All this had gone on without repercussion until the day Lacey had taken her to the zoo. At the time, Amy did not yet fully comprehend that her mother had deserted her—that she would never see the woman again—and she’d welcomed the invitation; she’d heard of zoos but had never been to one. She entered the grounds to an animal buzz of welcome. After the confusing events of the previous day—her mother’s abrupt departure and the presence of the nuns, who were nice but in slightly stilted way, as if they were reciting their kindnesses off a card of instructions—here was a familiar comfort. In a burst of energy, she broke away from Lacey and dashed to the polar bear tank. Three were basking in the sun; a fourth was swimming under the water. How magnificent they were, how amazing! Even now, so many years later, it gave her pleasure to remember them, their wonderful white fur and great muscular bodies and expressive faces, which seemed to contain all the wisdom of the universe. As Amy approached the glass, the one in the water paddled toward her. Though she knew that her communication with the creatures of the natural world was best conducted in private, her excitement could not be contained. She felt suddenly sorry that such a stately creature should be forced to live like a prisoner, sunning himself on phony rocks and being gawked at by people who did not appreciate him. “What’s your name?” she asked the bear. “I’m Amy.”
His answer was a collision of incompatible consonants, as were the names of the other bears, which he courteously offered. Were these things real? Had she, a little girl, simply imagined them? But no; all of it had happened, she believed, precisely as she recalled. As she stood at the glass, Lacey came up beside her. She was wearing a look of deep concern. “There now, Amy,” Lacey advised. “Not so close.” To put her unease at bay, and because Amy had detected in this kindly woman with her melodious accent an openness to extraordinary phenomena—the zoo, after all, had been her idea—she explained the situation as simply as she knew how. “He has a bear name,” she told Lacey. “It’s something I can’t pronounce.”
Lacey frowned. “The bear has a name?”
“Of course he does,” said Amy.
She returned her attention to her new friend, who was bumping his nose against the glass. Amy was about to ask him about his life, if he missed his Arctic home, when the water was rocked by a tremendous splash. A second bear had leapt into the tank. With paws big as hubcaps he swam toward her, taking his place beside the first bear, who was licking the glass with his immense pink tongue. A collective exhalation of oohs and aahs ascended from the crowd; people began to snap pictures. Amy placed her hand against the glass in greeting, but something felt wrong. Something was different, and it wasn’t very good. The bear’s great black eyes seemed to be looking not at her but
through
her, with a gaze of such intensity that she could not look away. She felt herself dissolving into it, as if she were melting, and with this came a falling sensation, like putting her foot on a step that wasn’t there.
Amy,
the bears were saying.
You’re Amy Amy Amy Amy Amy …
Things were happening. Some sort of commotion. As Amy’s awareness widened, she became conscious of other sounds, other voices, coming from all around—not human but animal. The hoots of monkeys. The shrieks of birds. The roars of jungle cats and the concussing hooves of elephants and rhinoceroses stamping the ground in panic. As the third and then the fourth bear leapt into the tank, displacing its contents with their white-furred tonnage, a wall of frigid water bulged over the lip. It crashed down upon the crowd, unleashing mayhem.
It’s her, it’s her, it’s her, it’s her …
She was kneeling by the glass, soaked to the bone, her head bowed to its slick surface. Her mind swirled with the voices, a chorus of black dread. She felt as if the universe were bending around her, swathing her in darkness. They would die, all these animals. That is what her presence meant to them. The bears and monkeys and birds and elephants: all of them. Some would starve in their cages; others would perish by more violent means. Death would take them all, and not just the animals. The people, too. The world would die around her, and she would be left standing at the center, alone.
It’s coming, death is coming, you’re Amy, Amy, Amy …
“You remembering, ain’t you?”
Amy’s mind returned to the patio. Carter was looking at her pointedly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“’Sall right. I felt the same, there at the beginning. Took some getting used to.”
