Kiss River (24 page)

Clay tried to smile. “Okay,” he said. The conversation had been his idea, but he’d had more than enough of it now. “Are you done with the lecture?”

His father sat back against the bench. “Done,” he said.

“So.” Clay blew out a long breath. “How do Jack and Maggie like day camp?”

Wednesday, April 29, 1942

I
wonder if Mr. Hewitt is sorry he asked me to help him. We’ve exchanged notes three times and I have had nothing to report. (Mama, by the way, saw me go up to the top of the lighthouse before school and asked me why I did that. I said it was so beautiful out today that I just wanted to look at the ocean. I don’t think she believed me. She says I am running wild, because I am hardly ever home.) I’ve left my notes for Mr. Hewitt right where I said, where the coupling is a little loose at the bottom of the Fresnel lens, and our system is working perfectly. I only wish I had something to report to him.

Anyhow, in the note I got from Mr. Hewitt this morning, he asked me if I’d try to have a talk with Mr. Sato. Here’s what he wrote exactly. “Good morning, Bess. Since you know Moto Sato better than a lot of people around here, could you see if you can talk to him? Make it casual, of course. Just see if your intuition tells you something might be going on with him. There’s a rumor that he’s not really crippled. If you can get into his house, look for radio equipment. And check the exterior for antennas. See if you can catch him walking. Or speaking English. Or better yet, German.”

I can’t believe he asked me to do this! I don’t know Mr. Sato at all. I’ve only waved to him a couple of times when I’ve gone past his house on the sound, and I haven’t seen him in months, and I am sure he doesn’t speak English and he’s crippled as can be, so this assignment seems pretty impossible to me. Maybe Mr. Hewitt is giving up on me getting anything out of the boys at the Coast Guard, though.

I’ve spent
a lot
of time at the Coast Guard station. Someone donated them a pool table, and I’ve learned how to play pool. I go there after school. Mama and Daddy think I’m staying late at school to help Mrs. Cady organize some books, which I actually did do one day, but not every day. They would
really
think I’m running wild if they knew I was playing pool with a bunch of boys!

I wasn’t sure how to spend so much time at the Coast Guard station without making Sandy wonder what I was doing there, so I am being careful to act like the tomboy I used to be instead of the young lady I am. I don’t want him to think I’m flirting. He asked me why I’m there so much, and I told him I love playing pool. I hated lying to him!!!!!!!!! It’s the only thing I’ve ever lied to him about. I wish so much that I could tell him what I’m doing. He could help me. I’ve asked Sandy if he minds that I’m at the Coast Guard station so much, and he says he doesn’t. He trusts me. And that makes me feel even guiltier for lying to him.

I talk with the boys about the war, and Mr. Hewitt wrote in his first note to me that I am a great actress. No one would ever guess my real reason for being there, he wrote. The boys must think I am unbelievably curious about what is going on and their opinions about it. But Mr. Hewitt was right. They talk to me easily. I play dumb with them a lot, asking ignorant questions like why we’re at war with Germans in the first place? And I pay attention to who answers me and if he says anything that sounds even slightly pro-German. So far, nobody’s said anything to make me suspicious. When Sandy is around, though, I can’t act that dumb. He knows better and would wonder what I’m up to.

A month ago, I would have been thrilled by the fact that I have now played pool four times with Jimmy Brown! What did I ever see in him? He looks like such a little boy, and he acts so immature, too. Ralph Salmon is probably the nicest of the boys,
after Sandy. He’s a softie. I can’t forget how he threw up when he saw that dead man on the beach. But I am actually trying to spend more time with the boys I don’t know well, Teddy Pearson, for example, and the other ones that keep more to themselves, because if anyone is guilty of treason, it would probably be one of them. Teddy is shy, though…or maybe he is keeping some secrets. I think he likes me, since he always asks to play pool with me, but it’s hard to get him to talk.

While I was there yesterday, a report came in that two more ships had been sunk by the U-boats off the coast of Hatteras. All the boys got real quiet, an angry kind of quiet, I think. I could see both fear and fury in their eyes, and Teddy and Ralph didn’t want to play any more pool. The note I left for Mr. Hewitt last night said that I thought his boys couldn’t be more patriotic and dedicated to their jobs. And that’s when he wrote back that I should talk to Mr. Sato. So, now I have to figure out how to see a man who never goes out of his house anymore. Good luck!

One person I have managed
not
to see lately is Dennis Kittering. I am still annoyed with him for lecturing me about Sandy, but also I am afraid that he might somehow figure out that I am working for Mr. Hewitt. I wouldn’t put it past Dennis to figure that out. That man has eyes in the back of his head.

