Chapter 11
ELEVEN
When I open the door, a man stands in the hallway with a metal toolbox in one hand.
He’s in his mid-fifties, with sun-lined skin and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. From his rough-looking hands and the way he’s dressed, he is the kind of man who spends more time fixing things than sitting still. His work boots are scuffed, his T-shirt faded soft from too many washes.
“Mark Jacobs.” He offers his large hand. “I’m here about the window.”
His grip is firm and his palm feels like sandpaper. When I look down at our clasped hands, I notice the calluses framing his fingertips, and a thin scar that runs across the back of his right hand.
Behind me, I hear movement in the kitchen. Scarlett had been rinsing a mug at the sink, and though I don’t turn around, the sound of running water stops immediately and the room goes very still. I don’t need to see the look on her face, the guilt.
Gabriel steps out of the library, followed by Coco sniffing at his heels.
“Gabriel, this is Mark Jacobs,” I say. “He’s here to fix the window.”
“Window?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“Yes.” Mark steps forward. “I got a call about a defect window… broken glass.” He looks at me a little confused, perhaps wondering if he’s at the right apartment.
“Yes, right.” Gabriel’s shoulders stiffen. The movement is subtle, but it’s there. He carries the look of someone reminded of something they’d rather forget. But he comes to shake the handyman’s hand. “Thanks for coming.” His voice sounds like that of someone who has been smoking for years.
I smile at the man. “I’m the one who called you. You told me you wouldn’t be able to make it today.”
“That’s right.” He smiles, spreading out the wrinkles fanning the corners of his dark eyes.
“But I had a canceled appointment. I was in the building fixing a washing machine in apartment five, and I figured I’d check in, see if you’re home.
” He shuffles in, stepping carefully over the edge of the welcome mat, as if he’s not sure about the rules of entering a stranger’s home. Which seems odd, given his job.
“Well”—Gabriel glances at me briefly—“I was just about to take a call… a work thing.” He pats his jeans pocket where the phone must be. “I’ll… I’ll take it outside. Get out of your way.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just grabs his keys from the mantel, and heads for the door.
The door shuts behind him.
Scarlett, who I even forgot was standing there, clears her throat and also finds an excuse to escape, saying she’s going to read on the balcony.
As she backs away, she doesn’t meet my eyes. The sliding doors open, then close softly, shutting her outside with a book in her lap that just sits there unopened.
I’m left standing inside with the man they both feel guilty facing, as if he knows what they did, that they are responsible.
“This way.” Mark and I walk down the hall toward Sadie’s room.
He pauses just inside the doorway, taking in the boarded window, then the rest of the room.
“What happened, if I may ask? Someone throw a rock?”
“It was an accident.” I rub my arm up and down. “Can you fix it?”
“Sure can, ma’am. Haven’t met anything I can’t fix.
” With a deep chuckle, he sets down his toolbox.
He approaches the window, removes the makeshift cover and studies the damage.
“You’re in luck. It’s a small pane. Shouldn’t take more than an hour because I have the glass in stock.
” He straightens up and stretches his back.
“See, I do a lot of work in this building so I have spares handy.” He gives a quick, professional smile and winks as if to seal the deal. “Lucky day.”
He excuses himself to go and get the pane of glass, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. He is gone for several minutes.
Left alone, I wander down the hallway, touching my fingers to the baby-blue plaster and trailing the edges of our family photos.
I think of going to wait with Scarlett on the balcony, but I don’t feel like it, so I head to our room instead, just sitting on the bed to catch my breath as I wonder where Gabriel really went. If he starts drinking again, I fear that could destroy what’s left of us.
Luckily, my thoughts are disturbed by Mark returning with a soft knock on the door instead of ringing the bell.
He enters the apartment carrying the new pane of glass, gloved hands steady beneath the edges. “Ready if you are.” He tilts his head in the direction of Sadie’s room.
I show him in, remaining in the doorway as he sets down the glass on the bed and opens his toolbox, laying out his tools in a neat row that glimmers in the light.
His movements are practiced, efficient, and he asks questions only when he has to, like how long the window has been broken, and if I would like him to clean up the glass shards from outside that I didn’t even notice.
“I’d rather take care of it, thanks.” Then I excuse myself to let him work in peace, only returning half an hour later.
“Can I make you a coffee?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
“That’d be great. Give me a minute.”
When he joins me in the kitchen, Scarlett is still on the balcony, visible through the glass. She still hasn’t turned a page, just staring out at sea.
