The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  When they returned to the kitchen, Kate and Christina were already engaged in friendly conversation. Kate had already met Jean, and James had told her a great deal about Christina; during their lengthy telephone conversations he spoke more of the Berkhardt ladies than he did of himself.

  Even so, Kate was unprepared for the exquisite young beauty she found there, or for the apparent intimacy she sensed between the two of them, especially given James’s relationship with her mother. Though Kate searched earnestly, and in vain, for a flaw she found none, and she turned and smiled at her brother, at the same time offering a slightly disapproving shake of her head. Later when she found herself briefly alone with James, watching from the window as Christina and Tracy played with Max in the driveway, Kate leaned close to her brother.

  “So how did that happen?” she asked him.

  James looked at her curiously. “How did what happen?”

  “The daughter,” Kate said, nodding in Christina’s direction. “Last time I was here you seemed smitten with her mother.”

  “There’s nothing happening there,” James insisted. “I bumped into her in town and we were talking when you drove by with the boat. She wanted to see it.”

  Christina was running in circles near the driveway waving a small stick, and Max was bounding along in pursuit. They could hear her playful laughter even through the closed window.

  “She’s very young,” Kate remarked. “I don’t know if you should date her or adopt her.”

  James smiled. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself.”

  They decided to meet Jean and Christina for dinner at The Spinnaker Pub. Kate was eager to see Jean again, and Tracy really found nothing to dislike about Christina other than the fact that she seemed to have managed to make James love her when Tracy could not.

  James and Kate and Tracy arrived first and found a table. James sat watching the door, waiting for Jean and Christina to arrive. When the waitress stopped by the table to take their drink orders, James considered ordering a beer, but out of respect for Tracy, who he assumed was no longer drinking, he ordered a soda instead. Kate did the same.

  “Bloody Mary,” Tracy said when the waitress turned to her.

  James and Kate exchanged anxious looks, but said nothing.

  Tracy picked up on their concern. “Just one,” she said. “To take the edge off.”

  Before James could respond, he spotted Jean and Christina in the doorway, searching the room for them. James stood up and waved them over. Both Kate and Tracy turned to watch them approach the table. It was a cool evening, and the two women were neatly dressed in slacks and light sweaters.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” Jean said. “I got a phone call as we were heading out the door.” She leaned over and kissed James on the cheek, and Tracy looked at Kate as if for an explanation.

  Tracy noticed that Christina stepped back and allowed her mother to take charge. She also noticed that Jean seemed extremely affectionate with James, and she looked back and forth between the two women, trying to determine which of them James was sleeping with. James had told Tracy very little about Jean and Christina Berkhardt. He certainly had never confided his love for them. Now she was confused as it appeared the two women appeared to be sharing him. She took a long drink of her Bloody Mary when no one was watching.

  James made the introductions, and they sat down around the table, Jean and Christina to his right, Kate and Tracy to his left so that Christina and Tracy were seated next to one another.

  Denny Kirkland, who until that moment had gone unseen, rushed over to the table when he noticed James and the Berkhardt ladies. Denny smiled and extended his large hand for James to shake, and then he placed it on James’s shoulder like they were old friends, smiling warmly at the four women sitting around the table.

  “Here I’ve been trying to introduce this guy to every single girl I can find, and he strolls in here with the prettiest ladies in town.”

  James was pleased with the attention, and he introduced Denny to Kate and Tracy. “And you already know Jean and Christina.”

  Denny nodded to Jean. “Tell you what, folks,” he announced. “Since this looks to be some sort of special occasion, let me get you all a round of drinks on the house.”

  Jean and Christina each ordered glasses of white wine.

  Denny pointed to Tracy’s half empty glass. “Another Bloody Mary?”

  Tracy smiled. “Please.”

  James and Kate again exchanged nervous glances.

  “Maybe you should go a little easy,” James suggested to Tracy.

  He suddenly felt the weight of Denny’s large hand upon his shoulder again. “Let her be,” Denny said jovially. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to rid the world of one more Bloody Mary.” He regarded Tracy with a wink. “Of course, I can always make more,” he said.

  “Kate and I are just having sodas,” James told Denny.

  “You don’t think I checked that before I offered to buy a round?” Denny asked. He laughed before he left to get them their drinks.

  James was apprehensive about having these four women together at the same table, all the more given Tracy’s sudden inclination toward Bloody Maries. He’d begun to regret the idea of mingling the lives of Edward Moody and James Perkins, of graying the lines between them even further, but to his surprise, they shared an enjoyable evening.

