There was another clipboard in the drawer, resting on a pile of what appeared to be cards his father had received over the years. Lettered in his father’s hand across the top of a sheet of paper was the word CHANUKAH. Beneath the word, lettered neatly onto another line, were the words CARDS SENT. Below that was a list of names with dates beside them. On the opposite side of the page, his father had lettered CARDS RCVD, and below that was another list of names and dates. The word DELINQUENTS was hand-lettered close to the bottom of the page. There were a dozen or more names under this word, those friends or relatives who hadn’t sent him a card for the holidays. David’s name was on that list. Delinquents, he thought.
He found the tax form tucked into a sheaf of rubber-banded envelopes containing discount coupons for supermarket items. Great place to file a tax form, he thought. Terrific, Pop. A Xerox copy of the check his father had made out was stapled to the form. His father had indeed paid the amount due the United States Government on April 15, right on the dot. David slipped the form back into the accountant’s envelope and then put the envelope into the pocket containing his mother’s letter. Again, he debated returning her letter to its place in the middle drawer of the dresser. But it was still in his pocket when he turned off the air conditioner and left the apartment, carefully locking all three locks behind him.
He felt as if he’d been released from prison, pardoned by the governor at the eleventh hour. He was back at the hotel by a quarter to one, the whole day ahead of him (until seven o’clock, at least), no rigid timetable demanding that he return to the hospital. His father had come through the operation alive, his father was safe for the time being; he had only to call Molly, and then he was free till seven o’clock.
“Hello?” she said.
“Molly, it’s me,” he said.
“Tell me,” she said.
“They operated on him this morning. He’s all right, but they didn’t find anything. They still don’t know what the problem is.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Not yet. I’ll be going back to the hospital at seven.”
“What will you do until then?” she asked.
“Have a good lunch,” he said, “take a long walk on the beach, swim awhile, sun awhile, relax.”
“Good,” she said.
Floating on his back in the tepid water just off the hotel, the afternoon sun beating down on his chest and his belly and his legs, he felt his first pang of guilt. What if his father never came out of the anesthesia? What if his father died while he was here enjoying the sun and the sea? No, he thought, he’ll live. He’ll be there when I get there at seven o’clock, the anesthesia will have worn off completely by then, he’ll recognize me, he’ll be alive. Who was it who’d said — someone, some kid in Korea, a nineteen-year-old like himself, freezing his ass off and fighting a war he neither understood nor trusted — who had it been? The real danger is living, he’d said, and David had thought it enormously profound at the time. Nineteen years old, what the hell, everything sounded profound. When you got to be twenty-nine, and then thirty-nine—
“Hello there!” she called. “David! Is that you?”
He recognized her voice, the English cadences, the youthful timbre. He lowered his legs, treading water, and looked toward the shore. She was wearing the same minuscule black bikini he’d seen her wearing on Tuesday, when he’d watched her taking her solitary early-morning walk on the beach. Her hands were on her hips.
“Is it safe out there?” she shouted.
“Safe? What do you mean?”
“Are there sharks?”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“I’m afraid of sharks!” she shouted.
“No, I don’t think you need be.”
“Wait for me,” she said, and went back to where she had spread a towel on the sand. He saw her taking off her watch. He wondered what time it was; he had left his own watch in the room. She walked down to the water’s edge, hesitated a moment, and took a tentative step forward.
“I’m terrified,” she said.
“No, don’t be.”
She came slowly into the water, her hands raised as if in defense, hovering near the full breasts in the scanty bikini top, fingers fluttering. A faint sea breeze caught her long blond hair, blowing it across her face. She brushed it back with her hand, took another step into the water.
“It’s very warm, isn’t it?” she called. She sounded surprised.
“Lovely,” he said.
When she was in the water to her waist, she took a deep breath, hesitated, and then made a clean dive. He waited. She surfaced some three feet from where he was treading water and immediately looked out past him, scanning the surface. “What’s that?” she said, alarmed.
He turned to look.
“Coconut shell,” he said.
“Not a fin?”
“No.”
“I’d hate to get eaten by a shark,” she said. “Let’s move in where we can touch bottom. Sharks don’t like shallow water, do they?”
They swam in closer to the shore and stood together hip-deep in the shallow water. The water moved gently against his belly. She made tiny circles on the water with her hands. Her hands moved restlessly on the water.
“When do you go back to London?” he asked.
“London?”
“I thought you lived in London. Didn’t you say...?”
“No, no. Oxford.”
“Ah,” he said.
“Do you know Oxford?”
“I’ve never been there.”
“It’s quite lovely.”
“Where is it? On the coast someplace? Near Birmingham?”
“Birmingham? Birmingham’s almost in the exact center of England!”
“What am I thinking of then?”
“Well, I really couldn’t say. There are quite a few coastal cities, you know. We’re an island, you know. Do you really not know where Oxford is?”
“I really don’t.”
“That’s like asking where... I don’t know... New Haven is.”
“Do you know where New Haven is?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, smiling, “but I honestly do not know where Oxford is.”
“It’s north and west of London,” she said.
“But not on the coast.”
“Not on any of the coasts. It’s inland, actually. Some fifty or sixty miles from Southampton.” She paused. Her hands made idle circles on the water. “I suppose an American wouldn’t consider that very far.”
“Not very. Where’s Southampton?”
“You’re joking!”
“Where is it?”
“On the Channel. It’s an enormous port, do you really not know where it is?”
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“You’re teasing me, I know you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Then your ignorance is shameful,” she said, and they both laughed.
“In any case, when are you going back?”
“Saturday, Sunday, as soon as I’ve finished here. And you?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Of course not. It all depends, I suppose, on...”
“Yes.”
“Let’s swim out a ways now, shall we?” she said. “I feel much more secure now.”