Without a Word (16 page)

There were pretty flowers for sale outside one of the ubiquitous Korean delis, one on every third corner. My mother always told me not to visit anyone empty-handed, and though I'd spent my life ignoring all the things she'd tried to teach me, I could see the wisdom of this particular piece of advice at this particular time. I bought a bunch of red roses, watched as they were rolled into the pretty wrapping paper, cone-shaped, a large opening at the top, a small one at the bottom. I asked for a little card, wrote Madison's name on the envelope and then stood there, unable to think of what to write. Despite the fact that after waking up late, I'd walked Dashiell all the way down to the tip of Manhattan and back, then spent an hour swimming laps at the Y, I couldn't clear my head enough to think about anything but my conversation with Jim, with Madison's father. The little man in the blue apron was waiting. Finally I just slipped the card into my pocket, paid for the roses and thanked him.

But a few blocks later, when I was almost at Madison's house, I thought of exactly what I wanted to say. I took out the card, wrote on it, tucked it back in the envelope and slipped that between the paper and the roses where it would fall out when Madison was ready to put the flowers in water.

Walking up the stairs after getting buzzed in, I unclipped the leash, turned the bouquet sideways and gave it to Dashiell to carry. Madison met us at the door, dropping to her knees, taking the bouquet, putting it down on the floor and throwing her arms around Dashiell's neck, pressing her face against his fur.

“So did your dad tell you? Dashiell's going to spend a couple of days here.” Experience taught me not to wait for a response. “His food is in the shopping bag.” I put it on the dining room table. I put my overnight bag next to it, just a big tote with a zipper on top, a couple of zippered compartments inside. I wouldn't need that much in Florida, a couple of T-shirts, a pair of shorts, a bathing suit and a pair of sandals. I was glad I didn't have to take Sally's old winter coat with me or fly with Dashiell, putting him in the hold.

“You can make the food all at once if you want to, the way we did at my house, then keep the rest in the refrigerator. He eats twice a day,” I said, “but he's not fussy about the time.” She pushed the pair of oversize old-fashioned-looking sunglasses higher on her nose, the white frames heart-shaped, a different pair for every mood, I guessed. “He goes out three times a day, as long and as far as you and your dad are willing to go. And at night, let's see…” I walked past her, down the hall, into her room. I heard Dashiell first, his nails ticking on the wooden floor, Madison, I was sure, her white socks drooping around her ankles, coming silently behind him. I figured Leon would stay where he was, maybe put the flowers in water, hoping that I could have a little time alone with Madison. But when I turned around, Madison was holding the flowers, standing in her doorway, watching me.

“I guess maybe he could sleep right here,” I said, touching the bed, Dashiell sailing up there without further invitation.

“Coffee?” Leon called from the kitchen.

“No, thanks. I don't have time.” Checking my watch, thinking about the traffic on the way to the airport, the road looking like a crowded parking lot unless you were on it at three in the morning.

I pulled Madison in and closed her door.

“Read the note,” I said.

Madison carefully turned the bouquet around, looking for a little envelope stapled onto the wrapping paper, and then she turned it upside down and gave it one quick shake. The envelope with her name on it fluttered down to the floor. She bent and picked it up, putting the flowers under one arm as she opened it and pulled out the card. There was a picture of some flowers in one corner, white daisies with yellow centers, three of them. What I'd written was beneath that. She read what was on the card, then looked up at me.

“That's my cell phone number,” I told her. “In case you have any questions, or think of something you want to tell me. You can call me anytime, day or night. I'll keep it on.” Serious now. Madison, too. She wasn't talking, but she wasn't shutting down either. “Or if you don't feel like talking but for some reason you want to call anyway, that would be okay, too. I'll know it's you. I'll keep the line open until you hang up,” I said. “Sometimes it's nice to know someone else is there, you know what I mean?” I smiled, but she didn't smile back.

She was holding the flowers in the crook of one arm, looking up at me. For a moment, we stayed like that, neither of us moving, the air between us sweet and rich with the smell of roses.

“Thank you for the loan of the picture,” I whispered.

I reached out and put my hand on top of her head and let it stay there a second. “And thanks for this, for taking care of Dashiell for me.” I walked over to the bed and put my
hand on Dashiell's head. “You stay here and take good care of Madison,” I told him, walking out and closing the door behind me.

