Siracusa (21 page)

W
E KISSED ON THE STREET
. Finn slid his hands up my jersey. My breasts were nearly exposed, yearning to be. I lifted my top and pressed against him as we stumbled on, half walking, half making out. We peeked through the glass into Hotel Zero. A man was asleep at the desk, his head back, snoring loudly.

Finn knocked. The old man shuddered awake and unlocked the door. I stood behind in disarray while Finn paid in cash.

He nuzzled me up the stairs to number five at the top. When we opened the door, the dim yellow bulb in the hall cast a sickly pall over the dark spread on the bed with its two flat pillows. The only room light was overhead. Finn switched it on, throwing glare on our undone flushed selves, and as quickly switched it back off. Better not to see.

I was so drunk, so emotionally at sea, I could have done unmentionable things with a stranger, and yet it rumbled through my consciousness that I had been fifteen pounds lighter when I slept with Finn last.

In this small, airless cube with a slanted ceiling I felt a wave
of nausea, which I swallowed back before we fell on the bed, which sagged under our weight, and wiggled out of our clothes.

The sex was familiar, the way the taste of something stays locked in your unconscious. (Proustian, a madeleine, Michael would have invoked that cliché.) We lay pressed together on our sides, Finn slid his hand up my leg, and then he got down to business. He always flips on top, practical, no deviations off his route, no detours exploring the landscape or sudden bursts of inspiration. He likes to fuck and he knows what he needs to do, so I’m happy too.

I kept my eyes closed.

I had to put a man between me and Michael.

Finn left an hour later, rustling me awake.

“Why did we break up?” he said.

“Oh, God, not now.”

He mussed my hair.

“Because you drove me crazy. All our dreams were different. I wanted to go to New York. It was the end of summer.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

Later I thought it was not love but loyalty we were expressing, the way two devoted friends might end a conversation or a telephone call. Loyalty: a more honorable pledge than love. Did that make Finn’s betrayal greater than Michael’s?

When I woke up and craned my head at the window, the swallows were swirling and whining in the slip of colorless dawn between this roof and the one opposite, an uninhabited wreck.

The bathroom, with a plastic accordion door and nearly too
small to turn around in, had a dirty mirror over a miniature bowl of a sink with one spout, cold, a toilet with no seat. A metal shower spray poked out of the wall, greenish around the edges. There was a drain under my feet. I soaked myself with icy water, then realized there was no towel. I rolled around on the bed to dry off. It was disgusting.

The anesthetic of sex and alcohol had worn off and I was beginning to feel jumpy. My hangover was like nothing I’d ever experienced, a vise across my forehead and over my head to the base of my neck. My arms and legs felt barely attached or under my control. My eyes had deep dark circles, my skin sallow. I looked discarded. I had been.

But I had Finn. I had always known I had Finn, even though I didn’t know what I wanted to do with Finn. But I had him, and Taylor didn’t, and that was a comfort.

Trembling at the thought of seeing Michael, scared of him, I realized, scared of his seductive games, worrying about how he might confuse me, and frightened at how much I wanted to kill him, I gave myself orders. Spoke them aloud: Go to the hotel, pack, ignore, take a taxi solo to the Catania airport, and find your own way back. To Berkeley.

I would visit my mother. When we pulled into the driveway, I would cry as I always did at the sight of my dad’s bicycle still chained to the front porch, rusted into art, and I would blame him for Michael.

Digging through my purse, I located a stray lozenge that I rinsed off and sucked. It was 6:42 a.m. according to my phone.

A little girl in pajamas pawed a scooter in and out of the front
door of whatever this was, a vacation flophouse. As I was trying to figure out which direction to walk, a cheerful woman bustled out of the back, waving a dishtowel. She shooed the little girl outside, walked me to the end of the block, and pointed me right. I could see the sea and sky but not the horizon, the ash blue of one disappeared into the other. “At the water,
a sinistra
.” She signaled left.

