Frog

by Stephen Dixon

  Starts back, using the crawl for about fifteen strokes, then the breaststroke for about ten. Can see the beach fairly well now. Woman sitting where she was. Light blanket, if there was one, seems to be gone. Doesn’t see Olivia or anybody else there. Some might have left, others gone into the woods, Olivia with them for some reason, picking berries, looking for exotic mushrooms or birds; to piss, even. Or she could be behind a tree or bush, playing hide-and-seek. Stares; doesn’t see her. Ten more crawl strokes, stops. Woman reading. Their towels and shirts. Olivia’s toys on the beach. If they’re playing hide-and-seek, why’s the woman reading? Pretending not to see her perhaps. “Hello … hello,” he yells, treading water. She looks up. “Where’s Olivia?” Stares at him; he can’t make out her expression. He swims hard the rest of the way, stands when he’s able to and yells while walking fast as he can through the water “Where’d Olivia go?” “What?” she says, cupping her ear. “Olivia—my daughter—where is she?” “Who?” “The girl I left with you. Is she in the woods? Or you let her go back to the car alone?” “I’m sorry, sir,” standing when he gets right up to her, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t leave anybody or anything with me. You were here by yourself before—” “By myself?” “Over there, and you went in the water—” “I went in only after you agreed to look after my girl. You said you were a WSI.” “A WSI?” “Look, what is this, a joke on me? You two—together—and she’s hiding somewhere?” “No, nothing.” “Then you want me to panic, I’m panicking. You’re nuts, fine, be nuts. But—oh, fuck you—Olivia,” he yells, listens. “Olivia, it’s Daddy. Come out from wherever you are, and now.” Listens, looks around, runs to the woods and yells “Olivia, do you hear me?” “If there was a girl—” the woman says. “There fucking was. And be quiet. I want to hear if she yells back.” Listens. “Olivia,” he yells. “If you’re hiding, come out. Daddy’s serious. Game’s over if you’re playing one. If the woman I left you with told you to play a game, she doesn’t want you to play it anymore either. Now come out this second.” Listens.

  “Stay here,” he says. “If you see her, tell her to wait till I come out.” Runs to their spot, slips his sneakers on, runs into the woods shouting “Olivia, Olivia.” Comes on a path and runs along it shouting “Olivia, it’s me, Daddy, where are you?” Path ends and he runs back along it and out into the grass and says “You see her?” and she says “No, who?” and he says “Jesus, I’d like to bop you. What the hell’s wrong with you—don’t you understand anything?” She says “You’ve threatened me enough—I have to go,” and he says “Please, I’m sorry, stay while I look,” and runs into the woods at a clearing closer to the beach, trips, gets up, knee’s bleeding, says “Screw it, fuck it, oh shit, shit, shit,” runs to the end of the clearing, shouts “Olivia, Olivia, it’s Daddy, yell if you hear me; please, darling, yell,” listens, squeezes his hands hard as he can, digs all his nails into his face till he’s out of breath, runs into the woods a few feet, too thick, she’d never get through it and wouldn’t even try, runs through the clearing to the grass, woman’s putting her things in a canvas bag, he says “Don’t go, whatever you do—I need someone to stay while I look up the hill for her, all right?” and she says “Really, this is crazy,” and he says “Please, no more accusations from me, just give me a couple more minutes,” and she nods and mouths OK, he runs up the path to the parking area, stops several times to yell for Olivia and stare into the woods on both sides, gets to his car, nothing seems changed: windows down, things where he thinks they were, shouts “Olivia, you around here? Daddy’s very worried about you, so yell if you hear me,” listens, runs to the other car there which must be hers if she didn’t walk here from wherever she’s staying or park and take the woods’ path from the ledge parking area, windows up, driver’s door locked, pillow in back, New England road map and several spruce cones and a sand dollar on the dashboard, microbiology textbook and magic marker on the passenger seat, memorizes the Massachusetts license plate and car color and make, is about to run back when he thinks “Why not?” and puts his ear to the car trunk, knocks on it and says “Olivia, Olivia?” runs back, woman’s in shirt and shorts and is fitting her feet into sandals, place where she was sitting’s cleared, he yells from about twenty feet away “One more minute; just want to check the path to the ledge; I’ll run, so I’ll be right back,” she slumps her shoulders and an expression that says “Enough’s enough already, I have to go,” runs on the ledge path about a quarter-mile shouting for Olivia and looking into the woods, nobody’s at the ledge, towel draped over a tree branch but it’s dry and could have been there for days, runs to the parking area, no cars or people, shouts her name and runs back along the path.

