The Deepest Waters, A Novel by Dan Walsh Page A

said, then realized that, until the storm, she had been completely preoccupied with John.
    “That was on purpose. I only came out when I had to, or when I knew the decks were mostly empty.”
    Laura wanted to ask why.
    “I guess that might sound strange,” Melissa said.
    “You don’t have to explain.”
    “I don’t mind telling you. It was all those men. There must have been hundreds of them on board.”
    As soon as she’d said it, their eyes met, and Laura knew she’d regretted saying it. All but six of those men were now gone.
    “I’m sorry,” Melissa said.
    “It’s all right. Does that mean you are . . . spoken for?”
    “Yes!” she said, her eyes as wide and smile as strong as any other woman in love. She made a face, as if apologizing for her zeal.
    Laura understood: the love of her life was not on either boat. “It must be hard for you, being on this ship, with everyone else grieving their loss.”
    “It is, but I think I understand what you and the others are going through. I felt it the moment the hurricane took hold of the Vandervere . I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. The force of that devilish wind and the ship going up and down, never ceasing, sliding sideways then righting again. I was certain it would capsize any minute.”
    Laura felt a chill, remembering the horrors again.
    “At some point, I knew I would die. And all the happiness inside me died. I thought I would never see my Tom again. We would never be married.”
    A few quiet moments passed.
    “Well,” said Melissa, “I’m sure you’re tired. I know I am. I should probably go below and try to sleep.”
    “It was nice to meet you,” Laura said.
    “And you.” Melissa turned toward the steps then turned back. “I haven’t been able to talk with anyone since we boarded. I’ve so missed good conversation. May we speak again?”
    Laura had enjoyed their brief chat but wasn’t sure she was up to anything deeper. “That would be nice.” Melissa disappeared into the shadows and Laura turned back to face the sea. She thought again of the phrase Melissa had just spoken: my Tom .
    She remembered the moment she could say that about her John . How delightful it had been when she finally knew he was for real, when the fear that it was all too good to be true had dissolved. It came on the ride home from their fourth date, a night very much like this. The moon half full, with just about the same number of stars, even the same cooling breeze coming in off the bay.
    The evening started back at her townhouse in South Park. On the first three dates, John had also picked her up there. He would knock then stand out by the sidewalk, waiting for her to come out. “To keep things proper,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want your neighbors to ever have cause for gossip.”
    On the fourth date when he knocked, she opened the door slowly. It was already dark, the kerosene lamps flickering down the sidewalk. There stood John under the street lamp out front. So dashing, in a top hat and black frock coat, a golden silk vest, a white shirt and tie. Behind him, a two-seat, one-horse carriage with the most magnificent, shiny black horse. “What is this?”
    “My dear, I did say tonight would be special.”
    “You did, but I thought . . . maybe a nice restaurant.”
    “You haven’t liked the others?” He was smiling.
    “No, they were very nice . . . but you said to dress up.”
    “And you did. You look wonderful.”
    It was the nicest dress she owned. “Where did you get this?” She pointed to the carriage.
    “I bought it.”
    “You bought it? It must have cost a fortune.”
    “Well, I decided I want to take you to all the places I’ve been seeing on Shasta here.” He patted the horse’s neck. “They’re much too far to reach by foot.” He helped her into the carriage then stroked the horse gently on the nose. Shasta rested his head on John’s shoulder a moment then lifted it high, as though at attention. John got in