by Nevada Barr
“Large,” Anna agreed.
For a time they sat in silence, Tinker in the chair, Damien perched on the arm, Anna, resplendent in her Garfield pajamas, propped up on pillows.
In an urban setting, without their uniforms, the two interpreters looked ordinary: like elves in a shopping mall or water sprites in a horse trough. The island itself was the magic; Tinker and Damien just the dwellers therein. Anna was aware of a feeling of disappointment.
“We’ve got winter jobs in Everglades National Park,” Tinker said. “There’s magic there.”
Anna smiled. “If that fails, you can always get on with a traveling show, reading people’s thoughts.”
After due consideration, Damien declared: “Too dull.”
Another long but in no way awkward silence passed. “I’m sorry about Oscar,” Anna said finally.
“Yes,” Tinker returned. “He was the purest of bears.”
Another silence began. Anna didn’t know quite where to look. Funerals, memorial services-dead people-were hard enough to deal with. Dead teddy bears presented a whole new realm of social obstacles.
“He was pure,” Damien mused. “But there are compensations. Now that he’s part human he’s thinking of taking up whiskey to keep his more esoteric vices company.”
“Human?” Anna repeated stupidly.
“We got most of his sawdust back,” Tinker explained patiently. “Your dive suit caught almost all of it, but it was pretty well soaked with blood.”
“We dried it out in our fruit dehydrator.” Damien picked up the thread of the story. “Stuffed it back in and sewed him up. He’s got a scar on his chest, but Tinker tried to keep the stitches small.”
“Oscar’s a bit vain,” Tinker confided.
Anna fingered the wound on her own chest. “During bathing suit season, he and I’ll stick together,” she said. “Is he… here?” She felt absurd at the hope she heard in her voice.
“He sends his regards,” Tinker apologized. “He wanted to stay at the hotel.”
“Nothing personal,” Damien put in quickly. “He thinks the world of you. It’s just that our room has a color TV.”
“Ah.” Reality was becoming less and less important to the conversation. Anna changed the subject. Brightly, she said: “So, tell me what’s happened on the island. Did they find somebody to run the lodge? Has Carrie left for her father’s? Did Scotty ever get the fog-sensitive engine on the Lorelei running again?”
“Didn’t you hear the big news?” Tinker asked cautiously.
Anna thought she was the big news.
“Scotty was drinking like he does and started opening beer bottles with his teeth.”
“What a jerk. Were trail crew properly impressed?”
“No. Wait.” Tinker looked pained. She had no reason to be a friend to Scotty Butkus. Anna wondered at it and waited.
“He choked to death on a bottle cap,” Tinker said slowly. “No kidding,” she added as Anna began to laugh. “Nobody knew the Heimlich maneuver-or they thought he was just horsing around. By the time they figured it out, he was dead.”
Banal, embarrassing, meaningless: an accidental death. After all the mysteries on the island, Anna had forgotten there was such a thing. “Bummer,” she said.
“Sometimes the wrong people die,” Tinker said philosophically. “But sometimes they don’t.”
“Time,” Damien broke in.
“Meeting of the Survivors of the Harmonic Convergence?” Anna teased.
Tinker shook her head. “Lyle Lovett’s playing at the Guthrie.”
Another perfectly good pigeonhole evaded by the Coggins-Clarkes, Anna thought as they gathered their things and headed for the door.
“Oh, you’ve a message from Ralph,” Tinker remembered. “He said to tell you to get well soon. Now that Scotty is gone, you are to be stuck with organizing the Chrismoose picnic. Scotty ordered the paper plates and all the condiments, but nothing else has been done.”
Anna groaned.
Tinker waved goodbye as Damien swirled her away in the crook of his arm.
“Condiments!” Anna exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “That’s why Scotty ordered the case of pickle relish!” she hollered after them. But the Coggins-Clarkes were on to other things.
***
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