Terminal Island by Walter Greatshell Read Free Book Online Page B

some absolute sink of foulness; the source from which all corruption flows. Meaning them.
    Partway back to the hotel, Ruby has to pry something away from Moxie. “Oh shit,” she says. “Honey? Look what she was playing with.”
    Henry peers at his wife’s cupped palm in disbelief. In it is a human tooth—a big, ugly molar.

    After they’ve showered and changed, Henry and Ruby ask the desk clerk at the Formosa about the address he has for his mother. It is in a letter he received some months ago from an acquaintance of his mom’s—an elderly neighbor who he thinks was probably her only friend in recent years. The handwritten letter reads:

    Dear Mr. Cadmus,
    I am a friend of your mother’s. Some weeks ago she was very excited to tell me she had a wonderful opportunity to move to a condominium on Catalina Island, and asked me to forward her mail to this address: Box 327B, Shady Isle, Avalon Township, Los Angeles CA. She promised to contact me as soon as she arrived, but I have not heard back from her. Since her health is poor, I would be grateful to know if you have heard from her, and if she is well. I know from speaking to your mother that you and she are not on the best of terms, but I hope you can reassure me that she is all right. She is a remarkable woman, and has always spoken highly of you and your family. Thank you.
    Sincerely—Lucille Sanford

    After receiving this letter, Henry had written his mother at once, alarmed to hear of this latest likely debacle:

    Mom,
    I just heard from your friend Lucille that you’ve moved to Catalina—what’s going on? Have you won the Lotto or something? You’ve got everybody worried—please fill me in on your situation ASAP so I know you’re okay. Ruby and Moxie say hi.
    XXXOOO—Henry

    When a month passed with no reply, Henry decided to try the local Sheriff’s Department instead. Their reply was succinct:

    Mr. Cadmus,
    Regarding your inquiry about your mother, it may help you to know that many of our residents place a high value on their privacy—it is the chief attraction of an island lifestyle.
    Cordially—Sheriff’s Deputy Tina Myrtessa

    Island lifestyle? Gee thanks, officer . Yeah, that was it; he just could see his mother burning up the tennis court, or bicycling all day and dancing all night like the seniors on those adult diaper commercials. Obviously Deputy Myrtessa didn’t know his mother. At least it proved she was still there, though, and not homeless somewhere. Ticked off maybe, but all right.
    Over the following months Henry sent several more letters, his tone becoming increasingly urgent and annoyed by her failure to reply. The last straw was when his last letter came back marked RETURN TO SENDER—what, she wasn’t even accepting his mail now?
    That was it: Like it or not, he had to consider actually going there to find out what the hell she thought she was doing. Had she gone senile? Joined a cult? Shacked up with someone? Part of him doesn’t want to know, would have been so content just to let his mother vanish off the face of the Earth and take his past with her. That’s what she’s become to him: a relic of his personal history, sole repository of unwanted memories. A burden. Plus there was that other thing—the whole Catalina thing. Why did she have to move back there of all places?
    With no regard for disrupting their busy routines or the amount of traveling and expense involved—starting with round-trip airfare from Chicago to L.A.—Ruby had decided it for him:
    Oh, we have to go. That’s all there is to it.

    The tanned, sarong-wearing desk girl at the Formosa squints at the address and says, “Gosh, I’m not sure…” Then she brightens: “Shady Isle. You know what? I think this is that new condo development around the other side of the Casino. You just have to follow the shore road all the way around the point and go up the hill.”
    “Is it close enough to walk?”
    “Oh, sure. I mean, if you don’t mind a little hike.