― Alfred Tennyson
Ray Hull
I decided to go for a sail to take my mind off my insecurities concerning West Harbour and the lies and secrets surrounding its residents.
I could deal with deception but what I found unnerving was the almost mystical aura that clung to the girl in my dreams who appeared to be Sylvia's daughter, Clare.
The whole situation gave me heartburn because Clare had been in a coma for the past two years, unless of course she actually was just a look-alike double of the girl in my dreams and the ghost at the end of my bed.
But if she was not, then I was in big trouble because I was being haunted by a living person with whom I couldn't communicate, but with whom I'd fallen hopelessly in love.
Why did my life have to be so complicated?
Musing about these conundrums consumed so much time that when I came back to reality I realized I'd been standing on the pier for several minutes blankly staring at my sailboat tied up at its slip.
I furtively glanced about me to see if my brown stare had been noticed and my heart sank when of all people I didn't want to see, I spotted Ray Hull leaning against the doorway of his workshop smiling broadly at my discomfiture.
"I'd say a penny for your thoughts, Marcus, but that seems chump change to reward you for such deep pondering. Are you all right? You look a bit bewildered."
I reddened with embarrassment and muttered a lame excuse: "Oh, hi Ray―I'm fine, just preoccupied trying to remember if I locked the door of my house when i left to come down here."
"You worry about things too much, Marcus. Trust the locals. Folks around here are easy-going and don't bother to lock doors."
There was a hint of disapproval in Ray's seemingly friendly suggestion. I'd say it was more a subtle rebuke of my trying to piece together my past.
Actually, the more I thought about it, it seemed a stern warning.
"I like what you said about people being open and trusting Ray―that's good to know when I try to uncover my roots in this town."
Ray scowled and answered gruffly:
"Well, you can get lost in the past too―I personally don't see how that can help much in the present―after all, the past is the past. Some things are better off left there."
I paused to take in Ray's words and stifle my anger before I replied.
"You say the past is dead, Ray. Well, if that were the case, there'd be no libraries or museums in town, but even the architecture is preserved here―I just recently was at Whitehern―it's a designated heritage site now. Yep, some folks do care about the past here, Ray. I think I might be inclined to go back there soon myself."
Ray's eyes widened when I mentioned Whitehern and he was obviously displeased. He hesitated as if he intended to reply, but then changed his mind, glowered at me darkly and turned and disappeared back into his shadowy workshop.
Take that, you old bat. I fumed inside, thinking it an appropriate metaphor.
Ray was always cloaked in half-light, no doubt the result of living a life-lie.