Find Me

by Tory Jane

I text him.

  You did handle it poorly. Why didn't you tell me what you wrote in your note? I can understand that. We're supposed to be a team. How can I trust you?

  Then I text my mother.

  I’m on my way over.

  What the Hell is Going on?

  I pull on my Uggs and a hoodie over my pajamas and run to my parents’ house.

  It’s 9:00. My mother answers the door. “Annabelle. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for three days. What are you doing here in your pajamas?”

  “You didn’t receive my text?”

  “Annabelle, no one has heard from you in three days. Do you know how worried we’ve been?”

  I think about my conversation with Jack. I’m a dummy. Why did I text Jack? He showed me his phone. He hasn’t received any of my messages or calls. No wonder he didn’t respond.

  “Mama, I think she's fucking with me. I've been at work and at home. I've called you and left messages and texted. Did you receive anything from me?” I show her my phone.

  “No. I've been frantic with worry. I called the boutique today, and Cecelia simply said you were gone and that she didn't know where you were or whether you were returning.”

  “That doesn't make sense. I was there all morning and afternoon. We've barely had any business all week. I've given Cecelia most of the week off but called her to cover for me while I took a lunch break and got a haircut. I asked her if anyone called for me.”

  “Jack came by earlier. He’s furious with me. He thinks I ran from him. I told him I hadn’t heard anything from him since I left on the 26th, after watching him soothe and cuddle that evil bitch. I haven’t received any messages or calls from him since that day. I haven’t received anything from anyone in three days.

  “Mama, we had a terrible fight. He told me that we were ‘rushing things’ and he needed to decide what’s best for Charlie. He said if I was going to run from him any time things got tough, that I wasn’t what was best for Charlie or him.

  “All of you thought I ran. None of you believed in me. I swear I didn’t run. I’ve been here, trying to reach out to everyone. What is going on? Who is fucking with me? Someone is trying to isolate me. It doesn’t make any sense. Will you help me? Please text Allison and Frasier that I’m on my over.”

  “Your father and I are coming with you.”

  ***

  Allison and Frasier are waiting for us at the kitchen door. “Annabelle. What’s going on? We’ve all been worried.”

  Hugging them both, I start rambling. “I know. I'm sorry to bother you so late. This is all going to sound crazy. I'm worried and scared. Mr. Cliff, Frasier, I think I need your help.”

  We sit around the kitchen table. “I have been calling all of you and sending messages. The last calls or messages I received were four days ago, the morning of the 26th. I didn't run. I didn't go anywhere. I've been either at home or at the boutique all week. I couldn't understand why no one was responding to my messages.

  “The boutique has been dead since the afternoon of the 26th. No customers, no phone calls. I’ve had a few walk-in tourists, but none of our usual clientele. This is usually one of my busiest weeks.”

  Allison looks up, puzzled. “I called the boutique this morning. It went straight to voice mail with a recording that says the shop is closed this week.”

  “Jack said that tonight. He thought I was lying when I said I’ve been at the boutique the last three days. Whose voice was on the recording?”

  “It definitely wasn’t yours. Maybe Cecelia?”

  My mother jumps in. “Yes. I told Belle that when I called today, Cecelia was brusque. She said Belle was gone and that she didn't know when or if to expect her.”

  “When you’ve called me on my mobile, what happens?”

  My mother responded, “It rings straight to an automated recording. I’ve left messages there.” Allison nodded.

  “When I call y’all, it does the same thing. Someone is fucking with my personal life and my livelihood. I’ve thought it through and I think I have some answers, but I may be crazy and paranoid. Please, just listen.”

  I summarize the list of odd occurrences for them. The comments Sofia made about me, the comments Cecelia made about Sofia and Charlie, and the lack of responses from everyone.

  “Cecelia and Sofia know each other. I think that’s how Sofia knew how to find you and when to come here. Cecelia and Sofia knew I figured it out. I think that’s why they’ve tried to isolate me.”

