The Art of Floating (12 page)

One late August morning, nearly four months after Jackson's disappearance, Sia's house cracked open of its own accord. It began with a simple shrug, like the postman shrugging snow from his shoulders, and it continued from there, as if the house itself could no longer stand the cold, dark existence imposed upon it by Sia's sorrow. The stuffing she had tucked around the edges of the windowsills fell out and disintegrated into dust, most of which was blown away by a great, well-timed wind. The blinds she had secured so carefully with long strips of duct tape swung free, and the sheets of tar paper over the skylights drifted down and settled quietly on the floor. Nails that held the outdoor shutters in place popped free, and the padlocks on the side and front doors gave way and tumbled to the ground. Tired of life on the beach, the mice returned, and within hours they had chewed new holes in the attic rafters and gathered up whatever tufts of stuffing they could scavenge to make nests for their little ones that arrived as regularly as rain.

•  •  •

Because Sia was sleeping when all this occurred, she missed the soulful cry the house uttered as it shook off its mourning coat. The “Ohhhh, enough already!” It wasn't easy holding in all that sorrow, especially for a house that had been so full of love. So when Sia woke to sunlight blasting through the window, she was blinded.

“What the hell?” she shouted. “Who opened that blind?” But even she had to admit that the warmth of the sun on her face felt rather good. And this time it wasn't just Floating Sia talking; it was all of Sia. So she lay there on the bed with Gumper beside her, slowly letting her eyes adjust to the light and her body to the warmth.

•  •  •

The townspeople were delighted when Mrs. Windwill announced that she'd watched one shutter fall from the third-floor attic window and the tiniest crack appear between a blind and a window frame on the south side of the house. (“She saw that all right,” one especially surly doubting Thomas said.)

“It's happening,” she whispered in line at the grocery store. “Sia Dane's house is opening.”

Joe Laslow—sure Sia would have Jilly up on a ladder to hammer the fallen shutter back into place before evening—offered a bet to Lerner Delaney when Lerner challenged his projection.

“No chance of that,” Lerner said. “Sia must be healing up in there. Otherwise the house wouldn't open up like this.”

“Oh, beans,” Laslow said, “shutters fall off houses all the time.”

Laslow was a skeptic, and though sometimes his skepticism helped to temper the town's enthusiasm, this time he was dead wrong. That house had intentions. It was no longer content to mourn, and when the next day Mrs. Windwill announced that a second shutter had fallen free and that she'd spotted a legion of mice marching along the roofline, even Laslow had to give in and hand $50 over to Lerner Delaney.

•  •  •

Two hours after the first shutter fell, Jilly burst through the door and raced up the stairs to Sia's bedroom. “Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Don't be dead,” she chanted, sure Sia was dead.

But there was Sia, propped on the pillows, Gumper by her side, her eyes squeezed open-shut.

“Oh, Sia!” Jilly threw herself onto the bed.

“Hey, Jil,” Sia said. “Can you get me a pair of sunglasses?”

•  •  •

The next day, the townspeople set to work. Finally, after all these months, the wives stepped out of the way and let the men follow their instincts, drag their tools from their sheds, and do what they'd been begging to do for the past four months: paint, prune, polish, trim, and hammer.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Joe Laslow left work early, and after pulling the biggest pair of pruning shears he could find from the garage, he trimmed the hedges in front of Sia's house from the top down. It wasn't an easy job. Hedges that were supposed to be knee-high had climbed to the top of the first-floor window. Laslow started on a ladder and cut from left to right. When the pile of clippings on the ground was ankle-deep and the first-floor windows were visible from the road, he climbed down, bagged the refuse, and started again left to right. By the time he finished, the palms of his hands were blistered and sore, but he didn't mind. He stood in the driveway and admired his work. There was a lot more to be done, including a new coat of paint, but it was a start.

Rhoda Seaburn weeded the flower beds, though only the hardiest and most creative had survived the neglect. Some pansies and marigolds. Hyacinth and phlox. She trimmed the morning glory vines that threatened to quite beautifully swallow the house and broke up the dirt in the garden. Finally she brought in a few new planters, filled them with autumnal mums, and set them on each side of the front door.

Mason Vireo sang while he steadied the mail post. Lily Keith hummed as she swept the sidewalks after Bosco Turner cut the lawn. Mrs. Wysong polished the glass on the sunroom doors, and although her responsibilities as a plover warden were over for the season, she was wearing her official vest and cap. Joe Laslow was wearing his favorite T-shirt: “Piping Plover Tastes Like Chicken.”

A crew from the next town over was called in to replace the roof tiles that had blown off during the summer's tremendous storms, and Lerner Delaney ordered a pane of glass for a broken window.

At 2:00, the pizza parlor delivered slices for everyone, and the townspeople opened a bottle of wine.

“A toast!” Lerner called. “To Odyssia Dane!”

As they raised their glasses, the townspeople murmured a series of
amens
and
hallelujahs
and
it's about times
. They couldn't have Jackson—they'd mostly resigned themselves to that—but Odyssia was once again within their reach.

•  •  •

At 11:00
A.M.
, when she finally stopped sobbing, M, who'd sat in the tree across the lane every day for four months, climbed down, hobbled across the street, and walked into the house on Water Street to give her girl a smooch. Hard calluses had formed on her bottom in the places where the bark was roughest, and her lower back had stiffened from the long stretch of humidity and rain during most of July. But it didn't matter. Sia was back. The house was open.

When Sia looked out the window later that day, she saw the whiteboard propped on M's limb in the tree. It said,
It is all true. Odyssia is here, she is in the house, just as I tell you
.*

•  •  •

“Now can you put that damn book away?”