Leon was waiting near the dining room table. There was so much I wished I could tell him, not about where I was going and what I was hoping to find there, but about Madison, about what we'd done and how it had worked out. I wanted to tell him that she needed some responsibilities so that she could feel essential, that she needed more time with him, quiet time, giggling time, all kinds of time. I wanted to tell him how she'd come into my office in the dark, how she'd crawled into bed with me, how hungry she was for a little affection. But I kept my mouth shut because it wasn't my place to tell him how to raise his kid. I was the detective; he was the parent. And because even if I did, who says I was right? And if I was, who says he could do it anyway? Who says he wasn't doing the best he could, like everyone else? Besides, I had a plane to catch.

I was standing near the dining room table, looking at the pictures of Madison. “Do you have anything recent?” I asked him.

“You want to see some?”

I nodded.

He pulled open the top drawer of one of the file cabinets and pulled out a thick folder, one of those hanging ones with pleats on the bottom. I began to look through the photos, picking out two five-by-seven pictures of her, walking over to his desk and looking at them under the light.

“May I borrow these?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Did you get the medical report?”

He turned and picked up the envelope from his desk.

“Any trouble?”

“None at all.”

I unzipped my bag and slid the photos into the book I'd taken to read on the plane, putting the copy of Madison's medical records next to it. Then I turned around to yell something back to Madison, but there she was, Dashiell standing next to her, his tail wagging. She walked over to my bag and looked inside, reaching in and pulling out my bathing suit. Then she folded it carefully and put it back, slipping off her heart-shaped sunglasses and putting them into my bag, too, zipping it closed for me.

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said. “They'll come in handy.”

I picked up the bag, hoisted it onto one shoulder and headed for the door. Then I turned around one last time. Madison had her hand in Dashiell's collar, letting him know he was supposed to stay.

“Don't forget,” I said, “if you have pizza, you have to let his slices cool before you give them to him.”

Halfway down the stairs, though it was already dark out, I opened the bag and put on Madison's sunglasses. Then I walked quickly out to the street, stood at the curb, lifted my arm and, when a cab stopped, told him which airport I needed.

By the time I got to Long Key, the sun was coming up, the Bay of Florida an emerald green, the ocean aqua. I reached into the tote bag, which was on the passenger seat of the rental car, a silver Mini, and pulled out Madison's sunglasses, the world way too bright without them. The right side of the road was lined with motels and restaurants, but as I kept driving, there was very little again, an occasional motel, small attached cabins in bright colors, a car parked in front of each one, a pool surrounded by a chain-link fence in the middle, then down the road, a convenience store, a bait shop, a gas station, lots of nothing in between.

I hadn't slept at all and decided to stop at the next motel, get some sleep, begin my search for a needle in a haystack when I woke up. The excitement of what Jim had told me had ebbed as I peered out of the plane window into the black night. Anxiety had taken its place. Why would Sally return to the place where she'd gotten pregnant, when her lover had rejected her, when she had rejected the child of that union? What made sense on the beach in Coney Island and then sitting in Jim's car in front of my cottage no longer did. But what in this case wasn't held together by the slimmest thread? I'd get some sleep and see what I could find out when I woke up.

About two miles past Long Key, I saw a vacancy sign, two rows of attached cabins badly in need of paint, a small, sad-looking swimming pool in the space between them, the ocean just steps across U.S. Highway One. Though I hadn't seen another car since I left Long Key, and only two there, both delivery trucks, I signaled, then turned in and parked the car outside the small office. The woman behind the counter, a cigarette dangling from her lipsticked mouth, had waitress eyes—been there, heard that, couldn't give a damn if she tried. She slid a small card across the counter toward me, a ballpoint pen with someone's tooth marks on the cap, and swiveled her chair so that she could pull a key off one of the hooks on the Peg-Board behind her back, twenty hooks, one for each of the beat-up-looking cabins.

“Ten,” she said. “It's away from the road. Looks like you could use some sleep. Some sun, too,” she added. “You're a northerner, right?”

I nodded.

“One night?” she asked. Not a place where people stayed longer.

“Two,” I told her. There was a little plaque on the desk that said P. DeMille, Manager.

“You only have to pay for one now,” she said. “Anyways, you might change your mind.”

I handed her my credit card, watched her swipe it in the machine, wait for it to print the receipt.

“Is there a place nearby where I can get some flippers and a mask?” I asked her.

“Back to Long Key,” she said. “Or just up the road a piece. You can walk it. Hank's. When he's there.”

“He doesn't keep regular hours?”

She snorted some air through her small, wide nose. “Yeah, he does. But not at the shop.”

I waited. Ms. DeMille picked up a crossword puzzle, a pencil, went back to what she'd been doing when I came.

I drove the car to cabin 10, parked in front, shut off the engine, picked up my tote bag and stepped up onto the communal porch, just a narrow deck with two wooden chairs out front. There were only two other cars parked in front of cabins, neither of them near mine.

