by Joy Fielding
“I go too far?” Cindy repeated numbly.
“You’re almost pathologically fair.”
“Pathologically fair? What does that mean?”
“It means you can’t be both their mother and their friend.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please don’t take that tone with me.”
“Then stop talking to me like I’m one of your kids.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, news flash—this isn’t helping.”
“Look, I know you’re upset, but don’t try to make me feel badly because I made some polite inquiries.”
“Bad,” Cindy snapped.
“What?”
“Don’t try to make me feel bad,” Cindy continued, feeling the anger rise in her throat. “You don’t say, ‘I feel sadly,’ do you? No. You say, ‘I feel sad.’ In the same way, you shouldn’t say, ‘I feel badly.’ You should say, ‘I feel bad.’ You feel what, not how. It’s an emotion, not an adverb.”
Leigh’s mouth fell open. “You’re correcting my grammar?”
Cindy lowered her head. Not even eight o’clock in the morning and already she was exhausted. Maybe she’d spend the day in bed. Maybe she’d go to church and pray. Maybe she’d badger the police, even though she knew they were waiting until the end of the long weekend, confident Julia would turn up on her own.
Would she?
There had to be something she could do. Something to keep her from going out of her mind. She just couldn’t sit idly by and wait until Tuesday, especially with Supermom hovering, telegraphing her disapproval with every look and utterance. “Look. I can manage here,” she told her sister. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll stay.”
“You have your own family to look after.”
“You’re my family.”
Tears filled Cindy’s eyes. “Where is she, Leigh?” she asked, burying her face in her hands.
“Have you checked her voice-mail for messages?”
Cindy was immediately on her feet and at the telephone. Why hadn’t she thought to check her daughter’s voice-mail? What was the matter with her? “I don’t know her code,” she whispered, suspecting that Leigh knew all her children’s voice-mail codes by heart.
Cindy heard Heather’s footsteps on the stairs. “Everything okay?” Heather asked, freshly changed into jeans and a light blue jersey.
“Heather,” Leigh said, “do you know your sister’s voice-mail code?”
Heather quickly rattled off the four digits. “I’ve got to go.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’ll call you later. Try not to worry.”
Even before the front door closed, Cindy was entering the code to Julia’s voice-mail, feeling guilty for snooping into her daughter’s personal life. When Julia got home, she’d apologize, Cindy decided, hearing her sister’s earlier pronouncement ringing in her ear. Almost pathologically fair, she’d said.
“You have seven new messages,” a recorded voice chirped in Cindy’s ear.
“Seven new messages,” Cindy repeated, looking around in vain for a pencil and a piece of paper.
Her sister lifted her hands in the air. Told you so, said the expression on her face.
In the end there was no need for paper and pencil. Five of the messages were from Cindy, forwarded from Julia’s cell phone, one was from Lindsey, the last one was a hang-up. Cindy replaced the receiver, desperation gnawing at her insides, like a dull hunger.
“Are you all right?” Cindy heard Leigh asking through the ringing in her ears. “You don’t look so hot.”
Cindy watched the room sway precariously from side to side, as if she were riding on a high swing, the earth pulling away from her feet Benign positional vertigo, she thought, watching the ceiling swoop toward her, like a giant bird. It plucked her into the air, shaking her this way and that, leaving her limp and helpless, before abruptly letting go. Cindy felt herself plummeting to the ground. Just before she landed, she heard Elvis yelp, saw her sister’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you doing?” Leigh demanded, hands on her hips.
Cindy’s last thought before the darkness overtook her was that she hoped Leigh could move fast enough to catch her before her head hit the floor.
FOURTEEN
WHEN Cindy opened her eyes, she saw Neil Macfarlane’s handsome face. I’m in heaven, she thought, watching her mother and sister insert themselves into the frame. I’m in hell, she thought, quickly amending her earlier assessment.
The tan leather of the living room sofa groaned as Cindy pushed herself into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
“Apparently you fainted,” Neil said from the seat beside her. He was casually dressed in jeans and a yellow golf shirt. His amazingly blue eyes were flecked with worry.
“Scared the hell out of me,” Leigh said, backing away from the sofa and rubbing her right hand with her left. “I think I may have done something to my wrist when I blocked your fall.”
Cindy tried shaking the heavy fog from inside her head, but it hung on, like a dead weight. “I don’t understand. How long was I out?”
“Not more than a couple of minutes,” her mother answered. “I was in the bathroom when I heard your sister screaming.”
“Well, she scared the hell out of me,” Leigh repeated.
“And then the doorbell was ringing.”
“That was me,” Neil said with a smile.
“He brought bagels,” Cindy’s mother said.
“He helped me lift you onto the sofa,” Leigh told her.
“And so concludes our up-to-the-minute report,” Neil said.
Cindy shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever fainted before.”
“It’s because you don’t eat enough,” her sister pronounced.
“Which is why I brought bagels,” Neil said.
“Maybe later.” Cindy smiled, so grateful for his presence she almost cried. “You’ve obviously met my mother and sister.”
“The necessary introductions have all been made.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Macfarlane?” Leigh asked, hovering like a waiting helicopter.
