Morning Glory

by Sarah Jio

  Because I don’t know what else to say, I nod and say yes.

  Dex carries our luggage up the dock, and I look straight ahead, hoping not to see Collin as I lock the door to the houseboat. I pray he isn’t there. I can’t bear to see him, not now, not after the night we shared. What would he think? What would I say? But then I see him ahead. He’s walking toward us on the dock holding a vase of pink roses. There’s a ribbon tied around the vase, which looks freshly selected from the front window of the little florist down the street. Dex would never settle for premade bouquets. He has a personal florist who knows his style—“loose, careless,” I once overheard him say over the phone while ordering flowers for his sister after the birth of her son.

  Collin holds the vase in his hands awkwardly. I know the roses are for me. I know they’re a symbol of the love that blossomed between us last night. I run my eyes over the pink roses, and my heart nearly seizes. I want to run to him. I want to let him hold me again, kiss me. But Dex tucks his hand around my waist and I freeze, unable to say or do anything. I just stand and pray that Collin can read my eyes. They plead with him to understand.

  “Hello there,” Dex says to him. “Got a date?”

  Collin looks at me, then back at Dex. I can tell he doesn’t know what to say. I don’t either.

  “We’re off to California,” Dex says, filling the void.

  “California,” Collin parrots back. He looks at me dumbstruck. How could I be going away after last night? After . . .

  “Dex surprised me,” I say, hoping he’ll understand that I have no other choice.

  Dex kisses my cheek territorially and I pray that Collin sees my displeasure. “Thanks for taking my sweetheart out last night,” he says. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay you.”

  “No repayment necessary,” Collin says. He looks wounded, and I want to reach my arms out to him. I want to nuzzle my face into his neck. But I can’t. I can only stare ahead. I can only stand beside my husband. My husband.

  “I have a meeting with a new patron in Los Angeles, and I decided to buy an extra ticket to take Penny along.” He leans toward Collin playfully. “This is my very earnest attempt to get my wife into one of those bikinis all the women wear out there in California.”

  Collin forces a smile. “Well, I hear it’s beautiful out there.”

  “Who’d you say the flowers are for?” Dexter asks.

  “Oh, I, well, Lenora,” he fumbles. “She’s ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dexter says. “Give her our best.”

  Collin nods, and this time he looks directly at me. “Have a wonderful time in California.”

  “We will,” Dexter says.

  My legs feel leaden as we walk to the cab waiting on the street above. I can’t look back to the dock. I can’t bear to see Collin again for fear that my heart will break in two.

  “Don’t you love it here?” Dex says, leaning back on the bed at the Chateau Marmont.

  “It’s beautiful,” I reply, walking out to the balcony. He joins me a moment later. “You’re prettier than any movie star in Hollywood, you know?”

  “Stop,” I say, as my lips form a reluctant smile. “You’re just saying that.”

  He turns me around to face him. “It’s the truth.” He begins kissing my neck, but it doesn’t feel right. Not now. Not after last night. I’m relieved when I hear a knock at the door. Dexter opens it for a porter who holds a tray with a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and an envelope.

  “Did you order room service?” I ask, walking toward him.

  Dexter doesn’t reply. He tears open the envelope expectantly, like a little boy opening a present on Christmas morning. He pulls out a card, and I lean over his shoulder to read the flowery handwriting.

  “To our monthlong artistic collaboration!—Lana”

  I shake my head. “Who’s Lana?”

  “I was going to tell you over dinner tonight,” he says. “I thought if I could get you out here, you’d see what an exciting opportunity this is for me.”

  “Dex, what are you talking about?”

  He sits down on the bed. “Listen, Penn, I don’t know how it happened, but Lana Turner saw some of my work at a gallery in Los Angeles, and her people contacted me. She wants me to work on a mural in her home.”

  “In her home? Lana Turner? The Lana Turner?”

  “Yes,” he says. “And she’s offered to let me be an artist in residence while I work on it.”

