FSF, January 2009

by Spilogale Authors

  Without even thinking about it, he followed the path he had taken on his first evening there, and found himself turning the corner by Dan and Ann's Diner. Still without thinking, he walked in. A waitress spotted Sancho immediately.

  "I'm sorry, we can't allow pets,” she said.

  Gavin began to stammer an apology, but Amanita appeared in the window to the kitchen and called out, “It's okay, Hazel; I know this guy. That's his service animal. He's allergic to dogs."

  Hazel looked suspicious, but she let Gavin in. He ordered the apple pie and a glass of milk, and watched as she and Amanita held a whispered consultation behind the counter. Hazel gave him a curious look, but she was smiling when she brought the pie, along with half a banana. Sancho charmed her with a long wolf whistle and called her a pretty girl, which, Gavin admitted, she was. She wasn't going to charge for the pie, but Gavin insisted. Amanita was busy washing up and only had time to wave. He waved back. He couldn't help contrasting her face with Hazel's and felt an uncomfortable mix of pity and guilt. He ate quickly and left.

  Amanita was waiting on the sidewalk. “I'm off early tonight,” she said. “Your timing's perfect."

  Gavin shrugged, feeling even more guilty. “Thanks for getting me in,” he said. “That was quick thinking. I'm surprised Hazel bought it; I'm obviously not blind."

  "No problem. I told her you were bipolar and the parrot kept you from losing it."

  Gavin laughed. “Did you tell her I was a wiccan, too?"

  Amanita gave him her evil grin. “She'd assume that. If you know me, you must be. Where're you headed?"

  He shrugged again. “Just walking. The river park, I guess."

  "Let's go!” Sancho squawked.

  So they wound their way down river. Amanita made wry comments about the various restaurants and stores, most of which she said catered to tourists and the town's cadre of young professionals on the make. When they reached the park, she led him down onto the wharf. Even more boats were tied there now, some lit, some dark. Light glimmered on the water from both sides, and the half moon's reflection danced in the current. They walked all the way to the end of the park, where a concrete ramp led down into the river's fragrant waters. Amanita had grown quiet, her mismatched face oddly still. She frowned at the ramp and the water.

  "This is where I'll start from,” she said.

  "What?” Gavin wondered if he'd missed some earlier comment.

  "I can launch the Beetle right from here,” she replied. “It's watertight, you know. That's why I bought it."

  "Your car?"

  "That's right. It's watertight; I can drive it right down the ramp and let the ebb tide carry me out to sea. It'll save gas."

  "Okay, I guess it would,” he said. Once again, he had no idea if she was joking.

  "Seriously,” she said. “Two guys drove a VW Beetle across the English Channel back in the sixties."

  "Across the English Channel?"

  "Most of the way. The engine stopped, so they opened the sunroof and paddled until the tide turned against them and the waves came up."

  "Whoa Nelly!” Sancho squawked.

  "Yeah,” Gavin said. “That's crazy."

  "Well, sure. They should have kept better track of the tides. We won't have that problem. If we can get the light right, I think we'll only have to go a few miles."

  "The light right?” Gavin felt like he kept missing something.

  "To see the isles."

  He remembered her childhood fantasy. “Oh, right. And if you get it wrong?"

  "Then we'll paddle."

  He noticed she kept saying we, but he wasn't quite ready to play along. “Well, you'd better take a life jacket, too, and plenty of food."

  "Men,” she scoffed. “It's all about appetites, isn't it. Come on, I'll walk you home."

  * * * *

  "This is where they found my basket,” she said, as they reached the granite steps leading up to the paneled, date-capped door.

  Gavin's mouth dropped open. “Your mother left you with Dr. Jury?"

  She laughed. “Not your boss: his father, G. Sumner the First. Your boss is G. Sumner, Junior. Some people think he's my brother.” He stared. “Yeah, I know; the family resemblance is hard to see under the moonlight. Good night, Gavin."

  "Would you like to come in for some tea or something?” It came out on its own, an embarrassed attempt to cover up for staring.

  "Thanks, but it's late. I'm on early shift tomorrow."

  "Okay, then, I guess—” Gavin groped in his pocket, then the other. “Oh, dang!"

