Sam felt like a wanderer who had found his compass. He packed a bag with three day’s change of clothes, the book Newfies And Their Friends and pictures of Sarah. He left a note saying he’d be gone for a while and asked Kathleen to call Annie and tell her. They’d be upset that he didn’t tell them where he was going, but it was a trip he wanted to make alone without explanations to anybody.

He had no prepared excuse to explain why he was coming to see Dave Cowan as he’d had for Madeline Singer. He’d just have to play it by ear. Cowan might not even be at home, but enough time had elapsed for him to have returned from Europe. Nor did he know what he’d say about Sarah when he saw him, if he saw him. Going to Maine, to Pemaquid Point, was simply the next, and hopefully the last step, in his search for Sarah.

For three summers when the children were small the family had rented a cottage near Damariscotta not far from where Cowan now lived, so Sam had vague memories of the territory. He drove leisurely across northern Massachusetts and crossed into New Hampshire near the coast. Once into Maine he followed Highway 1 north. The cool morning was rapidly turning into Indian Summer weather. The foliage was well past its peak, with only the oaks and beeches filling the space between the pines with rich rust colors. He passed gray mud flats where the tide was out, farm stands selling pumpkins and apples, and boatyards filled with boats pulled from the water for the winter.

The sense of Sarah’s presence beside him was so strong that he felt she’d answer if he spoke to her. But he didn’t dwell on it, question it or try to explain it. He just accepted her being there. It gave him a calm self assurance, like he used to feel in college when he went into an exam knowing he had it knocked. Whatever came out of this trip, he was sure he was going to accomplish his purpose of finding Sarah.

When Damariscotta’s church steeples, harbor and old store fronts appeared down the hill to the right, he turned off highway 1. Tourist season must be over, he thought, because he found a motel with a vacant sign. It was too late that day to talk to Dave Cowan, but it wasn’t too late to reconnoiter. He bought a detailed map of the area at a drug store and asked the clerk for directions to the address Annie had given him when he first talked about going to Cowan’s kennels. It was on the east side of Pemaquid Point off Highway 32. Finding the highway was no problem, but locating the roads and then the lane to the kennel was another matter. With the summer crowd gone, there were no people from whom to ask directions, so he returned to his motel to try again in broad daylight.

That night before going to sleep he reread Sarah’s interview with Dave Cowan. He could image her sitting with him, asking about his life, while a tape recorder captured his words. Cowan spoke casually about being lowered from a Coast Guard helicopter with his dog Condor into the ocean to rescue a fisherman from a sinking boat. A little further in the text he mentioned going to France with Condor during a bad flood and bringing a family with three small children from a roof top to dry land. Sam studied the pictures of this man with whom his wife had lived. Jesus but he’s handsome, Sam thought. Strong arms and broad shoulders. Must be about fifteen years younger than I. He pondered Cowan’s eyes and the lines in his face, trying to perceive the man’s personality through the black and white of the photos.

Sam’s confidence in his mission began to wane as he imagined the courage this man must have. How the hell could he walk up to him and say, “Mr. Cowan, I have reason to believe you were living with my wife?” As a kid, Sam dreaded conflict and would shy away from a fight before the other boys could see he was afraid. The fear of fighting had been with him all his life, but it was easier as an adult — grownups aren’t expected to defend themselves physically. Sam told himself to concentrate on his purpose of finding out what happened to Sarah. That was all he wanted. He didn’t want to know if they slept together. And he didn’t want to hear about their long walks when they laughed and held hands. That was almost harder to bear than the thought of them together in bed. No, he told himself, I only want to know what happened to Sarah.

Unable to sleep, he longed for the warmth of Sarah’s presence, but it was gone, leaving only his fear of the next day’s meeting.

It was a little after nine when he found the lane with the sign, “Dave Cowan, Rescue Dogs” and the picture of a Newfoundland. He turned in and drove across a hay field bordered by scrub pines and aspen. The two story house was connected to outbuilding that led eventually to a barn making it possible for Dave to get to his dogs even in the bitterest of snow storms. He parked on a carpet of golden aspen leaves in a cluster of trees at the side of the barn and opened the car door. As it slammed shut a cacophonous chorus of deep barks arose from the barn and several Newfoundlands ran into the fence yard. The viciousness of their barks was belied by the wagging of their tails as they greeted the visitor. Sam said hello, then took a deep breath, and walked to the back door of the house.

He knocked and listened as heavy footfalls came toward the door. What the hell was he going to say? Fighting to remain calm and holding the book, Newfies And Their Friends like a shield over his chest, he waited. The door opened and a man at least ten years his senior said hello.

“Oh,” Sam said, surprised. “Is Mr. Cowan here?”

“I’m Mr. Cowan.” The man adjusted his glasses and tipped his head back to get a view of Sam through the lower lenses of his bifocals. He was dressed in bib overalls and a blue work shirt but the slippers he wore wouldn’t have lasted long in the barnyard. He pushed his straggly gray hair away form his forehead and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was looking for Dave Cowan who raises rescue dogs.”