  “Please, I know I said no more accusations, but this is unbelievably crucial. I left my daughter with you—left her in your charge. I went for a swim.” “Yes, I saw you. You went quite a way’s out. I was even concerned for you somewhat.” “Now listen, stop that bullshit. Those are our towels over there—Olivia’s and mine. Two towels. I threw the second one over there right in front of you,” and runs to the towels and holds them up. “Towels, goddamnit, towels. And beach toys—hers,” and runs to the beach and holds up the pail and two shovels, pulls the two figures out of the pail and waves them in the air. “These are my daughter’s. Pail, toys, everything. Who else’s? Nobody else is here.” “Another child could have left—” “She was playing with them when I went in to swim. You were watching her, right from this spot here. She was still playing here when I last saw her from the water about forty strokes out. You had said she could even go into the water. That you were a—did she? Is that what happened? She’s in there, under there, and you don’t want to admit it? God no,” and he runs in, stops because he doesn’t want to churn up the water, walks around looking for her in it and then walks out a few feet, dives down, swims around underwater, when he comes up he looks back to see if the woman’s still there. “One-seven, forty-two, PL, baby blue, Opel,” he says to himself in case she goes. If she did anything why wouldn’t she go? Because she’s trying to pull something off. Because he has her name. Lita something. What the hell is it? Not important now. Goes down, again and again, looking for Olivia. If he sees her he’ll dive for her and swim to shore with her and pump and pump and pump till he gets the water out and breathe air into her till she’s alive or ask the woman, if she really is a water safety instructor, to do it or help. Sees something in the distance underwater and dives. It’s a rock with a few long pieces of waving seaweed on it. She’s nowhere around. She couldn’t have gone out farther. She could have drifted out there before she sank. She would have screamed. He would have heard her. She could have screamed when he was on his back and water got in his ears. Still would have heard. Maybe she’s in the weeds. Comes up and shouts “Did she go down in the weeds?” and points to the area of them sticking out of the water. She throws up her hands. Treads water and shouts “Save me the trouble looking. If she drowned then say so and maybe I can still save her. People can be underwater for twenty minutes and somehow still be revived. Where’d she go down if she went down, and if she didn’t, then just say where she is or what happened to her?” and she shakes her head she didn’t hear or doesn’t understand. He swims to the weeds and dives to the part closest to shore, but the weeds stop him. Too thick. Treads through them a few feet, puts his face underwater to look. Can’t see anything past the top. He’s looking in the wrong place. He doesn’t know where to look. Shore would be better, if only to threaten her some way unless she tells.

  Swims to shore. Woman walks to him while he walks through the water to the beach and she says “Listen, I want to explain—” “Fine, quick, that’s what I want.” “I mean I want to be direct with you, though God knows what good it’ll do me, so I’m saying I’m leaving. I don’t know what you’re searching for, but it has nothing to do with me and you have to start believing that, or just thinking about it, all right?” and she turns to leave and he says “But you saw
me before. If I wasn’t with my girl, who was I with?” “As I said—” “But the toys. The little kid’s towel with the cartoon animals on it, and her clothes in my bag up there—shirt, pants, these little Japanese beach sandals—oh, why the hell my telling you? I have to get the police. And tell my wife. Maybe you’re crazy or have some instant memory-loss affliction. Maybe Olivia went through the woods and came out some other place. Or got lost somehow, but I’ve got to get help in searching for her before it gets dark. Look, I don’t know why you’re saying this, denying it—you’re obviously responsible for whatever—” “If I was—” “If you were, why would you have stayed? Because I have your name. I probably have your license plate. The Opel. One-seven PL, etcetera. Because people who were on the grass when we were all here, saw me leave the girl with you. My daughter. If they noticed. So you know you’re caught. So come on, will you, tell me already,” and grabs her by the shoulders. “I mean it. Where the fuck is she? Tell me or I’ll shake your fucking head off,” and starts shaking her. “Get your hands off,” and pulls his hands away. “Not till you tell me where she is.” He swings her around and puts his arm around her neck and twists her arm behind her back and pushes it up till he knows it’s hurting. She says “Stop that, stop,” and tries to wrench free and he says “Tell me where she is or I’ll break your arm off and strangle you right here. I’ll do it. Now where is she?” “I don’t know.” “You know, you know.” “I don’t—please. You came alone. You have two towels but I never noticed them till you mentioned them. I was reading my book so I didn’t see. I don’t know anything about the beach toys and your bag of clothes. There was never a girl while I was here.” “Liar, liar, liar,” and pushes her arm up farther and she shouts in pain and he says “Last chance before I break it off,” and waits but she’s just shouting in pain and he wants to push it up more but can’t. He doesn’t want to break it. Wants to give her just so much pain before she tells him but he seems to have gone beyond that point and she’s still not telling. “Damn your lying ass,” and lets her arm go and from behind squeezes her neck with his forearm. She coughs, says “I’m having trouble breathing,” and he says “That’s the point. I’ll cut the air in your windpipe. I’ll even break your windpipe if I have to.” “I don’t know… imagining it… I wasn’t, there isn’t… my book … can’t breathe,” and then she’s just choking and he wants to go on, he knows that at some point she has to tell him where Olivia is, but he seems to have gone too far, she’s not getting any air in. He lets her go and she drops to the ground and gasps and spits and he looks at her to see if she’ll say anything, then in the woods for Olivia, the lake to see if her body came up from where it sank, sees the same or different sailboat way off, a pile of stones by the beach, thinks “That’s an idea.” Woman’s still on the ground. He runs to the pile, all too big, looks around, picks up a rock on the grass, one he can hold in one hand, runs back and gets down, she’s stroking her throat, bends over her, face a few inches from hers and says “I’m going to smash this rock against your head but with such force that I’ll split it open with the first crack. If you don’t tell me where she is. Now tell me. You can see I mean business,” and holds the rock over her face so she can see it. She says “I swear, don’t know. Please, no more. I’d tell you by now if I knew. Swear.” “Stay here. I’m not kidding. Don’t move from this area. You can at least do that for me. If you see her, tell her to what? To wait. I’ll be back or my wife will or the police. We’re at 7 Bear Road in case you have to start moving with her for some reason. That she’s very sick, or you are, and we’re not back. Bear as in animal. Seven. We’re summer renters. Tetch, Howard and Denise. Just Howard. The Brook Isle post office knows us and we have a phone for the summer in my name. You have it?” Nods. “I mean, everything I said about what to do and our name and address?” “Yes.” “Or just immediately call, or if someone comes down here get him to call, the police.” “I will.”

