The Final Act

by Joy Fielding

  “Let go,” Peter was saying, soft hands on Cindy’s, trying to manipulate her fingers. “Let go. Let go.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cindy whispered, realizing how tightly her fists were clenched at her sides.

  “Feel your breath seep into your fingertips. Allow your hands to relax.”

  Cindy felt her fists gradually open under Peter’s expert and gentle touch. Tom used to touch her with that same kind of tender strength, she thought. The best lover she’d ever had, his caress as addictive as the most powerful narcotic. They’d made love through all his infidelities, made love that awful night he’d told her he was leaving, and for several months after he’d moved out, when she thought there was still a chance he might come home, and for several months after that, while they were hammering out a settlement, and even after their divorce was final, when she knew there was no hope at all. The lovemaking had finally stopped the afternoon Julia packed her new suitcase and left her mother’s house to go live with her father.

  “That’s it,” Peter said, his voice filled with quiet pride as he patted Cindy’s fingers. “You’re smiling.”

  *

  “WHAT’S GOING ON?” Lindsey asked as Cindy followed her into the main reception area. “Is Julia sick?” She grabbed an orange quarter from the bowl on the desk.

  “Here’s your change,” the receptionist offered Cindy, holding out a two-dollar coin.

  Cindy ignored the money, watching Lindsey suck the juice from the sliver of orange. “When was the last time you spoke to Julia?”

  “This morning.”

  “This morning?” Cindy’s heart began to race.

  “Yeah, I called and asked her what she was doing. We were supposed to meet for coffee at nine-thirty.”

  Cindy felt her heart sink. “That was me.”

  “What?”

  “That was me you spoke to.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you . . .?”

  “Julia’s missing.”

  “What?”

  “Since Thursday.” Cindy saw the movement in Lindsey’s brown eyes as the girl retraced the last two days in her mind. “Have you heard from her since then?”

  “No. No, I haven’t. I left her a message yesterday, but she didn’t get back to me.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Not really. Julia’s not great about returning calls.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  Lindsey shook her head, discarded the orange peel.

  “Please, Lindsey,” Cindy urged, sensing that Lindsey knew something she wasn’t telling. “If you know anything at all. . .”

  “Excuse me.” A woman from Lindsey’s class reached between them to grab a piece of orange.

  “I know she had an audition with that big-shot Hollywood director, Michael something . . .”

  “Kinsolving. Yes, we know that.”

  “We?”

  “The police have been notified,” Cindy said, hoping to shock Lindsey into revealing whatever it was she knew. Around her, several women lingered, pretending not to listen.

  “The police? You really think something’s happened to Julia?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I’m sure she’s all right, Mrs. Carver.”

  “How are you sure?”

  Lindsey grabbed another orange slice, stuffed it inside her mouth. “I just can’t imagine . . . Look, I really have to go. My boyfriend’s waiting downstairs.”

  “Let him wait, damn it.”

  “Excuse me,” the receptionist asked meekly. “Is there a problem here?”

  “My daughter is missing,” Cindy announced to a chorus of Oh, my’s. “And I think this girl might know something about it.”

  “I don’t,” Lindsey protested to the gathering crowd. “Honestly, I don’t.”

  “But?” Cindy demanded. “I know there’s a ‘but’ there. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Lindsey lowered her head, spoke out of the side of her mouth, her voice no more than a whisper. “There was this guy. Maybe she’s with him.”

  “What guy?”

  “I don’t know his name. Really, I don’t,” Lindsey insisted as Cindy was about to interrupt. “She was very secretive about him. She wouldn’t tell me anything except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  “Except that she was crazy about him.”

  “She told you she was crazy about him but she wouldn’t tell you his name?”

  “She said she couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean, she couldn’t?”

  “She said it was a very complicated situation.”

  “Complicated in what way? Is he married?” Ryan Sellick winked at her from the dark corners of her imagination. “What exactly did she tell you about him?”

  “Nothing. Honestly. I’ve told you everything I know. I really have to go now. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Lindsey fled the room as a woman from her class approached. “Can I get you a glass of water?” the woman asked Cindy.

  Tears filled Cindy’s eyes, causing the woman’s face to blur, her features to overlap, like a cubist painting.

  “Do you need a ride home?” another woman offered.

  “Thank you. I have my car,” Cindy said, her voice a monotone.

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  Cindy nodded. “You can find my daughter.”

  THIRTEEN

  AS SOON as she left The Yoga Studio, Cindy drove north on Spadina to Dupont, fully intending to go home. But instead of turning right toward Poplar Plains, she turned left, continuing west to Christie, where she pulled to a stop across the street from an old convenience store on the corner, then turned the engine off and sat staring up at Sean Banack’s apartment. What am I doing here? she thought now, pressing her forehead against the leather of the steering wheel. Hadn’t the police told her to let them handle things?

  Except that the police were waiting until Tuesday.

  And Tuesday might be too late.

  Cindy lifted her head, looked across the street. Sean Banack was standing in front of the convenience store, staring at her.

  In the next instant Cindy was out of the car and running across the road. “Sean, Sean, wait,” she shouted at him over the tops of the passing cars. “I need to talk to you.”

