The Wedding Shawl (17 page)

“But here’s the thing. I heard you say that Claire was gone. I don’t mean to interfere. But I think I might know where she is.”

They took Andy’s truck, a well-cared-for Toyota Tacoma, perfect for hauling drums and amps, he told Nell. His dad had given it to him a couple years before. A birthday present.

“It’s my baby,” he said proudly.

“It’s beautiful, Andy,” Nell said. She fastened her seat belt, sitting up high beside him. “Is it far, wherever we’re going?”

“Not far. A few miles.”

They drove in silence, through the winding neighborhood streets, and soon the lights of Sea Harbor were behind them. “I can’t promise we’ll find her, Nell,” Andy said, his eyes following the curve of the road. “But I know she’s been out here.”

“Out where, Andy?”

An oncoming car took their attention for a minute, and then they were alone again, with just the beams of Andy’s headlights lighting the narrow road. He drove smoothly, with the assurance born of familiarity. It was clear to Nell he’d traveled this route before.

“Just over this hill,” he said. He drove over the hill, then turned onto another road that skirted a thick woods. He glanced over at Nell, then back to the road. “The Markham Quarry.”

Nell’s breath caught in her chest. “The quarry?”

He nodded. “I come out here sometimes. I talk to Harmony. Tell her what’s going on. It’s so quiet here. Peaceful, even. Is it awful that I do that? I mean, this is where she died.”

Nell was silent. What was awful or not awful? It was the last place that Harmony stood, the last place she breathed. If Andy felt her presence here, was that bad?

“I was out here a couple weeks ago,” Andy said. “Tiffany and I—we were having some problems, and I came out here to talk to Harmony about it. Harmony knew Tiff inside and out.”

He made a sound, then—a kind of self-deprecating laugh. “I sound crazy, don’t I? I’m a grown man, and acting like a kid.”

Nell looked at him. “Why? It’s not foolish to want to be close to someone you cared about. And if you can accomplish that, good for you. It’s not crazy at all.”

Ahead of them, the moon seemed to sink low in the sky, nearly touching the treetops. The forest was lit from above, a black silhouette against a giant yellow ball.

“That day, I was hiking in to the edge of the quarry, like I always do. It’s a well-marked path now that the county owns it, but back when we were in high school this place was privately owned. Some kids got caught skinny-dipping out here once, and the lady actually had them arrested. Word spread and this place was avoided like the plague. She was crazy, kids thought. Now hikers are welcome, though.” He slowed slightly, glancing over at the woods bordering the road.

“That day I’d almost gotten to the clearing when I saw that someone was already there. There’s a pile of granite boulders at the edge of the water, big ones to climb and sit on. She was there, this lady. I didn’t know who it was, but I could see from the back, from the way her shoulders were shaking, that she was upset. I figured she needed her privacy. So I turned around and walked back through the woods to my truck.

“But then I started wondering about it—about who the person was and why she was out there, in my spot. That’s the way I thought about it.
My spot.
So I sat in my truck and waited. A little while later, she came down the path, and there she was. It nearly knocked the wind out of me. The sun was at her back so her features were blurred, fuzzy, like in a movie. She looked almost ethereal. But mostly, she looked just like Harmony. Like it was Harmony walking toward me in slow motion.

“Finally my head cleared, and I saw a lady climb into a little blue Volkswagen bug and drive off. I knew right away it was her mom. I didn’t know she was back in Sea Harbor, but I knew for certain that’s who it was.”

Andy pulled his truck over to the side of the road and parked. “There’s the trail.” He pointed across the road. Then he looked around and pointed again, this time to a gravel strip just deep enough for cars to park and not obstruct traffic. “And there’s her car.”

Andy didn’t want Nell to walk through the woods to the quarry by herself. “It’s tricky, lots of ruts in the path, and there’s only the moonlight to light the way.” He led the way, through the thick stands of maples and sumac.

