Tony stepped back as the truck pulled away, loaded with the daily delivery of bluefish, cod, and grouper, and suddenly imagined Sara locked in such a van, bound at the ankles and the wrists, kidnapped. This possibility circled briefly in his mind, gathering hooks as it circled, becoming more painful until it finally burst from his mouth.
“Maybe she got snatched,” he said. “Not for ransom. But for revenge.”
Eddie stripped off a pair of thick rubber gloves. “Who would hate you that much, Tony? To do something like that.”
“Maybe it wasn’t me he was doing it to.”
Eddie looked at him quizzically.
“You know how it is with my father,” Tony explained. “You know the people he deals with.”
“Did you ask him if maybe it could be something like that?”
“No, he’d blow up if I asked him that.” Tony turned and headed back toward his office, Eddie trudging along beside him. “I think he’s got somebody looking for her.”
“Why do you think that, Tony?”
“Because when I told him about how Sara was missing, he started in on how I couldn’t just let her go, how I had to find her and bring her back and all that shit. Then he gets up and makes a call.” Tony stopped and peered out over the marina, where scores of spinnakers rocked gently in the breeze. “I think he put some guy on it. One of his guys. You know the type. Suppose this fucking guy does find her, Eddie? What then?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted. “But look, Tony, I mean, who knows, maybe she’ll come back on her own. I mean, it could be all she wants is a little break.”
“A break?”
“From… stuff.”
“Me?”
“Everything,” Eddie said. “My aunt Edna needed a break. She ran off to Atlantic City, stayed two weeks, then come back. With three hundred dollars in nickels. She poured ’em out on the kitchen table. Right there, in front of my uncle. Told him to buy himself a new suit. That was the end of it. She never went nowhere after that.”
“I don’t think Sara went to Atlantic City,” Tony said despondently.
“But maybe somewhere just to get away,” Eddie said.
“Without telling anybody?”
“Without telling you,” Eddie offered cautiously. “ ’Cause she just wanted to, you know, be alone.”
“So who would she have told?”
“Maybe nobody,” Eddie answered. “Or maybe a friend. Somebody she talked to.”
“Della,” Tony answered. “She lives across the street. They go shopping sometimes, her and Della.”
“Then maybe Sara said something, you know? You should talk to that woman, Tony. That Della woman.”
Tony pondered Eddie’s suggestion, looking for a way to speak to Della DeLuria without actually revealing that Sara had left him, found no way to do it, then said, “Yeah, okay.”
Inside his office, safe from view, Tony stared at the picture of himself and Sara that he’d placed on his desk nine years before. It showed the happy couple on the steps of St. Mary’s, Sara in a flowing white dress, Tony in a black tuxedo, his father alone and off to the right, as if in bitter surmise of his new daughter-in-law.
He never liked her, Tony thought, remembering the evening a week before when he’d come home late to find the Old Man slumped in the living room, looking sullen. Sara had come in briefly, and his father had glared at her hatefully, then gotten to his feet and left with nothing beyond a mumbled That bitch don’t know her place, Tony.
He picked up the photograph and concentrated on Sara’s face. Even on her wedding day there’d been a curious sadness in her eyes, a distance he couldn’t bridge. Had it been that distance that had first attracted him, he wondered, the way she seemed to distrust love, life, everything? If so, he should have been wary of her, he told himself. But instead, that very distance had formed part of what he’d fallen for when he’d fallen for her. And he had fallen for her. That much was sure. He could see that even now, in the picture, the two of them on the church steps, rice flying in all directions. At that moment she had been the indisputable love of his life. The love of my life that day, he thought, then with a sudden aching clarity realized that she still was.