Sea Turtle
He sat inside the boat, opened his laptop to check emails. There it was, the message he had been eagerly awaiting.
Dear Sir,
I have located an address. Local sources pinpoint his location here, saying he recently moved in within the past year.
25 Ocean Lane, Islamorada
I hope this address proves successful. We appreciate your business. Please let us know if you need further assistance.
- Mountain View Investigations, LLC
He leafed through the nautical charts he had stacked by his computer and the map of the Keys tacked to the wall. He traced a line with his finger from his current position to Islamorada, measured the mileage and calculated the time it would take his boat to travel the distance. He looked at the clock. He would not have enough time to make the trip today, and actually do the legwork required. And if it was successful? Then what? He had imagined the scenario in his mind so many times over the years, even more so over the last 8 days. So many possibilities. So many outcomes, like a Choose Your Own Adventure story. But he knew that no matter how many endings he had pictured, it would be the one he couldn't imagine that would happen.
He typed a reply:
Dear Sir,
Thank you for the information. I have transferred payment to your PayPal as requested. I will contact you if I require further assistance.
He clicked "send" and closed the laptop.
It was too late to travel the distance today, but it was not too late to prepare for the journey. He charted his path, double and triple checked the weather. Checked his fuel tank, emergency kit, batteries, engine oil. He looked at the dot he marked on the map, 25 Ocean Lane, Islamorada. He smiled. For the first time in ages he smiled. It felt foreign on his face, a muscle memory faded long ago, faded when he had been forced to say goodbye. Goodbye to his mother and to everything he had known. But he smiled now. Smiled at the possibility, smiled with hope at what could be the end of his journey – or just the beginning.
***
He awoke long before the sun and checked the weather one last time. There was nothing in the forecast to concern him, nothing on the horizon. He made himself a cup of instant coffee with milk, a disgusting practice his father said he learned from his grandmother.
He took his coffee to the dock and put his bike back on board. He untied the boat and looked over at the mysterious cottage. With no light on, it again appeared abandoned. But he knew life dwelt within its walls, youthful life, evolving life. He wheeled the bicycle on deck and chained it to the side out of the way. Turning the ignition key, the boat came to life and his journey continued.
The sea was a different beast in the dark, the black waves carrying secrets from the depths, depositing them on the shore. The cold he felt was not simply lack of sun, but a fear from prehistoric days deep inside his genes where his primitive instincts told him to stay away from the dark. But the warm gilded globe exposed the top of its bald head, and with it came a glint of gold on the sparkling waters ahead.
Against the horizon, he spotted the unmistakable dorsal fin of a lone dolphin, its black silhouette dancing against the blue sky. A deep chill scattered goosebumps up his back and down his arms, but there was no sudden breeze. It came from within, a hidden memory packed away, covered in dust and cobwebs. He removed the dusty lid and sifted through the stored memories like a faded photo album. It was just a spark at first, then a shadow, then a blurry outline that became clearer the harder he thought.
It was his mother, holding him on her lap, her green eyes sparkling like the water, her raven colored hair a black pirate flag in the wind. They sat on a rock formation in the ocean, feet dangling in the sea. He was small, so small, but he felt so safe in her arms. His mother attempted to whistle with her thumb and forefinger, but ended up blowing a raspberry sound instead. She laughed, and he laughed. They were always laughing.
"Your father does this much better than I do," she had said. "You try."
He put his chubby fist to his mouth and blew, but faired no better than his mom.
"How about the old-fashioned way then?" his mother suggested and whistled through encircled lips. "Now your turn."
He blew through his lips, but only emitted a wet sound like a child blowing out birthday candles. His mom squeezed him. "You'll get it soon."
She whistled again. "Now we watch and wait," she whispered in his ear.
He remembered the excitement that trembled inside him, how he burrowed into his mother's warmth and held his breath. The waters parted in front of them as a bottlenose dolphin made its way toward them. The young boy squealed and pulled his feet quickly out of the water onto his mother's knees.
"It's okay," she reassured him. "You don't have to be afraid. She's friendly."
The dolphin poked its gregarious face out of the waves and cackled.
"This is Tammy," the mom told her son. "Your dad introduced her to me about a year before you were born. He's known her for a long time. He named her after his mother. I thought it was time she met you."
She took his small hand and placed it on the dolphin's nose. It wasn't a plastic thing like he'd imagined, but a warm skin quivering with life underneath.
"Mommy, what's that?" he asked, pointing to a crescent shaped notch on the dolphin's dorsal fin.
"That's a scar. Sometime after I met her, Tammy met up with a hungry shark who thought she'd make a nice meal, but she was too smart for that."
"He tried to eat her?" the wide-eyed boy asked in horror.
"That's how nature works," she had said. "It doesn't always seem fair, but some animals have to eat other animals to live. And if nobody ate animals, there would be too many animals, and not enough plants for them to eat, and they would starve. It's a delicate balance, but a necessary one.
"But Tammy was smart and strong, and she got away. She now has what they call a battle scar on her fin."
The little boy wiped tears from his eyes.
"What's wrong, sweetie? Tammy's fine, see? Dolphins heal very quickly."
The boy looked at his mom, his emerald eyes the same as hers, glistening with his tears. "But what about the shark? Now he can't eat and he'll starve."
The mother looked at her son with such pride. "You, my little man, have the biggest heart of anyone I've known, and I love you so much for that! You don't have to worry for that shark. I'm certain he found dinner. He probably found an old, sick fish that was in pain and suffering, and he put it out of its misery. Come here." She cradled the boy in her arms and kissed the top of his head, where the humid sea air made his sandy curls almost ringlets.
