Джордан Шор - The Search

George hesitated, considering what he could say.

“I mean, I ran up the hood of the car, stepped on the rooftop lights, and made a double tuck over the car. And the landing was perfect, by the way.”

“Are you crazy, George? You could have broken your neck.”

“No, I was a professional gymnast back then. The flip was easy. However, getting away from the cops was not.”

“You were a professional gymnast?” Trisha had a deadpan look.

“I won state championship when I was eighteen. On that very day actually. I was out on the town celebrating with my friends, and I wanted to impress them. So, at the time, the flip seemed like a clever thing to do. Unfortunately, the San Francisco Police Department didn’t share my sense of humor.”

“So they chased after you?”

“Half the precinct chased me for at least an hour or so.”

“And they eventually caught up with you?”

“Actually, I more or less surrendered.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was full of adrenaline and shaking all over. I remember feeling I couldn’t breathe. I had so much anxiety because I wondered when, how, and if they were going to catch me. But as soon as I gave up running, that anxiety went away. Like the thought of them catching me felt worse than them actually catching me.”

To George’s astonishment, Trisha Boyle appeared to be speechless.

“Come to think of it, that night in jail did something to me. I think it changed me somehow,” he added.

“Did something happen to you in jail?”

“No, nothing happened. I just waited for the time to pass.”

“How did that change you?”

“Go sit in the closet for the entire night,” he responded, and pointed at the closet door. “Just sit there and wait for the morning to come. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“That’s just silly, George.”

“No, I’m serious. Try it, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“No, I couldn’t do that. I would just feel like an idiot.”

“Exactly.”

Trisha looked thoughtful and kept gazing into his eyes. At that point, she slowly got off the bed and came toward him. Then, she ran past him and made her way into the bathroom. George could hear the sound of liquid colliding with water surface.

“Are you all right in there?”

Trisha didn’t respond. But the familiar erupting sound from the toilet bowl answered his question just as well.

About fifteen minutes later, Trisha made her way back to the bed, only to slide down onto the floor a few seconds later. Once on the floor, she crawled on her hands and knees, then grabbed the garbage can under the desk, put half her face in it, but did nothing more. Trisha made a sad sound like the cry of a dog who’s been left on its own, and the sound was emphasized by the echo from the empty garbage can. George thought the sound of echoing tears was heartbreaking, and felt he should say something to ease her discomfort.

“It’ll pass soon enough, Trisha. You’ll feel better in the morning… I mean, you’ll feel better on Thursday,” he added with a smile meant to poke fun at her.

Trisha’s face emerged from the garbage can, her mascara running. “It’s not funny, George.”

“Are you all right?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she crawled away from him, pushing the garbage can in front of her with half her face in it—much the way a dog might move its food bowl.

What was the dog’s name?

“You remember the dog from the visit to Mrs. Daniels? What was his name?

“Jack,” Trisha mumbled, her head still in the garbage can. “Jack Daniels.”

“You remember how Jack moved the food bowl all around the house?”

Trisha’s face slowly emerged, and her makeup ran even more. “It’s not funny, George.”

Trisha crawled up on to the bed, and lay down on her stomach.

“I just wanted to let loose for once,” Trisha murmured with her lips pressed up against a pillow. “Stop being a mom for just one night.”

Trisha looked as she was about to fall asleep.

“I hope this doesn’t change your impression of the Scotch-Irish community?” Trisha mumbled into the pillow.

“No, it’s pretty much the same as before,” he said and laughed internally.

George noticed Trisha’s breathing pattern had decelerated, and shortly after, her leg suddenly twitched. He came to think of how he cured his insomnia.

Just as the human body is about to fall asleep, the brain is destined to misinterpret the experience as the sense of actually falling. The sense of falling, and the sudden twitch used to keep George from falling asleep. So, in order to lure his mind, he would actually imagine and embrace the sensation of falling. He would imagine falling into something delightful, something that made him feel safe—therefore, luring his mind into interpreting the experience of falling as pleasant, instead of alarming. As George had grown accustomed to the sense of falling , his insomnia had slowly faded away.

To George’s concern, he soon came to realize that Trisha had carried her arsenal of booze in her bare hands; she hadn’t brought a purse. His head dropped as he thought of the consequences. He contemplated whether getting into her pockets was the right thing to do. Even though Trisha looked as if she was passed out for the night, there was always a slight risk of her waking up screaming as soon his hands were in her pants.

After a short deliberation and evaluation of all the alternatives, George decided getting into her pants pockets was the right thing to do. Trisha Boyle was still passed out and lying on her stomach. To his frustration, he quickly discovered her back pants pocket was empty. He hesitated once more before he fished out a card from her front pocket.

Trisha Boyle slept in his bed that night, and he slept in hers.

Wednesday afternoon

Jack walked toward the sloping tree down by the shore, and then casually brought up his arm as Julie rose to her feet.

“Hey,” Julie called out in a hoarse voice.

Julie squinted, and then her smile suddenly vanished.

“Where’s Kevin?” Julie eventually asked Jack.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“But he left with you, Jack.”

Jack frowned. “He didn’t come back?”

“No,” Julie almost yelled. “What happened between you two?”

“He got upset and left.”

“Why? What happened?”

Jack coughed into his fist. “I saw Kevin board the plane with his wife.”

“But he said he wasn’t married…” Julie’s voice trailed off, and then she looked long and hard at the lake.

“I told him he shouldn’t blame himself for what happened. I tried to get him to open up to me, but he just ignored me. Until he suddenly cracked. His face looked destroyed all of the sudden, and he ran back the way we came.”

“Was he wearing a wedding ring?”

“He must have taken it off. I noticed the imprint on his finger when we…”

Jack looked at the letters spelled out across the shore.

“…created the sign,” Jack continued. “And before that, I noticed he had his hands in his pockets the whole time.”

“I noticed that too, but I just thought he was cold.”

“Guilt was eating him up,” Jack said in a drowsy voice. “I think his wife’s name was Pamela.”

“What makes you say that?” Julie asked hesitantly.

“I heard someone yelling for Pamela when I swam to shore,” Jack said. “Remember how I asked you if your name was Pamela?”

“I don’t remember much from the crash.”

“It must have been Kevin, yelling for his wife,” Jack said. He looked around the nearby surroundings. “So, are Nancy and Andrew off looking for Kevin?”