The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  Just before Del shot the final frame, James noticed that Christina was looking directly at him, and although he was sure he was imagining it, he thought he saw the slightest change in her expression. Her bright smile never dimmed, but something in her eyes seemed to suggest that she was contemplating him and he was unable to look away. Only after Del fired his strobes for the last time did Christina avert her eyes, as if she became aware only then that she’d been watching him. She glanced quickly back at James, wondering if he’d noticed her attention.

  Del promised to have the photographs ready on Monday morning, Christmas Eve, and Christina thanked him repeatedly.

  “Just pick the best one,” she told Del as they left. But once they were out on the sidewalk again, she touched James on the shoulder and asked him to wait for her while she hurried back inside. When she returned, she smiled at James and hooked her arm through his. James was surprised by the sudden intimacy, and he felt a thrill as he walked with her toward his Jeep.

  “You were watching me the whole time, weren’t you, James?” she finally said. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking straight ahead as they walked, but in her profile, James could see her provocative smile.

  “It was hard not to,” James confessed.

  “I could tell,” she said. She seemed pleased by James’s admission but she’d already known the answer to her question before she'd asked it. Christina regarded him with the same expression James had seen on her face when Del took that final photograph of her just a short time earlier. “Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “You weren’t leering or anything.” She smiled shyly and looked away from him. “I didn’t mind.”

  They continued on, their pace slower than the frigid air would normally have dictated, and they seemed, for the moment, to be unaware of the cold. When they came to a small diner, Christina urged James to follow her inside so they could warm themselves over coffee before driving back to Southwest Harbor in James’s drafty Jeep. They sat across from each other at a small table near the window, their coffee steaming in mugs between them. Christina clutched hers in both hands in an effort to warm her fingers. She’d seemed immune to the cold on that afternoon in October when James found her sitting on the front porch of her house, wrapped in a blanket, but now she shivered and drew her arms into her sides so tightly that she appeared smaller to him.

  They exchanged small talk for a short time while Christina warmed herself, and to James’s great relief, she seemed not to be avoiding the subject of the attention he’d paid her earlier so much as she appeared to have forgotten about it. She raised her coffee cup to her lips and sipped from it, contemplating James over the brim.

  “I went to the library at school, and I looked for your picture in your yearbook.” She noticed that James seemed startled by the comment. “Don’t worry. I never found it,” she said, obviously amused by James’s discomfort. “Was it bad?”

  James was relieved. “I never had it taken,” he lied.

  Christina sipped again from her coffee, still studying his face. “That’s too bad,” she said. “I wanted to see what you looked like when you were my age.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago,” James insisted, pretending to be stricken by her remark.

  Christina presented him the same knowing smile he’d seen at dinner the week before when she noticed him watching her.

  It was both her curiosity and her sense of mischief that brought her to the Fogler Library at the University a few days earlier. He’d mentioned over dinner on the night they first met that he graduated in 1978. She didn’t imagine it would be difficult to find his picture, and she decided it would be amusing to make a copy of the photograph to show to her mother. But as she sat in the Special Collections room on the third floor of the library, thumbing through the pages of the 1978 yearbook, she found that his picture wasn’t among the hundreds of smiling faces that stared back at her. She turned page after page, looking in every section of the book, hoping to find some record of him, but there was none. As far as anyone would ever know by looking at the yearbook, it was as if James Perkins never existed.

  She was disappointed, and she was just about to return the book to the librarian when she came upon a photograph of another boy that captured her attention. The boy resembled James. He had the same kind face, though much more youthful, of course. His hair was much longer, hanging completely over his ears and down to his collar, and it was thicker and wavier than James’s. But there was something in the easy smile and the bright, attentive gaze that reminded her of the man she’d dined with at her mother’s house just a few days earlier. The name beneath the photograph, however, was unfamiliar, and so she closed the book, and returned it to the librarian, never giving another thought to the photograph of a smiling twenty-two year old Edward Moody.

  As they sat in the diner, Christina began asking him questions about his past. It was the subject of his yearbook picture, and her failed attempt to uncover some information about him, that aroused her curiosity. James was flattered by her interest in him, and he was getting better at offering versions of his life that mingled the truth with details he fabricated. As he spoke, she leaned forward on her elbows, and she appeared so profoundly interested in his stories that he began to lose track of the time. It was only when she asked him about Gloria that he turned toward the window and became suddenly aware of the failing light.

  “We had a great relationship when we first got married,” James told her. “We had our differences,” he said. “Everybody does. But for a long time, she was my best friend.”

  “Then what happened?” Christina asked.

  “Then we did what a lot couples do eventually,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We disappointed each other.” He said it casually, as if it was just a statement of fact, but his somber expression betrayed him.

  Christina said nothing, but he was aware of her penetrating gaze.

