The Final Act Read online

  “Just sleepy.”

  Cindy felt her body tense. To sleep, she thought uneasily. Perchance to dream. “Quick,” she said. “Name all the seven dwarfs.”

  “What?”

  “From Snow White. You know Sleepy, Bashful, Grumpy, Doc, Happy. . .”

  “Cindy, what’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “Because it’s midnight and we’re talking about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. What is it? Don’t you want me to stay?”

  “No, of course I want you to stay.”

  “You’re sure? Because if you’re not comfortable. . .”

  “It’s not that.” Cindy reached for her robe and climbed out of bed, crossing to the window and opening the shutters, staring past the backyard toward the roofs of the large homes along Clarendon, wondering absently what secrets were hidden beneath those roofs.

  “What is it?” Neil asked, coming up behind her, surrounding her with his arms.

  “It’s just that I’m a bit of a restless sleeper these days.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “I’m not so sure how understanding you’ll be when my screaming wakes you up a couple of hours from now.”

  “You’ve been having nightmares?”

  “I don’t know what you’d call them. They’re so stupid.” Cindy told Neil of waking up in a sweat night after night, convinced she was dying because she’d forgotten to take some nonexistent pills. “My mother says it’s hormonal. My sister says it’s a natural by-product of my anxiety. Either way, it’s making me crazy.”

  “I think I might be able to help you,” Neil offered.

  “Really? How?”

  “Come here.” Neil led her back to bed and sat her down, then disappeared into the en suite bathroom.

  Seconds later Cindy heard him rummaging around in her medicine cabinet, heard the sound of water running from the taps.

  “I don’t want any sleeping pills,” she said as he re-entered the room, a glass of water in his right hand.

  “You need to sleep, Cindy.”

  “Not everything can be cured by taking a pill.”

  “Try these.” Neil perched on the side of the bed and opened the fist of his free hand.

  Cindy stared into his empty palm. “What’s this—the emperor’s new pills?”

  “Take as many as you need.”

  Cindy smiled, stared into the deep blue of his eyes. “You really think this is going to work?”

  “Can’t hurt. Go on. Doctor’s orders.”

  Cindy’s fingers hesitated over the invisible pills. She took one, raised it to her mouth, then dropped it onto the tip of her tongue, and swallowed it down with some water. Then she reached over, took another one.

  “Why don’t you have one more, for good luck?”

  “For good luck,” Cindy agreed, swallowing the third invisible pill and returning the glass of water to Neil’s waiting hand. “Now what?”

  Neil deposited the empty glass on the night table beside the bed, then climbed into bed beside Cindy, sliding down under the covers and taking her in his arms. “Good night, Cindy,” he said, kissing her softly. “Sleep well.”

  *

  WHEN CINDY WOKE up at seven-thirty the next morning, Neil was already in the shower. “Well, what do you know? The damn pills actually worked.” She laughed out loud, was considering joining Neil in the shower when the phone rang.

  “Cindy, it’s Ryan Sellick,” the voice boomed across the phone wires. “I know it’s early, and I’m probably the last person in the world you want to be hearing from under the circumstances, but . . .”

  Neil emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair.

  “Is something wrong?” Cindy asked, the expression on Neil’s face asking the same thing. “My neighbor,” she whispered, her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t be calling you if I weren’t absolutely desperate.”

  “What is it, Ryan?”

  Neil crossed the room, kissed Cindy’s forehead, began gathering up his clothes.

  “It’s just that you’ve always been so kind to Faith, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

  “Is Faith all right?”

  “She’s had a really rough couple of days. She was up most of the night, and she just fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. Unfortunately, I have to be in Hamilton all day.”

  “You want me to look in on her?”

  “I was wondering if you could take care of Kyle until Faith wakes up. I know it’s a hell of a thing for me to be asking. Especially when you think I might have. . .” He paused. “It’s just that I’m being picked up in less than half an hour, and. . .”

  “Okay,” Cindy told him, watching Neil get dressed.

