Lost

by Joy Fielding

  “No.”

  Heather turned off the taps, then pressed the button on the side of the tub to start the Jacuzzi. Instantly, water began flooding into the tub from several strategically placed openings.

  “What about your blind date? Have you seen him again?”

  Cindy pictured Neil’s handsome face, tried not to picture it between her legs. “He was here last night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Does that upset you?”

  “Why would it upset me?”

  “Because I know that children of divorce are always kind of hoping their parents will get back together one day.”

  “I’m not a child, Mom.”

  “I know that.”

  “I just want you to be happy,” Heather said.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  “You can use it too.”

  Cindy smiled. “Have you heard from Duncan?”

  “We had a long talk. You were right. We’re too young to be so settled. We should be out sleeping around. Like you said.”

  Dear God, Cindy thought. Of all times to start listening to me. “How about sleeping with me tonight?”

  It was Heather’s turn to smile. “About you and Neil …”

  “What about him?”

  “Just that I have a good feeling about the two of you.” Heather closed her eyes, didn’t open them again until the automatic timer turned the Jacuzzi off.

  • • •

  ELVIS WAS ALREADY asleep on Cindy’s bed when Cindy guided Heather between the covers. Grudgingly, the dog moved over to accommodate them, eyeing them warily, as if remembering the acrobatics of the other night. Cindy threw her arm across her daughter’s hip, and hugged her close, Heather’s round little bottom snug against the inverse curve of her mother. They lay together in silence for several minutes, like spoons in a drawer, one breathing out as the other breathed in, two parts of the same whole. My baby, Cindy thought. My beautiful, beautiful little girl. “I love you,” she whispered.

  And suddenly Heather was sitting up and sobbing in her arms, her slender body convulsing in unexpected anguish. “Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you talking about? Sweetheart, there’s nothing to forgive.”

  “I’ve been such a brat.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I gave the police your phone number. I didn’t realize you’d assume it was Julia they had in custody. Of course you’d assume it was Julia. What else would you think? And that awful look on your face when you saw it was only me, how disappointed you were.…”

  “No, sweetheart, no. You just caught me off-guard.”

  “I said such awful things to her that day, Mom. I told her I never wanted to talk to her again, that the sight of her made me sick.”

  Cindy thought of her recent altercation with Leigh. “We all say things in anger that we regret. Julia knows you didn’t really mean them.”

  “Does she? I told her I was sorry she’d ever come home, that I wanted her to get out and never come back. Mom,” Heather wailed, “I told her I wished she was dead.”

  Cindy slowly pushed Heather away from her side, held her at arm’s length, stared deep into her eyes. “Heather, listen to me. This is very important. No matter what happens, no matter where Julia is or what’s keeping her from us, it has nothing to do with you. Do you understand? You do not have that kind of power. You are not to blame. Do you hear me? You are not to blame.”

  Once again, Cindy folded her daughter into her arms, rocking her gently until eventually, Heather drifted into a restless sleep. Through a steady stream of tears, Cindy watched the minutes tick away on the digital clock radio on the nightstand beside the bed. Occasionally Heather muttered something in her sleep, and Cindy strained to make out the words.

  “I’m not to blame,” she was saying. “I’m not to blame.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  AT exactly seven o’clock the next morning, Cindy got out of bed, sliding up and out from between her daughter and the dog, and tiptoeing into the bathroom, where she showered, brushed her teeth and hair, put on a little makeup, then headed for the closet, where she dressed in a pair of coffee-colored chinos and a crisp white blouse. It had been a long time since she looked crisp, she knew, and it was important that she start keeping up appearances. For Heather’s sake, as well as her own, she decided. She had two daughters after all. Not just one.

  Heather was still sound asleep when Cindy returned to the bedroom. Elvis had shifted his position, and was now curled up on Cindy’s pillow. He lifted his head as Cindy approached, as if to question what she was doing up after so few hours sleep, then lowered it again as she walked out of the room.

  Cindy also questioned what she was doing up so early, but the truth was that she’d never really fallen asleep, and she was getting stiff just lying there in bed. It was better to be up and moving, to try behaving like a functioning adult, to make a pretense at normalcy. When Heather woke up, she would find her mother dressed and presentable, fixing her pancakes, and eager to hear her plans for the upcoming weekend.

  But for now, she would let her daughter sleep.

  Cindy walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, prepared a pot of coffee, then sank down at the kitchen table and stared out the sliding glass door. Outside was another perfect day. Leaning back in her chair, Cindy studied the early-morning sky. A large pink cloud, backlit with just a hint of yellow, hung heavy over the Sellicks’ backyard, its lilac underbelly exposed and friendly, like a puppy sleeping on its back. Several wisps had broken free and were drifting to her right. The drifts were purple and in the shape of a woman’s mouth, imprinted on the air like a blot of lipstick on a tissue. Cindy watched the stray fragments gradually fade, then get lost in the deepening blue of day.

  Everything disappears, she was thinking. Clouds, people, entire civilizations. Human beings were as fragile, as fleeting, as cool wisps of air.

