by Delia Ephron
“I told you. Tasting wine, salami, green olives, ricotta, every sea critter or veggie that could be marinated.”
“How come you’re not drunk?”
“Who said I’m not? Want me to get some more ice for your cheek?”
“That cat. I was going down the street thinking that you and Snow might be coming from . . .” She shook her head. “Shut up. Please just shut up. I probably need a plastic surgeon.”
“Do you want to go to a hospital?”
“In Sicily?” Scorn.
“Nothing’s happened to Snow. Kathy’s nice. Good-hearted. A little flaky maybe.”
“Flaky?”
“Enthusiastic.”
“You let your daughter go off in a foreign city with someone flaky?”
“She might not realize the time is all. When Snow dropped her ring in the water—”
“What?”
“That monster she was waving around at breakfast. She let Snowy try it and it fell off her finger. Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Some octopus is wearing it.”
“Poor Snow.”
“Yeah. It ripped her up. In a flash, done, over, no way to take it back. She was sobbing her little heart out. You would have been proud of Snow. She apologized. Took responsibility.”
“You are the stupidest man I have ever met.” Contempt. I didn’t recognize it till I rehashed it with Dorothy. Contempt, that’s Dorothy’s word. The nostrils on Tay’s skinny nose flared, her eyes narrowed, her lip curled. I felt like something dirty she’d forgotten to wash off.
Tay threw herself into packing.
I watched that sick enterprise—the compulsively neat way she folded things. One uneven crease and she begins again. “Motive,” she said.
“Motive?”
“I don’t believe for one single second she forgave her.”
“She did.” But I was thinking, Did she? “Motive for what?”
“Make them call the police.”
I phoned Michael first. “Is Snow with you?”
“No. Have you seen Lizzie?”
“My daughter didn’t come back from being with your girlfriend.” I hung up.
“Girlfriend?” said Tay.
“He’s fucking her.”
“I’m sure he’s not.”
“Fine. He’s not.”
At the desk, the second I said police, Carlo, the slump-shouldered night receptionist, summoned the manager, who bustled down the hall straightening her jacket. “Marianna Bianchi,” she said, shaking our hands. She was a stout woman, no idea how old. She had a firm handshake and a sensible brown suit. Her short yellow hair was a bit of a bird’s nest. Tay referred to it later as an unfortunate perm. “May I help you? Is there a problem?”
“Signor Dolan’s daughter didn’t return,” said Carlo.
“She’s ten. She’s missing,” said Tay. “Our daughter went off with Kath—”
“Kath?” said Marianna.
“Signorina Bicks,” said Carlo.
“Your daughter’s name?” said Marianna.
“Snow.”
Marianna spun a pad on the counter her way to take notes. “Where did they go?”
“We don’t know,” said Tay. “If we knew—”
“My wife’s upset.”
“Of course I’m upset.” She started crying again.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Marianna.
“Why are you apologizing to her?” said Tay. “Signorina Bicks is one of your hotel guests. Call the police right now.”
“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” said Marianna, with a practiced smile. “It often happens. Siracusa is very stimulating. Many men, as you say, flirt. The girls stop in a café, they make friends. ‘Can I buy you a Prosecco?’ the boy asks. E così, it’s three hours later.”
“It’s over four hours. She’s not a mother,” said Tay in my ear.
The lobby was happening now, guests on their way to dinner crowded into the small sitting room where wine was open on the table along with water and a tub of ice. A boy sat on a chair with a bounce, jumped up, and bounced back down again. His little sister hid her face in her mother’s skirt while the mom had her change purse out examining her coins, trying to see what was what. A man with three cameras slung around his neck was discussing a trip to the Papyrus Museum. Taylor put her hands over her ears, strode outside and back in. “You don’t want to call the police,” she said loudly, “because the last thing you want is the police in your hotel. It’s bad for business.”
“I assure you, Signora, it is not true,” said Marianna.
“Tell her ‘bullshit,’ Finn.”
“My wife needs you to call them right now.”
“Fight.” Taylor jabbed me.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.” To Marianna she said, “I am head of the tourist bureau in Portland, Maine, and I am well aware of how little any hotel wants to have police on the premises.” With that she burst into loud sobs, and Marianna gestured that we should go down the hall. She directed us to a small office and waited for us to settle in the two white metal chairs before sitting at her desk—a pine plank with a phone, a laptop, and a stack of papers that she picked up and placed on the floor.
“We have small crimes. Pickpockets—borseggiatori—but nothing dangerous.” She dialed.
While she waited for an answer, her eyes landed on Tay’s face and got stuck there.
“My wife was scratched by a cat.”
She nodded. The bitch didn’t believe me.
We listened to her torrent of Italian on the phone. “They are coming,” she said, hanging up.
“We’ll wait in the lobby,” said Tay.
“May I provide you some refreshments? A cocktail? Bruschette?”
“No,” said Taylor.
We sat silently on the couch near reception. I put my arm around Tay. She slid away. “I want a divorce,” she said.
I went outside. The moon floated in a strip of sky between heavy clouds. My skin was prickly with fear. I was praying. “Mother Mary, full of grace—”
I ducked around the corner, took a few drags, popped a Tic Tac, and returned.
