A CRY FROM THE DEEP Page 3

  Leaving the countryside a few weeks later wasn’t as traumatic as she’d expected. Mr. Loutit’s cousin, Marie, was excited about caring for Catherine’s plants and said, “I’ll treat them as if they’re my own babies.” She offered to email with updates and, surprisingly, agreed to a flexible stay. Catherine told her she’d return in the fall to put her plants to bed for the winter—if she took the assignment—and if she didn’t, she’d be back by the end of June. Even with the earliest return, Marie would have at least a month and a half of a true Provence experience.

  Mr. Loutit gave Catherine and Alex a lift to the train station. With the cottage receding in the distance, Catherine left wondering what she was getting herself into.

  TWO

  Catherine’s view from the airplane, with its endless sky and ocean, triggered thoughts of God and purpose in life. As a child, she believed He was somewhere in heaven, and her guardian angel floated in His realm. That all changed when she learned about other religions. And then, with 9/11, there were more questions, but she still believed in something bigger than herself, something that guided people on some unknown path, for some unknown purpose. She wondered if what she was doing was part of a greater plan.

  Three weeks earlier, Catherine had been a contented lavender grower. Well, not completely contented, but pretty good, considering. She frowned as she thought of how soon she’d be meeting Hennesey, a man she despised. From everything she’d read on the Internet, she knew it would take all her resources just to be civil. If these events were not directed by some divine being, then what was this all about?

  Distracted by Alex’s fidgeting, she checked her daughter’s seat belt. They were about to land. Catherine hated take-offs and landings, and having a bouncy child by her side didn’t make flying any easier. It hadn’t bothered her when she was in her twenties, but after reading an article that cited the large number of crashes at airports, her body tightened minutes before take-off or landing.

  Alex peered out the window. “Mama, I can see the boats.”

  Catherine scanned the earth below as the plane flew over a marina. Somewhere down there was Hennesey’s boat.

  “Maybe he’ll give us a ride,” said Alex.

  Catherine frowned. Why had she agreed to this? Everything pointed to disaster.

  ~~~

  The Golden Eye, the ultimate in diving boats, was tied up at the far end of the dock. Alex was already running ahead.

  “Alex, wait!”

  Catherine caught up with her. “Slow down. The dock might be slippery.”

  Alex slowed to a turtle’s pace.

  “Very funny. Would you just stop for a minute? I want to take some photos from this angle.”

  They were still some distance, but Catherine could see a man hosing down the Golden Eye’s deck. She fastened her long lens onto her Nikon camera and zoomed in on him. She’d have recognized Hennesey anywhere from the press he’d received. He was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, worn loose over his creased khaki pants. The passing years had not been kind; his modest paunch and thinning hair reminded her of Jack Nicholson in his fifties. She snapped a few pictures—one of him with a water hose in his hand and another of him picking up some diving gear.

  As they approached the Golden Eye, a woman with ebony skin and a mass of black, kinky hair pulled back in a pony-tail came up from the galley below. She looked about thirty and was dressed in a lime-green halter top and purple capris too tight for her broad hips. When she spotted Catherine, she said something to Hennesey.

  Hennesey came forward from the aft and said gruffly, loud enough for Catherine to hear, “They sent a woman.” If he’d intended to be off-putting from the start, he was certainly successful.

  The woman stuck her hand out over the side of the boat and said, “You must be Catherine. I’m Joy. We talked on the phone.”

  Catherine smiled and shook her hand. Hennesey had been out the time she called or perhaps, pretending to be out. “He didn’t know I was coming?”

  Joy smiled at her and then at Hennesey. “I didn’t tell 'im. He has this thing 'bout women on boats.”

  “But you…?” asked Catherine.

  “I live with 'im,” said Joy. “Besides, I’m a cook, not a diver. Climb aboard. I’ll show ya around.”

  “This is my daughter, Alex.”

  “Well, how d’you do, Alex?” Joy turned to Hennesey. “Are you just gonna stand there?” Grumbling, Hennesey reached over the side and swung Alex on board.

  The boat’s port side was positioned about six inches from the dock and rocked with each passing boat. As Catherine was about to take Hennesey’s hand to climb over the gunwale, she glimpsed the water between the vessel and the dock. Suddenly dizzy, Catherine closed her eyes to calm her nerves.

  When she opened them after a few moments, Hennesey said with a puzzled look, “Are you coming?”

  Frowning, she took his hand and climbed over. As she crossed the water, the terror of falling in gripped her like a vise.

  She must have blanched, because Hennesey said, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She hated lying, but she hated exposing her fear more. “The meal on the flight wasn’t great, and we came straight from the airport.”

  “Mama, you said the food was good.”

  “I meant good for airplane food.” Catherine rolled her eyes, suggesting that Alex had got it all wrong.

  Alex shook her head. “Whatever.”

  Joy laughed. “Well, if you two want to get started, I’ll show this minx 'round.” Joy took Alex’s hand as if they’d been friends for life. “I may even have an ice cream for you.”

  Alex’s eyes grew round. “You have ice cream on the boat?”

  “You betcha. We love our sweets. Can’t ya tell by lookin’ at our bellies?”

  Catherine took an immediate liking to Joy. With her on board, the assignment might not be so bad.

