The Orchid Sister

by LeClaire, Anne D.

  “Wait until you see. You will be amazed. You cannot leave without trying it.” He got out of the taxi.

  She turned to Jack. “Tell the driver to take us back to town,” she said.

  He looked at Víctor, and the two exchanged quick words in Spanish. To her dismay, Jack got out of the cab. He avoided looking at her.

  She’d had enough of both of them. “I am not some tourist looking for a good time. I am here to find my sister. If you don’t help me, that’s fine.”

  “Don’t blame Víctor,” Jack said. “Earlier, when you were talking to the clerk in the apparel shop, he mentioned this place, and I thought since we were on the island anyway, you could have one hour of pleasure or relaxation before we left.” He shot an apologetic look at Víctor.

  The diver’s smile disappeared. “If I have offended you, I am sorry, Madison. My only wish was to surprise you, to bring you to this beautiful place so that you will have a lovely memory to take home with you. To ease the dolor. The sorrow and sadness you carry in your heart.” He set the bag down and walked off, leaving them to talk.

  “I am not here for relaxation or fun or whatever the hell you had in mind,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m here to find Kat.” The warmth she had been feeling toward Jack disappeared, a wave washing footprints from the sand.

  “Look,” Jack said. “We have to wait for the afternoon ferry back. Let’s just take this moment.”

  “No.”

  He opened the canvas tote the diver had set at their feet and took out two masks, snorkels, and two sets of flippers.

  “No,” she said. “I just want to go back.”

  He pulled out a faded towel from the bag and then, to the surprise of them both, a black bathing suit.

  “He planned this all along. Why else bring the diving gear? That suit? I don’t trust him. I think he knows more than he’s telling us.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it’s as simple as he said. No matter whether or not you learned anything here about Kat, he wanted us to experience diving here before we leave. He’s a diver. It would be natural for him to think that.”

  She wasn’t convinced.

  “We’re here now. Let’s take that lovely memory he wanted us to have.”

  “I’m not here for lovely memories.”

  “I saw the changing room over there by the parking lot,” Jack said. “By that stand of palm trees.” He held out the swimsuit.

  She shrank back as if it were a living thing. “I can’t. No, I can’t.”

  He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her scarred face. “Water,” he said. “Someone once told me that water washes away grief.”

  “I—I don’t swim anymore.”

  He set the gear down in the shade of a grape tree, placing the black suit on top. Slowly, he pulled his shirt off, stripped off his pants, beneath which he wore only briefs. His eyes did not leave hers, full of challenge. And compassion, for she saw that there, too.

  “You keep pushing the good things away, Maddie,” he said. “No matter what happens when we return to Playa, if you don’t swim here, I think what you’ll remember of this day is regret. Always regret at what you have pushed away.”

  She met his gaze, held it, felt her jaw stiffen in the face of the unspoken challenge. “No,” she said. She was remembering how in the first days he had tried to talk her into flying in the small plane with him.

  “You’re afraid,” he said.

  She held his gaze. “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “Olivia once told me that it’s the thing we most fear that we have to face,” he said.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He picked up the suit and handed it to her. They locked eyes, his daring, hers defiant. A flash of the person she had once been, before, surfaced. She grabbed the suit from his grasp and stalked off to the changing hut. Even before she stripped off her shift, she regretted her impulsiveness. The suit covered some of her scars but not nearly all. She pictured his eyes challenging her. She tugged on the suit. There was a wall of lockers, and she took the key from the door of one and placed her tote and folded shift in it. The key hung from a thick band of elastic, and she slid it on her wrist like a bracelet. Not giving herself time to change her mind, she walked from the hut to the water’s edge where he waited. She tried to stand as tall as he did, but felt shrunken.

