by Joy Fielding
“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 traveled 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 marveled, 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 sofabed? 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.”
“I go too far?” Cindy repeated numbly.
“You’re almost pathologically fair.”
“Pathologically fair? What does that mean?”
“It means you can’t be both their mother and their friend.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please don’t take that tone with me.”
“Then stop talking to me like I’m one of your kids.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, news flash—this isn’t helping.”
“Look, I know you’re upset, but don’t try to make me feel badly because I made some polite inquiries.”
“Bad,” Cindy snapped.
“What?”
“Don’t try to make me feel bad,” Cindy continued, feeling the anger rise in her throat. “You don’t say, ‘I feel sadly,’ do you? No. You say, ‘I feel sad.’ In the same way, you shouldn’t say, ‘I feel badly.’ You should say, ‘I feel bad.’ You feel what, not how. It’s an emotion, not an adverb.”
Leigh’s mouth fell open. “You’re correcting my grammar?”
&nbs
p; Cindy lowered her head. Not even eight o’clock in the morning and already she was exhausted. Maybe she’d spend the day in bed. Maybe she’d go to church and pray. Maybe she’d badger the police, even though she knew they were waiting until the end of the long weekend, confident Julia would turn up on her own.
Would she?
There had to be something she could do. Something to keep her from going out of her mind. She just couldn’t sit idly by and wait until Tuesday, especially with Supermom hovering, telegraphing her disapproval with every look and utterance. “Look. I can manage here,” she told her sister. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll stay.”
“You have your own family to look after.”
“You’re my family.”
Tears filled Cindy’s eyes. “Where is she, Leigh?” she asked, burying her face in her hands.
“Have you checked her voice-mail for messages?”
Cindy was immediately on her feet and at the telephone. Why hadn’t she thought to check her daughter’s voice-mail? What was the matter with her? “I don’t know her code,” she whispered, suspecting that Leigh knew all her children’s voice-mail codes by heart.
Cindy heard Heather’s footsteps on the stairs. “Everything okay?” Heather asked, freshly changed into jeans and a light blue jersey.
“Heather,” Leigh said, “do you know your sister’s voice-mail code?”
Heather quickly rattled off the four digits. “I’ve got to go.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’ll call you later. Try not to worry.”
Even before the front door closed, Cindy was entering the code to Julia’s voice-mail, feeling guilty for snooping into her daughter’s personal life. When Julia got home, she’d apologize, Cindy decided, hearing her sister’s earlier pronouncement ringing in her ear. Almost pathologically fair, she’d said.
“You have seven new messages,” a recorded voice chirped in Cindy’s ear.
“Seven new messages,” Cindy repeated, looking around in vain for a pencil and a piece of paper.
Her sister lifted her hands in the air. Told you so, said the expression on her face.
In the end there was no need for paper and pencil. Five of the messages were from Cindy, forwarded from Julia’s cell phone, one was from Lindsey, the last one was a hang-up. Cindy replaced the receiver, desperation gnawing at her insides, like a dull hunger.
“Are you all right?” Cindy heard Leigh asking through the ringing in her ears. “You don’t look so hot.”
Cindy watched the room sway precariously from side to side, as if she were riding on a high swing, the earth pulling away from her feet. Benign positional vertigo, she thought, watching the ceiling swoop toward her, like a giant bird. It plucked her into the air, shaking her this way and that, leaving her limp and helpless, before abuptly letting go. Cindy felt herself plummeting to the ground. Just before she landed, she heard Elvis yelp, saw her sister’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you doing?” Leigh demanded, hands on her hips.
Cindy’s last thought before the darkness overtook her was that she hoped Leigh could move fast enough to catch her before her head hit the floor.
FOURTEEN
WHEN Cindy opened her eyes, she saw Neil Macfarlane’s handsome face. I’m in heaven, she thought, watching her mother and sister insert themselves into the frame. I’m in hell, she thought, quickly amending her earlier assessment.
The tan leather of the living room sofa groaned as Cindy pushed herself into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
“Apparently you fainted,” Neil said from the seat beside her. He was casually dressed in jeans and a yellow golf shirt. His amazingly blue eyes were flecked with worry.
“Scared the hell out of me,” Leigh said, backing away from the sofa and rubbing her right hand with her left. “I think I may have done something to my wrist when I blocked your fall.”
Cindy tried shaking the heavy fog from inside her head, but it hung on, like a dead weight. “I don’t understand. How long was I out?”
“Not more than a couple of minutes,” her mother answered. “I was in the bathroom when I heard your sister screaming.”
“Well, she scared the hell out of me,” Leigh repeated.
“And then the doorbell was ringing.”
“That was me,” Neil said with a smile.
“He brought bagels,” Cindy’s mother said.
“He helped me lift you onto the sofa,” Leigh told her.
“And so concludes our up-to-the-minute report,” Neil said.
