The Wideness of the Sea Page 4

  As she stared at the dark brown casket, she tried to remember Uncle Charlie. His habit of telling bad jokes. His love of Johnny Walker, lobster, and watching Charlie Rose, the PBS talk show. He was a funny guy, and though his zest diminished a little with age, he still loved to have everyone gathered in his backyard, facing the water, a big cocktail in his hand, smoking cigars with her father under the stars.

  “Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,” the priest said.

  Anna remembered one Christmas when she was probably six. She had gotten a new bike, her first, and had brought it to Uncle Charlie’s when they went over for Christmas dinner. While the women made dinner, and her dad helped Stephen assemble a model airplane, he went out with her to practice riding the big bike for almost an hour until she got it. She remembered his cheeks rosy with cold, his brown corduroy pants dirty from kneeling down and adjusting the seat height. He cheered her on like a high school football coach. Of course, she had loved him fiercely ever since. Her chest ached at the memory, and tears fell onto her dress.

  “And may perpetual light shine upon them,” the priest continued, sprinkling holy water on the casket.

  Anna suddenly realized a huge part of the hurt of losing Uncle Charlie was losing her history. He was part of the memories of her life before her mom died. Before she had moved away. She wanted every part of that life to stay here, preserved, up in Maine, so when she was ready she could come back to it. But now, he was gone. She suddenly realized with a sharp sting of regret that the people who know you well, that have known you for your whole life, are irreplaceable. No new addition in your life can ever have what you shared with them. Your past is gone, except for the people who carry it with you. But they take that part of you with them when they go.

  Anna believed perpetual light would shine on her uncle. She just wished she could feel some of it on her right now too.

  After the Mass, the family went to the cemetery, and the cold, steel-gray sky cooperated in echoing the feelings of everyone there. Though Anna’s mother had been buried at St. Patrick’s, Uncle Charlie was being buried down the road. The service was mercifully short. Anna felt numb. She couldn’t help but notice a dandelion growing right next to the hole they had dug for Uncle Charlie. It felt mocking; a sign of spring next to cold emptiness. She couldn’t believe he was going to stay there, in the ground, the mocking dandelion his only companion. A wind was coming in strong from the ocean, whipping every lose strand of hair into a frenzy. A light rain started to fall as the ceremony finished, and they walked away from the cemetery holding their hands or purses or coats over their heads.

  Marie put her hand on her sister’s arm as they were walking. “Hey, Annie,” she whispered, “don’t you think you should ride over with Dad, you know, so he’s not all alone?” She nudged her sister’s arm as she spoke. Anna wanted to ride in her sister’s minivan, distracted by the musings of her nephew, but she knew her sister was right. She could only ignore her father for so long. She stepped carefully across the gravel onto the wet grass, her patent-leather heel getting caught a few times on her way over to her father’s black sedan.

  “Hey, Dad. Mind if I ride with you?” she asked, though she opened the door and climbed inside before he could answer.

  The ride to the restaurant was not long, but within the first few miles Anna found herself glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “So how are you feeling?” she asked, knowing that a direct emotional assault was the least successful way to get her father to talk, but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy for idle banter. She looked over at his thick white hair, his gray mustache that was tinged with brown around his mouth from his cigars. She even noted how handsome he looked in his suit.

  “As well as can be expected, I guess,” he answered. Anna nodded and stared out the window, glancing at the Maine pine trees, the stone walls, the wet muddy roads, mentally taking in the tragic beauty of the wet spring day. Life and death and new life seemed intertwined with each other, giving her vertigo.

  “So how is the big city?” her father managed after the silence had become thick.

  “Fine, I guess. Busy.” She was stealing Mike’s line.

  “Have you looked into any art programs lately?” he asked.

  The muscles in Anna’s shoulders tightened, and she reminded herself to breathe in slowly. “No, actually, I haven’t. I’m happy at the gallery.”

  “Glad you can be happy selling other artists’ work,” he said. His tone was casual, but Anna knew behind this statement was the minefield she discreetly tried to sidestep every time she came home.