  She stretched her legs out in front of her, hearing her joints groan, like hinges needing to be oiled. Yesterday’s impromptu run had been a foolish venture, especially since she hadn’t worked out in weeks. This is how the body slips into middle age, she thought, patting the slight rounding of her belly as she pushed off her chair, feeling her thigh muscles cramp as she headed for the front door. She needed to start exercising again, she decided, thinking she’d ask Leigh to join her at the gym one afternoon.

  The Globe and the Star lay at her feet when she opened the door, and Cindy scanned the headlines, noting that the unflattering picture of the Prime Minister was the same on both front pages. “Well, what do you know?” she asked him, bending down to scoop up the papers. “It’s Friday the thirteenth.” Cradling both papers in her arms, she backed into the house, about to close the door when she heard another door opening beside her.

  Cindy froze as Faith Sellick emerged from her house and hurried down her front steps, clutching Kyle tightly to her chest, and disappearing around the side of the house. Like Cindy, Faith was neatly dressed for the first time in weeks, the slovenly tartan pajamas replaced by a calf-length, blue cotton dress, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail that pointed, like an arrow, down the center of her back. Seconds later, Faith reentered her line of vision, pushing Kyle’s carriage toward the street, the baby crying loudly inside it.

  Where would they be headed this early in the morning? Cindy wondered, straining to see where Faith was going, then abruptly pulling her head back inside her door, like a startled turtle returning to its shell, when Faith suddenly spun around, as if aware of Cindy’s watchful eye.

  Cindy waited half a second, then peeked back outside, her eyes following Faith’s swift departure. Ryan’s car was still in the driveway, and Cindy wondered if he knew where his wife was going, if he was even aware she was gone. She thought of phoning him, alerting him to his wife’s absence, then thought better of it, knowing she was the last person in the world he would appreciate he
aring from under the circumstances.

  Whatever had possessed Julia to get involved with a married man? She could have her pick of any man she wanted. Why choose this one?

  Cindy knew the answer even before she’d finished asking herself the question. Julia had been attracted to Ryan Sellick because he was a younger version of the man she loved best in the world. Deliberately or subconsciously, Julia had picked a man just like dear old dad.

  “And so it goes,” Cindy muttered, watching Faith push the carriage into the middle of the road from between two parked cars. Where is she going in such a hurry? Cindy asked herself, dropping the newspapers to the floor and stepping onto her front landing, watching Faith turn left onto Avenue Road, heading north.

  Almost without thinking, Cindy grabbed her purse from the hall closet and chased after her, careful to stay in the shadows, to keep a comfortable distance between them. Faith was moving quickly, and Cindy’s legs were stiff and hurting from last night’s ill-conceived marathon. They rebelled each time Cindy tried to widen her stride, pick up her pace. She almost lost Faith at the corner of Avenue Road and St. Clair when Faith caught the traffic light and she didn’t, but she spotted her again several blocks later in front of Granite Place, two large apartment complexes that sat well back from the main street.

  Faith stopped at the corner of St. Clair and Yonge, despite the green light that indicated she had the right of way. Once more she spun around, as if suspicious she was being followed, and Cindy had to duck into the doorway of Black’s One-Hour Photo to keep from being spotted. Her breath was labored and audible. A thin trickle of perspiration ran down the open V of her blouse, and she flicked it away with her finger before it could reach inside her bra. Seven-thirty in the morning and already the outside temperature was creeping toward eighty degrees. Already she was hot and sweaty, the humidity twisting her hair into tight little curls that crept around her head like vines. So much for keeping up appearances, she thought, hearing wary footsteps approach. Cindy took a deep breath, braced herself for yet another unpleasant confrontation with her neighbor.

  But the woman who hurried by cast only a furtive glance in her direction, careful to keep a wide berth between them, as if afraid Cindy was one of those crazy ladies who wandered the streets, asking for money and talking to themselves. And maybe she’s right, Cindy thought. Maybe I am crazy. How else to explain what she was doing, trailing after her neighbor, like some middle-aged Nancy Drew, only a day after the police had ordered her to back off. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just mind her own business? So much for acting like a functioning adult.

  “Go home,” Cindy told herself. “Go home now.”

  But even as she was saying the words, she was running across the already busy intersection at Yonge and St. Clair, trying to locate Faith. “Where is she?” Cindy muttered underneath her breath, her eyes shooting back and forth across the four corners, seeing no trace of her neighbor. Maybe she went into McDonald’s, Cindy thought, glancing toward the tiny takeout restaurant that was squeezed between the Bank of Nova Scotia and the St. Clair subway station.

  It was then Cindy saw the baby carriage. It was standing outside the subway’s glass doors, blocking the entranceway, until a man in a hurry shoved it rudely to one side. “Kyle?” Cindy called, rushing toward the carriage. But the carriage was empty. The baby was gone.

  Why would Faith abandon an expensive carriage in the middle of the street? Had she spotted Cindy, decided it was faster and easier to proceed without it? And where was she taking Kyle so early in the morning? Did she have a plan, or had she impulsively opted for an early-morning subway ride, much as Cindy had opted for a late-night run?

  “Did a woman with a baby just go through here?” she asked the bored-looking attendant who sat in a large glass booth inside the subway entrance. “It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ago,” Cindy continued when the attendant failed to respond.

