Fly by Night

by Andrea Thalasinos

  “My mother just died.” He touched the envelope.

  She looked at him.

  “The will leaves the property to both of us, Dad’s descendants.”

  The word “Dad” cycled through her confusion. She reared back a bit.

  “There’s a house and fifty-four acres,” he continued.

  The silence between them felt permanent.

  “No one’s lived there for years,” he said. “Utilities were cut off since my mother moved in with us. Their will stipulates for the property to pass to us both.”

  Amelia said nothing; her chin leaned on her hand, pressing so hard into her palm that her elbow hurt against the table.

  “I’m the executor,” he said.

  A feeling of cumulative jealousy hit for having shared her father—for her mother, for herself as a daughter. Had this man diverted what had been rightly hers or had it been the other way around? The thought pierced her and she looked at him—such sad eyes.

  Might this have been her father’s preoccupation while driving on the road in Crete? A momentary lapse in attention where he’d failed to notice an oncoming truck crashing through the median divider? Or heaven forbid a chance for a hasty exit without scandal.

  They stared at each other. He looked away first. She started to tremble and couldn’t stop. She felt she was going to be sick.

  “When are you off for the day?” he asked.

  Never. They sat until Amelia blinked and sat up with a start, having been shaken out of her thoughts.

  “I have to go,” she said in a hushed voice, out of breath as she stood.

  “Amelia.” He reached to touch her arm as she stood.

  His sad eyes were her father’s.

  Grabbing her wallet, she rushed off, leaving the envelope. Practically knocking over an elderly couple as she dashed toward the flight of stairs down two levels, her feet moved like Fred Flintstone pedaling a Stone Age vehicle that with one misstep would send her tumbling down the travertine steps to the main level. Glancing back, she checked to make sure he wasn’t following. She elbowed her way through the crowds in the main courtyard, looking to the safety of the Sea Life sign and escalators. Oh, thank God. She struggled through the people, to get away from him. She cut ahead of customers standing in a line near the down escalator.

  “Excuse me, sorry, excuse me.” She contorted to slip through. “Pardon me, sorry.” She squeezed by, hurrying down the collapsing metal steps past the entrance sign and rushed into the facility.

  “Hey, Amelia,” a few of the interns greeted her but she rushed through the family photo station, not saying hi and high-fiving as she normally would.

  She needed to be underwater. Had to grab her gear, feel the water on her face, in her hair.

  “How’d it go?” Bryce turned with a starfish in his hand; he and Jen had been ribbing the interns about something. “Amelia?” He set down the starfish and followed her into the back office.

  “What happened?” The latex gloves were still on his hands. Amelia paced as she pulled her lower lip. “Talk to me.”

  Jen hovered behind Bryce on tiptoes, straining to see over his shoulder.

  Amelia slid out her gear bag from under the desk and rushed toward the changing room. She shut the door and locked it.

  “Amelia? What the fuck? Talk to me,” he said, knocking on the door. “Am,” he called. “What happened?” He began knocking on the door with open hands. “Are you okay?” There was panic in his voice like she’d never heard but she couldn’t reassure him of anything.

  Stripping off her clothes, she heard something tear. Kicking off her pants, clogs, she pulled down her underwear, pushed down each sock with the other foot. Wriggling up her bathing suit in a blind frenzy, both shoulder straps not quite in place; she wrestled into the wet suit and grabbed her snorkel and fins out of the bag. Opening the door, she rushed past Bryce as he followed.

  “Hey, hey, slow down.” He grabbed her elbow.

  “Let go.” She yanked free. Her voice convulsed as she held up both hands to ward him off. Angry at Bryce too, angry at everyone, everything in her path. Missing the Revolution House, Narraganset Bay, the tank with sea horses.

  Grabbing her fins, she pulled open the heavy examination room door like it was nothing and rushed down the corridor toward the ladder into the saltwater tank. Pulling on her face mask, she sealed it around her eyes and bit into the snorkel’s mouthpiece. Climbing up to the deck, she slipped into her fins and slid into the water like a sharpened knife. The coolness of the water barely registered on her face and scalp as she sank.

