“Hello,” said Isaac, in what felt like an intentionally flat tone. Was he mocking him?
“Out for a walk?” Stuart asked the group of them.
“Shiva’s over,” Gussie offered.
“Oh?”
“We go for a walk to mark the end of Shiva,” said Joseph.
“Ah, I see,” said Stuart, taking a step backward. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Would you like to join us?” Esther asked, looking him straight in the eyes.
Stuart looked down at his weather-beaten leather moccasins and the sleeveless wool one-piece he’d worn out on the boat. He’d pulled his shorts overtop his uniform when he had left the beach but hadn’t bothered to put on his shirt, which he held in one hand, the empty coffee thermos in the other. He could feel Esther, and maybe Anna, too, assessing his ensemble.
“I was on my way to get a bite before work,” he said as he placed the thermos down for a moment and pulled the shirt over his head.
“We won’t keep you,” said Esther.
“No, no. I have time,” he said quickly. “I was just trying to make excuses for being half-dressed. Is what I’m wearing all right?”
“You’re absolutely fine,” said Joseph.
Esther nodded, although it was hard to tell whether she was acknowledging that his attire looked passable or that she was simply ready for the family to set off again.
Stuart didn’t know the etiquette for a situation such as this. Ordinarily, he’d have tried to make polite conversation, but if this walk was religious in nature, it would surely be more appropriate to say nothing. He walked in silence for several minutes, studying the back of Joseph’s and Esther’s heads as they made their way north. As they approached States Avenue, they slowed their pace and crossed the wide Boardwalk. Esther gripped the railing with both hands and looked out at the ocean.
It made sense that the family would come here, to the spot where they’d last seen Florence alive. It was early, not yet ten, and the beach was still quiet. In a little while, the lifeguards would arrive, drag their stands down to the water’s edge, and give their whistles a long blast to signal that it was safe to swim.
Stuart knew the guards who had been assigned to the States Avenue stand this summer. Bing Johnson and Neil Farmer were both good guys but neither of them had half Stuart’s experience. Stuart had gone looking for them last Sunday night, after he’d talked to Esther. When he found them, at a beloved bar not far from the Virginia Avenue Hospital Tent, he’d delivered her message—asked them not to say anything about who the victim was—but he’d also asked them to describe the save to him in detail. “She only struggled for a minute,” said Bing, who was on what looked to be his fourth bourbon and water. “By the time we reached her, she was already unconscious.”
Stuart had wanted answers but neither Bing nor Neil could provide anything concrete. If only Stuart had been at the States Avenue stand, like usual. He might have gotten to Florence faster. Or she might never have gone for a swim in the first place, content to spend her afternoon shouting wisecracks at him from the ground below.
Esther shook her head back and forth, as if she were shaking the image of her daughter’s dead body from her mind. Joseph guided her away from the railing. Isaac and Gussie followed, and Anna and Stuart brought up the rear. Stuart intentionally slowed his pace, allowing a comfortable distance to grow between Isaac and him.
“I suppose you didn’t have the chance to get to know her very well,” said Stuart.
Anna didn’t say anything.
“She was special. Different. Not like all the other girls around here.”
Anna nodded, then wiped at her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, no. You’re right to want to talk about her.”
They passed a fortune-teller’s booth that advertised two-dollar tarot card readings.
“It must be hard to be in the middle of all this. Especially when you hardly know the family.”
“It’s not so bad,” she said. “For the first time in three months, I feel useful.”
“I’m sure you’ve been a big help.”
“Esther reminds me of my mother in many ways.”
“You must miss her,” said Stuart. “Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Is it true that Mr. Adler and your mother were sweethearts back in Europe?”
Anna’s eyes grew wide.
Stuart realized he’d overstepped. “Or maybe that’s just what Florence thought.”
Anna laughed out loud.
“What?” asked Stuart, grinning. “Is it funny to imagine them as sweethearts or funny to imagine Florence pondering the match?”
