Blue Waters in Your Eyes

Winter, 1976

Elizabeth Elgar stood in the doorway, watching the widow on the sofa.

The funeral of Levi Castanheira had ended four hours ago, but his widow was in the same position. Her hands were nestled in the folds of her black skirts, her brunette head bowed as if in benediction. She was on the sofa, a camelback so large that it occupied the width of the wall.

An oil-on-canvas painting hung above the sofa.

The painting was of a golden snake coiled in the deep green underbrush of a rainforest. It had a cigarette between its fangs, sending rings of smoke issuing beyond the frame. As it puffed the cigarette, the snake stared out from the canvas at the viewer with eyes that sent out a challenge. "Come on, motherfucker," the smoking snake seemed to hiss. "Test me and see where it gets you."

The remaining space in the room was taken up by a Steinway salon-grand piano and a walnut bookshelf bearing the weight of numerous music books.

This had been Levi's favorite room.

Many times over the years, Elizabeth had stood at this same door, listening as Levi's fingers pulled intricate tunes from the soul of the Steinway.

Now, in the silence where there'd once been music, it hurt.

Levi was dead.

Tears blurred Elizabeth's vision. Invisible hands reached into her chest, piercing flesh and bone to squeeze her heart. Squeeze... squeeze... squeeze... She sagged against the doorpost, waiting for the worst to pass.

It eventually did, and she could breathe again. Straightening, she said: "Sybil."

Levi's widow didn't look up when her name was called. She didn't make a sound, or otherwise respond.

"Sybil," Elizabeth said again. "You've got to eat something."

Sybil still didn't reply. Her head didn't move. Her blue eyes were open but seemed not to see.

"Sybil."

No response. Half a minute passed. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. "Alright. I'll give you another hour but call if you need something. I'll be in the kitchen with Milton, and I'll stay here tonight."

Sybil didn't answer. She might have been a statue. Elizabeth remained in the doorway a moment, then swearing under her breath, she conceded temporary defeat and retreated. On black-stockinged feet, she crossed from the music room to the kitchen.

There, the curtains were open to admit the daylight that remained. It was December, so the day was fading fast. Cold blue light filtered in. Frost slept undisturbed on the windowpanes. Outside, a crystalline dusting of snow blanketed every surface.

Under other circumstances, today would have been a good day. She wasn't due back at the hospital for another couple days, so she'd have been out in the snow with her two daughters, pelting them with snowballs to within an inch of their damn lives.

But there was no playfulness now. No music from the Steinway.

Her lips trembled. She pressed them together.

The kitchen table and island were overflowing with home-cooked meals, baked goods, cards and flower bouquets. Things the mourners had gifted as a mark of sympathy for the widow, and a mark of respect for the dead man.

A middle-aged man was sitting at the kitchen table. Milton Castanheira. Elizabeth's own husband. He was in a black suit, his tie now loosened. He'd been reading a newspaper, which he set down as she came in.

"Well?" he asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. Tears pricked her eyes again. Cursing her weakness, she replied: "No luck. She still won't eat anything. Or say anything. We should start getting worried right about now."

Milton went to her. "Don't be. Levi's been dead only two weeks. This must be normal."

Elizabeth gave him a hard look. Normal? Did he expect her to buy that? Did he himself believe it? Sybil's behavior was far from normal. "Milton, that woman hasn't spoken a fucking word and has barely eaten since the night Levi died. Sugarcoating the state she's in doesn't help anyone. She's being a fucking idiot. If she doesn't snap out of this, she'll wind up in my ER, and that's the last thing Arlindo and Izabela need. She isn't thinking of them. Or of anyone else."

Instead of getting defensive, Milton put his arms around her and drew her in close. Elizabeth's anger melted like ice in Death Valley.

Damn it. She wanted to stay strong, planted on her own feet. But she couldn't right now. She'd been stoic all through Levi's illness, death and funeral service, but there were no inner reserves left to draw from. She was forced to accept the comfort being offered.

Turning her face into her husband's chest, Elizabeth Elgar wept.

"Shh." Milton ran his hands down her back. "I know she's your best friend. I know it hurts because it seems like she's oblivious to all of us. I know you're afraid for her, but she'll be okay. We won't lose her too. We'll look after her. It's what Levi would have wanted."

