzles sat beside a lounge chair.

“Small change in plans,” Abigail explained.

“You don’t say? Give me those wet clothes and I’ll find you something dry to put on. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”