Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Sorry for not being in touch before. Sounds like you need me now. I’ll come for you when I get out.

  Your father,

  Greg Robinson

  The handwriting was childish and non-uniform. I sifted through the brochures and was surprised when something fell out of the packet. It was a plait of brunette hair. A rubber band held it together at both ends.

  If I recalled correctly, Greg’s hair was sandy-colored. I picked it up and looked at Sig. He frowned. I whistled slowly. “This is really bizarre.”

  Sig took the package and shook it. “Could it be a braid from Shelby when she was a little girl? Maybe he saved it all these years?”

  I fingered the braid and pursed my lips. “Hmm. Maybe. I’ll ask Camille in the morning.”

  Max woofed twice with his sharp “Let me in” bark. I put the contents back into the envelope and slid it onto the top of the refrigerator, then let Max inside along with a gust of cold air.

  Siegfried carried the mugs to the table. He added vanilla and honey to both, without asking. Mrs. Marggrander had made the same special treat for us when I’d slept at Siegfried’s house as a boy. She’d called it “a mug of love.”

  It tasted warm, sweet, and decidedly comforting.

  Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I finished it up, said goodnight to Siegfried, and wandered upstairs to collapse into bed.

  Chapter 23

  Maddy, Doc Mattson, and I huddled on Joe’s porch Friday afternoon. The temperature had dropped to the low teens overnight and a biting wind slashed at our exposed skin.

  “Come on, Joe.” I said. “We’re freezing out here. Please open up.”

  We’d been trying to get inside for fifteen minutes. Joe had refused us, claiming he had a cold and didn’t want to infect us. Maddy’s lips were turning blue, and Doc’s hair stood up on end in the stiff breeze.

  “Joe! Come on. We just want to talk,” I said.

  I was shocked when the door clicked and opened several inches. Maddy grabbed the handle and pushed before he could change his mind. She barreled inside and looked around the room. Joe backed onto the easy chair. He clutched the armrests with shaking hands.

  Maddy stood still and stared at him. Three days of beard growth darkened his face. His eyes were rimmed in red. Purple shadows hung beneath his eyes, lending him a ghoulish appearance. He wore the same shirt and pants I’d seen him in yesterday, wrinkled and stained. The place was a mess.

  “What the hell,” Maddy said, approaching Joe.

  He flinched when she tried to take his hand.

  “Joe,” she said. “It’s me, Maddy.”

  A nervous tic flitted across his face as he avoided her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

  She glanced back at us with alarm. Doc gently moved her aside and walked briskly to his patient. He listened to Joe’s heart and took his pulse as if Joe were sitting in the examining room. “Your heart’s racing, Joe. Are you feeling nervous?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” Joe’s eyes looked wild. He jumped whenever any of us moved an inch.

  Maddy and I carefully sat down on the couch and watched.

  “Think we could talk about it?” Doc asked gently.

  Joe passed a hand over his salt-and-pepper-colored hair. “Do we have to?”

  Maddy and I nodded. Joe looked briefly at us and then averted his eyes again. Maddy could take it no longer.

  “Honey, you have to let the doctor help you. Something’s really wrong with you.”

  His lower lip trembled and he covered his face with his hands, bending over. “You don’t wanna hear about this. I don’t want you to see me like this.” He choked on the last few words, sounding close to breaking down.

  “We’re here for you, Joe. We’re not going to judge you. Please, just talk to us. Let Doc help you. We want you back in our lives. We miss you,” I said in a rush of words.

  I whispered the last few words, afraid I’d lose it now. It killed me to see my formerly strong, confident friend in such a state.

  He raised his head and answered in a forlorn voice. “Okay.”

  Doc sat beside me and took out a notebook and pen. He began to ask questions, pinpointing Joe’s combined feelings of general anxiety and agoraphobia. “When did you first have these feelings of anxiety?”

  Joe looked at Maddy and grimaced. He didn’t answer.

  Maddy spoke up, more gently this time. “It’s okay, honey. Tell the truth. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

  Joe looked down at his hands as he spoke. “I first noticed it when all the wedding talk started.”