  Kate bonded with Jean when they met in November, and they picked up where they left off as if they were old friends. Kate even managed to satisfy Christina’s curiosity about James with several harmless stories of him as a boy growing up in Rhode Island. Tracy and Christina swapped stories about life at the University of Maine, which both pleased and concerned him. He enjoyed the fact that they seemed to be getting along, but he could tell by the flush in Tracy’s cheeks and by the slight slur in her speech that she was feeling the effect of the alcohol. She’d been detached and somber all afternoon, and he wondered what she was thinking. Even more, he worried about what she might say when the alcohol took over; even an innocent little slip could jeopardize everything.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  After supper, Tracy was telling a story about their frigid winter treks across the campus from the dormitory to watch the basketball games at The Pit, the University’s gymnasium. Some nights were so cold, they’d duck into dormitories along the way, warming themselves over the radiators in the hallways before venturing outside again. It was always more tolerable on the way home; by then they would have been drinking for hours and much more tolerant of the cold. On the night Tracy described, the others had gone on ahead, and she and Edward— she referred to him as James when she told the story— were walking together past the rows of brick classrooms and dormitories lined up along the grassy common known as The Mall when Edward suddenly ran ahead, hiding from her in the bushes outside Fogler Library.

  “It was so cold, and I was really drunk,” Tracy said, her speech slurred from the alcohol. “I thought he went into the library, so I went up the steps, but the door was locked. I thought he locked me out, and I stood there pulling on the door like an idiot, yelling ‘Edward! Open up!’ But nobody came.”

  Kate and James looked at each other. She'd called him Edward!

  James’s smile vanished quickly at the sound of that name. He felt a sudden knot in his stomach, and he waited almost without drawing a breath, hoping no one else had noticed.

  Tracy laughed, still not realizing her mistake. “I could hear him laughing at me, but I was convinced he was inside, so I just stood there banging on the door, yelling ‘Edward! Edward! Open up!’ until the campus police came along and drove me back to the dorm. By the time he got back to the dorm, they locked the front doors, and he had to stand outside in the cold and wait for someone to let him.” She laughed and took another sip of her drink.

  Christina and Jean were smiling at the story. They hardly noticed that James had gone pale at the sound of his name— Edw
ard’s name. He gazed anxiously at Kate.

  “Served him right,” Jean said.

  Christina glanced back and forth between James and Tracy, noticing that James didn’t seem amused by the story. “Who’s Edward?” she asked.

  A silence fell over them as the laughter quickly died away. Both Jean and Christina looked to James, sensing that something had just happened— that Tracy had just said something terribly wrong. As all eyes turned slowly to Tracy, she suddenly realized her mistake.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped, looking at James. “I’m so sorry!” She buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Kate tried to console her, but she was more concerned with the damage Tracy might have already done to her brother, who looked on helplessly. “Let’s get you some fresh air,” Kate said to Tracy. She helped Tracy stand up and led her outside before she could make the situation worse, and to give James an opportunity to try to repair the damage.

  Once they were gone, both Jean and Christina looked at James with concern.

  “Is she okay?” Jean asked.

  “She’ll be okay,” James said somberly. He thought for a moment. “Edward Moody was a friend of ours in college,” he said. “Tracy had a crush on him. She never told him, but everyone else knew.” James looked down at his hands; he was twisting his napkin, wringing it between his fists. “Anyway, Edward died about a year ago.” He looked as if he meant to continue, but he stopped and took a deep breath, as if he was, himself, still dealing with the loss of an old friend. Then he looked solemnly up at the two women. “Tracy’s still having a hard time with it.”

  Both women appeared stricken.

  “I’m sorry,” Jean said, touching his hand.

  “Me, too,” Christina said. “I didn't mean to upset her. But for a second, it seemed like she thought you were Edward,” Christina said.

  “It seemed like it, didn’t it?” James said. He looked again at Kate consoling Tracy on the sidewalk. “I guess she’s a little drunk.”

  The women appeared to accept James’s story, and they peered pitifully out at Tracy, still sobbing in the glow of a streetlamp as Kate alternately consoled her and looked helplessly through the window at her brother. Jean and Christina both assumed Tracy’s tears were brought on by her lingering grief over the loss of their friend, and noting this, James relaxed a bit. There was even a part of him that was actually proud of his lie, given that so much of it was true. But the situation reminded him how quickly and easily his life could come undone.

  “I’d better get her home,” James said. “I think she needs to sleep this off, and I’m pretty sure she’s too embarrassed to come back in here anyway.”

  “Tell her it’s okay,” Jean said. “We understand.”

  He kissed Jean goodnight and quickly left the pub, appearing a moment later on the sidewalk where he stood with Tracy, speaking quietly to her, consoling her. Though Jean and Christina couldn’t hear any of what was being said, they were certain they saw Tracy apologizing to James repeatedly. He embraced her as she continued to weep uncontrollably until he and Kate led her away.

  The next morning, James awoke early. He’d slept on the sofa while Kate and Tracy shared his queen-sized mattress. When he opened the door to take Max outside, he found Tracy sitting on the top step of the staircase with her back to him, her head bowed as she gazed down at her fingers. She never turned to look up at him standing in the doorway, and she ignored Max’s desperate plea for attention. While much of what happened after supper was a blur to her, she vividly remembered James’s expression when she spoke his name— Edward’s name. She still couldn’t summon the courage to look at him.

  “I ruined everything, didn’t I?” she asked. Her voice was a low murmur, but it rang in her ears as if she were shouting.