“I mean it,” said Tay, her tone bloodless, her face too except for those cat scratches brighter and uglier.
“Snow’s missing,” I told Michael when he exited the elevator and saw us.
“What do you mean?”
“Is she reliable?” Tay started to cry again.
He sat down and put his arm around her. “Is who reliable?”
“Kathy,” I said.
“I barely know her. What do you mean, she’s missing?”
“They went for ice cream after the boat trip,” I said, “and didn’t come back.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said.
“What?” squeaked Taylor. “Why not?”
“I don’t know her, just an impression from the restaurant, but she seems sweet, excitable but not reckless.” He shut up then. I figured he was reconsidering that, the asshole. “What happened to your face?” he said.
“I picked up a cat.”
Michael threw a look my way. Couldn’t read it. Was it, She’s protecting you, like I was some animal who’d clawed her, or sympathy ’cause Tay and I were in the soup?
“Maybe Snow’s with Lizzie?” he said.
“They don’t like each other.”
After I said it I heard it ’cause of the silence. I hadn’t known I knew that. No one disagreed.
A bright blue car with a white stripe and the word POLIZIA pulled up. Tay rushed outside and sank to the ground.
An officer grasped her elbow, raised her up, and held on until she was steady on her feet.
“Our daughter is missing,” I said, and heard Marianna behind me translate
. “She went for ice cream and didn’t return.”
I was in another dimension still, jumpy with terror yet aware that I should have comforted Tay, should have leapt to help when she dropped. It must have looked odd to the cops that I didn’t, but if I’d tried, she would have yanked away. Don’t, she would have sneered.
I was afraid of her, that was what Dorothy said. Who knows, maybe I still am. It’s a way of life.
I was sure they were going to slap the cuffs on and arrest me. Guilt, said Dorothy. Tay thought I was a lousy father and she’d turned out to be right. I’d let my kid prance off with a stranger, and God help me, she was gone, and after the deli I’d spent a couple of hours hanging with Gina, smoking, lying on a chaise on her tacky terrace, and feeling an unfamiliar calm looking over tile roofs into an empty sky, same light blue as Agente Penzo’s polo shirt.
There were two, Agente Penzo and Detective Carrudo—Penzo fair, Carrudo dark with blazing black eyes and a mole on his cheek. I thought I’d spotted Carrudo singing karaoke on one of my night prowls. I remembered the mole.
We crammed into Marianna’s office. Penzo spun her chair around and straddled it. Carrudo loped a leg over the corner of the desk, crossed his arms, and stared down at us seated before him like misbehaving pupils. Marianna, beside him, crossed her arms, hoisting her breasts, and viewed us sternly as if she’d joined the force. Michael squeezed into a corner.
“She has extreme shyness syndrome,” said Tay again and again, keening.
They didn’t seem to understand that—fuck, who would, and fuck knows what the translation was—but Carrudo, after taking our names, made a show of noting that on a pad he’d pulled from his back pocket.
“My wife is saying that Snow is very shy, she’s nervous alone, nervous with strangers.”
“Nervous crossing a street,” said Tay, while she continued to rock and moan.
“She’s vulnerable and innocent,” said Michael. Tay threw him a grateful look.
That caught their attention. “Name?” they asked him.
“Michael Shapner. My wife and I are traveling with them.”
“He’s a famous American writer,” said Tay.
“Hardly,” said Michael.
“He is,” said Tay.
“Where’s your wife?”
“On a wander.”
That drew a blank from Marianna. “Sightseeing,” said Michael.
There were pauses while we waited for Marianna to tell us what they said and to tell them what we said, and the pauses were freaky—places for our words to hang out and start to sound funny. Innocent answers grew horns.
The cops conferred with each other and with Marianna. Carrudo’s hands danced, illustrating whatever the hell he was talking about, tapping his cheek, his fingers swimming here and there.
“They want to know about your face, signora,” said Marianna.
“A cat scratched her,” I said.
“Around the corner, do you know the cat?” Tay pleaded with Marianna. “Gray and white. I picked her up.”
They all conferred again.
“There are strays all over Siracusa,” Marianna finally said. “Everywhere. Even in cafés. Did you not notice?”
“We’re not looking for a cat,” said Michael. “We’re looking for a ten-year-old girl.”
Tay gave him a weak smile. Again Carrudo took note, not an actual note, but he scratched his nose while shifting his gaze among us.
I showed him a photo, they passed my phone between them, and I told them what Snow was wearing. It was surreal. Snow last seen wearing . . .
“Bella,” said Carrudo, viewing the photo and giving Tay a nod of credit.
My phone pinged.
“Oh God,” said Taylor.
Carrudo handed it back and waited for me to check the text. From Lizzie. I need you.
“Who is it?” said Taylor.
“Nothing. The restaurant. I own a restaurant in the U.S. I’ll call them back.”
“My daughter was with an American staying here,” said Taylor. “The woman hasn’t come back either.”
“She is with a friend?” said Carrudo.
“He knows her.” Taylor nodded to Michael.
“I don’t know her. She works near where we live.”
