Letters on the Table

by Pattie Howse-Duncan

  Journey

  Their first clue came when Clark called Hollis to ask if he had heard anything from Savannah in the past twenty-four hours. Something was terribly wrong.

  “What do you mean? No, I haven’t…what’s this all about? Is she missing? What’s happened?”

  Clark’s tremulous voice was pained as he tried to explain. “She isn’t missing, but I don’t know where she is. She sent me several emails last night and this morning to let me know she’s okay but that she’s not coming back to the apartment.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I was hoping you might tell me.”

  “Not coming back to the apartment…has something happened I don’t know about? Are you splitting up?” Hollis pummeled him with questions, knowing full well that law school could cause relationships to buckle under the pressure.

  “No, it’s nothing like that; at least I don’t think so. Everything’s great, as far as I know. We spent yesterday morning at the harbor having brunch and laughing and talking for hours. There was nothing wrong. There never is. We never argue about anything, and if we get on each other’s nerves, we talk about it. That’s one of the things we do best. We communicate. My God, Hollis, you know better than anyone how well she can communicate.”

  “What happened after the harbor?”

  “I left to meet my study group at the library, and she was headed back to The Globe to see if they had her new assignment ready. She had a couple of things she wanted to research on her own and was hoping she wouldn’t receive her new assignment until Monday so she could have some time to work on those other things.”

  “What were they?”

  “I have no idea. She didn’t say. She wasn’t evasive, she just didn’t mention it.”

  “So, she just emailed and said she wasn’t coming back? Do you know who she’s with?”

  “I’ll forward you the emails, and you see if you can make any sense of them. She didn’t tell me if she is with anyone, and I’ve called everyone I know. You were my last call; I didn’t want to scare you, but I haven’t seen her in twenty-seven hours.

  “Let me see if Murphy or Katherine knows anything about this. Forward me those emails. I’ll call you right back.”

  It was only a matter of minutes before Murphy was calling. “Clark, Hollis told us everything. The three of us are on our way. My pilot is fueling the plane now. We’ll be there in three hours. We’ll find her, son. I promise.”

  By the time the plane touched down, they were raw with desperation. They shuddered when they saw the profound fear that had permeated Clark’s entire being. He had a copy of what appeared to be a new email in his hand.

  They were met at the airport with a car and driver, and they climbed inside to listen as Clark tried to read it aloud. Struggling, he pressed it into Katherine’s hands. Gathering all the strength within her, she read it aloud.

  Darling, I know you will never understand this, but I must go. I’ve decided we can’t have a life together. I need to move and settle someplace where I can make a new start for myself. I will love you always, and I hope one day you will forgive me. I think if you ever discovered who I really am, your love would turn to hate, and I’m not strong enough to handle that. Do not waste your time trying to find me. I will let you know when I settle, but know this…you and I will never be in each other’s presence again as long as we live. I’m so sorry.

  Savannah

  As tormenting as it was, they had to hear it read several more times for it to sink in, but even then, it was impossible to understand.

  “Let’s get to the hotel and check our emails to see if she has responded to any of us. And son, we’ll not keep anything from you, no matter how brutal, if she shares anything with us she hasn’t told you.”

  But that was part of the problem. She didn’t divulge any additional morsel of information. She refused to talk to any of them.

  Murphy had already communicated with Nathan Landis, Boston’s most acclaimed private investigator, and he was waiting at the hotel with fragmented news to share when they arrived. She unexpectedly resigned from her internship on Saturday afternoon, just hours after spending the morning with Clark at the harbor. Landis drilled Clark about that day, about their lives, about their relationship.

  Clark told him everything…how they both put long, arduous hours into their studies, Harvard Law was what they both expected, plus some. Clark’s immersion into law school provided Savannah with the opportunity to invest unlimited time into grad school and her internship at The Globe. She began making a name for herself, allowing her editor to see her as the quality journalist she had already become. Accordingly, she was given full access to some of the best archival data in the world. Her research took her frequently to D.C. and London and other exciting places she had always wanted to explore. It invigorated her. Savannah loved her career, and neither of them could imagine being any happier than they were in Boston. No matter how busy, they made time for each other. Their contentment came when they were wrapped in each other’s arms breathing the same air. Each marveled at how quickly the first year passed, then the second, and suddenly they found themselves in the middle of their third year in Boston.

  Landis took copies of the emails and asked a series of rapid-fire questions before departing. That evening he returned to the hotel suite and laid out the facts he had uncovered.

  “She flew out of the country this afternoon at 2:20 on Emirates Airline flight MP2684 to Johannesburg, South Africa.” He paused, letting that sink in before continuing, “She’s completed two credit card transactions since arriving but neither purchase was for lodging. The last event I can trace from the card is a withdrawal of money from her bank.”

  Katherine was shocked. “South Africa? Why so far away?”

  Clark’s voice was thick as he thought aloud, “She just finished researching a piece for The Globe on Nelson Mandela, and she’s talked a great deal about it, but nothing that would make me think she was going to South Africa.”

