by Sarah Jio
“It’s my job to worry about you,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“Can we go for ice cream now?” she asks.
“Soon,” I reply, digging the camera out of my bag. “OK, let’s get a few pictures first.” I point to the railing, with the waterfall just beyond. “James, don’t let go of her,” I continue. “I don’t trust that railing.”
He grins, scooping Ella into his arms, before dangling her upside down. “You mean I can’t hold her over the edge?” She giggles and he puts her down.
“OK, you two crazies,” I say, looking through the viewfinder. “Stand together now. Smile like you’re having a good time on vacation.” James and Ella simultaneously stick out their tongues.
I frown, thinking of Suzanne’s reaction. “Please?”
They grin, then smile properly just as the flash goes off. “Perfect,” I say. “Let’s just get a few more, just in case. James, can you turn toward the falls, maybe, and point like you’re showing her something?”
James nods and takes a step closer to the railing. He steadies himself for a moment when his foot gets caught on uneven ground. “I’m fine,” he says, kneeling down and pointing up toward the waterfall.
I notice it for the first time through the lens, and it is truly majestic. Such power. Such force. I snap a picture, then another, then key through the images on the camera. “These are good,” I say, grinning at the way Ella smiles at James in the final frame, but I freeze when I hear Ella’s scream. I look up just as it happens, the moment the world goes from a beautiful dream to a horrific nightmare. The railing has given way, and Ella is falling backward. James turns to reach for her, and he slips forward.
I run toward the edge, where the two most precious people in my world have disappeared. The voice that lurches out of my lungs is shrill and high-pitched. “James! Ella!” I can’t breathe. I can only hover over the edge. It pulls me like a magnet. I want nothing more than to join them, to throw myself into the moist, foggy air, to be with them for eternity. I close my eyes, doubling over in terror, shock, when I feel a firm grasp on my arm. “Miss,” a man says. He’s wearing a brown park ranger uniform. “I saw what happened. I’m so very sorry. Let’s get you down and we’ll call an ambulance.”
My eyes brighten momentarily. “Yes,” I say. “James is a great swimmer, and Ella has had swim lessons since she was three—”
“No, ma’am,” he says gravely. “I’m very sorry. There’s no way anyone could survive that type of drop. I’m calling the ambulance for you.”
Chapter 25
PENNY
The evening’s festivities are the final hurdle to our plans. We’ll go, we’ll smile, all the while secretly planning to sail off together when the residents of Boat Street are fast asleep or simply sedated by one too many martinis.
I haven’t been able to find Collin all afternoon. The sailboat is still out, but I don’t fret. He won’t let Dex’s return disrupt our plans.
I put on a yellow gingham dress, and when I cinch the belt around my waist, I think about the new life inside. I’ll wait till we’re safe in each other’s arms, gazing out at turquoise water, before I’ll tell Collin. It will be better then, I tell myself.
I glance at my reflection in the dressing table mirror, and as I’m powdering my nose, I hear Dex on the stairs. A moment later he stands behind me and leans in to plant a kiss on the back of my neck. At first, I bristle at his touch. But I must play along so as not to arouse any suspicion. I don’t want a fight. And most of all, I don’t want a scene. Not on Boat Street. Not in front of the neighbors. I couldn’t bear the shame of it.
“How could I stay away so long?” Dex asks, turning my chin to him. “How could I leave such beauty behind?”
I smile briefly, then turn back to the mirror, busying myself with my mascara, but Dex doesn’t relent. He unzips his trousers and I watch in the mirror as they fall to the floor, revealing his strong tanned legs. He presses himself against my back, and I feel the pressure against me as he reaches his hand into the bodice of my dress. I close my eyes, reveling in the feeling of his touch, as it might be the last time his strong hands caress my skin. Like a skilled violinist plays and plucks his instrument, Dex has always been able to manipulate my body with symphonic skill. I hesitate as he turns me toward him, but I am putty in his arms. I think of all the times I craved this attention from him, the times I longed for him to come home from his studio and pull me toward him exactly like this. But now? I peel his hands off my chest, and shake my head. “I have a lasagna in the oven.”