I walked unsteadily to the water, and when I got there realized I was standing nearly at the tip of Siracusa by a stupendous fort. There wasn’t even a wisp of wind and over the seawall, looking down, water lapped the rocks in a friendly inviting way. I thought about diving in, about crashing headfirst into the clear shallow sea, my head splintering. I also thought about the time between diving and landing when I imagine all people changed their minds. For me it was only a flirtation, not serious, merely an acknowledgment of how much I was dreading the next hours. It cheered me that I could have that fantasy.

Sticking to the route along the seawall, I figured I was a half hour from the hotel. As people passed—a few joggers, some bare-chested men in trunks with towels slung over their shoulders—I clung to the balustrade railing for balance and calm. Eventually the path zigged sharply and I could see Lo Scoglio. I quickened, wondering about the crowd gathering at the entrance, the patrol cars, the cops waving traffic to pass farther from the sea side and closer to the buildings. A boy climbed the nearby parapet angling for a better view.

When I walked into the room, Michael was asleep in bed as if nothing in his life were remotely askew. I shook his shoulder.

“Lizzie, Jesus, Lizzie,” he shot up.

“I was just at Lo Scoglio.”

“Where? Thank God you’re back.”

“The police were in wetsuits. There’s a narrow canyon formed by spiky rocks beneath that behemoth, that boulder, Lo Scoglio. Do you know where I mean?”

“Were you with Finn?”

“Fuck you, Michael. Do you know where I mean?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you ever. Beneath that narrow metal bridge suspended between that sheer wall and Lo Scoglio, there’s a treacherous jumble of rocks.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’m going to break your heart if you have one. She was found there. Your girlfriend. She’s dead.”

Michael got up, staggered around for a bit, and slumped down again. He clasped his hands and slammed them into his forehead.

“So you know who I’m talking about? Say her name, please. She deserves that at least.”

“Kathy Bicks,” he said dully, as if viewing the body.

“Her hair was matted with stuff, sea stuff and kind of green. She passed by on a stretcher. The police have these stretchers in mesh, it’s weird, like a strainer, they can rescue a dead body and leave the water behind. In less than a night, sea creatures had feasted on her face, eaten her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes. But it was her. I recognized her shirt too. Your shirt.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was close when they passed by with her body. What’s with your face? You have a black eye. Why’s your cheek red and swollen? Did you have a fight with her?”

“What are you thinking?”

“That she killed herself or you killed her. I hate you. I hate that I could think evil of you. You make me sick. I never imagined you could do any of the things you’ve done already. Although that seems like my stupidity. What do you feel? Do you feel anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“My God, I saw her with Snow. I hope Snow’s all right.” I ran out, nearly tumbled down a flight of stairs, and pounded on Finn and Taylor’s door.

Snow opened it—Snow, her hair tangled from sleep, in screaming-pink shortie pajamas decorated with zebras. “We’re leaving today,” she said in a flat voice.

Finn turned up behind. Rumpled. Barely focusing. In boxers and a T-shirt. I could see the cot he slept in, opened near the couch.

“I’m so glad you’re fine, Snow.” My legs nearly buckled. I sagged against the wall. Finn came out, pulling the door closed.

“I was worried about Snow,” I said. “I was worried something happened to her. On my way back I saw—”

“Hi, Michael,” said Finn, looking over my shoulder.

“We should talk. All of us,” said Michael. “Not with your daughter.”

“W
HAT ARE YO
U THINKING
?”

“That she killed herself or you killed her.”

Woke to the news. Lizzie shook me awake to deliver it. Kath dead. Frankly, we are being frank, I couldn’t imagine it was true or that Lizzie could believe I had anything to do with it.

Not possible she was dead. I wasn’t superstitious. Didn’t believe in fate. As a romantic concept, found it idiotic. As powerful as I felt, I knew my fantasizing couldn’t make it happen. Besides, wanting something and getting it were different things. My passion for K had proved that.

