The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  James stepped back and ushered the two women in. Jean placed the bag of groceries she’d been holding on his kitchen counter while Christina opened the front of her coat, giggling as she placed the puppy in James’s eager arms.

  “Merry Christmas,” Jean said, barely containing her excitement upon seeing James’s reaction.

  As James held him, the dog lunged up and issued a sloppy wet kiss square on his mouth, and James laughed and rubbed him behind the ears. “Whose puppy is this?” he asked, still unable to process what was happening.

  “He’s yours if you want him,” Jean said, rubbing the dog under his chin. “It was Christina’s idea. I hope it’s all right.”

  Christina beamed with pride. “You told me you always wanted one,” she said.

  The puppy squirmed in his arms, and James carefully set him down on the floor. The little dog stood motionless for a moment, as if he was uncertain of his footing. He sniffed about, working his way around the old rug and then bolting around the sofa.

  James laughed as he watched him. “I don’t know if Ruth—”

  “We already checked with her,” Jean said, interrupting him. “I called her the other day when Christina first talked to me about it. She thought it was a great idea.”

  They all watched as the puppy explored the living room. Everything was new to him and even though there was very little to investigate, just the sofa and end table and the old rug that Ruth had left for him, it seemed to be a great adventure for him, filled with new and wonderful smells. When he came upon James’s sneakers, which were on the floor near the sofa, he barked and jumped back, and then unceremoniously peed on the rug.

  By the time James turned toward the kitchen, Christina had already produced a roll of paper towels from the bag of groceries and smiled broadly as she offered it to him.

  James hurried over and began soaking up the puddle, the puppy watching him curiously for a moment and then hurrying toward the bedroom door to continue exploring.

  James looked up at the women, still beaming. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll keep him,” Christina said.

  They played with the puppy for over an hour when Jean finally announced it was time for them to leave. She apologized for having to hurry away, but it was a long drive to her sister’s house in Portland, and the snow, which was already beginning to fall, would make it even longer. As she stood at the door buttoning her coat, James embraced her and thanked her again.

  When he turned to Christina, she embraced him quickly, touched by the emotion she saw in his face. “Merry Christmas, James.” She kissed him on the cheek, and she giggled when James blushed.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Thank you for thinking of this.”

  James named the dog Max, a name he’d actually chosen years earlier when he still hoped to convince Gloria to get a dog. Gloria had always remained as steadfast in her opposition to bringing a dog into the house as Edward had been to her numerous requests for adding new rooms to the house to replace the ones they no longer used. He was never able to persuade her, but even then he knew, were he to ever get a dog, he would be named Max.

  After he closed the door, he set the puppy at his feet, and he peered down at him, smiling. “Hello, Max,” he said trying out the name. The dog looked up at him and tilted his head, then turned and charged across the living room.

  James began unpacking the bag of groceries that Christina had placed on the kitchen counter, and in it he found a bag of kibble, two small bowls for food and water, and the newspapers from the last three days, which he was certain was Christina’s idea of a joke. At the bottom of the bag he also found a small package wrapped in shiny red foil and a gold bow with a tag that read:

  To James,

  Your other gift.

  Hugs and Kisses,

  Christina

  “What do you suppose this is, Max?” he said as he turned it over in his hands. He bent down and stuck the bow to the top of Max’s little head, and the dog swiped at it with his paw, clumsily trying to remove it. Inside the box, James found a framed photograph of Christina, which he instantly recognized as the final shot Del Miller had taken of her in his studio. Captured forever was that soft yet penetrating gaze he’d seen as Christina waited for the photographer to set his camera. From her expression, she seemed oblivious to her surroundings, unaware that there was anyone in the room except for the subject of her unwavering stare.

  Even without the photograph, James had memorized her expression from that moment, but it gave him a thrill to know that Christina was aware enough of the moment they shared to offer him this gift. He suddenly remembered how she’d hurried back into the studio after they had stepped out onto the sidewalk, and he was certain this photograph was the reason. He crossed the kitchen and placed it on the table near his little Christmas tree, which no longer appeared sad to him at all.

  Max appeared at his feet, the gold bow still affixed, although tenuously, to the top of his head, and James picked him up and held him so that their faces were just inches apart. “You, my little friend, are the best Christmas gift I’ve ever had,” he said, and Max proceeded to lick him on the chin as if he understood.

  James spent the remainder of the afternoon in his small apartment with his new companion. Max returned repeatedly to the door, sniffing about the threshold, but when James opened the door for him, Max decided he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted any part of the fresh blanket of snow that was piling up on the steps. When he peered up into the gray sky, a large snow flake fell upon his face, and he hurried back inside and barked until James closed the door.

  When Max began to tire, James stretched out on the sofa with Max curled up in the crook of his arm, and he returned to his book, feeling less alone than he had just a few hours earlier.

