by Joy Fielding
The doorbell rang a third time.
“Coming.” Norma Appleton hurried down the stairs. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
“Are you expecting anyone?” Leigh asked.
Cindy shook her head, listening for the sound of voices. “I know it’s stupid,” she said, “but every time it rings, I think it might be Julia.”
“Me too,” Leigh said.
In the next instant, Cindy was in her sister’s arms, crying on her shoulder.
“Oh, Cindy,” Leigh whispered, crying too. “I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”
“No. You’re right. I’ve treated you very badly.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I haven’t thanked you for any of the things you’ve done.”
“I don’t need thanks.”
“Yes, you do,” Cindy told her. “You need to be thanked. You deserve to be valued.”
Leigh smiled sadly, hugged her sister tighter to her chest. “It probably wasn’t the best time to bring up Our Town.”
“I’m sure you were terrific.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” Cindy brushed an errant curl away from her sister’s face. “Did I tell you how much I like your hair this color?”
“Really? ’Cause I was thinking of maybe adding a couple of darker streaks.”
“That would be nice too.”
“Cindy,” her mother called from the front hall. “Come look at what just arrived for you.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like a plant of some kind.” Norma Appleton was already tearing at the cellophane by the time Cindy and Leigh reached the bottom of the stairs.
Cindy unpinned the small white envelope from the side of the wrapping as her mother extricated a lovely arrangement of African violets.
Thinking of you, the card read. Martin Crawley.
Cindy laughed, tucked the card into the pocket of her nightshirt, felt it warm against her breast.
“Who’s it from?”
Cindy smiled. “My accountant,” she said.
“He seems like a very nice man,” Leigh acknowledged, lifting the plant from her mother’s hands and carrying it into the kitchen. “So, I was thinking of making my famous lemon chicken that Julia loves so much, maybe freezing it,” she called back, “so that she can have some when she comes home. What do you think?”
“I think she’d like that very much,” Cindy said, following her sister into the kitchen.
“Good. Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Leigh?”
“Hmm?”
Cindy paused, took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said.
TWENTY-SIX
“WHAT did you say to get them to leave?” Neil was asking.
“I said ‘please,’ ” Cindy answered. “Something I haven’t been saying nearly enough these days.” It was almost midnight and she and Neil were sitting naked in her bed, having finished making love for the third time since his arrival some two hours earlier. Elvis lay on the floor beside them, as if he’d sensed their need for privacy. Or maybe he’d just gotten tired of the constant motion, of having to adjust his position to accommodate their fevered acrobatics. “Actually, I think they were quite happy for the break. My brother-in-law’s been pretty patient, but I’m sure he’s glad to have his wife back, even if it’s only for a day or two. And my mother’s been here since …” Cindy stopped, reluctant to say Julia’s name out loud, to bring the continuing agony of her daughter’s disappearance into bed with them, when being in bed with Neil was the only respite she’d had since Julia went missing.
But it was already too late. Her pain, which had gradually morphed from constant, daggerlike thrusts to her chest and abdomen into a steadier, duller, though no less constant, ache that infused every fiber in her body—a chronic illness as opposed to a surprise attack—had already wormed its way under the sheets to insinuate itself between them.
“What say we watch some TV.” Cindy flipped on the television set, began restlessly surfing through the channels.
“What’s that?” Neil asked as Cindy’s fingers froze on the remote. The screen filled with the distorted image of Edvard Munch’s masterpiece, The Scream, now reborn as a hideous mask, hiding the face of a merciless killer as he stalked a group of nubile teenagers.
“Scream,” Cindy said with authority, shaking her head at the irony that such a breathtaking work of art had achieved its greatest fame via a series of teenage slasher movies, then shaking her head again with the realization that she’d seen the entire Scream franchise.
No, I won’t see Scream 3 with you, Julia had protested when the film was first released. It’s supposed to be terrible. I can’t believe you’re going. How can you like that garbage?
Before Julia went missing, Cindy had an easy answer, similar to the one she’d given Neil on their first date. She enjoyed such vicarious torment, she’d told Julia, precisely because it was vicarious. She could relish the thrill of danger without experiencing its real threat. The danger was entirely illusory. She was perfectly safe.
Except no one was safe, she understood now. It was the notion of safety, not the threat of danger, that was the real illusion.
The monsters were very real.
Cindy flipped to another channel, then another and another. “Stop me if you see anything interesting.”
Neil gently removed the remote control unit from her hand, turned the TV off. “It’s late. Why don’t we just get some sleep?”
“Did you ever cheat on your wife?” Cindy asked suddenly, carefully monitoring Neil’s reaction.
“No,” he said. “Not my style.”
“Tom cheated on me all the time.”
“Tom’s an ass.”
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Cindy smiled, although this time the smile was genuine and not the stiff, automatic reflex that normally accompanied each reference to her ex-husband.
The divorce was seven years ago, she heard Julia say. Get over it.
Amazing, Cindy thought, her smile widening. I am over it.