“That’d be my son.”

“I guess so. Is he here?”

“Nope,” the older man said. “You got business with him?”

“In a way, yes.” Sam felt himself stumbling for words. “He’s in this book and I wanted to meet him.”

“He’s gone to get the mail and the newspaper,” the man said holding the door open. “My name’s Ed Cowan. Come on in.” Sam entered and followed the man across the kitchen. With each step the man swayed from side to side placing his feet heavily onto the floor, making the clomping sound Sam had heard after he knocked. “Damn hips,” Ed said. “Not a bit of cartilage left in ‘em.”

“That must be painful.”

“You’re right about that. Have a seat. Want some coffee?”

“I’d love a cup.” Sam’s anxiety eased.

The man picked up his cup from the table, got another from the cupboard and went to the stove where he filled them. Coffee spilled onto the wood floor as he carried the cups to the table. “Cream and sugar’s there on the table.”

He sat down. “I’m gonna get a couple of new hips, the titanium ones, as soon as they’ll take me at the hospital in Augusta. They tell me it’ll improve my quality of life.” He laughed. “Eighty-six and they think I got enough life left to improve its quality. Well, who knows. There sure as hell isn’t much quality in not being able to walk without pain.”

“I know,” Sam said. “It’s not as bad as what you’re going through, but last June I had a hernia operation. I felt a hundred percent better afterwards.”

“It’ll do that for you. I’ve had four of those.” They drank some coffee. “I see you got the book with you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said, setting the book on the table. “Newfies And Their Friends.”

“I know. You’re not the first person to come by here bringing that book. It’s made Dave a celebrity.”

“You were living here when the author interviewed him?”

“Yup. I’ve been helping Dave out with the dogs since my wife died twelve years ago. Not much help now, though. That’s the main reason I need the operation.”

“Does your son have a family of his own?” Sam ventured.

Mr. Cowan didn’t seem to mind the question. “No. He was married once, years ago. They divorced. I thought he might try it again with the young lady who did the book, but it didn’t work out that way.”

Sam flinched. This was going too fast. He decided to change the subject. “In the book, your son has a helicopter. Where does he keep it?”

“There’s an airport down by Brunswick.”

The dogs began to bark excitedly as another car pulled into the yard. Sam set his coffee cup down, swallowed hard and turned toward the door.

The nob turned and the door flew open propelled by a firm kick from Dave Cowan whose arms were full of mail, newspaper and two bags of groceries. Moving through the room like a flurry of blown leaves, he said, “Have you been outside Dad? What at day. Let’s leave the door open.” He dropped the mail and paper on the table and set the groceries on the counter. In one continuous motion, he turned to Sam. “Hi, I’m Dave Cowan.”

The man was as stocky and as good looking as his pictures. As Sam stood to shake his hand, he noticed that Cowan was four or five inches shorter than he. For some primeval reason, Sam stretched to his full height and looking down, said, “Hi. I’m Sam Langley.”

Dave, apparently unimpressed by Sam’s stature, let his eyes fall on the book. “I see you’ve got a copy of the book. What can I do for you?”

Sam, thinking quickly, looked at him askance. “Do dogs really jump from helicopters?”

“They do if they’re trained.”

At that moment an enormous Newfoundland ambled through the open door and into the kitchen, going directly to Sam whom he gave a thorough sniffing. The dog must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. His head was broad and his jaws were bone-crushingly huge. His deep chest was mounted on fence-post legs and his gently swaying windmill tail brushed mail from the top of the table. When the dog was satisfied that Sam passed for a friend, he lay down in a six foot sprawl in front of the refrigerator.

“Is this Condor?”

“The very same. Champion rescue dog. He’s getting too old to jump from helicopters, though. I still take him to shows and demonstrations. People like to meet him.”

“I’m honored, Condor, to make your acquaintance,” Sam said with a flare to cover his anxiety. Condor could have cared less. He’d fallen asleep.

Dave said, “If you’d like to see us practice rescue techniques, I’ll be going out this morning.”

“You mean in the helicopter?”

“Of course,” Dave said as he picked up the mail Condor had knocked to the floor.

“I’ve never been in a helicopter.”

“You can ride in the boat if you’d prefer. We should leave in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’d love to go.”

Ed spoke. “Good. You go and I won’t have to. I’ll put the groceries away.” He pushed himself up from the table and began unloading one of the bags.

When Dave finished looking at the mail, Sam followed him through the attached out buildings toward the barn. The dogs heard the big barn door slid open and ran from the yard into the chain link enclosures inside the barn, hoping that it was time for another meal. Dave shook his head and laughed. “Newfies are always ready to eat.”

“You’ve got a nice setup here. Are all the dogs yours?”

