His voice raised even louder now. “Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, nobody knows anything. There are five million people in this country, there are one hundred and seventy-five thousand of them living in Limerick, fifty-five thousand of whom are living in Limerick city. How the hell didn’t somebody, even one person, see my brother, somewhere?” He stopped shouting now, out of breath, his throat sore and his eyes full of tears he was adamant he wouldn’t let fall.
Dr. Burton allowed the silence to lengthen. He allowed Jack to gather himself and his thoughts and ponder all that he had blurted out. He went to the water cooler and returned with a plastic cup for Jack.
Jack sipped the water and thought aloud: “She sleeps a lot you see. The times when I need her, she’s asleep.”
“Gloria?”
Jack nodded.
“Do you have difficulty sleeping?”
“I’ve so much going on in my head, I’ve so many papers to look through and reports to go over. Things people said go through my head over and over again, and I just can’t switch off. I have to find him. It’s like an addiction. It eats away at me.”
Dr. Burton nodded understandingly. Not in a patronizing way that Jack had thought would be the case, but as if he had a real understanding. It was as though Jack’s problem was now their problem, and it was time for them to figure it out together.
“You’re not the only person that feels like this and lives like this, you know, Jack. This is exactly the kind of behavior expected after a trauma such as yours. Were you advised to speak to a counselor after your brother’s disappearance?”
Jack crossed his arms. “Yeah, the guards mentioned something, and every day leaflets and fliers landed on my hall floor about joining groups of other ‘sufferers,’ they called them.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Not interested.”
“It’s not just a waste of time you know. You would realize that there are many people in your position suffering from the same effects of losing someone”-and he said more to himself-“or even suffering from losing things.”
Jack looked at Dr. Burton with confusion, “No, no, you’ve got me wrong, I can deal with losing things, absolutely fine, it’s missing family members that I’ve the problem with. My siblings have lost a brother too, and not one of them feels the way I do. I can’t imagine anything worse than sitting in a group and having the same conversations as I do at home.”
“Gloria seems supportive of you. You should appreciate that. I’m sure it’s been difficult for her to lose Donal, but remember not only has she lost him, she’s lost you. too. Show that you appreciate her. I’m sure that would mean a lot to her.” Real emotion slipped into Dr. Burton’s voice and he stood up and walked over to the other side of the room to get himself a cup of water. When he came back, he was back to his cool self. “Do you love her?”
Jack was silent, then shrugged. He didn’t know anymore.
“My mother used to say listen to what your heart tells you.” Dr. Burton laughed, lightening the mood.
“Was she a psychiatrist. too?” Jack smiled.
“As good as.” Dr. Burton laughed. “You know, you remind me of someone, Jack, someone I know very well.” He smiled lightly, sadly, and then returned to his former self. “So what are you going to do?” He checked his watch. “Bearing in mind we only have a few minutes left to tell me.”
“I’ve already started to do something about it.” Jack suddenly remembered why he was here and saw a way in.
“Talk to me.” Dr. Burton leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.
“I found someone in the Yellow Pages, an agency, a missing-persons agency,” he stressed.
Dr. Burton didn’t flinch. “Yes?”
“I got in touch with this woman and we spoke at length about her helping me to find Donal. We arranged to meet last Sunday in Limerick.”
“Yes?” He leaned back in his chair, slowly, poker-faced.
“Funny thing is, we passed each other at a gas station on the way and then she never turned up at the meeting point.” He shook his head. “I really believed and still believe this person has the ability to find him.”
“Really?” Dr. Burton’s tone was dry.
“Yes, really. So I started looking for her.”
“The missing-persons person?” he stated, deadpan.
“Yes.”
“And did you find her?”
“No, but I found her car and I found my brother’s files in her car, and her phone, her datebook, her wallet, and a bag full of labeled clothes all with her name on them. She labels everything.”
Dr. Burton began to fidget in his chair.
“I was so worried about her. I am still worried about her because I believe this woman has the ability to find my brother.”
“So you’re fixing your obsession onto this other woman,” Dr. Burton said a bit too coldly.
Jack shook his head. “She said to me on the phone once that the one thing that would be more frustrating than not being able to find someone would be not being found. It’s her wish to be found.”
“Perhaps she just wandered off for a few days.”
“The garda I contacted said the very same thing.” Dr. Burton’s eyebrows rose at the mention of involving the police. “I contacted a lot of people who know her and they also said the same thing.” Jack shrugged.
“Well, then, you should listen to those people. Leave it alone, Jack. Try to concentrate on dealing with your brother’s disappearance before you start worrying about another one. If she’s been gone a few days and hasn’t been in touch, maybe it’s for a reason.”
“I wasn’t bothering her, Doctor, if that’s what you’re implying. There are a few of us that are worried so we’ve arranged to meet up and do something about it.”
“Maybe she does this a lot,” he said. “Maybe there’s nothing at all wrong with her and she’s gone off on her own for a few days.”
