A Sea Change

by Annette Reynolds

  The girl thought about it, shook her head, then said to the others, “Anyone know a Maddy Phillips?”

  “Maddy’s gone on to bigger and better things,” a curly-haired male had said, lighting a cigarette. “She got accepted at Brooks.”

  “Brooks?” Danny had asked.

  “Yeah. Brooks Institute. Santa Barbara.” The student tilted his head back and blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. “You missed her by a couple of months. You know her from Tacoma?”

  Danny had nodded, afraid to say anything more.

  “Maddy did some awesome stuff.” The boy directed his comments to the others. “She’s still got some prints hanging in the library. Amazing…”

  “Thanks,” Danny said, getting up. “Guess I’ll have to look up her folks.”

  Before leaving Seattle, he’d made a pilgrimage to the university’s library. As he’d gazed at Maddy’s photographs, Danny felt her latent presence. They brought him momentary peace, and he’d left the building with one of the smaller prints tucked into his backpack. He’d already become quite proficient at that sort of thing.

  It took him five days to get down to Santa Barbara. His VW beetle overheated on a regular basis, and he blew a tire just outside Paso Robles. But once he got there, it wasn’t hard finding her.

  It took him another three days to get up the courage to knock on the door of the rooming house where she lived. The owner, an older woman, told him she’d moved and closed the door in his face. When he rang the bell and asked where, she looked at him suspiciously. “I’m her brother,” he’d said. But she wanted proof before she’d give him any more information, and he’d had to hand her his driver’s license, which still showed his parent’s Tacoma address. That, and his real name.

  The woman – still not certain she could trust him – finally gave him Maddy’s forwarding address after Danny offered to mow her lawn.

  When he got to the Pacific Garden Apartments, Danny had to make sure he had the right address. The immaculately-kept grounds, the ocean view, and the security gate all spelled big money. Quite a jump from the boarding house, and he’d wondered how Maddy had made that leap.

  The guard at the gate had never heard of her.

  “Are you sure?” Danny had asked. “Madeleine Phillips. She just moved in a couple of days ago.”

  The man shook his head as he went over the residents list, then his finger stopped, and he’d said, “Wait a minute. It’s penciled in next to Mr. Perry.” He’d looked at an electronic panel, then said, “Nobody’s home right now.”

  “How can you tell?”

  The guard stabbed a finger at a red light on the panel, and had said, “The alarm’s on.”

  Danny memorized the number to the left of the glowing light and drove away.

  In anticipation of seeing his sister he’d rented a room in a cheap motel to clean himself up. He could still remember the shit-brown shag carpet, and the musty smell it emitted. But he’d showered and shaved, luxuriating in the feel of the hot water. And then he’d waited until it got dark.

  Parking the VW a block away, he’d easily slipped onto the apartment grounds on foot. It didn’t take him long to find number 24. It took him a lot longer to gather up the nerve to ring the doorbell.

  A dark-haired man in his late twenties opened the door, regarded Danny, then said, “Who are you?”

  “I’m looking for Maddy Phillips. Is she here?”

  “If you’re one of her old boyfriends, you’re too late.” He’d smiled, but only with his mouth.

  “I’m her brother. And I want to see Maddy.”

  The icy smile widened. “Ah, the infamous Danny. How did you get past security?”

  “Look, I just want to see my sister.”

  “Sorry, she’s not here right now.” He started to close the door.

  “No, wait!” Danny had put his hand out to stop him. “Can I at least come in and wait for her?”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret, Danny. She doesn’t want to see you. Now, get lost.”

  He couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and he’d grown more insistent until Perry planted a hand in the middle of his chest and shoved him back.

  “Don’t you get it, little brother? She hates you for what you did.”

  “She can’t!” Danny had cried out. “I know her better than you do. She doesn’t hate me!”

  “You tore apart her family. She told me you broke her heart,” he said. “I’m tired of this conversation. If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling security. And if you ever show up here again, I’m calling the cops. And I can tell you, that’s with Maddy’s blessing.”

