by Lorena May
She felt a rush of resentment. Why do I always feel like I’m in this alone? “The ovulation predictor kit. I told you about it.”
He shrugged, exhaling a gust of air. “I don’t think I want that,” he said.
“WHAT?” spittle built in the corner of her mouth. “It’s practically all I’ve talked about for months now! You KNOW how desperately I want a child!” She felt the adrenalin surging throughout her body. After fifteen years of marriage he’s not ready? I’m thirty-eight! I’m running out of time!
“After all this time you’re not ready?” she spat.
“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t think it’s what I want.” He looked coldly at her.
She blinked. Shook her head. “And you’re telling me this now?”
He placed his hand over hers this time, and looked her in the eye. He cleared his throat. Looked away. Looked back. “Diane, I have to tell you something.”
She felt her insides thud. She couldn’t speak. She just looked at him.
“I can’t do this any more.” He spoke slowly, methodically, as if he’d practiced this speech over and over. He breathed deeply for a moment, and continued. “Diane, I know I should have told you this before. I haven’t always realized it myself.”
She just looked at him, biting her lip, feeling her chest tighten. What? And suddenly she knew. She’d probably known for a while. But she made him say it.
“Diane, I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”
She realized later that she should have been more understanding. That he couldn’t help it. He’d tried. But in her utter desolation she raged. She wept. She screamed. And mostly it was this. How could he do this to her? More than anything in the world she wanted – needed - a child. She would do anything.
Chapter 14
September 15, 2018
Darby paces, stopping now and then to write on a white-board, finishing with a flourish. Mel sits back in a chair, hands folded across his ample belly.
“Two days and we’ve got shit!” She stops and stares at the board, deep in thought. “What has happened to that kid? There’s no ransom note, no phone calls . . . fuck-all!”
Mel reads from the top. “Okay. At 9:00 the mother fed the baby. She went to sleep for a while, then woke up crying. So the mother tried to feed her again, lost it by the sounds of it, shook the baby and threw her into the crib. What do you make of that?” He chews thoughtfully on his pencil.
Darby stands, hands on hips, feet wide apart, pondering. “I like her. I like the mom. She’s fragile, for sure. I think there’s some pluck inside that feeble exterior, though . . . And it doesn’t take much to hurt a baby.”
“Do you think that maybe she killed the baby, then panicked, got rid of the body and phoned her husband with a story?” Mel asks.
Her jaw clenches. “It’s possible. Let’s order another search of those premises, especially looking for newly dug dirt in and around the area. I’ll order a landscape inspection.” Darby exhales heavily puffing out her lips. “I so hope that’s not the case.”
Mel jots the instructions on a pad and continues. “Okay. We have a jogger on the street, a person carrying a bundle dressed in a green trench coat, and we have an old-style cream and burgundy Lincoln that nobody has seen in the area before.”
Darby bites her lip. “We can probably eliminate the jogger. Although she had a jacket on, her arms were pumping slightly the witness told us. She wasn’t likely carrying a baby.”
“The trench coat could have been. And the Lincoln could be relevant,” Mel muses.
Darby spins on her heel to face him. “CSI found no foreign finger-prints or DNA anywhere in the house. No other foot-prints, even though it was raining.” She bends to glance at the report on his desk. “Only prints or DNA they found were from Ben, Shea and Cassandra Anderson, Moira Jones, Diane Taylor, Kyle Bannerman, Alyssa Darnell and Ben’s parents, Jim and Edie Anderson. Of course, an intruder could have worn gloves.” She looks up at Mel. “And the good news is there have been no dead babies found in dumpsters, parks . . . anywhere in the city or surrounding area. And they’ve combed it pretty thoroughly.”
“The mother and father are being interviewed this afternoon. They’ll hit the news right away. Let’s be there and take another close look at their body language. We’ll ask if anyone knows about a green trench coat or a cream and burgundy Lincoln.” Lips pursed, Mel jots more notes. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Darby nods. “We need thorough background checks on everyone that we know has been in that house. Something stinks to high hell and I want to know what it is.”