The key had a long tag hanging from it with the name of the motel, Polly's Motor Park. I looked around behind me, the sun shining on the sad little cabins and on the water of the small pool. Not the place where Jim and Sally had stayed. No pool, he'd said.

Except for the triangular piece missing from the bottom right-hand corner of one of the shades, they pretty much kept the sun out. But since I'd been up all night, it really didn't matter. By the time I slipped under the scratchy sheet, I could have slept with klieg lights shining on me.

I dreamed about fish again, the fish on Madison's walls this time, the ones Sally had painted. They were moving in the dream, and the result was like what you see from a carousel, everything but the horses and riders a blur of colors. I felt dizzy in the dream, dizzy for a while when I woke up. I didn't remember the last meal I'd had. I thought it might be time to find some food, check out Hank's, maybe find him before he went to wherever it was he kept regular hours. I wondered if there'd be a sign on the store saying when he'd show, just in case he wasn't there. I wondered what he'd say if he was, if I showed him Sally's picture, asked if he'd seen her around lately. And what if he had, would he tell a pale visitor a local's business? Would it be like that here? Was that the way to do this, by asking around? Feeling suddenly like a fish out of water. I knew what to expect on my own turf. But here? If I asked about Sally, would Hank tell me, sure, I
know her, or, never seen her, or would he give me a New York answer, “What's it your fucking business?”

I found a coffee shop where I could get greasy eggs and underdone toast, supermarket-brand tea in a mug with traces of someone's lipstick on it. Then I continued down the road on foot until I found Hank's shop. It was two o'clock. But Hank was out to lunch. Or so the sign said.

I walked back to Polly's Motor Park, changed to my suit and headed for the strip of white sand across the road, beyond it, the same ocean that had wet my bare feet when I stood on the beach with Jim. But of course it didn't look the same, dark, nearly a navy blue, in Coney Island after dark. Here, in the middle of the day, the sun so bright that even with Madison's glasses on I had to squint, the water was as pale as light, as if I'd be able to see the fish I'd dreamed of without having to dive.

Waiting for a couple of cars to pass, I thought I should have shown Sally's picture to Polly. A small place like this, wouldn't everyone know everyone? But I hadn't. Was I just too tired when I checked in? Or was it something else? What was I doing here if not looking for Sally? And then I felt it, the fear that all this would lead to a dead end, that I'd have to go back and tell Leon and Madison I'd failed.

There was no sign of life on the little beach. I dropped my towel on the sand and walked into the water, then dove in and began to swim. I swam straight out for a while, then took a deep breath and dove. Even without a snorkel, mask and flippers, I could dive deep enough to see some wonders I'd never seen before, the water clear enough to see some fish beneath me, the silver of their scales shining up through the water. I swam until my head was clear, until I felt strong again, until I couldn't swim any longer. I returned to the beach, put the towel around my shoulders and waited for three cars to pass before crossing the highway and going back to cabin 10. I showered
quickly, changing into shorts and a T-shirt. I slipped the picture of Sally into my back pocket, the camera, cell phone and my money and credit cards into the front pockets and headed first for the office.

Polly wasn't there this time. There was a kid there instead, seventeen, maybe eighteen at most. Bare feet up on the counter, he was reading a comic book, an open can of Coke next to his big feet. His hair was gelled so that it stood straight up. When he looked up, I expected eyes as green as the bay, but they were brown, dark, shining and without a bit of curiosity in them. Except for a handful of whiskers sprouting unevenly on his chin, his face was smooth, nearly blank, too. He didn't ask what I wanted. Whatever it was, he must have figured I'd cough it up sooner or later, let him get it over with and get back to his reading.

“Hi,” I said. Trying not to do this in a New York minute, trying not to stand out as a stranger in town despite my pallor.

“Hey,” he said. “You need a cabin?”

“Got one,” I told him. “I checked in early this morning.”

He looked back at the comic, then back up at me.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” I told him.

He nodded.

I smiled.

“I'm trying to find an old friend of mine,” I said, reaching into my pocket for Sally's picture. “I haven't seen her in years. This is actually from about five or six years ago. And the last phone number I have for her is stale.”

His eyebrows went up.

“Out of date,” I said. “Disconnected. She's not there anymore.”

“Oh.”

“I was wondering if she looks familiar to you, if you
might have seen her around, at the Piggly Wiggly or swimming or something,” putting Sally's picture down on the counter where he could see it.

He leaned over the photo and squinted. “Pretty,” he said.

I waited, but he just sat there, saying nothing, waiting, too.

“But you don't know her? She doesn't look familiar?”

