Land of Dreams: A Novel Read Free Page B

him not to touch.
    There was a pause.
    “What string?”
    “The string in the top drawer,” I said, pulling aside the blanket and snatching the bag of crackers from him, “the string that you obviously took, Tom—where is it?”
    His crackers now confiscated, he had no further fear of punishment and said defiantly, “I made a kite.”
    I groaned as I remembered him chasing down the beach, trying to get two sticks and a hankie to take flight. “Where is it now, Tom? I need the string.”
    He looked at me and shrugged, then his eyes opened and he blinked—fearful that he might have really upset me.
    I lifted my eyebrows and reset my expression from frustrated to benign.
    “Let’s see if Conor has some in the post office shop,” I said.
    “Can we get candy, Mammy, can we?”
    “Come on,” I said noncommittally as he ran ahead of me down the stairs and, still only half dressed and barefoot, onto the sand path toward the Cherry Grove post office.
    I watched Tom skip ahead, a cold, fat sun sitting square in the sky ahead of him, and I felt a shot of gratitude for him, for my health to enjoy him and, briefly, for the symphony of circumstance and coincidence that had been my life thus far and had led me to this peaceful place.
    My reverie was broken by the figure of our stout postmaster, Conor, running along the path toward me, a look of panic across his face.
    “Ellie,” he gasped with exertion, “Ellie—it’s Leo.” He finally caught his breath. “The school has telephoned to say you must call them immediately—he’s gone missing.”

C HAPTER T WO
    Leo was boarding in a good Catholic school upstate. For his first two years he had been attending as a day pupil, and had stayed with my friend Maureen Sweeney and her family in Yonkers during the week, then come home to the city on the weekends. Leo had made the decision to board full time at the beginning of the last school year, dividing his free weekends between Yonkers and Fire Island. He had made friends with a new boy called Julian Knox—a privileged, sporty and, I thought, rather ill-mannered child from California, but Leo liked him and their friendship made my rather sensitive and introverted son seem keen to be a greater part of school life. Because Tom was a bright and attentive child, his elementary school teachers had agreed to allow me to educate my younger child at home sporadically, until he was ready to follow Leo to St. Aloysius. This new routine in my son’s education enabled me to spend more time working on Fire Island, which suited me very well.
    I missed my eldest son, and of course I worried about him sometimes, but I called him every third day from the post office (which had the only telephone on the island) and Leo always assured me he was happy. I had spoken to him the day before yesterday and he had seemed fine. A little subdued perhaps—but surely all teenage boys are susceptible to strange moods, and it had been a difficult year for all of us.
    As soon as Conor’s words were out, I immediately began to run toward the post office. Conor, in his mid-fifties and not the least bit agile, trotted behind me, breathlessly filling me in on the details.
    “He didn’t turn up for his Latin class, then they arranged a search of the whole school, before making the call. They think he’s been missing since last night!”
    We ran into the post office. Conor asked for the connection and handed me the earset.
    “Conor, can you ask Dan to get the boat ready at the dock for me? I need him to get me a taxi to take me into the city, as well.”
    “I’ll organize it,” he said. He hopped back along the path at a fat man’s trot.
    Tom was already in the small wooden building, poking about at the jars of sweets behind the counter. He jumped when I came rushing in and instinctively said, “Sorry!” My heart cracked at the sight of my youngest child—what had happened to his brother? What had I let happen to Leo? But I had no time for sentiment