The Vanishing Expert Page 10

  They worked well together. James realized from the beginning how much Peter could teach him, and Peter quickly became aware of James’s hunger to learn. Peter enjoyed providing him with increasingly more demanding tasks, and James rose to meet every challenge. The two men developed a mutual respect for one another, and the kind of kinship that each had quietly hoped for when they first met.

  Peter Langston was only fifty-three years old in the autumn of 1990, less than twenty years James’s senior, but he was becoming a kind of surrogate father to James. Each day they worked together, James was reminded of his childhood when he worked at his father’s side as they restored the Chris Craft. His father taught him everything he knew about restoring an antique boat, and James drew upon those lessons even now as he worked at Peter’s side; not just the techniques of working with the wood, but the sweat and the smell and the pure joy of it. It was all one thing. Bud Moody and Daniel Langston had each bestowed the same lesson upon their sons; that Love and Work were inseparable, and that lesson was at the core of the bond that was forming between James Perkins and Peter Langston.

  James vividly remembered the pride on his father’s face when he demonstrated his proficiency with each task, from stripping the wood to repairing the deck beams to tuning the engine. It was the same expression he often saw on Peter’s face now.

  At the Bay View Inn, they started by repairing and replacing some of the exterior trim and replacing one of the big bay windows that faced the harbor. It was the least demanding work of the project, but Peter wanted to finish the exterior work before it got too cold, saving as much of the interior renovation as possible for the frigid months that would soon be upon them.

  They still spent their Friday evenings at The Spinnaker Pub, and James looked forward to those hours spent bonding over burgers and beers, but it was the work he loved most of all. When he reflected upon his journey, he determined that this was exactly the simple life he’d hoped for when he first considered his plan. It was all worth it.

  And it was all about to change.

  When James first moved into his second-floor apartment in Ruth Kennedy’s house on Clark Point Road, the staircase that led up the outside of the house to his apartment was in need of replacement. James took it upon himself to rebuild the stairway in early October. Noticing that Ruth was usually winded whenever she arrived at his door, he made certain to fashion a landing about halfway up with a small but sturdy bench where she could pause to catch her breath whenever she mounted the long staircase to visit him. He never mentioned his motive to his landlady, but the first time she climbed the stairs and arrived on the landing just as she found herself in need of a moment to rest, she understood its purpose and was grateful for it.

  It was one of many small acts of kindness that James had quietly performed since moving in that endeared him to her. More than once he’d taken her to Sawyer's Market in town, helping her with her shopping and even carrying her groceries into the kitchen when they returned home. He often brought Ruth her mail if it was still in the box when he arrived home from work, which was more often than not a convenient excuse to stop in to say hello, which, in turn, was a convenient excuse to check in on her to make certain she was well.

  On Sunday mornings, he joined her at the small table in her kitchen for fresh blueberry muffins and politely listened as she chattered on about anything that happened to cross her mind. None if seemed a chore to James. He enjoyed spending time with Ruth, and he sought out her company as often and as eagerly as she did his.

  He rarely noticed Ruth receiving any other visitors, although he knew she did when he was at work because she recounted their visits in great detail during their Sunday talks. He knew she had a son who lived in Florida who visited at Christmas, and a daughter who was a schoolteacher in Massachusetts who traditionally visited for several weeks during her summer hiatus; at least until this year when she was conspicuously absent. Ruth assumed it was her husband’s passing that changed her daughter’s routine even though her daughter claimed otherwise.

  When James arrived home on the first Friday evening in November, after parting company with Peter at The Spinnaker Pub, he noticed that Ruth’s lights were out, so he headed straight for his apartment. He’d barely reached the landing when he heard the crunching of tires upon the gravel driveway, and he turned and watched as his sister eased her car in behind his Jeep. He drew a deep breath and he smiled as she climbed out of her car.

  “Kate!” he called out, waving to her as he descended the stairs to greet her.

  Kate hadn’t seen her brother on the stairs when she pulled in, and the sound of his voice startled her. It was the first time she’d seen him since that day in May when she plucked him from his boat amid the turbulent seas of Narragansett Bay and then watched as he waded ashore and disappeared in the fog.

  “Edward!” she cried. She ran toward him, launching herself at him as he reached the base of the stairs, and throwing her arms around his neck.

  When they finally pulled apart, James could see, even in the dim glow provided by the porch light, that Kate was crying, and she gently dabbed at her tears with her shirtsleeve.

  “I thought you were coming tomorrow,” he said.

  “I know, but I couldn’t wait.” Kate smiled broadly through her tears. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  “Well, you did,” James said.

  She reached out and affectionately tugged on his beard, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like this,” she said.

  James smiled. “Careful,” he said. “That’s my disguise.” They walked together to Kate’s car, and James removed her suitcase from the trunk. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  “Oh, Edward,” she said. “I’ve got a few things to tell you, too.”

  James leaned close to her, touching her on the arm. “It’s James now,” he said, correcting her.

  Kate drew away, looking confused. “What?”

