Osprey Island

Eden opened the cover. Nov. 23, 1979. Right when Lorna was pregnant with Squee. Eden flipped the page. The initial entries were dated, then devolved into July . . . ? Until they disappeared altogether. The notebook was maybe three quarters full, and most of it seemed to be letters of a sort. Dear Diary had given way to Dear Squee, and then later in the notebook the pages began with just My Sweet Baby Boy. “Duane,” Eden said again, “what are you here for? What are you asking me?”

The sheriff looked as though he’d have liked to climb into his coffee cup and hide. “Roderick was my friend,” he said. “I’ve known you nearly all my life, Eden. Eaten dinner at your table. You know I’ve got nothing but respect for you, Eden—you know that.”

Whether it was true, and whether Eden believed him, were questions for another time. She nodded.

“There’s stuff in there that Lorna wrote that concerns a lot of people on this island. It says some things that’re not easy to believe, and even if you do believe them it’s nothing easy to swallow. There’s lots about you in there, Eden, and I won’t pretend to understand all what it says, but I have a real good feeling that it’s not things you’re wanting too many folks knowing about . . .”

Eden screwed up her face in sudden and nearly comical surprise: “Are you blackmailing me, Duane?”

Duane Harty’s eyes popped. “Christ lord, no!” he cried. “I just don’t know what in god’s name to do with the damn thing!” His face was pleading. “Police procedure’d be to register that diary and then send it along with any other personal belongings we salvaged, hand it over to her next of kin, and if that’s Lance or that’s Art and Penny I don’t even care who, because I for one don’t want to be around when any of them lay their eyes on what it says in that book. I am at a loss here, Eden. I don’t know what in god’s name to do. I am asking for your help here, is what I’m asking.”

Eden nodded.

“There’s part of me thinks I should just burn the damn thing,” the sheriff continued. “Let it be one more thing lost in the fire. But I read it, Eden. I read it all. And there’s things in there—I mean, I don’t fully understand all she’s saying, but I’ve got half a mind to go down to the Lodge and haul Bud Chizek into jail and toss away the goddamn key! That book there”—he pointed to it accusingly—“that book makes me feel like I’m going to lose my mind. What it says, I can’t even keep the half of it straight. I don’t even want to know half of what’s in there. But the other part—most of it, really—it’s all those letters, like, addressed to Squee . . . That boy’s going to grow up without his mother. She left him something there, and there’s a part of me feels like if I did one good thing in my life—forget police protocol—if I did one good thing I’d make sure that boy gets that book. Not now, but someday. You know—someday that boy might need to understand that there was someone on this earth once that loved him more than anything there ever was.” Sheriff Harty was fighting back tears. “I don’t know what to do with the rest of all of what’s in there. Part of me should be taking you in for friggin’ questioning, Eden,” he cried. “I don’t know what in hell you were running out here—I don’t want to know—I don’t want to know any of this . . .”

“I suppose,” Eden began, “I suppose the way one ought to handle something like this’d be to arrange some sort of way to get the book put away until Squee’s of an age to see such a thing—”

“But then you’re talking lawyers,” the sheriff interrupted. “You’re talking more people seeing this thing. You’re talking about the possibility of what’s in there getting spread here to Menhadenport—”

“What do you want me to say, Duane? You want me to take this thing and hide it away in my closet until the boy’s eighteen?”

Sheriff Harty froze, his mouth set in a grim purse. “No,” he said. “I want you to go get a safe-deposit box or some such down at the bank and keep it there until the boy’s eighteen.” And he just kept looking at Eden then, right at her, letting her know that he didn’t get any more serious than that. Eden looked down at the notebook, then back to Sheriff Harty. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. She said, “OK.”