by Dina Silver
She sniffed. “I will tell him.” Serine nodded, one mother to another.
I mustered a smile and then locked eyes with Jessie, who was standing behind Serine, scowling. “Can you give Serine a jar of peaches and some oatmeal to take back with her? Maybe the mashed carrots, too, since it’s almost lunchtime.”
Jessie didn’t budge.
“Please?” I begged. “She hasn’t eaten.” I raised my voice, and the tone startled everyone. All eyes were on me when I finally stood. My legs were wobbly, but I barreled past the crowd, holding my robe, and went to fetch some jarred food for Ann Marie. Jessie quickly came up behind me with a brown paper bag and Ann Marie’s favorite pink rubber spoon. She did not say a word, just took the jars from the cupboard in front of me and put them in the sack. When I looked down, the sundress was in my left hand.
I sat in the kitchen where Mom had been a couple of hours earlier, enjoying her coffee and morning paper. The dress was on the table in front of me. I willed myself to think only positive thoughts. I closed my eyes and thought of the day she was born, almost exactly one year to the day, evoking memories of Gabriel and me in the hospital. I was so scared of childbirth and wished my mother had been with me in Beirut. She said she would try and make it, but they had a wedding on the Cape, mother’s college roommate’s daughter, and I understood. She never approved of me living in Lebanon, anyway, let alone having my child there. But Gabriel had been there, and he was terrific at that moment. I’d never seen anyone as happy as he was when the nurse handed him his baby girl. That is how he would always look at her. He would never harm her, and he would bring her back to me. I knew it, and I told myself that over and over as the hours passed.
But I was wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CATHERINE
Greenwich, 1972
My father was never without a drink and a cigarette that day. Lunch passed without any mention. My sisters were in and out of the pantry, whining softly to Jessie about their hunger pangs when she wasn’t by my side. Mother eventually sent them all to the club. I remember looking down at my watch, praying the hands would stop and the day would not end until Ann Marie was back in my arms.
“How cruel of him to behave in this way,” I heard my mother say to her sister. My aunt Hazel followed with some nasty words about Gabriel.
“I’m going to go looking for them.” I stood. It was nearly 6:00 p.m., and I’d had enough of my parents’ insistence that I stay at the house and remain calm.
Mother walked toward Jessie and me. “The Cunninghams will be here in an hour for dinner,” she said to Jessie.
Jessie’s mouth dropped open. “Are we still entertaining tonight, ma’am?” Jessie asked.
Mother looked incredulous. “Well, of course, we are. I’ve not called and canceled. I have no doubt the baby will be home soon.”
Looking back, the absurdity of hosting a dinner party in the midst of what was going on in my home and my head and my heart was insane, and yet exemplified my mother to a tee. But at the time, I didn’t question it. Mother would have considered it rude to disinvite the Cunninghams simply on account of an abduction. How embarrassing to explain. Why should the neighbors be inconvenienced and miss out on a pitcher of dry martinis because Mrs. Ann Marie Clarke’s only granddaughter and namesake had gone missing?
I flew through the living room, up the back stairs, and into my room, where I changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Throwing my hair into a ponytail, I grabbed the car keys off my nightstand and ran back down and out the front door, ignoring my mother’s insistent hollering from behind.
When I arrived at Serine’s house, it, too, was filled with people who all fell silent when I walked into the kitchen. Her husband, Michael, greeted me with a hug.
“Have you heard from him?” I asked.
Michael shook his head.
“I know he has another local friend. Someone who he met here one summer and whose parents know my parents from the club,” I said.
“Tom Sheppard?”
“Shep, yes! I think he lives on Doubling Street. Maybe he’s reached out to him?”
Serine came toward me, took my hand, and led me out the back door to her terrace. She was a few years older than Gabriel, so almost fifteen years my senior. Her eight-year-old son, Gerard, followed us.
“Please come sit. Get some fresh air. Can I get you something to eat?”
I said nothing.
“Gerard,” she said to him, “please fetch a glass of lemonade and a sandwich for Catherine.”
Gerard ran off, and we sat facing each other on opposite lawn chairs.
“He hasn’t contacted you at all since he was at my house this morning?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“I thought he was staying here.”
She was wringing her hands. “He arrived late last night and stayed here with us, yes. I’m expecting him to spend at least another night or two.” She forced a pitiful smile. “I’m certain he will be back tonight. He must have let the day get away from him. He was so excited to see her.”
I sat forward. “What did he say about her? Did he say anything about taking her somewhere or wanting to be alone with her? Please, Serine, he must have said something. Did he mention me at all? Do you have a phone number for his friend Tom?”
She furrowed her brow and slightly shook her head. “We will try and get his number.” The look in her eyes was worrisome.
I continued with my questions. “Do you know that he didn’t even say hello to me? He was early, and I was in the shower. He just walked into her room, took her from her crib, and left. He didn’t even change her, Serine. She’s still in her pajamas.” I searched her eyes. “He must’ve said something to you!”