  People paused in the Ocean Tunnel, watching in wonder as they snapped images of her with their phones as she swam by. Her long hair pulsed behind with each advancing movement like the dangling tentacles of a jellyfish.

  How she longed to be in the limitless ocean, to be able to swim without boundaries, borders, walls, just as the captive fish and mammals she fed and cared for each day must feel.

  Once out of public view, Amelia headed for the larger saltwater tank for marine animals. Surfacing to fill her lungs, she drew a deep breath before grabbing on to her knees, tucking into a cannonball position, and drifting down to settle on the bottom of the tank. Crabs scampered past. A sand shark brushed her shoulder as she dipped her head, staring off into nothing as her hair floated up around her in dark swishes.

  21

  “Char.” TJ had phoned just as he turned onto the ramp for I-35 on the way back up to Bayfield.

  The divisions and passions at the conference had risen to such a flashpoint that it had felt like one spark might make the whole place go up. Some in the pro-wolf hunting groups had spat at the biologists at GLIFWC, heckled his presentation, and hurled epithets at the tribal position on wolf hunting. And if that wasn’t enough, his meeting with Amelia had clinched his decision to pack it in and head home a day early. He’d finished his two-day presentation and had claimed that pressing business was calling him back to Red Cliff. He was tired, shaken up, and needed to see the lake, the North Woods, and his wife’s beautiful smile.

  “How’s the conference going?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh, pretty stormy and intense just like we’d figured. I’ll tell you more when I get there. Reminds me of so many things I can’t even begin,” he said, thinking of the other day when Charlotte had reminded him of spearfishing and the violence on the boat landings, and of other more recent conflicts with lodge owners over easements that had erupted with such virulence it left him wondering where such anger had been hiding all those friendly years.

  “Where are you?” Charlotte asked, hearing sounds of traffic, his blinker, and the familiar music he played when he drove.

  “I-35.”

  “You coming home?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about the rest of the conference?”

  “Bagged it. Tomorrow’s just brunch and the awards. I’m beat.”

  “You sound tired.”

  He couldn’t even begin to say what he was.

  “So … uh…” she began.

  “Yes, I did.” He answered before she even asked.

  “You did.”

  “Yep.”

  For a moment neither spoke.

  “Tell me you didn’t just show up, TJ.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Oh, TJ.” She felt his discomfort. “What am I going to do with you?!”

  “Anything you want,” he said, rubbing his face as he exhaled, wishing he could quit everything for a day. Putting on his blinker, he merged onto the interstate heading northeast.

  “Oh, sweetie.” She laughed in comforting tones.

  Neither spoke.

  “So—uh—you met her?” Charlotte didn’t know what to ask first.

  “Yep. Met for lunch, though she didn’t eat, didn’t even drink water.” He sighed so deeply she could feel it.

  “And…” She could tell it didn’t go well.

  “I probably should have called.”

  �
��And…” she repeated.

  “I showed up.”

  “You said that.”

  “Yep.”

  The line was quiet.

  “So what happened?” She wanted to ask ten things at once.

  “Well.” He chortled as he began to explain. “Thought I’d do a little reconnaissance.”

  He’d gone to the mall after his second presentation was over and the conference schedule had broken for lunch. He’d thought to get away from the tension, the vitriol by heading to the mall to check out Sea Life, get a feel for the place; see if he could spot her.

  “Hadn’t counted on running into her,” he said.

  But then he’d felt emboldened.

  “I figured what the heck, she’s just a person.”

  “And…?” Charlotte could see it coming.

  But just as he turned to walk back toward the parking ramp and leave he’d spotted her. Walking along in a blue Sea Life polo shirt, plastic ID tags dangling around her neck, she’d looked just like her online photos only annoyed and thoroughly human, approachable, but then he lost track of her in the crowds.

  “Sorta rattled me,” he said, remembering his racing heart, his adrenaline spiking to the point that his hands were shaking. “Had to sit down, got a cup of coffee to regroup.”

