Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

looking for, perhaps that shop would still be there and I’d be able to rent a snorkel, goggles and fins, the way Sally and Jim had. Maybe whoever owned the shop would recognize Sally from her picture. Maybe he’d say, “Yeah, sure, I know her. She comes by from time to time, lives in the area, lives right down the road.” Maybe.
    I zipped the bag closed, then opened it up again and tucked in the copy of the picture Madison had drawn, the one found on Bechman’s desk right after his body was discovered. If I found Sally, if things were going well, she might want to see that, too.
    Still wide awake, I got Dashiell’s food packed, leaving the bag in the refrigerator. Then I made a fire in the fireplace and sat on the floor with my dog, watching the flames, feeling calmer than I’d been since I first took on this case.
    Later, way later, fish swam through my dreams. There were fish with spots like friendly dogs, fish with undershot jaws, fish that swam in schools, all facing the same direction one moment, just hanging in the water as if suspended by invisible wires, then miraculously, the turn unseen, all looking another way. There were rocks in my dreams, too, coral, grasses waving gracefully one way and then another as the current moved them, huge turtles with powerful claws, creatures I couldn’t name, not all of them real. The water seemed to be made of light. No matter how deep I went, I could see everything around me, everything, at last, was clear.

CHAPTER 21

    There were pretty flowers for sale outside one of the ubiquitous Korean delis, one on every third comer. 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.