”
Sophie sat very still. Something had happened in 1972. She felt a powerful ache in her stomach as she sat listening to the slow ticking of her blood. Her phone rang, startling her, and she picked up. “Hello?”
“Sophie McKnight?”
“Yes?”
The man’s voice was quiet, dignified. “I have the information you requested.”
She wrote everything down on a yellow lined pad. “Thanks,” she said. She pocketed her phone and tore out the piece of paper. She folded it up and put it in her pocket. She took a deep breath, turned off her computer, fetched her coat and scarf, grabbed her keys and locked the apartment door behind her.
*
Tobias patted his pockets, making sure he had everything—his keys, his wallet, his watch. Through the bay windows, he spotted a flock of gulls feeding on the waves, and an amazing calm spread over him. Something about the birds—their assessing eyes, their strange dignity—comforted him. He didn’t know why. Birds understood danger. They feared for their lives, never trusting, constantly battling over food and territory with their sharp claws and beaks. They were fearsome. And yet they were lovely and harmless to our eyes.
He caught his reflection in the glass. His hair was sticking straight up from his head as if he were hanging upside-down. Since when had he turned into a crazy old guy? He flattened his unruly hair with his hands and went into the kitchen to make a peanut-butter sandwich, but only took a bite before losing his appetite. He drank the tablespoon of milk that was left in the sticky milk carton and cleaned up a little. He put the dishes in the dishwasher, tied the trash bag with a twisty and wiped off the granite countertop.
Then he went back into the living room and opened the lid of the box to make sure it was still there. Of course it was still there. Where would it go? He paused to study the fragile relic with its tiny brittle bones.
Bones were like secrets. You could bury your deepest secrets in the back yard, but they wouldn’t stay buried for long. Bones had a way of knuckling out of the earth over time. Even the deepest secrets never stayed hidden forever.
He put the lid back on the box and picked up his hat. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Watch? Check. Take a deep breath. Go slow. Easy.
Too much coffee. Nothing in his stomach. Jittery nerves.
He opened the front door and walked into the brilliant sunshine.
*
Sophie glanced at herself in the rearview mirror of her car. Her lips were buttoned up tight, and beads of perspiration sat like sequins on her forehead, as if some crazed, enthusiastic arts-and-crafter had Bedazzled her. She’d been following Mandelbaum around for days. Florida was a sickening blur of palm-studded boulevards and terra cotta roofs. The morning sun warmed the tar on the pavement until everything smelled like an oil field.
She waited until the old man came limping out of the house. He leaned heavily against his polished cane. There were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. Now he put on a pair of sunglasses, got into his gas-guzzling Buick and drove off.
She swung out onto the road and followed him. She squinted at the sky and saw nothing but the pale blue of it. She drove past private beaches with locked gates and DO NOT ENTER signs. Closer to the main drag, the traffic snaked past art galleries, surf shops and cafes.
Her phone rang.
Sophie answered. “Hello?”
“Stop following me.” A choking, furious whisper.
“Never.”
The line went dead.
She knew things most people didn’t. There was a world beneath the world. The sky momentarily darkened. But it was only the shadow of a hawk passing overhead.
*
Mandelbaum had been feeling out of sorts lately. Nothing mattered anymore. He felt edged out of the conversation. He was skirting the periphery of things. He wasn’t really there. A million other thoughts crowded his mind. He was only faking it. Faking the laughter, faking the warmth. When he studied people’s faces
Sophie sat very still. Something had happened in 1972. She felt a powerful ache in her stomach as she sat listening to the slow ticking of her blood. Her phone rang, startling her, and she picked up. “Hello?”
“Sophie McKnight?”
“Yes?”
The man’s voice was quiet, dignified. “I have the information you requested.”
She wrote everything down on a yellow lined pad. “Thanks,” she said. She pocketed her phone and tore out the piece of paper. She folded it up and put it in her pocket. She took a deep breath, turned off her computer, fetched her coat and scarf, grabbed her keys and locked the apartment door behind her.
*
Tobias patted his pockets, making sure he had everything—his keys, his wallet, his watch. Through the bay windows, he spotted a flock of gulls feeding on the waves, and an amazing calm spread over him. Something about the birds—their assessing eyes, their strange dignity—comforted him. He didn’t know why. Birds understood danger. They feared for their lives, never trusting, constantly battling over food and territory with their sharp claws and beaks. They were fearsome. And yet they were lovely and harmless to our eyes.
He caught his reflection in the glass. His hair was sticking straight up from his head as if he were hanging upside-down. Since when had he turned into a crazy old guy? He flattened his unruly hair with his hands and went into the kitchen to make a peanut-butter sandwich, but only took a bite before losing his appetite. He drank the tablespoon of milk that was left in the sticky milk carton and cleaned up a little. He put the dishes in the dishwasher, tied the trash bag with a twisty and wiped off the granite countertop.
Then he went back into the living room and opened the lid of the box to make sure it was still there. Of course it was still there. Where would it go? He paused to study the fragile relic with its tiny brittle bones.
Bones were like secrets. You could bury your deepest secrets in the back yard, but they wouldn’t stay buried for long. Bones had a way of knuckling out of the earth over time. Even the deepest secrets never stayed hidden forever.
He put the lid back on the box and picked up his hat. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Watch? Check. Take a deep breath. Go slow. Easy.
Too much coffee. Nothing in his stomach. Jittery nerves.
He opened the front door and walked into the brilliant sunshine.
*
Sophie glanced at herself in the rearview mirror of her car. Her lips were buttoned up tight, and beads of perspiration sat like sequins on her forehead, as if some crazed, enthusiastic arts-and-crafter had Bedazzled her. She’d been following Mandelbaum around for days. Florida was a sickening blur of palm-studded boulevards and terra cotta roofs. The morning sun warmed the tar on the pavement until everything smelled like an oil field.
She waited until the old man came limping out of the house. He leaned heavily against his polished cane. There were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. Now he put on a pair of sunglasses, got into his gas-guzzling Buick and drove off.
She swung out onto the road and followed him. She squinted at the sky and saw nothing but the pale blue of it. She drove past private beaches with locked gates and DO NOT ENTER signs. Closer to the main drag, the traffic snaked past art galleries, surf shops and cafes.
Her phone rang.
Sophie answered. “Hello?”
“Stop following me.” A choking, furious whisper.
“Never.”
The line went dead.
She knew things most people didn’t. There was a world beneath the world. The sky momentarily darkened. But it was only the shadow of a hawk passing overhead.
*
Mandelbaum had been feeling out of sorts lately. Nothing mattered anymore. He felt edged out of the conversation. He was skirting the periphery of things. He wasn’t really there. A million other thoughts crowded his mind. He was only faking it. Faking the laughter, faking the warmth. When he studied people’s faces
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