• • •
“Now can you put that damn book away?”
M closed The Odyssey—holding her place with her thumb—and looked up from the description of the Skylla that she’d read so many times she pretty much had it memorized. Stuart rarely swore. She raised her eyebrows.
“I mean it, M. I’m tired of getting in bed every night with Zeus and Circe and Persephone and Teiresias. I want to get in bed with you. Just you.”
M smiled and slid her thumb from the book. “What about Penelope? She’s kind of sexy.”
Stuart smiled. “Not as sexy as you.”
M opened the drawer of her bedside table and dropped the book into it. “There,” she said.
“That’s better,” Stuart said.
M snuggled against him. “But,” she whispered, “tomorrow when the rosy fingers of Dawn . . .”
“Stop!” Stuart hollered and pulled the sheet over his head.
CHAPTER 47
Only one time had Jackson sneaked Sia to Beach #2 during plover season. “Don’t ever do this alone,” he’d said solemnly, “or again.” And not until she’d crossed her heart and hoped to die had he settled them both on the sand, just a few dozen yards away from the nearest plover nest, demarcated with a roomy cagelike contraption.
“Plovers in, plovers out,” Jackson said, passing his spotting scope to Sia, “foxes, raccoons, and other predators, out.”
As the sun rose, the pale birds flitted about the shoreline. “Look, little ones,” Jackson said, pointing.
“Oh,” Sia said when she spotted them, “dandelion puffs on toothpicks.”
Jackson kissed her on the cheek.
When a few gulls squawked overhead, the puffballs scattered and squatted, suddenly and completely invisible, and the mature plover strutted boldly about, calling out warnings and threatening to rumble.
“Brave little thing,” Sia whispered.
“Mumma love,” Jack said.
CHAPTER 48
Richard’s Interview with Yancie Stockton
RICHARD: Were you kayaking near the beach yesterday morning around five A.M.?
YANCIE: Yes, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see anyone walking on the beach?
YANCIE: No, sir.
RICHARD: You didn’t see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?
YANCIE: No, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?
YANCIE: No, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see a man appear on the beach around five A.M.?
YANCIE: No, sir.
RICHARD: Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach while you were out there?
YANCIE: No, sir. I don’t believe I did. I was fly-fishing.
Richard’s Interview with Bill Yeckels
RICHARD: Were you kayaking near the beach yesterday morning around five A.M.?
BILL: Yes, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see anyone walking on the beach?
BILL: No, sir.
RICHARD: You didn’t see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?
BILL: No, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?
BILL: No, sir.
RICHARD: Did you see a man appear on the beach around five A.M.?
BILL: No, sir.
RICHARD: Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach while you were out there?
BILL: No, sir. I don’t believe I did. I was fly-fishing.
Richard’s Interview with Nancy Saunders
RICHARD: Were you sailing near the beach yesterday morning around five A.M.?
NANCY: I sure was, Richard. Gorgeous morning. Perfect light. Perfect waves. Couldn’t ask for a better way to start the day.
RICHARD: Did you see anyone walking on the beach?
NANCY: Gosh, I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying much attention to anything but the water and the boat. Like I said, it was a gorgeous morning. Usually when I’m out there . . .
RICHARD: So you didn’t see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?
NANCY: Odyssia Dane. Wow, I haven’t seen her around in a while. How’s she doing? After all that trouble with her husband last year? Things looking up for her?
RICHARD: She’s okay, Nancy. Getting by. But you didn’t see her on the beach that morning?
NANCY: No, I sure didn’t. Though I should probably stop by to see her sometime soon. Her mom and I went to school together, you know. We’ve known each other for years and years. I was at M’s wedding way back when. And I once had a crush on Stuart though I don’t think I’ve ever told M about it. Just a schoolgirl crush when we were teens.
RICHARD: Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, Nancy.
NANCY: Thanks, Richard.
RICHARD: Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?
NANCY: While I was sailing?
RICHARD: Yes.
NANCY: That early in the morning? What the heck would I see? Yancie and Bill. Some, including their wives, would probably call them unusual, but beyond that, I can’t say I saw anything out of the ordinary.
RICHARD: Did you . . .
NANCY: Oh, I know what this is about. That man who showed up on the beach yesterday. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?
RICHARD: Well . . .
NANCY: Now I haven’t heard the full story yet, but I heard a little something-something at the bank. Did he show up while I was sailing? Did I miss it?
RICHARD: Nancy, I can’t offer details to you, you know that. But I’d really appreciate if you could just tell me whether you saw a man appear on the beach around five A.M. this morning.
NANCY: Sure didn’t, Richard, but I would have liked to. A good-looking gentleman from what I heard. Though if that tail business is true, perhaps Sia should have left him on the beach.
RICHARD: Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach yesterday morning?