  He steadied her while she put on the flippers. They did not speak. Wide stone steps led into the water. They were slippery, and when he reached for her hand she resisted only briefly. When they were knee-deep in the water, he showed her how to adjust her mask, submerging it, instructing her to spit on the glass lens, then rinse it. The water was an astonishing turquoise and as warm as she imagined an infant’s first bath would be. When she was hip-deep, a neon-blue fish swam by. She sank down into the water, let it capture her hips, waist, breasts, shoulders, and scissor-kicked out deeper until her feet could no longer touch the sea bed. Her chest expanded, as if something held tightly sealed had broken free. She submerged her face and swam deeper, looking down on pocked coral peaks and caverns, shadowy grottoes. She saw Medusa-like sponges and undulating purple sea fans. A school of blue fish suspended like a Calder mobile swam by, winking like Christmas lights. All the while, vibrantly colored fish in gaudy shades of pink and green, blue and black, banded with violet and gold, wove around her, occasionally their fins or tails brushing her legs. This was a world as mysterious and beautiful as the heavens. The ground she had stood on only moments before fell away. How could she have never done this before? Kat would love this, she thought. For a moment, panic and guilt shot through her. She should be searching for her sister, not swimming in the sea. And then she remembered that they would have to wait for the ferry back to Playa and pushed the guilt aside.

  Jack swam close and took her hand again, a gesture that felt so natural she didn’t resist. They swam side by side. Occasionally she would feel a gentle tug, and he would point with his free hand to a fish she might have missed or a mound of coral. He squeezed her fingers and pointed at something below. So unexpected was the sight that it took her a moment for her brain to digest what her eyes were seeing. Perhaps thirty feet below stood a larger-than-life statue of Christ, arms outstretched, the base embedded in the sand. They hovered for a while above it. The figure had grown dark and mossy with ocean growth. After a while they swam on, passing over a half-buried cannon and the curved bones of a sunken fishing boat. Again, he squeezed her fingers. Now they were above a brass Madonna rising from a starfish pedestal. Unlike the statue of Christ, the Madonna had been scrubbed clean and shone like Mayan gold. Someone had tied an offering of red silk blossoms around her strangely amphibian feet. The blowsy flowers swayed and undulated, attracting curious fish who nibbled at the petals before swimming away. Again Maddie felt her heart open, and tears unexpectedly blurred her vision behind the mask.

  At last they turned and headed back to the beach. He helped her up the flat rocks that served as steps. Her legs felt shaky from the exertion. She saw the taxi waiting for them in the parking lot. Víctor stood beside it. She took off the flippers and mask, handed them to Jack. “Thank you,” she said. To his credit, he did not gloat. When she walked back to the changing hut, she no longer felt shrunken.

  Whatever lay ahead, she would carry with her the memories of this day. Of the underwater world achingly beautiful and full of magic. The unexpected vision of the two statues of Christ and the Madonna. She would remember, too, how free it had felt to stand openly with only the black bathing suit for cover, and then enter the water and swim. She felt a renewed sense of strength and determination.

  Whatever it took, she would find Kat. She would not give up.

  As if he had read her mind, Jack leaned in and said, “It’s going to be all right, Maddie.” His voice was sure and calm.

  She wanted to believe him.

  KATHERINE

  The sky was moonless, and Kat had only th
e light of a single tiki torch by the poolside with which to see. She let the robe fall to the ground and entered the water. Nude. There was no one but Verner and Mercer to see her thin body. She stood for a moment, letting the water surround her, and then began to swim. Even wasted, something in her muscles, some vestige of strength, took over. She set out for the far end of the pool. She was growing stronger. She could reach almost the center before she needed to rest. She hung on the lip of the pool and took the opportunity to scan the surroundings. On a previous evening she had seen a shed close to the main house and remembered on her first or second visit she had watched a pool boy retrieve a container of fuel to refill the tiki torches. She did not let her eyes linger there, but she filed away the information.

