As Easy as Falling Off the Face of the Earth Read online

  When they returned to the house, the police went over the information Ry had given them. He also gave them a photo, from the refrigerator, of his grandfather at a birthday party. They said Ry should call right away if he heard anything, anything at all. And then they were gone.

  Del asked if it might be okay for him to take a quick shower.

  “I think it might clear my head,” he said. “Plus, it’s been a couple of days.”

  Alone, Ry wandered down off the porch and around the house again. In the backyard he looked behind the shed that looked like a miniature barn, where the lawn mower, rakes, shovels, and things like that were kept. A circle of red plastic caught his eye. He waded into the weeds to see what it was.

  He found the handheld part of a retractable dog leash. The retracting part, the strap itself was stuck in a split in a fallen log, then wrapped and tangled around a sapling or two before coming to a chewed-off end. The wrapping and chewing looked recent. He called out to Peg and Olie and walked deeper into the new-growth woods, calling as he went. He wanted his dogs. He wanted to hear some thrashing and panting as they came bounding toward him. He wanted them to practically knock him down when they jumped on him and slobbered all over his face. He called out over and over.

  Back inside, Ry found himself standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open. His mother had left meals in the freezer for his grandfather, and a couple of the plastic containers were left half full in the fridge. He sniffed it, then nuked it and asked Del if he wanted some.

  “Help yourself,” Ry said. “There’s more stuff in there.” He was eating meat loaf. He wondered what would happen next. Like, right after he finished eating the meat loaf. Would Del leave now? Would Ry just stay here in this house by himself, while his grandfather was who knows where? There was food in the freezer. He could do it, just sit here and wait.

  “I feel like my mom and my dad need to know,” he said. “About my grandpa. It seems like they should be here. In case—well, in case anything. It could be something bad. And then I think they would want to be here. I mean, he’s my mom’s dad.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Del. “It would be a good idea to let them know what’s going on.”

  “But I can’t call them,” said Ry. “And I don’t think they’re planning to call here again, for a while.” He took a bite and chewed. Swallowed. It was like swallowing a bird’s nest. The kind made with lots of mud. That’s how it felt in his throat. He drank some milk. “And what if they call and I miss it, like I’m in the shower or something, and they go off to some other place where I can’t call them?”

  He honestly did not know what to do. He was thinking, maybe, the police here could call the police there. He didn’t know what kind of emergency you had to have to do that.

  “We know where they are,” said Del. “Maybe we should just go find them.” Like this was no big deal. Like it was the most obvious thing.

  “Yeah, right,” said Ry. “We’ll just drive down there quick-a-minute.”

  Del’s face did its trick where without actually moving any of its parts, you could tell he was smiling. You could tell he was amused. If you want to see how this is done, watch an old Clint Eastwood movie. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, for example.

  “That wouldn’t really be as big a deal as you think it would,” said Del. “I know a guy in Florida who could fly us to San Juan. And I know someone there who has a boat. We could get there pretty quickly.”

  “And you were thinking of going there anyway, right?” said Ry.

  “My friend Yulia is the person in San Juan,” said Del. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I wouldn’t mind going.”

  Yulia, thought Ry. Why do I know that name?

  “I think maybe I need to take a shower now,” said Ry. “I think my head needs clearing, too.”

  While he is doing so, a tribute to showers: They are amazing. You could call them “transformers.” Especially if it’s been a couple/few days. You feel like a different person afterward, a person who is ready. A person who can take it on. Deal with it. Whatever it might be. This fades over time, but for at least half an hour, everything is within the realm of possibility. For this reason, it may or may not be a good time to make decisions. If you decide to do something big right after a shower, maybe you should wait an hour. Count to 216,000, then decide. I don’t know. I’m just saying.

  “I hate to ruin their vacation,” Ry said when he came downstairs. “They were pretty excited about it. They planned it for a long time.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it’s actually going that great,” observed Del.

