Lost (18 page)

“No, thank you.”

Cindy pushed herself to her feet. “I could use some fresh air.”

“How about a walk?” Neil asked.

Elvis barked his enthusiastic approval, headed for the door.

Cindy laughed. “You said the magic word. Actually, a walk sounds great.” Elvis began circling the hall, barking even louder. “Okay, okay, you can come.” She walked slowly into the kitchen, retrieved Elvis’s leash, and attached it to his collar.

“You’re sure you’re all right to go out?” her mother asked.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Don’t go too far,” she advised as Cindy and Neil headed down the outside stairs, Neil’s hand guiding Cindy’s elbow. “Don’t let her do too much,” her mother called after them.

“For heaven’s sake, Mom,” Cindy heard Leigh hiss from the doorway. “She’s not a child. Stop fussing over her. Ouch, my arm.…”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Neil asked Cindy as they continued down the street.

Cindy felt her legs grow stronger, her footing more secure, with each step away from her house. “I’ll be fine as soon as we get around the corner.” The dog yanked on Cindy’s arm, demanding that she pick up the pace.

Neil took the leash from Cindy’s hand. “Let me do this.”

“Thank you.” Cindy marveled at the way the dog immediately slowed down, fell into step beside Neil. “How did you do that?”

“It’s all in the pressure.”

“I’m not very good with pressure,” Cindy said.

“Well, there’s only so much anyone can take.” They turned south on Poplar Plains. “I assume no one’s heard from Julia.”

Cindy nodded, pointed to her right. “Let’s go to the park.” They walked in silence for several seconds along Clarendon. “What made you drop by?”

“I wanted to see how everything was. I called yesterday.…”

“I didn’t get your message until today.”

“Yes, your sister mentioned something about there being no pad and pencil by the phone.”

“She doesn’t waste any time.”

“That’s the impression I got.”

Cindy smiled. “She’s really a very nice person.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“I shouldn’t sound so ungrateful.”

“You don’t.” They stopped for Elvis to pee against a line of scraggly red and yellow rosebushes. “Anyway, when I didn’t hear back from you, I thought I’d take a chance and drop by, see for myself how you were doing.”

“And you found me sprawled across the kitchen floor.”

He nodded. “What happened to make you faint?”

Cindy shook her head. “Damned if I know. One minute I was looking at my sister; next minute, I was looking at you.”

“Maybe you should call your doctor.”

“I’m sure my mother is doing exactly that as we speak.”

They crossed Russell Hill Road and headed up the side entrance to Winston Churchill Park, where Cindy bent down and unhooked the leash from Elvis’s collar, letting the dog run free. He bounded up the slight incline to the foot of a steep hill.
DANGER
, a sign proclaimed in big, bold letters at its base.
SLOPE & FENCE HAZARD, SLEIGHING, TOBOGGANING PROHIBITED
. A collapsing orange wire fence looped casually along the ground; a flight of wooden steps ran diagonally up the right side of the hill. Elvis was already halfway to the top by the time Cindy and Neil began their climb.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Neil asked.

“Lead on.” The top of the hill plateaued into a small field of dry, yellow grass. Cindy and Neil arrived at the top step in
time to see Elvis bound between a father and his young son, who were struggling with a large, blue-and-gold kite, then pounce on a young couple sunbathing near the row of tennis courts at the far end of the park. “Elvis, stop that. Come back here,” Cindy called as the dog chased after a jogger in a pair of lime green shorts who was puffing along the well-worn perimeter of the park. An elderly Chinese woman, who was exercising with meticulous deliberation near a set of concrete stairs that led to a nearby ravine, stopped to give Elvis a pat on the head. “I’m sorry if he bothered you,” Cindy said just as she was hit in the leg by a well-chewed, misaimed rubber ball. Immediately, a large white poodle was at her feet, grabbing the ball in his teeth, then taking off for the middle of the park, Elvis in quick pursuit, to where a group of pet owners were clustered together.

“Quite the scene,” Neil remarked as Elvis raced circles around the other dogs.

“Elvis!” a woman shouted warmly in greeting. “How are you, boy?”

“Sorry about that ball,” a middle-aged man apologized as Cindy approached the group. “Didn’t realize I could throw that far. How you doin’, Elvis?”

