by Joy Fielding
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It’s so embarrassing. You never let me do anything,” Michelle said, loud enough to attract the attention of everyone within earshot, which was pretty much everyone in the room. “I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl.”
“Just give me the gum and sit down,” Caroline said, her face flushing, as if a brush fire were racing through her veins. She wrapped the gum in a tissue and approached the receptionist. “I’m sorry. Do you have somewhere I can put this?”
The receptionist held up the wastepaper basket at her feet without speaking and Caroline dropped the tissue inside, sure that all eyes were upon her. But when she glanced around the room, she was relieved to see that most of the people were either engrossed in books they’d brought with them or browsing through the office’s collection of out-of-date magazines.
A blond woman in a pale pink uniform entered the waiting room from one of the inner offices. “Mrs. Pearlman?” she called toward a middle-aged woman sitting next to the door. “Dr. Wang will see you now.” Mrs. Pearlman promptly dropped the magazine she’d been reading onto the small table beside her and followed the pink uniform toward the inner offices.
Caroline immediately sat down in the freshly vacated chair, its seat still warm. Just as quickly, Michelle got up from her chair on the opposite wall and plopped down on her mother’s lap.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
Caroline reached to the table beside her for a fashion magazine and handed it to Michelle. “Here. Read this.”
“Mommy, look!” Michelle exclaimed, pointing at the table, her eyes as round as circles.
Caroline stared at the stack of old magazines with mounting horror. There she was on the very top of the pile, standing ramrod straight at Hunter’s side, the familiar picture having been taken during the course of their press conference in Rosarito. FIVE YEARS LATER, blared the headline of the magazine dated last November. WHERE IS SAMANTHA SHIPLEY?
“Why is your picture on the magazine?” Michelle asked, her finger stabbing at a tiny photo of her sister in the cover’s upper right corner. “Is that Samantha?”
Caroline struggled to keep from screaming. She’d always been so diligent about keeping such headlines away from Michelle, making sure the child never caught so much as a glimpse of the newspaper and magazine coverage of either the event or its aftermath.
Not that Michelle had ever asked many questions; she’d accepted Samantha’s disappearance the way a child accepts most things over which she has no control. In the beginning, she’d occasionally wondered aloud where Samantha was and when she was coming home, but after a few months even those questions had stopped. In the past year, she hadn’t mentioned her sister at all.
And mercifully, the once-constant barrage of stories had also started to abate. But the five-year anniversary of the toddler’s disappearance had marked a major milestone, resulting in renewed coverage. Five years since I’ve seen my baby, Caroline thought now, fighting back tears. How could that be?
“Mommy, why is your picture in the magazine?”
What could she say? What could she do? The damage was done. She’d been fighting a battle she couldn’t possibly win. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t protect Michelle forever from unexpected sightings such as this. It was June, the end of another school year. She’d naïvely thought they were safe until next November. When was she going to realize they were never safe?
“Where’s my picture?” the child asked plaintively, her eyes scanning the magazine cover.
“Michelle Shipley?” a voice called out.
Caroline glanced up at the waiting dental hygienist. She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Off you go, sweetheart.”
“Why isn’t my picture in the magazine?”
“Because you’re lucky,” Caroline said. “It’s a stupid magazine, and you don’t want your picture in it.”
“Michelle Shipley,” the hygienist said again.
“Here she is.” Caroline edged Michelle off her lap. “Go on.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I have to wait out here.”
“I want you to come.”
“You’re a big girl, remember?”
“Your mother will come talk to the dentist after I’m done,” the hygienist said.
As soon as Michelle was gone, Caroline jumped up from her seat and fled the room, the magazine crushed in her fist. She ran into the bathroom at the end of the hall and locked herself in the nearest stall, her hands shaking as her fingers fumbled for the story inside. And then there it was: FIVE YEARS LATER. WHERE IS SAMANTHA SHIPLEY?
The article began with a two-page photo spread of the Grand Laguna Resort, complete with pictures of the restaurant and pool area, a big X indicating the room from which Samantha had been taken. Three pages of photographs, rumors, and innuendos followed, most of the so-called sources unnamed. There were several pictures of Hunter and Caroline, together and separately, as well as a group photo of them with Peggy and Fletcher, Steve and Becky, Rain and Jerrod. There was even a picture of Michelle holding tight to her grandmother’s hand as they were leaving the resort to return to San Diego. Caroline wondered how the magazine had gotten hold of these pictures, and who was behind the quote: She seemed like the perfect mother, but then, you really never know other people, do you? She suspected it was Rain—it sounded like the sort of backhanded compliment Rain would volunteer. She thought of phoning her and demanding an explanation, but she hadn’t spoken to the woman in years. Once she and Hunter had divorced, friends like Jerrod and Rain had quickly disappeared from her life.