“No, thank you.”
Cindy pushed herself to her feet. “I could use some fresh air.”
“How about a walk?” Neil asked.
Elvis barked his enthusiastic approval, headed for the door.
Cindy laughed. “You said the magic word. Actually, a walk sounds great.” Elvis began circling the hall, barking even louder. “Okay, okay, you can come.” She walked slowly into the kitchen, retrieved Elvis’s leash, and attached it to his collar.
“You’re sure you’re all right to go out?” her mother asked.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Don’t go too far,” she advised as Cindy and Neil headed down the outside stairs, Neil’s hand guiding Cindy’s elbow. “Don’t let her do too much,” her mother called after them.
“For heaven’s sake, Mom,” Cindy heard Leigh hiss from the doorway. “She’s not a child. Stop fussing over her. Ouch, my arm. . .”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Neil asked Cindy as they continued down the street.
Cindy felt her legs grow stronger, her footing more secure, with each step away from her house. “I’ll be fine as soon as we get around the corner.” The dog yanked on Cindy’s arm, demanding that she pick up the pace.
Neil took the leash from Cindy’s hand. “Let me do this.”
“Thank you.” Cindy marvelled at the way the dog immediately slowed down, fell into step beside Neil. “How did you do that?”
“It’s all in the pressure.”
“I’m not very good with pressure,” Cindy said.
“Well, there’s only so much anyone can take.” They turned south on Poplar Plains. “I assume no one’s heard from Julia.”
Cindy nodded, pointed to her right. “Let’s go to the park.” They walked in silence for several seconds along Clarendon. �
��What made you drop by?”
“I wanted to see how everything was. I called yesterday. . .”
“I didn’t get your message until today.”
“Yes, your sister mentioned something about there being no pad and pencil by the phone.”
“She doesn’t waste any time.”
“That’s the impression I got.”
Cindy smiled. “She’s really a very nice person.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“I shouldn’t sound so ungrateful.”
“You don’t.” They stopped for Elvis to pee against a line of scraggly red and yellow rosebushes. “Anyway, when I didn’t hear back from you, I thought I’d take a chance and drop by, see for myself how you were doing.”
“And you found me sprawled across the kitchen floor.”
He nodded. “What happened to make you faint?”
Cindy shook her head. “Damned if I know. One minute I was looking at my sister; next minute, I was looking at you.”
“Maybe you should call your doctor.”
“I’m sure my mother is doing exactly that as we speak.”
They crossed Russell Hill Road and headed up the side entrance to Winston Churchill Park, where Cindy bent down and unhooked the leash from Elvis’s collar, letting the dog run free. He bounded up the slight incline to the foot of a steep hill. DANGER, a sign proclaimed in big, bold letters at its base. SLOPE & FENCE HAZARD, SLEIGHING, TOBOGGANING PROHIBITED. A collapsing orange wire fence looped casually along the ground; a flight of wooden steps ran diagonally up the right side of the hill. Elvis was already halfway to the top by the time Cindy and Neil began their climb.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Neil asked.
“Lead on.”
The top of the hill plateaued into a small field of dry, yellow grass. Cindy and Neil arrived at the top step in time to see Elvis bound between a father and his young son, who were struggling with a large, blue-and-gold kite, then pounce on a young couple sunbathing near the row of tennis courts at the far end of the park. “Elvis, stop that. Come back here,” Cindy called as the dog chased after a jogger in a pair of lime green shorts who was puffing along the well-worn perimeter of the park. An elderly Chinese woman, who was exercising with meticulous deliberation near a set of concrete stairs that led to a nearby ravine, stopped to give Elvis a pat on the head. “I’m sorry if he bothered you,” Cindy said just as she was hit in the leg by a well-chewed, misaimed rubber ball. Immediately, a large white poodle was at her feet, grabbing the ball in his teeth, then taking off for the middle of the park, Elvis in quick pursuit, to where a group of pet owners were clustered together.
“Quite the scene,” Neil remarked as Elvis raced circles around the other dogs.
“Elvis!” a woman shouted warmly in greeting. “How are you, boy?”
“Sorry about that ball,” a middle-aged man apologized as Cindy approached the group. “Didn’t realize I could throw that far. How you doin’, Elvis?”
“You know my dog?”
“Oh, sure,” another woman answered easily. “We all know Elvis. You want a treat, boy?” The woman, her short pixie hair peeking out from under a Blue Jays baseball cap, reached into the side pocket of her baggy olive green pants and pulled out a biscuit. “Sit,” she instructed.
Elvis promptly did as he was told.
“Amazing,” Cindy said.
Immediately, six other dogs rushed the woman, begging for treats. Along with the white poodle, there was a smaller red one, a big German shepherd, a bigger Golden Lab, and two medium-sized black dogs whose breeds Cindy couldn’t identify.
“Where’s Julia?” a young girl asked as Elvis chewed on his treat. The girl was about twelve years old, with thin yellow hair and a mouthful of braces. She stood beside a younger girl with the exact same face, minus the hardware.
Cindy hadn’t expected to hear her daughter’s name. It stabbed at her heart like a sharp stick. Instinctively, her hand reached for Neil’s. She felt his fingers fold over her own. “You know Julia?”