  After a few minutes Verner left. Mercer stayed. Finally, when Kat could swim no longer, Mercer led her back to her room, holding firmly to her arm with the grip that always was separated just one degree from cruel. Kat peered into the shadows of the night but could see no one within earshot, no one who might hear her calls for help. Verner had always been careful in that way. As they made their way back to the concrete building set aside from the main building of the clinic, the sounds of the jungle came to her. Wild sounds she did not recognize. For once she was grateful for the wall that surrounded the clinic. At last, when she was sure she could go no farther, they reached the concrete building. She was weak from the effort of swimming and the walk to and from the pool, but not as fatigued as she had been the time before. As impossible as it seemed, she appeared to be getting better. Perhaps things could be reversed. If one part of the protocol had caused the accelerated aging, couldn’t something else do the opposite? Perhaps she would be the miracle Verner had dedicated his life to finding.

  Then she remembered the Mexican girl weeping, the harvesting of fetal tissues. Even if Verner had discovered his miracle, at what cost? At what cost?

  She knew that nothing, not even her own life, could ever exonerate him for what he had done.

  MADISON

  She and Jack, as if by mutual agreement, did not talk during the ferry ride back to Playa. At one point she brought the guidebook to where Víctor stood in the bow and asked him if he had any other idea of where she might look for Kat. He considered the horizon, then asked if she had been to the police station. She had told him that information earlier on the ride to the island and was surprised he had forgotten. Perhaps he had not listened as intently as it had appeared.

  They arrived back at Playa to a village buzzing with activity. Men stood on ladders hanging strings of lights along the eaves of buildings and looping from poles to poles along the seaside walk. Women and girls were wrapping colorful banners and streamers on anything that stood still.

  “What’s going on?” Maddie said.

  “They are preparing for the fiesta,” Víctor said. “For the Masquerade.”

  “When is that?” Jack asked.

  “Tomorrow. It is good you will be here.”

  Maddie knew of the Mexicans’ love of festivals and celebrations. “What is it for?” she asked.

  “Originally it was called the Fiesta del San Isidro. He was the patron saint of farmers, and there was a blessing of the seeds and animals. The padre still does the blessing, but mainly it is now an excuse to party.”

  “What happens?” Jack asked.

  “There’s a masquerade, a parade where everyone wears costumes and masks. And a fishing contest and dancing and fireworks. The festival starts in the morning and lasts until after midnight.”

  Maddie snorted. Another tourist attraction. Another one of the memories they both were so eager for her to take with her when she left. She felt as if the reason they had come to Playa was being pushed into the background.

  At the foot of the pier, they said goodbye to the diver and parted ways.

  “Well, that was a wasted day,” she said to Jack as Víctor walked away.

  He gazed at her in silence. “Not entirely wasted,” he said.

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t he understand that if she didn’t find Kat, everything was wasted? Nothing—not any snorkeling or festival—would matter if she returned home learning nothing about what had happened to her sister.

  “What’s the plan now?” he said.

  “I need a shower,” she said, her voice cool. Now the excursion to Cozumel seemed nothing more than an indulgence. The only real clues she had of where Kat had definitely been were right here in Playa. She headed toward the hotel.

  “A shower sounds good,” Jack said, his tone so cheerful it annoyed her.

  They passed the spot where she had seen the fortune-teller earlier. The table and chair and wooden frame were still there, but the wares that she had seen hanging from the rods were gone. So, too, were the woman and the canary.

  “Hold on a sec,” Jack said. “I could use something to eat before dinner.” He led her into the bakery. The air was thick with the aroma of yeast and honey, sugar and vanilla. A young boy waited behind the counter. “What would you like?” Jack asked her.

  “I’m all set,” she said. While he purchased a sweet roll, she pointed out the fortune-teller’s table. “Where is the woman?” she asked the boy.

  “She is gone for siesta. She will be back later.”

  A siesta. At the word she felt the lingering heat of the day, mingled with the exertion of swimming at Cozumel, wash over her. A shower would help, and then she would head back out again to resume her canvassing of the shops.