  "Dang?” she echoed, smiling.

  "I've lost my keys!” Gavin said. He searched his pockets again, then peered at the ground, hoping they might have just dropped out. “Do you see them anywhere?"

  "No. When did you have them last?"

  "I can't remember."

  "Do you know where they are, Sancho?” she asked.

  "Bite me!” Sancho replied.

  "Dang!” Gavin hit the door post. “We're locked out!” Amanita was chuckling. “It's not funny. Dr. Jury will kill me."

  "Sorry,” she said. “I just can't believe you say dang. Such a gentleman."

  Gavin blushed. “I don't feel like one right now."

  "Look, you can get a locksmith in the morning. UNH will vouch for you."

  "What about tonight?"

  "You can stay at my place,” she said. “I've got a pullout couch."

  "Oh, I can't do that,” Gavin said.

  "Afraid I'll seduce you?” she asked. “Or just too much of a gentleman?” She flashed that sharp-toothed smile again.

  Gavin shrugged, totally flustered. “I just...."

  "Who else do you know?"

  That was it, of course: He didn't know anyone here but her.

  "Go with the flow!” Sancho advised.

  "Yeah,” Gavin muttered.

  Amanita's apartment was two floors up, across from Dan and Ann's Diner, and it was a studio: one room, plus bath and kitchen nook, distressingly small. Yes, she had a pullout couch, but it was the only bed. Before Gavin could say anything, she threw the seat-back cushions on the floor in the far corner and produced some extra blankets from the closet to construct a small nest. He insisted on sleeping there. She shrugged and told him to take the first turn in the bathroom. He came out and waited, awkward and embarrassed, until she went in, then took off his shirt and slipped under the blanket, still in his pants and undershirt. Amanita came out a few minutes later, discreetly clothed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, got into the bed, wished him good night, and turned out the light.

  Gavin relaxed slowly, but finally fell asleep to the sound of her soft breathing. When he woke to Sancho's serenade the next morning, sunlight was leaking in around the shades, and she was already gone. Gavin lay still for a moment, groping at a vague memory of a dream: He was lying on the cushions. Amanita stood by the window, holding something; a mirror, perhaps? It seemed to glow, as though moonlight shone from behind its glass. Seagulls called faintly. She turned toward him, and her face was different. Rearranged. All of a piece. She set down the mirror and came toward him. Her left eye glowed.

  That was all he could remember, but it seemed uncomfortably real. He shivered and threw off the covers, then sat up, scrubbing his face with the heels of his hands. It had been a long time since he'd had a girlfriend, but Amanita? He liked her, yes. She was interesting. Kind to him. Clever. Funny, too. But funny in both ways. Odd. It wasn't just her face, he told himself firmly. Besides, she wasn't the dream woman, not really. That was just some figment of his unconscious. That's all.

  "She's a pretty girl!” Sancho squawked.

  "Yeah, right,” Gavin muttered. “But not my type."

  * * * *

  He kept reminding himself that for the next two weeks. The dream didn't come back, not as a dream. But during the evenings, he argued with the memory. When his next paycheck arrived, he decided he had laid the issue to rest. She was his friend, and that was fine. He'd head over to Dan
and Ann's to get some pie and say hello. Maybe they could go to a movie or something.

  When Gavin went into Dan and Ann's, Amanita wasn't in the kitchen. He hesitated by the register. Without her striking face, the diner felt hollow, its chrome and vinyl a sham.

  "Where's our pretty girl?” Sancho called.

  All the diners looked up, and Gavin felt his face go red.

  Waitress Hazel came over and flashed a pretty, blue-eyed smile at Sancho. “Table for two?” she asked, pulling a menu from the rack by the register.

  "Is Amanita working tonight?” Gavin asked.

  "Who?” Hazel asked.

  "Where's our pretty girl?” Sancho repeated.

  "Oh, her.” Hazel frowned; in an instant her face soured. “She's supposed to be. She didn't show up today or yesterday."

  "Is she sick?” Gavin asked.

  Hazel shrugged. “Beats me."

  "Didn't anyone call her?"

  "Hey, she's the one who's supposed to call. Do you want to sit down or not?"

