Winter Tides

by James P. Blaylock

  Anne’s imagination would have to react to something as potent as this. She would see her own art in a startlingly new way: the artist rediscovering her own passions! The Day Girl and the Night Girl, face to face.

  He stood for another moment looking at the tableau, shining his flashlight on it, spotlighting it. He knew that leaving this token was a fairly chancy move; it would probably change things irrevocably. But perhaps it was time to change things irrevocably.

  He closed the closet door softly when he left.

  32

  DAVE STOOD AT THE WINDOW, WATCHING THE TRAFFIC ON Main Street. The night was clear and warm with the winds. He heard her teapot whistle, and a minute later Anne brought him a cup of tea and sat down again.

  “Was that what you saw in the coffee grounds today?” he asked, not turning away from the window.

  “Actually, it was. Except I saw it in your face. Simple recognition, I guess. All along you’ve looked familiar to me.”

  “After fifteen years? You’ve got a good memory.”

  “There are some things you don’t forget. Some faces stay in your memory, and you carry them around for the rest of your life. Sometimes because you’re afraid of them, and sometimes because … because you’re not, I guess. You haven’t changed that much. And besides, you’ve always been a kind of ideal, you know.”

  “Don’t stretch things too far….”

  “No, I mean it. You’ve always been a kind of guardian angel. And I used to imagine that you’d reappear some day.”

  Dave was silent. It was almost funny. This wasn’t at all what he had wanted. It was far more, in a way: the woman you’ve gone crazy for admits that she’d been waiting for you to appear for years, except that it turns out that you’d let her sister drown, her twin sister. He wasn’t anybody’s guardian angel, and he didn’t at all want to be. What he wanted was something else entirely.

  “Edmund had told me about it anyway, told me about you, that is. About a little girl drowning on the beach, and your being involved, and it screwing things up for you.”

  “Edmund told you about it?”

  “Basically. He was way off base with the details, and he left out the part about your saving me, so at the time I didn’t think he was talking about the same incident. He even had the date wrong. And of course it was too far-fetched to think there was any connection.”

  “Out of all the gin joints …”

  “That’s what I thought. But then when we were drinking coffee this afternoon, and you were staring toward the ocean, it was simply obvious. Starkly obvious. I’m telling you, you haven’t changed.”

  “You have.”

  “I was thirteen. You do a lot of changing between thirteen and twenty-eight.”

  There was a silence now. It seemed to Dave that he had spent all day long building a card house, and that it had just fallen—a little like finding out that the woman you’re in love with is your long-lost sister. Worse, perhaps, since there might be a certain joy in finding your sister. “Look,” he said to her, “I’ve got to take off.”

  “Why? It’s just after ten.”

  “I’m a little tired, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, can I ask you one thing? And if you don’t want to answer me, that’s all right.”

  “You want to know what happened with Elinor? Why she drowned?”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Because what happened was that I was in big trouble swimming around out there. I was cold and I was tired, and suddenly I started thinking of dropping her. Just letting her go and saving myself. I wasn’t considering it, you know. It wasn’t as if the question had come up, and I was debating it in my mind. It’s that it occurred to me that I would drop her, if I had to. A part of me, somewhere down inside, wanted to drop her. I wasn’t strong enough to help myself.”

  “You mean to help yourself and her too?”

  “Yes and no. I mean that if I couldn’t help both of us, I wasn’t strong enough to drown for her sake.”

  “For her sake? Let me get this straight. It seems to me that if you had drowned, so would she. Obviously she couldn’t save herself. How is that drowning for her sake?”

  “I can’t answer that, although I’ve tried to a couple of times.”

  She stared at the floor for a moment and then asked, “Did you drop her? Let go of her? Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “No,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t have a chance to. A wave washed over us. She got swept away.”

  “Then how do you know you would have?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “At the time it just didn’t matter. I lost her. She drowned. I don’t even know when it happened exactly. I was tired out, we were tumbling around in the wave, and all of a sudden I wasn’t holding on to her anymore. I saw her face for a moment, her hair, the color of her swimsuit, but she was gone so fast.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “To hell with it. It was nearly fifteen years ago, like you said. That’s what Casey’s always telling me: ‘You’re a man now. Pull up your pants and get on with your life.”

  “Well, I won’t tell you that.”

  “You might as well; it’s true. Anyway, was that the question you wanted to ask?”

  “No, it wasn’t. Not even close. What I wanted to ask was why you left that day on the beach. Why you just disappeared. We gave the lifeguards about ten minutes’ worth of information, and by that time you were long gone. My mother wanted to thank you, you know. Years later, when she died, she still wanted to thank you. And I’m not saying that because I think you should have stuck around and chatted. I guess I know now why you couldn’t have. I only want you to know that my mother was never anything but grateful that you saved me, and that you tried to save Elinor. I wish you could have known that back then.”

  Dave stood up and looked out the window again. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at the neon across the street. “Thanks for telling me that.”

