The Vanishing Expert

by David Movsesian

  James remained silent.

  “In my opinion, whoever was driving that boat did the world a favor, but of course, that’s not what I’m going to say in my report.”

  “What are you going to say?” James wondered aloud.

  Beauchampe thought for a moment. “That a very bad guy had a very bad accident,” he said. He seemed to emphasize the word accident for James’s benefit.

  “What about me?”

  “Since we’re not having this conversation, I’ll just say this,” Beauchampe continued, his expression growing suddenly very dark. “The last dying wish of that piece of filth, Joe Tibbits, was that I fuck you over, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna give him that.”

  “So what do I do now?” James asked.

  Beauchampe looked down again at the coffee table between them and James’s gaze followed, settling on Joe Tibbits’ incriminating letter.

  “For starters,” Beauchampe said, “I wouldn’t leave that lying around if I were you.” Seeing James’s stunned expression, Beauchampe offered a thin smile. “Do you smoke?”

  James frowned, obviously confused. “No.”

  The detective reached into his pocket and produced a book of matches that he tossed onto the coffee table so that they landed upon the letter.

  A few minutes later as they stood at the door, Detective Beauchampe extended a hand, which James promptly shook.

  “Thank you,” James said.

  The detective smiled. “No need to thank me,” Beauchampe said. “I was never here.”

  “Right,” James said.

  “Have a nice life, Mr. Perkins,” Beauchampe said as he turned away and ambled down the walk toward his car.

  James watched the detective climb into his car and drive away, and then he returned to the sofa where William was perched, and he kissed his son repeatedly. He picked up the envelope containing Joe Tibbits' letter, carrying it to the fireplace where he’d once watched the scrapbook burn, thinking that he’d seen the last of Joe Tibbits. He struck a match and held it to the envelope, watching the flame slowly take hold of it. Turning the burning envelope over and over, he watched it burn, only tossing it into the fireplace when he felt the heat of the flame on his fingers and he could hold it no longer. As the last of it turned completely to ash, he smiled, knowing Joe Tibbits was finally out of his life for good.

  34

  A View Of The Sea

  On Saturday evening, several hours after Beauchampe had left, James drove to Ben's home to tell him of his conversation with the Augusta detective. He’d expected to find Ben in his usual place on the porch overlooking Northeast Harbor, but he found the porch empty and the house dark. He looked beyond the rose and azalea hedge and saw Ben standing near the shore looking out at the water, his body silhouetted against the last remnants of daylight that painted the harbor and the boats moored there with a warm golden light.

  James didn’t call out to him. He descended the steps and navigated around the hedge, following the same path he’d frequently walked with Ben, and joined him on the same flat stone they'd shared many times before.

  Ben turned to look at James, who smiled in return.

  “Everything’s okay?” Ben inquired calmly, seeming to know without James telling him.

  “Yes,” James said. He proceeded to describe the visit Detective Beauchampe had paid him and the unexpected outcome. He’d burned the letter that Beauchampe gave him, and Kate had intercepted the other letter en route to Gloria before she could see it. (That was the lie Kate had decided to tell her brother, the one she and Gloria had agreed upon three days earlier.)

  Ben smiled and nodded slowly as he listened to James. A week earlier, when they last stood upon that spot, neither of them could conceive of the events playing out as they did. He'd decided to help James rid the earth of Joe Tibbits regardless of the consequences. It was only later that evening as Ben sat aboard his boat moored in the harbor— when he heard that music and felt the nearness of Rose— that he began to believe there might be some reason to hope. He believed that Rose had been looking out for both of them. Now, he was sure of it.

  He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as the two of them silently looked out over the harbor. They remained that way for some time until Ben finally broke the silence.

  “Have I ever told you about my father?” he asked, already knowing the answer since he never spoke of the man, not to James or anyone.

  James shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’ve never mentioned him.” He was curious to know why Ben was suddenly interested in speaking of him now.

  Ben proceeded to tell James about Clayton Jordan, mostly repeating what his mother had shared with him about his father years after he’d gone; the long days he’d spent working at Rigby Yard before the depression and the frustrating years that followed when he was unable to find enough work to feed his family. He described the snippets of memory he had of his father leaving each morning— always leaving— until one day the man simply never returned, leaving the three of them (his mother, his younger brother and him) to fend for themselves in the most difficult of times. What he remembered most about his father, even before he’d left them, was the absence of him. He had no fond memories of him at all. His father was barely there when he was there, and then he was gone.

  Ben faced the water as he told his tale, as if he were telling it as much to the sea as to James, and when he finally turned to look at James, Ben saw the sadness on his friend’s face. The light was fading and soon it would grow too dark to navigate over the stones and back to the house. “You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this,” he said, again knowing the answer.

  James gave a slight tilt of his head as if to concede the point.

  “I have my reasons,” Ben said. “But let’s go up to the house before we lose the light. We have a lot to discuss.”

