How We Tend to Disappear

Sophie Blanc folded a fresh, sage towel into thirds and hung it from the oven, as she'd done each day upon finishing her shift at the Wright's home. The summer months seemed to pass right through her, as did the air from the sound, making her time on Merrimack Isle something like a dream.

She watched herself, statue still before the wide, open window at the back of the house. Her cropped hair, usually tied in a knot, was loose in this moment and being met by a subtle breeze. The scent of the beach carried after her, and she waited, hoping the subtlety of its presence might assure her of her own.

The house was built on the Branford shoreline a few years earlier - an anniversary gift to Mrs. Wright, who found the beach to be an escape from the urgency that pervaded Manhattan. It was uniquely architected on a narrow peninsula, offering its occupants the impression of solitude. This was especially true at evening.

Sophie could see nothing at all but the hushed light of the moon. When the clouds would break, it was like a searchlight cutting through - illuminating the Wright's private estate and then returning it to shadows in the most unpredictable rhythm. She closed her eyes, and swore she could hear a faint song in the distance. The moonlight interjected, thrusting through the fog and into her mind. She imagined a train in motion, coming toward a station where she stood, and knew it would not stop for her.

The front door clicked open. Sophie's abrupt exhale made her realize she'd been holding her breath.

"Good evening, Mrs. Wright!" She tucked her dark hair neatly behind her ears and hurried toward the front of the house.

Charlene Wright entered exactly as she had most evenings: bags on her wrists, light hair blown out, eyes beaming, and an ear pressed into the phone on her shoulder, talking intently to one of her friends. She waved to Sophie and put up a finger to indicate she'd return to check in soon. Sophie knew the queue and said nothing, as Char disappeared up the staircase. She was always running off and away for good.

The Wright's teenage daughter, East, sauntered in next, eyes fixed on her phone, thumbs moving. She looked up and saw Sophie: "Are you leaving tonight?"

Sophie smirked, raised her eyebrows and waited, transforming from housekeeper to astute instructor.

East repeated the question, but in French: "Tu pars ce soir?"

"I am, yes," Sophie nodded. "I was just thinking about my return to Long Island, and how much I will miss being here with you and your family."

"Ugh, I won't! I cannot wait to return to the city. Being here with them is a-" she paused to think and then looked to Sophie. "Comment dit-on 'nightmare'?" she laughed, dropping her bag at the kitchen island.

"Cauchemar," Sophie pronounced the word slowly, as she moved to the tea kettle, already hot.

East dug a small, black notebook out from her bag.

"I would have been dead without you, Sophie." She held the notebook open to a blank page; her green eyes fixed on nothing at all.

"Oh, they aren't so bad." Sophie looked around, seeing things she hadn't seen before. She retrieved a mug from a collection that sat on a shelf, curated to perfection - a guest in the space would assume they were for aesthetic, alone.

"Sure, they're not," East replied, while writing something down. "As long as you do everything they ask."

East paused and noticed the air of melancholy that engrossed Sophie, who was pouring hot water into a mug.

"Will you come back next summer?"

Sophie brought the steaming mug to East.

"If your parents will have me."

#

"Sophie!" called the voice of Oren Wright.

She had just opened the door to her 2001 Honda Accord, when she turned to look at him. His long body was hurrying toward her from the garage at the other side of the house. She watched the way the moon lit up his white hair.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Wright! I was sure I'd miss you tonight," she called. Even in the darkness, she felt keenly aware of her aged car, certainly growing into the size of a cruise ship behind her.

"I wanted to say goodbye to you! And thank you for all you've done for us this summer."

Oren held a small package in his hand and what appeared to be a gift bag on his wrist.

"You and your family have been too kind to me," she said, touching her hand flat to her chest.

He hurried a few more steps to meet her, and she could see his eyes, anxious.

"And you, to us! I was hoping you might have time for a quick stop on your way back to the Island tonight."

Sophie held her lips together. Oren was someone who always had something to add. Tonight, he added nothing.

Sophie spoke quickly to fill the space: "Oh, sure, that's not a problem, sir."

"Wonderful, wonderful, Sophie. It will be very important to us." He bowed his head subtly.

"It's really not a problem, Mr. Wright." Her smile was polite and patient; his was not at all.

"And this," he handed the gift bag to her, "is a thank you for everything. Char really wanted you to have the 'Autumn-essential' Prada bag," he said mockingly.

Sophie laughed and thanked him, trying to mask her discomfort.

"And where-"

He spoke before she could finish: "I wrote the address here," repositioning the package to face her.

Sophie squinted to make out the handwritten text on its exterior.

"It should not be too far off your path to Bridgeport."

"No problem, Mr. Wright." She reached for the package and was surprised to feel how light it was.