Wednesday night at 10:00

Well, I talked with Mr. Sato, if you can call it that. Here is what I did: I went to his house over on the sound. His house is right above the water and although it’s like any other sound-front cottage, it has a Japanese sort of look to it. It’s hard to explain. There is a tall, skinny sculpture out front near the road that someone once told me is called a pagoda. It’s almost as tall as me, and I bet it’s the only one in all the Outer Banks. Probably all of North Carolina, for that matter. There are pots all around the deck of the house with these unusual plants in them. They look like bamboo, sort of. Anyhow, I felt right strange going up to that house. I was hoping his daughter-in-law would be there, because she could translate anything I said to Mr. Sato. She speaks Japanese.
She studied it in college and that’s where she met her husband, Mr. Sato’s dead son.

I had a plan. First, I walked quietly around the front and sides of the house, looking for an antenna but not finding one. I couldn’t see the back of the house, though, because it’s on the water. Then I knocked on the door. There was no answer, but then I noticed Mr. Sato peeking out from behind the curtain in one of the front rooms. I realized that he was probably afraid someone might be coming to take him off to one of those internment camps. Even though I
was
there to see if he was a spy, I felt sorry for scaring him.

In a minute, he answered the door, probably feeling safe that it was just a local girl and not the sheriff.

He was in his wheelchair. He is a very cute old man. He smiled at me, nodding over and over again but saying nothing.

Well, I happen to know two phrases in German. My cousin Toria has a German grandma and I used to hear her say them. I don’t know how to spell them, though. The first is “Vee gates?”, which means something like “Hello, how are you?” The second is “Mock dee tore zu,” which means “Close the door.”

So, to test him, I said, “Vee gates?” when he opened the door.

He nodded at me like he might’ve understood me, but I don’t know.

“Hello,” he said back to me in English, but I figured that might just be the one word he knows.

“I was just wondering if I could use your telephone for a minute,” I asked him. That was my plan. I knew they had telephones along that part of the sound, even though we don’t have any less than a mile away.

His smile was an empty one, and I was pretty certain he didn’t understand me. I peeked behind him to see if his daughter-in-law might be home, but was sure by this time that she wasn’t. Her car wasn’t there either.

I held my hand up to my ear as if I was holding a phone, and I pointed inside his house.

“Ah!” he said, nodding, and I knew he understood what I wanted. He motioned with his hand for me to come in, and he wheeled backward to let me past him.

It was the strangest thing, being in that house. I felt like I was
in another country. There were these Japanese screens everywhere, and Japanese paintings on the wall (which I really liked!) and more of those bamboo plants and chairs with bamboo arms and legs. He wheeled ahead of me into the kitchen—he is pretty fast in that chair!—where the phone was, and I cranked up the operator and told her to hook me up to Trager’s Store. I talked to Mr. Trager himself and asked him if he had Cheeri Oats in the store today, because sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t. He knows that’s my favorite cereal, so I thought it wouldn’t seem too strange that I was asking about it. But I’m sure he was still surprised and confused by the call, since I could have just walked to the store from my house on such a nice day, but he told me, sure, he just got some more in, and to come on over and get it.

Mr. Sato wheeled ahead of me back to the front door, giving me just a slight chance to peer into a bedroom and a parlor kind of room before I reached the door. I saw a regular radio, like the kind we have, but I didn’t see any radios that looked unusual. I didn’t have much of a chance to look, really. When we got near the door, I said, “Mock dee tore zu,” even though that means to close the door. I don’t know how to say to open it! He just smiled and nodded at me like he’d done anytime I said something. I don’t think he knew what I was saying. But then, my German is not very good.

I thanked him and said goodbye. Once I got outside, I looked back at his house, trying to see the rear of it so I could check for antennas, and I remembered how he had peeked out from behind the curtains. I should have paid better attention to how tall he’d seemed then. Was he in his wheelchair when he peeked out, or could he have been standing up? I think he’d been down pretty low, so he was probably in his chair.

Anyhow, I didn’t have much of a conversation with him, and I don’t really think much of Japs these days, but he seemed like a nice old man to me. I feel like I’ve failed in my assignment for Mr. Hewitt again. One more time, I have nothing helpful to report.

T
uesday was overcast and strangely cool, but Gina didn’t mind a bit because it made driving more pleasant. She still had no air-conditioning. Someone from the Pacific Northwest was not meant to live in this climate, she thought. Although the air today was still thick and difficult to pull into her lungs, the gray sky and misty haze reminded her of home.

It was late afternoon and her day off, but she was on her way to Shorty’s nevertheless. Today was payday, and she needed her check. She’d told Clay she would save him a trip to the restaurant by taking Henry home, since she was going to be there anyway.