The feeling of summer had faded; autumn would soon come. In the blue-green water of the pool, the body of Rachel Wood would rise. Sometimes, when Amy was tending flowers near the gate, she would see the woman’s black Denali slowly cruising past. Through the tinted windows she could make out Rachel in her tennis clothes, staring at the house. But the car never stopped, and when Amy waved at her, the woman never waved back.
“How much longer do you think we have to wait?”
“That depends on Zero. Man got to show his hand sooner or later. So far as he knows, I’m gone with the rest of them.”
It was the water, Carter had explained, that protected them. Its cold embrace was nothing Fanning’s mind could penetrate. As long as they stayed where they were, Fanning couldn’t find them.
“But he’ll come,” said Amy.
Carter nodded. “He’s bided his time a good while, but the man wants this thing done. It’s what he’s wanted from the start. Everything over.”
The wind was picking up—an autumn wind, damp and raw. Clouds had moved in, denuding the light. It was the time of day when a certain silence always fell.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”
“That we are, Miss Amy.”
“I was wondering if maybe you could drop the ‘miss.’ I should have said that long ago.”
“I just meant it respectful. But as long as you’re asking, I’d like that.”
The leaves were spinning down. They fluttered across the lawn, the patio, the pool deck, tossing in the wind like skeletal hands. Amy thought of Peter, how she missed him. Wherever he was now, she hoped that happiness would find him in his life. That was the price she’d paid; she had given him up.
She took a last sip of tea to clear the blood taste from her mouth and drew on her gloves. “Ready?”
“Right you are.” Carter donned his hat. “We best get to work on them leaves.”
8
“Michael!”
His sister took her last two steps at a jog and wrapped him in a hug that made his ribs crunch.
“Whoa. I’m glad to see you, too.”
The nurse at the desk was staring at them, but Sara couldn’t be contained. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She stepped back and looked him over with a motherly eye. One part of him felt embarrassed; another part would have been disappointed if she hadn’t. “God, you’re thin. When did you get here? Kate will be thrilled.” She glanced at the nurse, an older woman in a boiled smock. “Wendy, this is my brother, Michael.”
“The one with the sailboat?”
He laughed. “That’s me.”
“Please tell me you’re staying,” Sara said.
“Just a couple of days.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I guess I’ll have to take what I can get.” She was clutching his upper arm as if he might float away. “I’m off in an hour. Don’t go
anywhere,
okay? I know you, Michael. I mean it.”
He waited for her, and together they walked to the apartment. How odd it was to be back on dry land, with its disconcerting stillness underfoot. After three years mostly alone, the hum of so much packed humanity felt like something scraping his skin. He did his best to conceal his agitation, believing it would pass, though he also wondered if his time at sea had wrought a fundamental change in his temperament that would bar him from ever living among people again.
With a stab of guilt, he noted how much Kate had changed. The baby in her was gone; even her curls had straightened. The two of them played go-to with Hollis while Sara made supper; when dinner was over, Michael got into bed with her to tell her a story. Not a story from a book: Kate demanded something from real life, a tale of his adventures at sea.
He chose the story of the whale. This was something that had happened about six months before, far out in the Gulf. It was late at night, the water calm and gleaming beneath a full moon, when his boat began to lift, as if the sea were rising. A dark bulge emerged off his port side. At first he didn’t know what it was. He had read about whales but never seen one, and his sense of such a creature’s dimensions was vague, even disbelieving. How could something so big be alive? As the whale slowly breeched the surface, a spout of water shot from its head; the creature rolled lazily onto its side, one massive flipper lifting clear. Its flanks, shiny and black, were encrusted with barnacles. Michael was too amazed to be afraid; only later did it occur to him that with one slap of its tail, the whale could have shattered his boat to pieces.
Kate was staring at him, wide-eyed. “What happened?”