“Only eight. The others are here for training.” Dave opened the gate of one of the kennels and squeezed through so the dogs wouldn’t get out. “Close the sliding door, so I can let three of these guys into the barn.”

Sam closed it and Dave brought three dogs out of the kennel. He put leads on each dog and took them to the van. Three dog crates sat open in the van into which the dogs, upon command, obligingly jumped. Dave latched them in and turned to Sam who was standing by the passenger door. “Hop in,” he said, “and buckle up.” Sam got in and Dave shut the door.

I feel like one of his goddammed dogs, Sam thought. He tried to resent this man who was telling him what to do as if he were a child, this man who apparently had won Sarah’s affection. But the man’s whirlwind personality and the excitement of flying in a helicopter pulled Sam along like fall leaves caught in the back wash of a passing car. Sam tried to picture Sarah, depressed and roaming those lonely plains, when Dave arrived in Saskatchewan. It must have been this same effusiveness that scooped up Sarah from her depression and brought her to Maine. But he’d wear me out in no time, Sam thought, still wanting to make the man wrong.

“Not everybody has a helicopter,” Sam said to Dave on the forty minute drive to the airport. “Who wants to get their dog trained for ocean rescue from a helicopter?”

“Two of these dogs are being trained for the Italian equivalent of our Coast Guard. I brought them back with me from my last trip to Europe. The third one’s for a man on the west coast who has a helicopter rescue service.”

“How do you go about training them?”

“These dogs have already passed all the water rescue work from shore and from a boat. What we do is get them used to jumping from a helicopter while it’s parked on land, and then when it’s over water.”

“And today it’s over water.”

“Yeah. They’ve already done it three or four times. Today we’re just adding to their experience.”

They arrived at the airport and parked near the helicopter. Dave took one of the dogs from the van. “This is Dolphin’s Wave,” Dave said as he got the dog out of the van, “but he’s called Dolf for short.” Dave belted a harness around Dolf’s shoulders and belly. There was a ring at the center of the back to which a cable could be attached. He then led the dog to the helicopter into which he jumped willingly. Without being told, he went into his traveling crate, and Dave latched it shut.

A young woman dressed in jeans and wearing a flight jacket approached the helicopter. “Hi, Amy,” Dave called. “Are we all set to go?”

“It’s full of gas and I made the safety check.”

“Good. Get in. Sam you sit up here with me. This is Amy Fuller. Amy, Sam Langley.” They nodded to each other.

“Justin’s out just beyond Phippsburg harbor. Says he’s ready when you are.” She was holding a radio. “Wanna talk to him?”

“No. Let’s wind this up and get going.” He turned the starter switch and the engine began to labor, propelling the long rotor blades into motion. “Buckle up Sam.”

In seconds the laboring of the engine became a roar, and the helicopter lifted off the ground, dipped forward and shot across the air field. Sam, with a rush of excitement, watched the buildings and cars drop away from them. The jagged rocks of the shore line and the pine covered hills shot past them, and in no time they were over open water. Dave circled an outboard motorboat that was drifting in the outgoing tide. The man, probably Justin, waved to the helicopter. He was wearing a black wet suit and an orange life jacket with a line tied from his waist to the bow of the boat. As Dave hovered overhead, Justin jumped into the water and floated away from the boat. With a nod of Dave’s head, Amy open the door of the crate and hooked a D-ring attached to a cable to the ring on Dolf’s harness. She slid back the door of the helicopter as it settled over the floating man. Dolf watched eagerly, waiting for the command. When they were about eight feet above the water, she yelled, “Jump.”

Instantly, the huge Newfoundland, head held high and front legs stretched forward, leaped into the air and plunged into the water. The narrow cable attached to his harness spooled out behind him as he swam toward the man in the water. Circling around him so Justin could grab the line, Dolf waited as Amy activated the winch and pulled both Dolf and Justin back toward the helicopter. The practice was completed and Justin let go of the line which could have pulled him to safety had he been in actual distress, then Dolf was lifted into the helicopter.

Sam watched with awe. He wished Annie were here to see it.

Two more trips for the other two dogs, and the morning practice was completed. They said good bye to Amy and drove back to Pemaquid Point.

Dave, still high from the morning’s excitement, couldn’t stop talking about the dogs and helicopters and actual ocean rescues he’d conducted. Sam responded to each story with pretended amazement that was quickly turning to boredom. This drive together would be the perfect time to talk about Sarah, but he couldn’t break into the steady stream of Dave’s monologue. They reached the house and Dave invited Sam to stay for lunch. He agreed. They put the dogs back in the kennel and went into the kitchen.

This is it, Sam thought. It’s now or never.

Ed stood by the table as they entered. The book and the pictures Sam had brought of Sarah were open on the table.

Dave started to say something to his father, but was interrupted by the old man who was glaring suspiciously at Sam.

“Why didn’t you did tell us that you and Susan were friends?”

Chapter Thirty