by Jean Martino
“I think you should wait till the morning,” he said in his quiet voice, “and if Cindy or Michael haven’t contacted you by then, you should call the California police and have them check their home.”
None of them had yet broached the subject that Cindy and Michael could have been in a car accident. But Linda understood what was behind Bill’s suggestion. “Perhaps I should call now,” she said.
“If you’re worried they might have been in an accident,” Bill said, “then I’m sure you or Michael’s parents would have been contacted by now. I was thinking someone should go by their home and check things out. But it’s around midnight there now and they might not want to disturb any occupants in the house at this late hour. They’ll probably tell you to wait a while and see if they contact you. But of course it’s your decision. I’ll be back in a minute. Need to cover the barbecue before the rain floods it.”
Linda’s eyes were on Bill as he walked out the door to his garden. His calmness had a tranquil affect on her. He had always taken things in his stride, never rushing into areas without first testing the waters. She hadn’t even had to ask him to walk Cindy down the aisle at her wedding three years ago. He had just called and told her he wanted to do it for Vito and her and Cindy and that he and Jessica would be there to represent her family. Bill was an extraordinarily quiet man but he could be a tower of strength when needed. Eighteen years ago when they’d brought nine year old Cindy to Australia for a visit, Bill and Vito had bonded as though they’d known each other all their lives. Jessica had told her since how devastated Bill had been on learning of Vito’s premature death. She would forever be grateful now that they had made that trip so Cindy could meet her grandparents, and her family could meet Vito. Now they were gone, her parents and Vito. Dear God! She couldn’t lose Cindy too.
“It’s a shame Cindy didn’t give you their neighbors’ names or phone numbers in case of an emergency like this,” said Jessica, “or at least a friend’s phone number. Isn’t there someone you know who could help?” She stood up and walked quickly to the kitchen, returning with a pad and pencil. “Let’s make a list of people you know there. What about the friends you had when Vito was alive?”
Linda put her hands to her forehead, rubbing her temples. “We never had a lot of friends,” she said, dropping her hands and clasping them together on the table. “We never had time with Vito working so many hours a day. Most of the ones we had were business acquaintances of Vito’s who we weren’t on very intimate terms with. I hated going to those cocktail parties at their homes; everyone seemed to be walking around on eggshells pretending to be having a great time and avoiding saying anything to offend anyone. After all it was all business related, kind of like a public relations thing. Vito was great at it, everyone loved him. But I always felt like a fish out of water, hated all that dressing up and making small talk.”
“When Vito passed, did any of them keep in touch with you?”
Linda grimaced. “A few called and invited me to their dinners, and I did go because at that time I hadn’t sold Vito’s interest in the construction business to his partner, Lorne, and I guess I felt obligated to show up. Some even tried to fix me up with unattached men but I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company. I didn’t want to be matched up with men. I didn’t want to move on as they all tried to tell me I should. Then when I sold Vito’s share in the business to his partner, the invitations stopped.”
Jessica was doodling on the paper as she listened. She knew Linda had always been a bit of a loner; even when she was a teenager and all her girlfriends were looking for husbands, Linda was too obsessed with her plans to travel around the world to take any of the boys she dated seriously. “What about all those couples that lived on your street in Costa Mesa when Cindy was going to school?”
Picking up her mug, Linda held it with both hands as she sipped on the tea. “Most of them moved away over the years after their kids grew up and got married or went away to college.” She put her mug down. “Then when I got my real estate license I kind of threw myself into maintaining those income properties Vito had accumulated. I never had time to cement friendships anymore. I was too busy rushing from home to my own work, cleaning house, preparing meals, living the American dream so to speak.”
“But you must have made friends in the real estate profession,” said Jessica, wondering how Linda was keeping her self control when her whole world seemed to be falling apart.
Linda shook her head. “Hardly,” she said bitterly. “It was a dog eat dog type of profession; very competitive. The real estate broker Vito had used for years allowed me to maintain a low profile with his company in order to keep my real estate license active. He knew if I ever sold those income properties he would get a healthy broker’s commission. So I never had the chance to get chummy with any of the other sales staff, and when Vito passed, I couldn’t bring myself to become one of those women going to singles clubs and looking for a mate. I hated the thought of that. It made me feel like I was tossing Vito’s memory away and I didn’t want to do that.”
Jessica laid down her pencil, staring at the paper that was now completely covered with her doodling. “Well then,” she said, frowning, “so much for that idea.” She stood up. “It’s almost dinner time,” she said practically. “You’ll stay of course. No sense in your going home to an empty house. Stay strong, love. We will work this out somehow between us.”
Linda went to get up to help her.
“No, you just sit there for a few minutes and eat one of those sandwiches Bill made or you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Jessica. “I’ve got everything ready. I’m baking a chicken and some roast potatoes and vegies. Bill will be back in a moment and you two can talk and think things out clearer.”
