The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  “I’m gonna forget you,” she lied.

  James tried in vain to smile. “I’m gonna forget you, too.”

  18

  Saying Goodbye

  The first Saturday in October was a cool bright afternoon along the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee. Along the roadside, the sugar maples and birches were dappled with flecks of sunlight, their leaves glowing vibrant red and orange and yellow. The sky was a clear and cloudless blue, and a cool autumn breeze carried upon it the familiar scent of pine and chimney smoke.

  It was precisely the type of afternoon for which Tom Kendall hoped when he made his annual drive through the north country of New Hampshire each autumn to view the fall foliage. A broad, satisfied smile spread across his face, but it wasn’t just the beauty of the day that pleased him as he drove his white Lincoln Continental along the winding country roads that circled the lake. It would have been a remarkable day even if he were alone, as he usually was for his annual journey. What made the day perfect, however, was the presence of his unlikely companion seated to his right.

  Gloria Moody sat quietly in the passenger seat, her lovely face splashed with the flickering sunlight that filtered through the foliage overhead. Years had passed since she’d traveled down these same roads with Edward. She had so many fond memories of those journeys, those long, lazy drives when it was just the two of them talking and laughing and taking in the scenery. Of course, that was during those first happy years of their marriage when he still seemed to enjoy her company.

  He’d only been gone for sixteen months, but it sometimes seemed to Gloria like much longer. In so many ways, Edward was already gone long before that grim spring day when she lost him for good— like his father, taken not all at once but a little at a time. For Bud Moody, it was the Alzheimer’s combined with the cumulative effects of three strokes that gradually removed him from their lives, bit-by-bit, until almost nothing remained of the man they’d once known. In Edward’s case, Gloria decided it was his depression and his disappointment with nearly everything in his life— with her most of all, she presumed— which had slowly consumed the person she married. It took years. On that bleak Sunday morning sixteen months earlier, his beloved boat and that cruel and contemptible sea simply took away what was left.

  Gloria Moody and Tom Kendall had made no real secret of their friendship. They were often spotted together around town at restaurants or coffee shops or even the occasional movie. While there was never any indication that they were anything more than friends— perhaps intimate friends— rumors of a blossoming romance were inevitable. Kate had heard the rumors as early as June, but she ignored them. After all, she knew the truth; in her opinion, her brother had moved on with his life, abandoning his wife in the process. Why shouldn’t Gloria move on as well?

  Gloria had been through hell since Edward’s disappearance, and she’d responded with a grace and dignity that shouldn’t have surprised anyone. It certainly hadn’t surprised Tom Kendall, who had always considered Gloria Moody to be a remarkable woman. When he offered her the job with his catering company, he did so, at least in part, for that reason. It was his respect for the woman that led him to extend that kindness to her, and a chance to start her life again or, at the very least, to distract her from her current dire circumstances. Of course, if he were to be completely honest, he secretly hoped that the job would enable him to spend more time with her. He would be respectful of her situation, having just lost her husband, but at some point he hoped that this woman, in whom he saw so much potential, would eventually see something in him as well.

  It would be months before Tom even suggested that the two of them spend time together outside of work. He’d invited Gloria to spend Thanksgiving with him and his two grown daughters, fully expecting her to politely decline. When she accepted, he was elated, and they all shared a quiet afternoon together.

  Tom and Gloria cooked the meal, and even Tom’s daughters noticed how well they seemed to work together in the kitchen. Gloria noticed that the girls seemed amused by their collaboration, something she found curious until the girls explained it to her.

  “You know, my father doesn’t usually let anyone in the kitchen while he’s cooking,” his older daughter remarked at one point. She was standing in the doorway to the dining room, nursing a glass of red wine.

  His other daughter emerged behind her and peered over her sister’s shoulder. “Dad has a rule: only two feet on the linoleum at a time.”

  “That’s why we’re in here,” the older sister added with a laugh.

  “Where it’s safe,” the younger daughter added.

  Gloria was delighted by his daughters’ playfulness, and even more pleased that Tom had allowed her into his kitchen. “That might be because I’m a better cook than he is,” Gloria suggested, winking at the girls.

  The girls looked to their father for his response— it wasn’t a concession they could imagine their father making— but Tom just smiled and remained silent and continued chopping the celery. That was the moment that his daughters realized their father was in love. Gloria wouldn’t realize it for some time; Tom had been certain of it for years.

  That was the first of many holidays Gloria would spend with Tom Kendall, and the first of many meals they would prepare together. She spent Christmas with him, although she’d initially resisted, not wanting to impose on his family during that particular holiday. But his daughters were relentless, insisting that she join them, until Gloria finally submitted. She also joined them for Easter, Memorial Day, and the Fourth of July, learning only then that Tom had never hosted dinners for those holidays before. His daughters realized much sooner than she did that the occasions were convenient opportunities to invite her to his home. Gloria enjoyed those afternoons so much that it hardly mattered to her that Tom might have conjured them up for her benefit, or more truthfully, for his.