Elizabeth stayed in the embrace. There was a time when leaning on another person was something she'd never do, but these 21 years being Milton's wife had shown her it was okay to let herself be held sometimes.

"Sybil's going to be fine," Milton continued. "Let's let her work through her grief in her own way. We'll keep an eye on her and step in if she gets worse. Everything's so fresh. Give it time."

Elizabeth wanted to tell him he wasn't facing facts, but arguing was too much effort. She just cried instead. Levi's death had hammered home what she already knew from being an ER doctor for a decade—that life was so fucking flimsy. Levi Castanheira had been a strong man. In certain ways, he'd seemed invincible. Yet his life had slipped out of him like a handful of dust blown away. Gone.

Milton held her as she cried, and for a long time after she stopped.

Her own arms were locked around him. Drawing from him. Restocking her depleted stores of strength. Until, at last, she was strong enough to step away. Wiping her face with her sleeve she asked, "Where's Izabela?"

"Gone upstairs to lie down. I told her to."

"Good. She needs the rest. What about Arlindo? Isn't he back yet?"

"I don't think so."

Elizabeth looked out the window, frowning. What was keeping Arlindo? He should be home by now. She turned to her husband. "It's time you started back. I'll sleep here tonight, to be sure Arlindo comes home and Sybil gets all she needs."

"Okay," Milton replied, but was eyeing her with concern. "Are you sure you don't want me to remain here with you?"

"The kids are at home. Someone needs to be there."

"Kids?" Milton repeated, a wry smile deepening the lines around his mouth. His facial lines were obvious now. In these two weeks since Levi's death, Milton had aged years. No shocker there; Milton and Levi had been close friends as well as cousins. "The girls aren't babies anymore, Elizabeth. They can take care of themselves for one night."

"Joyce can handle herself, but we can't say the same for Paula. She's the real reason you should get home. I'll never trust any 14-year-old who thinks she's got everything all figured out."

Milton cupped Elizabeth's face. "And you're sure you'll be fine here without me?"

"Yes. Get going. It's dark and there's more snow headed our way."

"Okay." He leaned in and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. "Don't worry too much about Sybil. Let her be. Give it time." He pulled away.

Elizabeth saw him to the front door. After his taillights disappeared, she returned to the music room to check on Sybil. There was no change. The widow was still seated on the sofa, head bowed and fingers clasped. A marble statue in benediction.

Elizabeth began to offer her food again, but changed her mind. She'd give it another half hour. Instead, she went upstairs to check on Izabela. Her tread was soundless on the steps. Now that all the mourners were gone, the house was quiet. So damn quiet that she could hear the clock ticking from Levi's music room. Ironic how the only sound was coming from the dead man's domain. Levi Castanheira was dead, but he was still the voice of his house.

Elizabeth shivered. She called herself an idiot for letting it all get to her, but still. She shivered.

In her own defense, she'd seen grief do weird shit to people. Many were grieving today. Levi's death was not Sybil's loss alone. They'd all lost something. Sybil had lost her husband, but Arlindo and Izabela had lost their father. Milton, Bruna, Ulisses and Débora had lost their cousin. Joyce, Paula and Caetano had lost their uncle. Virgínia had lost a nephew.

And several people had lost a friend. Including her. Levi hadn't been just a cousin-in-law to Elizabeth. He'd been her friend. For the 21 years since she'd married into this family, he'd been her friend.

Tears stung her eyes yet again. Without her permission, they spilled over and beat a hot path down her cheeks.

Navigating despite them, she reached the landing and went to a door along the corridor. She knocked. "Izabela? It's me, Aunt Elizabeth."

Elizabeth got no answer, so she opened the door and looked in. 19-year-old Izabela Castanheira was asleep in bed. She was the younger of Sybil and Levi's two children. She'd come home from college to attend her father's funeral after being told of his death over the phone.

Elizabeth shut the door without disturbing the girl, and went down the hall to the guest room, preparing it for her overnight stay.

She was making the bed when she heard a car out in the driveway. It must be Arlindo, finally back from dropping off some relatives. Arlindo Castanheira, the elder child of Sybil and Levi, had flown home from Ontario when he got the news.

There was the front door opening and closing, then footsteps on the stairs.

Elizabeth emerged from the guest room, watching Arlindo walk up. He was still in the suit he'd worn to his father's funeral, looking at his feet as he climbed.

"Arlindo."