Linda watched her sister moving around the kitchen. She had always been the motherly type, even when they were kids. She hadn’t realized till now how much she had missed her when she had lived in California. Now they were closer than they had ever been as children.
Her thoughts returned to Cindy and she felt her frustration growing, realizing now that she didn’t have anyone to call on in California to help her, except for Scott maybe, and she couldn’t talk to him till tomorrow night even. She had never understood why Cindy and Michael had sold their home in Huntington Beach, a month after she had left there to fly back to Australia, to buy that huge house in Newport Beach. When Cindy wrote to tell her about it, her letter had described it as almost a mansion that they’d only had to pay three hundred thousand for. She knew enough about real estate to know that was almost an obscenely low price to pay for a house like Cindy described in a swanky neighborhood like Newport Beach, especially as it had been fully furnished also.
“It’s incredible, Mom,” Cindy had written. “Two stories, three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, a sunken living room, family room, kitchen, and, get this... an attached four car garage. I know you think we might have taken on more than we could afford, but Michael did great last year with commissions and bonuses and he says we can handle it... Besides, it’s fully furnished... they had it rented out before they put it on the market. Michael said we should store all our own stuff until we know what to bring with us.
“Oh, and it even has a security alarm system. Wow. Talk about living the high life. I’m putting the shutoff code in this letter just in case you get on a plane one day without telling us and fly back and we aren’t home. Now don’t laugh, I know you can be as impulsive as I can be, it’s in our genes. So write this in your address book so you don’t lose it... 2264... and we keep a spare key under the wooden house bird feeder hanging from a tree in the back yard... it’s wrapped in foil and scotch taped so no one can see it.”
Linda picked up one of Bill’s sandwiches, took a bite, then replaced the sandwich on the plate, finding it difficult to swallow with her throat so tense. Turning her head, she looked around the wide open ranch style home, her eyes falling on the cluttered photo table in the corner of the living room. Walking
over to it she stared at the jammed together photos of Jessica and Bill’s children and grandchildren. Scattered amongst them were some of the photos she had sent to Australia over the years of her own family, in no random order, just placed where space permitted, no grand display. Jessica had framed certain ones that she had felt were of some significance in the grand scheme of living and in her own way had included them into her family too.
She stared at the kaleidoscope of her life scattered around the table, not wanting to touch or disturb it, feeling that to do so would somehow bring everything crashing down on top of her and right now she didn’t need any more trauma. Her eyes flitted from one photo to the next, remembering snatches of her life as though it was being played on a video screen. Her and Vito in Las Vegas after their wedding, she at twenty-one looking young, naïve and in love in her fifty dollar white silk dress she had bought at the Broadway store, and Vito looking dashing at twenty-six, wearing the black suit he had brought from New York with him five years earlier when he’d moved to California; five feet ten inches, his muscular body looked out of place in the dress suit, but his black eyes were shining, his white smile flashing in his olive skinned face.
How different her life would have turned out if she hadn’t left Australia at twenty one years of age to work her way around the world; if the cold in Canada hadn’t sent her fleeing to Los Angeles to find the sun; if she hadn’t gone to that nightclub in West Los Angeles that night and met Vito. Two days was all it had taken to change the course of her whole life forever, two days when she and Vito knew they couldn’t live without each other and had driven to Las Vegas filled with love and hope and promise.
No one could have convinced her then that at almost fifty years of age she would be living back in Australia, her husband dead, her daughter missing. She sucked in her breath as her eyes found the photo of her and Vito and ten year old Cindy; black haired, black eyed Cindy, almost a replica of Vito with her Italian genes evident in her olive skin. For the first time her lips twitched in a smile seeing Cindy standing so proudly in front of her and Vito holding her mother’s certificate of American naturalization. As soon as that photo had been taken by her next door neighbor, Joanne Freedom, Cindy had rushed over to her best friend, ten year old Benny Freedom, the boy whose sidewalk bike races with Cindy had caused Linda more than a little consternation, and yelled loudly.
“My mom’s an American now! Of course she’s still an Australian but if Australia and America go to war now, mom will have to fight on our side.”
Everyone had laughed, including her, but the thought had given her goose bumps. Her decision to become naturalized had not come easy, especially having to denounce her Australian citizenship. But in the end she had accepted that her home was now in America, her husband was American, and her daughter was American, and she had expected she would live there for the rest of her life.
Oh my God, she thought, feeling her insides trembling. Where had it all gone wrong? Why had Vito persisted in working himself to death in that bloody construction company he and his partner, Lorne, had started. Why hadn’t he listened to her trying to talk him into slowing down?