“You know my dog?”

“Oh, sure,” another woman answered easily. “We all know Elvis. You want a treat, boy?” The woman, her short pixie hair peeking out from under a Blue Jays baseball cap, reached into the side pocket of her baggy olive green pants and pulled out a biscuit. “Sit,” she instructed.

Elvis promptly did as he was told.

“Amazing,” Cindy said.

Immediately, six other dogs rushed the woman, begging for treats. Along with the white poodle, there was a smaller red one, a big German shepherd, a bigger Golden Lab, and two medium-sized black dogs whose breeds Cindy couldn’t identify.

“Where’s Julia?” a young girl asked as Elvis chewed on his treat. The girl was about twelve years old, with thin yellow hair and a mouthful of braces. She stood beside a younger girl with the exact same face, minus the hardware.

Cindy hadn’t expected to hear her daughter’s name. It stabbed at her heart like a sharp stick. Instinctively, her hand reached for Neil’s. She felt his fingers fold over her own. “You know Julia?”

“She’s so pretty,” the younger of the two sisters answered with a laugh.

“Haven’t seen her around in a while,” the woman with the treats said, pushing gray-streaked black hair away from her narrow face. “Did she take off for Hollywood?”

Did she? Cindy wondered. “When was the last time you saw her?” she asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

“I’m not sure. About two weeks ago, I guess.”

“Was she with anyone?”

The woman looked puzzled by the question.

“She was with her new boyfriend,” the younger of the two sisters offered with a giggle.

“Her new boyfriend?” Cindy felt her throat constricting, as if a stranger’s hands were around her neck, strangling further attempts at conversation. “Do you know his
name?” she whispered hoarsely, kneeling down on the grass in front of the younger, yellow-haired girl.

The child shook her head, looked anxiously toward her sister.

“Can you tell me what Julia’s boyfriend looked like? Please, it’s very important.”

The little girl shrugged, backed against her older sister’s side.

“Is there a problem?” someone asked from above her head.

“Julia’s been missing since Thursday,” Cindy said, eyes focused on the two girls.

“Oh, dear.”

“I saw her yesterday,” a man said.

Instantly, Cindy was on her feet, advancing toward him. “You saw her yesterday?”

The man, who was fortyish, heavyset, and balding, took a step back. “She was sitting right over there.” He pointed toward a lone bench at the far end of the park. “She was crying.”

“Crying?”

“That wasn’t Julia,” the man’s wife corrected. “It was the other one. Heather. Is that her name? Such a nice girl.”

“Heather was here yesterday?”

“About four o’clock. Sitting right over there,” the man repeated. “Crying her heart out. You’re sure that wasn’t Julia?” he asked his wife.

Was she?

“It was the other one,” his wife insisted.

What would Heather be doing in the park, crying?

“I wanted to ask her if there was anything we could do to help, but …” The woman shook her head in her
husband’s direction, as if her failure to take action was his fault.

“We decided it was none of our business,” her husband replied defensively.

“Have you called the police?” someone asked, the voices beginning to blend together in Cindy’s ears, becoming indistinguishable one from the other.

“The police have been contacted,” Neil answered for her. “But if any of you can think of anything that might be of help.…”

“Can’t think of a thing,” someone said.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

“I’m so sorry,” said someone else.

“Good luck.”

Their voices receded as their footsteps pulled away. Cindy stared at the trampled grass until it grew quiet. When she looked up again, she and Neil were alone in the center of the park.

“Are you all right?” Neil asked.

Cindy shrugged, realized she was still holding tightly onto Neil’s hand. “Sorry,” she said, releasing his fingers from her vise-like grip.

“Any time.”

Cindy’s eyes swept across the dry field. The father and his young son were still struggling with their uncooperative kite; the sunbathers were still stretched out on their blanket by the tennis courts; the jogger in the lime green shorts was still running in hapless circles around the track; the elderly Chinese woman was still doing her exercises. “Where’s Elvis?” Cindy asked, spinning around. “Elvis!” She ran to the edge of the hill, looked down, saw a bunch of other dogs playing at the bottom. No Elvis.
“Oh no.” She raced to the other side of the park. “Elvis! Where is he? Elvis! Where are you?”

Neil was right beside her. “Take it easy, Cindy. We’ll find him.”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I lost Julia’s dog.”