  And so, in ten sentences or less (don’t count; it’s an expression), in the wink of an eye, from zero to sixty, Ry went from “Yeah, right,” to throwing some clothes in a backpack and grabbing the money from his secret place.

  They left notes. They asked a couple of the neighbors to watch for the grandpa and the dogs. They left the back garage door propped open, with the food and the water in there, for the dogs. They called the Humane Society. They left the kitchen door unlocked, in case Lloyd found his way home, too.

  It seemed to Ry that they were being incredibly thorough and responsible. Covering all the bases. And then they got back into the Willys, to drive to the third sandpile on the left, on the Island of the Saint of Lost Causes, an emerald dot in the azure of the Caribbean Sea. The time was just a little past six, CDT. Waupatoneka slipped away from them like a twig dropped into a stream. Or a boot…into a river.

  PART THREE

  THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE ROTTEN

  In the middle of Indiana, in the middle of the night, Del and Ry paid a social call. Ry thought it was late to be showing up at someone’s house, but Del said it was only a few minutes from the freeway and he wouldn’t feel right if he drove past without at least saying “hello.” He said they wouldn’t stop if the lights weren’t on. So they rolled down the exit ramp, then crept through dark streets that were still, except for a flash of commotion and light spilling from a tavern door as it opened and shut. They pulled up in front of a little house barely visible behind the overgrown bushes and towering evergreens that filled the yard. A twinkle of lamplight made its way through the foliage, so they made their way up the short broken sidewalk, toward it.

  The woman who answered the door was surprised but happy to see them, or at least Del. She was friendly and welcoming to Ry, too, in his role as friend of Del. Her name was Sharon, and she told them to come in, come in!

  “Can I get you a beer?” she asked Del. “Or do you want coffee? Are you going to drive through the night?”

  Del said they were, but that one beer would be nice. Sharon looked at Ry and said she had some apple juice, would that be okay? Ry said, “Sure.” She returned with bottles of beer for Del and for herself and two tiny child-sized juice boxes for Ry.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Life with a toddler. I have lots more in the fridge. Help yourself to as many as you want.” Then, “So, what’s the deal?” she asked Del. She curled up in a frayed armchair and folded her legs beneath her. “Where are you off to? What’s the adventure?”

  Del said they were driving to the Caribbean to find Ry’s parents.

  “Ha!” said Sharon. “Where are they?”

  “We’re not one hundred percent sure,” said Del. “But how hard can it be? They’re pretty small islands.”

  Sharon laughed again. Longer. With more ha’s. The way she laughed made Ry want to know how to say things to make her laugh again. She laughed as if Del had just said the funniest thing she had ever heard.

  “There’s a lot of water in between those little islands, though,” said Sharon. “What’re you gonna do about that?”

  “I’m pretty sure we can borrow a boat,” said Del. “Yulia’s in San Juan.”

  “Ah, yes, Yulia,” said Sharon. “And you will get to San Juan how?”

  “I have a friend who lives south of Miami,” said Del, “who has a plane.”

  “Couldn�
��t we go on a boat to San Juan, too?” asked Ry.

  “A plane is a lot faster,” said Del. “Besides, I don’t know anybody with a boat until San Juan. Do you?”

  “Is it a really small plane?” asked Ry.

  “About as small as a plane can be without being a toy,” said Del. “He made it himself.”

  Sharon laughed. Her laugh was as good as before, but Ry didn’t know if he was willing to go up in a homemade airplane over vast expanses of deep water just to hear someone laugh a beautiful laugh. Was he willing to do it to find his mother and father, though?

  It might depend on how vast and deep the expanses of water were. Like, if they could see the island they were aiming for from where they started, he would do it. He had to admit that his geography was fuzzy. He had a general idea that all those islands were off the coast of Florida, but that was about it. His brain did a search and came up with the words Bermuda Triangle, in bold type. Also Pirates of the…

  Just then a small child in pajamas entered the room rubbing its eyes. It took one look at Ry and Del and began to bawl. Sharon held out her arms and the child ran to her and climbed into her lap, then turned and glared at them. Balefully.