His head snapped up, surprise in his eyes. They were the same honey-brown eyes as his father's. Usually vibrant; now dull and bloodshot. There was defeat in the slump of his shoulders. He blinked as if to focus his vision. "Aunt Elizabeth. I didn't know you were still here. Your car's gone. I thought you and Uncle Milton had left."

"I got him to go home. I'm staying the night to keep an eye on your mother."

"Oh. Well, I... You don't have to do that. I was going to keep an eye on her myself."

"How do you intend to do that when you can barely keep them open?" Elizabeth asked pointedly. "You've done enough today. Go get changed while I heat something up and bring it to you. Be sure to get some sleep after you eat. I'll keep an eye on your mother."

Arlindo opened his lips, looking as if he'd argue again.

She'd held him as an infant and babysat him as a toddler. Now, he was a man. A capable man she was proud of. But everyone had a limit, and he looked like he was nearing his. So she spoke first. "I'm not asking you, Arlindo. I'm telling you."

Arlindo sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Thank you."

"No need to thank family for being family. And don't forget that your mother and I have been best friends since before you were born. I'm doing it for her sake, too."

He nodded again. When he reopened his eyes, they were swimming. Again, he began to speak.

But he didn't speak. He broke into sobs.

Elizabeth put her arm around him, holding on while he sobbed in a way she hadn't seen him do since he'd been a toddler. She didn't say a word. There was nothing to say. No solace she could offer. She couldn't give him his father back. She could only hold him while he sobbed. She had cried on her husband earlier. Now her nephew was crying on her. This was what they all had to do; take and then give back. It was the way they'd get through this.

When his tears dried up, she repeated the order for him to go to bed, reminding him she'd heat up some dinner and bring it to him. This time, he went straight to his bedroom without arguing.

Elizabeth headed downstairs. She heated up his dinner, took it to him, then went back to Sybil. She still couldn't get a word out of the widow, much less convince her to eat anything, so she just escorted her upstairs and helped her into bed.

With everyone handled, Elizabeth locked up the house.

Lying in the guest bedroom, watching the snowflakes outside the window, her husband's words returned to her. Give it time. It was frustrating, but giving it time might just be what they needed to do.

Elizabeth resolved to give it time.

It eventually paid off. Eight weeks after the funeral, Sybil began speaking. Four weeks after that, she began leaving the house again. A month after that, she laughed for the first time since Levi's death.

At the 6-month mark, Sybil began having normal days with bouts of depression rather than depressed days with bouts of normalcy. Three months after that, on a September afternoon, she mentioned sorting through Levi's belongings and parting with some. She asked Elizabeth for help with this, to which Elizabeth agreed.

Elizabeth arrived on the chosen day, and Sybil welcomed her. Up in the attic, they got to work sorting the old boxes. This was when Elizabeth found the photograph that would change everything.

A photograph of two little boys in an ice-cream parlor.

**********

Spring, 1954
(23 years earlier)

Sybil Castanheira, nineteen and newlywed, looked at her husband Levi across the breakfast table. She knew his mind was on work, because that frown was on his face. That distinctive frown he had when he was thinking about work.

He was always thinking about work these days. Which was natural, she supposed. Now that the fun was over, his mind would be returning to the grind.

They'd come home two months ago from their honeymoon. Since then, things had fallen into a pleasant but dull pattern. On weekdays, they had breakfast together. Then he went to work, he came home, they had dinner, made love and went to sleep. On Sunday mornings, they attended service at St Remiel's Orthodox Church, then spent the rest of the day with his family in Glenmont. Saturday was the only day they spent alone as a couple.

Sybil looked at her wedding ring; a rose-gold band worked through with seed pearls. It hadn't been picked out at a jeweler's. It had been designed for her; the only one of its kind. But whether uniquely designed or not, all wedding rings meant the same thing—that one was a wife. Not a fun girlfriend. Not a thrilling lover. Just a commonplace, dull wife.

She sighed, her fruit salad untouched and her coffee growing cold. Before now, life hadn't felt dull. These past two years had been so exciting. Maybe that was why things now felt flat in comparison.

She'd met Levi a year ago. She'd been 18. He'd been 30. That was when it had all begun.

Actually, no. That wasn't when it had all begun. It all truly began when she moved from Mississippi to Manhattan. Back when she still had her maiden name; Sybil Hammond.