“You hungry?” she asked Neil, suddenly energized. “Thirsty?”
“Just sleepy.”
Cindy felt her body tense. To sleep, she thought uneasily. Perchance to dream. “Quick,” she said. “Name all the seven dwarfs.”
“What?”
“From Snow White. You know Sleepy, Bashful, Grumpy, Doc, Happy.…”
“Cindy, what’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because it’s midnight and we’re talking about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. What is it? Don’t you want me to stay?”
“No, of course I want you to stay.”
“You’re sure? Because if you’re not comfortable.…”
“It’s not that.” Cindy reached for her robe and climbed out of bed, crossing to the window and opening the shutters, staring past the backyard toward the roofs of the large homes along Clarendon, wondering absently what secrets were hidden beneath those roofs.
“What is it?” Neil asked, coming up behind her, surrounding her with his arms.
“It’s just that I’m a bit of a restless sleeper these days.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I’m not so sure how understanding you’ll be when my screaming wakes you up a couple of hours from now.”
“You’ve been having nightmares?”
“I don’t know what you’d call them. They’re so stupid.” Cindy told Neil of waking up in a sweat night after night, convinced she was dying because she’d forgotten to take some nonexistent pills. “My mother says it’s hormonal. My sister says it’s a natural by-product of my anxiety. Either way, it’s making me crazy.”
“I think I might be able to help you,” Neil offered.
“Really? How?”
“Come here.” Neil led her back to bed and sat her down, then disappeared into the en suite bathroom.
Seconds later Cindy heard him rummaging around in her medicine cabinet, heard the sound of water running from the taps.
“I don’t want any sleeping pills,” she said as he reentered the room, a glass of water in his right hand.
“You need to sleep, Cindy.”
“Not everything can be cured by taking a pill.”
“Try these.” Neil perched on the side of the bed and opened the fist of his free hand.
Cindy stared into his empty palm. “What’s this—the emperor’s new pills?”
“Take as many as you need.”
Cindy smiled, stared into the deep blue of his eyes. “You really think this is going to work?”
“Can’t hurt. Go on. Doctor’s orders.”
Cindy’s fingers hesitated over the invisible pills. She took one, raised it to her mouth, then dropped it onto the tip of her tongue, and swallowed it down with some water. Then she reached over, took another one.
“Why don’t you have one more, for good luck.”
“For good luck,” Cindy agreed, swallowing the third invisible pill and returning the glass of water to Neil’s waiting hand. “Now what?”
Neil deposited the empty glass on the night table beside the bed, then climbed into bed beside Cindy, sliding down under the covers and taking her in his arms. “Good night, Cindy,” he said, kissing her softly. “Sleep well.”
WHEN CINDY WOKE up at seven-thirty the next morning, Neil was already in the shower. “Well, what do you know? The damn pills actually worked.” She laughed out loud, was considering joining Neil in the shower when the phone rang.
“Cindy, it’s Ryan Sellick,” the voice boomed across the phone wires. “I know it’s early, and I’m probably the last person in the world you want to be hearing from under the circumstances, but …”
Neil emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair.
“Is something wrong?” Cindy asked, the expression on Neil’s face asking the same thing. “My neighbor,” she whispered, her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be calling you if I weren’t absolutely desperate.”
“What is it, Ryan?”
Neil crossed the room, kissed Cindy’s forehead, began gathering up his clothes.
“It’s just that you’ve always been so kind to Faith, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”
“Is Faith all right?”
“She’s had a really rough couple of days. She was up most of the night, and she just fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. Unfortunately, I have to be in Hamilton all day.”
“You want me to look in on her?”
“I was wondering if you could take care of Kyle until Faith wakes up. I know it’s a hell of a thing for me to be asking. Especially when you think I might have.…” He paused. “It’s just that I’m being picked up in less than half an hour, and.…”
“Okay,” Cindy told him, watching Neil get dressed.
“Okay?”
“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Cindy said.
“Thank you. Cindy.…”
“What?”
Silence. Then, “Please believe I had nothing to do with Julia’s disappearance.”
“I’ll be over soon.” Cindy hung up the phone.
“You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Neil asked.
Cindy shrugged. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “Maybe immersing myself in someone else’s problems for a few hours will take my mind off my own.”
“You’re amazing,” Neil said.
“I had a good night’s sleep.”
Neil kissed her gently on the lips. His hair smelled of green apple shampoo. “I better go home, get changed for work.”
“Thank Max for me for letting his father stay out all night,” Cindy said as she was walking him to the front door minutes later.
“I’ll call you later.”
Cindy watched Neil drive off, then hurried upstairs to get dressed, realizing she was feeling better—more positive—than she had in days. Was it because she’d actually slept through the night for the first time in weeks? Because she was having sex for the first time in years? Because she thought she might be falling in love? “How can I even be thinking about falling in love at a time like this?” she asked the silent house, discarding her terrycloth robe and standing naked in the upstairs hall, knowing that she was completely alone, that her mother wasn’t here to warn her of the dangers of catching a draft, her sister wasn’t waiting to point out that she too could have a flat stomach if she had the time Cindy had to work out, that Heather wasn’t gasping in embarrassment and dismay at what the future held in store, that Julia wasn’t here to tell her to please put something on.…
That Julia wasn’t here.