“Let it burn,” Dex replies, pulling me toward the bed. I want to give myself to him. After all, I am still his wife, and yes, part of me still loves him, and may always love him. But I climb down the ladder to the kitchen. I belong to Collin now, every inch of me.
Dex and I walk out to the dock at five. Collin’s sailboat is docked in its place now, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe he saw that Dex was home and didn’t want to come over? I hoped to talk to him before Bach on the Dock, to solidify our plans, and mostly to promise him I’d be there this evening, like we planned. I’ll find him at the party. I’ll reassure him.
I place the lasagna on a card table set against Naomi and Gene’s deck. She flashes us a plastic smile. “Oh, Dexter,” she says, ignoring me. “You’re home from California!”
He gives her an air-kiss. “Yes, flew home this morning.”
Gene walks over to shake Dex’s hand. “Nice night for a party,” Dex says. But Gene doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns to me. “How are you, Penny?” He’s smiling, but I can tell something’s bothering him. His left eye twitches a little.
“Oh, fine, thanks,” I lie. I watch Dex weave from one person to the next, ever the social butterfly. Naomi disappears into the house and returns holding a plate of pastries. She looks at me, then sets them on the table. “Dex,” she calls. “Your favorite.”
Naomi hands him a chocolate éclair, and he takes a bite. “Did you make these? They’re out of this world.”
She nods self-consciously. “They’re nothing special, just a recipe I picked up a from a French friend.”
I look around for Collin but don’t see him anywhere. Lenora and Tom and the others filter in. They ask how I am. But they mostly channel their attention toward Dex, who recounts his time in California, segueing into a story about a pool party at Lana’s where Cary Grant and Lauren Bacall were in attendance.
I can’t listen. It’s as if I’ve become immune to his bravado. I look away and catch a glimpse of Jimmy. He peers around the corner in jeans and a pair of tennis shoes, one with the laces untied. He smiles at me before Naomi shoos him back into the house. He turns around with slumped shoulders.
I think of the child growing in my belly, and I promise never to view him as a nuisance but always as a great blessing. I place my hand on my stomach and look at Dexter. His face is animated. He speaks further about California, and the little crowd on the dock erupts in laughter. I could never be Mrs. Dexter Wentworth without losing myself in his shadow. I know that now.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Lenora asks a few minutes later. Everyone’s hovering around a makeshift bar that Naomi and Gene have set up.
“Oh,” I say, looking up quickly. “Nothing.”
“You look a little pale,” she continues.
I do my best to smile. “I suppose I’m just a bit tired.”
“Here,” she says. “Let’s get you a drink.”
She takes my arm and we walk to the bar. Naomi hands me a martini, but it tastes bitter. Later I pour it in the lake. A green olive bobs in the water until a female mallard swims over and scoops it into her beak.
I hardly notice that the music has begun when Dex finds me a little while later. “Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Everyone’s dancing.” I take his hand obediently as he leads me closer to the little trio of musicians led by Gene on the violin. I don’t recognize the song. It’s stiff and classical. Dex wraps his arms aro
und me, and I look up at the fairy lights overhead. My head is heavy, and I instinctively lean it against Dex’s chest. At first I don’t notice Collin standing a few feet ahead, but then I hear Naomi say his name. I lift my head as we make eye contact. Naomi hands him a martini, and he takes a long sip, throwing nearly the entire martini back in one fell swoop. He stares straight at me, just as Dex’s hands drop lower on my waist. Too low. I see the look in Collin’s eyes. Betrayal. My eyes plead with him to understand. Can’t he see that I must play along? Can’t he understand that Dex’s return changes nothing, nothing at all? We’ll sail away together, just like we planned. But Collin doesn’t stay to hear my explanation. Before the song ends, he’s gone.
By ten, Dex has had too much to drink. He’s more animated than ever, and Tom doesn’t even mind that he’s dancing with Lenora and clutching her waist in a way he’d never have dared before five martinis.
