The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  “That’s okay,” Christina assured her. “If you’re this much of a mess now, I can only imagine how you would have been a couple hours ago.” She smiled playfully. “Besides, I may have used a few words you wouldn’t have approved of, so it’s probably better you weren’t here.”

  Jean gave a quick laugh and sniffled back more tears. “Shame on you,” she teased.

  “How’re you feeling?” James asked.

  “Exhausted,” Christina said. “But everything went fine.”

  “Boy or girl?” Jean asked her.

  Christina shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I told them not to tell me. I thought we should find out together.”

  “Where’s Dee?” Jean asked.

  “I sent her down to the cafeteria to get something to eat,” Christina told her. “She should be back soon.”

  “Is it beautiful?” Jean asked.

  “The cafeteria?” Christina asked playfully. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “The baby!” Jean said.

  Christina smiled knowingly and rang for the nurse. When she arrived, Christina made the introductions. “I think they’d like to meet the baby now.”

  The nurse smiled and excused herself. When she returned, James thought the bundle she carried appeared almost too small to contain a baby, but as she brought it closer and he saw the small pink face, he had to remind himself to take a breath. Since the nurse understood the arrangement, she handed the baby to Jean.

  “Meet your son,” she said to both of them.

  From where she was on the bed, Christina couldn’t see the baby’s face, but she looked at James when he received the news that he had a son, and she witnessed a brief flash of relief followed by pure joy. He’d been hoping for a son since he was younger than she was now— he’d told her that on that cold afternoon in Ellsworth after they left Del Miller’s studio— and now, here he was, meeting his son. Only she and James knew that it really was his son, so when he turned and met her gaze in that moment when Jean was preoccupied by the baby’s serene expression and his tiny perfect fingers, Christina understood what passed between them. She’d given him a son— his son— and even though he was created out of grief and he was the product of a secret they would share forever, he was perfect, and he was worth all of it.

  He pulled up a chair and sat next to Jean who handed the baby to him, showing him how to support his head, and she laughed at James’s awkwardness— how eager and how tentative he appeared at the same time.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “You won’t break him.”

  Jean stood up and leaned over Christina again and kissed her on the forehead and on the cheek. When she embraced Christina again, as firmly as she had earlier, Christina laughed.

  “You’re not gonna start balling again are you?” she asked her mother.

  “I will if I want,” Jean told her firmly, and then laughed.

  When Dee returned to the room, James was standing next to the bed showing the baby to Christina who was finally getting a long look at the child the two of them had created. Had she not known better, Dee would have imagined by their expressions that James and Christina were the proud parents cooing over their new baby while Jean looked on. She leaned in for a look and smiled.

  “He looks like you,” Dee announced.

  She intended the remark for Christina, but James flinched, a brief flash of panic in his eyes. Only Christina saw it.

  “I don’t think he looks like anybody, yet,” Christina said.

  They ogled the baby for a while longer until Jean noticed that Christina was falling asleep. The nurse came in and retrieved the baby to return him to the nursery, and they all decided to leave Christina alone to rest for a few hours.

  Jean leaned over her daughter again and kissed her goodnight. “You’ll always be my baby girl,” Jean whispered in her ear.

  Christina smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “Now you have a baby boy,” she said. She was going to add ‘and a husband’, but she drifted off to sleep before she could form the words.

  It wasn’t until they returned later in the day that Jean told her daughter that they’d decided to wait until after the baby arrived before going ahead with the wedding ceremony. Jean wouldn’t admit to anyone that she still worried that something would go wrong, and that James would find himself trapped in another childless marriage. She knew how that had ended for him the first time. But just as important to her was that neither she nor James could conceive of being married without Christina being a part of the service, even if it was a small service before a justice of the peace. None of this would be happening were it not for Christina; it felt wrong to exclude her.

  “You could have done it in Portland the last time you were here,” Christina reminded her mother.

  Jean shook her head. “I want us to be married back home,” Jean said. “Not to mention that I want you as my maid of honor and having you in the pictures eight months pregnant might have raised a few eyebrows.” She gave Christina a moment to consider the image, and they both laughed. “There was no harm in waiting, especially since we’re both keeping our names anyway. It just seemed better to wait and do it when we’re all back home.”

  Eugene Sisk arrived at the hospital just before supper time with papers he needed them to sign before they could leave the hospital with the baby. The only decision that remained was the boy’s name.

  Jean favored James’s suggestion of naming the baby William, after James’s father, if the baby turned out to be a boy. As for the middle name, they wanted Christina’s blessing before they decided.

  “We we’re thinking about Christopher,” Jean suggested.

  “In your honor,” James added. “Or Christian.”

  Christina considered both names, saying them quietly to herself. “William Christopher,” she finally said.

  The four of them left that evening— James, Jean, Christina and William Christopher Perkins. They spent the night at Dee’s house in Portland, where James fell asleep cradling his son in his arms, and the next morning, they drove back to Southwest Harbor.