  "Bite me!” Sancho squawked.

  "Yeah,” Gavin muttered. “I mean, no. No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

  He stumbled out onto the sidewalk. The sun was setting and the air had grown cool. Couples brushed past. Music thumped from a passing car. Gavin looked up at the window to Amanita's tiny apartment. A faint light showed behind the half-closed shade. Gavin stared, watching for some sign of movement, of presence. She's all right, he told himself. It's just a cold or something. But he didn't believe it.

  "Let's go!” Sancho squawked, nipping his ear. “Let's go!"

  Gavin hurried across the street and up the narrow staircase to her landing. He knocked gently. There was no reply. He knocked a little louder and called, “Amanita? It's me, Gavin."

  Dead silence. He tried the knob. It turned, and the door eased open. He peered inside. The lamp on the table was lit. The couch was open, empty, the covers a mess.

  "Amanita?” he called.

  Sancho whistled shrilly, then burst from his shoulder in a gray flurry and flew to the table. Feeling like an intruder, Gavin went after him.

  "Come on, Sancho,” he said. “We shouldn't be in...."

  There was a letter on the table, stark under the lamplight. An official logo proclaimed it was from the Reynolds Orphanage, New Hampshire Department of Human Services.

  "Dear Mary,” it began.

  Gavin blinked and read it again. Mary. So plain. He could understand why she would change it to something like Amanita. He wondered what other names she had given herself. He couldn't help reading the rest.

  "Last week, we received a correspondence from your birth mother. This is not an unusual occurrence, and we follow a strict policy regarding our clients’ privacy. You can rest assured we have not shared your current name and address with her. Instead, we have questioned her closely and contacted several references to confirm that she is who she claims to be and, most important, is in a stable situation in her life. If you wish, I would be happy to meet with you to discuss your own feelings about the possibility of a meeting between the two of you. It would be completely up to you, of course."

  There was more, about the process, the availability of counseling services, a polite signature. But Gavin's eyes returned to two words: birth mother.

  Two words that shredded the fable she had woven to adorn her homeliness, to make her plainness special. She could change her name but, Amanita or Mary, she couldn't change the facts of her birth. And what would she do now, faced with those ugly facts?

  Heart racing, Gavin checked the bathroom. It was empty. So was the closet. No one floating in the bathtub, hanging from the clothes pole. He looked out the kitchen window, down into the twilit parking lot. Her VW Beetle was gone.

  "Damn!” He punched the window sill. “Where would she go?"

  "Thar she blows!” Sancho cried. “Thar she blows!"

  "No,” Gavin said. “She wouldn't. Would she?"

  "Thar she blows!” Sancho replied.

  He hurried back to Strawbery Banke for his car and sped to the beach.

  The blue VW was hub-deep in the soft sand at the end of the beach access road. She'd gotten it a good eight feet off the pavement before it bottomed out. Gavin felt a momentary pulse of relief, until he realized the Beetle was empty. He clambered out, Sancho clinging to his shoulder, and hurried over the mound of sand to the beach.

  The water was much higher than he'd seen it before, and smooth as a mirror, lapping calmly just a few dozen yards in front of him. It was dark, lit only by stars and the patterns reflected from the islands. There was no moon. The lighthouse winked once, twice, then swung into darkness. Before it returned he spotted her, a forlorn hump of shadow sitting at the water's edge. Gavin exhaled, almost stunned by relief. Sancho shook himself but held his tongue.

  Gavin walked slowly down the soft slope and across the hard sand below the high tide line. He stopped beside her, suddenly as awkward as he'd been that night in her apartment. Something glimmered faintly in her lap. She was cradling a small hand mirror, white as an old shell. The glass seemed pearly, as though fogged by moonlight. A gull called in the distance.

  "You came,” she said, unsurprised. She didn't turn her gaze from the sea.

  "Yeah.” He knelt beside her. “Is that okay?"

  She shrugged. “It's your nature."

  That hurt a little. “I was worried about you,” he said.

  "You read the letter."

  He blushed. “Uh, yeah. I ... Sancho was on the table and...."

  "You thought I might do something desperate. Slit my wrists, hang myself. Throw myself into the crashing sea."

