Chapter 12
TWELVE
I go back into the apartment and close the door, but I don’t move.
I remain standing there, barefoot on the cool tile, staring at the closed front door as if Mark Jacobs might knock again or ring the bell; as if he might suddenly remember something important, something that would crack everything wide open.
When I count to fifty and he doesn’t, I walk to Sadie’s room.
The new window makes the room whole again, as if nothing violent ever happened there. The jagged shards that mirrored how I feel are gone, replaced by a perfect pane so transparent it seems like an illusion, a sheet of nothing that separates the inside from out. Like it’s just air.
I put the dolphin back where it used to be and leave, fighting the urge to lock the door so no one can come inside and disturb it again.
I shake my head and go to check up on Scarlett, who has moved from the balcony to her room, but I stop at the sound of the key turning in the lock.
Gabriel is back, and it has not been long since Mark left. I know immediately that he was close, perhaps inside his car.
He steps inside, his keys dangling loosely from his fingers. He pauses when he sees me, then his shoulders lift slightly, bracing for something.
He drops the keys back on the mantel. “Hi.”
“Hi.” For the first time in a while, I really look at him, study the lines of his face like I used to.
He looks tired, the kind of tired that sits deep in the bones rather than only showing on the surface of the skin.
There are faint shadows beneath his eyes and a tightness around his mouth that I recognize from the last months.
But at least he’s steady on his feet, his gaze is clear, and when he speaks, his words don’t slur. He wasn’t out there drinking.
“The window’s fixed.” I tilt my head toward the hallway. “The handyman left not too long ago.” I meet his eyes directly and let the corner of my mouth curl just a little.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad he could fix it.”
“Yes,” I reply. “He was quick.”
Gabriel shifts his weight, then adds, “I went for a walk… after my phone call.”
I nod. I don’t ask why he came back so precisely after the handyman was gone. I don’t ask whether he’d been watching the building, waiting for the right moment to return. He was definitely avoiding him, not wanting to listen to talk of the broken window.
For now, it’s enough that he’s here.
For the next two hours, the three of us don’t leave the apartment. Gabriel is on the phone most of that time and when he takes a break from work, we all move around one another without getting in each other’s way, each pretending what happened earlier didn’t.
All the while I wrestle with the urge to tell them what the handyman said to me, wondering if I can really trust them to support my search.
Before Mark rang the bell, I had briefly bonded with Scarlett and she promised to help me, but did she actually mean it?
Either way, I don’t want to do this alone. I need someone else to listen to what Saul the fisherman will tell me, if anything at all. I need to be responsible since I’m going to a different part of town, to meet some stranger.
I wait until 4 p.m. when they are both in one place, Gabriel at the sink, Scarlett pouring a drink from the fridge. When I walk into the kitchen, they both turn to look at me.
“The handyman told me something… about someone that might help us get more information.”
Gabriel looks up from the kitchen sink where he’s been rinsing his mug. The water runs too long before he turns it off. He watches me carefully now, alert. “Who?”
“A fisherman.” I lean against the kitchen island. “Apparently his name is Saul Daniels, and he lives on a boat. He’s familiar with whatever goes on in the sea. He might know something… anything.”
Something flickers across Gabriel’s face. “You want to go and talk to this guy?”
“Of course I do. If he knows something I want to know.”
To my surprise, he sighs and doesn’t fight me. “Okay, when do you want to go?”
“Today. In an hour or two?”
He hesitates, then dries the mug, putting it away. “Okay. We should all go.”
“Yes,” Scarlett adds. “We don’t want you out there with some stranger on a boat. We don’t know anything about this man.”
“No.” The word lands heavier than I intend and they both straighten, surprised. “I mean, I think only Gabriel and I should go.” I throw a glance at Scarlett. “If all three of us show up, he might feel ambushed.”
Understanding dawns on Scarlett’s face, followed by something like relief. “You have a point. That’s fine. I’ll hang out with Coco.”
“Yeah, that would work. We’ll update you once we get back.” I catch Gabriel’s glance, a look that says, I’m not sure if this is a good idea, but I’m doing it anyway.
We leave at six, when the day has begun to tip toward evening.
Behind the wheel, Gabriel navigates through Saltspray Cove’s streets.
Outside my window, the town has shed its daytime chaos. Tourists have retreated to their rentals or are settled in restaurants offering early dinner, leaving behind a stillness that makes it easy to breathe and to fully appreciate the picture-perfect image of this town.
I take in the glass storefronts, clean windows mirroring the sunset, freshly painted facades, and the flower boxes overflowing with colorful blooms. Even the sidewalks look polished, as if someone scrubs them.
Neither of us speaks as we near the Clampton harbor, the less perfect side of town.
The town transforms with each block we drive by.
Designer boutiques turn into hardware stores with faded signs, and the polished storefronts are replaced by older houses that look truly lived in, not just set up for a photoshoot.
I notice chipped paint, a bent fence here and there.
Some driveways have old cars, weathered boats, bikes, and lawn chairs instead of shiny SUVs.
I smell the harbor before I see it. The air shifts gradually, thickening as it picks up the scents of salt, fish, and diesel instead of the sweet smell of sunscreen and expensive perfume.
As Gabriel eventually slows down, through my open window I listen to ropes slapping rhythmically against hulls and seagulls crying out over the water, circling the air above the mess of boats, too many to count.
Some are white and gleaming and others have peeling paint and are green with moss.
Some names can hardly be read anymore. A radio crackles with a voice too distorted to understand, so I give up trying to.
This part of town doesn’t try to impress anyone. Its focus is survival.
Gabriel parks near the edge of a lot covered in oil stains.
“We’re looking for the Blue Hammock,” I tell him as we step out of the car and walk around the harbor that’s more alive than the rest of Saltspray Cove at this hour.