  Max’s whimpering awoke James early on Christmas morning. He’d barricaded the dog in the kitchen, leaving him with a bowl of water, which was now overturned, and several pages of the Bangor Daily News, which had managed to remain dry. Somehow Max had found his way out of the kitchen and into the living room where he was, at that moment, shredding the gold bow from Christina’s gift as if he was seeking vengeance for the battle he’d lost with it the day before. When he saw James, Max ran to him, and James scooped him up.

  “Merry Christmas, little man,” James said to him. “Now, let’s see what kind of damage you did while I was asleep.”

  There wasn’t much that Max could get into. He’d managed to tip over the wastebasket in the kitchen and empty it of its contents. James found one of his sneakers in the middle of the living room floor, where Max had apparently been chewing on the laces. And he found the spot where Max had peed on the rug by padding around in his stocking feet. But there was nothing more.

  He sat at the kitchen table as he watched Max devour his breakfast, and he turned his attention to the framed photograph of Christina at his elbow. It was then that he noticed Kate’s gift, which he’d placed there a week earlier. It was a small box, not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes, and he unwrapped it slowly as he peered down at Max, who was pushing his now-empty dish across the kitchen floor with his nose. Inside the box was a single key, and James held his breath as he removed it and held it up to the light. It was the key to the Chris Craft— not the key he used when he took the boat out on his own, but the same tarnished and battered key on the same worn leather tag that his father used when he took him out on the boat as a child. He’d saved it as a memento of their days together aboard the boat, and when he left, it was one of a very few things he’d regretted leaving behind.

  He hadn’t used that key since that cool autumn afternoon years earlier when he and his father skimmed across the surface of Lake Winnipesaukee together for the last time. He remembered how his father had taken his hand and pressed it to the smooth wooden hull so he could feel the life in it at that precise moment when it passed from father to son. He remembered, as well, how he lay awake that n
ight, long into the early morning hours, turning that key over in his hand, and reflecting back on all the golden afternoons they’d spent together aboard that boat.

  That was how he remembered his father. He couldn’t bring himself to picture the small, helpless man that sat in the nursing home, unable to tend to himself, unable to recognize even his own children. That wasn’t the man he remembered. To him, his father would always be the vigorous man who had been at his side aboard that boat. He would always be young and strong and bathed in a warm light, his skin tanned and the wind whipping through his dark hair.

  It was that boat that had always been the strongest connection between Edward and his father. Even when they had their differences, or when they encountered those awkward stages in their lives when they had difficulty communicating with each other, they always found some common ground aboard the Chris Craft. Their mutual love of that boat, and what it stood for, always brought them together. Now, as he sat in his kitchen holding the old leather key tag and the tarnished key in his hand, James wondered what their relationship might have been were it not for that boat, and for all those rites of passage— some of them welcomed, others not— that connected them through the years. Most of all, he wished there had been some way to bring the boat with him, but he knew it was one of the many things he’d had to sacrifice to live the life he wanted. It was of some consolation that it hadn’t been lost that stormy afternoon in May.

  The snow, which had fallen for most of the previous afternoon and into the evening, had finally stopped, and the cloudy skies had yielded to patches of bright blue. After breakfast, James put on his boots and coat and set himself to the task of shoveling the stairs and the driveway and digging out his Jeep. He shoveled Ruth’s walk and cleared a path to the mailbox, even though he knew she wouldn’t return until Saturday.

  When he'd finished, Max greeted him at the door, and he lifted the dog up and carried him down the stairs to formally introduce him to his first fresh snow. He set the dog down at the base of the stairs and watched as he sniffed at the snow, placing his little paws carefully, advancing and then retreating, his little tail tucked between his legs. When James stepped off the driveway into the snow, which reached almost to the tops of his boots, Max reluctantly followed, stepping gingerly at first, and then squatting and peeing on the snow. Once that was out of the way, he bounded toward James, more leaping than running, quickly discovering the immeasurable joy of charging through fresh fallen snow.

  Later, James sat on the sofa reading the last pages of A Christmas Carol, Max curled up at his side. He held the key to the Chris Craft firmly in his hand, occasionally looking away from the book to examine Kate’s gift.

  He enjoyed Christmas dinner with Peter and Annie. He brought Max with him, and as he expected, Peter was immediately smitten with the dog. Within minutes of their arrival, Peter was lying on the floor rolling the pup onto his back and rubbing his round belly. He laughed as Max latched onto his shirtsleeve, and he appeared not to mind when Max tugged and tore a hole just below the elbow.

  They enjoyed a pleasant and relaxing afternoon, and as he made his way back to Southwest Harbor, past the many houses nestled in the darkness, illuminated only by strings of Christmas lights, he considered how much his life had changed. Just one year earlier, Edward Moody was spending Christmas in Rhode Island with Gloria, Kate and Kenny, with only a vague idea of what the year ahead would bring, knowing only that he’d be leaving it behind. Now, he was living the simple life he’d always dreamed of, alone but happy. He couldn’t have imagined as he watched his headlights cutting through the darkness, and Max curled up on the passenger seat beside him, how his life would change in the year to come.

