Envious Moon(51)

I helped Hannah in and I started the engine and to my relief there was plenty of gas. The sirens were closer now, and there were two of them, I thought, different pitches straining together. I backed the skiff out of its mooring and then piloted it through the other boats in the inner harbor. I pulled down on the throttle and took us past where the Cross Island ferry was docked for the night. Out on the main road, in front of the fish stores, I saw them now, streaming past, two then three cars, lights ablaze. No doubt if they looked up they would have seen our running lights. It wouldn’t be long now.

We followed the buoys toward the mouth. The channel was wide and there was no other traffic and I pushed the small boat to its limit. Its nose rose into the air and the water streamed on either side of us. The wind blew our hair back and when I looked at Hannah I knew she was scared but I swear that part of her was enjoying this, the feel of the cool spray on our faces, the speed of the boat.

We passed the breakwater and entered the sound and I could not help but feel it. I whooped as loud as I could and I took Hannah’s hand in mine and with my other one on the wheel, we raised our fists to the moon.

I knew they would look for us near the island first, so I headed straight out instead, deep into Long Island Sound. The ocean was empty at this time, other than a giant container ship, most likely bound for Boston, that we could see moving north, a gray mass at the edge of the horizon.

I cut the engine. In the moonlight we could see the full length of the mainland, dark and black except for the steady beam of the lighthouses, the one at Point Judith, the other over by Narragansett Bay. The small boat rose up and down in the mild chop. The sky was lightening. Dawn was not far away. I cleared space on the floor of the boat and I sat down, my back against the starboard side, and I motioned for Hannah to sit too. She sat next to me and she stretched her legs so that they ran along next to mine. Even not moving there was enough of a breeze that it whipped across the skiff. I lifted my arm and put it around her so she could rest her beautiful face on my shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said.

She cried. She cried hard and I knew she would and I let her, brushing her hair away from her forehead. “It’ll be okay,” I said again and again.

“I’m really scared.”

“I know it,” I said. I paused for a minute, and then I said, “I love you, Hannah.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the only thing I know,” I told her. “The rest of this, the rest of this is not real, you know what I mean? None of it matters. It’s fake and it’s stupid. Everyone else can have it. We don’t need it. We have everything. We do. You have to trust me.”

“I want to,” she said between sobs. “I really do.”

“Tell me you love me,” I said.

She choked it out. “I love you.”

I pulled her close. I listened for the Coast Guard cutters but I did not hear them yet. They were fast boats. Most likely they were near the island, combing its shores, looking for us. I looked over the gunwale toward where the island was, though we were too far out to see any of it. The gentle rocking of the boat felt nice, and I said to Hannah, “You can sleep some if you want.”

She didn’t respond. We sat in silence and Hannah smushed her face into my shoulder and I played with her long hair. I ran my fingers through it. I looked up to the vastness of the blue-black sky. I couldn’t see the moon anymore and there were no stars. There was nothing up there at all.





We must have fallen asleep. I don’t remember drifting off, but when I woke I was disoriented. And then I felt the swell of the ocean and as my eyes adapted I saw that the September sun had climbed above the horizon. Dull and orange and not yet warm. Hannah was heavy on my arm. I turned to look at her and she stirred. I saw her blink and her eyes opened. She shivered against the morning.

“Hey,” I said.

She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said, though from the position of the sun it could not have been more than six in the morning. I lifted my tired arm away from her head and she leaned back against the boat and her arms fell to her side and she looked like a marionette that had been released. I stood up in the boat and looked around.

We had drifted to the west, that much I could tell. We could no longer see Galilee or Point Judith. In front of us, maybe two miles away, were the rocky shoals. Looking behind me I saw the tongue of land that was the easternmost tip of Long Island. I looked to the east, toward Cross Island, and with my sea-seasoned eyes I couldn’t see the island, but I was able to see something else, not more than an abnormality at this point, something on the water. I knew right away what it was. By the way it moved. They couldn’t have seen us yet, and maybe we were too small to show up on radar, but I couldn’t know that. They were heading for us and their direction suggested purpose. The Coast Guard.

I didn’t say anything to Hannah. We were on the open ocean and on the open ocean there was no place to hide. I went to the stern of the boat. I lifted the cushion that covered the battery and I felt down around its cap and to the wires that came off it. I found the one that controlled the bilge and I yanked it as hard as I could. It snapped off from the battery. I looked again at the ship coming toward us and I could make out the V of its bow. There was no mistaking it now, they knew where we were. They were still a mile away. But closing fast.