  In shock, Danny had found his way back to his car. The tears came later that night, along with the decision to leave the country. He’d dug his passport out of his duffel bag – a reminder of a trip his father had promised but never made good on – and looked at the date. It wouldn’t expire for another three years.

  He’d pointed the VW east; sold it in New Jersey. Danny flew out of Kennedy International two weeks later, and he hadn’t looked back until five months ago, when his life in New Orleans had fallen apart.

  The gray light of dawn appeared through the dirty window panes in Phil Madvick’s temporary quarters. He was awake to see it. He’d lain there all night thinking of Maddy. The anticipation of finally revealing himself to her had worn off, leaving the acrid taste of fear in his mouth. The memory of Ted Perry’s words echoed. Did she hate him? Could she? Even after all these years?

  He let his arm fall to the floor and felt around for his backpack, then remembered he didn’t have it with him. Rising, he quietly let himself out of the cabin, and keeping to the side of the path, hurried past the dark houses until he reached Number 16. As he stood on a makeshift stool he’d fashioned, Phil pushed aside the access cover to the small crawl space above the bathroom, found what he’d come for, and left.

  Once back inside the fishing cabin, he quickly riffled through the pack.

  The once-white mat board was smudged and dog-eared, but the black and white photograph mounted on it was still as evocative as the first time he’d seen it: A playground filled with children, their images blurred with their activity. Just off-center, seated on one end of a seesaw, sat two small children – a boy and a girl – in perfect focus. The little girl held the boy’s hand, palm up, as she lovingly – seriously – examined what must have been a scrape he’d received. The boy had tears running down his cheeks, but his face didn’t show fear. It showed gratitude.

  As Phil stared at the picture, he was certain the woman who’d taken it all those years ago couldn’t possibly hate in any form because the photograph depicted love at its purest.

  He looked at it one last time before putting it back in the bag. Then he stashed the backpack under the bed, and waited for the day to begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nick’s internal alarm clock woke him at exactly quarter to seven, but his eyes didn’t want to stay open. Maddy slept on, her face buried in the pillow. He rolled onto his back and felt Chloe’s small weight move from the foot of the bed up to his side. She sank down next to him, and Nick let himself drift off again to the sound of her purring.

  The dream began innocuously. Everyone he cared about had joined him on a large boat – it was a ferry – and they seemed to be celebrating something. There was music. His sister, Kay, danced a slow box-step with his father. Mary Delfino walked arm-in-arm with Maddy. They both looked at Nick and said, “It’s perfect.” Becky sat in the middle of the deck, surrounded by flowers. She held one in her hand, picking off the petals, chanting, “One is for love, the other isn’t.” Nick moved forward when he saw his mother. There was something he wanted to tell her. But quite suddenly, she was gone along with all the others.

  Nick wandered the vast decks. The music, which had stopped, began again faintly. He walked to the front of the ship and found the source: a tape player sitting on a coil of rope. When he looked up again, all his friends sat at a long tab
le. The white cloth which covered it fluttered in the breeze. They held up stemmed glasses, as if to toast him, but the glasses were empty. Then he realized they were simply waiting for them to be filled by a man who’d appeared. The bottle he poured from seemed bottomless.

  They all lifted the glasses to their lips. The waiter turned around. His face was obscured, but Nick recognized him and said, “You don’t belong here.” The man put the bottle to his mouth and drank deeply. Then he said, “I belong here more than you.” Nick tried to step forward, but couldn’t. “These are my friends,” he said to the man.

  “When they drink, they’ll be mine,” the other answered. “I can take whatever I want.”

  Nick fearfully watched as Mary, Becky, his family tilted back their heads to let the liquid enter their mouths. One by one, they disappeared until only Maddy was left. He begged her not to drink. She smiled, and said, “But I have to. He wants me more than you.” He put his hand out to stop her, but she was too far away, and all he could do was watch as she slowly faded from sight. “No! Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. “I trusted you.”