In her backpack, she had a few underwater pictures of the lens that Kenny had given her, and she wanted to show them to Walter and Brian. She had to figure out her next step. Her most extreme idea was to learn to dive. It had been wonderful underwater and the panic she’d expected hadn’t set in at all. But she was afraid that diving would not be the solution to her dilemma. The
lower part of the lens was buried deep in the sandy bottom of the ocean. And that was the part she needed to see.

The back room was filled with the usual crowd—plus one person she had not seen there before.

“Hey, Gina!” Lacey called when she walked into the room.

Gina turned to see Lacey at the pool table, a cue in her hand and Brock at her side. Lacey with Brock?

She walked over to them, unsure of what to say. She’d ignored Brock to the best of her ability since the incident with the raffle money. He continued to order her around as though she was his personal servant, and it took all her strength to serve him without saying a word. If she opened her mouth, though, she was afraid she’d create a scene.

“Hi, Lace,” she said, keeping her voice casual. “Who’s winning?”

Brock was bent over the pool table, his garish arms taut as he took aim with the cue.

“He is,” Lacey whispered so as not to disturb his concentration.

Brock sunk a couple of balls in the corner pocket, then stood up. “Want to play the winner?” he asked Gina, and she shook her head.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m just here to pick up Henry and take him home.” She didn’t mention her paycheck. She would not talk about money in front of Brock.

“I could take him home,” Lacey offered.

Gina shook her head. “No, that’s okay, thanks,” she said. “You have a good game. See you tonight.” She left the pool table, glad to get away from Brock and nursing an unwelcome sense of betrayal. Why would Lacey hang out with the guy who had, in all likelihood, stolen Gina’s money?

Brian and Walter were deep in a game of chess, with Henry watching every move. But Brian pulled his attention from the board as she neared them.

“Hello, girlie,” he said. “Aren’t you off today?”

“Yes, I sure am,” she said, “but I had to come in for my paycheck, so I told Clay I’d give Henry a ride home.” She was glad to see that Henry was not one of the players. She’d been afraid she would have to wait for the game to be over before being able
to take him home. He and his buddies were notoriously slow chess players. They were in no hurry.

“Kenny said he was going to give you pictures of the Kiss River lens,” Walter said.

“He did,” she said. “Want to see?” She rested her backpack on the floor and reached into it to pull out the photographs, which she handed to Walter. He adjusted his glasses this way and that on his nose, finally taking them off altogether and holding the pictures close to his eyes.

“Well, isn’t that something?” he said. “It looks like it’s all in one piece and damn near covered with seaweed.”

“You should show them pictures to Alec,” Brian said. “Maybe if he sees it’s in one piece, he’d give in.”

“No, thanks,” she said. She’d thought of that herself, but was frankly terrified of having Alec trip her up on her lighthouse facts again.

Henry looked up at her. “You ready to leave now?” he asked.

“Is that all right with you?”

He nodded, getting to his feet. “Let’s hit the road,” he said.

Henry put on his straw hat when he left the restaurant, but he took it off again as he got into her car. He was such a gentleman. But not much of a talker. She’d spent time with him at Shorty’s and at the keeper’s house, of course, but this was the first time she’d been completely alone with him. Henry was quiet in a shy sort of way. She apologized for the lack of air-conditioning, and he commented on the rattle that seemed worse every day, but that was about the extent of their conversation. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, though. Not in the least.

She had not been to his house before, and so once she was on Croatan Highway, he began giving her directions. From his description of turns, she guessed he lived near the sound.

“Do you live right on the water?” she asked.

He laughed. “Lit’rally,” he said. “Wait till you see.”

She turned onto a heavily wooded road and soon spotted a solitary house straight ahead of her. Driving closer, she saw that it was actually built
over
the water on stilts. A broad deck surrounded the house on the three sides that hung above the sound.

She started to pull into the short driveway. “What a fascinat
ing—” She stopped her words as well as the car when she spotted the pagoda. It was to the side of the driveway and near the road, a tall, narrow stone structure. “You have a pagoda,” she said.

“Yup,” Henry said. “It came with the house.”

Pressing the gas pedal again, she drove a little farther into the driveway and then turned off the ignition. “I’ll walk you up to your door,” she said.

“No need,” Henry said, pushing the car door open.

“I’d like to,” she said. “I’d like to see the view from your deck.”

“Fine, then,” he said. “I love that deck, that’s for sure.”

He beat her up the three stairs leading to the deck. “Come around the back, here,” he said, pointing to the rear of the house.

She followed him around the back of the house. The sky above the sound was thick with haze, but she could still make out where the sun was burning behind the clouds. A few sailboats floated across the water in the fog. “You must have wonderful sunsets here,” she said.

“Indeed.” He nodded.

