“Sounds like you have the facts.”
“I’m local. I grew up in Lewes.”
Special Agent Kingston smiled. “Now you know why we call him Wiki. He’s Wikipedia Brown.”
Special Agent Hallman chuckled, and the van began to slow. Brownish sand drifted onto the asphalt, gritty under our tires, and we turned onto a street that had just a few houses. They were set back from the road, blocked from view by thick scrub pines and arborvitae.
I glimpsed shingled fa?ades, generous porches, and second-story decks to take advantage of the view over the marsh. We passed a small, decrepit house with rusting junk in its front yard, an eyesore among an enclave of nicer homes. There were no cars parked on the street or in the driveways, and I gathered they were vacation homes for the well-heeled, unoccupied this time of year.
I cleared my throat. “What’s the name of this town?”
“Reeford,” Special Agent Kingston answered, looking in the rearview mirror. “Your house is at the end of the street, a dead end. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths. You have the marsh out back and the beach out front, on the bay.”
I could tell he was trying to cheer me up, which I appreciated. “Sounds nice.”
“We’ll be in the au-pair suite, which is detached. It gives your family privacy. Fenced-in backyard for the dog, too.”
“Thanks.” I tried to wrap my mind around it. I hadn’t even noticed the street name. “How long do we stay here?”
“Six months through the application process. Then you make a permanent move. We’ll be there in a few minutes. You might want to wake up your wife and son.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to wake them. I wanted Lucinda to stay in whatever dreamworld she was in, because it had to be better than this one, in which her beloved daughter, her best friend, no longer lived. Ethan, too. He adored his sister, and I didn’t know if he was strong enough to live a life in which he had seen her shot to death, feeling like it was his fault. I didn’t know if we could get him professional help in the witness protection program. I didn’t know anything about the program except what I had seen in the movies. It was the one thing I had never had a deposition about.
We reached the end of the street, then turned onto a large square of driveway. It was of crushed seashells lined with thick railroad ties, holding back brush and trees. Shards popped under our tires as we slowed to a stop, and Special Agent Kingston shut the ignition.
The sudden silence brought up the sounds of Ethan’s snoring, still congested. Lucinda didn’t wake up, but stirred, lifting her head from me and shifting sleepily to the window.
“Jason, you wanna wake up—”
“Hold on.” I got up, eased around Ethan, and left the van, orienting myself. “Mind if I look around a sec?”
“Take your time.” Special Agent Kingston reached for his phone.
I took in the house, elevated on stilts, which was large and traditional in style, with a brown clapboard fa?ade weathering tastefully. A wooden staircase led to a front porch with two rocking chairs and a front door of forest green. There were plenty of windows, their frames a faded white, on both floors. Underneath were outdoor shower stalls next to air-conditioning units and propane tanks on elevated platforms. Next to the house stood a smaller version without the porch, presumably for the FBI agents.
I could see the fenced backyard on the right, and on the left a trail to the marsh, with its tall reeds, brownish creek, and vast expanse of cloudy sky. The air was heavy and smelled briny and organic, like decomposing matter. I turned away and was about to go back to the car when on the other side, I spotted a path to the beach.
On impulse, I went that way. The sand was a coarse light brown, mounded with brackish seaweed and hollow dried reeds that snapped when I stepped on them. The path led over a small dune dotted with grass and cactus, lined with a wooden fence. I kept going to the long stretch of beach, which was completely empty.
The bay’s shoreline was an endless slow curve. The water was gray-blue, lapping against the beach, and the waves rippled in striations of dark blue and black. The breeze smelled fresh and salty, and the sun emerged from a screen of cirrus clouds, glittering briefly on the water.
The sight sent me back in time, and I found myself remembering when I had taught Allison to float on the bay side of Long Beach Island. I remembered putting my hands under her wiry little body as she lay on her back, her skinny arms out, palms up. She was only three, but fearless.
Let go, Daddy! Let me go! I can do it myself!
Keep your head back. Stay straight.
Let me go!
So I did, and Allison had floated, squeezing her eyes shut as water sluiced into her ears.
It had been so hard to let her go, then.
It was impossible now.
I heard my throat catch, emitting a sound I never had before. I couldn’t believe my daughter was gone. I was alone, on the edge between land and sea, earth and heaven, life and death.
Suddenly a magnificent blue heron flew overhead, flapping its angular wings, leading with its long neck, graceful and strong, the hue of heaven itself.
Tears came to my eyes. I took the heron as a sign. It resonated within me. It felt like Allison’s soul, beautiful, strong, and proud, set free, taking flight.
I love you, Al.
I missed her so much. I loved her even more. But I had failed her, as a father.
My daughter believed I had superpowers, but I didn’t. I’d thought I was a good dad, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t saved her life. I had let her down. It broke me in pieces, wiped me out, annihilated me. I couldn’t be the center anymore. I couldn’t hold another second.
I fell to my knees in the coarse sand.
And I cried and cried, for my beloved baby girl.
Chapter Eight
I woke up Monday morning after a restless night, and my first thought was for Allison. I closed my eyes again, hoping it wasn’t true. Hoping it hadn’t happened. I knew it had.
I lay on my back, tried to think of what we did yesterday, but it was a lost day. Lucinda and Ethan had taken to bed, alternately crying and napping, and I had showered, checked on them, and unpacked our few belongings. Somehow we had gotten through the day and the night.
I made myself open my eyes. It was the beginning of the rest of my life, like the posters used to say. They meant everything can change for the better. They never say it can change for the worse.
I missed my daughter with every cell in my body. I knew I would think of her every morning. It had been like that after my father passed. I would think, Maybe I dreamed it.
My heart actually ached, which I hadn’t known was physically possible. I had lost my mother, my father, and Caitlin, but I had never felt like this. Paralyzed, in pain, stuck between mute disbelief and abject despair. Lucinda slept next to me, her back turned. Thank God she had finally gotten some rest. She had been crying most of the night.
I looked around the bedroom for a minute, orienting myself. The walls were painted white, and the room was sunny, with a panel of windows on each side. The right side overlooked the driveway, and the left, the marsh out back.
A cool, briny breeze and the call of seagulls wafted through the screens, billowing curtains in a blue seashell pattern. Beachy watercolors hung on the walls, and we had a blue bedspread patterned with fish. Two white dressers sat opposite the bed, also white, matching the night tables. The only incongruous note was a first-rate alarm system. It worked like ours at home, but had sensors on the windows and motion detectors.