“I’m all alone,” Cindy said as the dog rushed over to lick at her toes. “Well, maybe not all alone,” she amended, surprisingly grateful for the animal’s presence. She knelt to stroke his side, watched him roll over to offer his belly. “Thank you for being here,” she told him, obliging him with a few heartfelt scratches. Elvis groaned his pleasure, stretched himself out to his full length, pawed at the air for more.
Don’t stop, he seemed to be saying. Don’t stop.
Don’t stop, she heard herself cry out in joyous abandon as Neil buried his head between her thighs.
“I’m doing it again,” she said out loud. How can I be happy? How can I be hopeful for the future when the present is so unsettled?
And yet hope was exactly what she was experiencing. Was it some kind of premonition? Cindy wondered as she showered and dressed. Was her intuition telling her that things were about to change, that all was not lost, that there was indeed reason to be optimistic?
Maybe at this very instant, Julia was being rescued, Cindy projected, racing down the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe any minute now, the police would be turning up at her front door with the good news. “And I won’t be here,” she said, deciding to call Detective Bartolli, tell him where she’d be. Just in case. She left the Sellicks’ phone number with the officer who answered the phone, then shut Elvis in the kitchen, and quickly exited the house.
She arrived at the Sellicks’ door at the same time a black Caprice was pulling into the driveway.
“Would you tell Ryan his lift is here?” an attractive young woman called, leaning out the window of the driver’s seat.
Cindy smiled at the woman, whose long coral-colored ringlets hung past the shoulders of her low-cut, floral-print blouse, acknowledging the young woman’s request with a nod of her head as she rang the bell.
“Cindy, thank God,” Ryan said as he opened the door.
“Your lift is here.” Cindy motioned toward the driveway, stepped into the hall.
Ryan signaled with his index finger to the young woman, then closed the door. “The baby’s asleep,” he said, straightening his dark blue tie, speaking quickly. “Faith’s been expressing her milk, so there are a few bottles in the fridge. All you have to do is heat one up for a minute in the microwave.…”
“Ryan,” Cindy interrupted gently. “It’s okay. I know what to do.”
“Of course you do.” His eyes swept across the floor, like a broom. “Damn it. Where’d I put my briefcase?”
“Is that it?” Cindy pointed to a black leather briefcase propped against the wall next to the kitchen.
“That’s it.” He took two giant steps toward it, scooped it into his hands, held it tight against his gray suit, his eyes shooting from the kitchen to the living room. “I’m sorry the place is such a mess.”
“I’ll try to straighten up a little.”
“Oh no, please. You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. Gives me something to do.”
Outside, a car horn honked.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Go.”
“I look okay?”
“You look great.”
“Very important potential client or I’d send somebody else.”
“Knock ‘em
dead.”
“You’re a godsend, Cindy. I don’t know how to thank you.”
You can find my little girl, she thought. “Your ride’s waiting,” she said.
Ryan opened the door. “I’ve left my cell phone number on the kitchen counter, in case there are any problems.”
“There won’t be.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I get two minutes.”
“Try not to worry.”
Ryan ran down the front steps to the car, then stopped, his hand on the door handle. “Has there been any news?” he called back, an obvious afterthought.
Cindy shook her head. “Drive carefully,” she advised the impatient young woman behind the wheel of the car.
“I’ll phone you later.”
Cindy waved as the woman backed her car onto the street and turned west toward Poplar Plains, not envying them the traffic they faced. Hamilton was almost close enough to be considered a suburb, but rush hour traffic would add at least twenty minutes to the normally hour-long drive. And that was providing there were no accidents along the way.
(Typical Altercation: “It was an accident, for God’s sake,” Julia, age thirteen and already towering over her mother, stares unapologetically at the broken Lalique vase her careless hand has swept off the mantel above the fireplace.
“I know it was an accident,” Cindy says evenly. “I just said you should be more careful.”
“It’s just a damn vase. I don’t know what you’re getting so bent out of shape about.”
“It was a birthday gift from Meg. And please watch your language.”
“What’d I say? Damn? You call that language?”
“Julia.…”
“I hear you say much worse.”
“That doesn’t mean.…”
“It means you’re a hyprocrite.”
“Julia.…”
“Mother.…”
Stalemate.)
Cindy closed the front door, leaned her head against it, trying not to hear the echo of Julia’s recriminations clawing at her through the years. I have to stop doing this, she thought. I have to stop projecting Julia into every scenario, stop putting her inflection into every casual utterance.
How do I do that? she asked, pushing herself away from the door. How do I stop thinking about my daughter? How do I get used to living without her?