  “Nice.” Charlotte chuckled. “That’s my guy—living in reverse, coffee to calm down.”

  “Once I did, I decided to go to the aquarium.”

  And then as he’d stood in the entranceway waiting for Amelia, a sinking feeling made him second-guess. He’d wanted to leave though the front desk had already called her up and he’d given them his card. But then he’d spotted her walking up front in a wet suit, felt her zero in on the outline of his form. He’d wanted to shrink, have her unsee him, recede back into being a stranger once again, someone she’d blown off through e-mail several months before, but it was too late. However misguided and clumsy, he’d reached out, tried to follow his wife’s example. Like the day he’d shown Charlotte all his old photographs of Amelia and she’d rushed out, bought frames, and intermingled them with those of their combined families on the dining room wall above the sideboard; the “family wall,” as they’d called it.

  “You were right,” he confessed. “I should have called.”

  “What’s done is done,” Charlotte dismissed.

  “Yes, but she could have absorbed it in private,” he said.

  “You don’t know that, she might have told you to get lost and hung up.”

  He could tell she was trying to soften it.

  “Then she took off running—” He took a gulp from a 7UP can he’d bought while gassing up the car for the drive back, thinking it might settle his stomach.

  “Running, Char,” he said. “People turned, looked at me like I was some kind of child molester or something.”

  “Wow.” Charlotte quieted as if feeling into the moment. “That’s shock, alright.”

  “Ya think?” He laughed bitterly but was glad she only listened.

  “Well,” Charlotte started. “You took the first step, Niinimooshe. Maybe we can call her tonight or tomorrow, apologize for springing it on her like that.”

  He let her talk. He’d vowed not to call, not after that. He’d have Gary send a copy of the probate papers and be done with it.

  “How’s that sound?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sure,” he lied, not wanting to argue with his wife. He’d acknowledge and ignore, not wanting to argue with anyone for a while.

  The four-hour drive couldn’t go fast enough. He needed to feel Charlotte close, to feel her warmth, and once again be back in the safety of his home.

  22

  Later that night after work Bryce and Jen listened without interruption as Amelia recounted the meeting with TJ.

  An order of Chinese takeout sat untouched on the coffee table in two brown bags. Bryce took off his camo baseball cap as he listened, as if it would sharpen his insight. Jen was curled up into a ball, motionless as she took in each detail of the story.

  “Think he’s telling the truth?” Jen asked.

  Amelia looked at them. “Let me show you a picture of my father and you tell me if he’s telling the truth. I found his photo on the GLIFWC Web site.” She clicked on the link and raised the photo of TJ and the staff. “Now wait.” Amelia held up a finger as she hurried into the bedroom, rummaging for an old family Christmas photo taken at her aunt’s home in Boston. An overhead aircraft rattled the walls. When they’d first moved in, each would raise their voice instead of conceding to the racket.

  As she sat down with the photo they all scrunched together on Bryce’s couch, all three asses like segments of a caterpillar as they did a side-by-side comparison of photo and Web site.

  Bryce broke from the lineup in a matter of seconds.

  “I’d say there’s a lot of genetics going on there,” Bryce said. “I hope you’re not pissed at the guy.”

  “At TJ or my father?”

  She felt Bryce watching her facial movements.

  “TJ.”

  Her answer came quick. “Why would I be?”

  He nodded. “It’s no more his fault than yours,” Bryce said.

  Amelia turned to face him. “Orphans of the same father?”

  “Yeah, something like that.” Their eyes met, and then she turned to watch as two sea horses flitted about. A few more were suspended on coral branches, watching.

  “I still say hire a private investigator,” Jen continued after the airplane passed.

  Amelia and Bryce looked at her.

  “Shit. You never know,” Jen cautioned and held up her hands. “My mom hired a P.I.” She stood up in a huff and began unpacking the tubs of Chinese food and utensils. “You wouldn’t believe all the shit that turned up on her ex-fiancé.”

  ”Yeah, but it’s just too fucking weird not to be true,” Bryce said. “Just look at them, Jen.” Their eyes darted from one photo to the other. “And it’s not like the guy’s asking for money or credit card numbers, it’s quite the opposite.”