  Maddy didn’t flinch. She sat quietly and nodded in encouragement to him.

  “Were you anxious about your own relationship?” Doc prodded.

  Joe couldn’t look at Maddy. “I guess so. I kept thinking of Jeanne and how I’d promised to love and cherish her forever... until I killed her, that is.”

  Maddy inhaled sharply, surprised by the sour tone in Joe’s voice. I reached over and squeezed her hand. She relaxed, and Doc continued.

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “I kept feeling like I was about to betray my wife. I love Maddy, and I knew I’d ask her to marry me before the year was out.”

  Maddy’s face transformed. A soft glow spread over her features. She smiled at Joe with a lovelorn expression. “Oh, honey.”

  Doc raised a hand to her. “Let’s put that thought on hold for now. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

  Maddy pulled herself together and sat up straighter, but she couldn’t hide the stars in her eyes.

  “So, the desire to marry another woman set off your feelings of guilt about Jeanne. You felt disloyal to her, and began to rethink your past. Is that it?”

  “Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about the accident and…the drinking. It’s torturing me.”

  There was a brief silence, then Doc asked, “And then the Mendon Ponds incident happened.”

  Joe looked at me. “Yeah. We thought maybe I could get some closure if we went up there, but it backfired. I freaked out. Gus was there. He can tell you.”

  “And when you returned home, how did you feel?”

  Doc sounded like a true psychiatrist. I almost smiled.

  “That’s when everything started to close in on me. When I looked outside, I got knots in my stomach. Bad pain. And the room would sway.”

  “Did you feel like you’d pass out?” Doc asked.

  Joe looked at Doc in surprise, as if he’d read his mind. “Yeah. I broke into a cold sweat if I opened the door, and things would swim before me. I felt like a giant load of gravel was waiting to dump on me from above, that I’d be buried under it if I put one foot out the door.”

  Doc nodded sagely and wrote in his book. The wind howled outside and a tree branch tapped against the window glass. Maddy’s floral perfume filled the room, overwhelming me with its intensity. I breathed shallowly and waited.

  “I’m not an expert in this field, mind you, but I’ve discussed your case with a few of my colleagues. Looks to me like generalized anxiety with trauma-induced agoraphobia.”

  Joe frowned. “Am I nuts? That sounds serious.”

  Doc cleared his throat. “It is serious. Just as serious as a bad back or broken arm. But no, you’re not crazy. You are ill. And you’ll need treatment. Like a broken arm, you’ll need time to heal.”

  “Treatment?” Joe asked nervously.

  “Medications. Psychotherapy. Maybe some exposure therapy. Support from friends. A multifaceted approach usually helps the most.”

  Joe sat back in his easy chair and tried to take it all in. “So you think I can be fixed with drugs?” he asked dubiously.

  His short hair looked a bit ragged, as if he’d missed his haircut weeks ago. But his eyes seemed calmer now.

  Maddy got up and perched on the armrest of his chair. This time, he didn’t flinch. She ran her fingers through his hair.

  He seemed to relax and leaned against her, reaching for her other hand.

  “A short-term
course of anti-anxiety meds, plus maybe an antidepressant, might do the trick,” Doc said quietly. “But we’ll have to couple it with aggressive treatment. We’ll have to get you to some kind of outpatient therapy. There’s a day program up at Rochester Memorial that I might be able to get you into. It’s eight hours a day. I have a friend from med school who’s checking today to see if he can pull some strings.”

  Joe looked nervous again. “I’d have to go outside?”

  Doc nodded firmly. “It’s the only way.”

  Maddy rubbed Joe’s back. “I’ll help you, honey.”

  He relaxed against her again. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t freak out. But I’ll try. I can’t take this anymore.” He gestured around him to the trailer and the mess. “It’s killing me.”

  Maddy looked at Doc as if urging him to say something. He cleared his throat. “It would be good if you had someone here with you, though. Someone who could drive you up and back everyday, just till you get your bearings again. Someone to help you get outside when it seems impossible. Know what I mean?”

  Joe looked thoughtful. He raised his eyes to Maddy. “What do you think?”

