Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

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