  Sean Banack took several steps back as Cindy drew near, muscular arms raised, as if warning her to keep her distance. He was of medium height and build, handsome in a careless sort of way, his normally long blond hair cut very short, his blue jeans worn very tight, light brown eyes challenging hers. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Mrs. Carver.”

  “I do.”

  “So . . . what I want doesn’t count?” Sean lifted his palms into the air, as if already conceding defeat. “Now I see where Julia gets it.”

  “Gets what?”

  “Her—how can I put this politely?—her single-minded determination.”

  Cindy smiled at the thought that her daughter might resemble her in any way at all. “Where’s Julia?”

  “Not here.”

  “Where then?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Sean Banack took another step back, until he was literally up against the redbrick wall of the convenience store. “Mrs. Carver, what’s going on here?”

  “My daughter is missing, Sean. She hasn’t been home in two days.”

  “And that gives you the right to show up at my apartment and hassle my roommate? To go through my things? To tell the police I had something to do with Julia’s disappearance?”

  “You’re saying you didn’t?”

  “Of course I didn’t.”

  “I read your story.”

  Sean looked at the sidewalk, swayed from one foot to the other, scratched the side of his head. “It was just a story. I’m a writer. It’s what I do.”

  “It was a vile, horrib
le story.”

  “I didn’t say I was a good writer.” He looked sheepishly at his feet, as if ashamed of his meagre stab at humor. “Look, Mrs. Carver, I can see that you’re really upset, and I understand why reading that story would freak you out in light of what’s happened . . .”

  “What’s happened?” Cindy repeated. “What did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Please, just tell me where she is.”

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  “You wrote that you had her tied up in an abandoned shack. . .”

  “What I wrote was a goddamn story! A story that has nothing whatsoever to do with Julia. For God’s sake, Mrs. Carver, I loved your daughter. I could never hurt her.”

  Two young boys suddenly bounded from the convenience store, laughing and punching one another in the arm.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Cindy persisted, stepping aside to let an elderly couple pass by. “Why did you break up?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “Please, Sean. Just tell me.”

  Sean laughed, but the laugh was hollow, joyless. “You want to know why your daughter and I broke up, Mrs. Carver? All right, I’ll tell you. Julia and I broke up because she was cheating on me. I found out she’d been seeing someone behind my back for months.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cindy felt her knees wobble, then give way. She crumpled to the sidewalk like a balled piece of paper tossed from someone’s fist.

  Sean Banack was instantly on his knees beside her. “Mrs. Carver? Mrs. Carver, are you all right?”

  “My little girl is missing,” Cindy cried helplessly.

  “I’ll get you some water,” Sean offered. “Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the convenience store.

  But when he returned, Cindy was already gone.

  *

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” her sister asked as Cindy walked through the front door, Elvis immediately at her feet. “Your phone’s been ringing all morning.”

  “Julia . . .?” Cindy asked, staring at her sister, afraid to say more.

  “No,” Leigh said, following Cindy into the kitchen. “Nobody’s heard from her. I can’t believe she’s been missing for two days and you didn’t tell me. I had to hear it from Mom.”

  Norma Appleton shrugged from her seat at the kitchen table as Leigh crossed the room. “I made some fresh coffee,” Leigh said. “You want some?”

  “Thank you.” Cindy sank into the chair beside her mother, feeling displaced, like an unwelcome guest in her own home, admiring the effortless way her sister had assumed control. Elvis stretched himself heavily across her feet. “When did you get here?”

  “Couple of hours ago.” Leigh deposited the cup of black coffee on the table in front of Cindy. “Where have you been? It’s almost one.”

  “I talked to a friend of Julia’s.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ll have another cup of coffee,” her mother said.

  “You’ve had enough coffee today.”

  “Leigh. . .”

  “Mom, don’t argue with me, okay? It’s lunchtime. I’ll make you some soup.”

  “I don’t want soup. What kind of soup?”

  Leigh crossed to the cupboards, her eyes scanning the shelves. “Cream of mushroom, cream of asparagus, split pea.”

  “Split pea.”

  “Where’s the can opener?”

  Cindy pointed to a corner of the crowded counter, next to a spice rack that had fallen off the wall, and behind a stack of unopened mail and old fashion magazines Julia had been saving.

  “You’ve been gone all morning. Where else did you go?” Leigh opened the soup tin and poured its contents into a waiting pot.

  Cindy retraced in her mind all the streets she’d travelled since leaving Sean. North on Poplar Plains, east along St. Clair, north on Yonge, east on Eglinton, south on Mount Pleasant, east on Elm, circling blindly through the expensive, old-money labyrinth that was Rosedale, escaping to the blossoming seediness of Sherbourne, heading south to the downtown core, then west, then north again, up and down, back and forth, eyes scanning each pedestrian on both sides of the streets, peering into parked cars, squinting into the sun, hoping the shadow on the opposite corner might be Julia’s. “Who phoned?” she asked, not bothering to answer Leigh’s question, and thinking how much softer her sister looked without her normal layers of makeup, how much prettier she looked with her hair brushed away from her face.