NANCY: Hm, probably not, Richard. But I will tomorrow. That’s for darn sure.
CHAPTER 49
“Mom, I have to tell her,” Hannah-banana said. Jackson had been gone four and a half months.
“Now’s not the time, sweetie. Your dream won’t help Sia find answers. It will just present more questions.”
“Maybe she needs more questions.”
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.”
“How do you know? Did you talk to her?”
“No. It’s a grown-up thing.”
“Please.”
“No.”
• • •
“I want to write,” Sia said. The house was open, filled with sunlight.
“Do it,” Jilly said. “Sit down at your desk, grab your pen, and write.”
Sia tried.
Three times.
Sit.
Hold pen.
Write.
But?
udder
wilt
reasoned
foliage
laud
indolent
polish
donkey
recoil
cheese
squat
leafy
creak
wedge
CHAPTER 50
Maude Bun was Richard’s gatekeeper. Corpulent and soft, she had a slow-crawling drawl that made you feel that if you listened long enough, you’d be taken on a long journey to some amazing place. If you needed directions to the east side of town, Maude first backed you up to the west side and gave you the governor’s tour. If you popped in during your lunch break for a signature on an official document, she wound you round to the origin of the written word, about which she knew nothing but could pontificate forever.
Like an old Chinese monk, Maude had a mole on her chin with a single long gray hair streaming from its center. She had a mammoth crush on Richard and an equally powerful sweet tooth. Sia knew this, so when she could no longer stand not knowing what was happening to Toad, she drove to the bakery, picked up two boxes of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and headed for the station.
• • •
As always, Maude was seated in the small gray space behind the big glass window. When she saw Sia, she chuckled. “I knew you’d show up sooner rather than later, Odyssia Winchell Dane,” she said.
“I come bearing gifts,” Sia said, holding the cookies in front of her.
“Good thing, my dear.”
Sia passed the boxes through the big metal drawer. “Is Richard timing me?”
“Course he is,” Maude said.
“How long did he give me?”
“Don’t worry. You’re winning. He expected you two hours ago.”
Sia smiled. “I had to go to the bakery first.”
Maude opened a box and bit into a cookie. “See, Sia, I knew there was a reason it had to be you that found this guy. I’ve been missing these.”
“So how is Toad doing?” Sia asked.
“He’s a quiet one, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is that.”
“Gorgeous, too.”
“Yes, you should hear Jillian talk about him.”
“And you got to keep him overnight.”
“Absolutely uneventful, Maude.”
Maude smiled. “If it were me . . .” Sia felt herself being hoisted into the cart that would take her on a long journey through Maude’s fantasies about Richard, and though usually she would have happily gone along for the ride and the distraction, she couldn’t summon the patience. “Maude, can I talk to Toad?” she said.
Maude sighed. “Can’t let you, Sia. Boss’s orders.”
“Oh, come on, Maude.”
“Can’t, Sia.”
“Maude . . .”
“Stay put. Let me talk to Richard for a minute.”
Sia turned and sat down on the rock-hard wooden bench that was clearly intended to keep people like her uncomfortable and not interested in sticking around too long.
“Richard says to come back later,” Maude said.
“What?” Sia stood and walked to the glass. She pressed her nose against it.
“Later, Sia. Come back later.”
“Maude . . . why?” Sia glanced down at the cookies. A total waste.
“He doesn’t want Toad to get distracted.”
“Distracted from what?”
“The questioning, I guess.”
“This isn’t an interrogation, Maude. We’re just trying to figure out where the guy came from and how to get him back there.”
“That’s what Richard said.”
Sia looked up at the ceiling and growled. “What time, then?”
“Four thirty,” Maude said.
“Fine, but please just let me see him before I go. Just a glance, Maude. I need to know he’s okay.”
Maude looked down at the containers of cookies on her desk. “Sia . . .”
“Please.”
“Okay, but quickly. And not one word. Richard cannot know that I’m giving in to you. He warned me.”
Sia nodded.
“Silence, Sia.”
Sia nodded again. When Maude unlocked the door, she moved into the inner sanctum of the station.
“Room three,” Maude said. “You know the way.”
Sia turned left. In front of the large window, she paused. Toad was sitting straight-backed and proper, and his hands were folded on the table in front of him.
“Thank God,” Sia said. He was still there. Same black suit with chalky salt marks all over it. Same look of nothing on his face.
The minnow splashed in Sia’s middle. She bowed her head until her forehead touched the glass.
• • •
“Mom?”
“What? What is it, Sia?” M clutched the trowel when she heard the tenor of Sia’s voice.
“Mom?” Sia whispered into her phone.
“I’m here.”
“I found a man this morning.”
“What, sweetie?”
“A man on the beach. I found him this morning and took him home with me.”