  ~~~

  Hennesey’s office, a short walk from the marina, was on the second level of a small business mall. Piles of books on shipwrecks, navigation, and ocean climates sat on a couple of old wooden chairs, and near them, an ashtray full of cigarette butts revealed an addictive personality. Various papers were strewn on his oak desk and a black phone, a bygone of earlier days, rested on a dusty window ledge overlooking the marina. And on the wall, several photos of Hennesey on the Golden Eye vied for attention with a map of the world showing various diving sites marked by colored pins.

  Hennesey pushed aside some papers on his desk and took out a metal box from a filing cabinet behind him. He used a key from the chain he wore under his shirt to open the box, revealing a package wrapped in green silk. He carefully unwrapped it to expose a gold mask about two hands wide, its features simply executed. It was small, but it reminded Catherine of pieces by Henry Moore, a British sculptor who’d used relics from ancient and primitive cultures as inspiration.

  She bent down to have a closer look. “It’s exquisite.”

  “Inca gold. Worth close to five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “And you keep it in a filing cabinet?”

  “Not usually. I’m expecting a customer later.”

  She was surprised he was showing it to her. Perhaps, he wanted to impress her. “Where did you find this?”

  He grinned. “If I tell you, will you cross your heart and spit you won’t tell anyone?”

  “On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.”

  He shook his head as he polished the mask with the cloth. “You people have so much morality oozing from your pores, it’s a wonder you’re able to do any work at all.”

  She could’ve told him he was an asshole, that she knew he blew a hole in the ocean and was taken to court for dredging a coral reef and killing sea grass, but she said none of this. She didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

  Instead, she said, “We all have opinions. It’s what makes the world go round.”

  “You can keep your fucking opinions. If someone isn’t screa
ming about the fucking cultural heritage, they’re screaming about the fucking environment. They scream about everything. The last time it was about sea grass, as if there wasn’t enough of it anyway. It’s like lawns, it keeps growing.”

  “That’s not what I read.”

  “See, the media twists everything.”

  She looked him in the eye. “One reporter called you an arrogant son of a bitch, a diver who thinks he’s above the law.”

  Hennesey guffawed. “I’ve been called worse. What do you believe?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m leaning toward the media.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I try to be.”

  He rewrapped the gold mask, put it back in its box and returned it to the filing cabinet. He locked it and returned the key to its hiding place under his shirt. “So, Frank tells me he wants you for this dive. I find that curious.”

  “Why?”

  “I did a little background checking of my own. I know about your break from diving and why. Want you to know, I’m no goddamned babysitter.”

  She snorted. “You worry about your end, I’ll take care of mine.”

  “Yes, sir!” He saluted as he said it.

  She hadn’t meant to reply with such a bite, but his attitude, complete with mocking grin, got the best of her. Why was she even considering going? Her instincts were advising her to run. She hadn’t come on board the project yet, and already he was under her skin. The media had one thing right. He was an arrogant son of a bitch.

  THREE

  It was as if she’d never left. Driving over the Queensboro Bridge with Alex and Richard in his BMW, Catherine feasted on the Manhattan skyline. Even though the absence of the twin towers brought tears to her eyes, the majestic spires of the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings still stirred her like no other buildings could.

  Richard glanced at her. “It still haunts, doesn’t it?”

  She nodded as she looked again at where the towers once stood. She said nothing more until they’d crossed the bridge and a man yelling at another man on the street got her attention. “Are you still dealing with some of those patients you took on back then?”

  “A few are still coming.” He pursed his lips. “I wasn’t much fun, was I?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t a fun time.” Richard’s sadness over his patients’ misfortunes had crept into their relationship. Like a fog that showed no signs of letting up, a pall had settled over their union, to the point where even lovemaking became a chore. She couldn’t remember when they’d stopped doing it altogether. Instead of sex, they had each gone to bed with a book, as if reading would squash any desire.

  They rode the next few blocks in silence. The rush of cars and pedestrians on East 60th and Park Avenue reminded Catherine of a Pollock painting with its kinetic frenzy and streaks of every color. The yellow cabs and street vendors brought back more memories. She remembered the times they had tramped across town to Greenwich Village to hear some jazz musician, or to an art gallery that had sprung up overnight in Chelsea. They’d had their happy moments.

  But after her scuba diving accident, everything had changed. She got depressed, and Richard, being a psychiatrist, started treating her like a patient. And even when she decided to see a therapist, he couldn’t keep his hands off. He called her shrink periodically to give his unsolicited opinion until Catherine found out and insisted he stop. That only added to the strain between them. By that time, she was pregnant.

  Catherine looked over at Richard. He was focused on driving. He was still a handsome man with his prematurely silver hair and soft blue eyes. And when he smiled, his face shone in a way that made her wonder why she’d ever left. Perhaps they were too much alike. They both needed to be in charge. One thing, though. They had their differences, but they never fought. Instead, they had drifted apart, each trapped in a bubble. It had been no surprise that their divorce turned out to be an amicable one. Richard hated scenes and because of Alex, Catherine was forever grateful.