Serine remained calm, her voice almost a whisper. “We spoke of his flight and his fatigue. Yes, of course he mentioned he was very excited to see the baby, but he did not give me any details of his plans. I had no idea he’d even gone over to your house today until your mother called me this morning, asking if he was here.”
“But what did he say to you when he woke up this morning? When he walked out of the house?” I pleaded. “He wouldn’t just leave without discussing his plans.” All of this mysterious behavior was inconceivable.
“He said nothing to me. I was just getting Gerard up and dressed, and he and Michael had coffee. Michael said he made no mention of heading to your house when he left. Just that he had to run some errands.”
“Did he borrow your car?”
Her lip trembled as she spoke. “Oh, Catherine. I just feel terrible for this scare he has given you and your family. This is the most selfish thing . . .”
“Serine, please.” My breath came rapidly in little spurts. “Please focus and help me find Ann Marie. Whose car is he driving?”
“A rental car. He insisted that we not bother picking him up at Westchester so late in the evening. Officer Lombardi was asking us about the car, too, but it was dark when he pulled up, and all Michael and I could remember was that it was a dark color, maybe brown or black.” She reached for my hand, but I moved it away. “He loves that little girl, and I don’t know if he is trying to hurt you on purpose or what his intentions are. I’m sure you know he was very upset when you left and said you were never coming back, but that is no reason to put Ann Marie in the middle like this. I know he will not harm her. He will bring her back, and he will apologize. I know my brother.”
But I knew him, too, and she was right. He was trying to hurt me like I’d hurt him. To prove to me once again exactly who was in control.
Serine began to cry.
“Shh, please don’t cry. I know he loves her and would never put her in harm’s way, but this is unacceptable.” I reached for her hand. “You’re probably right. He’s probably trying to teach me a lesson, but using our daughter like this is cruel. Not only to me, but also to Ann Marie, and you, and my whole family. He has us all sick with worry.”
Serine was about to speak when Michael
yelled from the screen door. “CC, your mom is on the phone!”
I ran inside.
The receiver was dangling on the kitchen wall. “Mom?” I grabbed it and said.
“The police have found Tom Sheppard. He has some information, and I think you’d better come home. He’s coming over to speak with us.”
My eyes widened. “Yes, OK. I’m leaving now.”
When I returned home, my parents, Aunt Hazel, three policemen, my four siblings, Jessie, and a man named Tom Sheppard were all in the family room. Among them was a very tall man I recognized immediately, and from the look on his face, he remembered me, too.
“I’m Officer Joe Lombardi.” He extended his hand and was exactly as I remembered, with bright orange hair, towering above everyone else in the room.
“I’m CC.” We shook hands and then he patted me on the shoulder, letting his palm rest there for an extra second or two.
“Do you have any news?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I want to press charges,” I said. “Have we done that yet?” I looked over at my father and then back at Joe. “We need to put a warrant out for his arrest.”
“We can’t quite arrest a man for spending time with his daughter, but we’re doing everything we can to find them. We were able to get some information on the vehicle from Serine and Michael, and I have two guys driving around trying to locate it.”
He had about as much hope in his eyes as I did.
Joe turned to Tom Sheppard and waved him over. “Tom, why don’t you fill CC in on what you told me? About when Mr. Haddad arrived here in Greenwich.”
My attention went to Tom. “Serine told me he arrived last night,” I said.
Tom shook his head and glanced at Joe before speaking. Mother and Dad came closer to the three of us.
“What do you mean?” my father questioned him. “Serine said he arrived at her house late yesterday evening.”
“He must’ve told her that,” Tom began. “But he was at my house two days ago and then left last night to stay with Serine.”
“She lied to us?” I asked.
“I don’t think so, no. Gabriel lied to her, I believe.”
“That’s why he didn’t want a ride from the airport,” I said. “But why?”
Tom just shrugged. He was the least concerned of anyone in the room, and acting a little too inconvenienced for my taste.
“Did you know he was coming here today?” I pressed. “Did you have any idea that he planned to do this to us? To upset my family in this way? If he harms her, then you’re also responsible!”
Officer Lombardi loosely wrapped his long arm around my shoulders and ushered me into the library as I broke down again. Jessie followed, and I sobbed into my palms, choking on my own breath. My sister Colleen came and closed the door.
The sun set around 8:45 p.m., right about the time the house phone rang. Most of the guests were still in the dining room, but I’d been sitting on the front porch steps since Tom and Officer Lombardi left.
I ran inside to answer it. “Hello?”
“CC?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“It’s Tom Sheppard. We met today at your home.”
“Yes, yes, what’s going on? Have you seen Gabriel?” I asked, clutching the receiver as if I could squeeze the information out of him.
“I’m so sorry about everything . . .” His voice was kinder than before.
I took a deep breath and interrupted him. “It’s me who should apologize for yelling at you. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known he would pull something like this—”
“CC, listen to me.” His words were rushed now. “I am so sorry, but he’s gone.”
“Gone where? Please tell me.”
“He’s gone back to Beirut.”
