by Joy Fielding
“Okay, well, wow. Okay,” Heather said, backing out of the room. “I think I should probably get going.”
“Sweetie . . .” Cindy called.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll phone you later.” The front door closed after her.
Tom looked at Cindy. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said.
TWENTY-FIVE
WEDNESDAY, September 11, Cindy stayed in bed watching TV as the country relived the agony of the previous year’s terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center.
Like everyone else she knew, Cindy could recall the exact time and the place she’d been when she’d learned the devastating news. It was during the film festival, and she and Meg had just emerged from the Uptown after a screening of the British film, Last Orders, starring Michael Caine and Bob Hoskins. It was around 11 A.M. and they were heading up Yonge Street to meet Trish and grab a sandwich before their next movie. “Where is everyone?” Cindy asked, wondering at the lack of a line-up for the next movie.
“Something’s happening at the corner,” Meg said.
When they reached the intersection of Yonge and Bloor, they joined a crowd of several hundred people standing in stunned silence, watching the gigantic TV screen on top of the low-rise building on the southeast corner, as the two hijacked planes flew repeatedly, and from a multitude of sickening angles, into the giant twin towers. She and Meg had watched in open-mouthed horror as the buildings collapsed, peeling downward from top to bottom, like the skin of a banana, the resultant debris spilling over onto the streets of New York, covering everything in its path in a sickening gray dust.
At the time, Cindy thought nothing could be worse.
Leigh walked into the bedroom. “You’ve got to talk to Mom,” she was saying, dimpled knees peeking out from under light khaki shorts, her white sleeveless blouse in sharp contrast to her deeply tanned arms. “She cancelled the fitting with Marcel. What are you watching?” She reached toward the bed and pressed the OFF button on the remote.
“What are you doing?” Cindy grabbed the remote, flipped the TV back on.
Leigh wrestled the unit from Cindy’s hands, switched the TV off. “You shouldn’t be watching this.”
“What do you mean, I shouldn’t be watching it? What are you talking about?”
“It’ll only upset you.”
“Give me that,” Cindy told her younger sister, whose response was to hide the remote behind her back. Cindy jumped off the bed, tried reaching around her sister. “Leigh, I’m warning you. Give it back.”
“No.”
“Leigh . . .”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Cindy marched back to the television and triumphantly pressed the manual ON switch.
Her sister was right behind her, pressing it off.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me? From what?”
“From yourself.”
“From myself,” Cindy repeated, incredulously.
“Your judgment isn’t the best lately.”
“My judgment isn’t the best.” Cindy shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that first you slept with your accountant, then you went to bed with your ex-husband. . .”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Neil is not my accountant, and I didn’t go to bed with Tom.”
“Only because Heather walked in on you.”
“It was over by the time she walked in.”
“What was over? You said nothing happened.”
“Nothing did happen.”
“But it almost did. Which is my point exactly.”
Cindy sank down on the bed. “This conversation makes no sense whatsoever.”
“You need to get dressed,” Leigh said.
Cindy glanced down at her yellow cotton nightshirt “I’m fine.”
“It’s almost noon, and you’re still in your pajamas.”
Cindy gave her sister a look that said, so?
Leigh marched into Cindy’s closet.
“Where are you going? What are you doing?”
Leigh returned seconds later carrying a pair of black capri pants and a green-and-white-striped jersey. She threw them on the bed, along with some freshly washed underwear. “Here. Wear this.”
“I don’t want to wear that.”
“I’m not leaving this room till you get dressed.”
“Well, then you might as well make yourself comfortable because I’m not wearing that.”
“For Pete’s sake, Cindy. You’re worse than my kids.”
“For Pete’s sake, Leigh. You’re worse than our mother.”
“Cindy. . .”
“Leigh. . .”
Stalemate, Cindy thought.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Leigh asked, the remote seemingly attached to the palm of her right hand, both hands on her hips.
Cindy shook her head. “Okay. Okay. You win.”
“You’ll get dressed?”
“I’ll need some help with this.” Cindy pulled at the front of her nightgown.
Leigh approached warily. “What kind of help?”
In the next second, Cindy lunged at her sister, knocking her to the floor as she grabbed for the remote.
“What are you doing?” Leigh gasped as Cindy collapsed on top of her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Give me that thing.”
“No!”
“Give it to me.”
“Mom!”
“Give me the goddamn remote.”
“Mom!”
“Coming,” their mother called from downstairs. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re such a baby,” Cindy told her sister, scratching at her arm.
“You’re such a brat.”
Norma Appleton ran into the room, took one look at her daughters rolling around on the floor, and threw her hands up into the air. “What on earth is going on in here?”
“She scratched my arm.”
“She took my remote.”