Disgusted, I walk to the end of the dock in front of our houseboat. Surely Dexter, in his state, wouldn’t notice if I packed my things and left early with Collin. But Collin isn’t there, or anywhere. And the sailboat is gone too. I feel a twinge of worry then. The once-waterproof plan we’d forged now had leaks in it. Did he leave without me?
I hardly notice Jimmy sitting on my deck, and I quickly dry the tears in my eyes so he won’t be frightened.
“Hi, honey,” I say, sitting beside him. “What are you doing up so late?”
“It’s too loud to sleep,” he says with shrug. When he looks up at me, I can see tears on his cheeks.
“Sweetie,” I say, “what’s the matter? You’ve been crying.”
Jimmy sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. I can tell he’s trying to be strong, trying to be a man, but the mere fact that I’ve asked him about his pain seems to have the opposite effect on him, and now tears spill freely onto his freckle-dotted cheeks. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wadded-up piece of paper, then hands it to me.
“What is this, honey?” I ask, unfolding it carefully.
“My comic strip,” he says. “I found it in the trash can.”
I think of how proud he was of his sketches. I remember the way he showed it to me so timidly and how I encouraged him to show it to Naomi and Gene. I thought they’d praise him. I only wanted Jimmy to feel some sense of happiness, some sense of worth. Here is a boy who aches for approval from his parents, especially his mother, and my meddling has only made things worse.
“Honey,” I say, searching for the right words. “It must have been a mistake. Surely your parents wouldn’t throw this away.” I smooth out the page, smiling at the way he drew the comic strip, trying so hard to keep his lines straight. “Look at how nice your printing is in the thought bubbles. And see how you drew the farm animals here? It’s magnificent.” I hand the comic back to him, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t want it,” he says.
“Well,” I say, “then I’ll keep it. I won’t let you, or anyone else, throw something so excellent away. Besides, you’ll want it back someday.”
“I will?” Jimmy asks, puzzled, but the idea intrigues him.
“Of course you will. When you’re a famous comic strip artist.”
The corners of his mouth turn up briefly, but his smile fades fast, and he folds his arms across his chest. I worry that it doesn’t matter what I say. The wound is too deep, and I fear it will scar this time.
“Want to rest on my couch?” I say. “It’s quieter down here.”
“It’s OK. I’d rather just look out at the lake.”
“Me, too,” I say, hoping that at any moment I’ll see Collin sailing up, just like we planned. I’ll run inside and get my suitcase and then jump aboard. We’ll wave to Jimmy as we cast off. I might not even leave a note. “Bon voyage,” I’ll whisper to Jimmy. He’d keep our secret.
But the sailboat isn’t anywhere in sight, and a moment later, I detect movement on the deck in front of Collin’s houseboat. It’s dark, but the porch light on his back deck illuminates two figures in the night. Two men in dark suits.
Chapter 26
ADA
Alex drives me home from the restaurant and walks me back to my door. I invite him in and he follows me to the living room. He hasn’t said a lot since I told him my story at dinner. I wonder how it’s affected him, and I worry.
“You’re really brave, you know,” he says, looking deep into my eyes.
“No,” I say honestly. “Really, I’m not.”
“But you are,” he insists. “Coming out here, forging a new life for yourself. That takes guts.”
I sigh. “I wish I could tell you that it was my strength that got me on that plane, but it wasn’t. It was fear. I had to get out of New York. I felt that I had to escape all my memories. All my guilt.”
He turns to face me. “Guilt? Why would you have guilt?”
Tears sting my eyes. “Because I brought them to that godforsaken waterfall,” I say. “It was my stupid job and nothing else. If I hadn’t taken that assignment, they’d still be alive.” I’m making a fist now, shaking it into the air, and Alex calmly tucks it down on my lap.
“You did what you had to do,” he says. “Your work isn’t the reason for their deaths. You must believe that.”
I look down at my lap. I don’t know what to say.