“You visiting?” Mark wraps his calloused fingers around the mug, steam rising between us.
“Kind of. This is our apartment. We come here sometimes.”
He examines me for a moment, maybe recalibrating his assumptions, before taking a careful sip. “Nice place. You’ve made it up real nice. What made you choose Saltspray Cove as your favorite place to set up a second home?”
He’s quite the chatty type, isn’t he? Not that I mind. I answer with a bittersweet smile. “We had our honeymoon here.”
He sips, leaving a half-moon of coffee on his upper lip that he wipes away with his thumb. “It’s a good place. Outsiders love it here.”
“I’ve heard it’s even more popular because of the camp.”
His coffee mug freezes halfway to his lips. “That’s right. The camp sure does put us on the map.” He sets his mug down with a sharp clink. “It helps a lot of kids. Thankfully what happened didn’t make it lose its reputation.”
“The missing girl?” I grip my mug. “Six months back? She’s believed to have… drowned.”
“That’s right. Such a tragedy.” Mark’s chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes back. “Thanks for the coffee, ma’am. I should finish up. Got another job waiting as soon as I’m done here.”
He gives me a nod and heads back to Sadie’s room, leaving his mug half full.
When I check on Scarlett again, she’s still outside, but now her legs are drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she’s afraid the wind might blow her away. But it only tosses her hair across her face.
Mark is done in less than an hour. The sound of his toolbox clicking shut echoes from Sadie’s room.
He grins at me when I enter. “Good as new.” He wipes dust from his palms onto his jeans. “You’ve got my number if anything else breaks.”
“Sure.” The bills in my back pocket are warm and slightly crumpled. Our fingers brush as I hand them over. “Thank you so much.”
“Appreciate it.” He pockets the cash with a nod, then the door clicks shut behind him.
Desperation suddenly surges inside me. I can’t let him go, not yet.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running out of the apartment barefoot, chasing after him.
“Wait!” My voice bounces off the walls. “Do you really believe the girl died?”
He turns. “What girl?”
“The one from the camp. The girl that supposedly drowned six months ago.”
His eyes narrow, then widen with recognition. “Oh. I know who you are, ma’am. I knew that name on the door rang a bell.” His Adam’s apple bobs up then down. “Sadie Sutton. She was all over the papers. You’re her mother, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Something hot pricks behind my eyes. “I am. I’m her mother.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mark’s gaze drops to the floor.
He rubs the back of his neck, then looks up.
“Ma’am… the camp’s a good place, always has been.
My cousin’s boy went there two summers ago on a scholarship.
People trust that place. But the sea?” He pauses to scratch his beard.
“That’s a different story. If your daughter got caught by the wrong current—” He clears his throat and says nothing more, wanting to spare me the pain his next words would bring.
“So, you don’t think she could have survived?” My voice is almost a squeak. “Bodies sometimes surface, don’t they?”
After a moment’s pause, he blinks. “Ma’am, the sea doesn’t answer to anyone. But listen, not many people around here understand that better than Saul Daniels.”
“Saul Daniels? Who is he?”
“He’s been in this town since before it turned all fancy.
If you want someone who understands the waters better than the coast guard, you talk to Saul.
He’s been fishing this coast for years. If something of your daughter’s turned up on any stretch of that shoreline, trust me, word would’ve reached Saul’s ears. ”
“Where can I find him?” I ask before thinking.
“He’s one of the old salts,” Mark adds. “Been here since dirt. He lives on his boat.”
The old salts. That’s what the locals who have been in Saltspray Cove since before it became wealthy are called.
The men and women who’ve watched the town change and stayed anyway.
Mostly fishermen, repairmen and women, boat owners, and bar owners.
I also know the old salts don’t live in buildings like this one.
From the way he speaks, I’m guessing neither does Mark.
“You’ll find him down by the lobster co-op,” Mark says. “Can’t miss the boat. The Blue Hammock, it’s called. The name’s painted on the side, like a kid wrote it. Looks ready to sink with the next tide, but it never does.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he clears his throat again. “If your girl got carried by a current, he might at least be able to tell you which way. That man has pulled more things out of that water than anyone.”
Things, not just fish.
“Thank you,” I say, but my pulse is pounding hard.
Mark bows his head once. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly.”
I nod. He clearly doesn’t think Sadie survived, but that’s his opinion.
He walks away this time, leaving me standing between two versions of Saltspray Cove.
The one with glass balconies, manicured hedges, and pastel facades. And the one that remembers the dangers and secrets that lurk beneath the sea.