“We’re gonna be rich one day, baby,” he would tell her. “Just you wait and see. These income properties I’m buying on the side are ours alone, nothing to do with Lorne and the business. And one day, when we’re old and gray, we’ll buy a yacht and go sailing around the world in it, only coming back to visit Cindy and our grandchildren.”
“I don’t want to sail around the world in a bloody yacht,” she told him angrily. “I want to enjoy life now while we’re still young and can. Vito, for God’s sake, slow down before you kill yourself. I’ll help you with maintaining those income properties. But promise me you won’t buy anymore. Please Vito. Let’s just enjoy what we have now.”
* *
Jessica was watching her from the kitchen, understanding that Linda was trying to find an anchor to hold on to, something that would help her get a grip on reality to help her wade though her confusion. If stepping back in time could accomplish that then she had to let her do it alone. She returned to slicing up vegetables, watching Bill through the window fussing around his barbecue. She knew him like the back of her hand. He was stalling for time also, because, like her, he hadn’t the foggiest idea what to say or do to help resolve the mysterious disappearance of Linda’s daughter and son-in-law.
Linda’s attention was now totally focused on Cindy’s high school graduation photo, this time Cindy was holding her own certificate in front of her. At eighteen, and five feet eight inches, Cindy had blossomed into a real beauty, her long black hair falling down over the front of her gown, her black eyes sparkling, and her smile as broad and white as Vito’s. Linda’s heart constricted as she stared at her daughter’s photo. Vito had never lived to see his daughter graduate. His sudden death a year earlier had left her totally devastated, struggling to stay strong for Cindy’s sake, when all she had wanted to do was to crawl into a corner and die herself.
“See you tonight, Lin!” Vito had called that morning as he rushed out to his truck.
“Be home on time for a change!” she had called back, rushing around to collect her things for her own day’s busy schedule. “We’re having pot roast!”
That was the last thing she would ever say to him. An hour later he had died of a massive coronary.
The tears she had been holding back all day suddenly burst from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She turned quickly away from the photo table and rushed out of the house, walking quickly down the street, convulsing in sobs as she lashed out at the empty air with her unleashed anger. “I’m not going to lose you too, Cindy,” she sobbed. “I will find you, baby, wherever you are. I promise. On my life I promise.”
Jessica rushed to the front door as Bill came inside again.
“Want me to go after her?” he asked soberly.
Jessica shook her head. “She needs to be alone. She needs to get it all out of her system. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
* *
Adelaide, Sunday, June 15, 2003:
It was one thirty in the morning when she placed her call to the Newport Beach Police Department in California, asking to speak to someone in the Missing Persons department. She calculated it would be 9 am Saturday morning there, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Detective Grant,” said the male voice.
“Hello,” Linda said quickly, her heart thumping. “My name is Linda Rossi. I’m calling from Australia and I’m worried about my daughter and her husband, Cindy and Michael Brampton, who live in Newport Beach. My daughter was supposed to have flown here to Australia 24 hours ago but she wasn’t on the plane, and I can’t get her or her husband on their cell phones and they aren’t answering their home phone either. I’m afraid something might have happened to them.”
“Have you tried calling their neighbors or friends?” asked the police officer.
“I don’t know any of their phone numbers,” she said, feeling embarrassed to admit that.
“How about their workplaces?” he asked.
“My daughter is a freelance investigative journalist. She works for several newspapers and magazines but I never kept up on which ones.”
“What about your-son-in law?”
“He’s a stock broker at McLean’s Investments in Newport Beach. I called there yesterday and the man who answered said Michael had taken a two week leave of absence two days ago for a family emergency, which neither his parents or I know anything about.”
“When did you last talk to your daughter?”
“Five days ago. Everything seemed fine with her then. She told me to make sure I was at the airport to meet her, yesterday.”
“I see,” he said. “Unfortunately, at this point we can’t really do anything because there’s a 72 hour waiting period from the time a person is reported missing until it can become official.”
“Oh God,” she cried, feeling sick to her stomach. “You mean I ha
ve to wait another three days before anything is done over there?”
“Officially, yes,” said the officer. “But give me their home address and I’ll have the squad car in that vicinity swing by their home and take a look around for you.”
She gave him the address and her phone number, asking him to call her back collect no matter what if anything they did or didn’t find. “I really appreciate this,” she said. “Thank you so very much for your help.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible.”
Linda hung up, her nerves starting to get jangled again. She needed to get some sleep but her mind wouldn’t stop. She had to get a grip. She had to stop thinking the worst. Seventy two hours before they could officially search for Cindy and Michael? Dear God. She would go crazy by then.
Hoping the police officer would do what he said and have someone check on the house, she changed into her nightclothes then curled up on the couch, afraid even to go to bed unless she didn’t hear the phone ringing, her cordless phone on the coffee table next to her. She closed her eyes and tried to sort out the confusion in her mind.