  “An artist in residence?” I shake my head. I’ve seen her movies. I know how beautiful she is, and I’ve read the headlines about her many loves and divorces. “Doesn’t that seem a little tawdry, Dex?”

  “Honey,” he says, “I know how it must seem. But I wanted you to come out with me so you could meet her, so you could feel comfortable with the arrangement.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to be here for at least a month.”

  “Dex, really?” I should be relieved. I can fly home and spend all the time in the world with Collin. I should be happy. But instead I feel a clench in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’ll work fast,” he says, kissing my wrist.

  “I imagine she’s paying you a lot of money.”

  He nods. “Yes. But Penn, it’s not about the money. I don’t know how to describe it, but since Lana reached out to me, well, it’s like someone lifted a dark veil that was covering my eyes. I feel happier; I feel like I can work again.”

  “Good,” I say. “I want that for you.”

  “It’ll mean more commissions,” he says. “Lana says that when I’m done with the mural, I’ll have all of Hollywood courting me. We could move out here, maybe. Get a little home in Beverly Hills. You’d like that now, wouldn’t you?”

  I shake my head. “But I love our home. I love Seattle.”

  “Then we’ll keep it. We’ll have two.”

  “I don’t know, Dex.”

  “Please, come with me. Meet Lana tonight. You’ll fall in love with her; I promise you will.” Somehow I sense that it’s Dex who’s already done just that.

  The maître d’ pulls out my chair, sliding it in place as I take my seat. I look around the large dining room with its glitzy decor. An older man escorts a young blonde on his arm at least twenty years his junior. She wears a sparkly silver dress that’s cut low on her chest. Her champagne blond hair is pulled back and piled high on her head. I feel plain and unglamorous in comparison and tug at my emerald green dress. It never fails to wow in Seattle, but somehow it feels frumpy and schoolmarmish now.

  “Do you know who that was?” Dexter whispers to me.

  I shake my head.

  “Alfred Hitchcock,” he says. Dex is clearly taken with California, but I don’t share his fascination. Instead, I think of home on Lake Union. I wonder what Collin’s doing right now. I wonder if he’s thinking of me.

  The room goes quiet, and I realize that Lana Turner has made her entrance. Dexter stands up, beaming, as she walks to our table. She’s the epitome of Hollywood glamour: blond hair, curled around her face; perfectly applied lipstick; mile-long lashes; and an evening gown with a sweetheart neckline. “Darling,” she says to Dex. “Thank you for coming.” She kisses his cheek, then turns to me. “You must be Penny.”

  “Yes,” I say. My voice sounds like a mere squeak compared with her deep, confident tone. She’s closer to Dex’s age than mine. I feel like a girl in the presence of a woman.

  “I am absolutely taken with your husband’s talent,” she says to me. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m borrowing him for a little while. I promise I’ll return him in one piece.”

  I smile nervously. She’s the kind of woman who gets what she wants. I can tell. I wonder what it’s like to be that sort. To be able to order whatever you like, whomever you like, and have it delivered to you on a domed silver platter.

  “Ladies,” Dexter says, standing up. “May I fetch you drinks from the bar?”

  “A Manhattan, please, darling,” Lana says.


  “A martini is fine, thank you,” I add.

  Lana lights a cigarette, then turns to me. “I’ve just been through the most horrific divorce,” she says. “The third wasn’t a charm, so I thought the fourth would be.” She inhales, then blows smoke in my direction. “But, no luck.” She’s hard not to like, even though I’m wary of her allure. She looks toward the bar, where Dex stands. “He’s quite a catch,” she continues. “How did you meet?”

  I can’t believe she’s actually interested in the story, but her eyes remain fixed on mine, so I tell her about Miss Higgins Academy, how Dex pulled his car over in the rain. Lana smiles. Her face is animated.

  “Care for a cigarette?” she asks, noticing me tugging at my fingers.

  “No, I don’t smoke.”

