The Art of Floating
Page 30
Sneakers exactly like the pair Jackson had been wearing on the day he disappeared.
Jackson’s sneakers.
Throb, throb, throb.
The sound of Sia’s heart in her ears.
She pointed to the sneakers. “Where did you get these?”
“Ah,” the Dogcatcher said, “you know these sneakers?”
Oh, for God’s sake.
“Yes,” Sia said, “I know these sneakers.” She moved the chair out of the way and knelt down in front of the shoes.
“I thought you might know these sneakers.”
Sia nodded. They were Jack’s favorite pair. A stinky, tattered, dirty-white pair of Converse low-tops with a hole on the far side of each where his baby toe had worked through. That goddamn curved-out baby toe.
“May I?” Sia said.
The Dogcatcher nodded.
Sia reached down and put her hand on the canvas tops.
Jackson.
She picked them up and pulled their beautiful, glorious stinkiness to her chest. She put her nose into one. She sniffed long and loud.
Jackson.
“There’s more, you know,” the Dogcatcher said.
“More? More what?”
“More of him.” The Dogcatcher pointed to the shoes.
• • •
With the sneakers tight against her chest, Sia followed. Like everything else in the house, the stairs were spotless. There was no muck in the corners, no stray balls of hair, no dust. “You clean a lot,” she said.
The upstairs was one very large room, like a finished attic, with a brass bed and seven dressers, all exactly alike—that horrid children’s white French colonial style with gold accent paint around the handles.
“There are so many dressers.”
“There are so many lost things.”
“May I?” Sia asked. She pointed to the first dresser on her left.
“Put everything back where you find it.”
Sia opened the top drawer. It was full of buttons. Black buttons. Blue buttons. Pearly white buttons. Cracked buttons. Small dress-shirt buttons and large winter coat buttons. Some were covered in fabric. Others were made of metal. Thousands of buttons.
Sia closed the drawer and opened the next one down. Rings. Everything from bubble gum rings to platinum wedding bands. Sia picked up one, held it to the light, and read the inscription: To my dearest Sadie. Forever.
The Dogcatcher smiled. “Manchester-by-the-Sea,” she said.
“What?” Sia said.
“Manchester-by-the-Sea. That’s where I found that ring. On October 7, 1995.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember.”
“You remember the exact date?”
“Of course.”
She reached into the drawer and held up a gold engagement ring with a small emerald on each side of the diamond. “What about this one?”
“June 11, 1993. Refuge beach. On a small dune near a plover’s nest.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember.”
Sia put the ring back, closed the drawer, and moved on to others. One drawer was filled with baseball caps. Another with sunglasses.
“Where do you get all this stuff?”
“These have all been lost. Everything here . . . lost. I find lost things. I keep them safe.”
“And this is your house?” Sia asked. She moved from dresser to dresser, opening every drawer.
“Yes, my father gave it to me.”
• • •
Sia looked under a desk.
The Dogcatcher scratched.
Sia lifted a curtain.
The Dogcatcher scratched.
Sia opened a drawer.
The Dogcatcher scratched.
• • •
Then cell phones. Hundreds of cell phones.
“These were all lost?” Sia asked.
“Oh, yes. Everyone loses phones.”
Sia lifted the phones out one by one, then by handfuls, and when the drawer was light enough to lift, she pulled it out and dumped all the phones on the floor.
“What are you doing?” the Dogcatcher asked.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
Sia didn’t answer. She looked at every phone. Nokia phones. Sony phones. Really old phones the size of her hand. New tiny ones. Sleek phones. Pink phones. Hello Kitty phones.
“Where is it?” Sia said quietly. Jackson’s phone had to be here.
She found a phone that was the exact model he’d had. A Samsung 300. Her heart froze for a moment, but when she turned it over, she saw the name Vicki scratched into the black surface.
“Damn,” she said, and threw the phone back into the pile.
The Dogcatcher leaned down. “Are you looking for his phone?”
Sia looked at her. “Of course I’m looking for his phone. Of course I’m looking for HIS phone. Where is his goddamn phone?”
“Right there,” the Dogcatcher said, pointing to a drawer in the next dresser. She began to put the phones Sia had dumped out back into the correct drawer, and as she did, she recited the dates of discovery. “July 3, 1999. October 21, 1997. Christmas Day 1987.”
Sia yanked out the drawer in the next dresser, but it was so full, it jammed, like the utensil drawer in a kitchen when the spatula gets stuck against the drawer above it. She yanked. Then she heard Jackson’s voice in her head. “Hey, hon, slow down. It’s all right.”
She took a deep breath, reached in, unclogged the phones, and pulled gently. Then, using her shirt like a sack, she dumped a bunch of phones into it, carried them to the bed, and sat down.
She found it in the third batch. Jackson’s silly blue Samsung that played the Mexican Hat Dance, just like hers. The 7 button was poking out at a weird angle. The phone was dented and scratched. Old and worn. Just the way Jackson liked everything. Comfortable. Easy.