  "Well, yeah,” he admitted. “I'm glad I was wrong."

  She shrugged again. “Why bother? Nothing has changed really.” For the first time, she sounded bitter. She looked directly at him. “See?"

  Even in the moonless night, he could. Now he shrugged.

  She studied his face with both eyes, but when he stayed silent, she turned back toward the sea.

  "I was going to drive right out there,” she said. “It's dark enough. I've planned it long enough."

  He followed her gaze over the dark water and shivered. “All your life,” he said.

  "All my life,” she agreed.

  "But now?"

  "I got stuck.” She was silent then. Finally, she turned to him again and asked, “What do you think, Sir Gavin, my poor, goodhearted knight? Am I mad?"

  "Yeah. But no more than most."

  "Really?” She arched a heavy brow. “Should I do it then?"

  "That's your choice to make, not mine."

  "Would you come with me?"

  He turned to the sea again. The lights seemed very small, as distant as the stars. He swallowed.

  "Go with the flow!” Sancho squawked suddenly, and they both jumped.

  Gavin laughed. “It's what, six miles?” he said, voice high. “I guess I could."

  "Right.” Amanita rose and took two steps up the beach. Then she paused, turned back, and threw the mirror over the water. It turned once, flashed, and dropped lightly into the sea.

  "What—?"

  "It was in the basket with me,” she said. “I can see my way well enough without it. Let's go.” She strode away.

  Gavin hesitated, looked back at the black, starlit sheet, marred only by the spreading ripples where the mirror had struck and sunk.

  "Let's go!” Sancho squawked, and he flew to Amanita's shoulder.

  "Traitor,” Gavin muttered, hurrying after them.

  He caught up with her at the peak of the sand, and they walked the rest of the way together.

  "It's in pretty deep,” Gavin remarked, studying the VW's half buried rims.

  "We'll get it loose,” she said, kneeling by the right front wheel. She twisted off the valve cap and began to let air out of the tire. “Have you got a tire gauge?"

  "Yeah. What—?"

  "We want to let out at least half. It's like a dune buggy: Soft, wide tires
get better traction in soft sand. Get your gauge."

  Gavin did as she asked and started letting air out of the rear tires. Amanita decided twelve pounds was about right.

  "You're going to ruin these tires,” he said.

  "I suspect that's the least of your worries,” she replied, and he blushed again, because she was right. “Okay, I'll drive, you push."

  She got in with Sancho, and Gavin set his feet firmly in the sand. He bent over, grabbed the rear bumper, and tensed. Amanita started the engine; it puttered into life.

  Oh, Lord, what am I getting myself into? Gavin thought, but then Amanita revved the engine, eased out the clutch, and he was heaving against the funny round bumper with all his strength, digging his feet into the soft sand, slipping and slithering, half on his knees while the Beetle's rear end bucked and slewed and the tires threw rooster tails of sand three feet high on either side of him. Suddenly the car lurched, rose, and surged forward. Gavin almost fell flat on his face. Sancho whistled Beethoven gleefully from a perch on the passenger side window frame.

  Gavin scrambled after the car, hopped onto the rear bumper, and clung desperately to the handle on the engine compartment door. Behind its louvered hood, the engine gnashed and sputtered like a drowning cat. Amanita shifted up, the car lurched again, and they climbed the last few yards to the top of the mound. The Beetle's nose dropped into the down slope, but Gavin's stomach kept rising.

  The Beetle crossed the high tide line, and Amanita slowed. “Get in!” she yelled.

  Gavin obeyed, stumbling from the still-moving bumper to the uneven sand. He managed to grab the door handle and yank it open, throwing himself into the seat just as the beach began to level out. The Beetle rolled onto the hard, damp sand and shot forward. The door swung shut, with Sancho flapping wildly to keep his perch.

  "Make sure it's shut tight,” Amanita said.

  Gavin was staring through the flat windshield at the rapidly approaching sea. His stomach was still rising and he tried to swallow it back into place, without much success. He groped blindly for the door handle, swung the door wide, and slammed it shut as hard as he could. Sancho shrieked in outrage, tottering on the window ledge.