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Cindy said.

  “Thank you. Cindy. . .”

  “What?”

  Silence. Then, “Please believe I had nothing to do with Julia’s disappearance.”

  “I’ll be over soon.” Cindy hung up the phone.

  “You’re sure that’s a good idea?” Neil asked.

  Cindy shrugged. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “Maybe immersing myself in someone else’s problems for a few hours will take my mind off my own.”

  “You’re amazing,” Neil said.

  “I had a good night’s sleep.”

  Neil kissed her gently on the lips. His hair smelled of green apple shampoo. “I better go home, get changed for work.”

  “Thank Max for me for letting his father stay out all night,” Cindy said as she was walking him to the front door minutes later.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Cindy watched Neil drive off, then hurried upstairs to get dressed, realizing she was feeling better—more positive—than she had in days. Was it because she’d actually slept through the night for the first time in weeks? Because she was having sex for the first time in years? Because she thought she might be falling in love? “How can I even be thinking about falling in love at a time like this?” she asked the silent house, discarding her terry-cloth robe and standing naked in the upstairs hall, knowing that she was completely alone, that her mother wasn’t here to warn her of the dangers of catching a draft, her sister wasn’t waiting to point out that she too could have a flat stomach if she had the time Cindy had to work out, that Heather wasn’t gasping in embarrassment and dismay at what the future held in store, that Julia wasn’t here to tell her to please put something on. . . .

  That Julia wasn’t here.

  “I’m all alone,” Cindy said as the dog rushed over to lick at her toes. “Well, maybe not all alone,” she amended, surprisingly grateful for the animal’s presence. She knelt to stroke his side, watched him roll over to offer his belly. “Thank you for being here,” she told him, obliging him with a few heartfelt scratches. Elvis groaned his pleasure, stretched himself out to his full length, pawed at the air for more.

  Don’t stop, he seemed to be saying. Don’t stop.

  Don’t stop, she heard herself cry out in joyous abandon as Neil buried his head between her thighs.

  “I’m doing it again,” she said out loud. How can I be happy? How can I be hopeful for the future when the present is so unsettled?

  And yet hope was exactly what she was experiencing. Was it some kind of premonition? Cindy wondered as she showered and dressed. Was her intuition telling her that things were about to change, that all was not lost, that there was indeed reason to be optimistic?

  Maybe at this very instant, Julia was being rescued, Cindy projected, racing down the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe any minute now, the police would be turning up at her front door with the good news. “And I won’t be here,” she said, deciding to call Detective Bartolli, tell him where she’d be. Just in case. She left the Sellicks’ phone number with the officer who answered the phone, then shut Elvis in the kitchen, and quickly exited the house.<
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  She arrived at the Sellicks’ door at the same time a black Caprice was pulling into the driveway.

  “Would you tell Ryan his lift is here?” an attractive young woman called, leaning out the window of the driver’s seat.

  Cindy smiled at the woman, whose long coral-colored ringlets hung past the shoulders of her low-cut, floral-print blouse, acknowledging the young woman’s request with a nod of her head as she rang the bell.

  “Cindy, thank God,” Ryan said as he opened the door.

  “Your lift is here.” Cindy motioned toward the driveway, stepped into the hall.

  Ryan signalled with his index finger to the young woman, then closed the door. “The baby’s asleep,” he said, straightening his dark blue tie, speaking quickly. “Faith’s been expressing her milk, so there are a few bottles in the fridge. All you have to do is heat one up for a minute in the microwave. . .”

  “Ryan,” Cindy interrupted gently. “It’s okay. I know what to do.”

  “Of course you do.” His eyes swept across the floor, like a broom. “Damn it. Where’d I put my briefcase?”

  “Is that it?” Cindy pointed to a black leather briefcase propped against the wall next to the kitchen.

  “That’s it.” He took two giant steps toward it, scooped it into his hands, held it tight against his gray suit, his eyes shooting from the kitchen to the living room. “I’m sorry the place is such a mess.”