  They needed time to absorb what Landis had divulged. Nothing made sense to them. He arranged for them to meet with her boss and the editor at The Globe at 8:00 p.m. that evening but nothing was resolved.

  “She worked from her own computer on Saturday afternoon and used her Globe password to access our archival database. We can see she logged out only twenty minutes after her initial login. There’s no indication she has attempted to access our database since then.”

  They spent the next few days talking to her friends who were just as traumatized as the rest of them. No one understood or could have predicted anything of this nature. Just the opposite. Savannah’s departure made them wonder how well they knew the people they loved.

  She never returned to Clark. Johannesburg became her home. It was where she lived and sought therapy as she battled the demon that forced her to leave behind everyone and everything she loved. Her career flourished and eventually AP appeared on her byline, just as she had dreamed.

  About every six months Murphy arranged for a visit to Africa. Sometimes he sent Hollis. Other times he and Katherine visited. They all returned with the same report. She was established and thriving in her life across the world, but the light had disappeared from her eyes. That part of her was dead, no longer playing along with the “I know/What do you know?” game for fear it would involve news of Clark.

  There was a time they thought Clark might not survive the combination of the pain of losing her and the intense demands of Harvard Law. But he did, and he eventually moved to Kingston. With Murphy and Katherine’s support, he established a non-profit serving those living below the poverty line by ensuring equal access to justice. Occasionally, they would overhear someone say they thought it a bit unusual that Clark earned a law degree from Harvard and applied it to a non-profit, but Murphy and Katherine couldn’t think of a grander way to use it.

  He stayed busy and b
ecame involved in many things in and around Kingston, yet none of those involved romance. He dated many but committed to none. No one knew about the piles of notebooks in which he chronicled all of Savannah’s AP articles. The first bookmark on his computer was her webpage. She was clear across the world, but for a few seconds every now and then, when he mustered the strength to look, her photo seemed to peer right back at him.

  Sam

  Murphy was watching as she pulled in the drive. J.C. Westmoreland had called to alert him about the incident outside the Kingston Post Office which had happened just minutes before.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go to town by yourself.”

  Now she was curious. “I don’t know who called you, but news sure travels fast around this little town. Who was it?”

  “You’ll have to bribe me if you want to get that information and need I remind you, my love, I always give in to your bribes?”

  She cocked her head and flashed a smile, and he gave in.

  “J.C. gave me the lowdown on what happened. Are you alright?”

  “I’m perfectly fine, but I would like to know what he told you. I’m anxious to see if he had the same impression I did.”

  “Well, let’s see. He said you were almost to the bottom step when some guy came barreling around the corner on a rickety bicycle and practically ran you over. I think he referred to him as ‘afflicted in some way, or something similar.’”

  “For heaven’s sakes, J.C. made it sound worse than it actually was. Imagine that.”

  “Did your mail fly through the air?”

  “Yes, but we picked it up.”

  “Did you nearly fall to the ground?”

  “Yes, but that’s what handrails are for, aren’t they?”

  “Did you have a small band of gawkers gathered around you?”

  “Yes, several of them picked up our mail. Thank goodness Father Drew happened to be there and saw the whole thing. I kept telling everyone I was fine, but they didn’t listen to me.”

  “The guy on the bike…any idea who he was or what he was doing?”

  “I’d never seen him before. It seems the old red bike is his means of transportation, and he uses it to carry discarded aluminum cans he finds stashed away in hidden places.”

  The phone rang as they entered the back door. It was Father Drew with a bit of information he learned from the church secretary at St. Thomas. “She only knows him as Sam. She described him as maybe being mentally disabled, and he typically rides his bicycle around town, usually about sunrise or sunset, collecting aluminum cans to make a few dollars. She spotted him one evening rummaging through our dumpster and watched him from the window, ready to give him the what for if he scattered litter in the parking lot. But I have to tell you, she was pleasantly surprised. Not only did our scavenger make sure the dumpster was in good shape when he finished, he also picked up the stray pieces of litter around the entire parking lot that had been there before he arrived and deposited them into our dumpster. She says he’s harmless.”

  “And did you get the same feeling? That he’s harmless?”

  “I did. It sounds to me like he’s just a guy who does what he has to do to make some extra money. He’s lived in Kingston for about ten years, I think.”

  “Katherine said basically the same thing. She thinks he seems to be invisible to people. Maybe we pretend not to see him. I’m ashamed to say that maybe not noticing him prevents folks from getting involved with someone who might be a bit different from the rest of us.”

  That evening over dinner Katherine and Murphy talked a great deal about the incident. He could tell the man on the bicycle had evoked a sense of wonder in his wife, and he predicted they were on the cusp of a new adventure.

  She barely had the second bite of pie in her mouth when she slowly lowered her fork and studied it hard. “If you rely on finding aluminum cans to buy your groceries, how often do you have the pleasure of eating a slice of pie?”

  And she knew then and there that the accidental meeting was really no accident at all.

  They spotted Sam from a distance several times over the next few months. He was always trying to maneuver his bike with different types of contraptions attached to the front—sometimes a cardboard box, other times a torn black trash bag, and occasionally a couple of grocery sacks slipped around the handlebars. His dedication to his quest for aluminum cans was clear.