M closed
The Odyssey
—holding her place with her thumb—and looked up from the description of the Skylla that she'd read so many times she pretty much had it memorized. Stuart rarely swore. She raised her eyebrows.

“I mean it, M. I'm tired of getting in bed every night with Zeus and Circe and Persephone and Teiresias. I want to get in bed with you. Just you.”

M smiled and slid her thumb from the book. “What about Penelope? She's kind of sexy.”

Stuart smiled. “Not as sexy as you.”

M opened the drawer of her bedside table and dropped the book into it. “There,” she said.

“That's better,” Stuart said.

M snuggled against him. “But,” she whispered, “tomorrow when the rosy fingers of Dawn . . .”

“Stop!” Stuart hollered and pulled the sheet over his head.

Only one time had Jackson sneaked Sia to Beach #2 during plover season. “Don't ever do this alone,” he'd said solemnly, “or again.” And not until she'd crossed her heart and hoped to die had he settled them both on the sand, just a few dozen yards away from the nearest plover nest, demarcated with a roomy cagelike contraption.

“Plovers in, plovers out,” Jackson said, passing his spotting scope to Sia, “foxes, raccoons, and other predators, out.”

As the sun rose, the pale birds flitted about the shoreline. “Look, little ones,” Jackson said, pointing.

“Oh,” Sia said when she spotted them, “dandelion puffs on toothpicks.”

Jackson kissed her on the cheek.

When a few gulls squawked overhead, the puffballs scattered and squatted, suddenly and completely invisible, and the mature plover strutted boldly about, calling out warnings and threatening to rumble.

“Brave little thing,” Sia whispered.

“Mumma love,” Jack said.

Richard's Interview with Yancie Stockton

RICHARD:
Were you kayaking near the beach yesterday morning around five
A.M.
?

YANCIE:
Yes, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see anyone walking on the beach?

YANCIE:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
You didn't see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?

YANCIE:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?

YANCIE:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see a man appear on the beach around five
A.M.
?

YANCIE:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach while you were out there?

YANCIE:
No, sir. I don't believe I did. I was fly-fishing.

Richard's Interview with Bill Yeckels

RICHARD:
Were you kayaking near the beach yesterday morning around five
A.M.
?

BILL:
Yes, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see anyone walking on the beach?

BILL:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
You didn't see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?

BILL:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?

BILL:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Did you see a man appear on the beach around five
A.M.
?

BILL:
No, sir.

RICHARD:
Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach while you were out there?

BILL:
No, sir. I don't believe I did. I was fly-fishing.

Richard's Interview with Nancy Saunders

RICHARD:
Were you sailing near the beach yesterday morning around five
A.M.
?

NANCY:
I sure was, Richard. Gorgeous morning. Perfect light. Perfect waves. Couldn't ask for a better way to start the day.

RICHARD:
Did you see anyone walking on the beach?

NANCY:
Gosh, I don't think so. I wasn't paying much attention to anything but the water and the boat. Like I said, it was a gorgeous morning. Usually when I'm out there . . .

RICHARD:
So you didn't see Odyssia Dane walking on the beach with her dog?

NANCY:
Odyssia Dane. Wow, I haven't seen her around in a while. How's she doing? After all that trouble with her husband last year? Things looking up for her?

RICHARD:
She's okay, Nancy. Getting by. But you didn't see her on the beach that morning?

NANCY:
No, I sure didn't. Though I should probably stop by to see her sometime soon. Her mom and I went to school together, you know. We've known each other for years and years. I was at M's wedding way back when. And I once had a crush on Stuart though I don't think I've ever told M about it. Just a schoolgirl crush when we were teens.

RICHARD:
Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, Nancy.

NANCY:
Thanks, Richard.

RICHARD:
Did you see anything unusual happen on the beach while you were out there?

NANCY:
While I was sailing?

RICHARD:
Yes.

NANCY:
That early in the morning? What the heck would I see? Yancie and Bill. Some, including their wives, would probably call them unusual, but beyond that, I can't say I saw anything out of the ordinary.

RICHARD:
Did you . . .

NANCY:
Oh, I know what this is about. That man who showed up on the beach yesterday. That's what this is about, isn't it?

RICHARD:
Well . . .

NANCY:
Now I haven't heard the full story yet, but I heard a little something-something at the bank. Did he show up while I was sailing? Did I miss it?

RICHARD:
Nancy, I can't offer details to you, you know that. But I'd really appreciate if you could just tell me whether you saw a man appear on the beach around five
A.M.
this morning.

NANCY:
Sure didn't, Richard, but I would have liked to. A good-looking gentleman from what I heard. Though if that tail business is true, perhaps Sia should have left him on the beach.

RICHARD:
Do you remember if you even glanced at the beach yesterday morning?

NANCY:
Hm, probably not, Richard. But I will tomorrow. That's for darn sure.

“
Mom, I have to tell her,” Hannah-banana said. Jackson had been gone four and a half months.

“Now's not the time, sweetie. Your dream won't help Sia find answers. It will just present more questions.”

“Maybe she needs more questions.”

“I'm pretty sure she doesn't.”

“How do you know? Did you talk to her?”

“No. It's a grown-up thing.”

“Please.”

“No.”

•  •  •

“I want to write,” Sia said. The house was open, filled with sunlight.

“Do it,” Jilly said. “Sit down at your desk, grab your pen, and write.”

Sia tried.

Three times.

Sit.

Hold pen.

Write.

But?

udder

wilt

reasoned

foliage

laud

indolent

polish

donkey

recoil

cheese

squat

leafy

creak

wedge