Chapter 21

September 18, 2007
Boston, Massachusetts

In Woodland Memorial Park, Julie sat with her face in her hands, crying. I’m sorry, Dan. I’m so sorry! Wiping her eyes with tissues, she rose and slowly walked a few steps over to a simple, flat marker, unobtrusively lined up with others under the trees.

DANIEL PATRICK O’HARA

Julie stood for a moment, then turned and hurried away, fumbling in her bag for the rental car key. Still dabbing at her eyes, she climbed into the Malibu and left the cemetery.

It was difficult to drive, hard to collect herself. Thankfully, she remembered a restaurant she’d passed on her way there. She pulled into a slot in front of it, relieved to see that the lunch crowd had apparently gone.

Julie went directly to the restroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She reapplied her lipstick and patted a bit of makeup under her eyes. Feeling more presentable, she bought a large coffee and a USA Today paper, and looked around for a booth with some privacy.

Her intention had been to distract herself with the newspaper, but the past had hold of her heart and it wouldn’t let go. The printed page blurred before Julie’s eyes as she recalled her zombie-like mental state after Dan’s death. It had persisted for months and very nearly destroyed her.

At the inquest, the Bahamian coroner had said:

“Daniel O’Hara accidentally drowned after suffering a head injury consistent with a fall, thought to have been caused by a slip on the guano-covered rocks in the cave he was exploring.”

•

But Julie knew different. She didn’t get to Dan fast enough to save him. The guilt she felt made it impossible to face people, to accept sympathy. She had run away.

Money had not been an issue. She was the beneficiary on Dan’s life insurance policy and it was a sizeable amount. When fall came, she had enrolled at the University of Florida in Gainesville.

Julie hadn’t made new friends; she didn’t want any. Because of Marc Solomon’s unwavering loyalty and persistence, Julie had maintained a half-hearted relationship with him, mostly by phone.

But fate had a nasty surprise for her friend, Marc. The summer after Julie had moved to Florida, Marc’s mother died of a heart attack on Castle Cay. Marc, who was alone with her when it happened, was devastated. It was John Drum, Julie recalled, who coordinated efforts with Milton Solomon to have Miriam’s body taken back to Boston, not Marc.

Deep in denial, Marc had refused to attend the funeral. Julie had understood. She knew that Marc had long felt rejected by both his father and his brother. For him, losing Miriam was like losing his entire family. He had stayed, instead, on Castle Cay. For three weeks, Marc painted through his grief. And when he left there, it was forever.

Julie took another sip of her coffee, thinking back to 1994.

In the months that followed Miriam’s death, Marc had returned to school in Brookline, more passionate about his art than ever. For Julie, however, the time had dragged by…interminable, unbearable. She could see little reason to continue on…with anything.

During a break in their schedules, Marc had come to Gainesville to visit her. Julie had been withdrawn, quiet. In truth, there was only one thing she longed to say to him…Goodbye.

Marc had guessed what she was thinking:

“Suicide is selfish, Julie! Would Dan have ever done something like that? Would he have left you like that?”

“No…but he’s gone.”

“Well, I’m not!” said Marc, tears filling his eyes. “It would break my heart, Julie. Promise me, right now, that you won’t ever do that!”

She couldn’t bear the frightened look on his face. She hugged him tightly to her. “It’s all right, Marc. I won’t. I promise.”

“Solemn promise?”

“Solemn Promise.”

Julie stood and put a tip on the table, leaving her unfinished coffee and paper behind. She was ready for Marc’s wake now.

* * * * *