  She intended to rest on the bed for only a minute or two, to get a second wind, but she fell asleep almost as soon as she stretched out on the low bed, and when she woke, in the hazy place of half sleep, as if of its own accord her hand reached across the bed for Jack. In spite of her best intentions and the insistence that they were to be no more than friends, there were moments when she was finding it more difficult to hold to this intent.

  Her irritation with him faded. Snatches of memory from the day swam before her eyes. The kapok trees, the busy streets of San Miguel. Chankanaab Park. The feeling of sun and water on her body, the fish too beautiful to be real, and the sunken statues. Had the Madonna really had feet of fins, or was that only a slip of memory left from a dream? In the haze of half waking, it all seemed a dream. Had she really stood on a beach in public, revealing her scars? Had she really let Jack lead her into the water? The events of the morning and afternoon seemed a fantasy. Out of that dream came Jack’s words. What you most fear is the thing you must face.

  What did she most fear? The answer came quickly. The loss of Kat. She rose and dressed. Tonight she would go in every bar, every restaurant, talk to every street vendor and waiter and person she encountered. She would return to the police station, exhaust every possibility. If at the end she learned nothing, she would tell Jack it was time to head back to Cancún and get a flight home. If she couldn’t find Kat, there was nothing left for her here. If Kat wasn’t here, she would have to face that worst fear. The thought added urgency to her step. Determined to stay focused, she passed Jack’s room without knocking. She was here to find Kat, not to make more memories with him.

  Downstairs, as she walked toward the dining terrace of the hotel, she was overtaken by a roar of female laughter. A group of women wearing T-shirts that said FoB in purple letters on the front were gathering by the bar. By the tenor of the laughter, they had been there for a while. At the center of the group was a blonde with a crown of yellow vanilla flowers on her head. Her shirt read BRIDE. Their gaiety made Maddie feel sharply alone.

  She went into three restaurants, each crowded and noisy with voices and music and laughter, as if the fiesta, too eager to wait another day, had already begun. She shoved her way through, showing Kat’s photo again and again. At last she came to one café with four tables aligned in front. The sign above the door read MÁSCARA. She knew this word. Masks. Such coincidences were not to be ignored. She went inside.

  A tall, fit-looking woman who appeared to be an American in late middle age appro
ached, eying her with curiosity. “How many in your party?” she asked, although it was clear that Maddie was alone.

  “Just one,” she said.

  The woman led her to a table by the window and handed her a menu. “Can I get you something to drink? Our margaritas are famous in Playa.”

  The idea of tequila made her queasy. On an empty stomach—had she really had nothing since the fruit at breakfast?—it was probably wiser to stay away from anything alcoholic. Then again, wise was not always what was needed. “I’ll have a beer,” she said.

  “Corona or Negra Modelo?”

  “If you have the Modelo on tap, I’ll take that.” She settled back in the chair and felt tightness in her shoulders, a scratchiness of her shirt fabric against her skin, and realized that she had a sunburn from swimming at the park on Cozumel. Again she felt the pang of guilt that she had been snorkeling and—admit it, she scolded herself—had allowed the search for Kat to recede for those minutes.

  The waitress returned with the beer and set two saucers and a plate of grilled tortilla wedges on the table. She pointed to one of the saucers. “Tomatillo guacamole,” she said. “Compliments of the house. And this is sikil pak.”

  Maddie smiled. “Not a clue,” she said.

  “Pumpkin-seed dip. Try it.”

  Maddie took the smallest of the wedges and scooped up a small portion of the dip. “Delicious,” she announced. She reached into the tote for Kat’s picture. The edges were growing slightly dog-eared. She should have protected it with a folder. “I’m looking for my sister. I was wondering if you’ve seen her.”

  The waitress took the photo. “Is she here for the fiesta?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so. She flew here a few weeks ago and hasn’t returned home. I haven’t heard from her.”

  The waitress held the photo nearer to her face, examining it closely. “I don’t think so,” she said. “And I have a pretty good memory for faces. Have you checked with the police?”

  “Yes. The State Department had already sent a photo ahead and a missing person alert.”