  His eyes shot open, and in one motion he’d thrust aside the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat, hands covering his face, trying desperately to draw a normal breath. He didn’t hear Maddy waken, and her voice – just behind him – was startling.

  “Was it one of your dreams?”

  Nick took one more deep breath and nodded.

  Her thumbs kneaded the muscles in his shoulders. “Can you remember it?”

  “No,” he lied.

  She kissed the nape of his neck. “Maybe it had something to do with finding that Phil guy.”

  “Maybe,” he said, knowing it had everything to do with Phil. He’d been the man in the nightmare. But why, Nick had no idea.

  “And maybe you need to lay back down.” Maddy nipped his earlobe, and whispered, “I don’t want the last thing you remember getting out of my bed to be a bad dream.”

  Nick ambled up the path, whistling tunelessly. He knocked on the door of Number 70. It opened immediately, as if the man had been waiting just on the other side.

  “I’m ready to start making amends,” Phil said, stepping outside.

  “That’s great, but what say we have breakfast first?” Nick said.

  “I’m ready for that, too.” He was locking the door, when Nick’s chuckle made him turn. Phil shrugged, and said, “Can’t be too careful.”

  Nick waited for George Gustafson to undo the two locks and chain on his door. “Just a warning,” he said to Phil. “This is gonna be the toughest one.”

  The door finally opened and Gustafson’s suspicious eyes peered out at them.

  “George, I want you to meet Phil Madvick.”

  Phil stuck out his hand, but the old man simply nodded.

  Nick rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, then said, “I need to talk to you, George. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Could we do this inside?”

  Gustafson eyed Phil again, then motioned for the two men to enter.

  Nick and Phil perched on the edge of the sofa, while George sat erect in a straight-backed chair.

  “Now, George, I want you to keep an open mind,” Nick began. “Phil, here, is our burglar…”

  Gustafson somehow sat up even straighter, and glared at Nick. “And you’ve brought him into my house? Not that it would be the first time.” His eyes shifted to the other man.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Phil said contritely.

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, soldier. You’ve got the whole beach in an uproar with your thievery.”

  “I think that’s overstating it a little, George,” Nick said. “Besides, he’s here to make up for what he’s done.” He could see Gustafson wasn’t buying it, and was about to plead the man’s case, when Phil cut in.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Gustafson. Were you in the Army?”

  Before he could even think, George Gustafson’s training emerged, and he replied, “I was proud to serve my country in the Marines. Fought in double-u, double-u two.”

  “Where did you see action, sir?” Phil’s Louisiana drawl got a little thicker.

  “Sergeant,” Gustafson corrected. “Battle of Okinawa.”

  “Is that where you picked up that Purple Heart?”

  And the conversation continued, while Nick looked at Phil Madvick with newfound respect. By the time the two men left, Gustafson was telling Phil to call him George, and to drop by anytime to talk. And he’d agreed to let the man oil the shingles on his house.

  When they were far enough down the path Nick let out the laugh he’d been holding in. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Madvick. I didn’t think you’d pass muster with General G. And how the hell did you know about his Purple Heart?”

  “In my business, you learn to be pretty observant.” Phil smiled. “I saw him getting into his car one day. He’s got a special license plate.”

  Nick shook his head in amazement. “Well, I’m impressed. How come a guy like you…”

  Phil held up a hand to stop him. “Look, Nick. Don’t confuse resourcefulness with ambition. ‘Cause I don’t have any.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick said, and the subject was dropped. He turned to look up the path. “Why don’t we start at the top of the beach. And to make it easier, you tell me which houses you’ve hit, and we’ll tackle them first.” He started walking. “The rest of them should be a piece of cake.”

  They broke for lunch just after Nick introduced Phil to the White’s in Number 43.

  Nick was putting together sandwiches for the two of them when the doorbell rang. He heard the door open and Maddy’s voice ask, “Anybody home?”