“Stop this. The two of you. Right now.”
The girls stopped struggling, sat on the floor glaring at one another.
“It’s my remote,” Cindy said petulantly.
“Give her back her remote,” their mother instructed.
Leigh tossed the unit to the floor. Cindy promptly scooped it up.
“Look what she did to my arm.” Leigh extended her forearm, displaying a thin red scratch running above her elbow.
“Apologize to your sister,” Norma Appleton said.
Cindy shook her head, looked the other way.
“Apologize to your sister,” her mother repeated.
“Sorry,” Cindy mumbled under her breath.
“What did you say?” Leigh asked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Mother,” Cindy warned.
“Don’t press your luck,” their mother said, helping her younger daughter to her feet
“Oh, sure; take her side.”
“I’m not taking sides.”
“Don’t press your luck? What would you call that?” Leigh practically shook with indignation.
“Oh, darling, your ‘Hi, Helens.’” Norma Appleton pointed with her chin toward the underside of Leigh’s arms. “Maybe a different blouse. . . ”
Cindy started laughing.
“You’re both nuttier than fruitcake. You know that?” Leigh said.
Cindy scrambled to her feet, laughed harder.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Girls, please.”
“Am I the one who’s refusing to get dressed? Am I the one whose daughter walked in on her half-naked with her former husband?”
“Heather was not half-naked,” Cindy said.
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“Sure. Make jokes. Correct my grammar. It’s easier than facing the truth.”
“The truth being?”
“Girls . . .” their mother warned.
“The truth being that you’re behaving irresponsibly.”
“What!”
“You’re always flying out of this house without telling anyone where you’re going or what time you’ll be back.”
“It’s my house. I’m an adult. I didn’t realize I had to report to anyone.”
“It’s not a matter of reporting. It’s a matter of consideration.”
“What if I don’t know where I’m going or when I’ll be back?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You go off half-cocked.”
“You’re starting to sound like Tom, you know that?”
“Well, maybe he’s right.”
“Sorry if I’m not behaving completely rationally these days.”
“Since when has it ever been any different?” Leigh scoffed. “Cindy does exactly what Cindy wants to do, just as she always has. Where do you think Julia gets it from?”
“Whoa,” Cindy warned.
“If Cindy wants to get married when she’s eighteen and her parents are dead-set against it, no problem,” Leigh continued, undeterred. “She’ll just elope to Niagara Falls. Doesn’t matter if her parents go crazy with worry for two days, wondering where the hell she is. Doesn’t matter that they miss their younger daughter’s performance in Our Town. So what if she’s the lead and she’s been rehearsing for months? Hell, it’s only a school play. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities. Isn’t that what you said, Mom?”
“Sweetheart,” their mother demurred, “where is all this coming from?”
“Our Town?” Cindy marvelled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why? Because it was important to me?”
“Leigh, darling, please. . . ”
“Please what, Mother? Please don’t make a fuss? Please don’t be upset because you still can’t find any time for me?”
“If this is about the fitting I had to cancel this afternoon. . .”
“You didn’t have to cancel the fitting, Mother. You chose to cancel the fitting.”
“It just seemed like there were other things that were more important. . .”
“More important than your granddaughter’s wedding?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why is Cindy’s daughter any more important than mine?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Cindy interrupted, “my daughter is missing.” She burst into a flood of angry, confused tears. “
“Cindy,” her mother said, rushing to her side.
“Leave her alone, will you. Stop babying her.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Norma Appleton demanded of her younger daughter. “Why are you acting this way?”
“Because I am ask and tired of being ignored.”
“Who’s ignoring you?”
“I all but abandon my family to come over here, I cook for you, I clean up after you. . .
“Nobody asked you to do any of that.”
“I’ve been doing it all your life,” Leigh snapped. “After you got married, who was there for you? Who made sure things got patched up between you and Mom and Dad? Who was there after that wonderful husband of yours walked out? Who sat beside you and listened to that damn message he left on the answering machine, over and over again? Who rushed over after Julia decided she wanted to live with her father? Who sat up all night with you while you cried your heart out?”
“You!” Cindy shouted, punching her fists into the air, like a boxer Sailing at an invincible opponent. “You. You. You. Always the first one at the scene of an accident. Always available in times of crisis. Tell me, when else do you ever come around?”
Silence.
“When else do you ever let me in?”
The two sisters stared at one another. The doorbell rang.
“Shit,” Cindy said;
“Shit,” echoed Leigh.
“Shit,” said their mother.
Nobody moved.
The doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it.” Norma Appleton said finally, walking slowly toward the hall. “Can I leave you two alone?” she asked, turning back.
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, dagger like thrusts to her chest and abdomen into a steadier, duller, though no less constant, ache that infused every fibre 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?”