Fishermen and women with lined and sunburned faces pass us, their boots thudding against weathered planks. We greet the ones who offer a kind smile and focus on scanning the boats around us.
Not that one. Not that one either. We count six and none of them is the boat we are looking for.
“Maybe he got the name wrong,” Gabriel murmurs.
“No, he didn’t. Mark was very clear.”
So, we keep walking.
By the time we spot it, after at least fifteen wrong boats, my patience has almost worn thin and I’m on the verge of giving up. The sun is starting to sink lower now, throwing amber light across the water.
The Blue Hammock is exactly as Mark described. It’s small and crooked and looks like it’s about to sink. The paint is also chipped and the name scrawled unevenly along the side looks like a child painted it years ago and no one ever bothered to fix it.
A man with a wiry gray beard is sitting on the deck, hunched forward. He’s in his late sixties, or seventies, maybe, and like most men we came across, his skin has been darkened by decades of sun and salt.
A cigarette is glowing faintly between his fingers while he watches us approach without moving a muscle.
“Private property,” he calls out when we get close, his voice rough as gravel. “Turn around.”
“Are you Saul Daniels?” I ask when we’re standing right in front of his boat.
He stares at us, then flicks the cigarette overboard. “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Judy Ellis. This is Gabriel.” I turn to point at my husband, who hangs back while I step closer, letting my sandals click on the floating dock, which rocks gently beneath me.
If this guy wants to scare me off, he’ll have to try harder.
“Mark Jacobs, our handyman, said you know more about the sea than anyone around here. We were hoping you might help us.”
He studies us in silence, weighing something invisible, but I can see I stroked his ego with what I said. Finally, he jerks his chin. “Up. Both of you.”
The boat rocks beneath my feet as we climb aboard, the deck smelling of fish, rust, and old water. Saul leads us below into a cramped cabin that feels more like a bunker than a home.
“How may I help you?” he asks.
“We’re looking for our daughter. Sadie Sutton. She was in town six months ago, at Saltspray Cove Youth Camp.”
He points to two stained cushions at a built-in table cluttered with cigarette butts, fishing gear, and an old, dog-eared boating magazine. “I remember the story,” he says. “Girl went missing, possibly drowned. I was part of the search team, in fact.”
“You were?” Gabriel and I both ask at the same time as we sit down.
“I certainly was.” A hint of pride shows on his face. “The coast guard called for volunteers. I’ve fished these waters for years. I know the currents. I know how the tide changes when the wind shifts.”
I lean forward, my heart pounding. “Is there anything you can tell us that wasn’t reported? Anything at all?”
I pull the photo from my bag and place it on the table.
Saul leans in. His breath hitches slightly as he studies it for a while.
Then he rubs his wrinkled brow. “That night, the tide was running hard to the south. There was a rip current too. It was stronger than it looked from shore. If someone went under…” He lets out a slow breath.
“They wouldn’t come back up, at least not where they went in. ”
My throat tightens.
“So you don’t think she survived?” Gabriel asks.
Saul scratches his beard. “If your girl swam out where they said she might have…” He pauses. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you hope, but after what I’ve seen, you’d know how these things end.”
His words feel final, making it hard for me to breathe.
Gabriel drags a hand down his face. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t say things unless I’m sure,” Saul says. “I’ve pulled too many bodies out of this water to pretend about what the sea can do. The ocean is merciless.”
He looks at me, and for the first time I see sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He runs a hand over his head. “Your girl should have stayed in the camp, where it’s safe. They should teach those kids more about rip currents, and they need to put up new signs.”
After taking a long moment to collect myself, I change the subject. “What about the youth camp? What do you know about it?”
His eyebrows rise a little and he leans back, clasping his hands over his stomach.
“This town depends on the camp more than people admit. Summer brings money and jobs for locals. It gives those kids some structure too. Not all of them have good homes, you know. The camp takes in a few charity cases every now and then. Anyway, I’m sorry they couldn’t help your kid. ”
Couldn’t help Sadie? They couldn’t even keep her alive.
I press my lips together, pull a card from my purse, write down my number, and slide it across the table. “Thank you for your time. If you remember anything. Anything at all.”
He takes it, nods once.
We stand up and Gabriel helps me onto the dock, which sways under our weight.
Behind us, Saul comes out of the cabin and keeps himself busy with a frayed rope, tying it to a piece of weathered metal.
“Shame,” he mutters quietly.
I look back. “What is?”
He keeps working without looking up. “All these missing kids.”
“From the camp? There are others?” I freeze.
“Yeah.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Every few years, one or two decide the camp isn’t for them and run off. I guess they can’t handle the world on their own.”
“They ran from the camp?” My stomach tightens as I grab Gabriel’s hand. “What happened to them next?”
He glances at the pier, distracted by someone shouting his name from another boat.
“No one knows. They might have drowned like your girl did. There were three I know of.” He lowers his voice. “One of them met a bad end.”
“How bad?” I ask.
Saul looks at his watch. “Sorry, ma’am. I need to go take care of some things before it gets dark.”
“Please,” I beg. “Do you remember their names at least?”
He hesitates, then hurries back into the cabin and returns with a folded scrap of paper with three names written on it. He hands it to me.
He points to one of the names. “That one… it’s a tragic story.”
“What do you mean? What happened to her?” I press, aware that Gabriel is very quiet next to me. Why isn’t he saying anything?
Saul steps back toward his boat as someone calls his name again. “I need to go. Come by another time if you’re still curious. Have a good evening.” He goes back into the cabin without another word.
As we walk away from the boat, I stare down at the paper in my hand.
Three names. Three kids who ran away.
Or who vanished, just like my daughter.