“She’s so pretty,” the younger of the two sisters answered with a laugh.
“Haven’t seen her around in a while,” the woman with the treats said, pushing gray-streaked black hair away from her narrow face. “Did she take off for Hollywood?”
Did she? Cindy wondered. “When was the last time you saw her?” she asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.
“I’m not sure. About two weeks ago, I guess.”
“Was she with anyone?”
The woman looked puzzled by the question.
“She was with her new boyfriend,” the younger of the two sisters offered with a giggle.
“Her new boyfriend?” Cindy felt her throat constricting, as if a stranger’s hands were around her neck, strangling further attempts at conversation. “Do you know his name she whispered hoarsely, kneeling down on the grass in front of the younger, yellow-haired girl.
The child shook her head, looked anxiously toward her sister.
“Can you tell me what Julia’s boyfriend looked like? Please, it’s very important.”
The little girl shrugged, backed against her older sister’s side.
“Is there a problem?” someone asked from above her head.
“Julia’s been missing since Thursday,” Cindy said, eyes focused on the two girls.
“Oh, dear.”
“I saw her yesterday,” a man said . .
Instantly, Cindy was on her feet, advancing toward him. “You saw her yesterday?”
The man, who was fortyish, heavyset, and bidding, took a step back. “She was sitting right over there.” He pointed toward a lone bench at the far end of the park. “She was crying”
“Crying?”
“That wasn’t Julia,” the man’s wife corrected. “It was the other one. Heather. Is that her name? Such a nice girl.”
“Heather was here yesterday?”
“About four o’clock. Sitting right over there,” the man repeated. “Crying her heart out. You’re sure that wasn’t Julia?” he asked his wife.
Was she?
“It was the other one,” his wife insisted.
What would Heather be doing in the park, crying?
“I wanted to ask her if there was anything we could do to help, but . . .” The woman shook her head in her husband’s direction, as if her failure to take action was his fault.
“We decided it was none of our business,” her husband replied defensively.
“Have you called the police?” someone asked, the voices beginning to blend together in Cindy’s ears, becoming indistinguishable one from the other.
“The police have been contacted,” Neil answered for her. “But if any of you can think of anything that might be of help. . .”
“Can’t think of a thing,” someone said.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up.”
“I’m so sorry,” said someone else.
“Good luck.”
Their voices receded as their footsteps pulled away. Cindy stared at the trampled grass until it grew quiet. When she looked up again, she and Neil were alone in the center of the park.
“Are you all right?” Neil asked.
Cindy shrugged, realized she was still holding tightly onto Neil’s hand. “Sorry,” she said, releasing his fingers from her vise-like grip.
“Any time.”
Cindy’s eyes swept across the dry field. The father and his young son were still struggling with their uncooperative kite; the sunbathers were still stretched out on their blanket by the tennis courts; the jogger in the lime green shorts was still running in hapless circles around the track; the elderly Chinese woman was still doing her exercises. “Where’s Elvis?” Cindy asked, spinning around. “Elvis!” She ran to the edge of the hill, looked down, saw a bunch of other dogs playing at the bottom. No Elvis. “Oh no.” She raced to the other side of the park. “Elvis! Where is he? Elvis! Where are you?”
Neil was r
ight beside her. “Take it easy, Cindy. We’ll find him.”
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I lost Julia’s dog.”
“We’ll find him,” Neil repeated.
She was crying now. “Julia will never forgive me. She’ll never forgive me.”
Neil took her arm, deliberately slowed her pace, led her toward the tennis courts. “Elvis!” he called out, his voice racing ahead of them as they walked around the side of the double row of courts to the front part of the park. They passed a group of young men playing soccer, dodged between two teenage boys tossing a bright orange Frisbee back and forth.
“He’s not here,” Cindy said, eyes scanning the crowded children’s playground by the front row of tennis courts. She approached a group of young mothers pushing their children on the swings. “Excuse me, have you seen a Wheaten terrier, about this big?” She held her hand about two feet off the ground. “He’s apricot-colored,” she continued, even as the women were shaking their heads no. Cindy ran toward the tiny brick building that was the headquarters of the Winston Churchill Tennis Association. “I can’t believe it. First I lose Julia; now I lose her dog.”
“You haven’t lost anyone.” Neil poked his head inside the men’s washroom to the left of the small structure. “We’ll find him,” he said. “Elvis! Elvis!”
“Elvis!” Cindy echoed.
“Is this your dog?” someone called from inside the main room.
Cindy poked her head into the open door of the tennis association’s headquarters. The single room was long and casually furnished, with a large desk to one side, a soft drink machine at the back, and several rows of blue chairs positioned around a small TV that was tuned to the U.S. Open. Two young men in tennis whites were lounging across a dark blue couch propped against one wall, a large pizza box open between them. Elvis was sitting on the floor in front of them, his eyes glued to what remained of the pizza.
“Elvis!” Cindy cried, falling to her knees and hugging the dog to her chest, feeling his wet tongue on the underside of her chin. “You scared me half to death.”
“Your dog sure loves pizza,” one of the boys said as Elvis barked his desire for more.