Caroline gobbled up the article voraciously and then read it twice more. She’d spent five years avoiding such stories, but now that one was actually in her hands, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. It contained the usual recap of events: it was their tenth anniversary, the babysitter had mysteriously canceled, they’d left their two children alone while they went to celebrate with friends in the garden restaurant downstairs, Samantha had been snatched from her crib sometime between nine-thirty and ten o’clock that night, a number of suspects had been questioned and released, including one hotel worker who was currently in jail for molesting his niece. The mother seemed distant, a hotel employee was quoted as saying. She was always late picking up her other daughter from our afternoon kids program. “One time,” Caroline said out loud. “I was late one time.” An unnamed police officer was also quoted: We’ve always felt the family knows more than they’re letting on. “Like what, asshole?” Caroline yelled. “What more could we possibly know?”
The door to the bathroom opened. A pair of women’s ivory pumps appeared in front of Caroline’s stall. “Is everything all right in here?” a voice asked. “I thought I heard shouting.”
Caroline’s heart was pounding so rapidly she could barely speak. “Everything’s fine,” she managed to spit out. “I just caught my fingers in the door.”
“Ouch.”
Caroline held her breath as the woman busied herself at the sink. What the hell is she doing for so long? Caroline wondered, peering through the crack between the door and the stall support and watching as the woman applied a fresh coat of lipstick before fluffing her hair.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” the woman asked as she was about to leave.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Caroline waited until the door closed before bursting into tears. “Pull yourself together, damn it,” she said, careful to keep her voice a whisper as her eyes returned to the magazine.
Of course the article also mentioned Caroline and Hunter’s divorce, postulating that it was guilt that had driven them apart. It made no mention of his affair with a paralegal, which was what had hammered the final nail into the coffin of their marriage. Not that this affair had been any more significant than the ones that preceded it. Not that it had lasted any longer or was any more intense than the others. It was ju
st the latest of a continuing series of affairs that had taken place in the aftermath of Samantha’s disappearance. But while Hunter’s infidelities might have contributed to their growing estrangement, it was undoubtedly her coldness, her unrelenting resentment that had been responsible for those affairs in the first place. Guilt had indeed driven them apart. And she was as guilty as he was.
More so.
Near the end of the article was a picture of Caroline outside Lewis Logan High, taken just after she’d resumed her teaching career. Beside it was a more recent photo of Hunter walking beside an unidentified young woman. Maybe a client or business associate. Maybe not. MOVING ON, read the caption beneath the pictures.
“Moving on,” Caroline repeated angrily, tossing the magazine into the trash can beside the door on her way out of the washroom. If she was so busy moving on, why did she feel more stuck than ever?
“You fainted?” Peggy’s face reflected both confusion and concern.
“Well, I didn’t exactly faint.”
The two women were sitting at a corner table in Costa Brava, a Spanish restaurant on Garnet Avenue that was famous for its tapas. A big-screen TV on one of the restaurant’s minimalist whitewashed walls was broadcasting a satellite feed of a Spanish soccer game that was being watched by a handful of enthusiastic fans at the bar. Shouts of “Olé” periodically pierced the air.
“One minute you were standing up, the next minute you were on the floor. That’s fainting, as far as I’m concerned. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I can’t call you about every little thing.”
“You don’t call me about anything anymore. I hardly ever see you. It’s a good thing your mother invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“And wasn’t that a treat?” Caroline looked out the window at the cloudless Saturday afternoon sky. She could almost hear the ocean roaring a few blocks away. “I’m terrified they’re going to ask me to resign.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? It’s happened before.”
“All because of that stupid news story,” Peggy said, shaking her head and swallowing the last of her wine.
“It was my fault.”
“It was not your fault. Stop being so quick to accept the blame for everything.”
“I don’t think I could stand it if I lose this job.”
“You won’t. Your principal knew what had happened when she hired you.”
“The story had died down by then. Now, thanks to all those stupid articles, it’s back again. The damn thing just never goes away, does it? It’s like herpes.”
Peggy laughed. “Thanks for the image. Eat your lunch.”
Caroline speared a forkful of black beans and rice, watching most of it slip back onto her plate. “My students have been talking about nothing else all week.”
“So give them something else to talk about. Give them a surprise test. They love that.” Peggy signaled the waiter for a refill of her wine. “Okay, I’ve been patient long enough. Are you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Come on, Caroline. How long have we been friends? You don’t think I know when you’re keeping something from me?”
Caroline put down her fork and stared across the table at her friend. “Michelle told you about Lili, didn’t she? She told you about Calgary.”
Peggy leaned forward in her chair, her elbows resting on the table. “She didn’t mean to let it slip. She assumed you’d already told me. The question is, why didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry. It all happened so fast.”
