A Simple Thing (22 page)

Barefoot came back and stood in front of the fire, facing her. “You've got to quit smoking, Elizabeth.”

She raised her eyes to his. “Hasn't killed me yet. Besides, I figure it gives me a shot at dying before you do.”

He shook his head. “You want to go first?”

She took another long drag, and turned her head away from him to gaze at the Kashan silk tapestry on the wall. A path of white stones wound through blooming trees and lush gardens of red and yellow flowers, and graceful birds swooped down from a blue sky. She never tired of looking at it.

“It's hard to imagine my life without you in it,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “Because sometimes I imagine mine without you. Impoverished.”

“What?” She turned her head to look at him again.

“Impoverished.” His blue eyes held hers, pierced her soul. “My life would be impoverished without you.”

“Yes,” she said. “As would mine without you.”

And she raised her glass to the man who wasn't her husband but whom she loved more than any man she'd ever known—here and now and in whatever world, if any, was yet to come.

Chapter 22

Susannah 1978

Susannah's father was cheerful that morning, whistling some old Beatles song in the funny way he had, sucking the air in through his teeth to make the notes instead of blowing it out. Her mom packed a cooler full of sandwiches and blueberries and fudge and Vernor's Ginger Ale. Lila was going shopping in Harbor Springs with her sister, their Aunt Tessa, while Dad took them out in the boat. Susannah was excited about the outing, but noticed that her mother seemed distracted. Her blue cardigan was on inside out. She told them to be careful, but then almost forgot to put Janie's little life jacket in the bag.
You all have to wear your life jackets all the time. I know you're a good swimmer, Jonny, but your dad has to watch out for all three of you, so you have to keep it on. No horsing around. You have to be seated and holding on when the boat is moving
. And Lila avoided looking at their father until they were almost out the door.

“Are you sure this isn't too much, Hank?” Lila said. “Two kids and a toddler on a boat is a lot. Maybe I should come.”

He shot her a serious, angry look that confused Susannah.

“You should stay. I can handle it. Susannah can keep an eye on the baby, and Jon will help with the boat, right?” Jon, eleven then, nodded with importance.

At the last minute, while their mother was off looking for Janie's sun hat, their father slipped a six-pack of beer inside the cooler, and a small silver flask. “Can't expect me to be out in the sun all day and have nothing to quench my thirst,” he said, with a wink at Susannah. She felt a clench of fear but didn't want to jeopardize this special outing.
Mistake number one
.

Her mother ran after them once they'd gotten into the car, and started to say something, but then stopped. “Watch the sky; the weather can come up quickly” was all she said.
As though the weather were the only danger.
She opened the rear door and kissed Janie and Jon, and then leaned through the open window in front to kiss Susannah. “Be careful, Hank,” she said. And Susannah knew then that her mother didn't quite trust him. But her father put a hand on Susannah's knee and squeezed it—reminding her of the secret they shared, like they were friends, companions—and she couldn't say anything about the beer, couldn't do something to cause a fight.

“Take care, Lila,” he said. “Hope it goes well.” Their mother lowered her eyes, unbent from the window, and stood up, smoothing the front of her dress with her hands. Their father looked at her standing there, her hands on her stomach, but he didn't say anything. He pulled his mouth tight into a thin line and turned the key in the ignition.

“We're off,” he said. “See you later.” And they set out for the marina, for the big yellow boat with the dark blue racing stripe and their day of fun.

Susannah saw the bright blue sky above Lake Michigan, the fluffy white clouds. She saw her father standing on the little platform at the back of the boat, his back to the water, knees bent, poised for takeoff. He pushed off and executed a perfect backflip, and she and Janie clapped. Jon tried to imitate him but spun sideways and made a crazy splash that made them all laugh. Their father climbed out of the water, his dark hair slicked back, laughing. He was so handsome, not like other people's dads. He had thick dark hair and bright blue eyes—Black Irish, he always said with pride—and a long torso that was still lean and muscular even now that he was in his forties.

