4.
“Rise and shine!”
Claire’s eyes were sticky. She wrenched them open with marked effort. There were no windows in her cloister room to signal morning, but the air behind Audrey was lit with a soft glow, day seeping in through the water-covered glass of the main room.
Audrey smiled. She wore a white sundress and her hair was down, a stark contrast to how she’d been dressed yesterday. “Did you bring a swimsuit? No worries if you didn’t, I have one for you!” She placed a black bikini on the foot of Claire’s bed. “We’re taking the yacht out today!”
Slowly, Claire sat up, groggily shaking off the dregs of a dream.
She couldn’t tell where it began or ended—Ash had been in it, throwing up, which was fairly unpleasant as dreams went.
Maybe that part had been real, since he’d certainly given his liver its last rites the night before, but she couldn’t untangle the dream parts from the might-be-real parts.
Everything had mixed with her vague memories of the accident and made for a muddled brain soup that she was eager to forget.
Though not as eager as she was to not get on a yacht.
Claire stretched, yawned. “Actually, would it be OK if I stayed here? I’m feeling a little queasy.”
“Are you sick?” The question came quick and almost sharp, though Audrey still smiled. “Had any illnesses or infections in the past few weeks?”
Claire’s brow furrowed. Audrey sounded like a nurse at an urgent care center. “No, no, I’ve been fine.” Claire mustered an answering smile. “It’s probably just from nerves.”
Audrey sat on the bed with a slight sigh of near relief.
For a second, Claire thought she would put a hand to her forehead, a mother checking for fever.
She was slightly disappointed when Audrey didn’t.
Maybe she should have lied about being sick.
Aunt Margo had never done more than direct her to the Tylenol in the cabinet. It might be nice to be fussed over.
“Of course you can stay if you want.” Audrey laced her fingers together in her lap, looked down at them. “It’s just… well, we were going to go by where Elias is buried. I thought you might want to see it.”
Did she? She still needed closure. Even though she knew Elias was dead, she’d never seen proof of the fact. And what kind of daughter—daughter-in-law—would say no?
Audrey’s impossibly blue eyes were misty. She dabbed at the corners, subtle and quick.
“I’ll go,” Claire said, before she could talk herself out of it. “Of course I’ll go.”
Audrey looked up, eyes still scrimmed in tears, and put a soft hand on Claire’s cheek. “That’s our girl,” she murmured.
○ ○ 2. ○ ○
Breakfast was huge and elaborate, with carved fruit and yogurt and granola that looked homemade beside a platter of perfect pastries.
But it was just a buffet, not a sit-down affair, because everyone was already dressed for the yacht and preparing to leave by the time Claire came downstairs.
She was incredibly conscious of the bikini she wore beneath her shorts and tank top, and she only took a handful of strawberries.
Her stomach lurched and growled, somehow nauseous and hungry at the same time. An excellent combination for boating.
A line of dark cars waited by the front porch. Claire slid in with Greg and Theo. Theo gave her a warm smile, though he seemed preoccupied. Claire watched the other Ashburys get into other cars, but one was missing. “Where’s Ash?”
“Isn’t feeling well this morning,” Theo answered.
Yeah, she bet he wasn’t.
The car wound down the road, past the beach houses that still looked empty. “Did you sleep well?” Theo asked.
“Fine,” Claire lied. “Just a little nervous. I don’t do well on boats.”
“It’s big enough that it barely feels like a boat.” Theo gave her leg a reassuring pat. “Just don’t look straight down at the water.”
Next to him, Greg scoffed but didn’t say anything more.
They reached the shore. It looked different than it had yesterday, and it took Claire a moment to figure out why. The long white causeway was gone.
She twisted in her seat as they passed where it had been. “Uh. Where’d the road go?”
“Collapsible,” Greg said. “Built by one of our sister companies. Rhodes-Hodge Infrastructure. We share assets with a number of other scientific firms.” He seemed proud, even though apparently Ashbury Marinography wasn’t responsible for this particular marvel.
Rhodes-Hodge. So that’s who Mr. Ashbury had been talking to in the elevator. They must work closely.
“It’s only open when we’re expecting company,” Greg continued, beaming out at the water as if he could still see the causeway.
“So when you aren’t expecting anyone, the only way off the island is a boat?” Claustrophobia crept into the edges of her brain, worsening the roil of her stomach.
The car rounded a bend, revealing a dock full of white yachts, some looking nearly as large as the house in Connecticut.
“It’s not a problem,” Greg said, slightly smug. “There’s always the submarine.”
They all trooped out of the car and toward the yacht that had been apparently prepped for sailing. Dierdre stood on the deck, clad in a bikini even smaller than Claire’s and clutching a glass of wine. She waved at Claire as she embarked, holding up the glass. “Want one?”
It was nine in the morning. But Claire nodded.
She was glad of it as the yacht slid away from the dock and toward the open ocean.
Box breaths, in and out, the surface of her wine trembling along with her hand.
Claire stood toward the stern, following Theo’s advice to not look down, watching Harrow Point recede.
In the light of day, the windows were dark beneath the water.