“It happened more than a week ago,” Peggy corrected, obviously hurt. “What’s up, Caroline? Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Caroline looked toward the ceiling, as if the answer might be hiding behind one of the low-hanging chandeliers. “I don’t know. I guess I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That you’d think I was crazy. That you’d try to talk me out of going.”
“Well, you have to admit it’s not exactly rational behavior. This girl calls you out of the blue, says she’s Samantha, and off you fly to Calgary without a word to anyone—”
“She called again,” Caroline interrupted. Now that Peggy knew part of the story, she might as well know all of it.
“Michelle told me that, too. She said she grabbed the phone right out of your hand, warned her not to call you again…”
“She called me at work.”
“What? When was this?”
“Last Monday.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d come to San Diego for the DNA test.”
“When?”
“As soon as she can work things out.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“Does Michelle know?”
“No. I can’t tell her. She’ll go ballistic. She’s so sure Lili is a fraud.”
“And you’re so sure she isn’t?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“Has she asked you for money?”
“No.”
“Has she asked you for anything?”
“No.”
“Which doesn’t mean she won’t.”
“I know that.”
“But assuming she doesn’t,” Peggy continued slowly, measuring out each word, “that leaves three possibilities.”
“Which are?”
“One, that she honestly believes she could be Samantha; two, that she’s a sadist who gets her jollies fucking with people’s heads; three, that she’s out of her mind.”
“There’s a fourth possibility.”
“Which is?”
“That she really is Samantha.”
Peggy stared at Caroline with eyes that were ineffably sad. “Oh, honey. You’re the math wizard. The odds against that are just so astronomical.”
“But there is a chance…”
“A tiny fraction of a chance…”
“A chance nonetheless,” Caroline said forcefully. “How can I not take it?”
The waiter approached with Peggy’s second glass of wine. Before he had a chance to set it on the table, she took it from his hand and swallowed one quick gulp, then another. “Go for it.”
—
“Where have you been all day?” Michelle asked from the hallway even before Caroline had closed the front door. Ever since Michelle had intercepted Lili’s phone call, she’d been watching her mother like a hawk.
“I met Peggy for lunch at Costa Brava.”
“It’s almost four o’clock.”
“I went for a walk along the beach after. Why? Were we supposed to do something?”
Michelle laughed. “You mean like go shopping or to the movies? Like that’s ever happened.”
And we’re off, Caroline heard her brother say. Not home two minutes and already her daughter had her on the defensive. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, drinking it down while silently counting to ten. She would not let Michelle get to her. She would be pleasant and calm. She would not rise to the bait. She would not bite. “That’s a pretty blouse,” she offered with a smile. Michelle was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a loose-fitting beige shirt. Her hair hung in a careless braid over one shoulder, and she wore no makeup except bright red lipstick that emphasized the cut of her cheekbones. “You look nice,” Caroline said.
“Oh, God,” Michelle moaned.
“What’s the matter?”
“That means I’m fat.”
“What?”
“Whenever you tell me I look nice, it means I’ve put on weight.”
“No, it most certainly does not.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No. Do you know what it means?” Caroline said, fighting the urge to hurl her now empty glass at Michelle’s head. “What it means is that I can never say anything nice to you, t
hat you can never enjoy a compliment. Anything positive I say, you hear as negative. You only feel good when I say you look bad. How screwed up is that? How sad.”
“What’s sad is that you have no respect for my feelings. For me.”
“What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? You’re mad at me because I went out for lunch?”
“I’m mad because it didn’t even occur to you to tell me where you were going. It would have been nice if you’d left me a note or something. So I wouldn’t worry.”
“There’s no reason for you to worry.”
“No, because it’s not like you’d do anything crazy, like fly off to Calgary or something.”
“Sweetheart, I promise you I’m not flying off anywhere.”
“Then why are you being so secretive?”
“I’m not being secretive.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I guess I’m just not used to you being so concerned.”
“Why? Because I don’t have feelings?”
“Nobody said you don’t have feelings.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline said, waving her hands in the air in total frustration. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I have no idea what this conversation is about or why we’re arguing. I know I had a nice lunch and a lovely stroll on the beach. I was actually feeling pretty damn good, and then I come home and all hell breaks loose.”
“So this is my fault?”
“No, it’s mine. Whatever it is. Everything is my fault. I get that. I accept it.”
“My mother, the martyr.”
“Okay, fine.”
“I was worried, that’s all. Can’t I be worried?”
“If you were so damn worried, why didn’t you just call me? I have a cell phone.”
“Which you never have on. What’s the point of having a damn cell phone if you never have it on?”
“I have it on.” Caroline fished inside her purse for her phone and waved it in front of Michelle. “See? It’s on.”
Michelle’s eyes narrowed. “You never have it on. Why is it on now? Who are you expecting to call? Does Lili have this number? Has she called you again?”