  “I’ll try to straighten up a little.”

  “Oh no, please. You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s fine. Gives me something to do.”

  Outside, a car horn honked.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Go.”

  “I look okay?”

  “You look great.”

  “Very important potential client or I’d send somebody else.”

  “Knock ‘em dead.”

  “You’re a godsend, Cindy. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  You can find my little girl, she thought. “Your ride’s waiting,” she said.

  Ryan opened the door. “I’ve left my cell phone number on the kitchen counter, in case there are any problems.”

  “There won’t be.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I get two minutes.”

  “Try not to worry.”

  Ryan ran down the front steps to the car, then stopped, his hand on the door handle. “Has there been any news?” he called back, an obvious afterthought.

  Cindy shook her head. “Drive carefully,” she advised the impatient young woman behind the wheel of the car.

  “I’ll phone you later.”

  Cindy waved as the woman backed her car onto the street and turned west toward Poplar Plains, not envying them the traffic they faced. Hamilton was almost close enough to be considered a suburb, but rush hour traffic would add at least twenty minutes to the normally hour-long drive. And that was providing there were no accidents along the way.

  (Typical Altercation: “It was an accident, for God’s sake,” Julia, age thirteen and already towering over her mother, stares unapologetically at the broken Lalique vase her careless hand has swept off the mantel above the fireplace.

  “I know it was an accident,” Cindy says evenly. “I just said you should be more careful.”

  “It’s just a damn vase. I don’t know what you’re getting so bent out of shape about.”

  “It was a birthday gift from Meg. And please watch your language.”

  “What’d I say? Damn? You call that language?”

  “Julia. . .”

  “I hear you say much worse.”

  “That doesn’t mean. . .”

  “It means you’re a hypocrite.”

  “Julia. . .”

  “Mother. . .”

  Stalemate.)

  Cindy closed the front door, leaned her head against it, trying not to hear the echo of Julia’s recriminations clawing at her through the years. I have to stop doing this, she thought. I have to stop projecting Julia into every scenario, stop putting her inflection into every casual utterance.

  How do I do that? she asked, pushing herself away from the door. How do I stop thinking about my daughter? How do I get used to living without her?

  She walked into the living room, the hope she’d felt only moments earlier rapidly dissipating as she surveyed the chaos. Pillows from the living room sofa lay scattered on the hardwood floor. There were used coffee cups everywhere. Something sticky grabbed at the soles of her shoes. A plate of leftover pieces of Kentucky Fried Chicken sat largely untouched on the water-stained coffee table in the middle of the room. Cindy carried the plate into the kitchen, swept the food into the garbage disposal under the sink, the sink full of dirty dishes. “What a mess.” She stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, then rinsed out by hand the half dozen wine glasses on the counter.

  Was Faith drinking? Or was it Ryan?

  Does your daughter drink? Detective Gill had asked.

  No, Cindy said.

  Occasionally, Tom corrected.

  “Stop it,” Cindy said out loud. Not everything is about Julia.

  Julia’s reflection winked at her from the large window overlooking the backyard. “Of course it is,” she said, as upstairs, a baby started to cry.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  CINDY hurried up the stairs to the nursery, glancing toward the closed doors of the master bedroom as she tiptoed past, hoping the baby’s cries wouldn’t disturb Faith. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she cooed at the screaming infant, his face scrunched into a tight, wrinkled ball, like a roll of bright pink yarn. She reached into the crib and drew the baby gingerly to her chest, kissing his soft, sweet-smelling forehead as she rocked him gently back and forth. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

  Amazingly, the infant stopped howling almost immediately.

  That was easy, Cindy thought, standing by the side of the crib, continuing her rhythmic rocking. Too easy, she realized, as seconds later, the baby stiffened in her arms, his hands and feet shooting from his body like the limbs of a leaping frog. A fresh round of screams pierced the air. “My goodness,” Cindy muttered, tapping the door to the nursery closed with her foot. Had Julia ever screamed this loudly? “Do you need changing? Is that the problem?”