  She blushed, and then smiled as if she’d discovered chocolate pudding for the first time. “You want me to stay with you?”

  “I know it isn’t exactly proper. But the couch pulls out into a bed. I could give you the bedroom and I could sleep out here.”

  Maddy could hardly contain her joy. She slid onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and smothered him with kisses. “Yes, yes, yes! I don’t give a damn about propriety. You need me, honey, and I’ll be here. Better, yet, why don’t you stay with me? I’ve got three bedrooms, plenty of space, and a whole cabinet full of groceries.”

  Maddy had moved into Camille’s white Cape Cod on Twin Bridge Road when her daughter and I had married. It was a perfect solution.

  Joe smiled tentatively. “Okay. I am getting kind of sick of frozen pizza.”

  The room erupted in laughter. Maddy jumped off Joe’s lap, leaned over him, and ruffled his hair. “I’m going to take such good care of you, Joe. How about spaghetti tonight, huh?”

  Although I now knew the idea of going outdoors tortured him, he smiled bravely. “Sounds good.”

  She straightened up and waltzed into his bedroom. “Okay, I’m going to pack some things for you.” Her voice trailed off as she bustled about the bedroom, gathering clothes rapidly, probably fearful that he might change his mind.

  I went to Joe’s side and laid my hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  He looked up at me and then across to Doc, who nodded in agreement. “Yeah?” Joe said.

  “Absolutely. We’ve missed you, buddy.”

  Joe put his head in his hands and sighed. “I’ve missed me, too.” He rubbed his eyes and took another deep breath. “I can do this.”

  I knew he was trying to convince himself and decided to offer some distraction. “Joe? I need your help. It’s about Greg, Camille’s ex.”

  Joe frowned. “What’s going on?”

  I told him about the envelope and its bizarre contents. I’d asked Camille about the shorn braid of hair that morning and she’d insisted it wasn’t Shelby’s.

  He sat up straight and rubbed his hands briskly against his pant legs. “Let me do some digging. Maybe I can find out what’s been going on in those so-called religious meetings he’s been holding in prison.”

  “Thanks, guy. I appreciate it.” I squeezed his hand.

  Maddy dragged a rolling suitcase out of the bedroom. “All set, honey bear. You ready to do this?”

  Joe froze, color fading from his face. “No. Not really.”

  I took the suitcase from Maddy and she linked arms with him. “It won’t be easy. But we’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

  Doc took his other arm. “Let’s try this. Close your eyes and let us lead you out there. That way you can pretend you’re right in your trailer.”

  Joe laughed, but it sounded forced. “Okay.” He closed his eyes, and slowly, very slowly, they led him outside.

  Chapter 24

  Later in the evening, the recording session for my radio show went smoothly. For the program, I focused on classical music themes found in popular movies. My engineer, Dave, gave me the “thumbs up” after one take, for which I was grateful.

  I spotted Ziba Edinger in the hallway on the way out. The popular morning show host winked at me when we passed each other.

  “Professor. Sounds like the show went well. Keep ‘em coming.”

  I nodded, still a bit star-struck each time I interacted with Ziba. He’d been a classical music icon in the Rochester area for thirty years. “Thank you, Mr. Edinger. I do appreciate it.”

  He dashed past me and raised a hand in the air. “Call me Ziba. Mr. Edinger’s my father.”

  I laughed and watched him disappear out the side exit. After collecting my sheet music and briefcase, I headed in the same direction. The station was quieting down and most of the halls were dark. I hurried through the exit and out to the nearby parking garage.

  The clock on the dash read five past eight. I dialed home.

  “Hi, honey,” Camille answered. “Heading home?”

  “On my way,” I murmured, paying the attendant at the booth. I slipped into light traffic on State Street.

  “Shelby’s out with that boy,” she warned. “You know, the one you don’t like?”

  How could I forget? It was her first night of freedom in a week. “Did she tell you her plans? Where are they going?”

  She hesitated. “She did, but she was a little vague. I’m not sure she knew the exact timetable. Anyway, she said they were going up to Henrietta to eat at the Olive Garden. Then he was taking her to the Regal Cinema to see some new comedy. I can’t remember the name.”