  James looked at her face, at her delicate features growing softer in the fading light, and he envied her youth. He wished he could look at the world through her bright, hopeful eyes, and see it with all the promise it appeared to hold for her. He’d once seen the world that way. They were all like that in college. They were all invulnerable and unstoppable, and they were so certain they had all the answers. Only years later did they realize it was all a lie. And only now, as he looked into Christina’s sanguine and untroubled face did he realize how painfully obvious it all was. Her innocence seemed suddenly tragic to him, but at the same time, he wished he could feel that way again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, forcing a vague smile. “I don’t mean to be cynical. It’s just the holidays, I guess.”

  Christina was still curious, and she pretended not to hear his apology, nor did she necessarily want one. What she wanted was to know more. “What did she do that disappointed you?” she asked.

  James suddenly realized that he wouldn’t be allowed to evade her questions. There was a determination in her expression and in her tone, and he could see that she was a young woman who was used to having her questions answered. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked down at her delicate hands, still clutching her coffee cup, long after she’d drawn the last of the heat from it.

  “I don’t know when it started,” he began. “When we got married, we both wanted the same things— good jobs, a nice house, two kids, a dog— you know, the whole American Dream thing. But at some point, it all changed.” He paused for a moment, as if he were trying to pinpoint in his mind the precise instant when it happened. “We got the house, nothing fancy, but nice, and as soon as we got it, she suddenly decided she didn’t want to work anymore. And then about a year later, she told me she didn’t want to have children. We always agreed we’d have two. She kept saying it was because we couldn’t afford it, but I knew that was just an excuse.” A powerful sadness passed over his face like a shadow. “I think I knew then that it wouldn't last.”

  Christina’s exp
ression was pensive as she considered all that he was telling her. “So,” she said smiling sweetly, hoping to lift his spirits. “Did you ever get the dog?”

  James smiled and shook his head. “I always wanted a Golden Retriever, but Gloria claimed she was allergic.”

  Christina watched his face as his gaze grew distant, as if he was picturing himself having all those things he so desperately wanted— the house, the children, the dog. Looking at him, she thought, he appeared as if he was trying to imagine himself happy.

  “So, how did you disappoint her?” she finally asked.

  James shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess because I still wanted the same things I always did. I didn’t change.”

  “That doesn’t seem like much of a reason.”

  James considered it with a subtle tilt of his head. “I think she always had a picture in her mind of what the perfect husband would be, and she was always hoping I would become that person.” He turned his coffee cup in his hands as he spoke. “So if that’s what you’re hoping for, some change that just never happens, then I suppose it’s a pretty darned good reason.” He looked out the window, at the street gone dark, lit by the rows of streetlights. The Christmas wreaths that hung upon them flapped in the wind, casting long fluttering shadows on the street. “Anyway, I’ve thought about it a lot, and that’s really the only thing I can think of.” He smiled at his companion across the table, but it was unconvincing. “I suppose if you asked her she’d have some other reasons. She probably has a list.” His expression brightened a bit. “She always liked lists,” he offered with a wink.

  Christina studied his face, and she discovered a vulnerability in him that she found endearing. “Do you still want kids?” she asked. She already knew the answer. For some reason, she wanted to hear him say it.

  James smiled broadly but sadly. “I’d give up everything else,” he said.

  From what Christina had observed, he’d already done exactly that, but she decided to keep that observation to herself.

  At that moment, she began to understand the attraction her mother felt toward James. It was oddly maternal; odder still because she felt it, too. And yet there was something more. Perhaps it was that James clearly wanted all the things that her own father had not. Her father had discarded his family in order to sample all the other things life had to offer, and James was willing to sacrifice all the rest just to have a family to which he could devote himself. He was the type of man she wished her father had been, and yet she found herself attracted to him in a manner for which she was unprepared.

  As they drove back to Southwest Harbor he was serious and distant, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

  “Thank you for helping me today,” she said as they turned onto Seal Cove Road. “I had a good time.”

  James smiled. “So did I.”

  When he glanced at Christina again, she was looking out the window, and he could see in her reflection peering back at him that she seemed distracted. “Do you need a ride to Ellsworth to pick up your picture on Monday?” he finally asked. He was hoping she would.

  She turned to him, and she seemed to be considering his offer. “No,” she said. “I’ll take my mother’s car.”

  James eyed her with a playful suspicion. “I figured you asked me to drive you because she wouldn’t let you use her car.”

  As they pulled up in front of her house, they could see that Jean’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and they concluded that she was still at the gallery.

  “No,” Christina said. “I can use her car anytime I want. I asked you to drive me because I needed your help.” She smiled. “And because I thought it would be cool to hang out with you and get to know you a little.”

  He smiled at her, pleased by the compliment. James had drifted into a dark mood for a while at the diner as he described his failed marriage, but she sensed he was happier now.

  “Thanks again for everything, James,” she said. “I enjoyed our talk.”

  “Glad I could help,” James offered. They seemed the safest of the words that whirled through his mind.

