Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

thanked him and turned to leave.
    “You know to spit, don’t you? Into the mask. It keeps it from fogging up. Don’t feel I’ve done right by you big-city folks if I don’t tell you a thing like that.”
    I crossed the road and walked along the ocean side, having to wait for traffic sometimes when there was a tree near the road, the trees that made the beach into separate little coves.
    As the days had passed, Hank had become my best hope. The more frustrated I’d become, the more I’d pinned on Hank. Now all I had was another dead end and no other ideas, no trace of Sally, no hint of Sally, no nothing.
    Getting lost was one thing. Staying lost was quite another. Staying lost meant cutting all your ties, and that’s exactly what Sally had done. She’d left her husband, her child and her home. She’d dropped her education. She’d left her friends without a word to anyone. Hell, if there still was a Sally, if she’d left on her own, cutting ties was precisely what she’d wanted, as far as I could tell. It was the point of it all. So why did I think she’d be here, of all places?
    My flight home was the following morning, and I was ready. No one in the area knew Sally. No one had remembered ever seeing her. It was time to go home.
    But when I came around a huge palm tree to the small spit of land across from the Madison, the ocean beyond seemed not to be water but light, the way it was in my dreams, and there he was. He stood at the very edge of the sand where the water would barely wet his white feet. He stood watching the ocean, like a lonely wife waiting for her sailor’s ship to appear on the horizon. He never turned when I walked onto the little beach, put the bag from Hank’s down on the sand, squatting down next to it. Even when I slipped the camera from my pocket and took his picture, he never moved. He stood still, his attention riveted on the water, the waves just ripples rising up to the sand, nothing like the waves the ocean made at home.
    I knew he knew I was there. I’d seen one ear turn briefly in my direction before facing back toward the sea. Squinting toward the bright ocean, I sat on the sand and kept the vigil with him.
    And then there she was. I saw the tip of her snorkel, her blonde hair, her face, the mask covering her eyes and nose, but no matter. It was Sally. Her hair was lighter than Madison’s, her skin darker, a result of where and how she lived. She was as slim as a young girl and beautiful enough to take anyone’s breath away, beautiful enough to hitchhike down here, even with a dog, to have Hank and everyone else want to protect her from this fast-talking city woman, God knows what on her mind, and for her history teacher to marry her when she’d gotten pregnant with someone else’s child, even when it meant giving up his career.
    When she got in close enough to stand, she motioned to the dog to join her, and from complete and utter stillness, he burst forward, leaping into the water, sending it high like sparks spitting out of a new fire, and headed straight for her.
    They swam together for about fifteen minutes before heading back to the beach. Then she stood, the water still up to her knees, the dog’s feet not yet finding purchase, and she pulled off the mask, shaking water from her hair, bending to take off the flippers. I managed three shots while her face was turned away before slipping the camera back into my pocket. I stood as she stepped out of the water, the dog shaking right next to her.
    She seemed to notice me for the first time, and though the sun was behind her, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes as if the light was too bright for her.
    I said her name and took a step toward her.

Chapter 24

    Sally’s hand stayed where it was, an eave over her eyes.
    “Leon sent me,” I said.
    She turned to face the ocean and sat, her back to me. I expected to see her shoulders shaking, her head drop into her hands. I expected fear, remorse perhaps. But when I walked up to where she was sitting, the sand sticking to her tanned wet skin, I didn’t get either. I sat near her, Roy now at the water’s edge fishing with his white paws the way Dashiell did.
    “I’ve been waiting for this for five years,” she said, “for someone to figure it out. How did you find me?”
    “How isn’t the issue,” I said. “Why is the question.” Sally sighed. “Have you been looking all this time?“
    “No,” I said. “Just about a week.”
    She turned to look at me,