  They settled on the porch in the same two chairs they always occupied, and James was surprised that Ben sat down without pouring himself a glass of scotch. He didn’t know that Ben hadn’t felt the need for the last six days, not since Rose had forgiven him.

  “I’ve spent the last week thinking about you, thinking about what you told me when you were last here, about leaving your wife the way you did, and for the first time in a long time I found myself thinking about my father. I didn’t want to. Those aren’t happy memories.” He paused. It was a point at which he normally would have sipped his scotch.

  James knew better than to speak.

  “It’s not my place to judge,” Ben continued, “but in my opinion, a man who takes on the responsibility of a family, especially when there are children involved but even if there aren’t, he needs to accept that responsibility, and not just run off when life gets hard.” He turned and looked at James. “Life is hard, James. That’s just how it is.”

  It occurred to James how frequently their conversations evoked memories of his father, and he could only imagine that Bud Moody would have been just as disapproving. As difficult as it was to hear, he was grateful to have Ben in his life now that his father was gone.

  “I don’t know much about the wife you left behind, James, but I’m guessing she deserved better than what you did.”

  James found himself nodding. He knew Ben was right.

  “You have a good life here, James. You have a wonderful wife, a beautiful son, and you work hard and make a good honest living. But I have to be honest with you; I worry about what you might do if this life becomes hard.”

  James was surprised by the remark, though he decided he deserved it. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Ben.

  “Good,” Ben said. “And I believe you, which is why I’m gonna get to the point of all this.” He turned in his chair so he was facing James. “I’m planning on going away for a while. I’ve missed a good bit of my life, hiding from it in one place or another, and I figure this is as good a time as any to see some of the world I haven’t seen. Maybe clear my head
a bit.”

  James frowned. “How long are you planning to be away?”

  “Hard to say,” Ben said. “The truth is that I’m seventy years old, and when you reach that age, you don’t really make long term plans. You just decide what you want to do next. You can worry about what comes after that later.”

  James’s heart sank. Just as he felt his life was finally beginning again, a piece of it was being taken away, a bigger piece than he’d realized until that moment. “So you’re telling me you might not come back?” James wondered.

  “I’m just saying I don’t know.” A cool evening breeze brushed across Ben’s face and he paused, not listening for Rose’s voice this time— he knew she was there— but just taking in the moment. He drew a breath and continued. “Do you remember that conversation we had a while back about how the sea pulls at you?”

  James nodded. “I remember.”

  “It turned out there was a reason for that. I just needed to be willing to wait to find out what it was.” He looked out at the harbor with a peaceful expression, as if he and that stubborn ocean had finally come to an understanding. “There are other things pulling at me now, things I need to do while I still can. If anyone can understand that, James, it’s you.”

  “I understand,” James conceded. “I just wish you weren’t leaving.”

  Ben smiled. “I’ll miss you, too,” he said. He could see the sadness on James’s face, the sense of loss, and in a way, it made the rest of what he was about to do even easier. “There’s something I need from you," he finally said.

  “Anything,” James offered, without hesitation.

  Ben lifted himself out of his chair and motioned for James to follow him inside. “Come with me.”

  James followed Ben through the screen door, through the big living room and into the kitchen where Ben stopped and turned to him. “After I leave, I want to hire you, and Peter of course, to come in and remodel this kitchen. Have Jean help you. Tell her I want her to create the kitchen she’d want if she lived here. It could use a woman’s touch. I’ll set up an account to cover any expenses.”

  James looked at him confused. “Why would you have all that work done if you aren’t even sure if you’re coming back?”

  Ben grinned. “Well, that’s the second favor I want to ask you.” He led James into the living room and motioned for James to sit beside him on the big leather sofa near the stone fireplace. “Once you finish the kitchen, I want you to live here; you and Jean and William.”

  James couldn’t conceal his surprise. “What?”

  “A house like this shouldn’t sit empty, and it shouldn't just be a place for an old man to hide from the world. There should be a family living here. There should be a child playing in this room, and the smell of a home-cooked meal filling the house.”

  James shook his head. “We can’t just move into your home, Ben.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, we can’t afford it,” James said.

  “I’m not planning on charging you a dime,” Ben assured him.

  “I can’t accept that. It’s just too much.” James thought for a moment, desperately searching for a rational argument. “Besides, we already have a house.”

  “Sell it,” Ben said. “Put the money into a college fund for William.”

  James looked at him in disbelief. “Then what happens when you decide you want it back, or you decide to sell it, or— ” He stopped, catching himself.

  “Or I drop dead,” Ben offered, finishing James’s thought. He smiled at James’s discomfort over where the conversation had gone. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll happen sooner or later. There’s really no getting around it. But you’re right. I should tell you the rest of it.”

  “There’s more?” James asked, barely able to process what Ben had already offered.

  “The best part, I think,” Ben said. “I’ve updated my will, just to make sure you’ll never have to leave.”

  “No,” James insisted. “I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

  “You don’t understand,” Ben said, displaying just the hint of a mischievous smile. “I’m not leaving the house to you. I’m leaving it to William.”