“It’s OK, honey.” Audrey put a hand on her shoulder. “This is the safest vessel you could possibly be on, and there’s no risk of a storm. I had Wellsley triple-check the forecast.”
Claire nodded. “I’m sorry. Boats just make me nervous.”
“Understandably.” Claire didn’t turn away from the island, but she heard Audrey rustle beside her. “These go well with wine. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself.”
Claire looked down at what Audrey held out to her. An Oreo.
○ ○ 3. ○ ○
When Harrow Point surrendered to the sea, Claire moved from the stern to the prow, hoping land would be easier to spot from the other side.
As long as she could see land, she’d be OK.
No such luck—there was a slight glimmer on the horizon, as if something was there other than water, but she couldn’t tell if it was land or not.
Theo stood at the railing, face ashen. His hand was on his stomach. Claire propped her arms up next to him. The wine and the Oreo had actually been bolstering, and she no longer trembled. “Seasick? Seems like that would be a liability in this family.”
He tried to smile, but it was just a thinning of his lips. When he spoke, it was quiet, barely heard over the ambient sounds of the ocean. “You should go.”
She thought she’d misheard him. “What?”
Theo pressed his fist to his mouth. Definitely seasick, trying to fight it back. Claire put a hand on his arm, and his skin was clammy. “I’m not afraid of a little vomit, Theo, let’s get you inside—”
“No.” He pulled away from her. His eyes were wide, glassy, so so blue. “Claire, it’s been two days. You should go. You’ve done—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “You’ve done enough. I know being here is… is hard for you…”
Words weren’t coming easy. It seemed like he had to fight for each one.
“I’m fine,” Claire said, almost combative. “I don’t like boats, but it’s the least I can do. I have to see…” She took a deep breath, fought down the knotted ball of grief. “I have to see where he’s buried.”
“You’re seeing it,” Theo said quietly. Then he gagged, pressing his open hand over his mouth.
“Theo?” Greg, out of nowhere. He said his husband’s name like a mother calling for a naughty child.
“I think he’s seasick.” Claire backed away as Greg marched over, looking far too annoyed for someone whose husband was a second away from hurling. “It’s not a big deal.”
Greg didn’t respond. “I’ll take him below. Audrey wants you on the main deck.”
He led Theo away. Neither one of them looked back.
○ ○ 4. ○ ○
Claire retraced her steps to the main deck of the yacht, twisting down spiral staircases that made her regret that wine on her nearly empty stomach. Patrick, Dierdre, Wellington, and Audrey all stood at the railing of the prow, waiting for her. Patrick frowned. “Where’s Greg?”
“Theo got seasick. Greg was helping him.”
A dark look slid between the two oldest Ashbury brothers. “It’s fine,” Wellington said, turning toward the ocean. “We don’t need him for this.”
“Come here, honey.” Audrey held out her arm, and Claire tucked herself beneath it. Everyone was somber, watching the waves lap against the hull. “This is his resting place,” Audrey said quietly.
Claire peered out at the water, expecting to see a small island, some spit of land.
But the only dry ground was the larger island portside, bare of trees, bare of anything except what looked from a distance to be a large glass dome.
The glass dome must’ve been what she’d seen glimmering in the distance up top; her trek down many precarious stairs had given them enough time to draw close. “Over there?” she asked quietly.
Audrey shook her head. “That’s the lab where he spent his five years working. Learning the ins and outs of the business. But he isn’t buried there.” She gestured to the water.
It was as blue as Ashbury eyes, gently foamed with surf. It took Claire a minute to surmise what this meant. “You… you buried him at sea?”
It was a thing people did. In this family, she supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise. But it still felt like someone had punched her in the gut.
“Every Ashbury is,” Wellington said. “We return to the place from which our blessings come.”
Claire tensed. Audrey felt it. She rubbed at Claire’s arm, soothing.
Beside Wellington, Patrick bent and picked something up off the deck. A white bundle, watery blood seeping through the seams. It looked like something from a high-end butcher shop.
Wellington took the package from his brother, held it out over the water. “To the depths, we give this sacrifice, as stipulated. Mike was dedicated and consecrated to the cause.”
Claire’s vision was narrowing. Her gut twisted up, still slightly queasy, wine and Oreo churning in her middle. The smell of the package was rank and metallic.
The livestock, the barns. It must be a cut of meat from one of their cows.
Audrey kept rubbing her arm, holding her up, and Claire shrank into her side. This ritual or whatever made her feel uncomfortable, but everything funerary did.
The package sank beneath the waves. Wellington wiped his hands on his pristine black shorts. “More family superstition,” he chuckled, turning away from the railing. “The things in the sea need dinner, too.”
Claire forced a laugh. “Mike is a great name for a cow.”
Dierdre snorted over top of her wineglass. “Yeah.” She drained the whole thing.
You have to leave.
The thought swam up from her animal hindbrain, too quick and too strong for her to bury, to marquee over with something easier. Claire closed her eyes and shook her head, as if she could physically make it go away, her brain a Magic 8 Ball and her asking for a different fortune.
But the thought wouldn’t go. Her instinct had gathered its meager strength and made a Hail Mary.
You have to leave. Soon.