  Runs to the path to the car. Maybe Olivia was in the woods, lost, and found a path and it led to the car and she’s now in it. Gets to it. Everything’s the same. Car’s pulling in. All just in swimsuits, man with his shirt off, woman, two kids. Says to the woman as she parks the car “You see a girl around four, about this height,” holding out his hand, “long blonde hair in a ponytail, very pretty, walking down that way to the main road or on the road?” She’s shaking no. “In a bathing suit. Yellow. Red it was. Red-striped, one piece.” “No, I’m sorry.” Man beside her says “What is it, she lost?” “Lost. Or something. Too strange. I went for a swim.” “You should never leave a child like that alone on a beach,” the woman says. Kids have let themselves out of the car, father saying “You wait there by the door till we’re finished with this man.” “I didn’t,” Howard says. “I left her with a woman on the beach. She’s still there, the woman. I almost killed her just now. She said she didn’t know anything about it. It’s ridiculous—she’s lying—I left my daughter in her charge while I swam. I’m obviously going insane over it. With worry. Listen, I don’t trust that woman. She’s probably gone some other way out of the beach by now, though I’m sure that’s her car. But if she’s there, please, I told her to wait for my daughter. Olivia. Olivia Tetch. I’m Howard, at 7 Bear Road, for the summer. Remember that if you see the girl. Or if the woman tells you where my daughter is or what happened to her, which she wouldn’t to me. We’ve a listed phone. T-e-t-c-h. Because I need someone to stay here in case Olivia comes out of the woods—got lost, or had been hiding—though why this woman would lie I don’t know. Maybe Olivia ran away from her, but something has to be wrong. But please stay there till I come back or my wife or the police. Stay with Olivia or bring her to our cottage on Bear Road. You know where that is? Very near here.” Man says no. “We know Bear Road,” the woman says. “Second one off 176 after the war monument.” “Sure, that’s right, now I see it,” the man says. “Our mailbox is right across from our driveway with a big I on it in electrical tape. The Brook Isle post office knows us. I’m going for the police now to get some searchers in case she’s still in the woods. But you, every now and then, even if the woman’s down there, yell out her name. Olivia. Yell it out loud and for her to come to your voice—that her father told you to yell for her—or for her to shout and you’ll come to hers. Please, I know I’m ruining everything for you today, but this is too important, so you’ll do it?” and the woman looks at the man and he thinks it over quickly and says “Sure” and Howard runs to his car.

  Drives to the cottage. Denise is feeding the baby. She looks up with a smile when he comes in, face drops when she sees his, and he says “It’s very bad, couldn’t be worse. Olivia’s disappeared,” and breaks down and she takes the baby off her breast and says “Tell me,” and he quickly tells her. Phones the county police. Man there says they’ll get right on it: searching party for the woods, boats to drag the lake, notify all the hospitals and trooper and police stations, someone to speak to the woman and if she’s not at the lake, to find her. Lita what? He doesn’t know, but her last name will come to him, he says. “One of you stay home so we can always reach you.” “My wife will. I’ll go back to the lake but first I’ll drive around the area looking for her, in addition to your troopers and the fire department people looking. I could recognize her from a distance and, up closer, immediately. She might be in someone’s car. She might be with someone who’s giving her an ice cream treat at Lu-Ann’s Drive-in or some such place. She might be wandering along the road looking for home or a way back to the lake and nobody’s stopped her yet because they think she’s a local, no sneakers or sandals and in only a swimsuit and all.” “Probably little chance of that, it sounds like, but go ahead. The trooper who goes to your house will get photos of her for us to copy and pass around. You have them?” “Plenty.” “Do you have that Lita’s last name yet?” “No. Lita something. If I keep saying her name it could come to me, but that’ll just be wasting time. Patchok comes to mind, but that’s not it. Don’t even know why I though
t of it. If the Opel’s hers, you’ll be able to trace her through it, won’t you?” “That or we’ll try to locate her by her first name. It’s unusual enough, even for around here, if she gave you the right one, that is, and if she still isn’t at the lake. Nothing we can do but try.”