  It was at a cookout on his patio on Labor Day that her suspicions were finally confirmed. Until then, she’d simply decided to dismiss any notion that he was looking for something more from her than just friendship, despite the obvious signs. There had been some flirting, perhaps from both of them, but nothing that would have been obvious to a casual observer as anything resembling romance. Certainly Gloria, who was still living in the house she’d shared with Edward, and still getting accustomed to his absence over a year later, wasn’t looking for anything more.

  Tom, to his credit, didn’t push. Always the gentleman, he took it slow. He made certain that Gloria knew she always had a place to go for the holidays, but he never pressured her to join him, though occasionally his daughters intervened on his behalf. When they were together, there was never any physical contact between them that might be misconstrued. Even when they sat next to each other, he resisted the urge to touch her shoulder or to take her hand. By then, despite her suspicions, she was becoming convinced that even if Tom did have feelings for her, nothing was going to come of them. They would simply remain friends.

  So the invitation he extended that afternoon in early September caught her off guard.

  What he proposed didn’t have to be interpreted as a romantic overture. Every year, he made a point of getting away for a weekend for a drive up north to enjoy the fall foliage. Most years he traveled to North Conway and along the Kankamagus Highway. This year, he’d planned a drive around Lake Winnipesaukee. The foliage would be very near peak, and it would still be warm enough to enjoy an outdoor picnic or a stroll through Meredith or Wolfeboro, two of his favorite towns.

  Gloria knew when she accepted Tom’s invitation to join him on this drive that there would be reminders of Edward everywhere. But it was time to start her life again, she decided. She couldn’t spend the remainder of it trying to avoid Edward’s ghost. At some point, she would have to find a way to let him go, and this trip to a place that, in her mind, had always belonged to Edward, seemed as good a place to start as any. If nothing else, it would offer her a chance to say goodbye.

&nbs
p; It was just after daybreak on that same Saturday that James drove his Jeep across Mount Desert Island, his boat in tow. Max sat gleefully in the passenger seat, his wet nose poking through the partially-opened window. It was the first long excursion the two of them would take together, but on this occasion, even more than most, James wanted his friend with him.

  It was already shortly after noon when he arrived at the boat ramp in Alton Bay at the southern end of Lake Winnipesaukee. Kate was waiting for him when he arrived.

  It was the first time they’d seen each other since the day their father died, and they exchanged a long embrace as Max circled them, poking them with his nose. As pleased as they were to see each other again, it was a solemn day, not just because of what they’d lost, but for the somber task that remained before them.

  As James backed the trailer down the boat ramp and into the water, Max waited impatiently for the moment when he would be invited aboard. When James finally scooped up the dog and waded into the water, lifting him aboard, Max paced from side to side until James parked the jeep nearby and returned to the boat.

  As James started the engine, Kate walked to her car, returning with a canvas bag which she cradled in her arms like an infant. She waded cautiously into the water, carefully setting each step, and once alongside the boat, she handed the package to her brother. He held it before him with both hands, somberly considering its heft just as Aunt Gin had done in the funeral home, then he placed it carefully upon the seat cushion and helped his sister aboard.

  They cruised slowly out of Alton Bay, James standing at the wheel of the Chris Craft as he drove while Kate sat stroking Max’s head and neck. Max was usually nervous during the first several minutes upon the boat, but this time he seemed to sense that it was a solemn occasion, and he sat quietly at Kate’s side.

  They were in no great hurry. Their journey had a purpose, at the end of which awaited the one final and inevitable ritual that James hoped would never come.

  Navigating their way north, they stayed close to the shore. They passed to the west of Governor’s Island, cruising beneath the bridge that connected that island to the mainland. Just before they reached the Weirs, they came to an outcropping of land where his family had once rented a cabin. He recognized the slope of the land and the beach, which had changed since they’d vacationed there decades earlier; the cabins were gone, replaced by private homes.

  James’s most vivid recollection of the two summers they’d spent in the cabin occurred during the second year when he was eleven years old. He’d met another young boy, who was staying in an adjacent cabin, and the two of them borrowed a canoe and spontaneously paddled nearly a mile to the Weirs, crossing the busy channel leading to Paugus Bay. They hadn’t planned the excursion when they set out, so Edward had made no mention of it to his parents, who would have forbidden it. The boys tied off the canoe at the docks, and spent an hour roaming through the arcades before paddling back to find their parents frantically searching for them.

  While he was missing, Edward’s mother was more frightened than angry, and upon his return, she was more relieved than anything else. He vividly remembered her bursting into tears as she scolded him. Then, she hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe, but he could feel her body heaving behind her sobs.

  There was no greater punishment his parents could have imposed that would have been more effective than the sight of his mother’s anguished expression and the sound of her trembling voice as she described those anxious hours spent desperately searching for him. Even now, that vision of her standing on the beach, tears streaming down her face, remained with him as one of the most enduring memories of his mother. It was an image he might otherwise be grateful to forget except that any memory of his mother was now precious.

  When they finally reached Meredith Bay, James slowed the boat to an idle once again and they felt it pitch and roll under their feet. He thought of all the sundrenched afternoons he’d spent upon the boat with his father, feeling these same waters rising and falling beneath them, slapping and lapping against the wooden hull, and he again regarded the package that rested on the seat near him.

