Safe Harbor by Luanne Rice

Aweigh” while they waited.
    â€œYou whistle good,” she said.
    â€œYeah?” Sam asked.
    â€œUh-huh. My dad whistled like that.”
    â€œDid he whistle ‘Anchors Aweigh’?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œHmm,” Sam said. “I don’t blame him. It’s not my favorite song or anything, but it’s pretty easy to whistle. If you grew up in Newport, Rhode Island, like I did, you’d hear a bunch of Navy guys whistling ‘Anchors Aweigh’ when they were walking down Thames Street, and you’d be whistling it too. Go ahead—give it a try.”
    â€œI don’t know the song.”
    â€œIt goes like this.” He whistled a few bars.
    The kid did her best. Her whistle was terrible.
    â€œMy aunt’s a great artist.”
    â€œThat she is.”
    â€œDid you go to her show?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œMy mom planned it.”
    â€œShe did an incredible job,” Sam said, taking a deep breath.
    â€œWell,” the little girl said. “Here she is.”
    The cord clattered, and Sam heard the muffled sound of a palm being held against a mouthpiece. Certain words filtered through in a child’s voice: “whistle,” “Navy,” and “great artist.” Then Dana cleared her throat and came on.
    â€œHello?”
    Sam’s heart was racing, and it took a second for his voice to work.
    â€œHey, Dana,” he said. “It’s Sam.”
    â€œHi, Sam.”
    â€œWell, I’m in the area, visiting Augusta Renwick, and I thought I’d give you a call.”
    â€œReally? Thanks, Sam. How are you?”
    â€œI’m fine,” Sam said, staring out the kitchen window at the cliff overlooking Long Island Sound. He knew Dana was just a few miles down the coast, and he wondered whether she was hearing the same waves. “I’ve been wondering how you are.”
    â€œWell . . .” she began, stopping as if the answer was too hard or complicated to get out.
    â€œThe thing is,” he said, “I thought maybe you need to talk.”
    She waited for him to go on. Her breathing sounded surprisingly like her niece’s: soft, unguarded, strangely emotional.
    â€œAnd I was wondering,” Sam continued, “whether you’d like to have dinner with me before you go back to France.”
    â€œDinner?” she asked, as if she’d never heard the word before.
    â€œThe thing is, I’m in Black Hall right now. At Firefly Hill, like I said. I’ll probably spend the night, and I thought maybe I could pick you up and take you to dinner. The Renwick Inn, maybe . . .”
    She paused then, the silence stretching out. He wouldn’t rush her. She was going through a lot, maybe more than she knew. Sam knew how close those sisters were; he knew from his own feelings for Joe.
    â€œOh, Sam,” she said finally, something unrecognizable in her voice—tears? A grin? Grief? “I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œI wish I could. It’s sweet of you to ask. But there’s so much to do, and we leave for Honfleur on Thursday.”
    â€œI know,” he said. “I was hoping to see you before then. To say good-bye.”
    She paused again, as if she was thinking that over.
    â€œYou meant a lot to me,” he said, his voice thick. “You and Lily. Don’t think I don’t know what this must be like for you.”
    She said something too muffled for him to hear.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t think anyone knows that,” she said, quietly hanging up the phone.
    Â 
    A UGUSTA R ENWICK ROCKED in her chair, gazing across the Sound. There, just east, was the spot where Joe had excavated the old wreck. She could practically see the research vessel
Meteor,
and she wished it would sail back with Joe and her daughter Caroline aboard. But they were off in Turkey, treasure-hunting in the Bosporus, and she was