  He watched her as she climbed out of the Jeep, and on the rush of cold air that poured in through the open door, he once again recognized the scent of her perfume. She’d just reached the steps when she stopped, and turned to face him. She stood on the first step, her face illuminated by the yellow glow of the porch light. She appeared as if she was about to say something, but she caught herself, and she looked away as if to gather her thoughts. James stepped out of the Jeep and peered at her over the hood, and when she recognized the look of pleasant anticipation on his face, she smiled.

  “Merry Christmas, James,” she said.

  James wondered to himself what she’d wanted to say. “Merry Christmas.”

  She seemed to take delight in James’s bewildered expression, and her laugh, childlike and light, hung in the air as she turned and disappeared into the house.

  On Christmas Eve, James awoke early— a habit he found difficult to break— and, feeling restless, he drove his Jeep to Bar Harbor. The morning was cold, but without the usual wind that swept in off the water, the day promised to be a relief, albeit a brief one, from the bone rattling cold they’d experienced the last two weeks. Most of the shops were still dark and empty at that time of the morning, and as he passed Jean’s gallery, he saw that Jean had not yet arrived.

  He especially enjoyed the town at these quiet moments in the early morning hours when the streets were still and he could hear the sounds of the harbor in the distance. He frequently ventured into town early in the morning before he met Peter at their jobsite, just to observe the town coming to life over a cup of coffee.

  The sky over Mount Desert Island was gray and heavy with the promise of snow, and James sensed in the locals he encountered an eager anticipation of a snowy Christmas Eve. Everyone was pleasant and talkative, and he found himself having cordial conversations with people he’d never met as if they were old friends.

  James passed the time by treating himself to a hot breakfast and then strolling along the sidewalks, peering in the gaily-decorated shop windows. When Sherman’s Bookstore opened, he purchased a copy of A Christmas Carol, deciding he would spend the remainder of the day with Charles Dickens and Ebenezer Scrooge in the privacy of his small apartment.

  Back in his apartment, he peered over the top of his book at the tiny Christmas tree he’d brought home a week earlier. It stood barely three feet tall and rested atop the kitchen table, and was sparsely decorated with a single string of colored lights and a few inexpensive ornaments. Even decorated, it was a sad little tree; nothing like the large and elaborately-decorated trees he and Gloria had placed in their living room over the years. He’d hoped it would help to cheer him during the holidays, but it only served to remind him that he was spending his first Christmas alone.

  Just a week earlier, he’d received a package from Kate. Inside was a small box neatly wrapped in shiny green and gold paper, which he placed beneath the tree. With it was a larger box with a note requesting that he open it immediately. Inside, nestled within white tissue paper, he found a familiar keepsake— a small blue ornament decorated with glittering snowflakes and the words Silent Night stenciled across it in sparkling white letters. He held it up to the light and admired it before hanging it on his tree.

  The ornament— his favorite from his childhood— was older than he was, and he remembered all the Christmases when he’d saved that one small bulb for himself to ensure that only he would hang it on the family’s tree. He remembered his father hoisting him up so he could find just the right branch upon which to hang it.

  When he looked closely at it now, he could see the cracks and blemishes in its finish, but he was pleased that, as fragile as it was, it had somehow managed to survive through the years, until it finally found him there in his empty little apartment in Southwest Harbor. Seeing it hanging upon his small tree, the colored lights refl
ected in its shiny finish, he felt connected to all those Christmases from his childhood. It was the first time since he left Rhode Island that he was happy to feel any link to his old life, and he regarded it each time he passed his otherwise sad little tree, grateful that Kate had thought of him at Christmas.

  After lunch, he stretched out upon his threadbare sofa and read well into the afternoon before falling into a restful sleep. He might have slept all afternoon were he not awakened by the sound of someone tapping on his door. When he was able to focus, he was pleased to see Jean’s lovely face peering in through the glass.

  A thrill surged through him as he hurried to the door. When he opened it, Jean offered him an impish smile, and James smiled curiously back at her, not knowing what to make of her unexpected visit, since he knew she was planning to spend the holiday with her sister in Portland. She was holding a bag of groceries in her arms, and when James invited her in and reached out to help her with the bag, she turned and looked toward the base of the stairs. James leaned out through the open door, and when he did, he saw Christina on the landing with her back turned to him as if she was concealing something. She smiled at him over her shoulder, but before he could call out to her, Jean’s laughter caught his attention.

  “We couldn’t stand the idea of you spending Christmas alone,” Jean said. “So we came by to wish you a merry Christmas and to bring you your gift.”

  She turned and looked at Christina, and James again followed her gaze as Christina turned quickly to face him. At first he could see only Christina’s arms crossed in front of her and only as she began to ascend the stairs did he become aware of what she’d been hiding. From inside her coat, the tan face of a Golden Retriever puppy appeared, squirming in her arms and poking his nose into the nape of her neck.