  Cindy looked around the nursery, noticing for the first time what a lovely room it was. Pale blue walls, bleached wood crib and hand-painted dresser, a high shelf filled with soft, colorful, stuffed animals that ran along three of the walls, a bentwood rocking chair by the small side window, its curtains the same delicate blue-and-white gingham as the crib sheets. A mobile of dancing elephants hung from the overhead light fixture; another mobile, this one of pastel-colored butterflies, dangled over the crib. “Everything you could ask for,” Cindy told the crying infant, lying him across the changing table against one wall and reaching for the giant box of disposable diapers at her feet. “We’ll get you all cleaned up and then you’ll be happy. You’ll see.” She unsnapped the baby’s clean white sleeper and removed his diaper with a sure and steady hand. “Just like riding a bicycle,” she told the baby, whose response was to scream even louder. “Not too impressed, I see.” And not wet either, she realized, replacing the dry diaper with another, then leaning forward to secure the tabs just as a sudden arch of urine sprayed into the air, narrowly missing her eye. Cindy pulled back, startled. “Oh, my,” she said with her mother’s voice. “Well, I only had girls. They didn’t do things like that.” She wiped off the top of the changing table and replaced the now-wet diaper with another clean one, then gently maneuvered the baby’s wriggling feet back into the legs of his sleeper, before carrying him out of the room. “Ssh,” she cautioned, hurrying past the master bedroom and down the stairs. “We don’t want to wake Mommy. Mommy needs her sleep.” Mommy needs a psychiatrist, Cindy thought, proceeding past the messy living room into the now-tidy kitchen. Or, at the very least, a housekeeper. She reached into the fridge, located one of the baby’s bot
tles, and popped it into the microwave, the baby screaming steadily in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll have you all fixed up in no time.”

  Or not, Cindy thought when the infant refused to take the bottle. “Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. Mmmm. Warm milk. Yummy delicious. Try some.”

  Cindy carried the baby into the living room, and sank down on the pillowless green velvet sofa, cradling Kyle the way she remembered cradling Julia. She’d nursed Julia for almost a year, she remembered fondly, as Kyle’s lips bounced across her white T-shirt, searching for her breast. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I don’t have any milk. But I have this yummy bottle.” She slid the rubber nipple into his mouth, even as Kyle tried turning his head away in protest. “Come on, sweetheart. Give it a chance.”

  Kyle’s lips suddenly locked around the rubber nipple, his crying shuddering to a halt as he devoted all his energy to draining the liquid from the bottle.

  “That’s a good boy. Yes, that’s it. Now you’ve got it.”

  Julia used to suckle with that same ferocious determination, Cindy found herself thinking, recalling the hard tug at her breast each time Julia would settle in against her to be fed. She kissed the top of Kyle’s down-covered head, tried remembering the same scene with Heather. But Cindy had few memories of nursing Heather, and those few she did have revolved more around Julia, who’d sit screaming at Cindy’s feet, her arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s knees, every time Cindy tried breast-feeding her younger child. Ultimately, everyone involved was a nervous wreck, and Cindy switched Heather over to a bottle when she was barely two months old.

  “Well, well. Look at you go.” Cindy watched the milk rapidly disappear from the bottle. When the bottle was empty, Cindy lifted Kyle over her shoulder and gently patted his back until she heard him burp. “What a guy,” Cindy murmured, rocking him back and forth in her arms until he drifted off to sleep.

  She’d always loved this part. The baby part. She knew a lot of women didn’t, that they had trouble relating to their children until their children started relating to them. Maybe Faith was one of those women. Maybe once Kyle started responding to her, she’d stop viewing his outbursts as evidence of her own failure. Maybe as the year progressed, and Kyle started sitting up, trying to stand, to walk, to talk, she’d realize what a miracle she and her husband had created together, the tremendous gift they’d been given, and she’d be happy.