  I look up to find Jack standing in the doorway. He is pale and shaken. He takes a seat beside me and holds my hand. “Belle, I’m sorry. I thought you were angry and giving me the silent treatment. I didn’t understand what was going on. I had no idea you weren’t receiving mine, or anyone’s, messages and calls.

  “I still don’t understand why you ran from me that night. You misunderstood that situation.”

  I yank my hands from his. “I understand acting. I understand diffusing the situation. I left because you allowed that woman to insult me and humiliate me. Because she groped you and announced ‘your cock could never resist her.’ You did not look to me to reassure me. You never looked at me. You held her and soothed her. I couldn’t watch. How long did it take you to notice I left?

  “The worst part? Y’all believed I ran. No matter how hard I try, y’all don’t believe in me. I live two blocks away. Did it occur to any of you to walk over and check on me?

  “Jack, it took you four nights to come to me and announce that we rushed into things and I am not who is best for Charlie. It was all a misunderstanding. I did not run. Not from any of you. Jack, I didn't run from you or Charlie. I've been desperate to talk with you. I showed you my phone and all the calls and messages I've made. I told you I was ready. I am ready. I love Charlie. I love you. I promised you I wouldn't run and I didn't.”

  Frasier clears his throat. “Annabelle, I’m sorry. I'm sure you've been as worried as we have that you haven't heard from anyone. This typically must be one of your busiest weeks at the boutique. I believe you. I’ve had the firm investigator looking into Sofia. I’ll ask him to expand his investigation to include possible involvement by Cecelia.”

  “Thank you, Frasier. I’m so sorry to bother you. I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

  He asks, “Do you have your phone with you?”

  I put in my password and hand it over to him.

  He opens the Contacts list and scrolls through it. “Do you have us listed in your Contacts?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not anymore. Did you put your phone on call forwarding?”

  I furrow my brow. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

  He shows me my phone. “It looks like all of your incoming and outgoing texts and phone calls have been forwarded to this number. Do you know whose number that is?”

  I rub my temples. “No.”

  “Who has access to your phone?”

  “I keep it in my pocketbook behind the counter. Cecelia would have access to it any number of times. This began on the 26th. I remember I was working in the storeroom unpacking a delivery. She was at the front counter alone for at least a half hour. That was also the day Jack brought us lunch. Remember, Jack? She made those bizarre comments about Charlie and Sofia. She had access to the computer and the voicemail, also.”

  “Do you mind if I take your phone and have our IT folks take a look? What is your password?”

  “I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Cliff. The password is 121212.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “Oh, I'm an idiot. She could have seen me type that in numerous times. Does that mean whoever has that number has been able to monitor all of the incoming and outgoing text and voice mail messages?”

  “I’m afraid it does.” He winced.

  “Whoever it is has been monitoring all of us. Allison, on the 26th, I left you a voice mail message asking you to remind me to tell you about Cecelia that night. She told me that day
that she knew about Charlie and Sofia because she overheard you talking to her mother. If Cecelia was monitoring my calls, she heard that message and knew I’d figured it out.”

  Allison looks disgusted. “I would never speak to her mother about Jack’s personal life. I didn’t even know about Sofia.”

  “What is the latest with Sofia? Have you been spending time with her? Did you meet with her husband?”

  “Spending time with her?” Jack snaps at me. “You really believe I want to spend a second with that woman?”

  Tears spring to my eyes. I’m tired. “Jesus, Jack. Will you cut me some slack? I didn’t mean that. Just, have you seen her again?”

  I turn to Mr. Cliff, reasonable, rational, Frasier Cliff. “Frasier, as I recall, you planned to meet with Signor Rossi and discuss the matter with him. Does Sofia still intend to pursue custody of Charlie?”

  “We haven’t had the opportunity to meet yet. We did speak briefly. Signor Rossi is not pleased with his wife’s behavior.” He smirks. “He is an animated man. He had no idea she had a child or that she'd contacted our family. While he's been in meetings with the Mayor, he believed she was shopping and having spa treatments. To his knowledge, her family has never hospitalized her, and it wasn't an arranged marriage. He's an artist and philanthropist. They met when she returned to Italy and married a year ago. He apologized profusely. He must have reined her in, because we haven’t seen or heard from Sofia since the 26th.”