  They nodded in agreement.

  “You scared the shit out of us, though, Amelia,” Jen scolded. “Man, I hate it when you freak like that.”

  “Sorry,” Amelia said. “I should have asked him questions—I just tore out of Pizza Leaning like a crazy woman.” Amelia turned to look at her.

  “I’d tear out of Pizza Leanings too,” Bryce said and pressed his chest as if to underscore heartburn. “But hey, I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him either.”

  “Way to make her feel better, jerk-wad.” Jen glared at him over Amelia’s shoulder. She took every opportunity to gang up on Bryce.

  It made Amelia laugh. “No, no, he’s right,” she said.

  “I mean, think about it,” Bryce said. “He probably just found out too,” he said as Amelia nodded. “Your mom dies. You read the will. Surprise! It takes one incredible pair of balls to show up like that, gotta give the man that. Could’ve left the dirty work to lawyers.”

  “He’s reaching out, Am,” Jen said and made a face at Bryce.

  “Yeah.” Amelia nodded, remembering the e-mails she’d deleted, the unopened letter she’d tossed in Providence.

  “It was rhetorical, Jen,” he said as if explaining rhetoric to a fifth grader.

  “Shut up, Bryce,” Jen said.

  “God. Stop fighting, kids,” Amelia said. She sighed, thinking of TJ sitting quietly, taking whatever bombs she’d thrown. No anger, no resistance.

  “Well, you know what they say,” Bryce started. “We hurt the ones we love the most.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” Jen scolded yet giggled at the same time.

  Bryce pushed against Amelia’s thigh with his foot.

  She didn’t react.

  “Too soon for jokes?” he asked.

  There was a pause.

  “Nah.” Amelia pushed back with her foot. “It was funny, Bryce, it was. Just wait till I drop the bomb on Alex next week at Christmas. ‘So w
hat’s new, Mom?’ ‘Well, kiddo, for starters you’ve got a new uncle, I’ve picked up a long-lost brother since moving here, and guess what? Your late grandfather was a bigamist.’”

  “Why wait?” Bryce chuckled as he looked at her.

  “Yah,” Jen agreed in what she still thought passed for a Fargo accent and stood up.”Kids are tough these days, they’re used ta all kindsa shit.” She reached for the container of cashew chicken and a pair of chopsticks wrapped in paper. “They can take it.”

  Amelia smirked. Alex was hardly a kid yet they all still thought of him as being one.

  “Okay if I start eating?” Jen said more as statement than a question, holding out her arms like: Give me a break. “Blood-sugar drop, I’m about to faint.” Jen broke apart her chopsticks and popped off the plastic lid.

  “I freaked out worse than that time out in the South China Sea,” she said to Bryce. “The time you fucked up the ROV camera because you were so hungover.”

  “Excuse me.” Jen coughed up a cashew and pointed at Bryce with her chopstick. “For that you deserved to be drowned.”

  Amelia nodded. “I’d considered it.”

  “Too bad,” Jen mumbled, reaching into the container with chopsticks to pick out the rest of the cashews.

  Bryce gathered up the white plastic forks and stood. Walking into the kitchen, he stepped on the pedal of the garbage can and dropped them in like they were biohazards.

  “These utensils suck.” He then retrieved two metal forks from the dish drain and walked back, handing one to Amelia.

  “Eat, Amelia,” Bryce commanded. “Or we’ll be forced to tube feed you like the baby sea turtle.”

  “I’ll do damage control with the interns tomorrow,” Jen said as she chewed.

  “Oh shit.” Amelia covered her face, thinking of the scene she’d made.

  “Got ya covered,” Bryce said as he picked up the tub of Mongolian lamb, exhaling as he settled back onto the sofa. “Said you’d just told Myles you were pregnant.”

  She smacked his shoulder as hard as she could as they all laughed.

  “You’re such a piece of shit, Bryce,” Jen replied.

  “Yeah, you really are,” Amelia agreed.

  The three of them were quiet as they began to eat.