Chapter 15
Shea, September 15, 2018
Staring at Diane’s closet, I stand open-mouthed; stunned. Did Diane spirit my baby away somewhere? She loved Cassandra, and more than anything she wants a baby . . . “Diane, is this your trench-coat?” I hear the quivering in my voice.
She does a double take, grimacing, and looks at it. “I’ve never seen it before in my life!” she says. “How did it get there? Weird!”
But it sounds phony to me. How could she not see a large coat hanging in her house? She was away when I discovered Cassandra gone. I feel the air knocked out of me, and my limbs are rubbery as I follow her through the door, across the front yard, around to the back entrance and into my house. She hurries in and starts picking up dirty dishes from the table, bustling around my kitchen while I collapse into a chair.
Ben saunters into the kitchen, giving Diane a friendly nod. “Thanks, Diane,” he says. “We’re pretty useless these days.” He comes to kneel in front of me, taking my face in his hands. “Shea, I want you to know this isn’t your fault.” His lustrous green eyes are earnest. “And something tells me she is okay. We’ll get her back.”
I stare blankly at him. Are you having an affair with Moira? But I say nothing.
“And when we do I want to be here for you,” he continues. “I realize I’ve been pretty much an absent dad and husband. You’ve had to take on everything yourself.” He pauses, tears forming in his eyes. “Shea, I’m sorry.”
I breathe shakily. Part of me is aware of him kneeling there before me, part of me watches Diane buzzing around the kitchen, and part of me is pure darkness. The part where my husband may be having an affair, and my baby is gone. I’m immobile. I can neither move or speak.
Ben stands, taking my hands in his. “Honey, do you feel up to going on TV and asking for our baby back?” I’m jolted back to reality.
“I’ll go get dressed,” I say and make my way to the bedroom. Passing by Cassandra’s room, I’m drawn into it. Nothing’s changed. Her bedclothes are still rumpled; still carry her baby smell. I haven’t emptied the disposable diaper pail and a few discarded sleepers hang over the dirty clothes hamper. Then I notice it. Her rabbit stuffy – the one we always kept near her when she slept – is gone. Why? Does that mean that whoever took her wants her to have it? That she is still alive? It gives me a smidge of hope.
When I return to the kitchen dressed in my normal-mother-like clothes, slacks and a blouse, the kitchen is bright and clean. Diane’s even set a vase with brightly colored sweet peas in the centre of the table. It helps, somehow. Ben sits in a kitchen chair, pretending to read the newspaper and look patient. But his leg jitters, and I know he’s anxious. “Ready?” he smiles sadly.
“Ben, whoever took her also took her bunny stuffy,” I tell him as we walk to the car.
His face lights up. “Really? That means they want her happy, don’t you think? That means she’s alive?” He opens the car door for me, and I climb into the passenger seat. As I do, something on the floor – something silver – glints in the sunlight. I bend to pick it up.
It’s Cassandra’s engraved silver bracelet. The one she wore when I last saw her.
Chapter 16
Shea, 2005
I had my own silver bracelet once. Henry gave it to me. That bracelet is long gone.
*
Since Henry had more money than anyone else i
n the house, and he was the “man”, he soon became boss. “King Henry” to Alyssa and I. The rest of us brought him his non-stop beers, served him his meals –Kraft dinner, mostly – and pretty much waited on him hand and foot while he lay on the couch watching TV, smoking cigarettes and making loud wise-cracks that he figured were funny.
“Hey, woman! I don’t see no piano tied to your ass. Where’s my beer?” he’d yell at Mom or Auntie Linda. Then he’d laugh loudly to show that he was being good-natured about having to wait a minute.
I didn’t come home much. I was ashamed to bring my friends to our house, so I mostly hung around with them elsewhere. Alyssa was determined, even at the young age of thirteen, to get a good education and live a different kind of life. She was angular, skinny, sombre-faced. There was no softness to her, and she was even more socially backward than I was. But I think she intimidated Henry, and he left her alone. Mom and Linda had part-time jobs at the car-wash, so the brunt of his attention fell on Julie.