  “It’s a living,” Anna said, trying to smile.

  “But it’s not a life,” her father replied, turning into the parking lot of the Irish pub.

  Anna was relieved, since she suddenly craved a good strong drink.

  That afternoon, after saying goodbye to family and friends, Anna, Marie, Stephen and their cousins, Sarah and Phillip, decided to head over to one of their favorite hangouts, Shaw’s Wharf, a local seafood restaurant and bar on the harbor. They had asked their dad to join them, but he begged off, saying he was too tired, much to Anna’s relief. Aunt Catherine and Uncle Joe were still hosting some out of town family at their house and told the kids to go have fun. Anna was so glad that Mike offered to take Henry home for a nap and told Marie to join them.

  They sat looking out at New Harbor, a busy working harbor scattered with buoys and lobster boats and skiffs. The bar was open to the elements, with no doors, just a wooden beamed ceiling overhead and a dock below, though plastic barriers managed to ward off some of the chill. They arrived around four o’clock, just as the lobster boats were rolling in with the day’s catch, which was mostly cod at this time of year. They had changed into jeans and sweaters, and despite the tense muscles and ever-present fatigue Anna had felt since her sister’s phone call last Saturday night, it felt cozy and comforting to be at a favorite spot with such beloved company on a Tuesday night. Her uncle’s funeral had temporarily hijacked their lives, and Anna was discovering that it was a much-needed break. She felt something in her soften and relax, some part of her she had forgotten. She had missed her family connections. She had missed home, missed Maine, more than she had realized.

  It wasn’t that she was miserable in New York. It was exciting and fun living in the city. But there were these moments – when she was day dreaming, or riding the subway, that she felt disconnected from parts of herself. When she was doing her art, she forgot about it and was able to be in touch with something real. But when she was alone, she could feel something was off. And then oddly, when she was around other people, at a dinner party or sitting on the couch next to Raphael reading the paper, she sometimes suddenly felt very alone. She chalked this up to losing her mom, perhaps. Or just being an artist. Besides, she knew she could call Marie or Georgia, and she wouldn’t feel this way with them. Most of the time she pushed away the feeling, telling herself not to feel too sorry for herself.

  She reached for her plastic cup, filled with the local microbrew, the coldness of the beer mixing with her chilly fingers, when she looked up and saw a face she recognized. He was making his way over to where Anna sat at the bar, with his thick, sandy-blond hair going in a million directions, his weathered face, and his blue eyes the color of her favorite blue paint - ultramarine. He had on bright orange overalls and rubber boots. She was staring at Andrew Toomey.

  It was such a surprise, though it shouldn’t have been. Anna had sat at this bar many times with Andrew, when his day on the boat was done and she had missed him enough to wait for his return. He started out working with his father, but toward the end of the time they were together, his dad’s MS had progressed, and he started taking over more and more of his dad’s territory. Anna knew he had been working toward his own boat when they finished college.

  “Hey, Anna, if you needed another emotional highlight of the day, how about running into your old boyfriend?” Marie said under her breath.

  “Where?
” Stephen asked, turning around conspicuously. He had been friends with Andrew first, after all.

  “Could you be any louder?” Anna whispered. She froze a bit, though she wasn’t sure why. She had nothing to be afraid of, yet she felt her legs shaking under her jeans, and she couldn’t seem to take a deep breath.

  He walked right next to where the three of them were seated, an arm’s length away. If Andrew had spotted her yet, he didn’t look like he cared one bit. She heard him talking to the bartender over the low music playing. “Two Pemaquid Ales,” he ordered. Anna looked up again and realized his friend Chris was standing right beside him, tall and stout-chested with a thick dark beard. He had often helped Andrew out as sternman. He turned to Chris in his orange overalls and handed him a beer.

  It was Stephen who broke the ice. “Hey, Andrew, haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, his tone friendly as he reached out his hand. Anyone would be happy to see Stephen.