Still, didn’t believe she was dead. Pounded on K’s door, expecting her to open it. Lizzie watched silently.

Even as I walked to the bench to meet the other couple, I thought,
She’s alive
, although the passing ambulance was silent, creeping along like all the cars here in case, on these narrow streets, something was coming from the other direction. Why wail a siren when you’re on your way to the morgue? Why did I
cling to a shred of hope when there had been that chilling moment with Snow the night before?

Lizzie had left her suitcase at reception, asked for a second taxi for an earlier departure time, an hour hence, then had followed me to the rendezvous, a bench not far from the hotel. My idea. Always on the lookout for places to hide, I had noticed it at the back end of the market. Outside was better. Discretion imperative.

It was ugly here, not far from a Dumpster and some trucks. Yet this area had an incongruously knockout view, the open sea in one direction. In the other, a small cove, haven for sailboats and small yachts. Lizzie sat half turned away at the end of the bench. As a favor, sensing her repulsion, I stood. I watched her ignore me.

We waited.

“You can’t leave her here,” said Lizzie. “That poor woman dying miles from home. You have to stay.”

I didn’t answer. The situation was much more complicated.

Lizzie was trembling. I offered the flask and, in return, got a look of disgust.

“What you did to me is unforgivable,” she said.

“Nothing is unforgivable,” I said. “It depends on your capacity for forgiveness.”

“Is that remark a consequence of this trip?” said Lizzie. “From seeing so many Christs bleeding on crosses? Has it made you think about forgiveness?” She fell silent then. Hearing the cleverness, I guessed. Unwilling to be us.

“I didn’t bring her here.”

“Liar. You’re as guilty as if you shoved her off.”

Saw the Dolans advance, Taylor in a bright, quick stride, Finn, gimpy, a pace behind.

“Do you want to sit down?” I asked Taylor.

“I’m fine.” She checked her watch. “I want Snow to have something to eat before we leave. I’m sure the food at the Catania airport is awful, and we’re flying to Naples, and then there’s the drive to Ravello—the Amalfi coast can be sheer terror in a car but quite stunning. I would like her to be able to enjoy it.”

“I wanted to tell you what Snow said to me. Last night. Awkward, I realize. But if the police question me—”

“Why would they question you?” said Taylor. “What about?”

“About the drowning. I knew the woman. Snow was with her.”

“They’d gone for pizza,” said Taylor, “and shopped.”

“Your daughter told me—” I stopped, struck by Taylor’s lack of curiosity, her cheerfulness. Finn snuck glances at Lizzie, who kept her eyes low. “Snow whispered to me, you remember I’m sure, when we were all weak with relief and the handsome
agenti
—”

“Spit it out, Michael,” said Lizzie. “Don’t make it a story.”

I remembered every lousy detail—the smell in the lobby from the olives and salami that had been laid out as snacks, the faint musk of wine, Snow reveling in the attention. I had leaned down to hear her breathy secretive voice. She was an efficient child, she didn’t waste words: “‘She won’t be bothering you anymore.’

“That’s what Snow whispered,” I told them.

Finn closed in behind Taylor, an instinct like a mobster’s. Family first.

“How did she know that?” I said. “How did she know Kath wouldn’t be bothering me anymore?”

“You’re full of shit,” said Finn.

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Why do you lie about everything? You do it. Your whole life’s a fable. Lizzie told me.”

Lizzie nodded, acknowledging her tit-for-tat.

“I’m only telling you that if the police interview me, I will tell them what your daughter said.”

“You want to get involved with the
polizia
? You want a date with the Italian justice system?” Finn snorted. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in a Sicilian jail.”

“He
is
involved,” said Lizzie. “He has a moral commitment. He brought her here.”

“I didn’t bring her.”

“Fuck you,” said Lizzie.

That stopped me for a second. Taylor gaped.

“‘She won’t be bothering you anymore.’ That is what your daughter told me,” I said. “I’m sure it’s hard to imagine.”