The picture in his head faded again to shadow, and he lost sight of the dolphin on the horizon.
The man guided his boat according to the charts and GPS, arriving at the Coral Bay Marina on Islamorada shortly after eight o'clock. Uncertain of what lie ahead, he made a quick sandwich of pickles and American cheese between two slices of whole wheat bread and devoured it in four bites, slugging down a bottle of lemon flavored water. He packed a backpack with another bottle of lemon water, some papers, a cereal bar. He tied his boat to the public dock and wheeled his bicycle to shore.
He pedaled to the address he had paid for, but the opulence which dripped from the property, and the meticulousness with which it was maintained, deflated him. This was not the home of a man who had disappeared with grief. Nor was this the home of a scientist. Nevertheless, he approached the front door and knocked.
After several moments, the door opened and revealed a sun-stained woman in her sunset years, clad in a multicolored floral tent dress and a burgundy and orange turban. At least seven gold necklaces hung from her spotted neck, and not to be outdone, gold bangles of an infinite number jangled on her wrists. "The pool's around back," she said, pointing with her red tipped finger.
"I'm looking for a man," he said.
"So am I," said the woman, not missing a beat. She winked.
He couldn't help but smile. He tried again. "I'm looking for this man. Do you know him? I was told he lived here." He held out the computer printout he had packed.
The woman took it in her knobby, speckled hand. She studied it, then looked back at the young man. "So you aren't here to clean the pool?"
"No ma'am, I'm afraid not," he answered.
"That's a shame," she said. "You're much better looking than that regular guy they send. He has a nose like a pig."
The man chuckled. "Sorry," he said. "But do you recognize the man in the photo?"
"Oh, I can't see a thing without my readers. Come on in while I look for them." He followed her inside and waited in the foyer until she called for him to come with her. She led him to the kitchen where she sat at the table and put on her leopard print reading glasses.
"Heavens, he's handsome, too!" she remarked. "Look at those blue eyes. Like the ocean."
"Do you know him?"
"I wish I did. Someone said he lives here?"
He nodded.
"I'd have known if he lived here," she smiled devilishly.
"Have you lived here long?"
"It's been five years in May. I know because my husband Lloyd passed away the previous January –"
"—I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. He wore out his welcome. But once he was gone, I couldn't wait to move the hell away from Bismark and here to the Keys. Always sunny and 80 degrees."
"It is beautiful here. Five years, huh. Did you know the previous owners?"
"It was vacant two years before I bought it, which is why it was so affordable. I had a lot of work done to the place – you wouldn't have recognized it." She looked at the picture again. "I can't say I've ever seen him. What did you say his name was?"
"Christian Wolf."
She paused, letting the name drift through her memories. She shook her head. "I think the name of the owner before me was Steinbeck or Bernstein or some kind of Stein. I'm afraid I can't be of help to you. Is he dangerous? Should I be concerned that he'll come back?"
"Not at all," the man said quickly. He did not want to frighten the old woman. And as far as he knew, there was no reason for concern. "He's an old teacher of mine. I was in the area and wanted to catch up. You know, tell him how much he influenced my life." He did not want to lie to the sweet lady, but he had no choice.
"Oh, isn't that nice," she remarked. "I bet he would have been delighted to hear that."
"Do you happen to the have the number or address for Steinbeck or Bernstein or whoever? They may know if he owned the house before them."
The woman shook her head. "My daughter handled the sale. I don't have any of that information. I'm terribly sorry."
"Your daughter," he said. "Would you mind if I called her?"
"She's overseas, doing mission work in Kenya," the old woman said. "She won't be back stateside until March, I'm afraid."
"Oh wow," he said. "You must be proud of her."
The woman beamed. "I am. She is a selfless human being, and I am so proud of her."
"That's great," he said, unable to hide the sadness in his eyes.
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," said the woman, replying to the sadness she misinterpreted in his face.
"That's okay," he answered. "I understand. I really appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. I'd be happy to net your pool as a thank you, since you were expecting someone."
"I won't have you doing that," she said. "It was my pleasure. You don't have people knocking on doors so much anymore. It was a welcome surprise for an old broad like me."
He smiled. "I really don't mind being put to work," he said.
"I'll wait for the pig nose," she said. "He's not much to look at, but he does fine work."
"Well, all right then," the young man said. "I'll see myself out."
"Oh no you won't," the woman disputed. "I will walk you out. I may be old, but my manners aren't out-of-date." She took hold of his arm and walked him back through the house to the front door.
He looked about the house and tried to picture Christian Wolf within these walls, watching nature programs in the living room, eating cereal in the kitchen, drinking a beer on the back patio watching a sunset, thinking of him. A lump of sorrow sat in his throat, refused to move until it managed to push its way up and trickle out of his eyes in a mist. He blinked his eyes repeatedly, trying to erase the evidence before his companion noticed. He cleared his throat, scraping out the last remnants of the lump. For now.
At the door, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a card he had made before his trip, with just his name, cell phone number and email address. He handed it to the woman. "If you do hear something, or hear from your daughter, would you mind letting me know?"
She took the card. "I will," she said. "Good luck."
"Thank you."
The old woman waved as he walked back to his bicycle. Once she closed the door, he let out a sigh that shook him to his core. He did not realize the emotions that would surface during his search. It was as if he had been made of stone for these past thirteen years, and the stone was beginning to crumble, revealing the life trapped inside. His body trembled. This time he did not stop the tears from coming, and let them roll freely down his cheeks.