He shook his head.

“Well, thanks. Might as well pay for one more day,” I said, putting Sally's picture away and reaching for my credit card this time.

“Just one?”

“At a time,” I said.

He ran my card. I signed the receipt. I wiggled my fingers at him, and he watched me go.

Five o'clock. Polly was sweeping off the long deck in front of the cabins nearest the road. I walked over.

“I see you got some color,” she said.

“I didn't find Hank in, but I took a swim anyway.”

“Everything to your liking?” Nodding toward my cabin at the end of the line.

“Fine. I just paid for another night.”

“Checkout's noon,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Don't mind if you need a late checkout, though. We're pretty empty and it always looks good to have as many cars parked here as possible. Place down the road? The Palmetto? You probably didn't come that way. You flew into Miami, right?”

I nodded.

“They're jammed. No Vacancy sign hardly ever turns off, name like that,” shaking her head, “no pool, you never know what people want, do you?”

“I guess not,” I said, figuring I should check out the Palmetto next. “By the way, I came down here to look for an old friend of mine. The picture's from when I last saw her, about
six years ago, but I was wondering if maybe you saw her around. The last phone number she gave me, it was this area code,” I shrugged, “but she might have moved or something. It's no longer working.”

Polly leaned the broom against the railing, wiped her hands down the sides of her peach-colored shorts and took the picture, holding it close to her face.

“Pale, like you. She a relative?”

“Uh-uh. We were neighbors, then she moved down here.”

“I don't get out much, dear, just into Long Key once a week for supplies. Bertie takes the desk days and I got a man comes in three nights a week, but this place don't make enough money for me to have a real staff. I'm not complaining, mind you. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. It's quiet here, even in season. Suits me fine. But,” handing me back the picture of Sally, “young girl like that, maybe she went to someplace bigger, someplace with a little more action.”

“I guess.”

I walked back past the coffee shop, wondering what they might be unable to ruin that I could eat for dinner, heading back to Hank's. “Bait,” the sign said, and underneath that, “Masks, Snorkels, Tanks, Boat Excursions Arranged, Ask Within.” I tried the knob, no dice. Then I held my hand over my eyes so that I could see in the window, but there was no one inside the small, cluttered shop. Hank, apparently, was still out to lunch.

I decided to keep walking. I thought maybe I'd find a better place to eat, come up with some other ideas. How was I figuring to find Sally? What had I been thinking?

Despite the heat, I began to walk faster, something to keep my mind off what looked like a failed effort. The Palmetto was just down the road, like Polly said, the green neon No Vacancy sign turned on. I walked into the office anyway,
told my story, showed the picture, watched the clerk shake his head.

“You say she's here, at the Palmetto?”

“Guess not,” I said. “But maybe you've seen her?”

“I'd remember,” he told me, handing the picture back.

I kept going, trying to stay in the little bit of shade there was, once from a huge billboard, several times from a small grove of trees. And then I saw it, a group of tacky white cottages with tiny porches out front, palm trees at the periphery, the office off to the right and the neon sign, pink, the thing that caught my eye, on a tall pole so that it would be visible to approaching cars. The Madison. Below that, “Vacancy,” the first
c
out, the
y
blinking. Is this where they'd stayed? Did this explain the look on Jim's face when I'd told him his daughter's name?

I walked into the office. The clerk looked up at me and smiled. His wizened face was the color of mocha ice cream. I couldn't see his eyes behind his small, round, dark glasses. Then I heard it, a dog's tail thumping against the wooden floor.

“Okay, Ellen, you can go say hello.”

The yellow Lab was old, too, and walked slowly. She still had her leather harness on. Maybe he was the night man and he'd just come on duty and hadn't had the chance to take it off her. Maybe she kept it on while she was in the office, to let her know she might be working at any time. I bent and stroked her big head. Then walked up to the counter, where I'd intended to show Sally's picture.

“Can I help you?” he said, looking somewhere to the left of me.

“I was just wondering if there was someplace good to eat around here. I thought you might know.”

“Why, sure I do. Anita's. Good home cooking, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, Key lime pie. You're not from
around here, am I right? You got to try the Key lime pie before you leave. You promise?”

“I do. And thanks,” I said.

I waited for a refrigerated truck to pass, then crossed the road to the small white beach across from the Madison. The beaches dotted the coastline, trees in between, not a place for much action, for socializing, just a convenient place to swim, if that was your thing.

The beach was empty, a 7UP can half buried in the sand to my right, a broken flip-flop near it. I stood watching the long, low waves come into the shore, then I headed down the road to find Anita's. At least there was one promise I could keep.