“You can’t imagine,” said Taylor. “You don’t have children.”

“Who scratched your face, Taylor? Did Snow do that?” said Lizzie.

“How dare you?” said Taylor.

“Are you accusing Snowy?” said Finn.

“I’m telling you what she said.”

“I saw them at Lo Scoglio,” said Lizzie. “Kath and Snow together.”

“They weren’t there,” said Taylor.

Finn shoved me. “You’re accusing my daughter? You’re crazy.”

“I saw them at the rock. I told you last night, Finn,” said Lizzie.

“You were freaked out from this asshole. Drunk as a skunk. You told me you couldn’t think. You sure couldn’t walk.”

Lizzie flinched as if he’d hit her.

“My daughter always tells me the truth,” said Taylor to Lizzie. “She wasn’t there.”

A moment of spontaneous understanding—we could be overheard. We lowered our voices.

“When did you see Lizzie?” Taylor asked Finn.

“While you were taking care of Snow,” said Finn. “Lizzie was distraught. I met her at a restaurant. As I said, she was loaded. You were out of it, Lizzie. Like you’d remember anything.”

“I remember last night,” said Lizzie.

I heard the betrayal.

“Kath and Snow shopped,” said Taylor. “They bought inappropriate clothes. Snow had pizza with her and came back alone.”

Foolish Kath. Befriending Snow. Turning a scorpion into a playmate. No doubt in my mind how it happened. Them sitting together, legs dangling over the edge of the boulder, laughing, maybe Kath reading Snow’s palm, she loved to do that. Told me
she did it with girlfriends in high school. Snow scooting back, standing up, giving her a push. Wouldn’t have taken much of a push. Kath mellow and happy, a little sunstroked, maybe even buzzed with her new favorite, Prosecco.
She won’t be bothering you anymore.

Lizzie was crying now, sniveling, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

I would give you an alibi for anything. I would swear to the police, “No way, she did not do it, she was with me the whole time. Release this beauty.”
I recalled our dinner, Lizzie’s question.
I’d alibi you for anything, Snow. I’d say, “Release this beauty.”
Had she believed that? Had she taken my theatrics seriously? Were Snow and I conspirators?

“Lizzie was at Lo Scoglio,” said Finn. “She told me. She saw Miss Indiana. She didn’t say there was anyone else with Miss Indiana. I’ll swear to that. Lizzie knew you were doing her. Maybe you wanted out of the marriage or maybe you didn’t and she put the screws to you. You’re the one with the motive. You and—”

“And me,” said Lizzie to Finn. “She was sleeping with my husband.”

Finn ignored her. Spoke only to me. “That’s what I’ll tell the
polizia
, that Lizzie was at the rock. If they ask me. She killed herself,” he said.

No one disagreed.

“They don’t know who she is,” I said. “Not yet.”

“They won’t for a few days,” said Finn. “Not until she doesn’t check out and the hotel notifies the cops and gives them her passport number.”

I took out the flask and passed it to him. He took a swig and passed it back.

“We’re leaving her?” said Lizzie.

I knelt, looking up into her face. “We don’t know her. She’s barely an acquaintance. Fortunately we’re getting the hell out of Italy today.” I looked at Finn. “You should too.”

“Fuck Ravello,” said Finn to Taylor.

“I’ll call Gloria,” said Taylor. “I don’t mind missing Ravello, although I’m sorry about Venice. It’s early. I’ll have to wake her, but no problem. I have all Gloria’s numbers. She won’t mind. This is a good spot for cell reception.” She pulled out her phone. “I hope Snow won’t be too disappointed.”

“So we agree,” said Finn.

Lizzie hoisted her purse and dug around in it. “Take my picture,” she said, handing me her phone. “If I ever think of having anything to do with you, I want to remember this moment. Go on, Michael, do it.”

I snapped her photo and went back to the hotel to pack.