  “Meg. Wondered how you were feeling. Said she’d call you later. And Trish. Said to tell you she picked up the tickets for the film festival. I take it they don’t know about Julia.”

  Cindy nodded, feeling both guilty and relieved. Guilty she hadn’t yet confided in her two best friends, relieved her sister knew that.

  “And your neighbor. Faith? Is that her name? It was hard to make out what she was saying with that baby screaming in the background.”

  Again Cindy pictured Ryan, saw his phone number scribbled across the scrap of paper she’d found in Julia’s room. What would Julia be doing with Ryan’s phone number at work? Was it possible he was the mystery man her daughter was involved with? Or was it someone else at Granger, McAllister? “What did she want?”

  “Just to tell you she’s feeling a hundred percent better, she and her husband are off to Lake Simcoe for the day, she’ll call you tomorrow, she didn’t want you to worry.”

  So Ryan would have to wait till tomorrow.

  “Oh, and Heather called to see if Julia was back yet.”

  Cindy looked toward the hall. “What about Duncan? Is he here?”

  “Haven’t seen him. You want some soup?”

  “No.”

  “You should eat,” Leigh said. “It’s important to keep up your strength. Mom says you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “She had a bad dream,” their mother explained. “Thought she forgot to take her pills.”

  “What pills?”

  “It was just a dream,” Cindy said.

  “Wish bad dreams were all I had.” Leigh carefully measured out two bowls of soup. “Me, I have something called benign positional vertigo.”

  “What’s that?” her mother asked.

  “Apparently the calcium stones in my inner ear have come loose, and they send a signal to my brain that I’m moving when I’m not. So the minute I lie down on my back or turn over on my side—only my right side, mind you, good thing I sleep on my left—the next thing I know, the room is spinning around like I’m on one of those crazy rides at the Exhibition. The doctor says it’s benign positional vertigo.” She put the bowls of soup on the table. “Don’t let it get cold.”

  “Aren’t you having any?” Cindy asked.

  “Nah. I hate canned soups. If I have time tomorrow, I’ll make you some real soup.”

  Tomorrow, Cindy thought, desperately hoping that by this time tomorrow, Julia would be standing where her sister was now.

  Tomorrow, she thought, silently repeating the word as if it were a prayer.

  Tomorrow.

  *

  WHEN CINDY WOKE up the next morning, Leigh was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

  “Bacon and eggs.” Heather marvelled, smiling at her mother from her seat at the kitchen table. She was wearing an old pair of pink pajamas Cindy hadn’t seen in years. Elvis was sitting beside her expectantly, clearly hoping a few errant scraps might come his way.

  “You’re up early.” Cindy kissed her daughter’s cheek, patted the top of Elvis’s head.

  “I smelled the bacon.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.” Cindy said as her sister handed her a plate of crispy bacon slices and two depressingly perfect sunny-side up eggs.

  Leigh popped two pieces of raisin bread into the toaster. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay,” Cindy
lied, sitting down and cutting into the eggs. “You?”

  “Not great. That mattress downstairs is a killer. But what can you expect from a sofa bed? Mom still asleep?”

  Cindy nodded. “What about Duncan?” she asked Heather.

  The familiar shrug. “Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “He slept at Mac’s last night.”

  “Mac?” Leigh repeated, turning the name over on her tongue. “Why does that name . . .? Oh, my God.” She turned to Cindy. “You had a call yesterday from a Neil Mac-something. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize the name and I couldn’t find a piece of paper to write on, so I forgot all about him. You really should keep a pad and pencil by the phone. Then this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.”

  “It’s okay, Leigh,” Cindy said, Neil’s face appearing before her eyes, only to smudge, fade, be blinked to the periphery of her line of sight. Bad timing, she thought again, banishing the image altogether. She had enough on her plate at the moment. When Julia came home, maybe. . .“Why is Duncan sleeping over at Mac’s?”

  “Why shouldn’t he sleep at Mac’s?” came Heather’s too-quick reply.

  “Well, it’s the long weekend. I assumed you’d have plans.”

  “Trouble in Paradise?” asked Leigh, grabbing the pieces of raisin bread as they popped from the toaster.

  “Everything’s fine,” Heather said. “No toast for me, thanks.” She swallowed the last of her bacon, and carried her plate to the sink. “I have to get dressed.”

  “It’s not even eight o’clock,” Leigh said. “Where are you going?”

  “Thanks for the breakfast,” Heather said sweetly. “It was a real treat.”

  “Is she always so forthcoming?” Leigh asked after Heather left the room.

  “She’s not used to getting the third degree.”

  “You’re not curious where she’s off to? Coffee?” Leigh asked in the same breath.

  “Yes, and no,” Cindy said. “Yes to the coffee.”

  “You were always way too lenient with them.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m just saying that it doesn’t hurt to ask a few simple questions.” Leigh poured her sister a cup of coffee, and put it on the table along with the raisin toast. “Honestly, Cindy, I just don’t understand you. I mean, it’s one thing to respect your kids’ privacy, but you always go too far.”