by Zoe Fishman
“She died, Teddy,” he said. And then his sobs came, his tears melting into Teddy’s hair.
“She died?” asked Teddy, not believing him. His father nodded his head.
“Did Mom die?”
“No, no. Mom is okay. Mom is fine. I’m so sorry, T. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m not going to have a sister?” Teddy had asked, stunned.
“No.”
And they had sat like that for a while, his father crying and Teddy’s head swirling. He had never known someone who died. And even though he had never met Delilah, he had felt as though he knew her. She was his sister.
“Can I see her?”
“No, honey, I’m sorry. She’s gone.”
Teddy hadn’t understood this. “But she was born? And then she died?”
“No, she died inside Mom.”
And that had been the extent of the explanation. Teddy had accepted this, stored this confusing information in his brain, clinging to his father like a life preserver on that scratchy couch as the sun came up through the window, turning the world pink.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Paul
What do you mean, there are no more ferries today?” Paul asked the very overweight, pimply-faced teenager behind the desk. Her head sat directly on top of her bare shoulders, separated only by an impressive swell of chin flesh.
“There are two ferries that leave every day, and three that return. The second and final one left almost two hours ago.” She sighed heavily. “As I just explained to you.”
“There’s no need to get huffy,” said Sylvie, who was standing next to him. “Our son is out there, so we’re understandably concerned for his well-being. Excuse us if we want to be absolutely clear on the schedule.”
“Did the third and final ferry come back already?” asked Krystal.
Paul was continually surprised to hear her voice, to see her beside them. She had barely spoken during the interminable car ride, just put on her headphones, plugged them into her phone and sulked out the window as he and Sylvie exchanged very minimal and terse commentary about their strategy once they, if they ever, got to the goddamn island.
“The last one returns here at 5:30 P.M. Like I told you.”
“Did you see a young boy this morning? Skinny? Twelve years old? With a backpack and a sleeping bag?” asked Paul.
“He’s thirteen,” said Krystal. “He had a birthday?”
Paul glared at her. Sylvie grunted.
“I wasn’t working the morning shift, so I didn’t see him get on. If he did get on. And I don’t, like, examine the people getting off. I have a life?”
“All due respect to your life, our son is in danger,” said Sylvie. “Is there someone you can call and ask? The guy who worked the first shift?”
“Why do you assume it’s a guy?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sylvie hissed. “Could you try to be a little less of an asshole? Would that be possible? It’s our runaway kid who has no idea what he’s doing out there, okay? Is a little empathy too much to ask for here?”
“So can you call him or her?” asked Krystal, interjecting with an apologetic tone. “Is that possible? Just to see?”
“Tony doesn’t have a cell phone,” the teenager answered. “And he’s at his jujitsu class anyway.”
“They have a jujitsu class here in the middle of Bumfuck?” mumbled Sylvie.
“I heard that,” the attendant replied angrily.
“Okay, thank you very much for your time,” said Krystal. She moved away from the desk and waved them over.
“We need to find someone to take us over,” she whispered, leading them out of the office and into the blazing sun. “Obviously Teddy boarded the nine A.M. ferry; the last tracking I have for him shows him here at eight thirty A.M., right after he sent us that text. Either his phone died, or he turned it off himself.”
“Take us over to the island?” asked Sylvie.
“No, take us over to Alcatraz,” said Paul. “Of course the island. What do you think she’s talking about?” He eyed his wife angrily. These pills made her dumb.
“Oh, look, a comedian has joined us!” Sylvie snarled. “Are you practicing your set?”
“Guys, pull it together!” yelled Krystal. “Fighting isn’t going to help us now. We have to act as a team.”
“Krystal,” said Paul, dropping his enormous backpack with its tent and sleeping bags hanging from it like fishing lures onto the concrete, “you’re not even supposed to be here. As a matter of fact, I’d like to know why you’re here.”
“Because I love your son. And furthermore, I’m the only one here who’s clear-headed.” Krystal raised her eyebrows.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” barked Sylvie.