  “You’re young, aren’t you, dear?”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  Lana smiles. She must be at least thirty-nine, forty maybe. “Can I ask you something?”

  I nod.

  “Your heart is elsewhere,” she says, blowing smoke into the air. “Where?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She smiles knowingly. “I’m not going to tell. We girls have to keep these things to ourselves. And, honey, I know a thing or two about love. Hell, I’ve been unhappy in love most of my life. I learned the hard way not to hinge my happiness on a man.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “I don’t mean to upset you, sweetheart,” she says. “I just saw something in your eyes, that’s all. Your husband is a fine man. But don’t lose sight of who you are.” She winks. “That’s all I’m saying. I know because I’ve done it, and it doesn’t work.”

  “But you seem so happy,” I say.

  “My dear, I’ve spent so many years chasing happiness,” she explains, smiling to herself. “But happiness doesn’t help you to grow. Only unhappiness does that.”

  A moment later, Dex returns with the drinks, and I try to take in what she’s just said.

  I board a plane home to Seattle the next afternoon. Alone. I never did see Lana Turner’s home, nor did I want to, really. I decide it’s better that way. And on the plane, I try not to think about her offering Dex a cocktail. I try not to think of him admiring the curve of her hips.

  “Care for a drink?” the stewardess asks, jarring me from my private thoughts.

  “No, thank you,” I say. Instead, I think of Collin. I think of the way he held me just hours ago, the way he ran his fingers through my hair. I think of the way he made me feel. I recall the longing in his eyes. I shake my head. How did it come to this? I imagined a happy marriage, with babies in the nursery, a little garden, and lots of love. I have none of these things. I watch a couple in the seats to my left, across the aisle, share a brief kiss, and I shudder to myself.

  I don’t see Collin on his deck when I arrive back on the dock. I steal glances out the window as I’m making dinner or sorting the laundry, but there’s no sign of him, not even the flicker of light from his houseboat. I put on a record and pour a glass of wine. Was he hurt when he saw Dex and me leaving for California together? He must have known that I had no idea the trip was happening. Surely he’d understand. It’s getting late, so I change into my nightgown and wrap my pink silk robe around me. It’s floor-length and trimmed around the hem and cuffs with fluffy pink fur.

  I hear footsteps outside my front door. My heart flutters. It must be Collin. He saw the light on. He knows I’m home and he wants to see me. I rush downstairs and open the door.

  “Jimmy,” I say, surprised, hoping he doesn’t see the disappointment on my face. I cinch my robe tighter. “Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, honey?”

  He’s wearing blue-and-white-striped pajamas. He has a teddy bear tucked under one arm. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Oh,” I say, craning my neck toward the dock to make sure Naomi isn’t in hot pursuit. “Well, then, you might as well come in and let me make you some warm milk.”

  He follows me inside and climbs up on a barstool at the kitchen counter. I select a small pan, fill it with milk, and turn on the stove.

  “What happens when we die?” Jimmy asks.

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s an awfully deep question for nine o’clock on a weeknight.”

  He shrugs. “Mama says when you die, nothing happens. She says you just close your eyes, and it’s over. But I don’t know.” He plants his elbow on the counter and sinks his cheek into his palm. “I think there must be more to it.”

  I wink at him. “I hope you’re right.”

  “So you believe in heaven?” he asks.

  I nod. “I do.”

  “Do you pray?”

  “Yes,” I say honestly. I said a prayer on the plane that very day, in fact, not that I pray very often. There was something about soaring over the earth at ten thousand feet that made me feel closer to the Almighty—that and the fact that I feel so lost.

  “Mama and Daddy are atheists,” Jimmy continues. “What is that?”

  “Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully. I’m not exactly one to talk. I became a Sunday School dropout long ago. “It means they’re people who choose not to believe in a creator, a god.”

  “Oh,” Jimmy says.

  The milk is boiling now. I skim off the top, then pour some in a mug for Jimmy. “Careful,” I say. “It’s still hot. Cinnamon?”

  He nods his head expectantly.

