These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

Their last night in London, Zan and Parker return to the pub that used to be the Ad Lib, where everything began with Molly, in one last hope Sheba will be there. Stepping inside, Zan closes his eyes thinking he’ll hear the girl and woman in front of him; but in the dark of his eyelids he knows the pub’s music isn’t theirs.

They take the table by the window through which Sheba saw Molly the first time. On the tabletop Zan counts his money before he orders a sandwich for his son: “You haven’t,” he struggles to ask the bartender, “seen a woman and small girl, have you? Today or yesterday, or the day before.”

“Well, that could be anyone, couldn’t it?” says the bartender. Examining the shaken man in front of him, he says, “Are you all right?”

“They’re black.” Now it seems like a magic word.

“How’s that?”

“The little girl,” Zan mutters.

“Still doesn’t narrow it down much,” the bartender answers.

In a hoarse whisper the father says, “Can I leave a number with you?” He writes it on a cocktail napkin. “It’s very important. In case they show up?”

The graying bartender looks at it. “I’ll be straight with you, mate,” he says, “forty-three years I’ve gotten a lot of napkins with a lot of numbers, and never wound up calling any of them.” Back at the table, pressed against the glass of the window and peering out one last time, Zan whispers, Sheba, forgive me. I didn’t even get your hair done like I was supposed to. I’ve failed you completely; and once again he has to pivot sharply so the boy won’t see him break down. “Tell them we’ll be coming back,” he chokes to the bartender over his shoulder, who doesn’t hear, or maybe Zan never really gets out the words.