“It means she knows about the pills,” said Paul, not quite believing it himself. If she knew, then of course it was because Teddy had told her. “Am I right, Krystal?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’m not on them,” he declared. “Just her. For the record.”
“They’re prescribed,” Sylvie mumbled.
“Not to you,” said Paul.
“When did Teddy find them?” Paul asked Krystal. He was so hot. It was like his skin was being ironed.
“Maybe two months ago?” said Krystal. “I told him to tell you. He wouldn’t; he said not yet. That was part of our fight.”
“So he knew before I did?” Paul asked. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Sylvie.”
“Okay, I’m an asshole,” said Sylvie finally. “Guilty as charged. But pills aside, here we all are, in a place to which I vowed I’d never return, looking for our missing son. Boyfriend for you, Krystal, I guess.”
“I dunno. Like I said, we’re in a fight—”
“Shut up, both of you!” yelled Paul. An elderly couple walking by in matching baby-blue polo shirts and khaki shorts jumped.
“Sorry,” Paul said to them as they passed, cowering. “Krystal’s right. We have to find someone to row us over. There have to be shady characters around for that.”
“For a thousand dollars a pop, I’m sure,” said Sylvie. “Wait, where’s Krystal?”
They turned from each other to scan the boardwalk. The water was a deep blue and lapped softly at its edges. People of all shapes, sizes and ages in varying degrees of dress wandered by, all sweating profusely under straw brims and baseball caps. Paul’s own cap felt superglued to his forehead.
“There she is, all the way at the end,” said Sylvie. “Talking to some guy. I didn’t even see her leave.”
Paul picked up his giant pack and walked toward her, Sylvie trailing behind him. He hated his wife. Not always, and hopefully not forever, but right now he did. Teddy knew? What must he think? And he hadn’t even felt comfortable sharing this information, this load, with his own father? He thought about the text string from T.B.; Teddy’s concern. Poor kid. Jesus.
“Y’all wanna go over, it’s gonna cost ya,” Paul heard the man saying to Krystal as he approached.
He was a very large man, easily over six feet and had to be close to three hundred pounds, Paul calculated as he stared at him. He was freckled from head to toe, orange freckles on pink skin, and shockingly hairless other than the red tufts poking out from the armholes of his navy-blue Bugs Bunny tank top. His hands were as big as catchers’ mitts, his nails ragged with rings of black dirt underneath each one. He stood with one tree trunk of a leg in what could best be described as a dinghy and the other propped on the dock. He wore no shoes.
“Hello, I’m Paul.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand and was met with a vigorous pump that nearly knocked him over.
“I’m Mickey.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Paul.
“Sounds like y’all are in a bit of a bind,” said Mickey.
“I’ll say,” said Paul. “We’ve got to get over there to find our son, but we’ve missed the ferry.”
“If we can’t get over there in, like, twenty minutes, we may
literally be two ships passing in the night. Or the twilight, anyway,” interjected Sylvie. “I’m Sylvie, by the way.”
“How you figure that, Sylvie?” asked Mickey.
“Well, he may take the last ferry back here, you know? We certainly don’t know. And the goal is to get to that ferry to see who’s boarding before it leaves. Because if he’s back here and we’re out there, well, that’s just ridiculous,” said Sylvie.
Paul had not even considered that Teddy might ferry back here. His son’s intention had been to spend the night on the island; he was sure of it. Then again, he was also sure that Teddy was completely ill-equipped to do such a thing. Sylvie was right that he very well could come back.
“Well, like I said, I can getcha there, but it ain’t cheap,” said Mickey.
“How much are we talking?” asked Paul. “And how much weight can this thing take?”
“Up to a thousand.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
“Do you have life jackets?” asked Sylvie.
“Yes ma’am.”
“So how much, Mickey?” asked Paul.
“Five hundred each.”
“Oh, get out of here!” cried Paul. “Five hundred dollars for each of us? Are you nuts? It’s, what, a twenty-minute ride? Come on.”