  This time, he reached into the canvas bag and carefully unwrapped the blanket until it exposed the urn containing his father’s ashes. As before, he held it out in front of him. How much should a whole life weigh? he wondered.

  The two of them had talked at length about this day over the past few weeks. They considered other options for scattering their father’s ashes, but it always seemed to come back to this— one last sunny afternoon aboard his beloved boat on the lake he loved.

  Kate opened the cooler at her feet and passed her brother a cold beer, and then took one for herself, and they slowly drained them as they drifted, Bud Moody’s ashes tucked neatly between them on the vinyl seat. They talked at length about the long, sunny afternoons they’d spent on the lake as children, back when summers seemed endless and filled with laughter and days such as these were beyond their imaginations. Finally, James passed the urn to his sister, and climbed behind the wheel. With a turn of the old brass key— the one Kate had sent him at Christmas— he brought the engine rumbling to life so they might share one last trip around the lake with their father before they let him go.

  From Meredith Bay they made a loop through Center Harbor and then cruised on to Moultonborough Bay. As they emerged, they again hugged the shoreline, and James steered the boat into Melvin Bay where he spotted the rustic house his family had once rented. Their memories of that particular summer remained especially vivid, perhaps because the two weeks they spent in the house on Melvin Bay was the last summer vacation they would spend together as a family before their mother passed away. By then, their father had purchased the Chris Craft, though he hadn’t yet begun to restore it, and they spent many afternoons aboard the boat, mostly cruising through Moultonborough Bay, occasionally venturing as far as Wolfeboro Bay or the Weirs.

  Their mother had always been a weak swimmer, and Caesar, clearly sensing her anxiety when she ventured into water deeper than her knees, became agitated the first time he witnessed her preparing to climb aboard the boat. As they stood together on the dock preparing to board the boat, Caesar grew frantic, pacing nervously along the shoreline, barking and whimpering. Nothing they did could calm him, and when they attempted to retrieve him, he moved quickly, despite his years, to evade them. It was only when their mother opted to stay behind that the dog finally relaxed, planting himself at her feet between her and the water and leaning against her legs as the boat pulled away from the dock without them.

  In retrospect, they all wondered if Caesar realized even before anyone else, including the doctors, that their mother was sick. From that day forward, he became especially protective of her, rarely leaving her side. Wherever she sat, he curled up at her feet, and at night he slept on their bedroom floor, never more than a few feet from her. The only time the two were separated, it seemed, was during their mother’s final week in the hospital. For the entire week she was gone, Caesar lay near the kitchen door, steadfastly awaiting her return. Even when Bud and the children were in the house together, Caesar remained at his post, hoping to be the first to greet her when she came through the door.

  On that final day, when the broken family returned home from the hospital after their mother had finally succumbed to her illness, Caesar finally abandoned his position and followed Bud into the living room, as if he understood that his vigil was over. The children had gone upstairs and were sobbing in their beds, but Bud sat grief-stricken upon the sofa, Caesar’s big head resting upon his knee, his knowing eyes displaying a keen understanding, and even a shared sense of loss. It was a display of devotion Bud would come to appreciate later, long after Caesar was gone, but at the moment, he was simply too caught up in his own grief to notice.

  Leaving Melvin Bay, Edward and Kate traveled south past Cow Island and Winter Harbor, past one of Bud’s favorite fishing spots, before making a pass through Wolfeboro Ba
y. When they finally returned to where they started, at the mouth of Alton Bay, the sun was hanging low in the sky over the western shore. James turned the boat so the bow pointed directly into the light breeze, and then turned off the engine.

  Kate sat in the stern with her arms wrapped around the urn. James saw that she was crying, and he sat down beside her and touched her on the arm, and the world became quiet. They were unaware of the sound of the waves lapping against the hull or of the small flag fluttering in the breeze. They each regarded the urn that rested on the seat between them, wishing they could have more time, but the fading light reminded them it was time.

  “Are you ready?” James asked.

  Kate attempted to hand the urn to her brother, but he shook his head and offered her just the trace of a smile.

  “We’ll do it together,” he said.

  “Do you want to say anything?” Kate asked him.

  Again, James shook his head, remembering his father’s lesson.

  As Kate held the urn firmly in both hands, James removed the top. They leaned over the side, and after hesitating for a moment, Kate tipped the urn on its side, slowly pouring out her father’s ashes upon the surface of the water. Much of it sank quickly, like sand, but some lingered there on the surface. Before the urn was empty, Kate stopped and passed it to her brother, who slowly dispatched the remainder of its contents into the lake.

  They paused, peering down at their sad reflections that gazed back at them from behind the thin film of ash that remained upon the surface of the water. James offered the empty urn to his sister but, like him, she had no interest in keeping it. Without any further discussion, he reared back and hurled it into the air, watching it turn over and over against the pale sky as if it were moving in slow motion. When it finally splashed into the water, it bobbed on the surface for a moment, then quickly disappeared beneath the waves.