Nell was glad to have his company. They walked slowly through the trees, around bends, through thick patches of wild berries crowding the trail. Several times Nell nearly tripped on gnarled roots that crawled across the path. The night sounds were eerie and deep—a sudden rustling of invisible animals skittering out of their way, the gulls above, and the wind whistling through the high, unseen tops of the trees. She had seen many Cape Ann quarries, but not this one. It was off the beaten path, tucked away near some berry orchards. It was a small quarry, and mostly forgotten.

He would lead Nell to the quarry, Andy said, but he wouldn’t stay. It didn’t seem right for him to meet Harmony’s mother in this place. It would be awkward, hard for her. And she’d be able to give Nell a lift home, though he’d wait in his truck if she wanted him to. He stopped in the path and turned toward Nell. “Do you know what I mean?”

She did. She didn’t completely understand the emotions filling the space between Claire Russell and Harmony’s friends. But whatever it was, forcing an uncomfortable encounter in such a private, emotionally charged place didn’t seem wise.

At the edge of the clearing, they stopped. Nell pulled some thistles from her jeans and looked into the open space. In the distance was the quarry, and next to it a large mound of granite boulders, just as Andy had described.

He pointed in that direction.

The still silhouette of a woman sat at the top of a granite pile.

It was unmistakably Claire. Her head was held back to the sky, and her arms were wrapped around her knees, holding her steady on the boulder. Moonlight bathed the contours of her face.

Andy looked at Nell, his expression an amalgam of regret and sadness. He lifted one hand, a silent wave, then turned and walked back into the woods.

Nell waited a minute, then took a few steps closer, quietly calling out Claire’s name.

Claire turned toward the voice and smiled. She didn’t seem surprised to see Nell. She gripped the craggy boulder and edged herself down from the pile of rocks. Shivering, she rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly. It was warm when I came out.”

Nell smiled. “It was daylight. Sunny.”

“Yes.” She walked slowly to the edge of the quarry, and Nell followed. Together they stood on the high bluff and looked down into the bottomless quarry. It was breathtaking. A pristine, bottomless sea surrounded by slabs of granite, magnificently carved by the joined forces of nature and man. Catbrier, bayberry, and shadbush grew in patches along the ledges, and here and there a tiny pine tree sprouted, clinging for survival. The center of the quarry held the moon’s perfect reflection, a white globe suspended, as if by an invisible hand, in the still water.

The pure water that had swallowed up the body of a beautiful young girl.

Nell took off her sweater and wrapped it around Claire’s shoulders.

Together, without the intrusion of words, they turned and walked away from the Markham Quarry.

They rode together in Claire’s small VW, back along the narrow road and into town. Claire didn’t ask Nell how she’d gotten to the quarry or why she’d come. It didn’t seem to matter, and the quiet that filled the car was comfortable.

Ben was waiting at the door when they pulled into the driveway. The lights were on, giving a soft glow to the house, warm and welcoming.

“Time for a nightcap?” Ben said, holding open the screen door and peering into the darkness.

Nell could see that Claire was tired. She was beginning to understand the kind of emotional retreat that the gardener had subjected herself to that day.

But Claire surprised her.

“Yes,” she said to Ben. “I’d like that. A glass of wine … and the company of friends. A good combination.”

The raw grief that had defined the features of her face that morning was softer now, tucked inside and replaced with the haunting beauty that Nell had been drawn to the first time she saw Claire at the nursery. Her brown hair hung loose to her shoulders, and her slender body, in slim jeans and a light cotton blouse, appeared far younger than her fifty years.

Ben had turned on lights near the fireplace, and they cast soft shadows across the cherry floor and sisal rugs. It was a lived-in area with comfortable green and beige upholstered furniture, soft lights, and built-in bookcases around the smooth stone fireplace. It was a room that beckoned people to come in and stay a while. To be with friends. To be safe.

Claire took the glass of wine Ben offered and sat beside Nell, looking around. “This room reflects you both,” she said. “It’s warm and lovely at once. And if a room can be kind, well, then that, too.”

Ben chuckled and set a bowl of nuts down on the table. He sat across from the two women and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You’ve had a hell of a day, Claire. I wouldn’t have set that newspaper on the step if I’d known. You know that.”

“Of course I know that—you were being kind and hospitable.” She managed a smile and turned to Nell. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I know you were expecting me in the garden.”