  They were married on Saturday morning on the Shore Path overlooking Bar Harbor, the small group gathering in the shade of a birch tree growing out of the rocky ledge. James had chosen the location, not only for the view of the bay, but for the tree, whose roots had miraculously taken hold in that granite outcropping. For decades the tree had managed to withstand everything the sea could throw at it, both when it was small and vulnerable and now, decades later, when it seemed steadfastly committed to that spot. James thought it would be a fitting symbol of their marriage; from an unlikely, even precarious, beginning the tree had grown sturdy and beautiful.

  “Something growing where it shouldn’t?” Jean wondered aloud. “Are you sure that’s the message you want to send?” She was teasing him, of course. Secretly, she loved that James thought of such things.

  It was a short and simple ceremony before a justice of the peace. Christina was her mother’s maid of honor, and Peter stood in as James’s best man. The only other guests were Annie Langston and Ruth Kennedy, who tended to William. Ruth had pushed William’s carriage behind the small procession as they walked from the pier to the chosen spot beside the birch tree.

  William had been quiet as long the carriage was moving, but as soon as it was still, he fussed until Ruth lifted him out of it and held him to her chest where he was instantly soothed by her gentle rocking and the sounds of the sea. Had James not been preoccupied with the occasion, he might have recognized in his son the same stirrings he always felt whenever he was near the ocean— the longing to take in the sights and the sounds and the smells of it, and to be rolling and rocking upon it, feeling the great dips and swells beneath him. Had James noticed this, he might have been filled with pride that his boy already appeared to be a tiny echo of his father; he might also have worried what other traits his son would eventually exhibit that could put his secret at risk. But the moment,
perhaps mercifully, escaped his notice.

  Jean wore a simple cream-colored sleeveless dress, and the cool spring breeze that blew in off the ocean chilled her instantly, leading her to cling to James’s arm throughout the service— it was less a show of affection as it was a means of keeping warm. As soon as the brief service concluded, James removed his sport coat, which he’d purchased for the occasion, and draped it over Jean’s bare shoulders. She pulled it tightly around her as the small group walked back toward the pier and into town.

  On their way to Francisco’s for lunch, they strolled through town, stopping frequently to receive congratulations from the shopkeepers, most of whom were old friends of Jean’s, and to swoon over William, who was now sleeping soundly in his carriage. Everyone was cordial, even elated, with the single exception of Claire Trumbull, who seemed out of sorts, either because she wasn’t included in the small ceremony, or because she hadn’t been the first to learn of her friend’s plans to marry and to adopt a child.

  “I only wish I’d known,” was all Claire said, but it was clear to those who knew her that it was something of an affront to her that she hadn’t.

  With that exception, the day was a joyous day, filled with laughter and celebration, exactly as such a day should be. When it was over, James and Jean returned home with Christina and William. They invited Ruth to stay with them, but she declined.

  “This is your wedding night,” she reminded them. “You’re supposed to be alone.”

  Christina had already arranged to take William and Max and spend the night at James’s former apartment, giving the newlyweds an opportunity for some privacy. She drove Ruth back to her home, and not long after they arrived, she left William with Ruth while she walked Max down Clark Point Road and into town. Lucky Meeks caught her eye as she passed the door to the market, and he hurried out to greet her.

  “Ah, Christina! Home from school just in time for the wedding,” he said. “It’s a happy day.”

  She was amazed at how quickly the word of the wedding and the adoption had spread through town, and grateful that the rest of the story had managed to elude the locals, at least for now. She smiled at the grocer. “It’s been an exciting week,” Christina said.

  He signaled to her to wait while he hurried inside and returned with a slice of bloody roast beef for Max, who devoured it so quickly they wondered if he’d even tasted it.

  “And how’s the baby?” Lucky asked. “I hear he’s beautiful.”

  Christina caught herself on the verge of thanking him and stopped. “He is,” she said.

  “You tell your mother and James to bring him by so I can meet him,” Lucky said.

  “I will,” Christina assured him, and she smiled at the image of Lucky Meeks offering the baby a slice of roast beef.

  For months, when James spent the night at Jean’s house it was just the two of them, but suddenly, after having Christina and William in the house for a few days, and after being surrounded by friends since the morning, the house suddenly seemed empty.

  Several friends had given them bottles of wine, so many that James joked they might consider opening a liquor store in their living room. James picked up a bottle and poured them each a glass. He hoisted his glass to propose a toast, and Jean raised hers as well.

  “To another great adventure,” he said. “And to facing it with someone who makes the journey worth taking.”

  Jean touched her glass to his and they each drank. They were sitting close to each other on the couch, relaxed, as they always were, in each other’s company. James put his arm around her shoulders and they sat for a while, listening to the quiet, knowing it was temporary.

  “Do you remember the first time we sat on this couch drinking wine?” Jean finally asked.

  “I remember some of it,” James said.

  Jean smiled. “You had a little too much as I recall.”

  “It seems like a long time ago,” James said. “A lot more than two years ago.”

  “It hasn’t even been that long,” Jean said, correcting him. “I remember sitting in the dining room when Christina came home. You were sleeping it off on the couch, and all I could think about was that you seemed interesting, maybe a little mysterious, but that you were completely out of the question.”