  “If, by chance, Sofia isn’t lying and she never received the court documents or proper legal notice, what happens then?”

  “She could hire legal counsel here and petition the Family Court here or in Chicago and have it removed to this jurisdiction. Either way, as counsel of record, I’d receive copies. How she could explain leaving her three-week-old infant and waiting nearly eighteen months is beyond me. However, yes, technically she could challenge the Termination of Parental Rights. She’d be in for a protracted fight and her chance of success would be minimal.”

  “Did her husband give you any idea of what their intentions were?”

  Mr. Cliff chuckles, “Between the swearing in Italian and yelling, I really couldn’t say. I don’t see Signor Rossi agreeing to stay here to fight for a child about which he knew nothing. We are still supposed to meet. I don’t know if Sofia will be there. She made quite an impression with the office during our last meeting.”

  “Ah, yes, I heard about that. I also heard that you were your usual calm and collected self, even when Sofia threw documents at your head.”

  “Trust me, Belle; I had more than a few choice words for her running through my head.” He grins at me, and suddenly I feel safer.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cliff. You have no idea how much better I feel knowing you’re handling things. Now we have to solve the mystery of who is trying to blow up my life.

  “I’m certain that Sofia and Cecelia met in Florence at University. When Sofia learned she was coming to Charleston for Spoleto business, she contacted Cecelia. We’ve all witnessed that she plays the victim well. I believe Cecelia either stole your contact information from her mother or hacked into my phone and gave it to Sofia. Cecelia was in the shop when Jack invited me to dinner on the 26th. She knew everyone would be here. She could have shared that with Sofia, also.”

  “As far as the attempts to screw with me, I think that’s all Cecelia and unrelated to the Sofia drama. She came to me for advice about her fiancé. She was unhappy about her engagement. He sounds controlling and abusive and I suggested she seek counseling. I shouldn’t have interfered. Her reaction seems disproportionate, but she is a twenty-one year old spoiled girl.”

  Frasier holds up my phone. “First, I think you should give yourself a pat on the back. You've put together most of the details. Belle, you're family. Thank you for coming to us. I’m sorry that I didn’t walk over and check on you.”

  Tears glaze my eyes. “Thank you.” I bow my head in gratitude. “May I use someone’s phone and call the boutique and change the message? I have two days to salvage some business.”

  He hands me his, and I excuse myself. Allison offers me a glass of wine before I go outside. She knows I'm going to sneak a cigarette.

  I step out on to the piazza and call the boutique. The outgoing message is definitely Cecelia’s voice. “Bella Boutique will be closed from December 25th through January 2nd. We look forward to seeing you when we re-open.”

  Why would she do such a thing? I quickly get into the voice mail system and create a new outgoing message. At least she didn't change the password and lock me out. I try to sound festive and cheery, even though I'm fuming. I then change the password.

  I pull up the website from Frasier’s phone. Sure enough, Cecelia has changed that as well, with the same message as the voice mail.

  Jack joins me and puts his arm around my shoulders.

  “May I have one of those?” He takes the pack from me and lights two cigarettes, then hands me one. “Belle,” he pleads. “Talk to me. I’m sorry.”

  “Jack, do you even know why you're apologizing? Don't say you're sorry to appease me, because you think that's what I want to hear.

  “What more can I give you, Jack? I have forgiven you everything. I took you back. I stand by your side. Meanwhile, you hold yourself back, watching and judging. You’re waiting for me to fuck up, to prove you right. If you don’t trust me, let me go. Please stop testing me.”

  He collapses into a chair, his head in his hands. Silence. He mutters, “I can’t lose you, Belle.”

  “Then get your head out of your ass and take responsibility for your actions. You know where to find me. You always have.”