“Maybe both?”
“You were the subject of several letters home.”
“I can’t imagine what Florence must have thought,” she said. “A strange girl arrives out of nowhere. She’s not even a distant cousin, and suddenly she’s living in her old bedroom.”
“No one was complaining,” he said, wishing he could catch her eye. He got the impression that she considered herself to be a nuisance.
At Virginia Avenue, the family passed the hospital tent but no one acknowledged it.
“So, you can neither confirm nor deny Florence’s hunch?”
Anna smiled. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to breathe a word.”
He held up three fingers.
“They were engaged.”
Stuart couldn’t hide his surprise, didn’t try. “Mr. Adler and your mother?”
Anna nodded her head. “My suspicion is that he broke it off when he met Esther.”
“Fascinating.”
“I know.”
“Do you think he still loves her?”
“Who? My mother?”
“Sure.”
“I would assume not,” Anna said, as if she’d never considered the question, much less its answer. “Not that it really matters.”
“Of course it matters.”
Anna raised her eyebrows in amusement. She started to say something, and then stopped herself, pressed her lips together.
“What were you going to say?” Stuart asked.
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“It’s just that,” said Anna, “sometimes, when he looks at me, I get the feeling he’s rearranging my features, trying to recall my mother’s face.”
Stuart had nothing smart to say to that. He thought of the grainy photograph of Florence that had run in the Press, after she swam around the island last summer. It had captured her perfectly but he liked to think that, even in thirty years’ time, he wouldn’t need it to aid his recollection.
The procession came to a halt in front of the James Candy Company. A woman, whom Stuart didn’t recognize, stopped Esther, and as he and Anna neared, he could hear her asking after the family.
“And how’s your daughter?”
Esther’s face crumpled.
“Still resting comfortably?”
“Oh, Fannie. Yes, still in the hospital. I think she’s probably a little bored but so far, so good.
“Wonderful. And Florence? Still swimming every chance she gets?”
Stuart watched Esther visibly swallow.
Isaac, who hadn’t even looked as if he were paying attention to the conversation, responded for her. “We couldn’t get her out of the water if we tried.”
Gussie looked confused and turned to her father, “Dad, but she can’t—”
Before Gussie could get anything else out, Anna reached forward, grabbed her hand, gave the group an apologetic smile, and guided her inside the candy store. Stuart waited a few seconds to excuse himself, then followed them inside, where he found Anna and Gussie among several large bins of saltwater taffy. Anna was at eye level with Gussie, smoothing her hair as she spoke to the child in soft, soothing tones. Stuart had to get close before he could hear what she was saying.
“… important not to tel
l.”
Gussie looked like she was on the verge of tears. “But I thought we were just keeping the secret from Mother.” Her lip started to quiver. “Because, because, because of the baby.”
“Shhhh,” whispered Anna. “It’s confusing, I know.”
Stuart approached the pair and crouched low. “I think your grandparents are worried that, if lots of people know Florence has died, someone will tell your mother. It makes it easier to keep the secret if only a small number of people know.”
“We’re like a special club,” said Anna. “Have you ever been in a club?”
“Like a secret club?” Gussie asked.
“Yes, the most secret kind of club. The kind with handshakes and passwords and secret languages,” said Anna.
“Some of the girls at school are in a secret club.”
“Not you?” Anna asked.
She shook her head sadly. “In their club, they speak Pig Latin.”
“But that’s barely secret at all!” Stuart said, allowing a look of horror to fall over his face. “Everyone knows Pig Latin!”
“Our club is top secret,” said Anna.
“And I’m a member?” Gussie asked.
“All of us are members,” said Stuart, looking at Anna. “Everyone who knows what happened to Florence.”
“Do we have a secret handshake?” asked Gussie.
“ ‘Do we have a secret handshake?’ Anna, can you even believe what this girl is asking? ‘Do we have a secret handshake?’ We’ve got a secret handshake and a secret language!”