Oren Wright held a fist to his mouth, as he watched Sophie place everything on the passenger seat.

"Well, I better be off. The ferry leaves in an hour."

He stepped away from the car. "Of course, of course. Drive safely, Sophie. And do let us know when you return home."

Sophie smiled, thanked him again, and shut the door.

#

The roads were empty. Most of the families had already vacated now that the summer was ending. The Wrights would return to the city next week, and she would be back in her life from before.

The darkness made the quiet streets look endless. It was difficult to see, and Sophie could not keep her attention from the package beside her; it seemed to grow in its seat, taking up space and slowing time.

She was anxious to get there, and tried to mute her curiosity by counting the dashed white lines along the road, lit only by her headlights. She watched them roll right past her, one after the next in a perfect sequence. It was reminiscent of the water back on Merrimack Isle, being struck by the sun, and how it looked to breathe in constant, rhythmic breaths.

The address was home to a roadside diner in Branford. It was well-lit, but empty inside. Sophie looked at the unlabeled package in the passenger seat, waiting. She held her lip with her teeth; she knew the ferry would be leaving soon.

She got out of the car, package in hand, and before she could shut the door, an unfamiliar voice called, "You can leave it on the stairs, thanks!"

Her hands felt heavy, but large like balloons that might carry her away. She placed the package on the steps a few feet from where she'd parked and waited. But the voice did not come again.

#

Sophie entered her apartment building around 1am that night. The damp but familiar scent of the lobby got inside of her right away. She waited for the elevator with her eyes closed.

"You're home!" Her sister, Evelyn, had been waiting up for her. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you, too," Sophie said. Her words were soft; the end of it all was hitting her now.

"Pour moi?" Evelyn asked right away, pointing to the gift bag.

"Absolutely," Sophie laughed, extending the bag to her. She dropped her luggage and kicked off her boots, before collapsing on the sofa. She scanned the modest apartment, her eyes heavy, searching for something she could not name.

Evelyn pulled out the Prada bag and examined it closely. "They gave you this?"

"I know," Sophie laughed a little.

"Wow. I need to start housekeeping for rich people in Connecticut. Do the Wrights have any friends?"

Sophie laughed again and allowed her eyes to close for the first time, when Evelyn gasped.

"What? What is it?" Sophie stared at her sister, whose eyes were fixed inside the Prada bag.

"Sophie..." she looked up at her.

Sophie took the bag and looked inside, stunned to discover two, thick stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"I can't believe you got off at Mineola with all of this cash in your bag!" Evelyn exclaimed, but kept her voice quiet.

"I had no idea it was even in there!" she reacted quietly, matching her sister's tone; her mind was racing.

Evelyn began counting the money, organizing it into piles, her eyes wide.

Sophie stared at the cash on the table. She remembered the lightweight package and how long the ferry ride felt tonight.

"It's twenty thousand dollars," Evelyn's words were slow, and she was unable to avert her eyes.

#

Char and Oren Wright stood on the balcony off of their bedroom, as they'd done each night since arriving in Branford. In the day, you could see the waves of the sound crashing on the rocky shoreline. When it would rain, the tide would grow and submerge the rocks; it was serene. The beach meant a lot to them, together and apart.

Tonight, they stood close with their eyes shut, and the whisper of the sea coming straight for them.

"I will miss it out here, Oren. I feel like I disappear in New York."

Oren's gray eyes opened. He held his lips together and squinted into the darkness.

"Trust me, honey, you'll be there with me." His words were quiet and sincere. Oren looked at Char, leaning up against the railing; her hands clenched. "C'mere," he said, stepping closer to her.

"No, I know, I just-" she touched the back of his hand. "It's so-" she stopped. The moonlight began to break through the clouds, and they could see a glimpse of the water, painted black.

"You know I love the city," she paused and turned to face him.

"Well," he looked down at his phone and smiled as he spoke, "looks like we will be coming back here in the spring."

She looked at him with a directness that was unusual for her.

He raised his white eyebrows, turning his phone to Char.

She examined the screen and her eyes lit up. She touched her hand flat to her chest and sighed. "I should let Sophie know we'd love to have her back when we return."

"That would be wonderful, she does a great job." He examined the well-kept home through the glass door.

"What are you thinking, Oren?"

"Just that maybe we could have her at the office, too?"

"In New York? You're kidding."

He shrugged, "Discretion and loyalty are impossible to find, Char. You know that."

She began to nod. "No, you're right."

"And," he laughed, "imagine me making drops in the Jag."

They were quiet for a moment, their eyes looked toward the invisible beach.

"East will be happy," Char said, "I've never seen her this interested in her studies before. Now she's set on attending University in France."

In that moment, Oren swore he could hear a faint song somewhere off in the distance, as though it was reaching after him from a world away. He could only dream of what was coming now.