  When he arrived home, he fed Max in the kitchen, and he sat down at the table to watch him eat. Once again, Christina’s framed portrait caught his attention, and he contemplated it through sleepy eyes. He wondered what Del Miller had seen at that moment that had made him take one final picture, and what made him stop with that one. He wondered if Del had seen what he saw— that faraway look in her eyes that seemed to be looking only at him— and realized that he’d captured something special on that single frame of film, something that couldn't possibly be improved upon.

  He placed the picture on a shelf in the living room in a spot where he could see it from almost anywhere in the room, and he stepped back and admired it once again.

  “So much for a simple life,” he said aloud.

  Gloria was also spending her first Christmas alone. It had been seven difficult months since that bleak Sunday in May when they found Edward’s boat adrift and sinking in Narragansett Bay. It was a time when everything that seemed certain about her life was suddenly washed away, as if it all vanished with her husband beneath the waves a mile off the Rhode Island coast.

  It was only when she began working for Tom Kendall that she began to rediscover some sense of herself. She’d taken the job with Tom's catering company out of necessity, having no idea at the time how much she would come to enjoy it. She was an excellent cook, and she found great pleasure in working in the kitchen alongside the chefs, assisting them whenever possible, eager to learn more. She was creative and imaginative in her presentation of the food, and Tom Kendall often put her in charge of arranging the buffet tables at the functions when he couldn’t be present himself. As the weeks passed, she devoted increasingly more time to her work, often spending her days off in the kitchen learning how to cook a new entree or bake a new dessert.

  Before long, she was showing such promise as a chef that she considered pursuing it as a career, but her real talent was in the planning of the functions. She had a keen mind for detail, and she often surprised herself with her ability to orchestrate entire functions, and to catch oversights that even Tom Kendall occasionally overlooked. It didn’t take long for Tom to see her potential, and he began to encourage her to take on new responsibilities. She enthusiatically accepted every challenge.

  By Christmas, she’d finally begun to rediscover her own value, but while she was content in her work, it was difficult for her to come home to her empty house without thinking of Edward and how much he’d meant to her.

  She’d moved to Rhode Island after college to be with him at a time when she couldn’t imagine wanting anything else. Edward was cheerful and optimistic then, always reassuring Gloria that their life together would be a journey worth taking and would ultimately lead them somewhere remarkable. For a while, it was, but when Edward became restless about starting a family, Gloria’s deepest fears came to the surface. She always knew Edward would be a good father; it was something that she knew would come naturally for him, something he was certain he wanted even before they met. Gloria, on the other hand, was more comfortable with the idea of motherhood than she was with the reality of it. As it drew closer, as it seemed to become inevitable, she began to question whether she was really ready for it. The more Edward pressured her, the more anxious she became. As she began to feel she had less of a say in the decision, she actually felt herself wanting motherhood less until finally she came to the unexpected and unsettling realization that perhaps she didn’t want it at all.

  The first time she felt that, it surprised her. She’d always imagined herself as a mother, perhaps even before Edward knew he wanted to be a father. So when the doubt turned to anxiety, and the anxiety became resistance and then rejection, she was as unprepared for it as he was. She kept it to herself for months, believing her feelings would change— wishing they would— but it just never happened.

  Edward never understood that these feelings were new to her. He accused her of lying to him about her desire to have a family with him, and nothing she could say to him would convince him otherwise. In his mind, it was simply not something a person changes her mind about.

  For a few years, he believed she would eventually rediscover that part of her that had once wanted children. He waited, but it never happened. He became sullen and detached, frustrated that she was m
aking this decision for both of them, and that only made it worse for her. While she briefly considered that she might finally decide to make the sacrifice for him, his brooding and the distance she felt growing between them led her to dispel that notion— or at least to wait.

  Then came Bud Moody’s first stroke. It hit Edward hard, not only because he loved his father, but because it provided a vivid reminder of his own mortality. Suddenly, the clock was ticking. To make matters worse, it seemed to Gloria that all of the emotion that built up inside Edward when his father got sick, turned to bitterness toward her, and a growing resentment that she was denying him something that, she believed, meant more to him than she did.

  And that was it; a stalemate.

  She decided to wait, just as he’d done, for something to change. She hoped he would soften, that his moods would lighten and they might rediscover that connection they’d once shared. Maybe then the time would be right. Or maybe it would just get worse, and the distance between them would grow until they could no longer find each other anymore, until they were no longer even a speck on each other's horizon. Waiting was difficult, but she did it, always trying to give him the time and the space she thought he needed, and always trying to remain hopeful.

  And then he was gone.

  One of the unavoidable consequences of settling in Rhode Island when they were starting out was that it always felt to Gloria as if she’d simply attached herself to his life. She moved into Edward’s apartment, and it took some time before she stopped feeling as if she were merely a guest in his home and started feeling as if it was her home as well. It happened that most of their friends had first been his friends, and she became aware shortly after his death that those who had come to her through Edward began to distance themselves from her. There was no animosity in it. They meant no ill feelings toward her, or she to them, but Edward was their link, their bond, and without him, there was no reason for them to sustain their ties.