  “Wasn’t paying attention,” the man answered finally. Then, “You’re holding up the line.”

  Cindy tried to push through the turnstile, but it refused to move.

  “You need a token,” the attendant reminded her.

  “I don’t have a token.”

  “Then it’s two dollars and twenty-five cents.”

  Cindy fished in her purse for the correct change, as several disgruntled commuters wove past her impatiently, while those forced to wait in line behind her groaned as one. “Sorry,” she said, the apology floating toward the ceiling, like steam from a kettle, as she offered the money to the attendant, who rolled his eyes and pointed at the proper container.

  Cindy ran down the stairs on the other side of the turnstile, trying to guess if Faith had headed north or south. She opted for south, running down a second set of stairs to the subway platform, her eyes panning the yellow tiles that lined the walls for any sign of Faith and her baby. Had she missed them? Had the southbound train already come and gone?

  It was then she heard a baby’s loud wail and saw Faith standing at the other end of the platform on the opposite side of the station. She was rocking Kyle in her arms and smiling calmly. She looks okay, Cindy thought, and waved, a broad gesture that caught Faith’s attention. Faith smiled, as if seeing Cindy in the subway at this hour of the morning was not unexpected, then turned her attention back to the baby squirming in her arms.

  Something’s not right, Cindy thought, walking briskly back toward the stairs, pushing against the crowd surging in the other direction, vaulting up one set of stairs and down the other. Seconds later, she reached the north platform, the tunnel stretched out before her, like a long, dark pipe.

  “Careful,” a man cautioned as she ran beside the wide yellow stripe that ran along the edge of the platform. “Shouldn’t get so close to the edge.”

  Cindy heeded his advice, moving closer to the wall and proceeding quickly to the far end of the platform.

  “No need to run,” she heard someone say. “A train just left.” Was he talking to her?

  “Damn, I’m going to be late,” another man replied. “How long till the next one?”

  “Couple of minutes.”

  Cindy continued walking toward the far end of the platform, watching Faith’s smile broaden as she approached, as if she were genuinely pleased to see her.

  “Cindy. What are you doing here?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Kyle has a doctor’s appointment.”

  “So early?”

  “It was the only time she could fit me in.”

  “Is the baby all right?”

  “He has this rash.”

  “Rash?” Cindy hadn’t noticed any rash yesterday.

  “I called Dr. Pitfield as soon as I saw it. She said to bring Kyle in first thing this morning, and she’d have a look at him.”

  “Isn’t Dr. Pitfield’s office on Wellesley?” Cindy had recommended Dr. Pitfield to Faith when Faith first found out she was pregnant. Dr. Pitfield had been both Julia’s and Heather’s pediatrician.

  “She moved.”

  “Really? She was on Wellesley forever. Where is she now?”

  “Lawrence.”

  “Well, that’s great. We can go together.”

  “You’re going to Lawrence?”

  “Yoga class,” Cindy said quickly, wondering why Dr. Pitfield had suddenly uprooted her practice after more than thirty years in the same location. And why wouldn’t Ryan have driven his wife to the doctor’s instead of letting her struggle with public transportation? Why was Faith being so nice to her after what had happened yesterday? “Was that Kyle’s carriage I saw in front of the station?”

  Faith shrugged. “Never liked the stupid thing,” she said. Then, “You look nice.” As if this was the most natural of follow-ups.

  “Thank you. You too. New dress?”

  Faith glanced briefly down, as if she couldn’t remember what she was wearing. “No. It’s old.”

  “It’s very pret
ty. The color looks great on you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  Faith smiled. “Another beautiful day,” she said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “They get kind of boring, after a while. All that sunshine.”

  “I guess we could use some rain.”

  “That would be nice. I like the rain, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes,” Cindy agreed. “There’s nothing like a good thunderstorm.” Were they actually talking about the weather?

  “Lightning scares me,” Faith confided.

  “Me too.”

  “Have you ever seen a tornado?”

  “A tornado? No, not a real one, anyway. I saw that movie though, Twister, I think it was called.”

  “I saw that,” Faith said, nodding. “It wasn’t very good.”

  “No. The story was pretty lame.”

  “The special effects were great though.”

  “Yes, they were. What’s your favorite movie?” Cindy asked.

  Faith raised her eyes, pursed her lips, as if giving the question serious consideration. “I don’t think I have one.”

  “Really? What about Titanic? Did you see that? Or The Godfather?”

  “I saw that on television. On Bravo, I think. They were showing it over and over again. You couldn’t miss it.”

  “Did you see the sequel? People say Part Two was even better than Part One, which is really rare in a sequel, although Part Three was lousy.”

  “I didn’t see Part Three.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  The baby renewed his squirming. Faith began rocking him absently, looking over her shoulder for the train.

  “My favorite movie is Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” Cindy continued, a growing unease spreading through her joints, although she wasn’t sure why. “The original, with Kevin McCarthy and Dana Wynter, not the remake.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “I have a tape of it at home. I could show it to you.”

  “I don’t know. It sounds kind of scary.”

  “I guess it is, a little. I could watch it with you, if you’d like.”