  I walk back inside, and he follows me. I rinse out the wine glass and place it in the drying rack. Then I hand the phone to Frasier.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cliff. I changed the boutique’s voicemail message and changed the password. Yes, I chose a much stronger password. I also noticed that she altered the website. I need to go work on that on my computer.

  “I'll have the locks changed at the shop first thing in the morning. I'm going to have to confront the little bitch. That should be fun. I'm concerned about sales receipts and inventory. It won't surprise me in the least if she's been stealing from me.”

  Jack stands tall. “I want to help. I’d like to be there when you meet with Cecelia.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. If you have time, I’d feel safer with you there. Thank you, Jack.” I reach for him and he squeezes me and kisses my forehead.

  “I’m going to head home. I’m exhausted. Thank you for listening. I love y’all.”

  I walk home feeling proud of myself. I stood up for myself. I'm motivated for a fight.

  Then I walk up my driveway and find the words, “Ugly Bitch” spray-painted on my door, my planters smashed, and my window boxes destroyed.

  ***

  I don’t have a phone. I know better than to touch anything. I sure as hell am not going in there by myself.

  I run back to the Cliffs’ house. Two blocks and I’m out of breath, sweating, crying. I bang on the kitchen door. They’re all still sitting around the table.

  “Jack! Daddy. Mr. Cliff. Please call the police. I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t touch anything.”

  My mother cries, “Annabelle. Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

  All my confidence and resolve fades, and I crawl into my mother's arms. “I’m not hurt. I’m, I don’t know. I’m scared. We need to go to my house. She was there. We need the police.”

  Everyone prepares to follow me to my house. “Where’s Charlie?” I ask.

  Jack says, “He’s upstairs with Miss Margaret. He’s asleep. He’s fine.”

  “No. What if she comes here, too? Someone needs to stay here. They need to be protected.”

  My mother soothes me. “Annabelle. Calm down, honey. We’re fine.”

  “You haven’t seen my house.”

  My mother stares at me wide-eyed. “Okay, Darling. It’s going to be o
kay. Your father will stay here with Allison and me.”

  “Jack, you should be here with Charlie.”

  He takes my hand. He is firm. “I’m coming with you.”

  Mr. Cliff is on the phone. “Yes, this is Frasier Cliff calling. Yes, we need police officers at my home and at the home of Annabelle Tucker.” He asks them to meet us at my address. “No one has been injured, but there is a legitimate concern for our safety. Yes, immediately, please. We have a small child in the house who may be in danger.”

  He hangs up and looks to my father. “Thom? Will you explain everything to the officers when they arrive? When we get to Annabelle’s, I’ll call you. Please make sure all the doors are locked.”

  My father and Mr. Cliff give each other a hug. They both look shaken. “I’ll take care of everything. Thank you, Frasier.”

  We walk the two blocks to my house. I’ve been gone no more than twenty minutes. The front door is now open, my car windows are smashed, and she’s spray-painted “Ugly Bitch” on the side of my car. She must have been here when I came home.

  The police arrive as I'm yelling, “It wasn't this bad when I first got here. She must have still been here. Oh my god. What if I'd gone into the house?” I run to the house, and Mr. Cliff holds me back.

  He wraps his arms around me. “Sweetheart, you can’t go in there. Wait for the police.”

  Jack is surveying the damage, mouth agape.

  I hear a stern voice calling out to him. “Jack. A little help here?”

  I’m falling, collapsing. Mr. Cliff is trying to keep me upright. “Come on, sweetheart. Stay strong.”

  Jack rushes over to help. He scoops me up and holds me. “I’ve got you, Bella. Come sit over here.”

  “The boutique. We have to check on the boutique.” I try to run to my car, and he catches me around the waist and pulls me into his lap.

  “You’re not going anywhere, especially not in that car. I’ll ask the police to check it out.”

  I’m clutching my stomach and rocking back and forth.

  “Belle, do you have your Xanax in your pocketbook? Now may be a good time to take one.”

  I nod my head and hand him my pocketbook.