  Andrew slowly turned around. “Oh my Lord, Stephen? Stephen Goodrich?” And just like that, Anna saw his eyes flick toward her. The expression on his face was a mix of shock and something like fear. “Anna?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  Anna had regained herself slightly, enough to slide off the barstool and come around for a hug. “Hi there, Andrew. It’s really nice to see you.” She hugged him quickly, and then sat down again facing him. She was surprised at the truth of that statement. She could feel the shock subside and a swell of joy rise up in her, childlike, pure happiness in being near him.

  “What are you all doin’ here?” Andrew asked. Anna still registered shock in his tone, but something else made her a bit guarded, like she had trespassed on someone’s lawn.

  “Our Uncle Charlie passed away,” she said. Anna remembered all the times Andrew had joined them for a holiday or a Friday night fish & chips feast at her uncle’s house. He no doubt remembered him well. “We had the wake last night and the funeral today.” Keeping to specific facts helped her avoid the tide of her thoughts.

  Andrew finally broke out of his stupor and sat down towards them, gesturing to Chris to do the same. He reached for his beer and took a large sip. “That’s right, I think I heard the news but didn’t connect . . . I didn’t realize you’d all be here. I’m so sorry to hear it. Your Uncle Charlie was one of a kind, and we will all miss him.” He took a sip of his beer and looked up, and Anna could feel the weight of his eyes on her, in her chest and hands and legs. It took her by complete surprise that her ex-boyfriend from high school and college, whom she hadn’t seen in more than seven years, would have this effect on her. She hadn’t even had a passing thought about him in months, besides the day in the gallery when she remembered the blue lobster. She struggled to speak, but Stephen again stepped in.

  “We’re just here for a couple days. How are you? Still fishing, I see.” Stephen gestured toward the harbor.

  Andrew nodded his assent. “Carrying on the family business.” The change in conversation was a relief, and Andrew seemed to snap into a more personable version of himself, the kind you’d meet at the gas station or a wedding. “Except for a few spots, lobster fishing starts May 1st and ends December 1st, but there are a lot of limits on when you can pull up traps during that period, to help keep overfishing in check. The summer months are the easiest time to work since the lobsters come to shallower waters when the temperatures rise. Right now, we’ve been fishing for cod mainly this weekend, testing out a new engine and gear. Sort of a spring break to get ready. Chris has been helping me out.” He looked like he had more to add but took a sip of beer instead.

  “He pays me in beer,” Chris said. He looked just as Anna remembered him from high school, and was built like a bear, with chocolate colored hair and eyes, and a sense of humor that charmed everyone around him. He must have stayed in Pemaquid, helping Andrew.

  Anna listened, remembering the hoarse, strong voice, no trace of a Maine accent, just a clear intelligent softness mixed with a confidence that always seemed to help him to use fewer words to get his point across. She found she was very curious which boat was his and looked out over the names painted in the back left side of the boats in the harbor. Her eyes landed on a white boat with green and black paint and the words Christina Therese across the back. That must be it, she thought, since Christina was his mom’s name. She hadn’t known her middle name, but it was interesting to note that it was the same as her mother’s name, Therese. She found it endearing that he honored his mom with his boat.

  “Is that one yours?” Anna asked, pointing to the Christina Therese.

  “Good guess,” Andrew answered. He looked out at the water, something pulling on his face, and perhaps would have been lost in thought if Marie hadn’t chimed in as well.

  “How’s Lizzie doing?” she asked. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with your sister since we moved back from Buffalo last year. My husband, Mike, did his residency there, and I lost touch with everybody. Is she still as funny as ever?”

  Andrew smiled and nodded. “As a matter of fact, she bartends here on the weekends. You should stop in and see her. She mentioned you have a baby, right? How old?” he asked as he took a sip of his beer.