  “This is Miles,” said Sharon. “Miles, this is Del and Ray.”

  “Ry,” said Ry.

  “Ry,” repeated Sharon.

  “Hi, Miles,” said Del. “We’ve met, but you probably don’t remember.”

  Ry waved and smiled. Miles glared.

  “You should go home now,” Miles said.

  “We will,” said Del. “Pretty soon.”

  “Now,” said Miles. Ry was willing. Miles was looking like he could be a pain in the butt.

  “What do you want me to do?” Del asked. “Stand on my head?”

  Miles eyed Del warily, then nodded.

  “All right,” said Del. The next instant he was standing on his head in the middle of the floor. “Is that better?” he asked Miles. “Do you want to try to knock me over?”

  Miles flew from his mother’s lap to give Del a push. Del obligingly curled down onto the floor, flat on his back.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re pretty strong.”

  Miles was smiling now. Sharon was smiling. Even Ry was smiling. Del knew other toddler-pleasing tricks, too. He knew airplane, horsey, upside-down walking, swing the kid in a circle, steal my thumb, steal your nose, and many others. Sharon settled gratefully, gracefully, into her chair. Del only had to ask her a brief question and her talking would flow forth as a babbling brook. Before long, Ry was only half listening. He sipped from his tiny juice boxes and surveyed the room. Even he could tell it was a piece-of-crap house, but Sharon had made it homey. There were colorful pillows and curtains and a vase with flowers, like one of those magazine ads where they display bright new products in a ruin and it looks kind of cool.

  Now Del and Sharon were talking about someone they both knew. At least Sharon was. She was a talker, once she got started. A yakker, really. Del was not a big talker. He reminded Ry sometimes of a detective in an old movie, one of those guys of few words. Ry half expected Del to say things like “I just might do that, ma’am,” or “I wouldn’t put it that way, miss.”

  A cat appeared on the scene, a cat of the large black variety, with fur as long as a llama’s. It had the face of a cat who is easily offended, a cat who is pretty sure it won’t like you. A smashed-face, tight-lipped cat.

  Ry dangled his fingers in a welcoming gesture of friendship. The cat glared with yellow eyes. Maybe he was sitting in its chair. He scooched over and scratched the surface of the chair lightly, in a let’s-share gesture. The cat stalked over and teleported itself into the geographical center of the space Ry had made for it.

  Feeling he was making progress, Ry held his hand a few inches from the cat’s face, so it could smell him and see what a great guy he was. The cat’s head leaned forward as if that’s what it meant to do, then it opened its tight lips and sank its pointy teeth into Ry’s flesh. CraOWap!

  Only for a second. Then it was sitting there innocently, a puddle of black hair with malevolent eyes. Some cats are just like that. Maybe it was one of those rescue cats that had trouble trusting people.

  Ry decided he would like another juice box or two. Through hand signals (he held up the juice boxes, Sharon pointed), he indicated his plan and went into the kitchen.

  He found the light switch in the traditional location, spotted the fridge, and headed out across the linoleum. But as he passed the sink, the last remaining molecular bonds holding the rotting wooden strands of subfloor together gave way. His foot and most of his leg went through the floor, and he found himself suddenly sitting. Where he landed felt spongy, too, and he leaned back onto his hands, trying to spread his weight as if he were on thin ice. The empty juice boxes had leaped from his hands and skidded across the floor.

  The crack of the floor giving way and the thump when his butt made contact were surprisingly gentle sounds. He let out a yelp, though, as he sank, and the conversation stopped in the other room.

  “Everything okay?” Sharon called out. Ry didn’t answer right away. He was too busy absorbing the impact of what had just happened. A tumbling of footsteps came his way. The footsteps reached the threshold and came to a stop. He did not want to turn and look over his shoulder at the three faces he knew were positioned in the doorway.

  Behind him Miles’s voice said, “Uh-oh.”