He was in a good mood. He did more backflips. He stood on the platform, bent his knees, and launched Jon from his thighs, rocketing him into the water. Then their dad held Janie while Susannah swam. She slipped off her life jacket, as Jon had, so she could dive down into the cool, murky green water, and then back up toward the sun. It felt good. She and Jon took turns showing off their dives, telling Janie to clap loudly for the dives she liked best.

“Stay next to the boat where I can see you,” their dad said. “No swimming off.” Susannah was happy he was paying attention; it meant she could let her guard down and enjoy the day. She liked the feeling of the water rushing against her skin as she dove down, liked sensing the stream of bubbles that trailed behind her.

Their dad opened the cooler and pulled out a beer. He gave Janie a sandwich. He tore the sandwich into little pieces and pretended Janie was a pelican and tossed bits of it into her open mouth. She loved the game and flapped her imaginary wings with enthusiasm, crowing with delight every time she caught a tiny bit of bread or ham in her mouth. Susannah and Jon practiced their surface dives, and then Jon started mooning Susannah with each dive, his skin bright white against the dark surface of the water. Their dad made jokes about the sun shining on Jon's moon. At last she and Jon clambered back up into the boat and sat down, wet and satisfied, to eat their own lunch.

“My life jacket off,” Janie said, tugging at the tie on her life vest. She pointed at Susannah and Jon, who wore only their swimsuits now.

“No, you've got to keep it on,” their dad said.

“
No.
” Janie said. “Off!” She tugged and tugged at the bow Susannah had tied under her chin, and pulled it loose. She struggled with the buckle at her waist. “Take it off now!”

Susannah looked at her father. Five empty beer cans littered the floor of the boat. She was nervous about the beer. Her father was so unpredictable; you never knew when that particular drink, that last sip, might turn him suddenly from calm and pleasant into something else, something darker.

“Keep your life jacket on, Jane,” she said. “See? I'm wearing mine.” She quickly slipped her life jacket over her head and buckled it around her waist. “See?”

“No!” Janie began to cry. “Take it off!”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! Keep your goddamn life jacket on!”

Susannah and Jon exchanged glances, and Jon picked up his life jacket and put it on.

“See, Jane? We're all wearing them!”

But there was no stopping her now. “Take it off! Take it off!” She began to scream, a shrill, loud, high-pitched wail.

“You have to wear the goddamn life jacket!” their father said.

Susannah heard the edge in his voice. Janie screamed louder.

“You want it off? Fine! Take it off!” Their father leaned over and undid the buckle. Janie, surprised, stopped screaming and looked at him. Tears moistened her cheeks, clung to her long, thick eyelashes.

“Happy now?” he said.

Janie looked at him, put her thumb in her mouth, and nodded. She didn't even take the life jacket off; she just seemed happy to know she could if she wanted to.

“You know, Dad, we should go home soon,” Susannah said. “We told Mom we'd be back by four.” She wanted to avoid any more potential incidents, anything else that could turn his mood.

“We'll be back in plenty of time. Your mother's busy. She's off shopping. She won't notice if we're back late.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tilted his head back, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the sun shine full on his face.

“But we're going to Aunt Tessa's for dinner at five,” Jon said. “Henry and I were going to go blueberry picking before dinner. I said I'd meet him before then.”

“Jesus Christ!” Their father sat up and slammed the beer can down on the dashboard. “I take you kids out for a day on the lake, bring a picnic, swim with you—and all you can do is complain and beg to go home.” He turned in his seat and switched the key in the ignition. “All right, we'll go home.”

Susannah pulled Janie onto her lap and sat down in the cushioned seat at the back of the boat, next to the inboard engine. Their dad was mad, but if they just went home now, it would be fine. She didn't want to be trapped in the small confines of the boat with him if he really got angry. Jon sat on the other side of the motor.

Their dad pulled up the little ladder off the stern and started the engine, and pushed the throttle forward. The wind had picked up since the morning, and the lake now murmured with small waves and tiny whitecaps. The boat sped across the water, bouncing up and down over the larger waves. Susannah gripped Janie more tightly in her arms.

“No,” Janie said. She pushed at Susannah's arm.