  “He’s two and a half,” Marie said. Her dimpled smile revealed maternal pride, her brown eyes shining. “That’s so funny that she’s been here the whole time—we’ll have to come down and do dinner on the weekend. Henry would love it. We’ll bring the fishing poles and fish off the dock. Actually”—she stopped, hesitating on her next sentence and catching Anna’s eye as she spoke— “maybe Henry could head out on your boat sometime, during lobster season?” She looked at Anna with a guilty expression. Anna pictured her sweet nephew on the Christina Therese. There was something surreal about the way these events were unfolding. But she couldn’t blame Marie. Henry would love the boat ride and the lobsters.

  Andrew lifted his hands as an invitation. “You’re all welcome, anytime.” He seemed to look over at Anna cautiously after he said it, maybe gauging her response. Then he added, “It’d have to be after the second week in May, though; that’s when the official season starts this year. I’m going to be busy before that anyway.” Andrew reached into his pocket and grabbed his wallet. “Actually, I should be off now too.” He glanced at his watch and finished his beer. “How about I give you my number?” he said to Marie. He grabbed a napkin and a pen from next to the register and scribbled his number down, his callused hands under his rolled up shirt sleeves triggering a wave of memories in Anna. “Give me a call anytime this summer; I’d be glad to have you and your squirt tag along. Maybe we could catch up with Liz too, do dinner here. And feel free to come along too,” he said in the direction of Stephen, Anna, Sarah and Phillip. He handed the napkin to Marie, and then looked right at Anna and said, “Good seeing you.” As they got up to leave, Andrew turned with a wave.

  Anna watched him walk up the steep ramp that led out to the parking lot. She listened as the seagulls cried out, fighting over the fishermen dumping their scraps. The smell of the briny air and the sounds of the harbor washed over her like she was waking from a familiar dream, and Andrew walking away just added to the effect. She could almost feel a part of herself rising up like an anchor, like the tide coming into the harbor.

  Later that night, after saying goodnight to Marie, she lay down in bed with a mystery novel, and tried to read. But her thoughts kept returning to Andrew. It had been such a surprise to see him. She gave up on the book, turned out the lights, and tried to sleep. Her mind involuntarily summoned up memories of him. Like putting the needle on the first groove of a shiny black record, she started playing the story of Andrew, from the beginning.

  After that day on the dock when they saw the blue lobster, Anna tried to avoid him at school. Andrew was a senior, along with her brother, and she was a sophomore. Of course he would never notice her. Whenever she saw him, she froze. She couldn’t believe the power one pair of eyes could have on her. Her school days started to become a running awareness of wh
ere he might be, and what he might be doing. If she bumped into him in the cafeteria, or in the hall, she almost detected a flicker of his attention turn her way, but then she talked to herself. “Forget it, Anna. He’s a senior. He barely even knows you exist.” She distracted herself with friends and soccer and a challenging schedule, and painting with her mom. And then, one day late in October, after soccer practice, she walked out into the parking lot to meet Stephen. His soccer practice ended at the same time, and he was her ride home. As she walked outside, a big fluffy snow flake fell onto her eyelashes, and then another. By the time she reached his car a light layer of white snow had settled on it. The cold air woke her senses up, and the snow was everywhere she looked, kissing her skin wherever the flakes landed and melted. Her cheeks were red when she saw Stephen coming toward her. “Can you believe it?” she laughed, holding out her hands. He replied by scooping up some snow, and making a tiny snowball, then hitting her with it. She looked down in mock horror at where it had hit her, and when she looked up, there was Andrew. He was smiling at her, the infectious fever of the snow lighting up his eyes. Freshly showered, his hair was damp, and his cheeks glowed red.

  “We’re giving Toomey a ride home,” said Stephen. “Give him the front,” he said, in typical brother fashion.

  “Whatever,” Anna said back.

  “That’s ok, you can have the front,” Andrew offered.

  “No, really, it’s fine,” Anna said, flustered, her cheeks burning from his attention.

  They drove the fifteen minutes back through Damariscotta to Pemaquid, the wipers beating back the clouds of snow, the boys bantering about someone on their team. Andrew looked back at Anna a few times, and their eyes caught. It felt so intense, she buried her nose in a book and stopped looking up.