Kiss Mommy Goodbye Page 21

  Donna took the cream and looked guiltily at the tops of her hands. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Doesn’t Mommy look beautiful,” Mel said, seeming to mean it. “How was the trip down?”

  “Fine. Uneventful,” Kate answered.

  “You all ready to leave?” Mel asked Annie.

  “My suitcases are upstairs.”

  “I’ll get them in a minute,” he said.

  “I thought we’d drive up to Disney World for a few days before heading back to New York,” Kate said to her daughter who was by this point quivering with anticipation and delight. “I rented a car.”

  “I thought that red job was yours,” Mel said knowingly.

  “Well, I always did like red.”

  Donna thought immediately of their bedroom, with its red-and-white checkered wallpaper and matching bedspread and drapes, its red broadloom and ivory lamp with the red shade. The entire room, she decided abruptly, would have to be changed.

  “Let’s go!” Annie shouted.

  “I’ll get Annie’s things,” Donna offered. It was Mrs. Harrison’s day off and besides, this way she could avoid the prolonged farewell at the door. When she returned with Annie’s two suitcases and an additional bag of selected toys, the hugs and kisses were just concluding. Mel took the luggage from her; Kate relieved her of the bag of toys.

  “You going to kiss Donna goodbye for the summer?” Mel asked.

  “No!” the child responded quickly.

  “Annie!” Her mother.

  “Annie!” Her father.

  “No!” Annie.

  “It’s all right.” Donna. “Really.”

  Mel led the way out of the house and over to the red Plymouth. Kate and Annie followed close behind. Donna remained in the doorway. “Have a nice summer,” she called after them. No one bothered to turn around. She walked back into the entranceway. Little brat, she thought, feeling her anger growing. It wouldn’t have killed you to kiss me goodbye.

  It was about five minutes before Donna heard the car back up out of the driveway and disappear down the street. Mel was undoubtedly waving them out of sight. He walked back inside a minute later. By that time, Donna’s anger had grown into a minor rage.

  “I’m going to have to get back to the clinic—”

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” she shouted.

  “What—?”

  “I didn’t need this stupid cream! Not right this minute, anyway. It could have waited!” She threw the ointment across the white ceramic tile. Mel said nothing, waiting until Donna had finished. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t think I’ve been through enough lately? I should have the added pleasure of entertaining your ex-wife for half an hour! Why didn’t you tell her I lived here? What gave you the right to discuss Adam and Sharon with her? Have you any idea what it was like for me to have to deal with all that? How could you do that to me?!”

  Mel waited until the anger had drained from her face. Then he walked over and put his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t think. I’m really very sorry.”

  Donna burst into tears against his chest. “Why didn’t she want to kiss me goodbye, Mel?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Why wouldn’t she kiss me goodbye?”

  The first phone call came precisely at three minutes after two o’clock on a Friday afternoon fourteen weeks after Victor’s disappearance.

  “For you,” Mrs. Harrison said, holding the phone in Donna’s direction.

  Donna walked lazily over to where the housekeeper stood waiting. She had weeks ago given up hope that it might be someone calling with some useful information. Mel had discontinued the detective Mr. Stamler had previously hired—nothing new had turned up in months. All roads led to nowhere. “Hello.”

  “I thought I’d find you there.”

  Donna froze. She felt the color drain from her face and an ache beginning to build at the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to speak. “Victor?”

  “You remember. I’m flattered.”

  “For God’s sake, where are you?”

  “Always asking for more than I can give you,” he said with resignation.

  “Where are you?”

  “If you ask me that again, I’ll hang up.”

  Donna felt herself panic. “Please don’t hang up!”

  “You have exactly sixty seconds to ask how your children are.” Donna could see him looking at his watch.

  She tried to keep her voice from cracking. “How’s Adam? How’s Sharon?” she asked, obeying his instructions.

  “They’re fine,” he said coldly. “Sharon doesn’t miss you at all.” Donna thought of her little girl, saw her soft brown curls and pale blue eyes. Those extraordinary eyes which registered everything like an instamatic camera. She will not forget me, Donna thought. She will not forget me. “Adam asked about you.”

  Donna’s heart was beginning to race. “What did you tell him?”

  “That you didn’t want to see him anymore. That you’d found another family you liked better.”

  “Victor, you didn’t say that! My God, you didn’t really tell him that!” He knew. He always knew her worst fears. If she let herself love Mel, his daughter—another family you liked better—she would lose her own children forever.

  “Your sixty seconds are up, Donna. Goodbye.”

  The phone went dead in her hands. “No!” she cried. “Victor! Victor!” She could feel him smiling at her through the phone. She slammed the receiver down hard against its gilded carriage. Mrs. Harrison walked back into the room, her gentle black face looking appropriately alarmed. Donna brushed her aside and moved to one of the overstuffed beige chairs, collapsing inside its oversized arms. She sat there, not moving, saying nothing, until Mel came home from work.

