Ink and Bone(108)

“How many people die in riptides every year?” Jackson wanted to know. “I mean, statistically, is it common?”

“Just be careful,” Wolf had answered. He didn’t know. “It happens often enough.”

The music coming from their portable Bluetooth speaker was tinny. What was it that they’d been listening to that last day? He wanted that detail. Something alternative and slow, something old. Grace Jones. That was it. “I’ve Seen That Face Before.”

They’d played in the shallows, Abbey with her bucket, Jackson with his net. Jackson, little brainiac that he was, kept walking back to the umbrella for his iPad to try to identify the shells he found. Wolf wanted to tell him not to worry about what they were. Just collecting them was enough. But he didn’t bother nagging. The gulls called, always complaining in their funny way.

“It’s always good here,” Merri said sleepily from her low lounger. She wore a red bikini. She was beautiful; her body toned and caramel, but soft, yielding. There was a wiggle to her ass that was pretty just because it was her wiggle. His wife, the mother of his children; no one and nothing could be more special than that. And yet Wolf had been secretly sexting with an editorial assistant at Outside magazine all afternoon. Nothing had ever happened in the flesh. But he was flirting with it.

That day, so beautiful, so perfect. He’d missed it. His memory of it was more vivid than his awareness had been at the time. And he only remembered it now because Abbey was gone. He hadn’t been watching her every minute, not then, not ever. And the riptide, the dark current that runs under every life, had carried her off.

Today they gathered on the beach in overcoats, hats and gloves, a mean winter sun painting the world a harsh white. Merri held Jackson, who leaned against her, an arm wrapped around her waist. Wolf’s parents stood back, wearing the same stunned expression they’d worn since they learned that Abbey’s body had been among those found up in The Hollows. Merri’s mother, the same auburn--haired, hazel-eyed beauty as Merri, stood behind her daughter, a steadying hand on her shoulder. She wouldn’t even look at Wolf.

They’d tried to keep the church service small, but it had been packed with friends, colleagues, parents of children from Abbey’s school, some of the kids, too. Their friend Bryce who was a singer--songwriter, sang Abbey’s favorite, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Everyone wept.

The ceremony was short and tasteful, the chapel air rich with the smell of stargazer lilies. They considered themselves lucky that Abbey had been returned to them. Two other families’ parents were still waiting; one girl had been missing since the early nineties, another since 2003. At least for Wolf and Merri the waiting was over.

Blake delivered the eulogy.

Our Abbey, our angel, gone too soon.

You’ll live in us always.

And more, so many more eloquent words about her light and her joy and her kindness, a beautiful blur of sincere sentiment that Wolf could barely hear, Merri clinging to him, blank and glassy eyed. It was a tragically beautiful affair after which everyone but they went back to intact lives, a program with Abbey’s shining face folded into pockets or stuffed into purses to be later discarded. Not a keepsake.

But on the beach, it was just those of them with the long stretch of grief and rebuilding ahead.

“My darling girl,” Wolf said. “You will always be with us.”

It was a crock wasn’t it? She was gone, so far away. He couldn’t feel her. The sound of every little girl’s voice reminded him of hers. What had her voice sounded like? Sweet and smoky, full of laughter. He could describe it, but not hear it. His girl was gone.

“But today,” said Merri, rock solid. “Today we let you go.”

And they watched as the wind took her away into the waves and the gray sky.

He’d never seen Merri stronger. The knowing had ripped her to pieces, but she’d reassembled herself stronger than she was before. He laid his hand on her belly, which was already starting to swell just a little—or was it his imagination? Their saving grace. A child was conceived in The Hollows the night they realized that Abbey wasn’t coming home to them.

Their sad and desperate lovemaking, the ultimate act of comfort in an abyss of grief and sorrow, had yielded this gift. In his wife’s eyes now he still saw the depth of her pain and the bright glint of the future, and also her forgiveness. The fact that he didn’t deserve her wouldn’t keep him from accepting her love.

Would he ever tell her that he planned to leave her that weekend that they went to The Hollows? About the dark and ill-defined plan he’d hatched with Kristi, that she’d meet him up there and together they’d break his family apart?

No. Because he was weak, and they’d all lost too much. He’d take this second chance he’d been given. And if there was no such thing as a redemptive narrative, not truly, well, then he’d write one anyway.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


It’s a myth that the life of the writer is a solitary one. Certainly, there are many hours spent alone at the keyboard. But when that work is done, it takes the efforts and talents of a passionate team of professionals to get those words out into the world. I am grateful beyond measure for the long list of people who support and bolster me, without whom I wouldn’t be able to do what I do.

Thanks to my editor Sally Kim who, as usual, brought her wisdom, keen insight, and passion to the manuscript, pushing me to make this book the best it could be, and encouraging me to go someplace I wasn’t sure I could go. Every book we have worked on together is better than it would have been without you.