  “In the kitchen.” Nick screwed the lid back on the mayonnaise jar and was wiping his hands on his jeans as she walked in.

  “Oh, ugh, Nick,” she said. “Y’know, they’ve invented something called a towel. It’s in all the papers.”

  “Imagine that,” he said, pulling her close. “Let’s celebrate.” And he lost himself in a deep, slow kiss. His eyes reluctantly opened when he heard Phil enter the living room.

  “Hey, why’re you stopping?” Maddy said. “The celebration’s just beginning…”

  “We’re not alone,” he whispered in mock seriousness, then looked over her head at Phil.

  The other man had come to a standstill. The expression on his face – just for a moment – combined a hint of anger and disapproval, with a little fear thrown in. Nick felt the emotions from across the room, and he released Maddy without really knowing why.

  She quickly turned, shocked by the intrusion. Even more so when she realized the third person in the room must be the thief. Maddy glanced up at Nick. But by then, Phil was sheepishly grinning and apologizing. And Nick was trying to ease everyone’s embarrassment.

  “Why don’t I go out and try this again?” Phil was saying, as he backed into Nick’s bedroom.

  When he re-entered the room, Nick and Maddy stood side-by-side, and Nick said, “Maddy Phillips, this is Phil Madvick. The guy I was telling you about.” Then he added, “Hey – listen to your names. Maddy Phillips. Phil Madvick.” Nick smiled in Maddy’s direction. “Weird, huh?”

  Maddy, still unsure how to react, barely looked at the man as she said, “Hi.” Then she turned to Nick. “I’d better let you two eat your lunch.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Maddy,” Phil called to her retreating back. He looked at Nick. “I’m really sorry about that. I don’t think she was expecting to meet a criminal in your living room.”

  Nick regarded him for a split-second, and wondered why the man’s accent – so faint most of the time – had become so heavy while Maddy had been in the room.

  “No sweat,” he said, picking up the plate of sandwiches. “Let’s eat. We’ve got a lot more places to go and people to see.”

  It was well into the afternoon by the time the two men reached Mary Delfino’s house. Nick started up the
three steps leading to her porch, but Phil didn’t follow, and Nick turned to see what was stopping him.

  Phil stood on the planks in the path. “This place wasn’t on my home shopping network,” he said.

  Nick, remembering Mary’s agitation over losing her tea, said, “I’m pretty sure it was.”

  “Why would I lie to you about it? I’ve copped to all the others.”

  “Maybe you forgot,” Nick said, thinking it was highly unlikely he had. But he couldn’t imagine Mary being wrong, either. “Look, it doesn’t matter. You pretty much need to meet everyone sooner or later, and Mary’s the best woman I know.”

  “What about your girlfriend?” Phil asked.

  “What about her?”

  “I’d think she’d be the best.”

  For some reason Nick felt as if he was being tested, and it bothered him. He slowly said, “Maddy is the best. But in a different way.”

  There was that empty smile again.

  Nick turned and walked to Mary Delfino’s door.

  That evening, as Nick sipped beer on Rita and Susan’s deck, he listened to the two women praise him for finally finding the burglar, and their subsequent exclamations about Phil himself. “He seems like a really nice guy,” “he’s not bad-looking, for a man,” and “wonder how someone that bright ended up on the streets” were a sampling.

  “You like him so much, why didn’t you invite him over tonight?” Nick finally asked, thinking there’d been one person who hadn’t been bowled over by Phil’s charm – Mary Delfino.

  Rita came up behind Nick and ruffled his hair. “And you sound a little jealous. Besides, he’d be a fifth wheel.”

  “If Maddy ever gets here, that is,” Susan said, flipping a burger on the grill.

  “She was finishing up in the darkroom,” Nick said.

  “She probably ran into Phil and invited him in to do a little developing with her,” Rita teased.

  “Let it drop, Anders,” Nick said, annoyed.