  One Saturday they stopped for a late lunch at the Burger Barn. The smell of patties sizzling on the griddle made it almost impossible to resist ordering the supersized Double Decker, Real Deal, or the gargantuan Hub Cap.

  Katherine spotted him balancing a lone burger atop a red plastic tray. No fries, no shake, no drink. He walked with slow, deliberate steps as if carrying a five-tiered birthday cake all ablaze in candles. Mesmerized, Katherine and Murphy watched as Sam carefully unwrapped his burger and removed something from his pocket, which he used to divide his burger in half.

  Katherine whispered to Murphy as they watched his every movement, “Is that a pocketknife he just pulled out of his pocket?”

  “Probably. Most men carry one, but I’m only guessing.”

  They witnessed him wrap half of the burger and put it into his pocket, along with the set of nail clippers he’d used to divide it. They could guess the other half would serve as his evening meal. She now understood what she needed to do. And Murphy knew too.

  Besides, she desperately needed something to focus on other than Savannah’s absence. It had been three years since Savannah’s departure, and she still felt an emptiness that nothing else could fill.

  Later the next day Katherine drove to the aluminum recycling station, eager to learn the going rate for aluminum cans. The gentleman, although he didn’t seem to be very gentle, eyed her up and down, did the same to her vehicle, and then slicked back his greasy dark hair before answering.

  “Thirty cents a pound is the rate today. Tomorrow it might be a little more or a little less. How many you got, lady?”

  “How much money do you think I would get if I brought you a lawn size trash bag filled with aluminum cans?”

  “Smashed or whole?”

  “I don’t know. Is one kind more valuable than the other?”

  It tickled him when intelligent looking people asked dumb questions. He took her for one of those snooty women who kept her beer cans in a special trash can at home, not wanting her neighbors or the garbage man to know she was a drinker. He’d seen plenty of her kind before. Some people were so high and mighty it made him sick.

  He gave her a snide once over and explained, “You can fit a lot more smashed cans into a bag. My shift ends in about five minutes so let’s see what you got.” Swiveling his finger in midair, motioning her to pop the trunk, he continued, “I can tell pretty close just by eyeing them how much money you’ll have coming to you. Open up.”

  Katherine explained she didn’t have any cans, not a single one, but intended to start saving them immediately, and she was going to tell all her friends to save them also.

  “Some folks have more money than they do sense,” he muttered to himself as she drove off. “That broad acted like I’d just let her in on the secret of picking the winning ponies at the track.” But in the long run, it didn’t make much difference to him, all he wanted to do was go home and crack open his own cold one.

  With her new knowledge in the art of recycling aluminum cans, she devised a plan. Friends of Sam developed into a secret kinship of seventeen folks who started saving their aluminum cans for a man who was oblivious to it all. Katherine and Murphy carefully selected nine of their friends and Lily Mae chose six of hers. Everyone was eager to be part of the covert mission. All the participants put their sacks of cans on their doorsteps every Friday morning and Katherine and Murphy drove to each house, collected the cans, rain or shine and placed them neatly, row after row, in the barn
. Now all they had to do was wait for the opportunity to find Sam and tell him about the gift with his name on it.

  They saw him again the evening of the annual Kingston Christmas parade. Murphy always provided a flatbed trailer for St. Thomas’ float, and he liked to personally ensure it had been hooked up securely before the truck began the parade route. The crowd had already begun mingling, and the air was thick with holiday excitement. Katherine and Murphy were standing in front of S & A’s Hardware off the square when they noticed a man lurking in a darkened storefront entrance.

  “Look who’s standing in the doorway at Jenifer’s Antique Shop. I think that’s our man.” Katherine was beside herself.

  “Let’s casually walk his way and see if we can strike up a conversation. Maybe he’ll let us buy him a burger at you-know-where.” Katherine was already two steps ahead of him.

  Sam spotted the strangers looking keenly towards him, headed his direction, so he scuttled away. He didn’t do well with strangers. Often his encounters had bad endings, so he avoided them at all costs.

  But then, two months later, when she least expected it, Katherine officially met her Sam. Murphy was away for a two-day meeting at Weber Springs, and she was in town running a few errands. She saw the rusted bike in the parking lot of Davis’ Drug Store and knew there was only one person in town with a bike like that.

  She walked up and down each aisle until she spotted him near the eye care products. Slowly approaching, she asked silently that she be given the right words to say so that the Friends of Sam project could enter Phase Two.

  “Hello there.”

  Just a stare in response from Sam, maybe he was expecting a rude insult to follow.

  “My name’s Katherine, and, am I right, you’re Sam?”

  “Hey.” His voice was wary, apprehensive. His shaggy bangs fell well past his eyebrows, hiding the brilliant color of his green eyes. His cotton shirt was tucked neatly into his jeans, a western belt holding them up. He wore tennis shoes with Velcro fasteners and at his right ankle was a rubber band around the hem, his insurance to prevent his pant leg from getting caught in the chain of his bike.