“We’ll find him,” Neil repeated.

She was crying now. “Julia will never forgive me. She’ll never forgive me.”

Neil took her arm, deliberately slowed her pace, led her toward the tennis courts. “Elvis!” he called out, his voice racing ahead of them as they walked around the side of the double row of courts to the front part of the park. They passed a group of young men playing soccer, dodged between two teenage boys tossing a bright orange Frisbee back and forth.

“He’s not here,” Cindy said, eyes scanning the crowded children’s playground by the front row of tennis courts. She approached a group of young mothers pushing their children on the swings. “Excuse me, have you seen a Wheaten terrier, about this big?” She held her hand about two feet off the ground. “He’s apricot-colored,” she continued, even as the women were shaking their heads no. Cindy ran toward the tiny brick building that was the headquarters of the Winston Churchill Tennis Association. “I can’t believe it. First I lose Julia; now I lose her dog.”

“You haven’t lost anyone.” Neil poked his head inside the men’s washroom to the left of the small structure. “We’ll find him,” he said. “Elvis! Elvis!”

“Elvis!” Cindy echoed.

“Is this your dog?” someone called from inside the main room.

Cindy poked her head into the open door of the tennis association’s headquarters. The single room was long and casually furnished, with a large desk to one side, a soft drink machine at the back, and several rows of blue chairs positioned around a small TV that was tuned to the U.S. Open. Two young men in tennis whites were lounging across a dark blue couch propped against one wall, a large pizza box open between them. Elvis was sitting on the floor in front of them, his eyes glued to what remained of the pizza.

“Elvis!” Cindy cried, falling to her knees and hugging the dog to her chest, feeling his wet tongue on the underside of her chin. “You scared me half to death.”

“Your dog sure loves pizza,” one of the boys said as Elvis barked his desire for more.

“I’m very sorry he bothered you.” Cindy quickly attached Elvis’s leash to his collar and pulled at the stubborn dog. “Come on, you.”

“Elvis has left the building,” she heard one of the young men say as they stepped outside.

The sun smacked Cindy full in the face, so she didn’t see the two young sisters in her path until she was almost on top of them. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. How many times had she said that in the last several days?

“Does Julia have a baby?” the younger of the two girls asked.

“What?”

“Come on,” the older girl urged, pulling on her sister’s arm.

“Wait,” Cindy said. “Please. What makes you think Julia has a baby?”

“ ’Cause I saw her with one.”

“Come on, Anne-Marie. We have to go home.”

“You saw Julia with a baby?” Cindy pressed.

“She was pushing it in a carriage. I asked her if it was her baby, and she laughed.”

Cindy took a long, deep breath, tried to digest this latest piece of information. What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all? “Damn it,” she muttered, as once again Ryan’s face imposed itself on her consciousness. “That miserable son of a bitch.”

Anne-Marie gasped. “You said a bad word.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” Cindy began, but the two girls were already fleeing the park.

“What is it?” Neil asked.

Cindy stared blankly at the horizon. Somewhere above her head, the old children’s rhyme kept circling:
First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes Julia with a baby carriage
.

“C
INDY, HI
,” Faith Sellick said, pulling open her front door, seemingly oblivious to the streak of green bile staining the front of her white shirt.

“Can I speak to Ryan for a minute?”

“He’s not home.”

“Where is he?”

“Golfing. Somewhere up north.”

“Could you have him call me as soon as he gets back?”

“Sure. Is something wrong?”

“I just need to talk to him.”

“He might be pretty late.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

From upstairs, a baby’s cry pierced the air. Faith’s eyes
closed as her shoulders slumped. “We had such a nice day yesterday,” she said wistfully.

“Do you need some help?” Cindy asked, glancing down the front steps to where Neil stood waiting.

“No. You go. I’ll be fine.”

But when Cindy reached her own front door, she saw that Faith was still standing in her doorway, not moving, eyes tightly closed.

“M
AYBE IT’S BETTER
to wait until Tuesday, let the police talk to Ryan,” Neil advised later that night.

They were sitting at Cindy’s kitchen table, finishing off the last of a bottle of red Zinfandel. It was almost midnight. Heather and Duncan were out; her mother was upstairs asleep; her sister had gone home.