What kind of letter, says Duran quietly, as if trying not to wake me.
Ross looks back and forth between us, confused.
That’s what I’m trying to decide, I say. Sometimes, I think it’s a goodbye letter. Like he knew he wasn’t going to make it back. Other times, I think it’s a love letter. But not a simple kind of love. Like I said, it’s very personal. Intimate. It would be very, very difficult for me to share it with others.
Yesss, Duran exhales, having found the point of resistance. I can understand how you’d feel that way. It’s his last remaining document. The last words he wrote.
Yes, I say.
We don’t want to take it from you, she says. We only want to borrow it. We will not read it word for word, I promise. We will only examine the entries that pertain to our search. And when we are done, I will personally hand-deliver it back to you. We’re trying to save a person’s life.
My mother’s tread is very light for such a sizable woman. She has made it down the stairs without drawing notice. Suddenly, she stands in the threshold of the hallway with her jacket on.
Hello, she says to the officers.
Hello, they say, surprised.
Ross looks suddenly nervous. Too much movement. I stand up.
Are you two going somewhere? he asks.
Juliet, my mother says, I just wanted to know if I should go get Sybil at the bus stop? So you can keep talking a little longer?
I stare at her for the briefest moment. She wants me to understand.
Great, I say. Thank you, Mom.
She turns around. We watch her pass through the hallway. The front door closes softly.
Well, I say. We don’t have long before my daughter comes home. So, if you don’t mind…
They react slowly. They stand. Duran smiles.
But the logbook, she says, very conciliatory.
There’s very personal information in there about me, I say. About my childhood, and events from my—
We need to leave with the book, ma’am, says Ross. This is a very active phase of our search.
Duran cuts her eyes his way.
OK, I say. OK. I’ll go get it.
I’ll come with you, Duran exclaims, upbeat.
We walk together. I feel extremely close to her—I mean proximate, not intimate. I feel her moving close behind me on the stairs. At my heels. So close I could catch her with my heel. We get to the top of the landing and turn left down the short hall. We enter the bedroom.
I love the neutral colors, she says. Very Scandinavian.
I open the closet doors and step in.
It’s like living in a birch tree, she says.
You have to remember, I say from inside the closet, Michael got sick very suddenly. It was a matter of hours. Hours. He was normal Michael. Then he was dying. He began to hemorrhage on the boat ride back to Kingston. He had severe dengue fever. From a mosquito. He passed away in the hospital. I wasn’t there.
I hand her the logbook. She takes it with a sympathetic expression, and pauses a moment with her hand on the cover. I watch closely as she pages through it. She makes a point of turning the pages delicately. I can’t imagine what her partner is doing downstairs. I just hope he’s not gone to the bus stop. My mother won’t be there. Sybil’s bus doesn’t come for another forty-five minutes. Which way has my mother gone, and can Ross see her? Is he tracking her, right this very moment? Is he following her?
Duran pages on, licking her thumb. I realize I am holding my breath.
She raises her eyebrows and whistles.
Holy smokes, he had a lot to say, your husband did.
Yes. He was a very thoughtful person.
Seems like he wrote even more than he sailed, she says with a chuckle.