Searching for Sylvie Lee (24 page)

His voice has a lovely, resonant quality that makes it sound like he’s singing. He peeks at me once or twice as he talks, as if he’s unsure of me. I thrill to this—he’s somehow nervous around
me
. He’s open and thoughtful, a sensitive soul hurt by the rigors of the world. He squints a bit in the direct sunlight and even this is charming, the way his lashes turn golden, his light liquid eyes.

He is looking at me strangely and the tips of his ears are bright red. Oh no, I have been staring at him like a fool. “I-ah, I . . .”

Fortunately, the waitress arrives then with the
appeltaart
and drinks, so I am saved from having to speak, though I am cringing inside. Why can I not be cool like other people? Sylvie would never do anything like this. I distract myself by pretending I am fascinated with my food. It does look delicious. My generous slice of
appeltaart
is made with thick, cakey, moist dough still crispy around the edges. The apples have been sliced thinly and layered with raisins. A dollop of freshly whipped cream accompanies the dish. My tea comes with a delicate little log of meringue filled with buttercream and dipped in chocolate at both ends that Filip tells me is called a
bokkenpootje,
a goat’s foot.

After we’ve each tried the
appeltaart,
which tastes as good as it looks, Filip asks, “So why are you in the Netherlands?”

I cup my hands around my steaming mug filled with a large bundle of fresh mint leaves. Its fragrance soothes my embarrassment a bit. “I have some things I need to do while I’m here.”

“You are not just a tourist?”

I stir in the little package of honey that came with my tea. I hardly know him. But I feel like I can trust him. I scratch my cheek and decide to take the plunge. “No, my sister, Sylvie, was here and then she disappeared.” As I say these words, my fear wells up in me again. How can this not be a bad dream? What will I do now? I was deceiving myself earlier. This isn’t a misunderstanding. Something has gone terribly wrong.

Emotions I can’t quite read flash in his eyes: concern, discomfort, fear. Oddly, he doesn’t seem surprised. I’m relieved he doesn’t react with shock or horror, though, which would only scare me more. He pauses for a long moment, as if he’s hesitant to speak or is trying to make some monumental decision, then says, “Oh, that is terrible. What happened?”

So I tell him the story of Sylvie’s trip to the Netherlands. He listens intently.

Then he asks, “Have you spoken to the police?”

I sigh. My voice thickens and my shoulders sag. “Yes, but they didn’t seem to have a real plan.” What am I supposed to do if the police can’t act?

Filip leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. Nice hands. “I do not think they are going to do much.”

Hearing him say it confirms my fears. “How do you know?” I don’t quite manage to keep my voice from breaking.

“Well, my passion is diving.”

I mutter, “That would explain your amazing body.”

He is about to take a sip of his ristretto and sputters.

Mortified, I clasp my hands to my mouth as if I could force the words back inside. “I am so sorry for treating you like a sex object.” I gasp again. “Uh, no, I mean, what—what I’m trying to say is I either stammer or stuff like that comes out of my mouth. It’s one or the other.”

“Right.” He can’t meet my eyes and is rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are now purple. “So I do many types of diving and, once in a while, I volunteer as a diver for a group that searches for missing people.”

Of course he does volunteer work in his spare time. He’s good and generous. Then the rest of what he said penetrates and my hand flies to my chest. “Do you work for the police?”

He finally looks at me again. The color in his face has subsided. “No, it is a nonprofit, independent organization. People go to them after the police have given up. So I have seen situations like this before. There are very strict rules here about what types of disappearances get investigated and the privacy laws prohibit much gathering of information. If they think she ran away or that it is suicide, they will just go and drink coffee with the family for a while so you do not feel bad. They are forced to give priority to criminal cases, but that is no help when someone you love is missing.”

For once I am listening to his words instead of watching his lips. “So true.”

He brings out his wallet and searches through it until he finds an old business card, then hands it to me. “The organization is called Epsilon. They have their own boats, dogs, everything.”

I want to bounce up and down—finally, people who could help us. I could kiss this man. It was fate that brought us together. The gods are helping me bring Sylvie home again. “Thank you so much. This means everything to me.” Forgetting my past blunders, I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Really.”

He shifts a bit so my hand falls from him, and continues, “They just solved a case that had baffled the police for more than twenty years.”

“How?”

He says simply, “They found the corpse.”

What? My chest tightens and a clammy sweat breaks out over me. He must not have understood my story correctly. “But we’re not looking for a body. We just need to find Sylvie.”

He looks taken aback for a moment, then holds up his hands. “Of course, of course. They also recently found someone alive who was lost in the woods. Memory loss.”

“Really?” Memory loss. Hope bubbles up in my chest like champagne. If only that were the reason Sylvie is missing. This could change everything. But why was he talking about a body? There couldn’t be a body. That’s ridiculous.

He scoots his chair a bit closer and leans in. “If you want more help finding your sister, they are the people you should call. The director is named Karin. If you decide to approach her, tell her I sent you. Here, let me give you my mobile number too.” He takes the card and scribbles his cell on the back. “Since I dive for them, it would give me the chance to see you again as well.” He gives me a devastating half smile that makes my heart flutter again. “We could go out in the boat together.”