  “I’m James Perkins now,” he said. “You need to call me James. You can’t call me Edward anymore.”

  Kate stared at him blankly for a moment. “Oh, bullshit!” she said dismissively, channeling Aunt Gin.

  James looked around nervously, half expecting to find Ruth Kennedy peering around the corner of the house. “I mean it, Katy. You need to call me James, or people will get suspicious. I can’t afford to take any chances.”

  Kate shook her head and scowled at him. “I’ve always hated this whole plan of yours, Edward.”

  James glared at her severely.

  “Sorry,” Kate sneered. “How’s this? I’ve always hated this whole plan of yours, Shithead.”

  James laughed. “Better.”

  Once inside, James gave Kate a tour of his small apartment. It was still sparsely furnished with only the furniture Ruth had given him and his mattress, which still lay on the bedroom floor awaiting a pedestal. Kate was surprised by his meager living conditions. In Rhode Island, his home was modest, but Gloria saw to it that it was elegantly furnished and always clean. That was more for Gloria than it was for him, she realized; his tastes were simpler. He had no use for a formal dining room that they visited only twice a year. Later, when she decorated the living room with expensive antiques and an oriental rug that he claimed cost almost as much as his car, that room – which he commonly referred to as “the museum”— became virtually off limits to him as well.

  “Every time Gloria redecorates,” Edward frequently complained, “our house gets smaller.”

  From the beginning, Gloria felt the house was too small. She was always attempting to persuade Edward to move to one of the big colonials a few blocks away, but Edward showed no interest. If he were ever to move, he explained to her, it would be to a house overlooking the ocean. The size of the home never mattered to him; a small home would suit him just fine as long as it provided a view of the sea. Realizing Edward was serious about not moving, Gloria attempted to coerce him into build
ing an addition on their current home, which would allow Edward to stay put and would provide Gloria with the space she felt she so desperately needed. But each time she raised the subject, Edward stood firm.

  “If you really feel you need more space, then empty out the dining room and that museum you call a living room, and make use of the rooms we already have.”

  “All I want to do is make this house a nice place to come home to,” Gloria sulked. “But you don’t appreciate it. Sometimes I think you’d be just as happy living in a trailer with pink flamingos on the front lawn.”

  “And a view of the sea,” Edward added with a sly smile.

  As Kate viewed her brother’s stark surroundings, she wondered if he ever regretted his decision, and seeing her expression, James knew what she was thinking. “I know it’s not much,” James offered. He put his arm around her shoulder and walked her into the small kitchen where they stood facing the window, their reflections staring back at them from the dark panes. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll understand.”

  Confronted with their reflections, Kate suddenly became aware of how thin her brother had become since she last saw him. He always had an average build, but now he was lean and muscular from months of physical labor. When she hugged him, which she couldn’t seem to stop doing, she could feel the tautness of his frame beneath his shirt.

  Before his telephone call to her a week earlier, his whereabouts had been a mystery to her. She’d received a birthday card in August with an unsatisfyingly brief message scribbled at the bottom:

  “Happy Birthday!

  All is well. I miss you. I’ll call you soon.

  Love always,

  JP”

  There was no signature, and no return address, although the postmark was from Waterville, Maine. Despite the curious signature — JP — she recognized the handwriting as being Edward’s. She lay awake that night wondering if the postmark and the signature were clues, and for weeks she waited in vain for a call from her brother, but she heard nothing from him for two months.

  Now she wanted to know everything.

  James told her about the three months he’d spent in Waterville immediately after leaving Rhode Island. He described those first days of isolation as he waited for the news reports of Edward Moody’s disappearance to fade away, which happened much more swiftly in Maine than in Rhode Island. He told her about the construction job in Gardiner, and she watched his mood grow suddenly dark when he described his encounter with Joe Tibbits. He brightened considerably when he talked of his life on Mount Desert Island and the wonderfully exhausting days spent working alongside Peter Langston and his almost instant connection with Jean Berkhardt.

  Kate admitted that she’d never seen him happier.

  He smiled broadly. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been happier,” he confessed. “It’s a simple life, but that’s all I ever really wanted.”

  While she was reluctant at first to spoil her brother’s mood, Kate told him about their father. She spared him many of the details about Bud Moody’s rapidly declining condition. She told him about the difficulty he sometimes had getting himself to the bathroom, but she never mentioned the humiliation in his face when they had to change his soiled clothes and bedding. She shared a few stories of his failing memory, but she glossed over his angry and sometimes hurtful outbursts when a particular memory, or even a single word or name, eluded him. And she never mentioned the episode when she found him curled in his bed, violently sobbing over the tragic loss of his only son. She offered only as much detail as she felt he needed to know, and unlike Aunt Gin, he never demanded more.

  “Does he understand what happened to me?” James asked.

  Kate shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “We tried to explain it to him, a couple of times but he just doesn’t make the connection, so we just let him believe what he wants. There’s no point in upsetting him.”

  James nodded, privately satisfied that he hadn’t caused his father needless suffering.