“When I was fourteen,” Alex begins, “my father died. He was an alcoholic. He wasn’t home a lot of the time when I was young—in fact, hardly ever. But the year before his death, he got sober. And it was the best year of my life. I finally had a dad around who was coherent enough to play catch with me, to help me build those model rockets I loved. But it was too late, almost. A fourteen-year-old doesn’t want to hang out with his dad all the time. By then, I wanted to go to my friends’ houses after school, hang out at the mall—anything but be at home. I always worried that my distance hurt him. And then he relapsed, in a bad way. One night he drove home from the bar and hit a tree head-on.”
“Oh, Alex.”
“I hated him for a long time after that. I was so angry. But mostly I was angry at myself. I thought I could’ve prevented it from happening. If I’d played that game of Monopoly with him that evening like he wanted to, if I’d stayed home instead of going to my friend John’s for a sleepover. If I’d been a better son. But one day I just let it go. I stopped blaming myself. I stopped being angry. His death was tragic, but I couldn’t let it define my life. And most important, I didn’t cause it.”
I nod. “I wish I could get to that place.”
“You will,” he says. “Be patient with yourself. Promise?”
I nod. “I’ll try.”
Joanie calls the next morning at seven. It’s ten New York time, so I don’t mind that she’s calling so early. Besides, I woke up at four unable to sleep and spent an hour on the deck watching the white morning glory buds open with the sunrise.
“I tried calling you last night, but your phone went straight to voice mail,” she says. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I had company.”
“You were seeing what’s-his-name again?”
“Alex. We went out to dinner at the Space Needle and then came back here and talked until midnight.”
“Uh-huh.” Her voice is teasing, and I can imagine the look on her face.
“Stop,” I say. “We’ve only kissed once.”
“And? Is he a good kisser?”
“Yes,” I reply, feeling my cheeks warm a bit at the thought.
“So are you seeing him again today?”
“No. He’s on a shoot in Portland.” It occurs to me that he could be with Kellie. I failed to ask whether they still work together. But I don’t let my mind dwell on the thought, especially after all he shared with me.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” Joanie says. “I found something that might be helpful in your search for Penny.”
“Oh, what?”
I hear the sound of her sorting through papers. “A deposition given by a little
boy named Jimmy. I was only able to obtain the first few pages, because a psychologist ordered him mentally unstable for trial.”
“You said his name was Jimmy?”
“Yes. I’ll e-mail you a PDF.”
That afternoon, I decide to go for a walk to Pete’s Market. It’s a cool day, so I put on a light sweater, and I grab my purse. An hour later I return with a bag filled with groceries. As I step onto the dock, I notice that the empty houseboat on the left seems to be inhabited. The windows are all propped open, as if someone’s just come home and is airing the place out. Just as I’m passing, an older woman appears in the doorway. Her gray hair is short and curled, the way my grandmother’s is. But she has a youthful smile, and adventurous eyes that hardly match her eighty-some years. “Honey,” she says, “can I talk you into helping me for a moment? I’ve just come home from an extended trip and I think I may have vermin living behind the dresser.”
“Oh no,” I say, setting the grocery bag down. “Of course.”
I step inside her houseboat. It’s small and clean. It has the look of a place that’s more of a stopover than a home. There are no pictures on the walls or personal items about. Just a suitcase on the floor and a coffee table and sofa with no throw pillows.
“I’m Esther,” she says, extending her hand. “You must be new here.”
“Yes,” I say. “Ada Santorini. I moved in recently. I’m renting the houseboat at the end of the dock.”
“Oh, the old Wentworth residence,” she says, looking me over. “And how are you liking it?”
“Very much. It’s lovely here on the lake.”
“It is and it isn’t,” she says, turning back to the dresser and making a displeased face. “So many critters.”
I smile. “How long have you owned your home here?”
“Oh, forever, I guess,” she says. “I came here in the 1940s. I left a bad marriage.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a hard time,” she says. “I had to leave my darling daughter behind on Bainbridge Island and start over. In those days women didn’t stand a chance in divorce battles, so I just threw in the towel. I didn’t want to fight.”