  James frowned. “Why?”

  “Because you wanted babies,” Jean reminded him. “You wanted a wife and babies, but you seemed to want babies most of all.”

  James leaned away from her so he could see her face and he looked at her incredulously. “Did I talk about all that on that first night?”

  Jean nodded and took another sip of wine. “You sure did,” she said. “And I knew right then that nothing could possibly happen between us.” She thought for a moment. “But I think that’s probably why we became such good friends. Knowing that took the pressure off and we both just relaxed.”

  “Sometimes that’s the best way.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only way,” Jean offered.

  They talked for an hour about the strange path their lives had taken since that first night together. By the end of it, Jean was laying with her head on James’s lap, her eyes closed while he lightly pushed his fingers through her hair. They were so quiet they became suddenly aware of the ticking of the mahogany anniversary clock on the mantel, a wedding gift from Peter and Annie. It wasn’t even seven o’clock in the evening, and the light outside the window was fading and the shadows were growing long, but the sky was still light and clear, as if the day would never end.

  Their wedding night should have been the perfect evening for the two of them to relish their quiet time together, but Jean opened her eyes suddenly as if a thought had just occurred to her, despite the fact that she’d been wrestling with it for a while.

  “Do you know what I want to do right now?” she asked him.

  James considered the options, but he knew what he hoped she’d choose. “Tell me,” he said.

  Jean turned and looked up at him. “I want to see the baby,” she confessed.

  James smiled. “Me, too.”

  When they arrived at Ruth Kennedy’s house, Ruth and Christina were sitting together on the sofa in the living room. The baby was sleeping soundly nearby, and Max was dozing near the front door as if he’d been anticipating James’s arrival. Hearing the sound of the tires on the gravel drive, he became suddenly alert. He didn’t bark, but he stood facing the door and waiting for it to open, his tail wagging.

  At first, Ruth was concerned by the unexpected arrival of James’s jeep. Christina thought for a moment, then she smiled, sensing the real reason for their visit. She peered at William who slept soundly, oblivious to the arrival of his love-struck parents who, even after knowing him only a few days, somehow couldn’t bear to be without him.

  For the next two hours, they all sat together in the living room. Jean held the baby first, watching him sleep, then she passed him to James, who now seemed more comfortable holding his boy. At one point, James sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa between Jean’s knees; he was cradling the baby in one arm and lightly kneading Max’s thick fur with the other. Jean leaned forward, her hands resting on his shoulders as she peered down at William.

  “I can’t believe you two,” Christina said, shaking her head. “Your last night alone in your house, and you came over here to see the baby.”

  They both smiled. It seemed both odd and perfectly natural at the same time, but they’d have all night to be alone in their house. For a few hours, this seemed like the perfect way to celebrate the beginning of their new life together.

  “This is exactly where I want to be,” James said, peering down at his son sleeping soundly in his arms. He meant with all of them; with these three women he loved and his new son, and even his dog. If he could have described the perfect life he’d sought when he came to the island, that image— that moment— would have summed it all up.

  25

  The Vanishing Expert

/>   For nearly a year, Joe Tibbits had lived and worked in Rockland, Maine. He hadn’t planned to remain there; it was supposed to be either the place where he finally found Edward Moody or just another brief stop along the way. But it quickly proved to be neither of those things. At some point, he found he rather liked it there; not just the town, an old working class town where he easily fit in, but also his crew, whom he referred to as his ‘partners in crime’. Had they been even remotely aware of his crimes, they surely would have rejected that dubious distinction.

  Hank Welch, the former lobsterman turned construction worker, always looked the other way when Joe arrived late in the morning, mainly because he understood that Joe’s tardiness was usually the result of one of their late night drinking binges in one of the many local pubs the night before. What was different about this crew from the others Joe had worked with in the past was that none of them seemed to mind the special consideration Joe received. They knew that once Joe showed up to the construction site, he usually made up for any lost time through the feverish pace with which he attacked the job. But even more importantly, they quickly learned that it was better for everyone if Joe slept off the effects of the previous night’s excesses than to arrive on time and in a foul mood. They’d all witnessed Joe’s foul moods more than once, and every man agreed they were to be avoided.

  Joe had been careful to avoid trouble in Rockland, the one glaring exception being the beating he'd issued Ernie Pike the previous August. (He’d only learned the name of the man with the wrecked voice when he read the account of the attack in the local newspaper.) He never worried that Ernie Pike would be able to identify him. He was careful that Ernie never saw him that night, and it was doubtful that he would have connected the beating he received with Joe Tibbits’ visit to his worksite weeks earlier when Joe tried unsuccessfully to convince Ernie to look at the photograph of Edward Moody. From the accounts that appeared in the Courier-Gazette, Ernie Pike was healing slowly but was left not only with no recollection of the beating, but with no memory whatsoever of the events of that evening— not only did he not remember attending the Lobster Festival in August, he seemed at first to not recall what a Lobster Festival was.