“This is it,” Sia said. “This is it.” She stood, pressed the phone to her cheek, and swayed. “This is Jack’s phone.”
The Dogcatcher watched her from the floor. “You know this phone?” she asked.
Sia rolled her eyes and kissed the Dogcatcher on her very knobby head. “Oh, yes, oh, yes, I know this phone. Oh, yes, I know this phone.”
CHAPTER 162
They left their shoes on the patio in the back. Since it was a late Thursday morning, there were just a few moms on the beach with their little ones. The older kids were back in school, and summer vacations were over.
“Tell me about your daughter?” Sia asked.
Sophia smiled. Her face opened. “Oh, yes.”
The sun was hot, but the air coming off the ocean was cooler than it had been a month before.
“Gabriella,” Sophia began, “was a terrible child in the most wonderful ways and a lovely adult, mostly because she was willful and artistic and grown up way before her time. She and Tomas fell in love at sixteen.
“‘Mama,’ she said to me after she met him, ‘it’s like I fell out of a tree and landed on my head. I just love him.’ They got married less than a year later. They said they couldn’t wait.”
Sia thought of M and Stuart.
“Tomas,” Sophia continued, “was a better husband than any I’ve ever seen. Even when he was just eighteen. He was faithful, loving, and always kind. He loved Gabriella more than life itself.”
Sia nodded.
“It is more than life, isn’t it?” Sophia asked. “How he loved her?”
“How he still loves her,” Sia said. “Though he is asleep in my sunroom”—she pointed back at the house—“he is somewhere else. With her, I believe.”
“They waited to have children for ten years. Everything was so perfect between them. Gabriella used to worry that a child might upset th
ings. But then they had Giselle, and she was perfect. As perfect as her mother. Beautiful and wise and comical. She made Tomas laugh harder than I’d ever seen him laugh. Once they had one, they decided they wanted eight.
“Tomas was a barrister in the city. He and Gabriella lived in a little village on the outskirts, and he had to drive one hour each way to his office. Each morning, Giselle kissed his nose and told him to hurry home, but he never did. He took his time because he wanted to get there safely.
“Right after their deaths, just after he discovered their bodies, he told me that on that day, he had driven faster than he’d ever driven in his life. He hadn’t known why, except that he had the feeling he should hurry. ‘Sophia,’ he told me, ‘I drove faster and faster on the highway until I think I was flying. When I turned onto our lane, I smelled the blood. And I knew it was Gabriella’s. I ran the rest of the way. I couldn’t drive any farther. And when I reached our house, I found Giselle first.’
“Everyone thinks he disappeared the day after the murders, but his mother and I know that he disappeared when he first lifted Giselle out of the puddle of her own blood. And then my Gabriella.
“Odyssia,” Sophia said, “the world closed to Tomas that day. He held his girls as long as the police allowed it. That night, he wandered the town, lost already. We had spottings all night. Neighbors and friends calling to report his whereabouts.
“The next morning a sailor reported seeing a man in a black suit and white shirt walk into the sea. We knew it was Tomas. The authorities assumed he was dead even though his body never washed up. His mother and I knew different.”
CHAPTER 163
Calm, Sia sat down on the floor next to the Dogcatcher.
“Okay, this is very important. Do you know where you found this phone? And these shoes?”
The Dogcatcher took the phone from Sia. “This phone? This phone? You want to know where I found this phone?”
“Yes, Gumper-Man’s phone.”
“Yes, yes, Gumper-Man’s phone.”
The Dogcatcher paused. “May 14, 2011.”
The day Jackson disappeared. Sia’s heart thumped and thumped. Like the timpani in the back of the orchestra. The one that drove everyone forward. “Yes, that’s the day,” she said.
The Dogcatcher scratched at her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Did you find the phone with the shoes?” Sia asked, holding up the shoes.
The Dogcatcher nodded again. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Everything together.”
“Everything?” Sia said. “What do you mean?”
“Everything in the little pile.”
“Little pile? What little pile?”
“The little pile on the beach.”
“The beach? What beach? What do you mean?” Sia grabbed the Dogcatcher’s arm. “Please tell me.”
The Dogcatcher dropped her head to her chest and started scratching wildly. She made small grunting noises and shook her head.
Sia caressed her arm. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. You see, these things belonged to my husband and I haven’t seen him since May 14, 2011. He disappeared.”
“I found his things. He went for a swim,” the Dogcatcher said.
“He did?” Sia asked. “Where did he swim?”
“Beach #3.”
“Beach #3? That’s a plover beach. It was closed on May 14.”
“Yes, it was closed. But I told you, Gumper-Man swam there often. In secret.”
“And on May 14, he swam there?”
“Yes.”
Sia dropped her head into her hands, and her brain did a little jog through marriage and spelunking and secrets. “What time did you find these things?” she asked.
“Eleven thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“Yes.”
The exact time she’d arrived at Starbucks.
“Why didn’t you turn them in?”
“To who?”
“The police.”
