“Ah, Dessard,” the captain said, genially. He lowered his voice and his tone changed. “What happened with Mrs. Temple and Mr. Kenyon?”
Dessard looked around at the other guests and whispered, “As you know, Mr. Kenyon left with the pilot at the Ambrose Lightship. Mrs. Temple is in her cabin.”
The captain swore under his breath. He was a methodical man who did not like to have his routine interfered with. “Merde! All the wedding arrangements have been made,” he said.
“I know, Captain.” Dessard shrugged and rolled his eyes upward. “Americans,” he said.
Jill sat alone in the darkened cabin, huddled in a chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring into nothingness. She was grieving, but it was not for David Kenyon or Toby Temple or even for herself. She was grieving for a little girl named Josephine Czinski. Jill had wanted to do so much for that little girl, and now all the wonderful magical dreams she had had for her were finished.
Jill sat there, unseeing, numbed by a defeat that was beyond comprehension. Only a few hours ago she had owned the world, she had had everything she ever wanted, and now she had nothing. She became slowly aware that her headache had returned. She had not noticed it before because of the other pain, the agonizing pain that was tearing deep into her bowels. But now she could feel the band around her forehead tightening. She pulled her knees up closer against her chest, in the fetal position, trying to shut out everything. She was so tired, so terribly tired. All she wanted to do was to sit here forever and not have to think. Then maybe the pain would stop, at least for a little while.
Jill dragged herself over to the bed and lay down and closed her eyes.
Then she felt it. A wave of cold, foul-smelling air moving toward her, surrounding her, caressing her. And she heard his voice, calling her name. Yes, she thought, yes. Slowly, almost in a trance, Jill got to her feet and walked out of her cabin, following the beckoning voice in her head.
It was two o’clock in the morning and the decks were deserted when Jill emerged from her cabin. She stared down at the sea, watching the gentle splashing of the waves against the ship as it cut through the water, listening to the voice. Jill’s headache was worse now, a tight vise of agony. But the voice was telling her not to worry, telling her that everything was going to be fine. Look down, the voice said.
Jill looked down into the water and saw something floating there. It was a face. Toby’s face, smiling at her, the drowned blue eyes looking up at her. The icy breeze began to blow, gently pushing her closer to the rail.
“I had to do it, Toby,” she whispered. “You see that, don’t you?”
The head in the water was nodding, bobbing, inviting her to come and join it. The wind grew colder and Jill’s body began trembling. Don’t be afraid, the voice told her. The water is deep and warm…. You’ll be here with me…. Forever. Come, Jill.
She closed her eyes a moment, but when she opened them, the smiling face was still there, keeping pace with the ship, the mutilated limbs dangling in the water. Come to me, the voice said.
She leaned over to explain to Toby, so that he would leave her in peace, and the icy wind pushed against her, and suddenly she was floating in the soft velvet night air, pirouetting in space. Toby’s face was coming closer, coming to meet her, and she felt the paralyzed arms go around her body, holding her. And they were together, forever and ever.
Then there was only the soft night wind and the timeless sea.
And the stars above, where it had all been written.