“Okay, Jo,” Ophelia says gently. “Maybe we’re wrong. There’s no need to cry, honey.”
“I’m not crying,” I tell her. But when I reach up and touch my face, I find that I am. Tears are dripping down my cheeks, leaking in a stream I cannot seem to stop. “I’m fine. I’m just confused. None of this makes sense.” My voice cracks, breaks open. Anguish pours out of me in a flood. “Nothing has made sense in so long. I don’t even remember what my life felt like when things were normal. No matter where I turn for answers, I hit another roadblock. It’s like I’m trying to put together a puzzle, but someone’s thrown away the box and I’m missing half the pieces and—”
The rest of my words are overtaken by jagged sobs, the force of them rocking my body back and forth. As I fall to emotional pieces, the twins get up off the sectional and move to sit with me on the loveseat. It’s only built for two, but they cram their bodies in beside mine anyway, pressed close with their heads on my shoulders and their arms wound tight around my back.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out,” Ophelia whispers from my left side. “We’ll help you find out what really happened last summer. We’ll make Chris cooperate, even if he’s reluctant.”
“Yeah,” Odette agrees from my right. “I mean, if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s getting what we want out of unwilling men.”
“And in the meantime, we have plenty more champagne.”
Laughing through my tears, I extend my empty glass for a fresh pour. “Bottom’s up.”
TWENTY
archer
I sit on a weatherbeaten bench by the harborside, nursing a strong cup of coffee from the cafe on the corner and watching the boats pass by. The local sailing school is in full swing — grade-schoolers in fluorescent life jackets pepper the waters, their Optis and Lasers racing back and forth in jagged tacks as they head out for the day. The fleet is chased by a hard-bottomed inflatable with two high-school aged instructors at the wheel, yelling out directions that carry on the wind.
Hold your tiller like a microphone, Max!
Anya, your sail is luffing! Pull it in!
Patrick, we aren’t in international waters — peeing off the stern is public indecency!
A ghostlike smile pushes at my lips as I remember the first time I went sailing. I was ten. Seasick as a dog, but entirely under Jo’s spell as she barked orders at me like a tiny drill sergeant. She was so thrilled to share her biggest passion with me; she radiated so much joy, it made me happy just to be around her.
“Whatever you’re smiling about right now doesn’t take away from that ugly black eye,” a wry voice announces.
In the days since the fight, my bruises have worked their way through half the color wheel, fading from mottled purple to puce green and finally to the sallow shade of yellow-brown I now bear. Draining the final sip of my coffee, I toss the empty cup into a nearby trash bin before glancing over at the man who’s just taken a seat beside me on the splintered wood bench.
“Whose fist did you run into?” Tommy asks.
“My brother’s.”
“I hope you returned the favor.”
“More than once.”
He nods in approval. “Good. From what you’ve told me, he had it coming.”
“This and more.”
“Wanted man, isn’t he?”
“Last I checked.”
“No wonder he’s working on a long-hauler. It’s much easier to stay in the wind when you’re offshore three weeks out of the month. No parole officers on the high seas.”
I cut a sharp glance at Tommy. I never mentioned where Jax was working. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Word gets around.” He shrugs. “Not many secrets on these docks. At least, not when you’ve worked them as long as I have.” He pauses, laughing lightly. “Make that had, seeing as I’m officially retired.”
“How’s it feel?”
“Going to take some getting used to. Mind you, I still have some small side jobs to keep me busy — boat maintenance for some rich folks up in Manchester, that sort of thing. Maybe I’ll finally learn to sleep in after forty years of waking up before the rooster crows. Hell, I might have myself a leisurely breakfast. Kick up my heels. Even read the newspaper.”
“Do they still print newspapers, old man?”
“No one likes a smartass.”
“Wasn’t aware I was competing in a congeniality contest.”
“If you were, you certainly wouldn’t win.” He glances back at me. “Your brother — he’s working on that old outrigger, right? Over by the commercial warehouses?”
I nod. “Reina.”
“La Reina. The queen.” He falls curiously silent. A seagull gives a croaky call as it soars overhead. It’s nearly across the harbor by the time Tommy speaks again. “Fitting boat name for the Latin Kings, I suppose.”
Startled, I look over at him. “What?”
“Did you think your brother and his crewmen were filling those holds with fish? Don’t be a fool. Everyone around here knows they use that old rust bucket for one product and one product only — and it don’t require refrigeration, if you catch my drift.”
“They’re using the boat to move drugs up the coast,” I mutter. Jaxon’s cocky words the other day come back to me in a rush. Most of the shit we’ve got going on right now is thanks to me. Yep. This has my brother written all over it. I grind my teeth together. “I should’ve known. As soon as I saw my brother on that boat, I should’ve realized he was up to something. It’s not like he’d bother working an actual job.”
“Have to hand it to him — it’s a smart plan.” Tommy leans back against the bench. “Far less regulation here in Gloucester than in a big city like Boston. They pull in once a month with a full hold of heroin, load it into bait crates, pack it into waiting fish trucks… Product is on its merry way across the state by sunup.”
“They’re probably supplying all of Massachusetts.”
“All of New England, more likely.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Jesus has no hand in this.” Tommy lets out a low whistle. “Satan, on the other hand…”
“I should’ve known,” I repeat, frustration bleeding into every word.
“Well, you know now. Question is… What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean? What can I do?”
“You can turn your brother in, for starters. He’s a wanted man. Violated his parole. The authorities would be more than happy to toss his keister back in the can.”
I run a hand through my hair. It’s grown so long, the tips brush the top of my shoulders. “I should. I should’ve called the other day, the moment I saw him on the docks. God knows it’s what he deserves.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a bullshit answer.”
I sigh. “I don’t want to cause my parents any more pain, okay? They’ve been through enough.”