  I smile, reaching for the cinnamon jar. “My mama used to sprinkle cinnamon on my milk every night before bed.”

  Jimmy takes a slurp and smiles. “I’m not an atheist,” he says suddenly.

  “Oh?”

  He nods. “Because on the night of my fifth birthday, I prayed for an angel to watch over me.” He slurps his milk, then looks up at me with a milk mustache. “And God brought you to the dock.”

  My eyes well up with tears then as I watch him turn back to his mug.

  I don’t see Collin at all the next day, and by evening, I’m beginning to get worried. Did he go somewhere? Did he leave that morning after seeing me go to California with Dex? I make a batch of corn muffins and pace the living room floor while they bake.

  When night falls, I put on a record, then slip on a sweater, and sit out on the deck. A half-moon dangles high in the sky, and I think of all the people looking up at it right now. Just then, I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn around quickly.

  “Hi,” Collin says softly. His voice is timid, expectant.

  “Hi,” I say, standing up. “I thought you’d gone away.”

  “I thought you’d gone away,” he spars back.

  “Listen,” I say. My heart is beating fast. “I didn’t know about the trip to California. It was Dex’s idea. He’s there now. Painting a mural for an actress in Beverly Hills.”

  “Oh,” Collin says. He takes a step closer. “So you’re alone?”

  “Yes,” I reply. The music from the record player drifts out to the deck. “Dance with me?”

  He walks toward me and wraps his hands around my waist, and for a moment, everything is right with the world.

  Chapter 20

  ADA

  The phone rings, and I open my eyes. “Hello?”

  “Ada, it’s Joanie. I have news.”

  I rub my eyes as my surroundings come into focus. “Sorry,” I say. “I must have dozed off.” For a moment I’m confused. What is she talking about? And then I remember the articles I read about Penny Wentworth’s disappearance before falling asleep.

  “Penny Wentworth,” she says. “She disappeared from her houseboat on Lake Union on July 29, 1959.”

  I sit up and stretch my arms. “I know,” I say. “I found the date in an article online.”

  “Seems like they suspected the husband, Dexter, first,” Joanie adds. “The police interrogated him. I found the transcripts. From what I can tell it ruined him. He stopped painting. Left the lake. In the end, they closed the case, saying Penny likely drowned in Lake Union. But they never did find a bod
y.

  “A producer from Unsolved Mysteries actually inquired about this case,” she continues. “I found a note in the file online. So I put a call in to the show, because I know a guy who works there. Interestingly, it looks like the estate of Penny Wentworth declined to be interviewed or to cooperate.”

  “The husband?”

  “Yes, Dexter Wentworth.”

  “Either he’s the shy type or—”

  “The guilty type,” she says. “But the husband wasn’t the only suspect. There was some character named Collin McCleary. It says here that he was wanted for questioning but the cops could never find him.”

  My eyes widen. Jim mentioned someone named Collin. But who was he? “Joanie, what if she didn’t die? What if she just left?”

  “I suppose it’s a possibility,” she says. “She didn’t have children, did she?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “So there wouldn’t be anyone holding her back if she did want to leave. It’s not clear what happened, but I’ve worked for the police department long enough to know that this story has a strange vibe to it.”

  I nod. “You might be right. I just keep hoping that she’s out there somewhere, living the life she always dreamed of with the man she loves.” I pause for a moment. “Did you find an address for Collin?”

  I can hear Joanie typing before she responds. “Well,” she finally says. “Looks like there is one. He used to live at 2203 Fairview Avenue Number 9, in Seattle. Do you know where that is?”

  My heart beats wildly as I walk to the window. “Yes,” I say, my gaze locked on Alex’s houseboat. “I’m looking right at it.”

  I venture out to the dock before dinner and see Jim ahead. He’s holding a hose and spraying down the dock after a morning visit from a gaggle of Canadian geese. I wave to him.

  “City folks have pigeons,” he says. “Houseboaters have geese.” He kneels down to turn off the water spigot.