“How long have you lived in this house?” she asked.

“Since fifty-three,” he said. “My wife and I had forty good years here. Raised our son in this house.” He shook his head, more to himself than to her, and she imagined he was remembering two of the people he’d loved and lost. “Great place to raise a little tyke,” he added. “That boy loved the water.”

“Why do you think the people who owned it before you had a pagoda?” she probed.

“Oh, there was a Japanese man living here sometime before we moved in. It’s one of them Oriental decorations. I decided just to leave it there. It’s grown on me over the years.”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s very interesting.” She pictured Bess walking around the house, looking for an antenna. “Doesn’t it get lonely out here in the winter?” she asked. The way the house was situated, she wasn’t able to see any other buildings along this stretch of the sound.

He laughed. “It’s not near as lonely here as where
you’re
living, honey,” he said, alluding to the isolation of Kiss River. “At least I’m not that far from stores and such.”

She started walking back toward the steps. “Can I do anything for you before I go?” she asked.

“No, I’m just fine,” he said. “I’m going to have a crab or two for dinner and then go to bed.”

“Okay.” She left the deck and started walking down the driveway toward her car. “It’s good to see you, Henry,” she said, turning around to wave at him.

She watched him wave back as he walked into the apparently unlocked front door of his little house.

Backing out of the driveway, she took one last look at the pagoda and felt a chill. Moto Sato’s house. How amazing.

Clay’s Jeep was in the parking lot when she arrived at the keeper’s house, and she was surprised to see it there, since he usually worked so late. But what surprised her even more was the heady pleasure she felt at knowing he was home.

Sasha greeted her as she got out of her car, and she and the dog walked together across the sand to the house. Clay was in the kitchen, taking a beer from the refrigerator, and a large pizza carton rested on the counter. The scent of pepperoni filled the air.

“What are you doing home?” she asked.

“I decided to duck out early,” he said. “As it turned out, I could have picked up Henry. Sorry.”

“I had to go to Shorty’s anyway, so it was no problem,” she said, slipping her backpack from her shoulders and dropping it on one of the kitchen chairs. She thought of telling him that she’d seen Lacey there, but decided against it. He would not want to hear about his sister with yet another man. Especially not one with tattoos covering two-thirds of his body.

“I have something for you.” Clay twisted the cap off the beer and leaned against the counter.

“Pizza?”

“No. Well, yes, the pizza is for us for dinner. But that’s not it.” He pointed to a wrapped box on the porcelain-topped table. “That’s for you,” he said.

“What on earth?” She stared at the box.

“I saw it and had to get it for you,” he said. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Sitting down at the table, she pulled the box toward her. It was about the size and shape of a shoe box, wrapped in green paper and circled by a thin, wiry ribbon of gold stars. She tugged at the taped edges of the paper to unwrap it and discovered that it
was
a shoe box. Lifting off the top, she pushed aside the tissue paper and her mouth fell open. It was a Barbie doll, an
Indian
Barbie doll, complete with a bright-pink, gold-trimmed sari and a small black bindhi on her forehead. Gina looked up at Clay, speechless.

“It’s for Rani,” he said.

Instantly, she started to cry. They were strange tears, a mixture of joy and surprise and discouragement and hope. And gratitude. She tried to thank him, but the tears got in the way of her speech.

Clay sat down next to her, his hand on her arm. “I didn’t give it to you to upset you,” he said.

She pressed her own hand to her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. “I…I’m overwhelmed. This was so incredibly sweet of you. So kind.” She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “She’s beautiful,” she said, lifting the doll from the box. Sasha walked over to sniff the dark hair, and Gina touched the long, multicolored choli that hung over her shoulder, the tiny gold shoes. “Where did you ever find her?”

“Internet,” he said.

Shaking her head, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her. She could smell the subtle scent of aftershave on his skin, a musky smell that made her want to stay there like that for a while, holding him. Suddenly, though, she felt overcome by a need to be alone. To think. Letting go of him, she stood up.

“Thank you so much, Clay,” she said, placing the doll back in the box and lifting it into her arms. “I think I’m going upstairs for a while.”

He looked surprised. “Don’t you want any pizza?” he asked.

“Maybe later,” she said. “Thanks again.”

In her room—
Bess’s
room—she took the Barbie from the box and sat her up on the dresser, then climbed into bed, under the covers. She was not really a fan of Barbie dolls, but this one was special. She stared at it for a few minutes, then turned her head
to the left to see the brick of the lighthouse, more gray than white against the darkening sky, and she started to cry all over again.

Get a grip,
she told herself. That had to be her focus. The lighthouse. Her daughter. Not the man who cared enough to give her a gift, who validated her longing for her little girl in a way very few people had.