There was a box of tissues on the piano and she took one. She dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose delicately, before standing and walking past me. She was bundled in a white robe, hair frazzled from the storm. “If you don’t mind, though, Doc, I’d prefer not to discuss it anymore. I’m not prepared for visitors, I’m afraid. And I have a lot to do.”
Outside, lightning flared twice. It illuminated her face…abandoned it to shadows…then illuminated her face again. I took a step back, and shook my head, trying to clear what had to have been a hallucination.
“Doc? You’re white as a ghost. Can I get you something?”
I said, “No. But I need to sit down a minute.” I walked to the bar and poured soda water over ice, intentionally not looking at Chestra. In the strobing light, her face had changed…no, it had appeared to change. One moment she was old, an instant later she was young. Old…young…dark…light.
Heller had stared at her instead of killing her. Had he experienced the same dizzying hallucination?
“Men,” I heard her say. “Hard on the outside, but so soft on the inside. Sit there and rest, dear.”
I plopped down in the chair near the piano. She patted my shoulder as she passed.
I felt distanced from reality.
Several hours had passed since I had sat aboard No Mas and taken a couple of puffs from a joint. I’d been in water that was dark and cold; I’d sobered. I was sober enough to realize the drug had affected me. But had it done this?
The drug had scrambled my sense of time. It had also intensified various fixations, and I’m tunnel-visioned to begin with, prone to what shrinks call OCB. So it had skewed my judgment, too.
Tomlinson covets varieties of cannabis that cause hallucinations. Could hallucinations be so emotionally authentic that they registered inside the brain as fact?
Was that why Chestra was behaving so distant now—as if our time together in the gazebo was something I’d dreamed? Or…was it because I had called her Marlissa?
I remembered Tomlinson telling me that she had ended their relationship when he’d done something similar…But, no, this was ridiculous. I was just tired and beat-up, that’s all.
I noticed something for the first time. The hallway was a chaos of clothing, personal items, and suitcases. Either Heller had made a mess of the place, or…
She saw my expression.
“Yes, dear, I am packing to leave.”
“What?”
“That’s right. It’s time. Thanks to you and your friends, I found out the truth tonight about Frederick Roth. I had no idea it would be such an emotional experience. Marlissa has become more than a hobby, I’ve realized. In a way, I’m her…custodian. It broke my heart when I was told Freddy abandoned her. Doc”—the woman paused long enough to smile at me—“you made Marlissa’s memory…her story …romantic again. Thank you for that.”
I said, “You’re welcome. But does that mean you have to leave, go back to Manhattan?”
“Let’s just say I’m going. Leave it at that.”
I stood. “Do you need help?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to be alone. With Freddy. I’m sure you understand.”
No, I didn’t. I put my drink on the table as she opened the balcony doors. I followed her outside. She was reaching for the light switch when I caught her. I placed my hands on her shoulders.
“Chestra. Why are you doing this?”
As I pivoted her, she reached for the switch again and turned on the lights. There were two flood lamps above the balcony doors, megawattage for security. They produced harsh, unfiltered beams that had a surgical sterility.
What she then did was intentional, like punishment. Chestra pulled me close, then tilted her face into the blinding rays, as if looking into the sun. She held the pose to make certain I had all the time I needed to see what she really looked like.
My reaction was involuntary: I stepped back.
This was not the woman I had lifted into my arms during the storm.
The woman smiled, still holding the pose, forcing me to look at her again. Something familiar was in her smile—the diamond glitter of her eyes? Yes.
“Don’t you agree, Doc? It’s time for me to be gone.”
Chestra expected me to turn away. I didn’t. I’d seen what she looked like in bright light, but I also knew how she felt and reacted when lights were dim. We had more in common than I had realized.
Instead, I put a finger to her chin and rotated her face toward mine. I held her there while my other hand found the wall, then the switch. The spotlights blinked off.
In the fresh darkness, the moon was huge, pale as a winter sun. She tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t allow it. I touched my lips to hers.
She smiled, and placed her hand on the side of my face. “Good-bye, Doc.”
Then she led me down the stairs to the front door.
After it closed behind me, I walked to the beach, alone. Wind pushed moonlight off the Gulf of Mexico, and I stood in the dark, listening, as the piano began, first tentative, then with more certainty, her voice matching the cadence of waves.
Never mind…
The sun is on the sea
In my mind
Waves wash over me
We’ll never know
All that we possess
’Til the end of time
We can only guess…
EPILOGUE
By the first week of October, the weather cleared, becoming typical of Florida autumns: tropic blue mornings, cool nights with stars, jasmine beneath a hunter’s moon. Beaches were silver. At night, palms were moon-glazed.
After two weeks without wind, the Gulf of Mexico also began to clear. By October 15th, a Saturday, Jeth, Tomlinson, Arlis Futch, and I decided water visibility had sufficiently improved to make our second dive on the wreck Dark Light. Chestra was still funding the project, taking care of legalities through her uncle’s lawyer. She had agreed that we were entitled to the majority of what we salvaged, minus all personal items that may have belonged to Frederick Roth.
In death, with Chestra standing sentinel, Marlissa Dorn remained faithful to her lover—something she’d been unable to manage in life. Penitence, perhaps, for a beautiful woman’s imperfections.
The storm had blown away all but one of our marker buoys, so we began all over. Dropped a half-dozen new buoys to outline the wreck, then followed the same search plan as before, three divers swimming circles, an orderly pattern by use of a rope.
The visibility was poor. I could see only five or six feet before objects disappeared in the murk. But it was markedly better than before.
We found more interesting objects from a classic American era—a time of torch singers, inventors, immigrants, and industrial aristocrats. A time when common people lived heroic lives and battled epic evils.
We found bottles. Part of an Edison phonograph. A brass-handled walking stick.
We also found a couple of objects so valuable that Jeth howled underwater when he saw what I had dug from the sand: two gold bars. Small, about the size of miniature loaves of bread. Heavy.
Gold does not tarnish in salt water, so they looked as freshly made as the day they were struck with their mint ID:
DEUTSCHE REICHSBANK
1 KILO
FEINGOLD 999.9
The bars were also stamped with a square-winged eagle, its talon clutching a swastika.
Later, we would calculate the value of a kilo of gold at current prices. Each bar was worth more than thirty thousand dollars. As historical objects, it was possible they were worth more. It was something to research.