A wave of relief came over me. My free hand felt for the armchair behind me, and I lowered myself onto the edge of the seat cushion. My sister Margaret had walked in when she’d heard the phone. I pressed the receiver to my ear and swore I could hear my heart beating through it.
My mouth opened, but the words were slow to come. “I see. So did he leave Ann Marie with you? Do you have her? Is she OK?”
“No, CC . . .”
“She must be with Serine, then. I’m on my way now. Please call her for me and ask that she stay put.”
There was a moment of silence followed by five words that shattered my existence. “He’s taken her with him.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ANN MARIE
Chicago, 2008
Christmas is a week away, and it’s evident that my mother feels like she’s dying. She’s asked me to grab the boxes of journals from my garage and is insisting we go through them.
“You refused to discuss my father and my past for decades, and now I’m supposed to sit and reminisce? You realize the doctor hasn’t started your countdown clock,” I remind her and remain hopeful. So desperately hopeful.
She swallows. Her throat is always dry. “You’re going to argue with your mother who has cancer?” The words come slowly.
I smile. “Please stop. I don’t care about any of it. I love you and just want to focus on you. You can barely talk as it is. Let’s not waste your breath on this right now,” I say, yet I’m eager for more clarity. There is a part of me that feels I deserve to know everything, and part of me that is scared of the discovery. But after reading about their time as newlyweds, I’ve been able to find comfort in the fact that my parents were in love once. I hope my kids will one day feel the same.
I’ve been trying to keep things light and humorous as she would want her life to be, but the truth is that I simply want to do anything to help my mom. She’s all I have besides my boys, and the thought of losing her has prohibited me from focusing on anything else. My attorneys got Todd’s attorneys to agree to let me take the house off the market for four months while I concentrate on Mom, but soon it will have to be sold, and according to Todd, “Buyers aren’t going to want to see a cancer patient on her deathbed in what could be their child’s bedroom.” Prince Charming has nothing on him.
She doesn’t want anyone’s pity; she’s never been that person. She dresses every morning as she always has, which makes it that much more difficult. To look at her, she’s not a sick woman, and she doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to travel, to experience being a grandmother and watch me eventually grow up and find happiness. To see a man look at me with love in his eyes again. She deserves affection and hugs and tennis games and happy hours and many more years on this earth. I can’t even fathom not being able to pick up the phone and hear her voice whenever I need to and just know that she’s listening on the other end. No one will ever listen to me like she will. No one will ever love me like she does, and I can’t bear the thought of that loss.
I try not to burden too many people with how I’m feeling, because it is a burden. People don’t mean for it to be, but it’s an uncomfortable topic. You can see the resistance in their faces and body language. Nobody has the perfect thing to say, and that’s OK. I’ve learned in a very short time that those perfect words simply don’t exist. I’ve taken to reading cancer blogs online and finding solace in similar experiences of strangers courageous enough to write about it. Misery loves company.
She waves to me to come to the couch where she’s sitting in our family room. Snoopy is at her feet and never more than an arm’s reach from her. He’s very sweet, but we’re still getting to know each other, Snoopy and me. Last week he ate three Baby Einstein DVDs and two pairs of Luke’s shoes, targeting the weakest in the house. There are overturned boxes of LEGO bricks—always so many—and Disney figurines all over the floor. On the table in front of her is a cardboard box filled with more journals and newspaper clippings, articles from her days as a writer for the Greenwich Times. Snoopy follows me with his eyes as I approach and scoot by him.
Mom taps the box.
“Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes a
t me, and I think the minute she stops doing that, we’re in real trouble.
“I’m feeling good today, and I want to tell you more things about your father and what happened when you were little. You deserve to know.” She takes a breath. “It may help you understand what you’re going through with Todd.”
I kiss her cheek. “My father was a son of a bitch who left you when you were twenty-five and didn’t pay child support. Grandma told me years ago in her bedroom with a pitcher of martinis on her dressing table.”
She slaps my leg.
“I’m kidding. I know it will help me. Thank you for doing this.”
“He was a son of a bitch, but he also loved me once, very much,” she says. “This is important. If I leave this world before my time, I will regret not being here to answer these questions for you.” She looks at me and then turns away. I notice the nervous way she rubs her hands together.
“I love you, and I’ll do anything you want,” I say.
“I would like you to call him and tell him I’m sick.”
So many years have passed since the last time I spoke with my father that I’ve lost count. Fifteen? Eighteen? It was in high school. My history class was studying ancestry, and I was hit with a pang of persistence. I remember coming home—Mom and I lived in Greenwich at the time—and telling her that I wanted to speak to him. She’d laughed and brushed it off as she had over the years, but I was relentless—angry, even—at both my parents. How dare they have this history between them in which I was at the core, and not allow me to know about it? When I saw the conversation was upsetting her, I’d backed off for a day or two, but I didn’t give up until she agreed to help me get ahold of him with the help of his sister, my aunt Serine. My parents never spoke to each other. Serine and a team of attorneys were their only source of communication.
“Hello?” His voice had been deep and gruff.