“Why? All lost things come here.”
Sia leaned back against the dresser and closed her eyes.
“I keep lost things safe,” the Dogcatcher said.
And she had. A few minutes later she gave Sia Jackson’s keys and billfold. And finally his T-shirt.
“Oh, Evelyn Boon,” Sia said, holding Jackson’s things against her heart. “Thank you. For keeping it all safe.”
• • •
It took a few minutes for Sia’s eyes to adjust to the sunlight when she walked out of the door of the warehouse. While she’d been finding Jackson, the sky had cleared, and only a few puddles remained as evidence of the earlier deluge. She stood still, waiting for her pupils to dilate and listening to the wind in the trees. When she could see again, she pressed Jackson’s things to her chest and walked up the long, winding road toward her car.
Lost.
Found.
CHAPTER 164
When they passed the teepee, Sia paused. There was hardly anything left of it. A few of the very large logs were still jammed into the sand, but all the others had been washed away by high tide.
“My husband and I used to walk this beach,” she told Sophia. “Every day, just like this.”
“How did it happen?” Sophia said.
Sia smiled. She had an answer now. “He went swimming one morning and the current was too strong. Even for him, the strongest man in the world.”
• • •
When they got to the place where Sia had discovered Toad, Sophia dropped to her knees. The tide was high. “He was right here? Right here?” she asked. She dipped her fingertips into the water.
“Yes,” Sia said.
“You know, Sia, there is an old story in our country about sorrow turning men into fish. Living the rest of eternity in water, the most healing element.”
Sia nodded.
“He was still wearing his black suit when you found him?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what he was wearing when he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“How could he still be wearing it after six months?”
“I don’t know. It’s worn now. Battered. But not as badly as you’d think.”
“Do you believe Tomasso is becoming a fish?”
“Oh, Sophia, I don’t know. Before all this, I would have said no, but now? I keep trying to find some other explanation for how he appeared in all those different countries around the world and I can’t.”
“I can’t either.”
“Richard told you about the puckered wounds behind his ears, yes?”
“And you think they are gills?” Sophia stood. “How can Tomas have gills? He’s a man.”
“I don’t know.”
“You know who would have believed this story?” Sophia asked.
“Gabriella?”
“Yes, that’s the crazy thing. She was all heart.”
Sia knew what she meant. The wee minnow in her middle was stumbling about like a whale.
“Would you like to see him now?” she asked.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER 165
When Sia and Sophia entered the sunroom, Toad woke. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and one of Jackson’s old T-shirts with “Believe” emblazoned on the front.
Sia stepped behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Toad, you remember Sophia, don’t you?”
Sophia moved so that she stood directly in front of him.
He sat up, looked out the window, and folded his hands on his lap.
“Oh,” Sophia said.
Sia knelt beside him. “Toad, maybe you could look at her.”
Sophia sat on the couch, looking as if she might burst. Gumper stood, walked to her, and buried his head in her lap. “You must be Gumper,” she said. “Richard tol
d me all about you.” He purred and stretched. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. Then she stood and walked to Toad. “Tomas,” she said. The familiarity in her voice made Sia turn away.
Sophia took his hand and felt it. Explored it. The cracks and the bulges. The scars. She massaged his feet that looked like misshapen eggplants. “Ah, this,” she said, fingering the strange weblike material between his toes.
“Were his feet like this before?” Sia asked.
Sophia shook her head. “No, no. Nothing like this.”
She smoothed his hair and fingered the pink, puckered wound behind each ear. “And these.”
Toad let Sophia touch him. He let her talk. But he never looked at her. And the look of nothing on his face never changed.
Finally she looked at Sia. “He’s gone, too, isn’t he?” she whispered.
Sia nodded.
“His mother wanted to come, you know. So desperately she wanted to be here. Wanted to hold him. But she is bedbound and has been since Tomas disappeared. She was praying I could bring him home, but I believe she has already accepted what I couldn’t. That Tomas—Gabriella’s Tomato—was already gone.”
• • •
A few hours later, it was just Sia, Toad, Gumper, and the truth in the moonlit kitchen.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Sia said. She opened the door for Gumper and then guided Toad into the night.
As soon as he hit the sand, Gumper raced off in the direction of the clam shack.
“No,” Sia hollered after him, “this way, Gump.” She’d had enough of the clam shack. She headed in the opposite direction, toward the refuge beaches and the big rocks at the tip of the island. Toward Jackson.
They walked in a single file line. Gumper, Sia, and Toad. And as they did, she tried to imagine what was going through Toad’s mind . . . if he would even be there when she finally stopped and turned around to look.
She thought about Gabriella and his little girl slaughtered on the floor of their stone house, twigs from the tree limb the killer used to beat them broken in their hair. Gabriella wrapped around her daughter like the tendril of a morning glory. She forced herself to see the puddles of blood beneath them and the great swirls of it on the walls. Toad just home from work in his fancy barrister suit standing in the doorway, stunned and suddenly lost.