“I could lose my license. This is illegal business, you know,” said Mickey. “This ain’t no grocery run.”
“Might you consider lowering your price, considering there’s three of us?” asked Sylvie.
“Three fifty each?” countered Krystal.
“Four hundred is my best and final,” said Mickey. He spat an enormous blob of black tar into a plastic NASCAR cup he pulled out from below the steering wheel. The boat rocked in the water.
“We’ll take it,” said Sylvie. Paul opened his mouth to argue.
“Oh for God’s sake, Paul, are we really going to sit here arguing over fifty dollars? We don’t have time. We have to go. Now,” said Sylvie.
“Okay, it’s a deal,” said Paul.
“Well, I’m gonna need cash,” said Mickey. “Up front.”
“Cash! You expect us to have twelve hundred dollars in cash on us? What is this, Miami Vice?” asked Sylvie hysterically.
“Is there an ATM nearby?” asked Krystal.
“In the office,” said Mickey.
“Okay. We’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” said Sylvie.
“Okay,” said Mickey.
“I don’t even think we’re allowed to take out that much money at once,” said Paul as they all jogged back, his ankle throbbing.
“Well, let’s try,” said Sylvie, panting. “All we can do is try.”
The three of them faced the ATM. Sylvie dug through the backpack to find her wallet. She inserted her debit card.
“Oh fuck me, I can only take out four hundred a day,” she screeched at the screen. “What are we going to do?”
“Take it out,” said Paul. “I have another card we can try.”
“What other card?” asked Sylvie as she grabbed her cash and moved out of the way so Paul could punch in his code. “How do you have a debit card that I know nothing about?” The machine spit out the cash and he grabbed it, stuffing it into his pocket.
“It’s for emergencies,” Paul replied, not looking at her.
“You have a secret debit card at another bank?” asked Sylvie. “What in the actual fuck? You told me you had cut up all your cards!”
“And you told me you were taking fucking Prozac!” Paul yelled back.
“You guys sure do curse a lot,” said Krystal.
“Fuck off, Krystal!” Paul and Sylvie said in unison. She held up her hands and backed away a few steps.
“Okay, I can take out five hundred,” said Paul, returning to the screen. “I’ll explain it to you later, Sylvie, okay?”
“What now? We only have nine hundred,” said Sylvie.
“Thanks, I can add,” said Paul.
Krystal approached the machine, a card of her own in her hand.
“No way, you’re not making up the rest. You’re just a kid. And you can’t use your mom’s card,” said Paul.
“Can’t I?” said Krystal, punching in her own PIN and swatting Sylvie away when she reached out to stop her from keying in the numbers. “What else are we going to do? We’ve got to get on that boat. You’ll pay me back. Okay?” The remaining money spat out of the slot.
“Okay,” said Paul.
“Okay,” said Sylvie. “Does your mom know you have her card?”
“Y’all have your secrets, and I have mine,” said Krystal. “Let’s go.”
Again, they ran, this time back to the enormous red man in his tiny white boat. They shoved the money into his meaty palm and climbed aboard.
“Here’s y’alls’ life jackets,” he said, handing them each a moldy orange vest.
“Where are the straps?”
“Ain’t got none on ’em anymore. You fall in, just grab it around you, like a sweater.”
“A sweater?” asked Sylvie.
Mickey started the engine.
* * *
PAUL EXTENDED HIS hand to Sylvie, to pull her up and out of the boat. As she took it, he was reminded of their wedding. Her mother and father had walked her down the aisle to him, and at the end of it, he had taken her from them just like this, in just this way. In sickness and in health, ’til death do us part.
When you get married and you recite those vows, do you even really know what they mean? Can you ever really grasp them entirely? To him, on that day, he thought as he pulled her up, sickness meant a cold. And death, that would happen when they were well into their nineties. It did not mean the death of one of their children. Paul could not have even fathomed that scenario on that day. And still. He had lived it, he was living it, and the fact that it was his reality seemed impossible. And yet it would always be fact.
