the water and toward the sky.
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I was the first one off the ferry. I walked down the ramp and past two pretty blue-eyed girls holding the rope open for me. I walked through a parking lot and threaded my way through the line of cars and trucks waiting to board the ferry for the return trip to the mainland. On Main Street the sidewalks were clogged with tourists carrying beach stuff and shopping bags. I pulled my hat lower over my face. On my left large Victorian inns built into the hillside leaned out over the road. On their tiered porches, people sat at tables above me and watched the harbor.
The short Main Street followed the curvature of the island and soon I had left the harbor behind and now there were small Cape houses with porches and yards full of gardens and flowers. To my right the road fell sharply away and below there was a long beach that stretched until the island slipped out of view at other bluffs. High cliffs led to where I walked and this was so different from Galilee, where the land bled right into the ocean. I watched the rippling tide moving unevenly across the beach and into the sand, and the people bathing in the morning sun were scattered like bugs, no more than tiny spots of color.
Cars and couples riding bicycles passed me but no one looked at me twice. I left the town behind and the morning sun warmed my face. On either side of me now meadows of heather and clover rose up and away from me. The road moved inland and I could not see the ocean anymore but I could still smell it. Salt spray hung in the air and the big ocean sky was blue and flat.
At the edge of a small brackish pond I stopped and sat on the grass. I removed the bag from my shoulder and I ate one of the sandwiches. I watched the occasional car driving down the island road. Then I smoked and for a while I just looked across at the rolling land. After a time I rose and began to walk again.
The road meandered through a high country of sedge meadows. Low stone walls crisscrossed bright green pastureland and along the roadside purple loosestrife grew almost to my belt. This was beautiful land and I saw why the tourists all came here. In the distance weathered gray farmhouses sat on the sloping land and in front of some of them, brown horses in small paddocks flicked their tails against flies. The sun beat down and it was hot now. Not as bad as it was on the open sea but I took off my shirt and tied it around my waist.
As I walked the road began to curve back toward the coastline and coming around a bend I saw the ocean again, to my right and far below, and somewhere down there was the cove that Victor and I had brought our skiff into that night. I was getting close. The house could not be far now.
Another half hour and I found it. I had walked almost the full length of the island. I stood in front of an ornate iron gate cut into a high hedgerow. I couldnât see all of the house, but I could see a slice of roof, two of the three chimneys andpart of the turret, which gave it away. There was no mistaking this house. On the other side of the gate, a winding road cut through the trees.
Now that I was here, I had no idea what to do. It was not like I could just open the gate and walk through it and then knock on the door. What would I say? And in the back of my mind it occurred to me that maybe she had seen me better than I thought that night on the stairs, that maybe she would hear my voice and know that it was me, close the door in my face and call the sheriff.
And as I was thinking this, I heard a car slow behind me. When I turned I saw the rack of lights on the roof and I thought, so this is where it ends.
The red-and-white sheriffâs car slowed next to me. I saw the cop inside, and to my relief it was not Sheriff Riker, but a man not much older than myself. I nodded at him and he looked me up and down and then he kept driving. My heart beat like a bird. I watched the car disappear around the bend in front of me and that
Â
I was the first one off the ferry. I walked down the ramp and past two pretty blue-eyed girls holding the rope open for me. I walked through a parking lot and threaded my way through the line of cars and trucks waiting to board the ferry for the return trip to the mainland. On Main Street the sidewalks were clogged with tourists carrying beach stuff and shopping bags. I pulled my hat lower over my face. On my left large Victorian inns built into the hillside leaned out over the road. On their tiered porches, people sat at tables above me and watched the harbor.
The short Main Street followed the curvature of the island and soon I had left the harbor behind and now there were small Cape houses with porches and yards full of gardens and flowers. To my right the road fell sharply away and below there was a long beach that stretched until the island slipped out of view at other bluffs. High cliffs led to where I walked and this was so different from Galilee, where the land bled right into the ocean. I watched the rippling tide moving unevenly across the beach and into the sand, and the people bathing in the morning sun were scattered like bugs, no more than tiny spots of color.
Cars and couples riding bicycles passed me but no one looked at me twice. I left the town behind and the morning sun warmed my face. On either side of me now meadows of heather and clover rose up and away from me. The road moved inland and I could not see the ocean anymore but I could still smell it. Salt spray hung in the air and the big ocean sky was blue and flat.
At the edge of a small brackish pond I stopped and sat on the grass. I removed the bag from my shoulder and I ate one of the sandwiches. I watched the occasional car driving down the island road. Then I smoked and for a while I just looked across at the rolling land. After a time I rose and began to walk again.
The road meandered through a high country of sedge meadows. Low stone walls crisscrossed bright green pastureland and along the roadside purple loosestrife grew almost to my belt. This was beautiful land and I saw why the tourists all came here. In the distance weathered gray farmhouses sat on the sloping land and in front of some of them, brown horses in small paddocks flicked their tails against flies. The sun beat down and it was hot now. Not as bad as it was on the open sea but I took off my shirt and tied it around my waist.
As I walked the road began to curve back toward the coastline and coming around a bend I saw the ocean again, to my right and far below, and somewhere down there was the cove that Victor and I had brought our skiff into that night. I was getting close. The house could not be far now.
Another half hour and I found it. I had walked almost the full length of the island. I stood in front of an ornate iron gate cut into a high hedgerow. I couldnât see all of the house, but I could see a slice of roof, two of the three chimneys andpart of the turret, which gave it away. There was no mistaking this house. On the other side of the gate, a winding road cut through the trees.
Now that I was here, I had no idea what to do. It was not like I could just open the gate and walk through it and then knock on the door. What would I say? And in the back of my mind it occurred to me that maybe she had seen me better than I thought that night on the stairs, that maybe she would hear my voice and know that it was me, close the door in my face and call the sheriff.
And as I was thinking this, I heard a car slow behind me. When I turned I saw the rack of lights on the roof and I thought, so this is where it ends.
The red-and-white sheriffâs car slowed next to me. I saw the cop inside, and to my relief it was not Sheriff Riker, but a man not much older than myself. I nodded at him and he looked me up and down and then he kept driving. My heart beat like a bird. I watched the car disappear around the bend in front of me and that
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