  “What time does it get out?” I was already worried about her curfew.

  It started at seven-twenty. I think she said they’d be out by nine, home by ten.”

  I grumbled. “Think she’ll make it this time?”

  “I do. I think she learned her lesson.”

  The call-waiting signal beeped in my ear. I glanced down at the phone as I merged from 490 to 590 south.

  “It’s Shelby. I’ll call you right back.”

  I fumbled with the phone and finally picked up the call. My heart raced. Why would she be calling me in the middle of the movie?

  “Dad?” She sounded out of breath.

  “Shelby? What’s wrong?”

  I imagined her running through the park with that hormone-crazed maniac after her. I pictured my hands around his throat even before she spoke.

  “Nothing. I’m just calling to let you know we’ve had a change of plans. The movie was sold out, so Rolf and I decided to go ice skating.”

  Relief flooded through me. “Are you at the rink now?”

  “Yeah.” She was breathing hard again. “I’m skating right now. I only fell twice.”

  The tinny piped-in music from the background was punctuated with shrill squeaks and laughs from the other skaters. I pictured a mass of humanity on skates with cell phones pressed to their ears.

  “That’s good, honey. Is he treating you well?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, Dad. He’s fine. He paid for my ticket and everything.”

  That wasn’t what I meant, but I let it ride. “Will you be home on time?”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem. He has a game in the morning anyway, so I’ll probably be home early.”

  I relaxed. It’ll be okay. Just breathe.

  “Okay, then. Tell Rolf I expect you home no later than ten-thirty. Deal?”

  She sounded as if she almost dropped the phone. A click was followed by a rattle and a bang. I heard her say, “Thanks.” Finally, she came back on the line.

  “Sorry, Dad. I just collided with an old lady. Rolf helped me up.”

  “Okay. Well, have fun then,” I choked out the words, still worried about that groping monst
er and what he’d do on the way home from the skating rink.

  “Thanks. Love you, Dad. Bye.”

  “Love you, too, sweetie,” I said to a dead phone.

  Love you so much it hurts, so much that I want to hogtie every boy who looks your way.

  I called Camille to allay her fears, turned up the radio, and tried to force myself to relax on the way home to East Goodland.

  Camille and I went to bed early, but I lay in bed wide-awake, waiting for Shelby to come home.

  At a quarter to ten, tires crunched on the driveway. The car door slammed shut and I heard her lilting voice. Thanking God for small miracles, I waited until I heard the front door open and close, and then let myself drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 25

  On Saturday morning I lay on the great room floor with Marion and Celeste. Both babies crawled on me and begged for more airplane rides. I groaned and sat up, laughing.

  “More?” Celeste pleaded, quickly followed by Marion.

  “Opa, more?”

  I climbed up to the couch and held my arms out for them. Both joined me, plopping down on either side.

  “Opa’s tired, guys. How about a new game?”

  Celeste popped the purple pacifier out of her mouth and shoved it toward my lips. “Opa, take it.”

  I pulled back in surprise. “What? No, Opa doesn’t want your binky.”

  She laughed with a surge of enthusiasm and pulled it back toward her mouth. Smiling around it, she said. “I take it.”

  The game began. She pushed it toward my mouth, I rolled my eyes in exaggerated horror, and she whisked it away again, teasing me. Marion caught on quickly, and started to do the same.

  “I don’t want your binkies,” I laughed.

  They continued to thrust their plastic nubs at me.

  After twenty or so repetitions, Celeste grew bored of the game and slid to the floor. She toddled toward the kitchen, where Freddie and Siegfried sat drinking coffee and discussing the clinic’s surgery schedule for next week. Mrs. Pierce had driven to her sister’s home in Syracuse for her usual weekend visit. Camille and Shelby were at school for Rolf’s game. And Johnny lay on his stomach by the television, watching one of his favorite movies, Frozen. Olaf was his favorite character. His feet swayed back and forth as he sucked the juice from a bowlful of quartered oranges.