“Thanks,” said Sylvie. Paul extended his hand again, this time for Krystal.
“Y’all be careful,” said Mickey. “And good luck.” He tipped his mesh cap in farewell and sped off into the sea.
For a moment, the three of them stood on the island in silence.
“Look, the ferry!” said Krystal. “It’s loading up. Let’s go!”
And so they ran. Again. At this point, Paul didn’t even feel his ankle, which had been throbbing steadily all day. If they could just find Teddy here, boarding the ferry, and go back with him, Paul would change everything. He would really and truly cut up every single credit card he had, he would transfer the money in his secret bank account, he would be empathic toward his wife instead of wanting to kill her, he would enjoy this Bar Mitzvah instead of just enduring it. He would be a better person. He would get his son into therapy.
“Teddy!” screamed Sylvie as they got close to the ferry.
The line of people boarding, almost all of them dyed red by the sun’s relentless rays, turned to witness the spectacle that was the three of them yodeling into the twilight.
“Do you see him?” Krystal yelled. “Has anybody boarded yet?”
“I don’t see him,” said Paul, panting.
“Excuse me, have they let anybody on yet?” Krystal asked a couple with their little girl at the start of the line.
“Do you think we’d be waiting out here in this oven if they had?” the wife retorted.
“Now, come on, Nicole, enough,” said her husband. His eyes were tired, and he was holding their daughter, who was half asleep on his shoulder, her curls tangled under his jaw. “It wasn’t all bad.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Sylvie. She walked down the line, searching for Teddy. Paul followed and then behind him, Krystal.
“He’s not here,” Paul announced. “Teddy’s not here.”
“There’s still time,” said Sylvie. “We’ll wait.”
“Has anyone drunk a sip of water in the last six hours?” asked Paul. “Here.”
He dug through his pack
and handed them their bottles before drinking from his own. The water was still cold. He certainly had his many flaws, but damnit, he could pack a bag.
They stood, drinking and looking, looking and drinking, until the last family boarded and the boat began to pull away.
“Shit,” said Sylvie, shivering despite the fact that the temperature still hovered around one hundred degrees. “Of all the places to bring us,” she said.
“But he didn’t bring us,” said Paul. “That’s the point.”
Sylvie looked at him, really looked at him.
“Oh,” she said. “Right.”
“Guys, where do we start?” asked Krystal. “His phone is still off.” She sighed. “Do we think he’s on the beach or, like, over there in those ruins or what?”
“Well, you have to figure that he’s been here all day. He probably started at the ruins and then made his way to the beach. It’s my guess that he’s at the camping grounds trying to figure out how and where to sleep,” said Paul.
“Paul, it’s not even six o’clock,” said Sylvie.
“So maybe he’s eating over there? I don’t know. I just can’t imagine him on the beach or exploring for any length of time. Can you? I mean, it’s Teddy.”
“True, but I also could never have imagined him taking this trip in the first place, so what do we know?” said Sylvie. She began to cry. “This is all my fault.”
“Sylvie, it’s okay,” said Krystal. “We’re going to find him.” She touched Sylvie’s arm. “Maybe he’ll get lonely and turn his phone back on. I have an alarm set; we’ll know the moment he does, and then we’ve got him.”
“It’s like we’re tracking some kind of endangered animal,” said Paul. “Let’s start at the beach. Everybody keep their eyes open. Wait, Krystal. Are you hungry? Shouldn’t you eat something?”
“Are you hungry?” she asked him back.
“Let’s all have a protein bar. Here.” He took off his backpack and plucked out three, one for each of them. “Take these and your waters and we’ll eat as we walk.”
“Do you think Teddy brought enough food?” asked Sylvie, as they began their trek.
“Probably not,” said Paul.
They walked. The patchy grass turned into sand. A mosquito buzzed in Paul’s ear. He yelled for Sylvie and Krystal to stop again, pulled the bug spray out of his backpack and enveloped them all in a noxious cloud.