  “Most of the time he’s very confused about the passage of time,” Kate added. “A lot of the time, he thinks that you and I are still kids, and he thinks that I’m Aunt Gin.”

  She told her brother about the first hours following his disappearance, when everyone was clinging to the thin hope that he would be found alive, and of the next few days when they were forced to accept that he would not. For Kate, those days were difficult for an altogether different reason— knowing the truth but having to remain silent. Even worse, she had to look into the anguished face of her brother’s grieving widow and try to offer her some consolation, knowing it was all a lie. She tried in vain to work up tears at the memorial service, but it was all just too surreal.

  She told him about the morning after his disappearance when the Coast Guard discovered his boat, half-submerged and abandoned. Kate and Kenny had helped Gloria to their car, and without so much as a glance over her shoulder at Edward’s prized antique boat, Gloria lay down across the back seat with her head in Kate’s lap, and sobbed while Kenny drove them all home.

  During the days and weeks that followed, Gloria reached out to Kate. She found comfort in what she saw as Kate’s strength and in her sincere assurances that Edward had gone to a better place. Kate had never been close to Gloria, but she couldn’t help but feel compassion for her.

  “How is Gloria?” James finally asked.

  Kate was wondering when he was going to ask about Gloria, or how much he really wanted to know. “She’ll manage,” she said. “She had a pretty bad time of it at first, but she’s been a little better lately. She went to work for Tom Kendall back in August.”

  “The caterer?” James asked.

  “The money she got in the settlement didn’t last long.” She looked solemnly at her brother. “You didn’t leave her with much, you know.”

  He knew exactly how much he’d left her— enough to settle their debts with a little left to tide her over until she found a job— but he was surprised to hear that she’d gone to work so quickly, and for Tom.

  “Tom Kendall’s been good to her,” Kate said. “He heard about her financial situation, and he called her out of the blue and offered her a job.”

  James smiled. “Tom’s always had a thing for Gloria, you know.”

  “She’s just working for him,” Kate said. “They’re not dating. But even if they were, he’s divorced, and she’s technically a widow,” she suggested. “Besides, you get to move on with your life, why shouldn’t she?”

  “She didn’t waste any time, did she?” he said. It was just an observation, a stray thought. He never even meant to say it aloud.

  “I suppose not,” Kate said. She issued James a purposeful gaze and a sly smile. “So tell me about this Jean person.”

  They talked past midnight and into the early morning hours until they were both too tired to continue. James put fresh sheets on the bed and offered it to Kate, while he slept on the couch in the living room.

  In the morning, James was awakened by the sun streaming through the windows and the aroma of fresh coffee. He wasn’t ready to be awake, but he looked up and saw Kate standing in the kitchen with her back to him, gazing out the window at the view of the harbor. Southwest Harbor was busy at daybreak, even on Saturdays, and James often stood where she was standing now, watching the fishing boats heading out of the harbor. Even without getting up from the couch, he could clearly picture the scene that Kate was admiring at that moment.

  A satisfied smile spread across his face. “Some view, huh?”

  Kate didn’t turn around, her gaze remaining fixed on the view outside the window. “This is what you meant last night when you told me I’d understand in the morning why you loved it here.”

  He got up and walked into the kitchen, and stood beside Kate, right where he’d been the night before when that same window presented them with only their reflections. “My view of the sea,” James said, admiring the scene.

  After breakfa
st at a small café on Main Street, James took Kate for a tour of the island. Kate had arrived after dark the night before, and had only seen what was illuminated by her headlights, noting those few landmarks that James had told her to watch for to find her way. She still hadn’t discovered the beauty of the place.

  He drove her through Somesville and to the eastern shore of Somes Sound, then south toward Northeast Harbor. They stopped and strolled along the pathways at the Asticou Gardens, which were mostly dormant but peaceful at that time of year. They drove through Northeast Harbor— the town— which was a haven for some of the wealthier locals and summer people. During the summer, Northeast Harbor was dotted with sailboats, but it was as dormant and still as the gardens now.

  They stopped at Bracy Cove and James pointed out Long Pond and the two domed peaks in the distance known as The Bubbles, which Kate recognized from an old photograph that once hung in her brother’s home. They walked on the sandy beach at Seal Cove before heading to Bar Harbor.

  “There’s a pretty good chance we’re gonna run into some people who know me in town,” James said as they drove along Otter Creek Road toward Bar Harbor. “I wasn’t sure how to handle that, but there are definitely a few people I’d like you to meet. So as long as you can remember not to call me Edward, everything should be okay.”

  Kate groaned. “James Perkins,” she recited, as if practicing. She seemed to spit out the name as if it had an unpleasant taste, not unlike the way their father spit out the word gruel when referring to the hospital food.

  Edward let out a short laugh. “Or you can always fall back on Shithead.”

  “It suits you,” Kate said, smiling.

  As they drove, James provided her with the version of his divorce and his departure to Maine that he’d shared with Jean and Peter, assuring her that those stories, like most everything else he told them, was some variation of the truth.