Duma Key

"No- " I began, but when she raised one hand (the flesh hanging down in a snow-white bag above her elbow), I stilled at once. Because here was a fourth thing to see, and it hit hardest of all -not a stone but a boulder. I was looking at myself. This was what people had seen in the aftermath of my accident, when I was trying to sweep together the poor scattered bits of my memory - all that treasure that looked like trash when it was spread out in such ugly, naked fashion. I thought of how I had forgotten my doll's name, and I knew what was coming next.

"I can do this," she said.

"I know you can," I said.

"You brought Wireman back from the hospital," she said.

"Yes."

"I was so afraid they'd keep him. And I would be alone."

I didn't reply to this.

"Are you Edmund?" she asked timidly.

"Miss Eastlake, don't tax yourself," Wireman said gently. "This is-"

"Hush, Wireman," I said. "She can do this."

"You paint," she said.

"Yes."

"Have you painted the ship yet?"

A curious thing happened to my stomach. It didn't sink so much as it seemed to disappear and leave a void between my heart and the rest of my guts. My knees tried to buckle. The steel in my hip went hot. The back of my neck went cold. And warm, prickling fire ran up the arm that wasn't there.

"Yes," I said. "Again and again and again."

"You're Edgar," she said.

"Yes, Elizabeth. I'm Edgar. Good for you, honey."

She smiled. I guessed no one had called her honey in a long time. "My mind is like a tablecloth with a great big hole burned into it." She turned to Wireman. " Muy divertido, s ? "

"You need to rest," he said. "In fact, you need to dormir como un tronco."

She smiled faintly. "Like a log. Yes. And I think when I wake up, I'll still be here. For a little while." She lifted his hands to her face and kissed them. "I love you, Wireman."

"I love you, too, Miss Eastlake," he said. Good for him.

"Edgar?... Is it Edgar?"

"What do you think, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, of course it is. You're to have a show? Is that how we left things before my last..." She drooped her eyelids, as if to mime sleep.

"Yes, at the Scoto Gallery. You really need to rest."

"Is it soon? Your show?"

"In less than a week."

"Your paintings... the ship paintings... are they on the mainland? At the gallery?"

Wireman and I exchanged a look. He shrugged.

"Yes," I said.

"Good." She smiled. "I'll rest, then. Everything else can wait... until after you have your show. Your moment in the sun. Are you selling them? The ship pictures?"

Wireman and I exchanged another look, and the message in his eyes was very clear: Don't upset her.

"They're marked NFS, Elizabeth. That means-"

"I know what it means, Edgar, I didn't fall out of an orange tree yesterday." Inside their deep pockets of wrinkles, caught in a face that was receding toward death, her eyes flashed. "Sell them. However many there are, you must sell them. And however hard it is for you. Break them up, send them to the four winds. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Will you do it?"

I didn't know if I would or not, but I recognized her signs of growing agitation from my own not-so-distant past. "Yes." At that point, I would have promised her to jump to the moon in seven-league boots, if it would have eased her mind.

"Even then they may not be safe," she mused in an almost-horrified voice.

"Stop, now," I said, and patted her hand. "Stop thinking about this."

"All right. We'll talk more after your show. The three of us. I'll be stronger... clearer... and you, Edgar, will be able to pay attention. Do you have daughters? I seem to remember that you do."

"Yes, and they're staying on the mainland with their mother. At the Ritz. That's already arranged."

She smiled, but the corners drooped almost at once. It was as if her mouth were melting. "Crank me down, Wireman. I've been in the swamp... forty days and forty nights... so it feels... and I'm tired."

He cranked her down, and Annmarie came in with something in a glass on a tray. No chance Elizabeth was going to drink any of it; she had already corked off. Over her head, the loneliest girl in the world sat in a chair and looked out the window forever, face hidden by the fall of her hair, naked but for a pair of shoes.

x

For me, sleep was long in coming that night. It was after midnight before I finally slipped away. The tide had withdrawn, and the whispered conversation under the house had ceased. That didn't stop the whispered voices in my head, however.

Another Florida, Mary Ire whispered. That was another Florida.

Sell them. However many there are, you must sell them. That was Elizabeth, of course.

The grown Elizabeth. I heard another version of her, however, and because I had to make this voice up, what I heard was Ilse's voice as it had been as a child.

There's treasure, Daddy, this voice said. You can get it if you put on your mask and snorkel. I can show you where to look.

I drew a picture.

xi