While in her senior year at Dawes High in Pontotoc, Sybil Hammond had applied to the Katherine Gibbs Secretarial School in New York. Her wild joy had known no bounds when an acceptance letter arrived in the mailbox. No sooner had she graduated from Dawes High and turned 18, than she was heading to New York City.

She'd had no tears for Pontotoc. Happily had she waved goodbye to her ignorant parents, her know-nothing schoolmates and her pea-brained boyfriend. He was the son of a struggling realtor and had begged her to stay in Pontotoc.

"But I love you," he'd whined. "You can't go. I was gonna ask you to marry me right after I join Daddy at the realtor's. He says I can really help turn business around. We'll be making good money soon, then we'll get our own house you and me. But first we'll live with my Mama and Daddy. You'll love spending the day with Mama. She'll teach you to sew and all."

Sybil had given him a blank stare. "What, so I'll just be your wife who sews with your Mama and nothing else?"

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is I don't want to."

"Sybil, baby, come on. I love you. You'll be happy if you marry me. Don't go."

But she'd gone without regrets. Nothing could compete with the lure of the Katherine Gibbs School and its promise of a private dorm in the Barbizon Hotel on 63rd of Manhattan's Upper East Side.

She had wanted to train for a job where she'd sit at a nice desk in a nice office wearing nice clothes. These days, women were no longer restricted to the sickroom as nurses, to the nursery as nannies, to the schoolroom as teachers, or to the factories as worker bees. They were welcomed in offices now. That was what she'd wanted, and she'd get it if she went to New York.

So she went.

She'd never set foot out of Pontotoc before then, so for the first few weeks in New York, she'd walked around with her eyes wide as dinner plates. Everything was new, bombarding her senses. The Barbizon was lovely, with its grand foyer and private dining rooms. She had her own bedroom with a cute bedspread and a shiny new typewriter on the desk.

She'd been one among the many 'Gibblets', as girls from the Katherine Gibbs School soon came to be called.

Three floors at the Barbizon were reserved for the Gibblets. Every morning, breakfast was in the dining hall, then the Gibblets were off to their classes at Grand Central, running in heels to catch the bus and returning in the evening to do hours of typing homework.

On the weekends, she had gotten to know Manhattan. She'd eaten 10-cent hotdogs from food trucks, strolled the parks with girlfriends, gotten evening drinks at Tony's Tavern, and caught live shows. She'd discovered little pockets of the borough; like the morning market on the north side of Bleecker Street, where Italians sold crates of fresh produce all along the sidewalk; like the old textiles seller on Orchard Street, sour-faced despite being surrounded by brightly-colored merchandise.

At the end of the school year, she'd passed her certification exams and found a job at Molton & Kildare, a law firm on 8th avenue corner west 34th Street.

She had officially become a working girl, sharing an apartment with another working girl to split the housing cost. It wasn't glamorous accommodation; just a rectangular space in a Lower East Side tenement with two tiny bedrooms, a kitchenette and a shower room. She had loved the independence. She could do as she darn well pleased and go wherever she darn well pleased, with nobody but herself to answer to. There were sidewalk carts on the street outside, where she bought things for cheap—fruits and deli food, dinnerware, nice shoes and pretty scarves. And it was an easy work commute.

Which was where she had met him. Levi Castanheira, an associate lawyer at Molton & Kildare.

Molton & Kildare was a firm specializing in Health Law, with big-name clients in The City and smaller clients in the Hudson Valley and as far upstate as the Finger Lakes. These clients included private practice doctors and surgeons, hospital administrators, biotechnology start-ups, and pharmaceutical companies.

Sybil had been glad to score a job with such a prestigious law firm, but being fresh out of secretarial school and with no experience, she hadn't been hired as a secretary to any of the lawyers. She'd only done admin tasks in the basement filing rooms—a step above the forty faceless girls plugging away in the typing pool.

She generally hadn't gone up to the upper-floor offices where the lawyers worked, but one morning had been different.

"Sybil," Mrs. Hayes, her immediate boss, had said as soon as she walked in at 8:30am. "I need you to go into the archives and find all the documents you can about a company called ChemTech. I understand there should be some from 1934. Find them and get them out. They're needed for a meeting this morning."

Archived documents from before the war? With the mountain of folders held in the archives, it would take her hours to find those, even with the new filing system in place.