“I worried, I suppose. I tend to do that.”

“An understatement, Claire. Nell has perfected that art.”

Nell shushed him with a look. “It’s the circumstances that worried me. I didn’t know what to do to help.”

“I’ll be fine,” Claire said. “But thank you for caring. I came back to Cape Ann to somehow make myself whole again, but I didn’t expect this. Tiffany’s death, having things brought up again. It’s thrown me a bit.”

“That’s certainly understandable,” Ben said. “The timing is unfortunate. But the police would like to talk to you. They’re trying to cover all the bases, that’s all. Chief Thompson’s a good man. He’d avoid this if he could.”

Claire nodded. “When I read the newspaper this morning, I could see that the investigation was taking a different direction. So I supposed this might happen. It would only take a few phone calls to find out that I had changed my name—and probably not long at all to find me.” She rolled the wine stem between long fingers. “But I wasn’t trying to hide from anyone. The name change, that was something … Well, it wasn’t to keep secrets.”

“We have good men on the police force. It’s just routine,” Nell said. But she had no idea if it was routine—or what Jerry Thompson and his crew were thinking. Ben supposed it was the coincidence itself, and then the further coincidence of Claire being in town. They just want more information, he had assured Nell.

“I haven’t spoken to Tiffany Ciccolo since before my daughter died. I don’t know what I could possibly say to them about her death. But I’ll go to the station anyway. And I’ll tell them anything I can.”

“Did you know Tiffany well?”

The question seemed to confuse Claire. She took another drink of wine before offering a guarded answer.

“No. Not all that well. There was one time, when Harmony first met Tiffany, that I tried to teach them both to knit.” Her face softened with the memory. “We spent some time together then.”

“But they were good friends?”

Claire nodded. “Yes. I think it started when Tiffany didn’t have anyone to eat lunch with at school. She was shy. And Harmony—she was more of a free spirit. She was always rescuing birds and rabbits and little critters. I suppose it began like that. But a teenage friendship all those years ago … It seems to me that the police are grasping at straws.”

“You’re convinced there’s no connection?” Ben asked.

“What could it be? For a while—and I know it’s a terrible thought, but I was grasping at anything that might make sense of it all—I thought that somehow Tiffany might be connected to Harmony’s death. I don’t know how or why, but she never came to see me afterward, never offered me any comfort by telling me about Harmony’s last night. And I was desperate for information. Anything at all. Who did Harmony talk to at the party? Did she have a good time? Did she eat anything? Did she dance?

“Tiffany and Andy Risso were the last people I know who saw my daughter alive, and neither of them ever came to me or told me any of the things I needed to know. I called Tiffany’s house once, but she told me she had to work and couldn’t talk to me. All I wanted was another glimpse of my daughter. Something beyond the look on her face when she left home that night.”

“It was a graduation party at the school, I understand,” Nell said.

Claire nodded. “When she left that night, Harmony hugged me so hard it almost hurt. She told me she loved me and that everything was going to be all right. Then she slipped out the kitchen door and walked off.”

“Everything was going to be all right?”

“I thought at first it was an odd thing to say, but I think she meant that she’d be sure her father wouldn’t find out she had gone to the party. That there wouldn’t be a horrible scene in the house. Her eyes were so bright when she looked at me—full of promise and life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so beautiful. There was a special look about her. And then she went off into the darkness.”

“She went to the party alone?”

“No. She had my car. She was picking Tiffany up and dropping her overnight bag there—they were going to spend the night together. Richard had forbidden her to go out that night, but she was desperate. She’d graduated with honors, and it seemed so unfair of him to forbid her to go. She wanted to go so badly and wouldn’t back down. She was going, ‘or else,’ she said. She was determined in a way I hadn’t seen her be before. She had missed so much over the years because of her father, but this night seemed especially important to her. Her father was unrelenting, so she begged me to make it happen.”

Nell watched a shadow fall across Claire’s face as she reached back into her memory to that night. And in that moment, she knew what a horrible burden Claire had lived with all these years. She’d met the demon Claire had come home to exorcise.