  They asked the police about putting a tracer on the phone, but once again they were informed that this was not a police matter. They were also told it was an extremely expensive procedure and one that would be of no value if Donna was unable to keep the caller speaking for at least several minutes. Donna knew that Victor would never take the risk of being traced, if, indeed, he ever called again. Somehow, she knew he would call again. It had been too much fun that first time not to do it again.

  They left the police station feeling frustrated and depressed.

  “At least we know they haven’t left the country,” Mel said, as they walked toward the car.

  “We knew that already.”

  “I guess we did.” They walked several paces in silence. “What did you think of Annie’s letter?” Donna recognized the question as an obvious attempt to turn her attention in another direction, to get her thinking of other things. She understood what Mel was trying to do, but she resented it nonetheless. She did not want her attention diverted. She was not ready.

  “I didn’t have time to read it.”

  “You’ve had two days,” he smiled.

  “I didn’t have time.”

  “She’s sounding very grown-up,” he continued, ignoring the edge to her voice.

  “Good for her.”

  “Apparently, Kate took her to a few Broadway plays.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You don’t sound very interested.”

  “I’m listening, aren’t I?”

  They came to the parking meter beside which the white MG was stationed. A yellow parking ticket clung to its window. “Expired,” Mel said, checking the meter. “Great.” He took the ticket and put it in the pocket of his navy blue pants, removing his car keys from the same pocket in one flowing gesture. He opened first her door and then walked around to open his own. She was already seated, her seat belt secure, when he lowered his body inside. “Where to?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Feel like a drive?”

  “Sure.”

  “We could drive down to Lauderdale for a sandwich.”

  “Long way to go for a sandwich.”

  “Nice drive though. We’ll go
along the ocean.”

  Donna shrugged again. “Whatever you want.”

  He started the car. They drove in silence until they reached the ocean, then Mel turned the car south. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you.”

  Donna couldn’t believe her ears. Where was Mel’s brain these last few weeks? “About what’s bothering me? What do you think is bothering me, for Pete’s sake? The weather?”

  “Take it easy, Donna.”

  “Well, what kind of question is that? I get a call from Victor, the police tell us it can’t be traced, that there’s no way we can trace any future calls, and you ask me what’s bothering me? You expect me to talk about Annie’s letters! We are no closer to finding my children than the day Victor ran off with them, only I’m just supposed to carry on like they’re away in boarding school or something! I’m supposed to carry on like I’m some dumb Pollyanna! What do you want from me, Mel? I’m not Superwoman.”

  “Nobody wants you to be.”

  “Then what is it you do want?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s just drop it. I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.”

  “You’re disappointed because I didn’t read Annie’s letters?”

  “I just thought you might have found the time.”

  “The letters are all addressed to you.”

  “She knows you’ll read them.”

  “If she wanted me to read them, she’d address them to both of us.”

  “You know how kids are.”

  Donna turned abruptly in his direction, a path of ice between her eyes and his.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I just meant I’m sure she means them for you as well.”

  “And I’m sure she doesn’t. Mel, has she even mentioned my name in any of her letters? You know, love to Donna, that sort of thing?”

  “No.”

  Donna laughed haltingly.

  “Have you ever written to her?” he asked.

  “You expect me to write to her?”

  “I just asked if you had.” He paused. “Look, Donna, the two of you just got off to a bad start. Well, no, actually, the start was fine. Those first five months, you were beautiful together. It wasn’t until—this whole thing started—that things started to fall apart between the two of you. She understands what you’re going through, but she’s a kid. She also understands that you don’t pay very much attention to her, that you’re preoccupied, that she’s—an afterthought—”

  “Neat turn of phrase, Doctor,” Donna cut in.

  He ignored her interruption. “She’s very sensitive, Donna. She’s already lost one full-time mother. She doesn’t want to invest a lot of feeling into somebody else unless she’s very sure she’s going to get something back. She has strong defenses. Right now she’s very aware that you’d trade her twenty times over to get your own children back.”

  Donna let out a deep breath of air. Everything he said was true. “What is it you think I should do?” she asked sincerely. What on earth was the matter with her? She loved this man; she could easily love his little girl. Why was she so mean to her? Why couldn’t she accept her? She wanted to. She wanted to love the little girl. And yet, something kept stopping her. Something that kept telling her that should she open the door for Annie to come inside, she would be forever closing out her own children. “She’s found another family she likes better,” Victor had said to her. She shook the thought out of her head. No, my babies, she said silently, seeing Adam before her, hearing his small voice say the words with her—never. Never ever.

  “I think it would be a nice thing if you wrote to her. I think she’d really like that.”

  Donna nodded her head. “Okay. I’ll write to her.” She leaned her head back against the car’s black interior. Her hair blew against her cheek as the wind raced in from the open windows, filling the small area with the sound of the surf and the smell of the ocean. Donna let her body relax against the sound of the water’s flow, feeling the muscles in her neck give in to the natural rhythm. It was better than a good massage, she thought, wondering how anyone who had ever lived near the ocean could ever bear to live anywhere else.

