The Book of Speculation: A Novel

The sand is hot and riddled with stones, unbearable for a man his age. It would take a lifetime to build feet to walk on this sand—hard feet. His loneliness is unexpected, but it’s been some time since he’s traveled without his wife. Marie is minding the shop under the guise of indulging him. She saw how worried he was; it was kind of her to let him come. He would not have come at all were it not for her gentle push, her patient encouragement of his flights of fancy. He’s been fortunate; true companionship is an elusive type of butterfly. He puts a foot in the water. Good lord, that’s cutting. He misses his wife and the warm blanket that is an Iowa summer. This is the Northeast, he thinks, bitter and cold at the core. He wonders how anyone stands it.

A dilapidated staircase sprawls up the cliff’s edge. A man journeys down it, an older fellow by his pace, though younger than the man on the beach. The descending man is stout, wears a fishing cap, and has the look of a carpenter. He walks past a smattering of rubble, what remains of a house.

“This beach is private. Are you somebody’s guest?” the hatted man calls as he nears.

“Are you by any chance Franklin McAvoy?” the man on the beach asks.

Confusion crosses the hatted man’s face, but is followed by a terse nod.

“I’m Martin Churchwarry, a friend of Simon Watson. He’s spoken of you fondly. Do you know if he’s around?”

At the mention of Simon, Frank McAvoy’s expression shutters.

Churchwarry’s knees wobble, but he soon steadies himself. “Is he all right? I saw the house,” Churchwarry says, motioning to the cliff.

“He’s fine, he’s just not here.” Frank shakes his head slowly. “Damndest thing. That house has been around since the 1700s, then gone in one night. He’s lucky he didn’t go with it.”

“Very.” The relief Churchwarry feels is palpable. It’s odd to feel protective over someone he’s never met, but he’s fond of Simon, almost unaccountably so. Both men put their feet in the water and stand next to each other, neither admitting to the cold.

“Churchwarry, you said?”

“Has he mentioned me?” Churchwarry’s eyebrows snap up.

“Once or twice.” Frank looks at the man beside him—a disheveled figure, pants rolled to the knees, a wild brush of gunmetal-gray hair, a long-ago-broken nose. “How do you know Simon?”

Churchwarry pushes his hands into the pockets of his threadbare trousers. He lets the wind blow at his back and wonders what on earth Simon might have said about him. He settles on something easy. “Our families were once close.”

“You’re the bookseller, aren’t you? The one who sent him that book,” Frank says.

“I thought he’d find it entertaining,” Churchwarry replies. “It had a bit of family history in it. You knew his parents, I believe?”

“Yes,” Frank says. At the mention of Daniel and Paulina, he winces. I killed her. I am a killer.

“Will Simon be back soon, do you think?”

“Doubt it. He left a letter for me to send you. Haven’t gotten around to mailing it.”

“A letter? How wonderful.” Churchwarry nearly stumbles as a wave splashes his shins. The water is cold and of course he’s not as young as he once was.

“I read it,” Frank says.

“Of course you did,” Churchwarry replies. “It’s impossible to leave a letter unopened.” Out in the water a bluefish jumps, twisting and splashing down.

“It’s a thank-you, mostly, and an apology for losing your books. He wants your help on some kind of project. Didn’t make much sense to me. Wasn’t supposed to, I guess.” He shrugs, not the least bit bashful. “It’s back up at the house. You can come in, if you don’t mind a walk up the stairs.” He looks up the steps, thinking perhaps he should have checked with Leah first. He never would have in the past, but now he is learning his wife again, a process not unlike walking barefooted on the rocks.

“That would be fine.” Churchwarry agrees. There’s something pleasant about the idea of sitting down with Frank McAvoy. There’s a familiarity to Frank that’s more than just having one of those faces—a peculiar breed of déjà vu that Churchwarry finds himself reveling in.

“He doesn’t have a phone right now, but he said he’ll be in touch once they’ve settled. He’s with his sister.” The word they has a bitter sound to it.

“Oh, of course. He’s moving. I should have assumed that after seeing the house.” He scratches the back of his neck. “A fresh start can be a very good thing,” Churchwarry says, looking back up at the house. Simon’s sister is alive. A breath that he was unaware of holding escapes. He feels Frank surveying him, trying to puzzle him out. “You have a daughter, yes? I think Simon mentioned her.”