Passage

“Oh, I’m so glad you called,” Kit said. “I wanted to apologize for leaving the book where Uncle Pat could find it. I don’t blame you for walking out like that.”

“That wasn’t the reason — ” Joanna said, but Kit wasn’t listening.

“It was an unbelievably stupid thing to do,” she said. “I mean, he’d hidden it once. He’d obviously try to hide it again. I don’t blame you for being mad.”

“I’m not mad — ” Joanna said.

“Well, you should be,” Kit said. “I still haven’t found it, and I’ve looked absolutely everywhere. Down behind the radiators, inside—”

“Actually, I didn’t call about the textbook,” Joanna said.

“Oh, of course, you want to know about the questions you asked. There was no library as such, but there was a Reading and Writing Room on the Promenade Deck that had bookshelves and writing tables, and it was right next to the First-Class Lounge, which did have a bar. And, yes, Scotland Road was a crew passage on E Deck that ran nearly the whole length of the ship. It—”

“I need to know something else. Do you know if it was foggy that night?”

“No,” Kit said promptly. “It was perfectly clear. And very still. One of the survivors described the water as being like a lake. That’s why they didn’t see the waves hitting the iceberg.”

“And there couldn’t have been fog later on? After they hit?”

“I don’t think so,” she said just as promptly. “All the survivors said it was the clearest night they’d ever seen. It was so clear the stars came right down to the horizon. Do you want me to find out?”

“No, that’s okay. Thanks,” Joanna said. “You told me what I wanted to know.” What I already knew, she thought after she hung up, and that, combined with the frequent image of the garden, meant that Mr. Briarley was wrong.

No, not wrong about why she’d seen the Titanic. He was right, it was the mirror image of death. Wrong only in that everyone, thank God, was not doomed to see it, and maybe Kit was right, and Greg Menotti had been talking about something completely different from the Carpathia.

I hope so, she thought, going up to her office the next morning. I hope so.

Her answering machine was blinking hysterically. She took off her coat and hit “play.” Richard, saying, “Tish had a conflict at four. I’ve moved Mrs. Troudtheim up to two. Call me if that won’t work.”

Leonard Fanshawe. Mr. Mandrake. “I’ve just heard from a very reliable source that you are now a subject in Dr. Wright’s project.”

Oh, no, Joanna thought. That’s all I need.

“I am eager to discuss your experience with you to determine whether in fact it is an authentic NDE. I doubt whether it is.”

I hope you’re right, Joanna thought, deleting the rest of his message. The phone rang. And if you think I’m going to pick it up, Mr. Mandrake, you’re crazy, she thought.

The answering machine clicked on. “You need to come right away,” Maisie’s breathless voice said. “I need you to see something.”

Joanna picked up the phone. “I’m here, Maisie. What do you need me to come see?”

“I looked in the… Titanic Picture Book,” she said and paused to take another breath, “and—”

“Are you still in A-fib?” Joanna demanded.

“Yes, but… I’m feeling lots better,” she said.

“I told you you weren’t supposed to look anything up till you were out of A-fib.”

“I only looked in one book,” she protested, “but I don’t know if it’s really… a garden, so you need to come.”

“If what isn’t a garden?”

“The Verandah Cafй,” Maisie said. “It’s got flowers and trees and vines on… these things I don’t know the name of, they’re white and they crisscross—”

Trellises, Joanna thought. “Tell me what the chairs look like,” she said, calling up Gladys Meers’s file.

“They’re white and made of little tiny… I don’t know,” Maisie said, frustrated. “You need to come look.”

“I can’t come right now,” Joanna said. “Little tiny what?”

“Long, round things. Like a basket.”

Wicker. The word was right there on the screen. “There were trees all around, and white trellises with vines growing up on them. I sat down in a white wicker chair, the kind they have on patios.”

“Are there trees?” Joanna asked, calling up Mrs. Woollam’s file.

“Yes,” Maisie said, and Joanna already knew what she was going to say. “Palm trees, but you need to come see it.”

Not a heavenly garden. The Verandah Cafй. On the Titanic.

“Can you come this morning?” Maisie was asking.

No, Mrs. Troudtheim’s coming at two. I have to find out for sure there wasn’t any fog. “I’m too busy to come this morning,” she said.

“You have to come right after lunch then. I found out all the wireless messages. You said to tell you when I had the whole list done, and you’d come.”

“I’ll come this afternoon.”

“Right after lunch?”

“Right after lunch.”

“You promise? Cross your heart?”