  “Feeling better?” Mel asked after a silence of almost half an hour.

  She looked over at him and smiled. “Yes.” He always knew when to leave her alone. “Are we there yet?” she asked, childlike.

  “Another five minutes.”

  Donna reached her hand over and let it rest on Mel’s thigh. “I guess I’ve been pretty preoccupied as far as you’re concerned too.”

  “I can wait.”

  Donna shook her head in bewilderment. “What makes you such a nice man?”

  “Good genes.”

  Donna laughed and for the first time in weeks found herself thinking of her mother. How would she have handled all this? she wondered. They pulled off the highway and started west toward Manny’s delicatessen. “I’ll write to Annie as soon as we get home,” she said, with fresh resolve. Her mother would have written to Annie.

  But when they got home at five P.M., she looked over at the telephone in the living room and suddenly felt very tired. She told Mel she was going to lie down for a while, to wake her up when he wanted some dinner. But he didn’t, and when she suddenly found herself awake at three A.M., he was sound asleep beside her.

  Donna got quietly out of bed, realized Mel had already undressed her, threw a housecoat over her body and walked down the stairs into the kitchen. Then she switched on the radio Mel had recently purchased for her and started absently to wipe at the kitchen counter. After fifteen minutes, she actively sought out the Fantastik and other assorted cleansers. It was almost half past four when she switched off the radio, turned off the lights, and went back upstairs to bed.

  EIGHTEEN

  Donna sat in the bedroom she shared with Mel and stared at the red-and-white checks of the wallpaper. Mel had told her that she could do whatever she wanted to with the room, change it however she liked. And so every afternoon, just after Annie came home from school, Donna would come up here and sit cross-legged on the floor trying to come up with some fresh ideas. It was becoming something of a ritual. In the last few days, she realized, she had simply let herself get lost in the monotony of the checkered pattern. Her thoughts, if there were any, had nothing to do with redecorating.

  The phone rang four times before Donna realized it was ringing and ran to the night table by the bed to answer it.

  “Hello.”

  The voice was quiet. “You sound out of breath.”

  “Victor?”

  “Sharon’s crying.”

  He hung up.

  “Victor? Victor? Hello! Hello!” Donna desperately brought her finger down on the carriage, clicking it up and down, knowing already that the line was dead. Slowly, she lowered the receiver and stood perfectly still beside it.

  “Another phone call?” the small voice asked from the door.

  Donna turned and watched Annie walk into the room. She nodded. In the last three months, Victor had called four times.

  “What did he say this time?” the child asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You can tell me.” Reaching out.

  “Don’t you have homework?” Slapping back down.

  “I’m only eight years old, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Don’t swear.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “Don’t give me a hard time, Annie. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You’re never in the mood. For anything.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Harrison? Why don’t you go bother her for a while?”

  Donna watched the child’s eyes cloud over with soft mist. “She’s out doing the grocery shopping,” Annie said, her lower lip quivering.

  Donna looked away, feeling intensely guilty. Annie had Mel’s big brown eyes and her mother’s way of holding herself erect. Goddamn her and Goddamn me! she thought. Why does she make me feel so guilty? She’s just a child. Mel’s child. Yes, Mel�
�s child. Not my child. My little girl is God-knows-where. Victor said she was crying. If Sharon’s crying, you can damn well cry too! She looked back at Annie.

  Annie stood motionless, refusing to let the tear that had formed in her left eye fall. Donna sank down to her knees and extended her arms towards the child. “I’m sorry, Annie,” she said softly. “Really, I am. I just get so upset whenever Victor calls. It takes me a few minutes to get my head back on straight. Come here, honey, let me hold you.”

  The vehemence of the child’s response startled Donna.

  “Stop telling me what to do!” she yelled, letting the tears flow freely. “You’re not my mother! You’re a rotten mother! No wonder Victor took your children away! I hate you!”

  Donna steadied herself against the floor as Annie fled the room.

  “You’re not dressed yet?” Mel asked, walking into the bedroom, its starkly bared walls still a shock after more than three weeks. Donna had painstakingly removed all the old paper by herself. So far, she had done nothing to replace it.

  She watched from her position at the edge of the bed as Mel walked over to look at himself in the mirror over the dresser.

  “I don’t know what to wear,” she said blankly.

  “Anything. Rod said it was going to be very casual.”

  “I spilled coffee on my white pants.”

  “So, wear the blue ones.”

  “What blue ones?”

  “Whichever ones you want.”

  “You’re a big help.”

  “Sorry, honey, I just don’t know what to say.”

  “I ask you for one little thing, one simple, little thing, and it’s too much for you.”

  “Hey—”

  “I’m obviously having trouble deciding what I should wear—it’s a party, you think it’s important enough to insist that I go—”

  “I think it’s important that we start to get out more—”

  “You’re interrupting me—I asked you a simple favor, help me decide what to wear, only you don’t feel it’s important enough to bother with.”