Free The Time in Between by David Bergen Page A

impression of both doubt and hope, or weariness.
    Ada said, “We’re looking for our father, Charles Boatman.” She stopped and breathed out quickly and said, “For three weeks now, we’ve been looking.” She turned to Jon, who was standing near the entrance as if waiting to leave.
    Ada faced Elaine again and said, “Did you know him?”
    Elaine lifted her hand to her narrow neck. “I saw Charles a few times. Like everything here in this country, our meeting was pure chance. We first met at Christy’s, an American bar on the harbor front. We played Scrabble once and another time he sat on this balcony and we drank wine. I haven’t seen him for over a month. Neither has my husband, Jack. I am telling you everything that I told Lieutenant Dat.”
    “Lieutenant Dat was here talking to you?” Ada asked.
    “Yes.” Elaine’s arms were folded across her chest. Her eyes looked tired and did not settle on either Jon’s or Ada’s face. She wore tight dark jeans that revealed her thinness. She was slightly bent at the shoulders and neck, and this made her appear worn down. She took a step forward, as if to say something else, but then she turned away and said, “Jack’s home. Perhaps he can tell you something.”
    There was a shout from the entrance below and then the sound of stairs being taken two at a time, and a man with a narrow nose, who looked much too young to be married to Elaine Gouds, stepped out onto the balcony.
    “Visitors,” he cried, and he held out a hand to Ada and said, “Jack Gouds.” He tilted his head at Ada and said, “You are?” She shook his hand and told him her name and he repeated it. Then he turned to Jon and said, “We’ve met. At the post office just the other day. I was mailing a letter and you asked how much stamps were to North America. Jon without the h. Nice to see you again.”
    Ada looked over at Jon, who with the greeting took a step forward into the room.
    Jack turned to Elaine. “Why aren’t we drinking?” He said to Ada, “Beer, orange juice, wine, water?” He clapped his hands and called for Ai Ty.
    “Don’t, Jack,” Elaine said. “She’s with Sammy and Jane.”
    “Okay, then. Okay. I’ll get us something.” He came back minutes later with a tray of glasses and open beer and a bottle of wine. He passed the glasses around and handed the beer bottles to Jon and Ada. He poured Elaine a glass of wine and said, “My wife is too refined for beer.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.
    “Offer our visitors a seat, Jack.”
    Jack brought several wicker chairs and placed them around the small table. Elaine lifted her glass of wine, studied it, and then she drank. She looked at Jack and said, “You didn’t tell me you’d met a new foreigner in town.” She turned to Ada. “One becomes very aware of any influx of strangers, especially if they’re interesting and more than tourists.” To Jack, she said, “Ada and Jon are looking for their father, Charles Boatman.”
    Jack turned to Jon and said, “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
    Jon said that Jack had no reason to know. Why would he have told him?
    “I would have,” Ada said. “We’ve been all over town and nobody knows anything or if they do they aren’t talking. Just yesterday I heard that you knew our father. A little, anyway.” She looked at Elaine, who was looking down at her wineglass.
    “More than a little,” Jack said. “Charles became a friend. Wouldn’t you say, Elaine?”
    Elaine raised her head and smiled briefly. She nodded. “Yes. A friend.” Her eyes moved from Jack to Jon, who was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, an index finger tracing the moisture on his beer glass. She watched Jon carefully and then said that his father had been right about something. “When you find him you must tell him that.”
    Jack placed his glass carefully on the table and said, “The few times we got together—and though they were few, they were good times—those times I saw