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s been four days since I’ve seen her and more days since anybody else has, unless I find somebody that tells me differently. If that’s the case, then I’ll back off and get on with my own life, but I don’t think she’s wandering, as so many people have said.” He spoke gently. “I just would really love to find her, to thank her for the encouragement she’s given me, for the hope of finding Donal that she has helped me to feel. That hope she’s given me has allowed me to realize that I could find her too.”
“What makes you think that she’s missing?”
“I’m listening to my heart on this one.”
Dr. Burton smiled grimly at having his words thrown back in his face.
“And in case my heart isn’t proof enough for you, there’s also this.” Jack reached into his pocket and gently placed Sandy’s silver watch on the table.
31
It had been three years since I’d seen Mr. Burton. From a distance I could tell that time had aged him well. From a distance it appeared that time hadn’t aged either of us. From a distance everything was perfect and nothing was altered.
I had changed my clothes six times before leaving the bedsit. Feeling mildly pleased with my appearance, I had made my way to Leeson Street for the fourth time that month. I had danced in the halls when I had received his business card. I had skipped down the stairs like a fourteen-year-old on a Monday morning, knowing what and who lay ahead of me that day. I had run from Harold’s Cross to Leeson Street, I had taken the steps up to the grand Georgian door in twos, and I had then frozen as my finger hovered above the intercom button and had quickly retreated to the other side of the road. Close up, it was a completely different picture.
I was no longer the schoolgirl coming to him for help. Now I didn’t know who I was, running from help. I sat across the road on two more occasions, unable to cross over, instead watching as he arrived in the mornings, left in the evenings, and everything else in between.
I sat on the concrete steps on the fourth visit, elbows on my knees, fists under my chin, staring at all t
he feet and legs rushing by on the sidewalk. A pair of tan shoes beneath a pair of blue jeans crossed the road. They walked toward me. I expected them to pass me by and enter through the door behind me, but they didn’t. One step, two steps, three steps up they stopped and sat down beside me.
“Hi,” the voice said softly.
I was afraid to look up but I did. I came face to face with him, blue eyes as bright as the day I first laid mine on him.
“Mr. Burton.” I smiled.
He shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
I was about to call him Gregory when he said, “It’s Doctor Burton now.”
“Congratulations, Doctor Burton,” I smiled. I examined his face, taking all of him in.
“Do you think this week you could move away from these steps and make it inside the building? I was getting tired of watching you from a distance.”
“Funny, I was just thinking that sometimes it’s easier to see things from a distance.”
“Yes, but it’s impossible to hear.”
I laughed.
“I like the name of the building.” I looked over at the brass plate with the SCATHACH HOUSE engraving.
“I came across it advertised for rental in the paper. I thought it was perfect. A good-luck sign, perhaps.”
“Perhaps. I don’t suppose you’re any closer to that bridge we discussed.”
He smiled and searched my face, took all of me in, and shivers ran through me.
“If you let me take you out for lunch, we could see where we are. That’s if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”
“Boyfriend?” I asked, confused.
“The follically unchallenged young male who answered the door to your place a few weeks back.”
“Oh, him.” I shook my head. “That was just…” I paused, unable to remember his name, “Thomas,” I lied. “We’re not together.”
Mr. Burton laughed, stood up, and held out his hand to help me up. “My dear Sandy, I think you’ll find his name was Steve, but not to worry, the more men’s names you forget, the better it is for me.” He placed his hand lightly on the small of my back and I felt a jolt of electricity race through my body. He guided me across the road. “Can we go into my office for just a moment? There’s something I want to give you first.”
He introduced me proudly to his receptionist, Carol, and brought me into his office. It smelled of him, it looked like him, everything about it was Mr. Burton, Mr. Burton, oh, Mr. Burton. I felt like I was wrapped in a gigantic hug, embraced in his arms as soon as I stepped in and sat on his couch.
“It’s a bit better than the one we used to have, isn’t it?” He smiled, retrieving something from a desk drawer and bringing it over.
“It’s beautiful.” I looked around and breathed in his scent.
Suddenly he was nervous. He sat opposite me. “I was supposed to give this to you last month when I called round, for your birthday. I hope you like it.” He slid the box across the veneer cherry table. The box was long, red, and velvet. I took it in my hands as though it were the most fragile thing I’d ever held, and I rubbed my fingers along the soft furry velvet. I looked at him; he was nervously eyeing the box. I opened it slowly and held my breath. A silver watch glistened inside.
“Oh, Mr. Bur-” I started to say, and he grabbed my hand, stopping me.
“Please, Sandy. It’s Gregory now, OK?”
It’s Gregory now. It’s Gregory now. It’s Gregory now. A choir of cherubs sang in my ear.
I nodded, smiling. I took the watch from the box and wrapped it around my left wrist, fiddling with the clasp, still stunned by the unexpected gift.
“If you look at the back, you’ll see your name is engraved.” With shaking hands, he helped me turn it over. There it was, SANDY SHORTT. “May it never go missing.”