  Sharon’s voice said, “Oh, shit.” It sounded almost pleasant when she said it.

  Del’s old western cowboy voice said, “I reckon your sink is leaking, ma’am.” Or his detective voice said, “How long has your sink been leaking, miss?” Or, he just said, “Is there a leak under your sink?” But it sounded like the other two.

  Ry turned his head toward them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “All I did was walk across the room.”

  Del grabbed him under the armpits and pulled. Sharon helped from the other side to guide his foot and leg back up through the hole. They moved around the hole in a circle, bouncing gingerly to find out how far-reaching was the rottenness of the subfloor.

  “I noticed it was soft in spots,” said Sharon. “But I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “Do you have any tools?” asked Del. He kneeled down and wiggled a piece of wood. It broke off in his hand like a stale graham cracker.

  “I’ll call someone,” said Sharon. “Tomorrow. First thing.”

  “Do you have any wood?” asked Del. He leaned out and reached across the hole to open the cabinet under the sink. The floor of the cabinet had warped into a rippling landscape of rolling hills. Tilting villages of buckets and cleaning products nestled in the valleys. A drop of water fell from a joint in the pipe to a small puddle below it. A lake in the tilting village.

  “I don’t suppose you have a wrench?” asked Del.

  “Actually, I probably do,” said Sharon. “Jerry was going to fix it before I told him to get lost. He left everything here. I was going to try to figure it out myself. I just haven’t had time.”

  It was midnight. An owl hooted beyond the open window as Del laid a couple of two-by-fours across the hole to kneel on. Crickets chirped in their sleep as he and Ry moved all the cleaning junk out of the cabinet into a corner of the kitchen. Sharon led Miles away to put him back to bed.

  Del fixed the leak first. It wasn’t that hard to do, and he explained it to Ry as he went along. He had Ry use the wrench so he would know how it should feel. Then he scored the linoleum with a utility knife outside the rottenness and had Ry start to yank it up inside that boundary, while he used a saber saw to cut away the warped floor of the cabinet. With the saw, Del cut the subfloor along the edge of the linoleum and, together, they ripped that up, too. It was mesmerizing and satisfying work to rip up the nasty stuff and toss it onto the growing pile. Ry almost hated to stop to use the bathroom, but he had to, so he hurried off.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told Del. He wasn’t sure where the bathroom wa
s, but the house was tiny; it couldn’t be hard to find. On his way there, he looked into a softly lit room and stopped. Miles and Sharon were fast asleep. Miles was under the covers, Sharon was outside them, curled around her child. A picture book lay open, facedown, a little away from them.

  Ry felt the nobility of what he and Del were doing for this mother and her child. It was a new and interesting feeling, and he thought he would like to feel it some more. He tiptoed into the room. He looked around for a blanket or something that he could put over Sharon. Everything seemed to be small, or plastic, or small and plastic. Then he spotted a rumpled heap of fabric underneath some smallish plastic items.

  He made his way over to it, picking out stepping stones of uncluttered clearings of carpet. Lifting the fabric up and letting it fall to its still-rumpled full size, he saw that it was a superhero cape, with a hood. The hood had pointy ears; it was a Batman cape. The cape was fuzzy; that was nice. He tiptoed over to the bed and prepared to drape the cape over the sleeping Sharon. She turned over onto her back and said, “Well, if that’s how you feel about it.”

  Ry froze in his tracks. He glanced toward the doorway and considered bolting, then back at Sharon. Her eyes were still closed. She crossed her bare arms across her chest and drew up her knees, putting one bare foot over the other. Ry lay the cape over her, covering as much of her as he could. He had to choose between bare arms and bare feet. He chose arms because there was more square footage of them. Then he reached under the lampshade and turned out the lamp.

  With only a dim path of light from the living room, finding open places on the carpet to step on was harder. He didn’t want to break or crunch anything. He moved across the floor like a spastic flamingo, one foot always hiked up under him while he reconnoitered for the next landing.