Lifesaving Lessons (21 page)

A
s of this writing, I have achieved a new level of selfishness and have managed to disguise it as a generous act of kindness for Mariah. She just left to begin her sophomore year of college in a brand-new, shiny, jet-black, 2012 Volkswagen Jetta. Hey, I didn't feel like driving to Vermont! Mariah did eventually get her driver's license this past summer. And at the age of nineteen, all I could say was that it was time.

I never did understand exactly what the award was that Mariah received at her high school graduation. Her adviser tells me it was like the National Honor Society without the grades, which is sort of funny. Seems analogous to getting a varsity letter for being the batboy. But I was and am proud of Mariah nonetheless. And I am glad to know that her teachers at Evergreen saw something very special in her that I knew was there all along. My work ethic seems to have rubbed off on Mariah. She held down a full-time job this summer at the Isle au Haut Boat Company and also worked weekends in the kitchen at Black Dinah Chocolatiers. She was eager to return to college, even before she knew about the car.

After reading this, if you are left with questions about Simon and me, join the club. We just can't figure it out! I have a number of close male friends of which Simon is the best. We enjoy each other's company on the golf course, on the ski slope, on the water, or just plain hanging out. We don't spend nearly as much time together as we once did. But we do stay in touch regularly. I have recently scolded myself for answering the question with “just friends.” That seems to diminish friendship, as if it's not equal to or even greater than a romantic connection. I have come to know that “friends” can far surpass and fulfill like no other. And my newly acquired gal friends are the perfect example of that. The women of Isle au Haut have surely rescued from disillusionment what was once idyllic in my mind.

As for the land scam at Bungie Head, to date I haven't noticed any activity in the way of clearing the lots or other aspects of the grand scheme promising to reignite the island economy. But to give the pirates the benefit of the doubt, things do tend to move slowly here on the island. And the properties for sale did not become the epidemic I feared. The same real estate signs that popped up seemingly all at once and in response to our bad spell have not increased or been replaced by “sold,” or even “under contract.” So all in all we live with the status quo. I have to accept the possibility that the island community as a whole did not subscribe to my perhaps warped prediction of all-inclusive degradation. The domino effect was in my mind. And the black mark that diminished the “islandness” that was forever most coveted by me fades with every passing day as life truly goes on. I still love where I live. And I still do not deny people's observations that I am living a blessed life—more so now than ever with the enriching experience of Mariah's guardianship.

This past year has been an important one for Mariah and me. It has been tough beyond words. My sister Rhonda was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October and passed away eight months later following the most graceful display of courage in the face of a terminal illness. My closest friend, mentor, and first captain, Alden, died the very morning of Rhonda's memorial service. The pain of the double whammy was eased only by daily contact with friends and family, of which I have grown to realize Mariah is both.

The transformation has been remarkable. I have witnessed a sulky, confrontational teen turn into a confident, responsible, beautiful, and thoughtful young woman. Our relationship continues to grow closer and stronger. I'm not sure what the future holds any more than any mother of a nineteen-year-old does. I have not had any revelations regarding “nurture or nature,” and I wonder whether Mariah believes that I am a natural born mother or that she trained me. I don't suppose it matters. I couldn't love Mariah any more if she were my own flesh and blood. Yup. We are still “us.” And we are great!

Alas, Mariah is not my daughter's real name. In an attempt to protect her privacy, I have changed her name, the name of her high school, and the college she is attending. Of course all those close to the situation will know Mariah's real identity—and they are all the people who continue to love and support us. My hope is that the people in the know will read this book as a bit of a love letter and a thank-you to them from me. My daughter is all in favor of my writing our story. In fact, her hope is that this book will inspire or give strength to some other young victim to break out of the cycle of abuse.

For all my talk of being independent and self-reliant, the writing of this book has been quite a revelation. And acknowledgments seem to be the place to, well, acknowledge the help and support necessary for the successful relationship between mother and daughter, and written documentation thereof.

First and foremost, thanks to my family and friends for ongoing support of my work, both seagoing and landlocked. The island community of which I write endearingly never ceases to amaze in its resilience and strength. We may be small in individual numbers, but as a cohesive unit, we speak volumes. Thanks for chiming in when it would have been so much easier and comfortable to remain silent. The good and decent folks of Isle au Haut recognized something amiss, acted quickly, and by doing so saved a life.

My immediate family is the perfect example of the “good” in my course made. The passing of my sister, Rhonda, left a huge void. But her kindness and advice on parenting a teenage girl linger. Mom and Dad, your undying loyalty, compassion, and support of all I do in the face of better judgment command my ship unconditionally. Bif is my rock, and Ben is hers. Chuck is my alter ego, and Jen his. Aubrey and Addison still split the apple of my eye. But Mariah is mine. Not of flesh and blood, but of real visceral experience. And that, it seems, is just as worthy as familial kinship.

This was a particularly tough writing assignment. And I owe so much to so many for help and guidance in its completion. Thanks to the usual suspects. To name a few; Wendy Wolf, Wil Schwalbe, and Stuart Krichevsky—editors and literary agent. Huge thanks to the entire support team surrounding publishers and agent who do all the behind-the-scenes magic that makes my work appear seamless.

Lastly, thanks to my daughter for being just that.

ALSO BY LINDA GREENLAW

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All Fishermen Are Liars

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Fisherman's Bend

Seaworthy

Recipes from a Very Small Island (with Martha Greenlaw)

The Maine Summers Cookbook (with Martha Greenlaw)