Duma Key(69)

Ilse

My misgivings about the Baptist Hummingbird hadn't faded, and what I thought was she was asking for trouble. But if she was making a mistake about him, it might be better for her to find out sooner rather than later. So hoping to God I wasn't making a mistake I e-mailed back and told her that sounded like an interesting idea, assuming she was okay on her course-work. (I couldn't bring myself to go balls-out and tell my beloved younger daughter that spending a week in the company of her boyfriend, even assuming said boyfriend was chaperoned by hardshell Baptists, was a good idea.) I also suggested it might be bad policy to share her plan with her mother. This brought a prompt response.

ifsogirl88 to EFree19

12:02 PM

February 3

Daddy Dearest: Do you think I've lost my freakin' MIND???

Illy

No, I didn't think that... but if she caught her tenor doing the horizontal bop with one of the altos when she got to Little Rock, she was going to be one very unhappy If-So-Girl. I had no doubt that everything would then come out to her mother, engagement and all, and Pam would find a lot to say on the subject of my own sanity. I had already asked myself some questions on that score, and mostly decided to give myself a pass. When it comes to your kids, you find yourself making some weird calls from time to time and just hoping they turn out all right calls and kids. Parenting is the greatest of hum-a-few-bars-and-I'll-fake-it skills.

Then there was Sandy Smith, the Realtor. On my answering machine, Elizabeth had said I must be one of those who believed in art for art's sake, or Duma Key would not have called me. What I wanted from Sandy was confirmation that the only thing calling me had been a glossy brochure, one that had probably been shown to potential renters with deep pockets all over the United States. Maybe all over the world.

The response I got wasn't what I had hoped for, but I'd be lying if I said I was completely surprised. That was my bad-memory year, after all. And then there's the desire to believe things happened a certain way; when it comes to the past we all stack the deck.

SmithRealty9505 to EFree19

2:17 PM

February 8

Dear Edgar: I am so glad you're enjoying the place. In answer to your question, the Salmon Point property wasn't the only brochure I sent you but one of nine detailing lease opportunities in Florida and Jamaica. As I recall, Salmon Point was the only one you expressed interest in. In fact, I remember you saying, "Don't dicker the deal, just do it." Hopethis helps.

Sandy

I read this message through twice, then murmured, "Just do the deal and let the deal do you, muchacha."

I couldn't remember the other brochures even now, but I remembered the one for Salmon Point. The folder it came in had been a bright pink. A big pink, you might say, and the words that caught my eye hadn't been Salmon Point but those below it, embossed in gold: YOUR SECRET GULFSIDE RETREAT. So maybe it had called me.

Maybe it had, after all.

iv

KamenDoc to EFree19

1:46 PM

February 10

Edgar: Long time no hear, as the deaf Indian said to the prodigal son (please forgive me; bad jokes are the only jokes I know). How goes the art? Concerning the MRI, I suggest you call the Center for Neurological Studies at Sarasota Memorial Hospital. The number is 941-555-5554.

Kamen

EFree19 to KamenDoc

2:19 PM

February 10

Kamen: Thanks for the referral. Center for Neurological Studies sounds pretty damned serious! But I will make the appointment very soon.

Edgar

KamenDoc to EFree19

4:55 PM

February 10

Soon should be soon enough. As long as you're not having seizures.

Kamen

He had punctuated "as long as you're not having seizures" with one of those handy e-mail emoticons, this one a round laughing face with a mouthful of teeth. Having seen Wireman doing a pogo in the shadowy back seat of the rented van with his eyes pointing in different directions, I didn't feel like laughing myself. But I knew that, short of chains and a tractor hitch, I wouldn't be getting Wireman examined much before March fifteenth, unless he pitched a grand mal bitch. And of course, Wireman wasn't Xander Kamen's problem. I wasn't either, strictly speaking, and I was touched that he was still bothering. On impulse I clicked the REPLY button and typed:

EFree19 to KamenDoc

5:05 PM

February 10

Kamen: No seizures. I'm fine. Painting up a storm. I took some of my stuff to a Sarasota gallery, and one of the guys who owns the place had a look at it. I think he might offer me a show. If he does, and if I agree, would you come? It would be good to see a familiar face from the land of ice snow.

Edgar

I was going to shut down the machine after that and make myself a sandwich, but the incoming-mail chime rang before I could.

KamenDoc to EFree19

5:09 PM

February 10

Name the date and I'm there.

I was smiling as I shut the computer down. And misting up a little, too.

v

A day later, I went to Nokomis with Wireman to pick up a new sink-trap for the folks at 17 (sports car; shitty country music) and some plastic fencing at the hardware store for the Mean Dogs. Wireman didn't need my help, and he certainly didn't need me limping around behind him in the Nokomis TruValue, but it was a crappy, rainy day, and I wanted to get off the island. We had lunch at Ophelia's and argued about rock and roll, which made it a cheerful outing. When I got back, the message light on my answering machine was blinking. It was Pam. "Call me," she said, and hung up.