Thirteen Years Ago

THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN

Monday, November 18

In the early morning of Sunday, November 17, the Department of Public Safety (DPS) responded to a report of assault on the University campus. The alleged assault was reported at 2:16 a.m. and is claimed to have occurred sometime between 2:00 a.m. and 2:16 a.m. Director of media relations Nicole Thompson explained, “Regarding the assault reported in the November 17 log, DPS received a report from the Campus Security Authority that an act of violence occurred on campus perpetrated by a male student against a female and a male student. It is not known at present if any of the students was under the influence of drugs or alcohol at the time. We will not disclose the names of the parties involved or the details of the alleged incident.”

An unnamed source reported that the alleged conflict arose over the victim’s flirtation with the attacker’s girlfriend and that the girlfriend suffered a minor injury as well in the confusion. The alleged male victim was treated by University Health Services for multiple lacerations, bruises, a fractured rib, and a loose tooth.

Chapter 18

Ma

Sunday, May 8

I
was a mother alone on Mother’s Day. Pa brought me a soy sauce chicken from Chinatown, which was his way of showing affection. I was glad Amy remembered to call me, but such strange reports she brought of her sister, saying Sylvie had gone to Venice with someone. Who? Jim? Another man? My Snow Jasmine, what has happened to you?

Women. Love. How can something so beautiful turn wicked? They say that once you see the ocean, no other water can compare. My love story started so many years ago. Pa and I began our marriage with the strength of a tiger’s head but it slowly transformed into the weak tail of the snake. How could it be that I placed the green hat upon his head?

I had known him for so long. We were friends until something else grew in between us, something strong and binding. He made me gasp when I caught sight of him unexpectedly, standing with his friends—the blazing sun, the dust on the empty roads, the bustle of farmers going to market. I carried my basket and saw him looking, from underneath the shade. I had never seen a man so tall and broad, strong yet fine. I had never had a man look at me the way he did, with longing and desire, though I did not know then what that was.

One day, I was passing by him when I stepped on a stone and lost my balance. He reached out and grabbed me by the arm, stabilized me with a hand on my back, his focus on my lips. I met his eyes and felt like I had been kissed. Now I look back and wonder if these were the dreams of a young girl.

It was as if I had been empty and did not know it. Suddenly, here was the food I had always craved and I turned into a hungry ghost, devouring all but unable to be satisfied. Our first time, I never wanted to let him go—the discovery of small intimacies, like the birthmark behind his ear, the soft skin of his neck. Despite the pain and the sweat and the strangeness of it all, I wanted to keep him with me forever.

But then the burden of years weighed upon us. Love can change. It can grow and twist until the most beautiful sapling in the wild turns into a prison of stunted wood.

Telephone Call

Monday, April 18

ESTELLE:
Hey, Sylvie, it is me. I am so happy you are back. Lukas told me it will be next weekend your birthday. I just looked and I can book us a few free tickets to Venice!

SYLVIE:
But I do not know. Grandma is so sick now. The palliative nurse is with her twenty-four hours a day. That is not a good sign.

ESTELLE:
I must be honest. You looked terrible the last time I saw you. The skin under your eyes is like that of an elephant. We need to get you out more. Come up, it is your birthday and it will only be for a few days. My father died a couple years ago of cancer. It just ate at me inside day and night. I can take care of all the reservations. You would just have to pay a basic fee.

SYLVIE:
Are you sure? I have never been to Venice.

ESTELLE:
Absolutely. Lukas flies with me all the time. We would technically be standby, but as a captain, I almost always get on the flight. Oh, and shall we invite your delicious thing too? Four is a better number than three.

SYLVIE:
I do not know who you mean?

ESTELLE:
Right. Filip, of course!

Chapter 19

Sylvie

Thursday, April 21

E
stelle and Lukas had decided to educate me on all I had missed by not growing up here and were holding a cursing contest. We sat inside the packed local pub, so unlike the elegant cocktail lounges I used to visit back in the city with my acquaintances and colleagues, where we sipped twenty-dollar dry martinis and mojitos while posing on sleek leather couches. Here, everything was wood-paneled. The bar was littered with paper Heineken coasters and there was not a single cocktail in sight. Only Belgian beer, Filou,
witbier,
Straffe Hendrik, and red and white wine, all for less than five euros a glass.

I perched on a wooden bar stool between Estelle and Lukas as they tried to outcurse each other. They began with the typical sicknesses: cancer dick, plague head, epilepsy bringer, get the syphilis, biliary cancer idiot. Then they moved on to anus curses like anus potato, anus pilot (Estelle had rolled her eyes at that one), and anus tourist. Now they were free-associating while I tried to stop laughing long enough to breathe.

“Coconut tree screwer.” Estelle’s cross-body Yves Saint Laurent Soho bag was slung over her shoulders, long jean-clad legs crossed, ending in cute black ankle boots.

“Slipper lover.” Lukas leaned back against the counter as he took a sip of his beer. A pretty brunette with curly hair down to her butt deliberately squeezed in beside him to grab some coasters. Who needs extra coasters? They were everywhere. She gave him a sideways glance, clearly noticing the way his black T-shirt stretched across his chest and lingering on his strong neck and lips. He remained completely oblivious. Good boy.

“Intestine frog,” Estelle said.

Lukas shot back, “Sewing box.”

I held up my hands. “Wait, violation. How is that a curse?”

Lukas waggled his eyebrows at me. “Sewing does not just mean with a needle and thread.”