We smiled.
“Don’t force it,” he warned, watching me trying to close it. “Here, let me help you,” he said just as the clasp made a snapping sound between my fingers.
I froze. “Did I break it?”
He moved to the couch beside me, all fingers and thumbs as he tried to fix it, his skin brushing against mine and everything, everything, melting inside of me.
“It’s not broken but the clasp is loosened. I’ll have to take it back and get it fixed.” He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice but failed miserably.
“No!” I stopped him from taking it off me. “I love it, I want to keep it on.”
“It’s too loose, Sandy. It may open and fall off.”
“No, I’ll keep my eye on it. I won’t lose it.”
He looked unsure.
“Just for today at least, let me wear it.”
“OK.” He stopped fiddling with it and we both finally stayed still and looked at one another.
“I’m really giving you this to help you with your timekeeping. Three years without contact are not allowed to pass again.”
I looked down and twisted the watch around my wrist, admiring the links of the wristband, the mother-of-pearl face. “Thank you, Gregory.” I smiled, loving how the word felt in my mouth, on my tongue as I said it. “Gregory, Gregory,” I repeated a few more times as he laughed, loving every moment of it.
I let him take me out for lunch and we saw where we were.
Lunch was as close to a disaster as it could possibly have been. We consumed enough food for thought to last us our lifetimes. If either of us had any ridiculous notions that this could be the beginning of something special-and we most certainly did-we were brought to earth by the realization that we were right back where we finished off. Or very possibly right back to Gregory having to walk over razor-sharp grass blades. I was Scathach and my heart was on Scathach’s island in all her and its fierce extremities. I had worsened by the years.
Yet I didn’t ever, not for one day, take my watch off. There were times when it fell, but we all do that. It was put back where it belonged, where I felt and knew it to belong. That watch symbolized an awful lot. The positive side to our learning lunch was that it confirmed that we felt inextricably linked to each other, as if there was an invisible umbilical cord joining us both, allowing us to feed off one another, helping us to grow and give one another life.
Inevitably there was the flip side: that we could tug on the cord whenever we liked, twisting it and knotting it, not caring enough that our twisting and knotting had the ability to choke and suffocate each other slowly.
From a distance everything was great; close up, things were completely different. We couldn’t fight the effects of time; how it alters us, how with each year an extra layer is glazed upon us, how every day we are something more than we were. Unfortunately for me and for Gregory, it was glaringly obvious that I was something and somebody far less than who I once was.
32
Bobby closed the door of Lost and Found quietly behind us, as though the sound would bring the stall owners outside to a stunned silence. I wasn’t sure if this behavior was just another part of his dramatics but I sensed with a mild panic that it wasn’t. Bobby let go of my clammy hand and scuttled off into an adjoining room without a word, closing the door behind him. Through the slit I could see his shadow flickering as he darted by the light, furiously rooting around; moving boxes, scraping furniture across the floor, clinking glasses, making every possible sound, each sound introducing a new conspiracy theory in my suspicious mind. Finally I averted my eyes from the doorway and looked around the room.
I was faced with walnut shelves floor to ceiling high, like in the old grocery stores of decades ago. Baskets were filled to the brim with knickknacks, tape, gloves, pens, markers, and lighters. Others were filled with socks with a handwritten sign excitedly announcing the sale of actual pairs. There were dozens of clothes racks lining the center of the shop, the men’s and women’s sections separated, everything color-coordinated, styles, eras labeled with dates from the fifties, sixties, seventies, and up. There were costumes, traditional clothing, and
wedding dresses. (Who loses a wedding dress?) On the opposite wall there was a selection of books, and before that there was a counter displaying jewelry: backs of earrings, single earrings, some pairs Bobby had matched up despite the difference in their appearances.
There was a musty smell in the shop; everything was secondhand, used, had a history. Thin T-shirts had depth, had layers glazed upon them. There wasn’t the same atmosphere as in a shop of shiny new things. Nothing was squeaky clean and young and innocently ready to learn. There were no books unread, no hats not yet worn, no pens not yet held. The gloves had held the hand of an owner’s loved one, the shoes had walked distances, scarves had wrapped, umbrellas had protected. These objects knew things, knew what they were supposed to do. They had experience of life and lay in baskets, folded on shelves, and hung on racks ready to teach those who wore them. Like most of the people here, these objects had tasted life and then saw it slip away. And like most people here, they waited until they could taste it again.
I couldn’t help but wonder about who was looking for them now, who was tearing their hair out to find their favorite earrings. Who was grumbling and searching in the bottom of their bag for another lost pen? Who was on their cigarette break only to find their lighter was missing? Who was already late for work and couldn’t find their car keys that morning? Who was trying to hide from their spouse the fact that their wedding ring had disappeared? They could look and look till their eyes were sore, but they would never find. What a time for me to have such an epiphany. Here in Aladdin’s cave of lost possessions far away from home. There’s no place like home…the phrase taunted me again.
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