  James was dumbfounded. “Why would you do that, Ben?”

  Ben considered the question for a moment. He’d already given it a good deal of thought and he knew exactly why he’d come to his decision, but it was important that James understood. “I never planned to be wealthy,” he began. “When I started out, I was just trying to make a living. When I met Rose, I wanted to prove myself worthy of her, and later, when we were married, I wanted to give her the life she deserved. Nothing was too good for her.” He paused as he always did when he spoke of Rose.

  “After she was gone, I just stumbled into the first few deals, and I earned more money in a few years than I would have earned in a lifetime selling refrigerators. But by the time I earned my first million, I realized it didn’t mean anything to me anymore. I had more than I needed, much more, and I had no one to share it with. If anything, I suppose it was a distraction for me. It kept me busy, kept me from thinking about what else was missing. Before I knew it, it was just coming easier and easier. It was almost effortless, but it was also pointless. At this point in my life, I don’t even know if I could spend it all in the time I have left, even if I tried. I don’t say that to be boastful or insensitive, and I definitely wouldn’t want to give you the idea that I’m complaining about having too much. But the plain truth is that when you have more than you need, you should try to find ways to do something good with it.”

  “But why this?” James asked. “Why me?”

  “Simple,” Ben said, and it appeared by his pleased expression that it was simple. “You have a wonderful family, a good job, a good life, and now you'll have the house by the ocean that you said you always wished for. You can have everything you want in life, James, if you just do one thing.”

  “What’s that?” James asked.

  “Stay put,” Ben said, as if it was obvious. “You see, I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it for William and I’m doing it for Jean. I’m also doing it for my mother and my brother, Charlie, and for me. I’m doing it because I can’t think of a single thing I'd rather do with what I have than to use it to keep a family together.”

  James shook his head. “But I already told you, I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted. “It’s not necessary.”

  Ben smiled and put his hand on James’s shoulder in that fatherly way. “It doesn’t have to be necessary,” he said. “It just has to feel right. And this does.”

  “We’ll never be able to afford to take care of this house,” James insisted.

  “You have my word that will never be an issue,” Ben assured him.

  They went back and forth for another hour, until they were both too tired to discuss it any further. Before he left, James explained that he couldn’t possibly consider any of it without first discussing it with Jean, and he expected she would have the same reservations, especially since she had no knowledge of the secrets he’d shared with Ben a week earlier.

  Even if she agreed, he told Ben, he had two conditions.

  It never occurred to Ben that anyone who received such an offer would impose conditions. Upon hearing them, Ben wasn’t surprised at all, and he agreed to both without hesitation.

  One year later, James stood on the porch of Ben’s home, holding William who was propped up before him with his bare feet on the railing. James pointed to a sailboat, gliding toward the mouth of the harbor, the morning sun at its stern.

  “What’s that?” James asked.

  “Boat!” William replied.

  “That’s right!” James said, turning to Jean who was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper.

  Jean smiled at her two men, her husband and her son, who was beginning to take after his father in so many ways, though William clearly looked like Christina.
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  “A chip off the old block,” Ben said as he emerged from the house with a coffee mug he’d brought back from Paris a few months earlier. “He loves boats, just like his old man.”

  Ben loved Sunday mornings when they were all together, when James was home with William and before Jean left for the day to open the gallery. It was the time when the house felt as full of life as he’d always wished.

  Though James and Jean had moved into the house the previous September, after the remodeling of the kitchen was completed, Ben hadn’t returned until late March, after spending nearly eight months traveling the world, taking in the sights he’d never had the opportunity to share with Rose. He returned brimming with life and full of stories of his travels to England, France, and Italy, where he’d spent the winter in Tuscany, not far from where Rose’s ancestors had lived. He’d met several of her relatives who welcomed him into their homes as if he were family, and he shared countless meals with them. He even learned to cook some of his favorite dishes, which he'd slowly been teaching to Jean upon his return.

  When he returned, he moved back into his bedroom on the second floor. It had been James’s first condition in agreeing to accept Ben’s offer to live in Ben’s home; that Ben would return after he’d seen what he wanted to see of the world and be a part of their little family. His room was just as he’d left it except for one thing— the angry man who once glared back at him from his mirror had long since gone. The face that greeted him now was older but kinder and smiled easily, and it appeared to be a bit fleshier from several months of fine Italian cooking.

  Ben sat at the table next to Jean who pushed the sports section toward him. He gave Jean a peck on the cheek and then began his morning ritual of grumbling about the Red Sox, which was the only thing he complained about these days.

  James set William in a seat next to Jean and disappeared into the house, returning with a pitcher of orange juice and a pitcher of milk which he placed on the table.

  A moment later the screen door opened and Ruth Kennedy emerged with a basket of muffins which she’d just removed from the oven. She placed the basket on the table and sat beside Ben, who affectionately touched her on the shoulder, and looked eagerly at the bounty she’d just placed before him.