They asked for a description and Tay blubbered it out. “Blond, straight hair to her shoulders, sometimes pulled back, tan, blue eyes, her nails painted purple. This morning she was wearing a man’s striped shirt, long, to her knees, kind of like his.” She pointed to Michael. “Silver flip-flops. Big orange tote bag. Perforated. You know, with little holes. Looks like leather but plastic.”
The cops huddled with Marianna, then stood formally for her to deliver the verdict. “They will put out the information to all police cars,” she said. “He would like that photo of your child,” said Marianna.
After about fifty fumbles trying to type in his e-mail, I sent it.
“They want you to know the police take kidnapping very seriously,” said Marianna.
Kidnapping. Jesus. Tay burst into loud sobs. What did we think, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that. Just gone, missing, lost, but not a big scary word like that.
Carrudo offered a card with his number and they left, escorted by Marianna. We all fell dumb.
“I’m sorry,” said Michael after a bit.
“Snow’s probably all right,” I said.
“Idiot,” said Taylor.
Marianna popped her head back in, beaming. “Your daughter is here.”
We knocked into each other running.
Snow. Just inside. The glass doors framed her like the arch of a church. Snow so still, for a second I wasn’t sure she was flesh and blood. Dressed differently too. A pair of loose white pants, worn low, hung off her hips, belly button exposed and a bit of bony hip. A flimsy white tank barely covered her on top. Pink on her lips. The red sunglasses.
“It is all, all right,” said Marianna with a clap.
Tay took off Snow’s glasses, kissed every inch of her face, then pulled back to look at her. They were beautiful together. I could tell Carrudo admired that.
“Where are your clothes? What happened?” said Tay.
“Where were you, Snow?” I said.
Snow’s eyes shifted toward the police and she shuddered against her mother.
“What happened, sweetheart, tell me,” said Tay.
“Where were you, Snowy?” I said.
Snow clucked.
“She clucks when she’s upset,” said Tay. “No, sometimes she just clucks. I think it’s a way to connect, to let us know she’s okay or she doesn’t want to talk, or—I’m not sure. She’s very bright.”
“Clucks?” Marianna did not know how to translate.
“That noise you make—your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” I said. “A cluck.”
Carrudo spoke to Marianna.
“Does she need a doctor?” said Marianna. “The police would like to know. Also they would like to interview her.”
Tay hugged Snowy again, who allowed it but I guess that’s all you could call it. I could see my kid was strange, taking in but giving back nothing, and everyone else noticed too. Her beauty got in their way, though, that’s my sense of it, given how gaga they were. It made it hard for them to assess anything.
Then Snow saw Michael and smiled.
“Hi, Snow,” said Michael. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Are you hurt?” said Tay. “Tell me.”
Snow clucked again.
“No, that means no,” said Tay. “Did Kath buy you those clothes?”
Snow’s eyes shifted.
“Yes,” Tay told the cops. “The woman bought them for her. I recognize her lipstick too. Her bright pink color.”
“Did anyone hurt you, Snow, and tell you not to tel
l us or they would hurt us or you, because they won’t,” said Tay.
Again my kid fucking clucked. I caught myself about to smile. She was messing with the police. With us. She was stonewalling. I know my Snow. Piece of work. Dolan for sure.
“She needs to be with me, that’s all,” said Tay.
“We’re leaving Sicily tomorrow,” I told Carrudo. I figured in the end all these cops wanted to know was whether this was still their problem. If we were going to be gone, ciao and good riddance. “We’re fine,” I said. “Our daughter’s fine. We’re sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for coming.”
They left in high spirits as if they’d solved a crime. Penzo stopped at the desk to ask Carlo where Dani was, at least that was my impression.
“You okay, beautiful?” said Michael.
Snow lifted her eyes to him. “What?” He leaned down. She whispered in his ear.
Michael jerked away. “What are you talking about? Who?”
“Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom,” said Snow to Tay.
Michael grabbed Snow’s shoulders.
“Let her go,” I said.
He shook her. “What the fuck—”
I hauled him off, twisted his arm to swing him around, and punched his face. He staggered backward and I slugged him in the gut. The guy crumpled, blocking the doorway. We had to edge around.
Guests cowered as if I were a madman planning to take them all out. I propelled Taylor and Snow past and ushered my family to the elevator.
Tay pushed in Snow ahead of her, swiveled around, and put up a flat hand at my chest. “We don’t need you now.”
The door slid shut.
I texted Lizzie.
Lizzie
HOW STUPID WAS I? Plotting his seduction, wooing him with dead poets, imagining my competition was a novel. What a pretentious notion.
All those times she’d greeted us at Tino’s, escorted us to the table in the corner. “The scampi is delicious tonight.” How that must have turned him on.
Games we played at other people’s dinners now played on me.
Did he feel her up on the way to the men’s room?
“How is everything?” She’d checked on us often. Now and then I asked her about herself. To be polite I was curious. At Christmas she went back to Bloomington to see her parents. “They don’t approve of New York,” she’d said. Was he fucking her then? What did he give her for Christmas? Once she’d confessed to a vision board. It had amused me. I often asked about it. “How’s your vision board?”