Cindy shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever fainted before.”
“It’s because you don’t eat enough,” her sister pronounced.
“Which is why I brought bagels,” Neil said.
“Maybe later.” Cindy smiled, so grateful for his presence she almost cried. “You’ve obviously met my mother and sister.”
“The necessary introductions have all been made.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Macfarlane?” Leigh asked, hovering like a waiting helicopter.
“No, thank you.”
Cindy pushed herself to her feet. “I could use some fresh air.”
“How about a walk?” Neil asked.
Elvis barked his enthusiastic approval, headed for the door.
Cindy laughed. “You said the magic word. Actually, a walk sounds great.” Elvis began circling the hall, barking even louder. “Okay, okay, you can come.” She walked slowly into the kitchen, retrieved Elvis’s leash, and attached it to his collar.
“You’re sure you’re all right to go out?” her mother asked.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Don’t go too far,” she advised as Cindy and Neil headed down the outside stairs, Neil’s hand guiding Cindy’s elbow. “Don’t let her do too much,” her mother called after them.
“For heaven’s sake, Mom,” Cindy heard Leigh hiss from the doorway. “She’s not a child. Stop fussing over her. Ouch, my arm.…”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Neil asked Cindy as they continued down the street.
Cindy felt her legs grow stronger, her footing more secure, with each step away from her house. “I’ll be fine as soon as we get around the corner.” The dog yanked on Cindy’s arm, demanding that she pick up the pace.
Neil took the leash from Cindy’s hand. “Let me do this.”
“Thank you.” Cindy marveled at the way the dog immediately slowed down, fell into step beside Neil. “How did you do that?”
“It’s all in the pressure.”
“I’m not very good with pressure,” Cindy said.
“Well, there’s only so much anyone can take.” They turned south on Poplar Plains. “I assume no one’s heard from Julia.”
Cindy nodded, pointed to her right. “Let’s go to the park.” They walked in silence for several seconds along Clarendon. “What made you drop by?”
“I wanted to see how everything was. I called yesterday.…”
“I didn’t get your message until today.”
“Yes, your sister mentioned something about there being no pad and pencil by the phone.”
“She doesn’t waste any time.”
“That’s the impression I got.”
Cindy smiled. “She’s really a very nice person.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“I shouldn’t sound so ungrateful.”
“You don’t.” They stopped for Elvis to pee against a line of scraggly red and yellow rosebushes. “Anyway, when I didn’t hear back from you, I thought I’d take a chance and drop by, see for myself how you were doing.”
“And you found me sprawled across the kitchen floor.”
He nodded. “What happened to make you faint?”
Cindy shook her head. “Damned if I know. One minute I was looking at my sister; next minute, I was looking at you.”
“Maybe you should call your doctor.”
“I’m sure my mother is doing exactly that as we sp
eak.”
They crossed Russell Hill Road and headed up the side entrance to Winston Churchill Park, where Cindy bent down and unhooked the leash from Elvis’s collar, letting the dog run free. He bounded up the slight incline to the foot of a steep hill. DANGER, a sign proclaimed in big, bold letters at its base. SLOPE & FENCE HAZARD, SLEIGHING, TOBOGGANING PROHIBITED. A collapsing orange wire fence looped casually along the ground; a flight of wooden steps ran diagonally up the right side of the hill. Elvis was already halfway to the top by the time Cindy and Neil began their climb.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Neil asked.
“Lead on.” The top of the hill plateaued into a small field of dry, yellow grass. Cindy and Neil arrived at the top step in time to see Elvis bound between a father and his young son, who were struggling with a large, blue-and-gold kite, then pounce on a young couple sunbathing near the row of tennis courts at the far end of the park. “Elvis, stop that. Come back here,” Cindy called as the dog chased after a jogger in a pair of lime green shorts who was puffing along the well-worn perimeter of the park. An elderly Chinese woman, who was exercising with meticulous deliberation near a set of concrete stairs that led to a nearby ravine, stopped to give Elvis a pat on the head. “I’m sorry if he bothered you,” Cindy said just as she was hit in the leg by a well-chewed, misaimed rubber ball. Immediately, a large white poodle was at her feet, grabbing the ball in his teeth, then taking off for the middle of the park, Elvis in quick pursuit, to where a group of pet owners were clustered together.
“Quite the scene,” Neil remarked as Elvis raced circles around the other dogs.
“Elvis!” a woman shouted warmly in greeting. “How are you, boy?”
“Sorry about that ball,” a middle-aged man apologized as Cindy approached the group. “Didn’t realize I could throw that far. How you doin’, Elvis?”
“You know my dog?”
“Oh, sure,” another woman answered easily. “We all know Elvis. You want a treat, boy?” The woman, her short pixie hair peeking out from under a Blue Jays baseball cap, reached into the side pocket of her baggy olive green pants and pulled out a biscuit. “Sit,” she instructed.