He called her “Baby-Doll”, and had her waiting on him hand and foot. “Hey, Baby-Doll, how’s about some potato chips?” he’d ask her with his big, rotten-toothed smile. And he’d crook his finger at her in a way I guess he thought was sexy. “You’re my own little baby-doll,” he’d say by way of thanking her for her constant compliance.
Sometimes he’d take her to Mom’s bedroom for a nap, telling us not to disturb them. I hadn’t exactly lived a sheltered life, so I had an idea about what he was doing in there. But I learned to stay away. One day while they were napping and Alyssa was in the living room studying I made the mistake of knocking on the door.
“Julie, are you in there?” I called. Bam! Moments later the door flew open and Henry, dressed only in his under-shorts, stormed out, his belt in his hand. He was skinny, but he was wiry. He grabbed me, yanked down my pants and took his belt to me. Whap! Whap! Whap! It burned. But the humiliation of being bare-assed in front of that man was worse. As I ran away I turned to see his face. It was red and twisted; evil. He wasn’t pretending to be good-natured any more.
I never let him get the best of me again. One day while I stood at the kitchen counter making a peanut-butter-sandwich for my supper he slunk up behind me. He smelled of booze and body odour, and my stomach churned. I could feel his hot breath on my neck, his body pressing against my back. My skin crawled.
“Hey, little gal, whatcha doin’?” his thick, wheezy voice keened in my ear. I cringed. Suddenly, his hand cupped my butt. I stiffened, holding my breath. His hand moved across my hip, to prod my vagina. A jolt of adrenalin surged through my body, and I turned, drawing up my knee to jab it into his nuts as hard as I could. “Don’t touch me you fuckin’ ass-hole!” I screamed, bringing Alyssa running into the kitchen to see him doubled up on the floor.
“Shea! Come with me!” and she grabbed me. We ran out the door and down the block panting, until we could run no more.
Chapter 17
Shea, September 15, 2018
I’m nauseous. Slipping the bracelet into my jean-jacket pocket I will myself to get a grip. The important thing, right now, is to send a compelling appeal to the public. Maybe someone knows something. It’s all we’ve got.
Ben glances over at me as he pulls out of the drive-way. “Shea? You okay?”
I nod and stare straight ahead. Was it him? Did he take Cassandra away? At least, if he did, I know she’s alive. He wouldn’t hurt her. Do he and Moira want Cassandra for themselves? Is he planning to run away with his girl-friend and my baby? I shake my head a little, pushing everything from it except the matter at hand. We will go and appeal to the masses.
Throngs of reporters, oodles of sympathetic eyes, reassuring shoulder-pats . . . and we’re finished. I broke down, but they tell me that’s okay. It gains support and sympathy. Ben was stellar. He appeared supportive of me and heart-broken. Is he just a great actor?
We ride home in silence. I’m bursting with hatred for him. I want to smack that fake compassionate look right off his face. I want to kick and punch and scream at him. But I sit, stony-faced. Staring straight ahead. When we pull into the drive-way I speak, my voice cold. “Please leave. I want to be alone right now.”
I can see the pain in his eyes, and it pleases me. He nods and waits for me to leave the car. Then he drives off.
When I walk up the steps I see the corner of an envelope sticking out of the mailbox. I pull it out and rip it open. There is a picture of Cassandra lying on a bed. Her eyes are closed, her body spread-eagled. Is she dead? A typewritten note has been stuck in the envelope, and I open it with shaking hands. “Forget about your baby if you know what’s best,” is all it says. I sink, crumpled into a ball there on the front step.
I don’t know how long I lie there before I’m lifted up and strong arms carry me into the house. He places me gently on the living-room sofa, and grazes my cheek with his fingers.
“Shea?” Kyle’s voice is soothing. His touch calms me. I show him the picture and the letter, still clutched in my hand.
“Oh, Sweetie,” he says, his voice breaking. “Oh, my poor girl,” and he kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my eyes. He smells like shampoo and soap; manly soap, clean and refreshing. Then, he softly kisses my lips, and I respond. I kiss him back. Tenderly at first. Then, more and more hungrily. His tongue dives into my mouth, rampaging across my teeth. I feel a jolt of electricity burning a clear path of desire up my belly and through my limbs. No! This can’t be happening. His fingers trail against the hollow of my throat and down to fondle my breasts. I can feel my nipples harden as he rubs and caresses my yielding body. Stop! Something inside me screams. My sister’s voice! And I pull myself back, away from him. He looks at me through glazed eyes.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is ragged, husky.