Their father pushed the throttle all the way down, and the boat picked up speed, flew across the water. Susannah saw another large speedboat cross a little ways in front of them, also going full tilt. It was white, she remembered, a big white boat. Janie waved, as she did at everybody. The people in the boat waved back. Susannah saw the white plume of water behind the boat, the surge of the wake. And before she had time to think about it, their boat slammed into the wake at full speed.

The impact lifted the boat into the air, lifted the bow up and up so that for one terrifying moment Susannah thought the boat was going to flip. Janie shot out of Susannah's arms. Jon rocketed into the air, landing on the floor by their father's feet as the boat came down. Susannah tumbled off her seat and hit her head against the cushioned edge of the chair in front of her.

“Stop!” she screamed at her father. Jon's cries mingled with her screams. And Janie—where was Janie?

“
Stop!
” she screamed. She lunged forward on the floor and grabbed her father's ankle. “Daddy,
stop!
”

Her father slowed the boat.

“I'm sorry,” he said, over the hum of the engine. “I didn't see that wake coming and I took it a little too fast. No harm done. I—”

“I can't find Janie! I can't find Janie!” Susannah was on her knees now, scrambling frantically in the mass of wet towels and ropes and water skis on the floor of the boat.

Her father looked at her, at Jon, and then at the floor of the boat. His head jerked up and around, his eyes scanning the water behind them. Susannah pulled herself up and looked, too, and could just barely see a bright spot of orange bobbing on the waves: Janie in her life jacket.

“Oh, my God! How could you let her go?” he yelled.

He turned the boat in a wide arc and pushed the throttle down, zooming toward the orange spot.

“Slow down!” Susannah yelled. “You're going to run her over!” She stood next to him, her hands gripping the metal at the top of the windshield, her eyes fixed on the bright spot of orange on the dark water.

“We hit so hard she flew out of my arms,” she said. The horrible cold terror she'd felt when Janie first bounced out of her arms rose into her chest, flowed through her veins, made her teeth chatter. “I
tried
to hold her. But we hit so hard. But if she landed in the water she'll be okay, right? Right, Daddy?”

Her father slowed the engine as they drew closer. He didn't answer.

“I said she'll be okay, right?”

“You should have held on to her,” he said. “I can't believe you let her go.”

He swung the boat to the left and stood on his tiptoes to peer over the windshield and bow.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

Susannah pushed open the glass panel in the windshield and scrambled onto the bow, kneeling against the little silver railing. She leaned forward. There, to the right of the boat, was the orange life vest, floating empty.

She stood up and dove into the water.

The water was cold, cold and darker than she remembered. She peered into the depths in front of her, but then her life vest, tightly buckled as Janie's had not been, lifted her up, up, up, back to the surface of the water. She struggled to take it off.

“Janie!” she yelled.

Her father was yelling “Mayday! Mayday!” into the radio and yelling at her to get back into the boat. Jon was frozen in his chair next to their father.

“Janie!” Susannah fumbled with the buckles on her life preserver. If she could get it off, then she could dive, could go under and find Janie floating, floating, and bring her up and pump the water out of her and make her cough, and then Janie's warm arms would reach up for her and encircle her neck, and she'd breathe her warm breath against Susannah's ear, and they'd all cry and laugh over the scare they'd had.
If she could just get the damn life jacket off
.

“Susannah!” She felt her father's hands grip her arm, looked up to see him leaning over the bow, pulling her back to the boat.

“Get back in the boat,” he said. His eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks wet, a wet stream running from his nose. She stared at him, fascinated. She had never seen her father cry before. “Get in,” he said. “I can't lose two of you.”

“Janie's not lost!” Susannah screamed it at him. “She's not lost! I'm going to find her! Let me go!”

But he held on. He pulled her up by her arms, over the little silver railing, onto the bow next to him. She was no match for his strength. She lay there sobbing and sobbing next to her father, who didn't bother to move but just lay there.

He sat up and put his head in his hands. “Oh, my God,” he said over and over. “Oh, my God.”

He climbed back down into the boat. Jon rocked back and forth in his chair, hugging his knees, crying quietly. Their father looked at him as if he didn't recognize him; couldn't imagine what he was doing there. He looked at the floor of the boat.