  They had stopped at a light. She said, “How’s the rest of your practice? Still turning heads inside out?”

  “Not much has changed. I’ve got the usual assortment of the too thin, too rich, and too…” He glanced back at Alex, whose face was pressed against the side window. “Too forked.”

  Catherine said wryly, “Forked?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Alex groaned and gave her mother an oh, brother look. Catherine couldn’t help smiling. Alex was at the age where you couldn’t get much past her.

  It was too bad she and Richard couldn’t have made it. Especially for Alex’s sake. When Richard had showed up at arrivals to greet them, Alex had run to him shrieking with delight.

  He had swung her around and said, “Look at your legs! You’re getting so tall.”

  Catherine always got a lump in her throat at these times. She still blamed herself for dragging their daughter so far away. When he had put Alex down, she and Richard had hugged awkwardly, as if they’d never hugged one another before. It was strange how intimate they’d once been. That alone made her wary of any future attachment. You love someone one day, and the next, you’re both strangers.

  As they drove on, she was glad that Alex—after taking a recess—was back at entertaining her father with tales of Disney World. Her incessant chattering left little room for small talk or any uncomfortable silence.

  Richard turned on to Central Park West, where the traffic had slowed to a crawl. Up ahead, there seemed to be an accident. It was bumper to bumper as one driver after the other swiveled to find an opening. They inched forward. It seemed to take forever before Richard was able to turn left at West 75th Street and then right on Columbus Avenue. It was still slow, but better slow than stuck in the midst of steaming New Yorkers. On the other side of the road, an outdoor flea market, one city block long, was in full swing.

  Alex rolled down her window. “Mama, can we stop, please, please, please?”

  “Oh, Alex,” said Catherine. It’d been hectic since they’d left Provence and the last thing she wanted was a stop at a crowded marketplace.

  “Well…?” asked Richard. “You better make up your minds fast.”

  Catherine threw up her hands. Parking was always a headache. “Suit yourself.”

  Richard gamely looked for a spot. He could never say no to Alex.

  “Looks like you’re going to get your wish,” said Catherine.

  “How about I drop you both off, and I’ll come and find you?”

  Catherine scanned the throngs weaving past the various stalls and spotted a canopy with lettering: Hats by Helene. She checked her watch and then pointed at the sign. “How about we meet at eleven by that hat table?” Maybe the market wouldn’t be so bad. She could always use another hat.

  ~~~

  Catherine and Alex had walked the entire circuit—of antiques, homemade foods, and old photographs of once-famous stars—before Richard caught up with them at the hat table. Catherine was trying to decide whether to buy a black wool one with a brim and a braided ribbon around the crown. It reminded her of the hat Diane Keaton wore in that Woody Allen picture decades ago. Some things never went out of style.

  “Looks good on you.” He smiled approvingly.

  “It does, Mama.”

  Catherine checked her image in the hand mirror on the table. She liked what she saw and pulled her wallet out from her bag.

  Richard took out a roll of bills from his pants pocket. “Let me get it for you.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s only a hat, Catherine.”

  She hesitated and then said, “If you’re sure.” She grinned as he paid the seller. “Thanks. You’ve always been generous.”

  “You’re welcome.” Richard put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “What about you, cookie? Did you find anything?”

  “Yes.” Alex opened a plastic bag she was holding and took out a small stuffed blue and yellow rabbit with a white bow on each ear. �
�She’s my lucky rabbit foot.”

  Richard and Catherine laughed as Alex hopped around holding up her new purchase. Is this what it would’ve been like had she stayed? Would they be this perfect family?

  Richard looked at her as if he was thinking the same thing. But maybe the thought was too dangerous, because he said nothing and turned away.

  Alex stopped hopping by a booth featuring antique jewelry. She fingered some bracelets and then settled on a blue suede jewelry case with a twirling ballerina inside. Richard came up behind her to see the tiny plastic dancer spin slowly to one of the pieces from The Nutcracker. “Can you make her go faster, Papa?”

  While Richard attended to Alex, Catherine admired a display of rings on a black velvet cloth on the same table. The bands were the usual sterling silver, some carved, and some set with turquoise, black onyx, or malachite stones. She tried on several, but nothing seemed special. The vendor, a woman with frizzy, red hair partly covered by a paisley scarf, watched Catherine for a few moments before bending under the table. She brought up a small wooden box and opened it, revealing a slightly tarnished gold ring.

  Fascinated by the design—two hands holding a heart—Catherine tried the ring on her right hand. It slid on easily with no room to spare.

  “This is nice, huh?” Catherine said to Alex.

  “Oh, that’s so cute!”

  The redheaded vendor tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s a Claddagh ring. Very old Irish wedding ring. More than a hundred years old.”

  Catherine raised her hand, allowing the sunlight to bathe her fingers. The heart with the crown on top glistened in the light.

  “Why don’t you buy it, Mama? It’s so pretty.”