  “You’re welcome. You know, it’s almost funny. Both of us have been carrying Elinor’s ghost around with us, haven’t we? I absolutely hated her. I haven’t told you about that yet. I was glad she drowned. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t answer that. She was a strange kid, though. We talked a little bit when we were out there, and all I can tell you about it is that she was full of some kind of weird anger. Worse than anger. She would have been hard to like. I quit liking her as soon as she started talking.”

  “I can imagine. You didn’t have to like her, though. You were a stranger. I was her sister. Her twin sister. We were supposed to share everything, you know, like you read about. We were supposed to think alike, pull pranks on our teachers.”

  “But you didn’t think alike?”

  “Never. And anyway, when I said I was glad she had drowned, I meant it. When you were out there saving her, I was hoping that you wouldn’t. Then when you didn’t, it was like the biggest relief you could imagine.”

  “And you never blamed yourself for thinking that?”

  “I always blamed myself, at least for thinking it. But I didn’t ever really believe that she drowned because of me. And you can’t really believe that she drowned because of you, either.”

  He shrugged. “What I believe is that I don’t know what I would have done in the next five minutes if that wave hadn’t pulled Elinor out of my hands.”

  “Who cares? it didn’t happen, Dave. You didn’t fail. You only found out that it’s possible to fail. And if that’s the first time you found that out, then you must have led a sheltered life. And you can’t argue with what I’m saying, either. I’m right. You’re wrong.”

  “Okay, so I’m wrong. Don’t beat me up with it.”

  “I might just beat you senseless if you don’t quit moping around.”

  “All right, all right. No more moping. We’ll move on. You know, there w
as one thing that I haven’t told you. She was wearing a bracelet, with her name on it—beads with letters spelling out Elinor.”

  “I had one too. We made them at a fair, at a bead booth, I guess when we were ten or eleven.”

  “When the wave pulled her away, I ended up holding the bracelet. I kept it. I was going to give it to your mother, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “We already worked through that one.”

  “I know we did. I kept the bracelet, though, for some reason. Strange kind of souvenir, I guess. What I was thinking, though, is that there was something about her wearing it that made me like her a little bit, something that reminded me that she was a child, I guess. I don’t know … maybe that just made it worse when she drowned.”

  “So what did you do with it?”

  “I kept it. It’s hidden in a drawer, where I’ll never see it unless I look for it. If you want it, you can have it.”

  She shook her head. “I kept a few things too, and I don’t really want them either. My advice is to throw it into the ocean. Get rid of it.”

  They sat without speaking until Dave asked, “So you think it was Elinor that you saw on the pier?”

  “Why not?” Anne said. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

  “I can believe in damned near anything right now. Sure. Ghosts—why not? I should have expected this after you told me you read coffee grounds. And you’re telling me that it was Elinor that I saw on the sidewalk the other night?”

  “From the way you described it—what it sounded like, what it smelled like. It’s nearly always the same.”

  “Even though I didn’t see her clearly, I know she looked just like you. Dead ringer.”

  “A couple of times I’ve seen her … her adult reflection in a window. I think it’s me, but then she fades away, and there’s no reflection at all, and I realize there never had been—not a reflection of me, anyway.”

  “What’s she after?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she wants something from us.”

  “Maybe we want something from her,” Dave said.

  “Maybe we do.” They sat in silence for a moment, and then Anne asked, “How about you? What do you want right now? More tea? Cold dumpling, maybe?”

  “I’ve had it,” Dave said. He turned to the window again, watching the headlights on Main Street. “I better take off.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Yeah. You’ll see me tomorrow. I’m sorry if I turned out to be bad company this evening.”

  “I don’t think you’re bad company at all. I think that I’ve waited fifteen years to tell you what I thought. Now I don’t think I said it very well.”

  She let the subject drop, and after another moment of silence and of staring out the window, Dave turned around to look at her and found that she was crying. He closed his eyes, tried to speak, and couldn’t again.

  “Sorry,” she said, standing up and stepping toward him. And then, before he could react, she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek. She walked across and opened the door, and he walked out into the corridor. “See you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be tlıere,” he said.

  “Wait,” she said and turned around, disappearing toward the kitchen. In a moment she was back. She handed him a key. “Street door,” she said. “At least you can get up to my apartment now.” She smiled at him, winked, and shut the door.

  He left, down the stairs and out the door to the street, turning right at the corner and heading home, the heaviness of the last half hour having fallen away with Anne’s wink. He nearly felt like whistling, but right then he realized that he hadn’t even asked her for her phone number, and for a second he was tempted to go back up and get it.

  He heard a car start up around the corner behind him, and the car’s headlights switched on and illuminated the brick wall across the street when it swung around and started to accelerate. It slowed, though, when it drew abreast of him. He glanced over to see how many people were in it, ready to sprint back up to Main Street. He just wasn’t up to any crap. But the only person in the car was the driver, and as soon as Dave focused on him, he sped up, turning left at the corner a block up and heading down toward the Highway.

  The car was Edmund’s Mercedes.