“I am too,” I mutter, looking deeply into his kind, brown eyes.
“Shea, I know you’re not happy. . . ,“ he begins, then looks away before continuing. “I know it’s wrong of me. But I love you. Can you think of me that way?” A faint smile dances on his lips as he watches my utter confusion. I can’t answer. I can’t speak.
He rises from the couch and looks down at me. His arms are thick and tanned in the form-fitting t-shirt he wears, and his legs look solid, muscular, a telling bulge in his tight jeans. “I can’t resist you right now. I have to go.” And he gives me a crooked smile. I can’t believe I’m feeling this right now!
Chapter 18
September 15, 2018
Back at the precinct Darby throws off her jacket, deep in thought. She ambles over to perch on the edge of Mel’s desk. “What do you think?” she asks, looking probingly at her partner who has deposited himself in his chair.
Mel scratches his chin. “Much as I don’t get that punkish mother, they both seem genuinely upset. I don’t think either one had anything to do with kidnapping their baby. That or they’re awfully good actors,” he muses.
“If she hurt their baby I don’t think she remembers doing it. You’re right,” Darby agrees. Looking through the door to her office, she sees her phone flashing. She rushes to answer, listens a moment, and strides back to her partner’s doorway, “It’s Shea Anderson. She says she thinks maybe her sister took the baby.”
His mouth dropped open. “Her sister! Why?”
Darby grabs her jacket, slung on her desk. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go talk to that girl!” He has to scramble to keep up with her.
*
Shea sits with her legs curled under herself, white-faced, looking even more vulnerable than she did the day before. The story she tells is obviously tearing her apart. The misgivings, questions involving those she holds dearest; the people closest to her, are devastating. The words spill from her like pebbles tumbling out of an upturned sand-pail.
She is drowning in theories and suspicions. Her sister, Alyssa, says the kidnapping was for the best, though she denies having abducted Cassandra. Diane has a green trench-coat like the one someone was seen wearing, running away with a bundle, ju
st after the kidnapping. It is hanging in her house, though she denies it’s hers. Diane has always wanted a child and loved Cassandra. She’s at home now, however, with no child in the house. There’s a bracelet lying on the floor of Ben’s car; a bracelet Cassandra wore just before she disappeared. Is there something between Ben and his partner, Moira? Are they having an affair? Do they want to take Cassandra away from her? Finally, the note and the picture of the lifeless baby has mysteriously appeared in the mailbox.
And here’s the mother herself, unable to account for the hours before the abduction. Darby inhales, holding her breath a moment. Fuck! Incriminating clues all over the place. For the moment, Shea must be reassured and comforted. She speaks heatedly, bending forward and looking Shea in the eye. “Someone is messing with you, Shea. Cassandra is very likely sleeping in this picture. She may have been given a drug. It does not mean she is dead.”
Shea nods. Tears shimmer in her thick-lashed eyes. She stared at Darby, gleaning every ounce of reassurance she can get.
“It looks very much like someone close to you has done this. We’ll get search warrants for your sister’s house, Diane’s, yours, Moira’s, your tenant, Kyle’s, Ben’s parents . . .” She ticks each name off on her fingers as she speaks. “Anyone else that you can think of? Your mother?”
Shea shakes her head slowly, “I can’t think of anyone else that’s close to me. And my mother may be dead for all I know.”
Darby crouches by the sofa where Shea sits, taking hold of her hands, her eyes boring into the stricken woman’s face. “Listen to me. You’re stronger than you think. And you’re doing well. We’ll find your baby. We will.” With a set jaw and determined eyes, she rises.
*
The reports are on Darby’s desk when they return to the station. Poring through them takes time, and it isn’t until early evening when Darby calls her partner at home. (“You go,” she’d told him earlier. “That sexy little wifey of yours is waiting. All I have at home is a fuckin’ vibrator!”)