  “You didn’t ruin anything,” James assured her. He stepped around her and sat down beside her on the top step. “Everything’s okay.”

  “What did you tell them,” Tracy asked him.

  “A version of the truth,” James replied. “I told them Edward was our friend from college, and that he died about a year ago.”

  Tracy turned and looked at him for the first time, a tragic expression on her face. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “What?” James asked.

  “That Edward’s gone,” she said.

  James took her hand as if to console her although a part of him wanted it to be true.

  Tracy thought back to the previous May, remembering the devastation of those words—Edward’s gone— when Kate first told her of Edward’s disappearance. She hadn’t allowed herself to believe it then; only now, sitting beside him as he held her hand, did she finally begin to accept it might be true.

  “I don’t think I should come back here again,” Tracy said sadly. She allowed the words to hang in the air for a moment. “I thought I could deal with this, but maybe I can’t.”

  James wanted to tell her she was wrong, but he knew she wasn’t. Mostly, he felt relief.

  “But there’s something I need to tell you first,” Tracy said.

  “You can tell me anything,” James assured her. “You know that.”

  Tracy looked away. “Okay. Here goes.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you,” she confessed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wary of his reaction. “You probably knew that though.”

  James smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t.”

  “Well, then you’re an idiot,” she said, a fragile smile appearing on her face.

  James offered a weak smile in return. “So I’ve heard.”

  “I don’t know why I never said anything. I guess I figured you always knew. Or at least that I’d always have a chance to tell you someday.” Her expression turned somber again. “When they told me you were dead, I never believed them. I thought for a long time that I could feel you, like you were still out there somewhere. Then I guess I realized that it was just that I couldn’t deal with the thought of living without you.”

  Looking at her, James tried to picture her as she was when he first met her, her fresh face and laughing eyes. She hadn’t really changed that much except that the spark he once saw in her was gone. He wondered if he’d been responsible for stealing that from her. “I’m sorry,” James said softly, knowing even as he spoke the words that they were pathetically weak and far too late.

  She gripped James’s hand firmly, as if she might never let it go. “I still love you,” she said.

  "I think maybe you loved a twenty year old kid named Edward Moody,” James said. “I think back on those times, and I realize that I liked that guy, too. But that’s not who I am anymore. And I don’t mean just because I have a different name now, or even a different life. I mean, I don’t even feel like him anymore. I don’t even remember what it was like to feel like him.” He thought for a moment. “Last night when you and Kate left the restaurant, and I told Jean and Christina that Edward Moody was a friend we knew in college, it was an easy lie because that’s the way I remember the person I was back then. In a way, all of that was true. And when I told them that he died about a year ago, that was the real lie, because the truth is, it feels like he was gone long before that.”

  She nodded, breathing deeply and fighting back the tears. “I still feel like he’s out there somewhere,” she said.

  James put his arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes I do, too,” he confessed.

  For the remainder of the weekend, Christina reflected on the events of Saturday evening, and on James’s story of Edward Moody, their college friend who died a year earlier. There was something about that name that seemed strangely familiar to her, though she couldn’t quite place it. She tried to remember where she’d heard it before. It was such an ordinary name, and yet just unusual enough to stick in her memory. She was certain it didn’t belong to anyone on Mount Desert Island; she would have known that instantly. She tried to th
ink back on everyone she knew at school, every professor, classmate and neighbor in the dorms, but as hard as she tried, she came up with nothing. For some reason, she was unable to place the name with a face.

  A name with a face, she thought.

  And suddenly she remembered.

  She returned to school late Sunday afternoon, and that evening, she walked to Fogler Library to study for her final exam in Biology. She placed her books in a carrel amid the stacks on the second floor, and then took a back staircase up to the third floor. She went to the Special Collections room, and asked the woman behind the counter for a copy of the Prism, the University’s yearbook.

  “What year?” the woman asked her.

  “1978,” Christina said.

  12

  Discovering Eden

  The arrival of the summer tourist season brings a different cadence to Mount Desert Island, a faster pace that contrasts with the long sleepy winters. At the end of May, the tourists begin flooding the streets, swarming into the many shops and restaurants. For the local merchants, the all-too-brief tourist season— from Memorial Day to the end of October— is their life’s blood. For James Perkins, it provided the perfect environment in which to remain anonymous among a sea of unfamiliar faces.

  Bar Harbor began as a village in the township of Eden, so named, some say, because of its pristine and unspoiled landscapes. It was a working village, made up of farmers, lumbermen and fisherman, but its chief industry in the early 1800s was boatbuilding. It was the tall, straight trees— needed for masts— that attracted craftsmen to Mount Desert Island, and before long, men, both local and from away, sought out the master boat builders on the island to build their new vessels.

  They didn’t build the magnificent clippers and steamers that sailed the oceans, traveling from continent to continent. Rather, they built smaller, more practical vessels, brigs and two-masted schooners that were capable of maneuvering through the many channels and inlets of the ragged Maine coast. They were functional vessels built by the working class for the working class, sturdy and dependable, built without regard for beauty or pretense.