Well, Michael went on, that was the funny thing. He had expected the whale to move on, but it didn’t. For nearly an hour it ran alongside the
Nautilus
. Occasionally it would duck its enormous head beneath the surface, only to reappear a few moments later with a spout from its blowhole, like a big wet sneeze. Then, as the moon was setting, the creature descended and did not reappear. Michael waited. Was it finally gone? Several minutes passed; he began to relax. Then, with an explosion of seawater, it reared upward off his starboard bow, hurling its massive body high into the air. It was, Michael said, like watching a city lift into the sky.
See what I can do? Don’t mess with me, brother.
It crashed back down with a second detonation that blasted him broadside and left him drenched. He never saw it again.
Kate was smiling. “I get it. He was playing a joke on you.”
Michael laughed. “I guess maybe he was.”
He kissed her good night and returned to the main room, where Hollis and Sara were putting up the last of the dishes. The power had been cut for the night; a pair of candles flickered on the table, exuding greasy trails of smoke.
“She’s quite a kid.”
“Hollis gets the credit,” Sara said. “I’m so busy at the hospital I sometimes feel like I barely see her.”
Hollis grinned. “It’s true.”
“I hope a mat on the floor is all right,” Sara said. “If I’d known you were coming, I could have gotten a proper cot from the hospital.”
“Are you kidding? I usually sleep sitting up. I’m not even sure I actually sleep anymore.”
Sara was wiping down the stove with a cloth. A little too aggressively—Michael could sense her frustration. It was an old conversation.
“Look,” Michael said, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
Sara exhaled sharply. “Hollis, talk to him. I know I won’t get anywhere.”
The man shrugged helplessly. “What do you want me to say?”
“How about ‘People love you, stop trying to get yourself killed.’ ”
“It’s not like that,” Michael said.
“What Sara is trying to say,” Hollis interjected, “is we all hope you’re being careful.”
“No, that’s not at all what I’m saying.” She looked at Michael. “Is it Lore? Is that the reason?”
“Lore has nothing to do with it.”
“Then tell me, because I’d really like to understand this, Michael.”
How should he explain himself? His reasons were so tangled together that they weren’t anything he could assemble into an argument. “It just feels right. That’s all I can say.”
She resumed her overzealous scrubbing. “So you
feel
like you should be scaring the hell out of me.”
Michael reached for her, but she shook him away. “Sara—”
“Don’t.” She refused to look at him. “Don’t tell me this is okay. Don’t tell me any of this is okay. Goddamnit, I told myself I wouldn’t do this. I have to get up early.”
Hollis moved in behind her. He placed one hand on her shoulder, the other on the rag, bringing it to a halt and gently taking it from her hand. “We’ve talked about this. You’ve got to let him be.”
“Oh, listen to you. You probably think it’s just great.”
Sara had begun to cry. Hollis turned her around and drew him into her. He looked past her shoulder at Michael, who was standing awkwardly by the table. “She’s just worn out is all. Maybe you could give us a minute?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Thank you, Michael. The key’s right by the door.”
Michael let himself out of the apartment and exited the complex. With nowhere to go, he took a seat on the ground near the entrance where nobody would bother him. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long time. Sara had always been a worrier, but he didn’t like upsetting her; it was one of the reasons he came to the city so rarely. He would have liked to make her happy—find someone to marry, settle down with a job just like everybody else, have kids. His sister deserved some peace of mind after all she’d done, stepping in to look after him when their parents had died, though she’d just been a kid herself. Everything they did and said to each other contained this unspoken fact. If things had happened differently, they might have been just like any other brother and sister, their importance to one another fading over time as new connections took precedence. But not the two of them. New people would take the stage, but there would always be a room in their hearts in which only the two of them resided.
When he felt like he’d waited a suitable time, he returned to the apartment. The candles were doused; Sara had left a mat and pillow for him. He undressed in the dark and lay down. Only then did he notice the note that Sara had propped on his pack. He lit a candle and read.
I’m sorry. I love you. All eyes.—S
Just three sentences, but they were all he needed. They were the same three sentences that the two of them had been saying to each other every day of their lives.
He awoke to see Kate’s face just inches from his own.
“Uncle Michael,
wake … up.
”