He grabbed Gussie’s small wrist and squeezed it twice before curling her pinkie into her palm and tugging at her thumb. “Is that secret enough for you?” he asked, grinning at her.
“And our secret language?”
“Anna, should we tell her the secret language? Do you think she’s ready for something so top secret?”
Anna made a face, as if she were carefully assessing Gussie’s secret-keeping attributes.
“I think she will do all right with such a big secret.”
Stuart had to think fast to come up with something. “It’s called ARP Talk, and it’s much more sophisticated than Pig Latin. You have to say ‘arp’ before every vowel sound. So, your name is Garp-u-sarp-ie. And I’m Starp-u-arpart.”
“What’s Anna’s name?”
“Arpann-arpa, of course.”
Gussie practiced for a few minutes. She said the made-up words for beach and sand and home.
“You’re quite good,” said Anna.
“So, the club rules are pretty straightforward,” said Stuart. “Don’t share the secret handshake with anyone who’s not a member, don’t teach anyone who’s not in the club the secret language, and—” He hesitated here. “Don’t tell anyone that Florence is dead.”
“Do I have to tell them she’s alive?” Gussie asked.
Stuart looked at Anna, who shook her head no. “Nope, you can just change the subject. Or say nothing at all.” Stuart eyed the bins of taffy. “Hold on one second.”
He grabbed a large handful of individually wrapped pieces of taffy and put them in a small paper sack, which he took up to the counter to be weighed. When he returned, candy in hand, he distributed three pieces to each of them and instructed them to remove the waxed wrappers.
“This is a very solemn part of the initiation ceremony,” he said, trying to make his face look serious. “I want you to put all three pieces of taffy in your mouth at once and repeat the following after me.”
As Gussie unwrapped her candy, Anna whispered “thank you,” to him over the top of Gussie’s head.
He shrugged his shoulders, to indicate it was nothing. “You’d better unwrap yours, too.”
When all three of them had worked the papers off their candies and placed the soft taffy in their mouths, Stuart said the only rhyme that came to mind, very fast: “One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret, never to be told,” and the girls repeated it, laughing at how ridiculous they all sounded.
They chewed in silence for several minutes, their mouths full of the sticky treat.
Gussie tried to ask Stuart something but it took her three tries before he could make out what she was saying.
“Should we initiate my father and grandparents?”
Stuart swallowed, then cleared his throat. “They’re already full-fledged members of the club. If you want to, just to be nice, you can offer them a piece of candy.”
“But we’ll initiate my mother?”
Stuart tried to imagine a scenario in which Fannie had had her baby, been told about her sister’s death, and recovered from both experiences sufficiently to sit with her daughter in James Candy Company, stuffing her mouth with taffy.
“Sure, after the baby’s been born, and someone’s had a chance to tell her about Florence,” said Stuart, watching Gussie’s face carefully to be sure she understood. He thought she did. Anna patted her head.
“Are we ready to go?” Stuart asked them both.
“Stop!” said Gussie just as he had begun moving toward the door. “What’s our name?”
“Name?”
“Our club name,” said Gussie. “All secret clubs have names.”
“By Jove, you’re right,” said Stuart, smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Anna, why didn’t we tell her the club’s name?” He was clearly stalling, a fact that Anna seemed to pick up on with little problem and that Gussie was willing to ignore.
“I don’t know how we forgot,” Anna said, offering up an apologetic smile but no name to go along with it.
His mind flashed through images: Florence tucking her hair under her red bathing cap, Florence plunging into the waves from the side of the rescue boat, Florence taking notes in the notebook with the pale blue cover. Quickly, it came to him.
“We call ourselves the Florence Adler Swims Forever Society.”
* * *
It was hard for Stuart to extricate his hand from Gussie’s sweaty palm, but at a quarter to ten, he looked at his watch, made his apologies to Gussie and Anna and then Esther, promised to be in touch with Joseph as soon as he heard anything from Bill Burgess, and took off toward the Kentucky Avenue beach tent.