  33

  “I’M NOT LISTENING,” CASEY TOLD HIM. “YOU CAN GO ahead and talk, but I’m watching Jeopardy, so I’m not paying attention to anything you say. They’ve got South Pacific islands as a category, and I’m nailing it.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Case. I’m not joking around now. I’ve got something serious to say, and I’d just as soon not say it over the phone. I was thinking of coming over. And how the hell are you watching Jeopardy? It’s eleven-thirty.”

  “The marvels of videotape. I don’t watch TV until late. Nancy won’t watch it at all, so I wait until she goes to bed.”

  “Well, I’ve got something I want to talk about.”

  “How serious is it?”

  “Veıy.”

  “Can you turn it into a Jeopardy answer?”

  “Look …”

  “Then you can’t come over. I never talk serious this late at night. Okay, wait, wait … Man! Fiji, for God’s sake. I can’t believe how lame these people are. If I was on there tonight, I’d tear it up. South Pacific islands and basketball on the same damned slate. None of these bozos knew anything about the Celtics back in the Larry Bird days.”

  “Don’t put me off, Case. Am I coming over or not?”

  “What for?”

  “Because your brother …”

  Casey began knocking against the phone now with some sort of metal object and whistling tunelessly. “I’m not listening,” he said, breaking in on all the noisemaking. He wasn’t drunk, either. He was perfectly sharp and coherent.

  There was sudden silence. Dave could hear the Jeopardy music in the background. “Your brother …” he started to say again. The knocking started up along with the whistling. Dave waited it out.

  “You want to talk?” Casey said finally.

  “Yeah, I want to talk.”

  “Then We’ll talk on the beach, in fact, it’s funny you called, because I’d already made up my mind that you were going out tomorrow morning. That’s the plan. No bullshit. Tomorrow the elusive Dave gets wet. The swell’s faded, but it’s still good, probably better than it’s been, if it’s shape you want instead of size. I’m bringing that board I bought from Bill. You’ll love it. You get your goddamn wetsuit off the back fence. You might want to bring it into the house if you want it dry.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What wetsuit?”

  “Whoa! Don’t bother to lie to me and tell me you sold it at a yard sale. I broke into your lousy garage this afternoon and found it. It’s not hip any more, but it’ll keep you warm. The zippers work. The seams are tight except for the knee’s a little ragged. I hosed the sawdust off and hung it over your back fence, over by the lemon tree. You’re ready to ride, bro.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Of course you don’t. That’s why I’m calling the shots. I was going to make it a surprise attack, but now that you’ve called, you might as well check it out right now. Here’s the game plan: I’m knocking at your door at half past five. You with me so far?”

  “Go on,” Dave said.

  “All right. If you’re not ready to go, I’m coming in after you. And you know what? I’ll break the front window if I have to, Dave. I’ll punch a fucking hole right through it. Try me if you think I won’t. Our little talk at the doughnut shop riled me up, man. I got home pissed off. I decided that you talk too much these days. You know why you talk so much? Because talking kills time. Talking makes mountains out of molehills. Pretty soon you don’t know the difference. You make a big scene out of nothing, and you lose track of what’s really worth dealing with—you know what I mean? Talking’s like snow; it covers things up so that you can’t make out their shape any more. You’re whistling in the
dark, Dave, and it’s time you shut the hell up and faced your fears. So I’m going to cut you a deal. I’ll listen to you talk one more time if I can see you surf. And I mean tomorrow morning.”

  Dave sat for a moment in stunned silence. Everything Casey said was true, of course. There was no way to deny any of it.

  “I don’t want silence, Dave. I want your word on it right now. Either tell me yes or hang up and wait for the glass to break. We’ve got Double Jeopardy coming up here.”

  “Five-thirty,” Dave said. He almost followed it up with something sentimental about the value of Casey’s friendship, but he stopped himself. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

  “Hey, Dave.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m on the wagon. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I’ve got a few hours sober now. I’m sitting here drinking diet Cokes. I’m not telling Nancy anything about it. She’ll figure it out soon enough. You’re the one who started it off. That’s probably why I was so mad when I got home.”

  “Good for me.”

  “I owe you. And I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t have coffee going at five-thirty. Did you write that down?”

  “I wrote it down.”

  “Good. Sweet dreams.” He hung up the phone then. Dave listened until he heard the dial tone, and then hung his phone up and turned on the television, somehow thinking for one crazy moment that he could catch the rest of Jeopardy.

  1

  AT DAWN THE AIR WAS STILL AND THE OCEAN WAS glassy, the dark waves rolling up out of the depths and breaking on the outer sandbars, long waves that lined up for fifty or sixty yards, the breaking section running smoothly down the clean wall, hissing shoreward, reforming, and breaking again inside in a small-size, quick-speed replica of the outside break. The moon still hung in the western sky, and in the east the horizon was layered with pink and gray that died into the blue darkness of night. Overhead there were two or three stars still visible, faded and nearly gone. The beach was empty except for a flock of seagulls, a hundred or so that stood facing the west on the ocean side of the fire pits as if they were waiting for the sun, or for some long-anticipated seagull god to crawl up from out of the ocean.