Castle Cay by Lee Hanson Page B

care of Daisy and
Chinaman. Al and me had better take the jeep and find them.”
    “Can the jeep make it through to the other
side on the trail?” she asked, worried.
    “It’s going to have to, woman! We can’t use
those horses!”
    Mary took the reins from her son, and watched
the pair jump into the jeep and gun it, heading east.
    •
    It was a difficult and jarring drive, bumping
over stones, lurching in and out of ruts. The jeep barely scraped
through the areas where horses trod single-file. Branches whacked
the windshield. At one point, where a horse and rider had to climb
over a small rise, they had to put their backs to the jeep and push
it over. Silently – expecting the worst - they searched the trail
all along for any sign of Dan and Julie O’Hara. At length, they
made it to the wide, limestone-terraced path that ran above the
beach. Al was still driving.
    “Head south,” said John. “If we don’t find
them, we’ll come back and drive north as far as we can.”
    They hadn’t gone far, when they spotted them.
“Look!” said Al, pointing. “There they are, up ahead on the
beach!”
    They pulled up and jumped out of the jeep,
scrambling down the rocks to the sand where Julie and Dan lay side
by side, face down, half in the water.
    They rolled Dan over.
    “He’s dead,” said John, immediately turning
his attention to Julie. “She’s alive! She’s breathing…unconscious.
Help me get her up, Al.”
    “Mrs. O’Hara! Julie! Can you hear me? Julie?”
said John.
    Her eyes fluttered open slightly.
    “Dan? Is Dan okay?”
    “It’s going to be all right, Mrs. O’Hara.
We’ve got you now,” said John.
    Mercifully, Julie slipped away before he had
to answer.
    * * * * *

Chapter 21
    September 18, 2007
Boston, Massachusetts
     
    I n Woodland Memorial Park, Julie sat
with her face in her hands, crying. I’m sorry, Dan. I’m so
sorry! Wiping her eyes with tissues, she rose and slowly walked
a few steps over to a simple, flat marker, unobtrusively lined up
with others under the trees.
     
    DANIEL PATRICK O’HARA
     
    Julie stood for a moment, then turned and
hurried away, fumbling in her bag for the rental car key. Still
dabbing at her eyes, she climbed into the Malibu and left the
cemetery.
    It was difficult to drive, hard to collect
herself. Thankfully, she remembered a restaurant she’d passed on
her way there. She pulled into a slot in front of it, relieved to
see that the lunch crowd had apparently gone.
    Julie went directly to the restroom and
splashed some cold water on her face. She reapplied her lipstick
and patted a bit of makeup under her eyes. Feeling more
presentable, she bought a large coffee and a USA Today paper, and
looked around for a booth with some privacy.
    Her intention had been to distract herself
with the newspaper, but the past had hold of her heart and it
wouldn’t let go. The printed page blurred before Julie’s eyes as
she recalled her zombie-like mental state after Dan’s death. It had
persisted for months and very nearly destroyed her.
    At the inquest, the Bahamian coroner had
said:
    “ Daniel O’Hara accidentally drowned after
suffering a head injury consistent with a fall, thought to have
been caused by a slip on the guano-covered rocks in the cave he was
exploring.”
    •
    But Julie knew different. She didn’t get to
Dan fast enough to save him. The guilt she felt made it impossible
to face people, to accept sympathy. She had run away.
    Money had not been an issue. She was the
beneficiary on Dan’s life insurance policy and it was a sizeable
amount. When fall came, she had enrolled at the University of
Florida in Gainesville.
    Julie hadn’t made new friends; she didn’t
want any. Because of Marc Solomon’s unwavering loyalty and
persistence, Julie had maintained a half-hearted relationship with
him, mostly by phone.
    But fate had a nasty surprise for her friend,
Marc. The summer after Julie had moved to Florida, Marc’s mother
died of a heart attack on