He’d made it half a block before he heard someone calling his name, and turned to find Anna running to catch up with him.
When she arrived in front of him, she was out of breath.
“I wanted to ask you something,” she said when her breathing had returned to normal. “A favor.”
“Sure.”
She straightened, fidgeting with the clasp on a small handbag that had been tucked under her arm but that she now held in front of her like a shield.
“I can’t swim,” she said, her voice so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.
“Pardon?”
She cleared her throat. “I can’t swim.”
It wasn’t surprising, really. Plenty of girls couldn’t swim. In fact, most every girl he met couldn’t—not really.
“You didn’t swim in Berlin?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
A seagull cawed overhead, and they both watched as it dove over the head of a sand artist, hard at work on a life-sized portrait of Neptune, and headed out to sea. Stuart imagined that Atlantic City would be a terrifying place to live if the ocean was nothing more than a threat.
“Do you want to learn?”
“I was hoping you might teach me,” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll have you winning the Pageant Cup in no time.”
She let out a short laugh. “No gold medals necessary. I’d just like to be able to save my own life.”
* * *
“You’re late,” Robert said, as soon as Stuart staked his rescue can in the sand, tossed his things up to his partner, and hauled himself up and onto the lifeguard stand’s wide wooden bench seat.
“I know,” he said, pul
ling his whistle, which hung from a long string of lanyard, out of his pocket and putting it around his neck. “How are the waves?”
“They’re all right. I’m watching that rip current over there. I’ve already warned a half-dozen folks to steer clear of it.”
Stuart studied the break in the waves, counting the heads of the people who were swimming in its vicinity.
“Your father was looking for you.”
“He came down to the beach?”
“No,” Robert scoffed. They’d worked together for less than a month, but Robert already knew that was about as likely as fish flying. “He sent his lackey.”
“Wilson?”
“That’s the one.”
“What’d he say?”
“To come by your dad’s office, first break you get.”
“Goddammit. It’s bad enough he dragged me off the States Avenue stand. Now he thinks he can just summon me up to the hotel whenever he wants.”
“I mean, I like having you and all, but I’m surprised Chief Bryant let him get away with it.”
“I’m not,” said Stuart indignantly. “My father underwrites this entire section of the beach. Always has. The hotel’s also hosting the Lifeguards’ Ball this summer—gratis.”
“Still, you’re one of Bryant’s best guards, and he’s gotta know he’s making your life hell.”
“Two o’clock,” said Stuart. “You see what’s happening?”
By the time Robert could say anything, Stuart had already given his whistle three short blasts and hopped down from the stand onto the hot sand. Robert scrambled to catch up as the two men ran to the rescue boat, grabbed hold of its sides, and heaved it into the waves.
“He’s not struggling,” yelled Stuart. “I think he’s about to go under.”
Beachgoers expected swimmers who were in distress to wave their arms and call for help but Stuart had learned that they rarely did either of those things. The signs that someone was drowning were often subtle and hard to see from several dozen yards away in a lifeguard stand. Distressed swimmers stopped using their arms and legs, stopped making forward or backward progress in the water. Under the surface, their bodies went vertical, as if they were climbing an invisible ladder, but in the briny Atlantic, that posture wasn’t always easy to spot. Stuart had trained himself to watch for the way swimmers held their heads. A swimmer who was treading water could keep his chin above water but a struggling swimmer let his head sink so low that his mouth was barely above water level. With women and small children, their long hair often provided a clue: if their hair fell in front of their eyes, and they didn’t immediately push it out of the way, it indicated that they probably didn’t have the wherewithal to do so. But the biggest sign, which Stuart hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since Florence’s drowning, was that swimmers in distress almost always turned their bodies to face the shore.
Florence Adler Swims Forever: A Novel Page 11