“A man?”
“Yeah, a living, breathing, sad, lost man.”
“And you took him home?”
“I had to.”
“Tell me everything,” M said, and as she listened she covered the receiver with her hand and whispered the word curse to Stuart.
Gift, he whispered back.
CHAPTER 51
“Tell the story about when your mom took you to the doctor for your empathy issue,” Jilly said.
Sia rolled her eyes. “Not again, Jil. Any other story, but not that one.”
“Oh, come on. I love when you do the doctor’s voice. Just one time.”
“Fine.” Sia took a swig of beer, sat up straight, and cleared her throat. “Mzzzz. Wnnnchelllll,” she began in a deep voice, “there izzzz nothing wrong with your dog-tur that izzzzn’t wrong with every other twelve-year-old gurrrlll in the wurrrllld. Horrrr-mones. Pooo-berty. Preeee-mennn-stroooo-al syndrome. Has Odyssia started mennn-strooo-ating yet?”
Jilly howled with laughter. “Pooo-berty,” she squealed. “Pooo-berty.”
• • •
Despite Sia’s reputation for having one of the sexiest hind ends in high school, three potentially serious boyfriends had run like gazelles the first time they’d come face-to-face—or maybe heart-to-heart—with Sia’s overly empathic tendencies:
When an earthquake in China killed oh-how-many-thousands, dropping Sia into a nearly catatonic state, Boyfriend #1 did the polite thing. “I can’t see you anymore,” he whispered into the phone. “I don’t understand you.”
When a favorite teacher was killed in a skydiving accident and Sia stayed in bed for three weeks, Boyfriend #2 showed up at a party with another girl draped over him like a damp towel. (Someone summarized the story on the bathroom wall: “Henry dropped the hot tamale like a hot potato.”)
When they saw a beagle get smooshed by a dump truck, Boyfriend #3 looked at Sia whimpering against the stop sign and strolled away. Just like that. “I just can’t date a blubbering, blabbering ball of goo. Even if you do have a sexy ass,” he said.
“Look at them go,” Sia said each time she got the ax.
• • •
Jackson hadn’t even flinched.
CHAPTER 52
“Does your empathy feel like an arm?” her therapist asked.
Sia raised her arm over her head and waggled it. She was lying down on the couch, though she hadn’t ever lain down before. It wasn’t that kind of therapy. “Nope, it doesn’t feel like an arm.”
“So not like an appendage?”
“Technically,” Sia said, “an appendage is a thing that is added or attached to something larger or more important . . . like a tail. If my empathy is an appendage, that would imply that I am the thing that is larger and more important.”
“Mm-hm.”
Sia thought for a moment. Waggled both arms overhead. And finally, “Nope, it doesn’t feel like an appendage.” She dropped her arms.
Her therapist sipped her coffee. “Like an organ?”
“Like an organ . . .” Sia said.
“Technically . . .” her therapist prompted.
“Technically,” Sia said, “an organ is a part of an organism that is self-contained and has a specific vital function. You know, like the heart or liver.”
“So?”
Sia put her hand over her heart. She could feel it pat-pat-pattering away and imagined it was saying Jack-Jack-Jackson Jack-Jack-Jackson.
“So?”
“Is a penis an appendage or an organ?” Sia asked.
Her therapist laughed.
“Are therapists supposed to laugh?” Sia asked.
“When things are funny, sure.”
Sia sat up.
“Back to the empathy? Like an organ?”
“Yeah, more like an organ than an appendage, I’d say. I always feel it in the same place and it definitely serves a vital function.”
“Where do you feel it?”
Sia poked at her belly, just above her navel. “Here.”
“And you’re sure its function is vital?”
Sia cocked her head. She knew what was coming.
“Well, Sia, technically vital means that something is indispensable to the continuance of life.”
Harumph.
CHAPTER 53
“Brad Pitt.”
“Oh, come on, Jilly. Toad doesn’t look anything like Brad Pitt.”
“Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“He’s a boy, Jilly.”
“A good-looking boy.”
“If you like men who will always look like boys.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll keep thinking.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I will.”
“I know.”
“Bye, Sia.”
“Bye, Jil.”
Click.
CHAPTER 54
Shortly after the house opened, Sia told M that she floated, and M started watching the sky. She thought if she looked hard enough, she would be able to see her daughter making her way about town. It was Odyssia, after all. Her beautiful, shining Odyssia. She propped a chair in the backyard where she believed her line of sight to the heavens was unencumbered, and when she discovered that the hickory tree in the southeast corner blocked her view, she snatched Stuart’s chainsaw from the shed and chopped it down. It fell neatly between the house and the fence with an impressive thud, and when Stuart saw it later that night, he thanked God that M hadn’t been killed.
The Art of Floating Page 13